The Summer Guest

by Emma Hannigan

  ‘Would you mind if we pop by my old house first?’ Kathleen asked. ‘I’ve written to the owners asking if I might call some day. Do you think they’d allow me?’

  ‘I’m sure they would. A lovely lady like yourself. Why not, eh?’ he said cheerfully. ‘There’s no harm in asking, I’d say.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. The address is number three Cashel Square, Caracove,’ she instructed.

  ‘No bother, love,’ said the driver. ‘It’s literally five minutes away.’

  Suddenly Kathleen was quite overcome with emotion. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. After all this time she was going to see her childhood home again. She wished Jackson were there to share the moment.

  ‘Here we are, Cashel Square.’

  As the driver turned the cab into the left, the park, with its white-painted iron railings, came into view. Kathleen gasped as they pulled up outside number three. ‘Wow! It looks better than I remember,’ she managed, her voice quite choked.

  ‘The owners have spent a few bob on it, I’d say.’

  ‘It certainly looks well loved,’ she agreed. ‘Could you give me a moment?’

  ‘Take all the time you want, love,’ the driver said, turning off the engine.

  Kathleen released her seatbelt and eased herself out of the car. She was stiff from all the travelling. Inhaling deeply, she was holding back tears.

  The once black door was now a cheerful shade of cornflower blue. The brass fixings were polished to a gleaming shine, and the woodwork around the window frames was flawless.

  Wooden boxes were filled to spilling point with delicate blooms in varied shades of pink. The railings were expertly painted without a sign of rust. The granite steps were scrubbed, showing none of the dirt she remembered from her childhood. Memories of days at the beach, trips to the town and cold winter winds echoed through the corridors of her mind.

  Afraid she’d get caught snooping and ruin her chance of being allowed inside, Kathleen pulled the letter she’d written on the plane from her handbag. Under her signature, she added the name of the hotel she was planning to stay at and popped it into the iron post-box attached to the gate. Saying a quick prayer, she hoped with all her heart that the owners would be welcoming.

  ‘Is that it?’ the driver asked, looking surprised. ‘I thought I’d have time for a quick nod-off.’

  ‘I don’t want to appear too pushy,’ she said. ‘I’m terrified of being told to go away.’

  ‘If they’re any way decent, the owners will invite you in,’ he assured her.

  Kathleen stared at the square as they drove around the park and out the other side. She rattled her brain to remember the neighbours’ names. ‘Mrs Caddy lived in number eight,’ she recalled. ‘She hated children and we called her Mrs Crabby behind her back.’

  ‘We all knew someone like that as children!’ The driver laughed. ‘You’d wonder why they were so cranky. I’d never bark at a small child now that I’m an adult, would you?’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t,’ she agreed. Although she was reluctant to leave Cashel Square, Kathleen was truly worn out. Jet lag and exhaustion crept over her, making her eyes burn and her limbs long to stretch out.

  Mercifully the Caracove Arms had a room available. True to his word, the driver spoke to his friend and made sure she was welcomed with open arms.

  ‘Thank you for being so lovely,’ Kathleen said, handing him the fare with a generous tip.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine. Great to meet you and I hope you have a fantastic stay.’

  Not up to facing a table for one, Kathleen ordered a portion of Irish stew and a glass of cold milk to be served in her room. She managed to stay awake long enough for the meal to be delivered. The lamb was cooked to perfection. Knowing she shouldn’t give in to sleep until that evening if she were to overcome the jet lag, she perched in an armchair and tried to watch the television. She toyed with the idea of turning her cell phone off and decided against it on the off-chance that her letter might prompt a response. Before long her head slumped forward as sleep enveloped her.

  Dear Diary

  I’ve been having – hash-tag – THE worst time. I know it’s her job but my Mum is like so so so so *multiplied by a trillion times* ANNOYING.

  All she cares about is study. She’s acting as if my exams are more important than world hunger.

  These exams are a total waste of space. They’re not my school-leaving ones, just lame end-of-year joke stuff. The real deal is a whole year away. I keep pointing this out to my mother but she’s on this mega-rant and once she gets started it’s blah, blah and triple blah. They’re totally meh, which roughly translates as who gives a toss?

  At times like this, I wish I had a brother or sister to take the heat off. At least if there was someone else in the house I could sound off at them.

  (a) That would mean I didn’t have to write this diary.

  (b) I could blame him/her for everything.

  It’s not all bad news, however. In spite of my mother I’m managing to distract myself in these times of stress. I’ve met this guy. He’s called Elton (named after his mum’s fave singer – he can totally handle it) and I can safely say he is a total mint-bomb.

  When I first met him I thought he was a bit out there. You know the type, bit of a deep thinker and comes out with loads of random stuff that makes you, like, huh? But once you get to know him, he’s just the bomb.

  He says we connected. I totally feel it too.

  There’s one slight hitch in heaven. He’s dating this girl Jenny. She’s in the year ahead of me in school and she’s totally wrapped up in him. She’s one of those foghorn types so the whole school knows she’s his GF.

  He says she was fun for a while but she’s been buried in books for weeks and refuses to go out. He’s so over her.

  I feel bad that he’s dumping her for me. But all’s fair in love and war, right?!

  I’d say she’s going to be devastated. I mean, I would be if he was dumping me. But Elton says there’s no time to stand and stare in this life, we’ve got to roll with the punches.

  We kissed last night. Elton ended up with my chewing gum in his mouth. He pulled his hand through his hair, said, ‘Thanks for the gum, doll,’ and walked off. Slick.

  He’s texting me when the deed is done and we’re hooking up.

  I was going to wear my cropped Abercrombie trakkie bottoms with a tight vest. But I’m not sure Elton is a labels type of guy. He’s not grungy but he’s all about saving the whale and world peace and carbon footprints. So he may not appreciate me rocking up in gear festooned with names. He had a rant at one of the guys about his DKNY shirt. Said it’s free advertising on behalf of the label. I never thought of it like that. Elton’s so deep.

  Other proposed outfit is yellow baby-doll dress with All Stars. Guys go for the super-cute look, don’t they? Even if he’s saving the planet he’d prefer to do it with a good-looking girlfriend, surely. I found a fiver in Mum’s raincoat pocket yesterday. As it was left there I figured she wouldn’t need it so I’m going to buy fake tan. I’ll be rocking the mahogany look.

  Tomorrow is going to be über-sick. #excited

  Later

  Amélie

  Chapter 3

  Things had become increasingly strained between Lexie and her mother of late. They’d never had a huge amount in common, but Penelope seemed to have fixated on her daughter’s approaching milestone birthday, a concept that was beyond Lexie. She’d always been a daddy’s girl, which she knew was part of the problem. Any time Lexie thought of her father, an involuntary smile spread across her face.

  Reggie was a man with old-fashioned values who treated his wife like a lady and his daughter was most certainly a princess in his eyes. He’d helped her turn her life around after the accident and she’d never forget that.

  She arrived at the gallery at the same time as her first appointment.

  ‘Lexie, great to see you,’ the lady said, as they air-kissed. ‘You’re looking
lovely as usual.’

  ‘Thank you, Jess,’ Lexie said, slipping straight into work mode. ‘White linen dresses always mix beautifully with sunshine, don’t they? I’ve always thought Ireland is the most amazing place to be when the weather is fine.’

  ‘Too true,’ Jess agreed.

  ‘I’m dying to see your new ceramic piece. I’ve made a space for it over here,’ Lexie said, as she unlocked the shutters and led the way. ‘My clients are just loving your style. I’m so thrilled. I just knew you had an edge and your work’s quality is striking.’

  The rest of the morning flew, as Lexie dealt with a string of customers. Her gallery sold everything from handmade trinkets to larger, more expensive canvases and sculptures. Since the day she’d first opened the doors, her wish had been to bring art to as many people as possible. ‘I don’t want a stuffy place where fuddy-duddies shuffle around speaking in hushed tones, stroking their chins and pontificating in words that sound like they’ve just made them up,’ she had said to Sam. ‘I want a vibrant, bright space that’s bursting with colour and loads of varied talent. I want the whole of Ireland to fall in love with art!’

  By lunchtime, her tummy was grumbling and she was glad she’d arranged to meet her mother. Lexie had an awful habit of forgetting to eat and ending up with a migraine. Kate, her assistant of ten years, appeared. ‘I’m delighted to say it’s actually hot out there!’ she said.

  ‘Yup, real exam weather, isn’t it?’ said Lexie.

  ‘For sure. Aren’t you delighted you’re not heading into an exam hall for the next few weeks?’

  ‘Totally,’ Lexie agreed. ‘I’m going to shoot off, but if it gets too busy, just call me, okay?’

  ‘No worries,’ Kate said, and greeted a customer.

  Lexie was just going out of the door when a gaggle of teenaged girls landed. Dressed identically in skimpy denim shorts, little strappy tops, zippy hoodies and stack-heeled trainers, they might have been mistaken for a girly pop group. ‘Hey, girls! Hi, Amélie,’ she said, kissing her niece first, then the others.

  ‘What ya up to?’ Amélie asked.

  ‘I’m meeting Grandma for lunch. Want to come?’ Lexie marvelled at the girl’s long skinny legs, tiny waist and neat figure. As a tot she’d been a dead ringer for the young Shirley Temple. She still had the bouncy blonde curls, but she’d matured, seemingly overnight, into a stunningly pretty young woman.

  ‘Oops, can’t, soz,’ she said, flicking her long hair over one shoulder. She held out a hand, brandishing multi-coloured nails. ‘Like?’ Amélie asked.

  ‘Love,’ oozed Lexie. ‘How many nail polishes did you buy?’

  ‘Uh, none!’ Amélie giggled. All her friends giggled too and showed their similar nails. ‘We did our usual – went into the chemist and tried all the testers!’

  ‘God,’ Lexie said. ‘I’d say they love seeing you lot coming.’

  ‘Any chance you could lend me some cash, Auntie Lex?’ Amélie asked.

  ‘Where did you get those lashes?’ Lexie wondered.

  ‘The Make Up Store. We all got them, see?’ she said.

  Lexie gazed from one girl to the next and tried not to wince. The lashes were long and tapered to give a cat’s eye effect and Lexie knew she’d manage to wear them for about two minutes before her eyes were streaming and bloodshot. That was a sure sign she was getting old: she decided not to comment any further.

  ‘Well, you’re all divine!’ she said cheerfully. ‘What’s the money for?’

  ‘Ice-creams down at the prom,’ Amélie said immediately. ‘It’s, like boiling out there.’

  ‘Truthfully? That’s what you’re doing with the money?’

  ‘Straight up!’ she said, holding her hands up.

  Lexie pulled ten euro from her purse.

  ‘Thanks, Lexie. Give my love to Grandma,’ Amélie said, and waved to her aunt.

  Lexie waved back and walked briskly to the seafront where she’d arranged to meet her mother. She dialled her father’s number. She usually rang him first thing, but her mother’s call had diverted that habit for today.

  It went to voicemail so she left a message saying she’d call him later.

  Penelope was sitting outside one of the sea-view restaurants under a red-and-white-striped awning. ‘Hello, love,’ her mother said, standing to hug her. ‘You look pretty. I love the lilac nail polish. It lifts all that billowing white.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, you look lovely as always,’ she said, choosing to ignore the backhanded compliment. Her mother was immaculately dressed in classically cut clothes. She didn’t do frills and never looked untidy. Today she wore cropped navy trousers with a striped polo shirt and a cashmere sweater tossed over her shoulders. Her bobbed chestnut hair shone healthily and her matching pearl stud earrings and necklace complemented her olive-toned skin. While the conservative look suited her, it wasn’t Lexie’s style, which had caused another bone of contention between the women.

  ‘You’re a little late, as usual, so I decided to grab a table,’ Penelope said.

  ‘Sorry. I bumped into Amélie and her friends. They’re going off for ice-creams,’ Lexie said.

  ‘She should be at home with her nose stuck in a book, not gallivanting around eating rubbish.’

  Lexie didn’t reply. When her mother got into one of her moods she was unbearable. Lexie had learned many years ago not to fuel any arguments.

  ‘At least she’s bothered to annoy you,’ Maia used to say. ‘My mother treats Josh and me like an irritation she doesn’t have time for.’

  ‘You’re welcome to my mother’s wrath any day,’ Lexie would reply.

  Lexie fixed a smile on her face and decided she wasn’t going to let Penelope annoy her.

  ‘Are you okay to sit out here or would you rather go in?’ Penelope asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely to get some air and it would be sinful to sit indoors when the sun’s shining! God only knows when it’ll come out again.’ Lexie reached over and poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. ‘How’s Dad?’ she asked. ‘I just tried his mobile but it went straight to voicemail.’

  ‘He’s golfing today but he sends his love. How’s Sam? Working hard?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. He’s running like a good little hamster on his wheel, generating plenty of cash to keep his little wifey in Chanel necklaces,’ she quipped.

  ‘I can’t help being slightly old-fashioned, Lexie,’ Penelope said. ‘I happen to think it’s important that Sam looks after you. You’ll always be my little girl, no matter how old you are.’

  ‘I know, Mum,’ Lexie said. She smiled because she knew she ought to, but her mother’s attitude made her blood boil. Penelope didn’t seem to realise she wasn’t and never had been a kept woman.

  ‘Speaking of age, Dad and I would love to host a fortieth-birthday party for you at the yacht club. They seat a hundred and twenty and they’ll do it beautifully, as you know from previous events we’ve had there. We can all invite friends. It’d be gorgeous. September is usually the warmest month in Ireland. We might even manage drinks out on the veranda. What do you say?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mum. Thanks all the same, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything flamboyant. Forty’s just another number to me. I don’t get the big hoo-ha with it.’

  ‘Well, it is a significant age, darling, whether you choose to get it or not. Lord knows, I’d had you and your brother by your age. But ladies leave it longer to start families these days, don’t they?’

  The words hung in the air as Penelope leaned forward ever so slightly. The move was minuscule but Lexie clocked it. ‘Mum, leave it, please.’

  ‘But I must say these things. Nobody else will. Besides, look at Maia’s situation. That poor little boy.’

  ‘Mum!’ Lexie said, almost shouting despite her attempt to remain calm. ‘If Maia heard you referring to Calvin as “that poor little boy” she’d quite rightly have a meltdown.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to insult him and you know it.’ Penelope sn
iffed. ‘But it’s not easy having a child with Down’s syndrome. The risks of it happening increase with age.’ She shifted in her chair. ‘I’d never say anything cruel about Calvin. I’m offended you think I would.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Lexie said, gripping the side of her chair. ‘Anyway, I know what you’re doing. I told you the last time we saw each other that the baby issue isn’t open for discussion. If and when Sam and I decide to start a family, you’ll be the first to know. Please don’t harp on at me every time we meet. I don’t want tension between us and I don’t appreciate being cross-examined. It’s my life and I’m entitled to make my own decisions. Can we drop it, please? I’m starving.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Lexie’s jaw flexed as she took a deep breath. Her mother was giving her that look again. Acting as if she’d been mortally wounded. Penelope was like a dog with a bone. It was as if the impending birthday had triggered a switch in her and turned her into some sort of biological-clock mistress on behalf of Mother Nature. And using sweet little Calvin as a cannon ball to fuel her debate was a low blow. Lexie knew better than anyone that there were struggles in raising a child with special needs. Maia had experienced every emotion known to woman when Calvin came along, but she and Josh were doing brilliantly now, as was Calvin. Penelope had no right to bring him into things.

  Conversation during lunch was strained. Clearly her mother had come to meet her with a specific agenda in mind and Lexie’s outburst had well and truly scuppered it.

  ‘If you’re in the mood for a party, why don’t you and Dad have one?’ Lexie suggested hopefully.

  ‘And what would we celebrate?’ Penelope asked.

  ‘I don’t know – do you need a reason? If you want a party, have one. Call it a full-moon party. They’re all the rage in Asia. Renew your wedding vows – some people love that idea. Sure you and Dad are in a minority, still married after all these years. I’m sure your friends would be delighted to come and raise a glass of bubbly with you beside the boats.’

  ‘We just thought it might be a nice offer for you. Forget I said anything.’ Penelope looked down at the table.