The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

“Natalie Porter is sitting there,” the same child said defiantly.

  “Well, it looks like we’ll just have to find another table, Helen.” Mary’s voice had a cheery lilt. She scanned the room for a free spot.

  “But I want to sit at the same table as my friends,” Helen said.

  Mary got down on her knees, so she could talk to her daughter face to face. “Helen, why would you want to be friends with children that are mean to you?”

  Helen shrugged and looked down at her black leather brogues.

  Natalie Porter walked in the door.

  “Over here, Natalie – I saved your seat!” the girl called.

  Natalie walked over, putting her pink Sindy bag on the desk and an excited chatter started around the table.

  Natalie’s mother joined the other mothers. By now, both mothers and daughters had turned their backs on the Devine family. Case closed.

  “Come on, Helen – let’s find a seat over here.”

  Helen knew she just wasn’t the Sindy-bag type of girl. Any progress she had made into the group she so desperately wanted to be part of had been lost over the summer. No Daddy, no Sindy, no deal.

  “Is this Sister Carmel’s class?” A flame-haired woman, wearing a long cheesecloth skirt, breezed through the door, an angelic red-haired girl behind her. Everyone looked up. There was a new kid in town.

  “Yes, yes, come in. Welcome to the Immaculate Conception,” said the kindly middle-aged nun. She turned to the girl, who looked like a deer caught in headlamps. “You must be Poppy.”

  Usually there would be a scramble for the new kid to sit at your table – everyone loved the novelty – but there was something about Poppy’s washed-out uniform that caused a hesitation. Poppy twisted one foot behind her leg and rubbed it on her sock. The mothers stopped their gossiping to turn and look at the newcomers. They eyed mother and daughter, then went back to their conversations, this time in hushed tones with a look of disdain etched on their faces. The new people, whoever they were, just didn’t belong.

  “There’s a free place over here if you like,” Mary Devine called out.

  “Thank you, Mrs Devine, that’s wonderful,” Sister Carmel said, but already one of her thirty-five students was distracting her. It was more crowd control than teaching.

  The bell rang loudly, signalling the start of class.

  “See you, Pops. Enjoy your day in the ‘Immaculate Conception’. Maybe they are into fairytales here, after all, with a name like that, hey!” Poppy’s mother ruffled her child’s hair then got out of the classroom as quickly as if she’d been asked to stand barefoot on burning coals.

  Mary Devine looked down at the newcomer whose hair was a rich copper shade of red. “That’s a lovely slide you have in your hair, dear. You look pretty,” she smiled. “Where’s your lunch box?”

  Poppy didn’t answer.

  “Is your lunch in your bag?” Mary took a quick peek inside. “No? Oh my, your mum must have forgotten it – I’ll try to catch her.” But she hesitated when she saw the child’s face.

  Poppy was shaking her head vigorously, still not saying a word.

  “Don’t worry, love, Helen will share hers with you, won’t you, pet?”

  Helen nodded eagerly. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Poppy.”

  “Like the flower?”

  “The weed, so my brother says.”

  “I’m Helen. Do you want to sit beside me?”

  Poppy nodded. Mary Devine slipped out.

  “Helen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you be my new best friend?” Poppy didn’t look at her as she took a crayon from the communal pot.

  Helen hesitated for a moment – no one had asked her that before.

  Then she smiled. “Yes, Poppy, I will.”

  Chapter 20

  Hong Kong International Airport. Departures. They were on their way home.

  Well over a week had passed since Fred’s interlude with Helen. His fantasy of Helen Devine had finally come to pass. And it did just that: pass. Disappointed, he went over it all again in his head to see if there was something else he should have done or said.

  He had tried talking to her before they left Hong Kong for Mainland China. “That was some night last night,” he’d whispered to her.

  She’d smiled seductively back, saying nothing. She didn’t have to – with Helen, her emerald eyes spoke a thousand words.

  “We can do it again if you like, buttercup, real soon,” he’d said, putting his hand on the small of her back. But Sarah joined them before Helen could reply. Damn it, he’d planned that one-liner since she’d left his room.

  Helen and Sarah had slept all the way on the plane to Northern China. On arrival, Sarah had looked like she was about to pass out. Fifty-five minutes they stood in line for immigration at Qingdao – Sarah going different shades of pale all the while, ending up an odd shade of green. Green the girl was, he thought to himself, with bright pink ears, not the most attractive look. Said it must have been the food she ate. Food my arse, tequila slammers more like. He smiled, remembering her face when she realised she had to go through a body-temperature test.

  “What’s that for, Helen?” Sarah had asked, a bead of sweat threatening to slide down her face.

  “They’ve been doing it since the SARS outbreak. Relax, just walk through it. It detects elevated body temperature.”

  A look of terror shot over Sarah’s pasty face. “Oh God, they’ll never let me through. Honestly, Helen, I shouldn’t have eaten those prawns.”

  Helen had looked at Fred, amused. Who was Sarah trying to convince?

  Sarah started to shake – her blouse was soaked through with sweat. “Please God, just let me make it through,” she prayed under her breath. “I swear I won’t have a one-night stand in Hong Kong or anywhere again. And I’ll never drink again.”

  Then as if God wanted her to know he’d heard her, her stomach lurched and she started to heave.

  “Next!” the guard shouted and signalled to her.

  She swallowed hard and stepped forward, while Helen and Fred smirked.

  That evening, in the supplier’s car, Fred tried to sit beside Helen but somehow Sarah ended up between them. Their meeting hadn’t been the most pleasant – a full day, no lunch breaks – again. The glamour of Hong Kong was left behind.

  Things went from bad to worse when they got to their hotel. Mysteriously, one room had been cancelled.

  “Check again!” Fred demanded of the desk clerk, who continued to tap on her computer keyboard.

  “One single, one twin, that’s what was booked and it’s all we have now, sir,” she replied, handing over the key cards, conversation over.

  “This is ridiculous – who changed the booking?” Fred could see his planned midnight call to Helen fade.

  “You heard the girl, Fred, the hotel is full,” Helen said, taking one of the room keys off the counter. “Sarah and I don’t mind sharing, do we, Sarah?”

  Sarah shook her head, unable to speak. It was amazing she’d got through the day at all. She had excused herself on numerous occasions to be sick. She’d sprayed air freshener around the loo, to cover her tracks, the smell of which made her throw up again.

  “Well, if you’re sure. But I’ll look into this when we’re back in London,” Fred said, as a vein in his temple throbbed.

  And now here they were back in Hong Kong, on the way home, where Helen would transfer straight to Dublin from Heathrow. Sarah hadn’t gone out again, said she was in Asia to work, not rack up Eden’s bar bill. Helen agreed and spent the evenings with her holed up in their room brainstorming about the new season’s collection. Only the boss in Fred was impressed.

  Jack Taylor stepped out of his taxi, which had left him kerbside at the Dragonair check-in area. The airport was quiet except for a few business travellers heading home before the weekend.

  “Where are you flying to, sir?” the red-uniformed clerk asked.

  “Phnom Penh,
” Jack smiled, handing over his passport.

  “It’s your lucky day, sir – you’ve been upgraded to first class.” The girl circled the boarding gate and boarding time on his boarding pass before handing it to him.

  “That’s awesome, thanks!” Jack grinned – he considered asking why, but decided not to, in case she changed her mind or realised she’d made a mistake.

  “Wait – you’ll need a pass for the business lounge.” She took out a gold card and started writing his details on it.

  Technically, upgrades didn’t get a lounge-pass, but her supervisor was on a break. She had already broken the rules by offering the only upgrade available to a back-packer and not one of their frequent flyers or someone in a suit. But this guy had such nice dimples and hands – he had beautiful hands.

  “Just follow the signs for the Cathay Pacific lounge – we’re the same company,” the girl explained, with a tilt of her head. “Have a pleasant flight, sir – I hope I see you again.” She flashed Jack a killer smile.

  Jack hesitated for a moment – was she flirting with him? Andromeda came to mind. He picked up the golden ticket: his good luck not feeling so lucky any more. He’d just met the hottest girl in Hong Kong, and he was leaving.

  “Was there something else, sir?” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. A queue had started to form behind Jack.

  “No, thank you, I’ll be going to the business lounge now, eh, thank you.”

  Say something, Jack – get back in the saddle!

  The steward watched as Jack walked away – a cute ass too, she noted, as she called the next in line.

  Helen looked up at the departures board: Cathay Pacific to London LHR, Status: on time. “Thank you, God.” She headed straight for the departure gate, not taking any chance of missing this flight.

  Jack couldn’t see any signs indicating which way he should go to the business lounge. The airport appeared devoid of staff also. Then, as chance would have it, a portly man came into his line of vision.

  “Helen, where are you going? The Cathay lounge is this way!” he called out, signalling to a woman ahead of him that she was going in the wrong direction.

  “No, Fred, see you on the flight!” the woman called and waved.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jack asked as he approached Fred. “I couldn’t help but overhearing – did you say the Cathay lounge is this way?”

  Fred was still looking after Helen. Distracted, he grunted at the young man. “Women, don’t think I’ll ever understand them,” he tutted.

  “My uncle has a theory that woman are from Andromeda,” Jack said.

  Fred looked at him, his attention back now Helen was gone. “What’s Andromeda?”

  “A spiral galaxy in the outer universe,” Jack replied.

  “Huh?” Fred thought about it. “Makes sense, sounds like a smart chap, your uncle. I think he’s most likely right.” He took one last look in the direction of the gate and muttered something under his breath. “Cathay, did you say? Come on, lad, follow me, I was just on my way there.”

  Helen sat on a narrow steel seat opposite her departure gate. She fished for a book from her bag. She pulled out the one on synchronicity. She settled back. Finally she was on the home straight. She missed her mum, she missed her dog and surprisingly, she missed Rob.

  Chapter 21

  Helen turned the key in the lock of the wood-panelled door to her mother’s home in Sutton, County Dublin. “Hello? Mum, you home?”

  The familiar smell and sounds greeted her with the wave of comforting feeling that a loving parent brings. She wanted to tell her mum about the awful Hong Kong trip but she knew she couldn’t, as she would worry. Instead, Helen would smile, giving her a Chinese clay teapot and souvenir packet of tea and say nothing.

  From the kitchen, RTÉ Radio One was blaring out, the Joe Duffy chat-show at a volume high enough for Mary to hear it from the garden. A waft of freshly grilled bacon caused Helen’s stomach to rumble.

  She hung her handbag at the end of the banisters she had slid down so often as a child and walked through the blue-carpeted hallway into the sun-filled kitchen, the soul of the house. The back door was open – a warm breeze brought the Indian-summer indoors. Mary was on all fours, planting flower bulbs, the first of which would flower in January. Mary loved seeing the first snowdrops of a new year. Helen’s Golden Retriever, JD, lay beside her sprawled out, soaking up the sunrays.

  “Hi, Mum!” Helen called again, not wanting to give her mother a heart attack.

  She turned down the volume on the radio from eardrum-shattering to just plain uncomfortably loud. Beside the radio was a posy of flowers and a rose-scented candle flickering. Mary liked to keep her home beautiful. Or was she trying to hide the evidence of fried pig?

  “Mum?”

  The dog’s head jolted upright, ears pricking up at the sound of Helen’s voice. Then he was bounding to greet his mistress.

  “JD!” Helen stretched her arm out to greet her oversized pooch. “Come here, boy,” she said, rubbing behind his ears. He covered her in doggy kisses. “Whoa, less of the dog breath, JD!” She pulled her face away, laughing.

  “Oh, it’s you, dear – I didn’t hear you come in.” Mary struggled to get on her feet. “How was the flight?”

  “Uneventful.”

  “And the weather in Hong Kong?” Mary hobbled towards her daughter on pins-and-needles-affected legs.

  “Humid.” Helen stepped down three small steps towards her mother.

  “Same as here then, I never remember the likes of it, this kind of heat in autumn. It must be that global-warming thing.” Mary fanned herself.

  “Was it bacon sandwiches for lunch again, Mum?”

  “Oh, they weren’t for me – I made them for Lily.” Mary didn’t make eye contact, lest Helen start lecturing on cholesterol levels.

  “Really? Funny that, seeing as Poppy texted me a few days ago to say Lily has declared herself a vegetarian.” Helen was still feeling smug for being proven right in that prediction.

  “And she’s one of those lesbians now too apparently – have you ever heard the like? We didn’t have them in my day.”

  “There were always lesbians and gays, Mum, stop changing the subject. Did you remember to inject today?”

  Mary ignored Helen’s reference to her health. “I mean it, my father mentioned poufters occasionally, and I saw a few in America, but I never heard about lesbians until I was a married woman.”

  “What are you saying? If you knew you had the option, I might not be here?”

  “God rest your father, if he could hear you now he’d turn in his grave.”

  “If he had a grave.”

  James Devine’s ashes still sat on the polished mahogany sideboard in the dining room. Every Christmas and family celebration, Mary dusted off the urn, and placed it at the head of the table.

  “Ah sure, you can mix us together, when I’m dead and gone. Judging by the aches and pains, that’ll be any day now.” Mary stretched her back.

  “Stop it, Mum, you’re only a young one – what’s all this talk about leaving me an orphan?”

  “You’re nearly forty, some orphan!” Her mother laughed as she gave her a warm embrace. “I don’t know, between cholesterol tables, injections for blood sugar and now arthritis, dear God, if I was a dog they’d put me down.”

  Helen kissed her mother on her soft cheek. She smelt of Max Factor powder and Channel No. 5 and had done so for as long as Helen could remember. She loved the softness of her mother’s skin, which was a physical reminder of the softness of her heart. She had a large bosom that weighed heavy on her now, which meant she regularly rubbed her lower back in pain. Thanks to her love of processed pork products, Mary’s midsection was close to measuring the same size as her chest – something she disguised with free-flowing brightly coloured dresses. Today she wore a lavender blue one that finished just short of the ground.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, love? I bought some of that weird infusion st
uff you and Poppy like.” Mobility regained, Mary made her way into the kitchen. “Or there’s a bottle of white wine open in the fridge, would you prefer that?”

  “How long has it been there, Mum, a week?”

  “Just a couple of days, I had a visitor, you see . . .” Mary paused, as if about to elaborate. Instead, she picked up the red-framed reading glasses that hung from her neck by multicoloured beads, to check the labels on the tea packets. “Ah, now that reminds me!” She held up her index finger, as if about to conduct a symphony. “I was clearing my presses out and found this nice bottle of that Baileys you like. I left it out for you to take home – I won’t use it.”

  “Caramel Baileys – um, I gave you that as a present,” Helen said flatly, as she picked up the bottle from the kitchen counter-top.

  Mary chose to ignore the comment. “And there’s fancy mustard there as well, I’ll definitely never use that – you may as well have that too.” She removed her glasses.

  Knowing her mother, Helen picked up the whole-grain mustard jar. “Best-before January 2008. What are you trying to do? Kill me, Mother dear?”

  “Don’t mind those silly dates – they just put them on so they can sell more stuff. I never pay heed, and I’m as fit as a fiddle.”

  Helen resisted the urge to point out to Mary that not five minutes ago she was about to kick the bucket.

  “Right. Tea. Which one do you want, green tea with jasmine or Pur-eh – I think that one makes you skinny.” Mary picked up one of the packets. “Now where did I put my glasses?”

  “They’re on your head.”

  “So they are.” Mary adjusted her glasses to read the packets through the bi-focal part of the lens.

  “I’ll have the green tea, please, Mum, and there’s no such thing as a tea that makes you skinny.”

  “Wait – it’s just as well I put my glasses on. That’s Oxtail Cuppa Soup, not tea at all. Now where did I put the tea?”

  “You’re very distracted, Mum – whatever is going on with you?”

  “It’s not my fault. I’m a Vata!”

  “What?”