by Cathy Kelly
Coco smiled at her end of the phone.
‘I want to tell her what you told me when I was small, Cass: “I will never let you down”.’
Cassie had been holding it all together very well until that moment. But then her anxieties over Shay, over rejection, over keeping her beloved family together and happy, flowed over.
She couldn’t let Coco know.
‘I meant it, Coco,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion.
‘Oh sis, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ cried Coco. ‘I loved that saying; still do. I think of how you took care of me, have always taken care of me, and I love you so much. I will never let you down either, you know.’
‘I know,’ sniffed Cassie. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m pre-menstrual,’ she lied.
‘You need a hot bath,’ said Coco. ‘And I’m going to tell Fiona about how you and I loved each other so much and about what you used to say to me all the time: “I will never let you down”. It’s the loveliest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Cass, and it helped me so much. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It’s just the right way to explain how much I love Fiona. Love you, Cassie.’
When her sister had hung up, Cassie sat down on the staircase in the hall for a few moments before she felt able to go back into the kitchen.
‘Look, Mum,’ said Lily triumphantly, holding up a finally finished Saturn. ‘I used cocktail sticks to keep the rings on!’
Without saying anything, Cassie hugged her younger daughter.
‘You’re brilliant, Lily, you know that?’
Lily grinned. ‘I know,’ she said, still admiring her creation. ‘So are you, Mum.’
Red’s friend, Michael, had rung him up and invited him to a dinner party on Friday night.
‘You know I hate dinner parties,’ grumbled Red.
‘When did you turn into such an old curmudgeon?’ demanded Michael. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun. You’re never in this country long enough for us to see you. It’ll just be some of the gang and a few new people.’
‘I hate meeting new people,’ said Red. ‘I meet enough new people as it is and I can never remember their names.’
His mother was torturing him, dragging him around to the house, where she’d conveniently have a few of her friends sitting having coffee so they could gaze in wonder at her fabulously successful son.
‘Ma, stop doing that, please,’ Red had begged.
‘Well, I have to show off something,’ Myra pointed out. ‘It’s either grandchildren or how successful you are – one or the other, you choose.’
‘OK, OK.’
‘And there’s some big charity event going on with the school to raise money for kids in Africa. You could give a few bob to that too?’
‘So I’m a bank to be ogled at, is that it?’ said Red.
His mother ruffled his hair, which took some doing given he was a foot taller than her. ‘Ah, go way outta that,’ she said, smiling. ‘You love it really. And you know you’ll be off again soon, forgetting about us all. We might as well make the most of this bit of your time.’
‘Come on,’ said Michael now. ‘It’ll be fun. Our house, Friday night, half seven, bring a bottle.’
Michael was one of Red’s oldest friends from college and he’d been a high-flying executive for many years, married to his childhood sweetheart, Barbara, before one day he’d surprised everyone and given it all up to become a sculptor. At the time, Red had thought that Michael had lost his mind, but when he’d gone around to the beautiful house on the seafront in Silver Bay and had seen the world that Michael and Barbara had built with their daughter, Yvette, he changed his mind.
Thanks to Michael’s previous career, they owned their beautiful home. Barbara was a freelance journalist, and with his contacts, Michael had a pretty good career going, making huge sculptures for big businesses. Their daughter, Yvette, was a joy – a little fair-haired moppet the last time Red had seen her.
He was actually looking forward to the dinner party, and when he rolled up at the Doorlys’, he was delighted to see more of his old pals there. Unfortunately they were all there with their significant others, except for Ray, another inveterate bachelor.
Ray slapped him on the back. ‘It’s just you and me in it together, Redser,’ he said. ‘Here, have a beer. They’ve invited a few women for us.’
‘Oh please, no,’ joked Red. ‘Unless they’re stunningly beautiful blondes with legs up to their armpits.’
‘No,’ said an amused voice, and a slender brunette appeared beside him. ‘The name’s Shona,’ she said, and held out a hand. He looked down at the hand and noticed that she didn’t have the sculpted, manicured nails of so many women he knew. ‘I’m in the same line of business as Michael,’ she said, following his gaze. ‘So no French manicure.’
‘She’s a fabulous sculptor,’ said Michael, coming in from the kitchen with a few nibbles. ‘The starters have gone a bit wrong so you’ll have to stuff yourselves with crisps and nuts,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d got the hang of this bruschetta business, but it’s still tricky.’
‘It’s only tricky when you don’t start making it on time,’ came the voice of Barbara.
Red, Shona and Ray all laughed. It felt good to be here, Red thought, and he liked the look of this woman they’d lined up for him. Michael and Barbara couldn’t help matchmaking.
‘Hey,’ whispered Ray into his ear, ‘hands off, she’s mine.’
‘If she’s yours, which one is mine?’ Red joked back.
‘I’m not here for anyone,’ said Shona with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Barbara had a couple of crazy single girls lined up for the pair of you but they bailed at the last moment. To be honest, I understand because I’d heard that you were an awful player, Ray: a girl in every port.’
Ray did his best to look hurt but failed.
She took a searing look at Red. ‘And they heard that you were too married to your business to ever think about going out with a woman for any length of time.’ She grinned at Red. He grinned back at her. There was something about this woman that he liked.
Dinner turned out to be fun, full of chat about old friends, films they’d seen, who they’d have to their fantasy dinner party, what they’d all been up to, and discussions about the pieces Shona and Michael were working on at the moment.
‘Isn’t it great for you creative types?’ said Ray after he’d had a few beers in him. ‘You can get up any time you want, whereas I have to be on the job at half eight in the morning.’ Ray was a painter/decorator.
‘I’m up at six every morning, if you don’t mind,’ said Barbara, swatting him on the head. ‘I’m a working mother with a small child, and if I don’t get a bit of work done before Yvette wakes up, there’s the day gone.’
There followed a discussion with the other women about children and childcare, while the men moved on to talking about football.
‘Do you have children?’ Red asked Shona. She shook her head and he noticed a hint of sorrow in her face. Uh oh, he thought to himself, time to get out of this one. He did not want to be stuck with a woman whose biological clock was set to explode.
It was all going swimmingly until eventually Michael asked him the question he hoped no one would ask. ‘Have you seen Coco since you’ve come back?’
Of course someone was going to ask him that, Red thought grimly. Back in the day, they’d gone out together as a foursome, and both Michael and Barbara had loved Coco.
‘No,’ said Red, a little more stiffly than he had intended.
Michael looked at him. ‘I sometimes drop into her shop to say hello. She’s doing well now. She’s somehow involved in this lovely charity thing down on the seafront early next year to raise funds for Africa.’
‘Ah,’ said Red. ‘My mother was on about that.’
‘Well, you know Coco: total soft touch. She’s involved and her
grandmother too. They’re decent people, Red. You should talk to her. Might make it a bit easier.’
‘I don’t want it to be easier,’ said Red testily. ‘It’s over. I don’t want to see her anymore.’
Michael, who’d known him for a long time, said, ‘Yeah, right. She’s not with anyone.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Red, much too quickly.
Where was the cool, calm and collected businessman now?
‘She was the best thing that ever happened to you.’
‘Yes,’ put in Barbara.
‘So I don’t know why you don’t go round there.’
‘It’s over,’ said Red forcefully. ‘She dumped me, remember?’
‘You know,’ said Michael, ‘when I worked in business I’d never have been this frank, but now that I do what I love, I wonder why I didn’t do it years ago, and I think that’s what’s wrong with you too, Red. You’re not doing what makes you happy. Oh, you might be in business, that’s great, but you’re not happy personally. You never come home to see us all. Your mother hates it that you stay away, as if this island is Kryptonite and you’re Superman. Every time I see her she’s all over me trying to find out if I have any information about you. You’re avoiding a whole country because of one woman, so don’t tell me it’s all over.’
On Saturday morning, Phoebe got up early. Today she was leaving the last of her CVs into all the remaining places in the area and then taking the bus back home. It had been a crazy two weeks. There was so much to tell them all at home. College was amazing; meeting Ian there even better. She had a friend: a quirky, emotionally stressed friend who could be spectacularly rude but who needed her. Someone who needed looking after, and that, of course, was Phoebe’s speciality. She could imagine her mum laughing when she told her. ‘You like to have something to take care of, don’t you, Phoebe?’
After dropping off the last of her CVs, Phoebe walked back to Delaney Gardens, thinking that it might not be so bad to work in the pub because she could work nights and get tips. Dealing with a man who’d called her a ‘fine hoult of a girl’ might be less fun, but Phoebe wouldn’t let that stop her.
Phoebe often stopped the rude, drunk fellas in their tracks when they tried to pinch her bum by slapping them heartily on the back, which made them spill their drinks, and loudly saying: ‘Keep rubbing the cream on it, Joe, and I’m sure the itch will go away’ – a statement which made even the drunkest, rowdiest men shut up.
She rounded the corner into the square and saw that several people were taking advantage of the lovely late September weather in the small park. There was a woman with two small children who were playing at being airplanes, running around with their arms out and making droning noises. The woman was sitting back in a bench as if she might not be able to drag herself up again and was praying for the airplane game to go on for longer.
The elderly man with his little terrier was in there again, doing stately promenades of the park. They both seemed to have stiff hips from the way they were walking. The old man held a pink nappy bag in one hand, and Phoebe grinned at the sight, thinking of the amount of bird poo she’d undoubtedly have to shift that weekend with the bird sheds. She didn’t care. Stinky sheds or no stinky sheds, she couldn’t wait to get back home. She wondered if she should invite Ian home one weekend. It might be fun.
As she passed the house she’d come to think of as the square’s sunshine house, with its gleaming white walls, azure blue shutters and fabulously verdant garden, she realised that someone was in the garden.
A clearly quite old lady, who was dressed in very un-old-lady clothes – a modern, pale blue A-line dress and trendy sandals with her toenails painted a vibrant coral – was standing with some string in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Her hair was silky silver and was tied up into a loose knot at the base of her neck. At her feet, perched almost on her feet, was a small soft dog with glossy beige fur and the biggest eyes Phoebe had ever seen.
The dog spotted Phoebe first and leapt to its sturdy legs, doing a little yappy bark. The lady looked up and smiled, and Phoebe, who had felt lost for friendship here in Dublin except for Ian, found herself sinking into the warmth of that smile.
Perhaps it was because she was about to get the bus home and she’d had just about enough of being on her own, but she felt a most un-Phoebe-like surge of self-pity. She was so lonely. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t. Why was she even trying to learn to be a fashion designer in Larkin College. She could work at home and do it there, couldn’t she? Plenty of people who worked in fashion were self-taught.
‘Daisy seems to like you,’ said the lady, and Phoebe looked down to see the dog’s soft black nose pushed through the gate, desperately trying to reach Phoebe’s jeans for a sniff.
‘Oh, you are cute.’ Bending down, she crooned to the small dog, who shook her entire body in greeting. ‘Hello, darling,’ Phoebe whispered. She missed her family and she missed the animals. It was so lonely here …
‘Come in and say hello,’ the lady said. ‘It’s impossible to give Daisy the adoration she wants through the gate bars.’
Faced with such a welcome, and a beautiful animal who was clearly in need of loving, the dog-deprived Phoebe was in like a shot. She got to her knees and petted Daisy. ‘She makes the most adorable noises,’ she said delightedly. ‘It’s like she’s purring.’
‘I know,’ said the old lady. ‘She’s half pug, half cat, I think. I’ve noticed that a lot with the pugs I’ve had over the years. They all make different sounds of happiness. I had a beautiful boy pug called Basil, and he used to make little growls of pleasure. But Daisy here, she just sounds like a kitten who’s being adored.’
‘Oh gosh,’ said Phoebe, getting to her feet quickly. ‘I’m so rude. My name is Phoebe and I live across the road in—’
‘In Rita Costello’s. Yes, I know. My name is Pearl Keneally. It’s lovely to meet you, Phoebe. I can tell you’re an animal lover.’
Phoebe sank to her knees again. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I live on a farm in Dromolach in Wicklow and I have to say I’m missing all the animals so much. I’m missing my family. It’s sort of all connected, family and animals.’
‘That’s the way it should be,’ Pearl said. ‘When I was bringing my girls up, the animals were a huge part of it.’ It seemed as if she was about to say more but then she stopped herself. ‘So Phoebe, what has you out and about so bright and early this morning? Would you like a quick cup of tea or some lemonade? I have a lovely nine-year-old little poppet coming over later today and I’ve got home-made lemonade ready for her.’
‘That sounds fabulous,’ said Phoebe. ‘My mother used to make that years ago but she doesn’t really have time now.’
‘Come on in,’ said Pearl decisively.
The three of them went inside and Phoebe looked around in delight, marvelling that a house, which was basically the same in structure as Mrs Costello’s, could have such a different atmosphere. This place was alight with beautiful blues and whites, with pretty coloured pictures, scenes of lovely places on the walls, sculptures and artwork, plump couches and lovely crocheted throws – one all white with periwinkle and turquoise accents.
‘Come on into the kitchen,’ said Pearl. ‘Let’s not stand on ceremony here. Besides, I’ve some biscuits just out of the oven and Daisy can smell them. She will abandon you, I’m afraid, for the biscuits. Cupboard love rules Daisy’s heart.’
Phoebe giggled. ‘Our dog Prince is a bit like that,’ she said. ‘He is a sweetie. Not terribly clever but very kind and entirely ruled by his belly.’
‘It’s the same here,’ said Pearl. ‘I have to be very careful with Daisy, though, because inside every normal-sized pug is a really fat pug dying to get out, and they have breathing issues because they’ve such flat faces and small noses that it’s doubly wrong to let them get fat.’
The kitchen was just the same as the
rest of the downstairs: bright, airy and looking out on to a verandah and the most glorious garden Phoebe had ever seen.
‘How beautiful,’ she said.
‘It’s my hobby,’ Pearl explained. ‘I spend a lot of time out here now. I love gardening but it has to be said, digging up weeds is great for stopping you worrying.’
‘I understand,’ said Phoebe. ‘We have ducks and hens at home, and cleaning out their sheds is not the most glorious job in the world, but it does take your mind off other things.’
‘Now,’ said Pearl, ‘given my advanced age, I am allowed to be a nosy neighbour and ask you what has you in Dublin and, more importantly, what has you living with Rita Costello? I was always afraid that she boiled and ate her lodgers.’
Phoebe, who had just taken a sip of some glorious homemade lemonade, almost spat it out. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said, giggling. ‘I think it might be true. I’m slightly convinced that she stands outside my door and presses a glass up against it to hear what I’m doing. She warned me against parties with such intent, I think she’s either had dreadful experiences with students or else I think she doesn’t like us very much.’
‘Rita doesn’t like anyone very much,’ Pearl said drily. ‘I think there should be some sort of bad-tempered landlady register because she would certainly be on it. Why on earth did you move in with her?‘
‘I was desperate, her son showed me around the place, and I thought I could change the paint a little bit to make it nicer,’ Phoebe admitted. ‘My room is at the front, which is nice, but it’s a dreadful green. And I definitely wouldn’t have moved in if I’d met her because she’s a bit scary. But I’m stuck now. She has my deposit and woe betide me if I break so much as a cup.’
‘Darling,’ said Pearl, ‘no matter what you do, even if you leave that place spotless afterwards and get an entirely accurate version of the Sistine Chapel painted on the ceiling, you will not be getting your deposit back. Rita is renowned for it. There are lots of nice people around here who’d like to take in a lodger, would take much better care of you, and probably wouldn’t charge as much.’ Suddenly Pearl’s eyes gleamed. ‘I have the most perfect idea,’ she said. ‘My friend Gloria lives four houses down from here. You’ve probably seen it, the house with the white roses – she loves her white roses, Gloria. Her husband has been in a home for some time and she’s terribly lonely. You could live with her. What a wonderful idea!’