Anyone for Me?

by Fiona Cassidy

  “Ten euros says she’s not.”

  I nearly ran away. They were all obviously barking mad around here. It was a means to an end, though, I told myself sternly.

  “Or she could be hoping to bump into a crowd of smokers who might give her some directions,” I said as I stopped nervously beside where they were congregated.

  “I wish I’d bet on her not being foreign now,” one of the men said in a disgruntled fashion, snapping his fingers as he did.

  “You could argue that point,” another one said, taking a long draw of his cigarette. “She is a foreigner. Judging by that accent she isn’t from this side of the border.”

  The man who had made the bet on me ‘being a foreigner’ (seriously?) began to grin in delight whilst I tapped my foot in impatience. I’d heard of sleepy seaside towns before but this was feckin ridiculous.

  “You were saying you were lost,” one of the men said. He hadn’t spoken before and had instead hung back in the shadows.

  “Yes, I was visiting a friend and want to go back to my mother’s house now but I took a wrong turn. How do I get back to Smugglers’ Bay from here?”

  Three sets of thumb-jabs later and an argument about what mountain road not to take and I was glad that my apparent lack of knowledge about the roads in the area was pretence or else I’d have been well and truly goosed and totally bloody lost.

  “Do you know the Delaneys?” I asked, suddenly fearing that if I didn’t change the conversation there could be fisticuffs over who was right and who owed who ten euros in bet money.

  There was silence as one of the men pulled me by the arm around to the side of the establishment where a broken sign told me that I couldn’t have planned it any better if I had tried, as the pub I had stopped at was called ‘Delaney’s Tavern’.

  “This place used to be owned by the Delaneys but the family decided to give it up around ten years ago. The last owner sold up and moved abroad, I hear. It was always such a well-known spot though that the name stuck. It’s like an old institution around here. They have live folk music and musicians gather here from all over Ireland for sessions at certain times of the year.”

  My heart nearly stopped as I stared open-mouthed at the sign. Talk about walking on the graves of your ancestors.

  Chapter 16

  I took a deep breath before entering the pub by a side door. It smelt fusty and was badly in need of a good airing. Clearly it was a pub for old men and dogs as the current clientele indicated. A row of barstools was occupied by men of various ages whilst a sheepdog and a small terrier both lay snoring contentedly in front of the fire. I sniffed the air appreciatively as I inhaled the smell of turf smoke. Even though it was the month of June it could still be cold at night and the fire was warm and welcoming.

  “You look cold. Would you like a drink?” the Shadows Man asked.

  “I suppose one wouldn’t do any harm,” I said.

  “Get her a brandy,” the man instructed the young lad behind the bar, “and make it a big one.”

  I held up my hand to protest but then changed my mind as every eye in the place seemed to be on me. Obviously men and their canine friends drank here regularly but females clearly didn’t.

  “You were asking about the Delaneys.”

  It was more of a statement than a question and I was glad that my newly acquired drink-buying buddy wasn’t putting me on the spot as to why I wanted to know, as I had a feeling that it could turn into something of an interrogation.

  “My mum and dad used to know them years ago,” I lied. “I can’t remember any names but always remembered that they were from Mulroy Cove.”

  “Let me put it to you this way,” the man said, taking a swig of his pint. “The Delaneys are famous around these parts. They’re very wealthy and well connected around here. This place is full of their history.”

  “Really?” I asked. I knew that my voice held a noticeable intonation of surprise but I couldn’t help it. I was expecting to be told many things but not that my mother was from an apparently upstanding family in the community. Perhaps she was the black sheep.

  “Oh yes. Their father was a big businessman although it was a shame that their mother died so young.”

  “And their grandfather and great-grandfather were famous for making the best poteen in the country,” a man at the bar commented in a slurred voice (he looked like he’d had a swig or two of it quite recently).

  “I suppose that explains the pub then,” I said.

  “There was a big connection of them. A typical Irish family of the time with fourteen children. Most of them moved out of the area, but one of the boys married and stayed in the village and raised a large family here – though a lot of them have moved away now.”

  “There’s still one of them lives locally though,” one of the bar patrons offered.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Who would that be?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “One of the men, I think. The girls have all gone their separate ways. There was a big row amongst the family years ago, y’see. Something to do with land or money or something and it split them down the middle. It’s a shame as their mother was a lovely woman.”

  “She was that,” a few of the men agreed.

  “And you don’t know where any of the girls are now?” I asked.

  “I thought you only knew of them through your mother and father,” one of the men said almost accusingly. “You’re asking an awful lot of questions.”

  “The only reason I’m asking is because I know that my mum and dad were very sad to lose contact with them and I’d love to be able to give them some information when I get home.” I took a deep breath and wondered if they could hear my heart beating or was it just me who could hear it thumping in my ears. “You don’t know what became of Georgina, do you?”

  The men exchanged glances and raised eyebrows.

  “She was the youngest one who left before the others, wasn’t she?” one of the men said. “She was a bit of a wild thing by all accounts. God alone knows where she’s at now.”

  “Or what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with,” another man answered whilst laughing lewdly.

  I felt sick but still wanted to kick his head in for being insulting. I wished I had stayed in my bed as opposed to coming out in the rain just to hear my worst fears confirmed.

  “Then there was the elder sister,” they said, continuing to talk around me, totally unaware of the impact their words were having.

  “Can’t remember her name but she was a bitch. An evil, manipulative, poisonous cow if ever there was one. What was her name? Mary? No, that’s not it. Maura? No, that’s not it either.”

  “Marcella Delaney,” another voice said. “That was her. Sour-faced battleaxe. She used to have the younger ones demented.”

  “Yeah – and then she went from tormenting them to that poor husband of hers who must need an award for bravery at this stage.”

  They all laughed while I simply felt dead inside. I wished I hadn’t come out. Why hadn’t I listened to my mother?

  “Thanks for your information, folks,” I said. “It’s been good chatting with you all.”

  “If we happen to see any of the Delaneys, who should we say was asking after them?” the man who had bought me the drink asked.

  “Nobody,” I said quietly. “I’m nobody at all.”

  When I got back to the cottage I could see that the lights were on and Mammy and Luke had come home. They weren’t on their own, however, as I could see another figure through the kitchen window. My heart sank. I wasn’t expecting to see Robbie and was in no mood to deal with him either. He saw me as a loud-mouthed troublemaker whose poor mother didn’t have her sorrows to seek. Well, I thought that he was a patronising permanently grimfaced old codger who didn’t have the first clue about me or what I was going through.

  “So you’re back then?” Mammy said, looking annoyed (even though they were the ones who had abandoned me in the first place).

&nb
sp; “I went out for a spin,” I said defensively.

  “In the rain,” the three of them said at once as if I had broken a law and the guards were about to swoop in and charge me with venturing out in unsuitable weather.

  “It’s allowed as far as I’m aware,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Let her be,” Mammy said gruffly (not so much in my defence but more because she apparently couldn’t be arsed talking to me).

  Luke seemed very concerned and came over and put his arm around me and, instead of shrugging him off like I might have done in different circumstances, I felt the need to be close to him. I needed to know that somebody loved me and I wasn’t quite as worthless as I felt right there and then.

  He seemed to sense my unrest and tried to look directly into my face but I wouldn’t let him. If the rumour was true and the eyes were the window to the soul, then he might see just how messed up my head was (more messed up than usual, that is) and I didn’t want that.

  “I’m grand, honestly. I just needed to get out for a while, that’s all. I’ve a lot on my mind at the minute.”

  “Harrumph! Haven’t we all?” Mammy muttered helpfully before walking in the direction of the cloakroom to put away the coats.

  “Go on to bed, Luke,” I said. “I’ll follow you shortly. I’m just going to get a hot drink.”

  When I turned round I discovered that the hot drink had been made for me. Robbie handed me a mug, looked furtively around him and then produced a hip flask which I deduced must be filled with something potent and expensive, judging by the reverent way he was handling it and measuring out a precise amount.

  “Thanks,” I said, a little surprised that he was being nice to me. I didn’t think Robbie ‘did’ nice so to speak. Grumpy and bushy eye-browed seemed more his style. I sipped the drink . . . mmmm . . . it was brandy.

  “I’m just waiting for your mother to give me something for Donal,” he said, which explained his presence there. “Get that into you and you’ll feel better. It always helped me when I needed to think after Martha died. You only need to have the one, mind. No point in getting hooked on it and creating more problems.”

  I looked into his face and, even though I knew that his wife had been dead for a substantial amount of time, I could still see the hurt in his eyes and if his heart had been visible I’ve no doubt that it would have been encased in thorns and bleeding. (I was in a very philosophical zone.)

  “Don’t look so surprised, young lady,” he said sternly.

  “I’m not. I always knew you were capable of making a good cup of tea,” I answered cheekily.

  He nearly smiled before lifting his coat and putting it on him. Mammy came back at that stage and handed him a set of keys.

  “Give Donal those and tell him I think they’re the right ones,” she instructed.

  “I will,” he said and then bade us good night.

  I looked after him and, although I still thought he was a puke and that his son would never in a million years replace my father, I saw him in a new light.

  Chapter 17

  Mammy was thoroughly enjoying herself. We had got up early the following morning and as a result got a good parking space and a first look at what was on offer at the Smugglers’ Market.

  “Shopping here is a pleasure,” she sighed. “No queues or crying children or noisy intercom announcements every five seconds.”

  There were definitely no queues or announcements. They had a very simple means of running their enterprise. They wrote what was available on a chalkboard, collected their money in old biscuit tins and bum-bags and threw in a bag of potatoes with every joint of meat purchased. The marketers seemed to have a silent agreement with their customers. The locals gave them their trade, pointed newcomers in their direction and they in turn looked after them all year round, Christmas and Easter included, when the large grocery chains were filled with frazzled women who would happily start a petrol-bomb riot over the last turkey.

  “Hello, my love!” a man hosting a butchery display shouted at Mammy. Dressed in a shirt and waistcoat with a tweed cap slung over one eye, he looked every inch the country gentleman. He had a moustache and weather-beaten skin which was indicative of the amount of time he spent in the fresh air. “Come on up to me, what can I get you?” he said, ignoring the woman in front of him who had her mouth open to give him her order.

  “I’ll have a large sirloin roast, Sammy,” Mammy said.

  “I’ll give you the best cut I have.”

  “Good man,” she said as we watched him select a particularly generous amount of meat without weighing it.

  “How are you, Isobel? I’m hearing great reports about that wee shop of yours.”

  Mammy glowed with pleasure. “It’s going well. I’m trying out a few new recipes so you’ll have to drop by and sample them and let me know what you think.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile, suddenly aware that she was the focal point of particularly mutinous stares from the others in the queue. “Thanks. I must go and have a look around.”

  “You do that, my love. Make sure you visit all the stalls. There’s a soup stall and a herbalist over there.” Sammy pointed to where they were situated.

  “Mmm,” Mammy murmured. “I think I’ll go and see the herbalist. I know someone who could be doing with a pick-me-up.”

  I suddenly realised that I was the one who apparently needed to be picked up and attempted to walk in the opposite direction.

  “You’re coming with me,” Mammy said as she grabbed me in a vicelike grip and steered me towards a stall being manned by a woman wearing a gypsy shawl.

  “Will you stop manhandling me and quit being such an outrageous flirt,” I said grumpily.

  “I am not flirting,” she said.

  “Yeah, you were. Batting your eyelids at that butcher, inviting him to sample your wares and seducing him into giving you the biggest cuts of meat. I’m going to have to start keeping a closer eye on you, Mother!” (And I was only half joking.)

  “Can I get a tonic for my daughter, please? I think she’s run down. She’s very grumpy and tired as well. Went to bed at six o’clock yesterday evening intending to sleep, couldn’t sleep and then gallivanted round the country in the rain – going for a spin apparently. Is that normal?”

  I could feel the vein above my eye starting to twitch and roughly pulled my mother off me. “That has more to do with the rest of you than it has to do with me,” I snapped.

  “And she blames her bad temper on everyone else,” Mammy said as if this was symptomatic of some terrible ailment that could be cured by popping a few herbal tablets.

  “You could try some of this,” the herbalist said, shoving a pestle and mortar which was filled with green goo and smelled revolting under my nose. “It’s particularly good for enhancing the mood. Very uplifting,” she added solemnly.

  “Just while I’m here,” my mother said, squinting at the bottles in front of her. “I don’t suppose you have any magic tablets that would help me lose weight, do you?”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” the woman answered, obviously seeing euro signs and preparing to do a hard sales pitch on my gullible mother who would probably buy fourteen different types of tablets and potions to clutter her already bulging kitchen cabinet.

  I waved my hands and moved away from them. “If it’s all the same to both of you, I’ll uplift my mood in my own way.”

  “It’s me,” I said as Frankie answered the phone.

  “Well, praise the lord,” she said in a short, sarcastic tone which was followed by silence.

  Shit. She was more upset than I thought she’d be.

  “Frankie, I’m ringing to apologise for my behaviour. I should have realised that Luke was only trying to help. I just got a shock, that’s all.”

  “Which obviously meant that you had to run off to your mother’s without so much as letting the rest of us know that you were alive and well. Poor Luke was distraught. He didn’t know where you were and whether or not you
were okay. Talk about being ungrateful! Any other girl would have been thrilled to be handed a wedding planner on a plate but oh no . . . not you! You have to overreact like somebody that needs to be locked up for their own safety as well as that of everybody around them.” The last bit was shouted in a high-pitched tone and in the manner of an irate Frankie Howerd.

  I may have been wrong but my clever powers of deduction told me that she was a little teeny-weeny bit pissed off with me. Or maybe a big bit actually.

  “Frankie, I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just flipped and felt I had to get away from it all. In my own head I wasn’t thinking about the rest of you or how my actions would make you feel.”

  “No, you were just thinking about yourself, Ruby Ross,” Frankie snapped, “which is most unlike you as you are the kindest, most generous person I know – which tells me that you must be very muddled indeed.”

  “Am I forgiven?” I wheedled. “I’ll baby-sit for you every day for the next month.”

  “That’s not a proper punishment,” she answered curtly. “You’d enjoy that too much. You should be made to wear a dress and high heels and bright pink lipstick for the next month. That would put manners on you!”

  I couldn’t help giggling at this and immediately my shoulders, which had been hunched in tension, sagged and my breathing steadied. Frankie had every right to be angry with me and I would die without her friendship which meant the world to me.

  “As part of your punishment you must raise your right hand and repeat these words after me,” Frankie said sternly. “Get that hand up now!” she barked. “I, Ruby Ross . . .”

  “I, Ruby Ross,” I repeated in a bemused fashion.

  “Will start looking forward to my wedding.”

  “Will start looking forward to my wedding,” I mumbled.

  “I will stop being a pessimist and realise that this will be one of the most special days in my life.”

  I repeated it after her, feeling ashamed of my silly attitude.

  “I want to remember it with fondness in years to come and will allow my friends and wedding planner to guide me.”