The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  “St Patrick came here to drive out the pagan gods where they were at their most powerful. Come on, let’s each make a wish.” Poppy took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the dying sun.

  Helen and Lily looked at each other, unsure what to do.

  “I wish for love,” Poppy said.

  “I wish for a new friendship,” Lily said, looking at Poppy to see was that the kind of wish she had in mind. Poppy’s eyes remained closed. Instead, Helen gave Lily the thumbs-up.

  “I wish to be my own boss and be more Zen but still earn big bucks and be a sex goddess,” said Helen. “I also wish to lose ten pounds and fall in love with a really nice hunk, who adores me and isn’t a shit.”

  “Helen!”

  “What?”

  Poppy decided to let her off. “Now release your wishes, send them to the Universe, the gods and goddesses, and let them take care of the details.”

  “I like that,” Helen said. “Let someone else work out the details.”

  The sun was a setting fireball – some grey clouds striped across it gave it an ethereal look. Darkness was descending on the hill. Sheep continued to graze, unperturbed by the people and their drums.

  Drums.

  “You know it’s the darndest thing, I swear I can still hear those Krishna drums ringing in my ears.” Helen rapidly rubbed her index fingers against her ears.

  “I think that’s probably what you’re hearing, Helen.” Lily pointed in the direction of three silhouettes that were coming their way.

  “What on earth are they wearing?” Helen double-blinked to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

  “Cloaks,” Poppy said.

  “Cloaks – as in witches’ cloaks?” Helen asked, her voice rivalling a soprano’s.

  “Maybe they’re real-life druids?” Lily was wide-eyed.

  “No, druids’ cloaks would be white – I’d say they’re Wiccan.”

  “Wiccan, as in . . . ” Helen swallowed hard.

  “Witches,” Lily and Poppy said together with jubilance.

  Poppy has finally lost it, Helen thought, and wondered would they catch up with her via broomsticks if she made a bolt for it.

  “Merry meet!” a cloaked man called out.

  He wore a regal cape and carried a staff made from a tree branch. He stabbed it into the muddy grass with each step. With him were two women. All were apparently in their late fifties and, apart from their outfits, they looked like members of a book club. One of the ladies had a small bodhrán under her cloak. She was drumming as she walked.

  “Ah, would you look at who it is! Poppy Power, great to see you,” the man said, adjusting his glasses as he approached them. “How’ve you been?”

  “Barney, it’s yourself, sure I should have known! What are you celebrating?” Poppy gave him a warm hug.

  They weren’t as Helen imagined witches should look. She couldn’t picture them having naked orgies on stone altars. Mind you, until this morning she wouldn’t have thought of her mother having sex either – gross, as Lily might say.

  “It’s Mabon – the autumn equinox. We were giving thanks to Mother Earth, for the harvest.” He nodded hello to Helen and Lily. “Must be my lucky day, all you lovely ladies to myself. Will you join us for a cuppa?”

  “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, girls?” Poppy didn’t wait for them to answer. “We were just on our way to the coffee-shop ourselves.”

  Helen wished the pagan gods or St Patrick himself would come through the veiled world, and swallow her up right now. She wasn’t sure whether she was intrigued, mortified or scared.

  The others chatted as they were slip-sliding off the Hill of Tara, towards the coffee-shop. Helen looked around her. It was rather dark now. A sheep bleated, causing her to jump. She decided Poppy and her band of witches were the lesser of two evils. She made after them, seesawing her arms as a balancing pole in an effort to remain vertical as she shimmied down the hilly mudslide. She thought about the people she’d met today: Ryvita, sorry, Ry, the Hare Krishna, Jeff the “I talk to dead people” and Barney the witch. Helen wondered who on earth Poppy would introduce her to next: Puff the Magic Dragon? Suddenly, life in London was looking very mundane.

  A small light glowed from inside Maguire’s cottage-like coffee-shop close to Tara’s entrance. The owner laid out a big pot of tea and a selection of cakes on a round, wooden table. In the centre of the table lay a tied bunch of purple heather and a candle. He wouldn’t take any payment, saying that the cakes were left over at the end of the day anyway and he was glad not to have given them all to the crows. The group chatted happily for while but, aware the owner was waiting to lock up, they didn’t linger too long. As they left, Helen thought they must have looked like an odd bunch of people to anyone who might be passing by, but surprisingly she didn’t care. It was probably just as well that Poppy hadn’t brought the Hare Krishna along though.

  “That was fierce,” Lily said, climbing into the back of Helen’s car.

  “Fierce is good – right?” Helen asked Poppy, who nodded.

  Lily had bought a book on the way out of the coffee-shop. “A Guide to Witchcraft,” she read the title out loud. “Mum, I think I’d like to become a witch.”

  A vegetarian, Goth, lesbian witch, Helen thought – and she wonders why she doesn’t fit in? She looked around at Lily, who had already started reading the book, and decided to say nothing. She looked happy, so if that’s what made her happy who was she to judge?

  “You never told me what Jeff said to you,” Poppy said as Helen steered off the slip road and onto the motorway.

  “You never told me you had friends in a coven!”

  “They’re not a coven. Anyway, could you imagine your reaction if I said, ‘Oh, I was just talking to Barney, he’s the witch by the way.’ You’d have had me locked up! Now that you’ve met them, you can see there’s nothing odd about it. People just fear what they don’t know, and propaganda has them painted as crooked-nose, green-faced hags.” Poppy stared out at the line of white car lights coming from the opposite direction, lost in thought.

  “He said lots – Jeff.” Helen broke into her reverie. “He said it’d be a good time for me to travel, re-think my life at Eden. I’ve decided I’d like to go to Vietnam, see where Dad was killed.”

  “Vietnam, imagine. God, I’d love to go there,” Poppy said.

  “Go with her then.” Lily piped up from the back seat, without looking up from her book.

  “How could I possibly take off to Vietnam? You’re back in school for a start.” Poppy turned to Lily. “And it is Leaving Cert year so I can’t take you out. Besides, where would I get the money?” She slumped back around in the front seat – her wishful thinking had gone flat.

  “Poppy, the best things in life are free – ‘for everything else, there’s a MasterCard’,” Helen said.

  “I’ll stay with Marma. I could do with a few decent dinners anyway,” Lily giggled.

  “It’s true. Mary is always asking her to stay. Remember when she was doing her Junior Cert, Lily moved in for three weeks, to get away from the noise in your house.” Helen was thinking it might also put a hold on her mother’s libido.

  “My chanting and drumming circles aren’t noise!” Poppy was indignant. “But, Helen, do you really think it possible? You’re just back from Hong Kong.” She was getting her hopes up again.

  “That was work! I haven’t had more than a few days’ leave in nearly two years. Are you sure, if we can sort the details, that you’d be okay, Lil?” It could be just what everyone needed.

  “Go for it – just don’t come back with a little Vietnamese man tucked into your suitcase, Mum.” Lily was definitely sounding like her old self again.

  “Right, that’s sorted then,” said Helen. “Wishful thinking on the Hill of Tara is all well and good but I prefer to be in the driving seat of my life. If Mary’s happy to have Lily and JD stay with her, first thing tomorrow morning I’m telling Fred I’m taking a long-over
due holiday.” It would also be the perfect smokescreen to avoid the whole other mess with Fred. She was getting masterful at dodging him.

  Poppy opened the car window to shout at passing traffic.

  “Yeehaw! Vietnam, here we come!”

  Chapter 31

  “Of course, I’d love Lily to stay here – I’d be delighted in fact,” Mary Devine had said when Helen arrived later that evening to drop off JD to his Monday-through-Friday home. “It’ll do you and Poppy the world of good.” She paused for a moment. “Just don’t go driving off the Grand Canyon.”

  After leaving her mother’s house Helen checked her phone. Two missed calls from Rob. He hadn’t left a voicemail, opting instead to send a text, which simply read “?”. Initially, Helen had no intention of keeping their date but realised if she ignored him she was repeating their familiar pattern of game-playing, each determined to get the upper hand by staying out of contact for weeks or sometimes months at a time.

  She phoned him and, after a lot of coaxing, he had eventually agreed to meet her locally, in the new café overlooking Howth Harbour. As always, he was late.

  “A glass of white wine, please. House will be fine, as long as it’s not Chardonnay.” Helen unbuckled her coat. She settled on a high stool that looked out onto the harbour. The wind was causing the ropes of the sailing boats to chime. The last of the day trippers had left and the locals had gone home in preparation for the start of the working week.

  “One glass of Italy’s finest,” Angelo said as he placed her glass on the counter. He had also brought a small bowl of green olives.

  “That’s very kind, thank you. I like your place. My friend, Poppy, suggested that I come here.” Helen picked up an olive.

  “Ah, Puppy, she was my first customer and she’s my first regular. She’s been twice already!”

  Helen laughed, immediately warming to Angelo. “Are you still serving food? I know it’s a little late?”

  “Sí, no problem, I bring you the menu.”

  Rob walked in with a strong gust of sea air on his tail. “It’s a dirty old night out there.” He shook out his coat before looking up at the blackboard to study the wines on offer. “A glass of Valpolicella, my man,” he said to Angelo. “Small in here, isn’t it?” He pulled out a stool, his back to the wall, so he could survey the small interior and anyone that might enter. Helen had to swivel to face him, giving up her view of the harbour.

  “And a menu,” Angelo said as he returned to them.

  “I’m not eating much, Helen.” Rob lifted his arm up in an exaggerated gesture to check his watch. He looked displeased.

  “How about a mixed meat and cheese platter, for two?” she asked. Taking Rob’s barely perceptible nod as a yes, she handed both menus back to Angelo.

  “I don’t see why we couldn’t have just ordered a takeaway to your place,” said Rob. “This town dies a death come nine on a Sunday. They did a good job on this place, how long is it open?”

  “I don’t know, just today I think. Look, Rob, there’s something I need to say . . .”

  “How much was the lease on this place?” Rob shouted across to Angelo.

  “I only make the coffee,” Angelo rolled off without looking away from the meat-slicer.

  “The thing is, Rob, this idea we had about us dating again . . .”

  “I believe that was your idea, Helen.”

  “Right, I’ll cut to the chase, shall I? I came across you on Facebook today – you know, the social networking site that you said you wouldn’t be seen dead on?”

  “I don’t know what you’re on about,” he laughed, avoiding eye contact.

  “It’s definitely you, Rob.”

  “Not me, it must be someone else. How’s the white?”

  “It’s fine. Rob, I found you, Lord knows I wish I hadn’t because I wasn’t looking to. You’ve just got one friend on it – a very pretty friend . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Rob’s jaw visibly tensed as he pretended to clear his throat from an imaginary tickle.

  Helen’s heart felt like it was literally sinking.

  Rob continued to cough. Angelo poured him a glass of water.

  “I just need some fresh air, back in a tick,” Rob managed to splutter out. He patted his chest for added effect.

  Angelo placed the platter for two on the marble countertop. Helen smiled at him, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “It’s this weather, like summer one day and winter the next. A lot of people get sick,” he said, smiling at her.

  Helen nodded. A beam of car headlamps flashed through the window from the harbour car park. She rubbed her hands together: her palms were sweating. Five minutes passed by. Rob didn’t return. Helen went to the door to look for him. There were only three cars in the car park, none of which belonged to Rob.

  She walked back into the café and fumbled in her bag. “May I have the bill, please?” Her cheeks burned.

  “You don’t like the food?” Angelo asked.

  “No, it looks lovely, it’s just there’s been a change of plan, I’m sorry.” Helen was unable to make eye contact.

  “He’s gone?”

  “Afraid so,” Helen sighed.

  “Testa di cazzo,” Angelo mumbled. “Will you do me a favour?”

  The question surprised Helen. She looked up and nodded.

  “I work all day. I like to sit, have a glass of wine and eat some food. The platter for two – is on the house but I eat it with you.”

  “There’s no need, honestly. I’m fine. He’s done this before.”

  “I don’t like to eat alone and I close the shop now anyway. Plus . . .”

  Helen cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Maybe you can tell me more about Puppy, what’s she like, you know . . .” Now it was Angelo’s turn to look a little shy.

  Helen laughed. So Poppy had an admirer who was actually normal and there wasn’t a drum in sight. Of course, this probably meant he hadn’t a hope in hell.

  Chapter 32

  Helen’s alarm beeped at four thirty and she rolled out of bed to start her Monday-morning ritual of heading back to London and her lingerie life. This morning, though, there was a spring in her step – she could face Fred with a smile.

  “Good morning, Sarah. How was your weekend?” Helen said as Sarah arrived at the office at nine thirty.

  “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you to be here already. Sorry I’m late.” Sarah plopped her handbag on the floor beside her desk. Her shoulders slumped when she saw the amount of paperwork piled up in front of her.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks, Sarah. Nearly two weeks with both of us gone just means a backlog of sign-offs.”

  Sarah thumbed through the paper edges, fanning them. Her eyes had dark rings under them.

  “Jetlag, hey?” Helen smiled at her.

  “I feel I’ve been hit by a train. I’ve slept all weekend except it was during the day, then come night-time I was wide awake.” She yawned to emphasise her point. “You look very fresh, Helen,” she paused, “and cheerful.”

  Helen tapped a handful of files on her desktop. “Really, aren’t I always? Actually don’t answer that.” She laughed. “Tell you what – I’ll go get us a couple of strong coffees. I’ve got to stop by Fred’s office anyway.” She grabbed the edge of her desk and pushed back her chair, then she paused without taking her hands off the desk. The gesture made it look like she was bracing herself.

  Sarah frowned, wondering if Helen was just going to sit there or get the damn coffee. “Cheers, black no sugar,” she said. She turned her attention to her computer screen as she booted up, marking the start of a new working week.

  Helen tapped lightly on Fred’s office door before she popped her head in. “Have you got a mo, Fred?”

  Fred was on the phone but rapidly gestured for Helen to come in and sit. She sat in a chair opposite him, thankful there was a heavy oak desk between them. He sounded eager to end his conversation. He cast his eyes to heaven and held th
e handset away from his ear, pulling a face at her. She smiled and rubbed imaginary flecks off her black trousers. Fred winked at her. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Sorry about that – the CEO breathing down my neck, looking for figures and what not. More importantly, how are you, honey bun? You’re looking ravishing this morning, I might add.” Fred stood and rounded his desk with his seesaw-like gait.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her but, thankfully, he opted to lean against the desk instead. Helen remained seated, Fred’s groin now in her line of vision. She felt claustrophobic.

  “I was just on my way down to get coffee and muffins – maybe we could walk and talk?” she said.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Fred said, leaning forward. “Why don’t I order them up? We can chat in private – just the two of us.”

  Helen decided to get straight to the point. “Fred, I’ve come to tell you I’m taking a holiday – asap. I’ll be gone for about three weeks and I’m hoping to go within a couple of weeks from now.” She looked at him, head tilted upwards.

  “That’s impossible!” Fred exploded. “We’re coming into our busiest season and there’s no one to man your workload. I’m sorry, Helen, but leave right now is simply out of the question.”

  What happened to “Honey bun”?

  He returned to his high-back leather chair and sat down with force, which caused a hissing sound under his backside. Fred’s face was redder than an Amsterdam light-bulb.

  “It’s the busiest time of year in the warehouse and the shop floor, not the design office,” she said. “And only last week you said Sarah was ready to step into my shoes. Why has that suddenly changed?”

  Fred didn’t look up – he put on his glasses and pretended to be engrossed in a spreadsheet printout.

  “Fred?” she sighed.

  Fred held up his palm to her. “This conversation is over, Helen. You know annual leave has to be applied for at the beginning of the calendar year. If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t done that. Come back to me in January – we’ll sort something out then. If you’re still in London, that is.”