The Tavern on Maple Street

by Sharon Owens

  ‘That's okay, Bridget. These things happen. And besides, their loss is our gain,’ Lily finished brightly. ‘I hope you'll accept a full-time position here?’

  ‘I'd be delighted to, Mrs Beaumont. Thank you very much indeed.’

  ‘Excellent. So, let's talk money?’

  ‘Money? Well, I'm looking for somewhere to live at the moment, as my boyfriend and I have just split up and we lived together in his apartment. So I'll need a fairly decent wage, I'm afraid. Hopefully, enough to rent a little bolt hole of my own?’

  Lily was jolted out of her happy mood for a moment when she heard that. She'd been hoping to get away with paying the girls the absolute minimum but she hadn't been thinking of them as real people with real lives. Poor Bridget was homeless and jobless and loveless, and still she was cheerful and chatty. And wearing full make-up and high heels. What an inspiration she was to wronged women everywhere. Lily was full of admiration for her. Then Bridget dropped her accommodation bombshell.

  ‘I don't suppose there's a room going here?’ she asked. She rubbed her arms gently and shivered a little.

  ‘No, I'm afraid there isn't,’ said Lily sadly, wishing with all her might that there was a cutesy comfy spare room she could offer the little waif. She had visions of herself buying a patchwork quilt in Henry's department store for Bridget, and a pair of velvet slippers to keep her fairy-feet warm at night.

  ‘How many bedrooms upstairs?’ asked Bridget casually. ‘Just out of interest? It looks big enough to have several bedrooms.’

  ‘Just the one, I'm afraid. Up on the second floor. Which used to be the storeroom, in the old days. My husband and I live above the pub so we use it as a bedroom now. There's a very large sitting room on the first floor, that used to be the dining room, but that's no use to you.’

  ‘Never mind. I'll get a bedsit in the student quarter,’ Bridget said, with infinite sadness in her big, blue eyes. She hated living in student digs. It was always impossible to dry laundry in the cold, damp rooms of period properties. But modern apartments in the professional district cost several hundred pounds a month to rent. Bridget looked at her watch as if considering other important appointments.

  ‘So, Bridget,’ said Lily gently. ‘Full-time hours? Starting right away? Tomorrow, if that's okay?’ She named a salary.

  ‘That's great, Mrs Beaumont.’ Bridget sighed softly. ‘I suppose it will keep body and soul together.’

  ‘Good. Now, there's just one more point we need to discuss. I'm planning to serve hot food and I thought you could help me? Can you cook?’

  ‘I don't do food,’ said Bridget quickly, gathering up her coat and handbag. ‘I find some publicans take advantage where the catering is concerned.’

  If only you knew, thought Lily, with a sensation she identified as guilt welling up in her chest. She was planning a sixteen-hours-a-day regime for all of them.

  ‘In my last place, you see, even before the phone-calls incident, I was rushed off my feet,’ explained Bridget quickly. ‘Frying chips, making fancy open sandwiches, pulling pints and clearing tables all at the same time. And we got no lunch break either, if the part-timers didn't turn up. So, you'll understand if I don't want to get caught like that again.’ Besides, the steam from the fryer had played havoc with her ringlets.

  ‘That's okay,’ said Lily, in an artificially light voice. She was slightly put out by Bridget's sudden personality-change. But she didn't want to lose the chance of hiring a skilled barmaid. ‘It's agreed, then. There'll be no kitchen duty for you, Bridget. Please show in the next girl, and leave your details with me before you go.’

  ‘Will do.’ Bridget got up to leave. ‘Pity about the room. It's nice here. Cosy and warm.’

  ‘Can you not go back to your family for a while until you find something more permanent? I'm sure they'd be thrilled to have you home for Christmas.’

  Bridget sat down again.

  ‘Mum and me don't really get along, Mrs Beaumont, to be brutally frank. My mother looks down on me, I'm afraid, because I'm only a humble barmaid. And Daddy always takes her side. That's the God's honest truth.’ Bridget lowered her gaze to the floor, suddenly consumed with shame and embarrassment.

  ‘I see,’ said Lily, sympathetically. Her own mother had almost driven them all insane with her constant complaining when Lily lost her precious place at the Art College. She just hadn't understood that Lily was so deeply in love, her education hadn't mattered to her any more.

  ‘Does your mother have a fabulous career herself?’ Lily couldn't help asking.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ said Bridget, in an awe-filled whisper. ‘She's a shop assistant in Marks & Spencer's food hall. She's got her very own monogrammed body-warmer.’ Lily tried to turn her laughter into a cough. She forgot all about Bridget's reluctance to get her hands dirty in the kitchen.

  ‘Do you know, I've just had a brainwave,’ said Lily. ‘How would you feel about renting a room here in the tavern? On the condition that you work all Friday and Saturday nights over the holiday period?’

  ‘But you said there was no spare room.’

  ‘I'm going to convert the sitting room into a bedroom. I've just thought of it. You'll have a lovely big sofa and a brand new TV set all to yourself. How does that sound?’

  ‘Keep talking, Mrs Beaumont. I think I've died and gone to heaven. All my stuff is in carrier bags and it'll be ruined with damp if I don't get a place soon.’

  ‘Would seventy-five pounds a week rent be reasonable? Electricity included. We won't charge you for the odd phone call. Bathroom, you share with us. And, of course, you'll have to do your own laundry.’

  ‘You're a saint, Mrs Beaumont. An absolute saint. I'll take it.’

  ‘But you're welcome to share our meals and have as much coffee and toast as you like, naturally.’ Lily felt this would not be a dangerous offer to make. Bridget looked as if she ate less food than a sparrow.

  ‘Agreed. Oh, this is sheer bliss.’ Bridget wiped a tear of happiness and relief from her eyes.

  ‘Welcome, then, to our little ship.’ Lily was feeling very charitable. It was a terrific feeling to share your good fortune with other people. She wondered why they hadn't hired staff years before.

  ‘When can I move in?’

  ‘Right away, Bridget. You fetch your stuff and I'll send my husband out to buy a new bed.’

  ‘A brand new bed for me? Oh, joy! Can this day get any better?’

  Lily gave her new full-timer a spare key to the front door and shook her hand warmly.

  Bridget swept out of the tavern on a cloud of happiness.

  ‘Let Gerry Madden take a run and jump now,’ she laughed, as she hurried past the metal bins on Maple Street. ‘Him and his perfect crew cut and his fancy BMW. And his mouldy old mattress that he claims is a French antique. He'll be waiting for me to come crawling back to him tonight, begging him to let me into his so-called prestige apartment. And I'll be sitting pretty in Beaumont's in a brand new bed.’ She rooted for the shiny key of Gerry's apartment in her handbag, kissed it goodbye and threw it up in the air. It turned over three times, flashing in the sunlight. When it came down again, it landed on a drain cover, wobbled for a moment and then plopped through the grille into the dark water beneath.

  ‘It's a sign,’ she trilled. ‘A sign from above. It's a new beginning for me. A new job, a new home, a new bed! All I need now is a new man.’

  Back in the tavern, Jack was trying to take in what Lily was telling him. They were standing beside the grandfather clock, talking in whispers so the two remaining girls could not hear them. Jack was to go at once to the big furniture store at Sprucefield and purchase a single bed with a storage drawer underneath. Lily would buy some fashionable new sheets to go with it later on that evening.

  ‘What on earth would I want to do that for?’ he gasped. ‘We've got a bed already. A lovely big double bed.’

  ‘I'm renting out the sitting room to Bridget. I've given her a key already.’

  ‘What
? Bridget who?’

  Lily consulted her notes. ‘Bridget O'Malley.’

  ‘You didn't even remember her name, Lily!’ he exclaimed. ‘And you've given her a key to our home? What were you thinking of? She could have a criminal record.’

  ‘Will you keep your voice down? She's an experienced barmaid, Jack. She looks like an angel and she's so brave and she's been through hell recently. It's all arranged. The poor love was homeless and we're only a month away from Christmas Day. It would be cruel not to help her out.’

  ‘That's not our problem, Lily. She should go to the Housing Executive if she needs a home. There's no point taking her in here when we could be moving out ourselves.’

  ‘Jack, have you no compassion? It's only for a few weeks.’

  ‘She's a stranger, Lily. I don't want to share my home with a stranger for any length of time. This is all getting out of control.’ He sighed deeply and scratched his head.

  ‘She's lovely, Jack. Just wait till you get to know her.’

  ‘I don't want to sound like a wet blanket, love, but we'd be far better off enjoying what might be our last few weeks here in peace and quiet. In fact, maybe we should close the tavern down altogether and just rest up for when we move?’

  ‘Look, sweetheart, I've got it all worked out. If we beat the developers, we'll let the staff go and give Bridget notice to move out. Things will be just the same as they were before. If we lose, then at least we'll have made some extra money. Seventy-five a week rent, for maybe ten or twelve weeks? We can't lose.’

  ‘We know nothing whatsoever about this girl. If she's so wonderful, then why is she destitute? And where are we going to relax, in the evenings?’

  ‘We aren't going to relax, Jack. We're going to work our socks off. Right up to the bitter end.’

  ‘Oh, Lily.’

  ‘Now, off you go and get the bed. I've still got to interview Marie Smith and Trudy Valentine.’

  Jack reluctantly set off to hail a taxi outside the City Hall and felt as mean as Scrooge as the cheerful driver leapt out of his vehicle and opened the door of the cab for him. All around the city Christmas decorations were going up and the crowds were increasing steadily every day, scouring the shops for gifts and bargains. And here he was, grumbling about helping some poor girl who had nobody in the world to look after her. But he couldn't help thinking that their lives were about to become a lot more complicated.

  He'd thought it was too good to be true when four pretty girls appeared on the doorstep so promptly that day. Now, he knew it was because they were going to be trouble. The first one was a punk, for heaven's sake. With seven earrings in each ear, as well as the nose ring. And this Bridget was far too glamorous to be a hard worker, no matter what she claimed to have learned in America. And as for Marie and Trudy, it was only a matter of time before they discovered what was wrong with the pair of them. Probably on the run from the police, if Jack was any judge. He was halfway to Sprucefield before he realized he should have telephoned first to check if the bed could be delivered that day. He made a quick inquiry on his mobile and was told it would take at least three weeks. He bit his lip with frustration.

  ‘I've changed my mind,’ he told the driver. ‘There's a small furniture store on the Lower Ormeau Road. That'll do me instead.’

  ‘Righto,’ said the driver, and indicated that he was going to make a turn.

  Twenty minutes later, Jack got out and tipped the driver. He felt like going straight home and telling Lily to forget about her ambitious plans to make a success of the pub. Jack wasn't sure he wanted to have a high public profile. Most of the men and women he knew who were successful had stomach ulcers and suffered from insomnia. He knew he should take charge of the situation and tell Lily they were going to concentrate their efforts into negotiating a good price for the business. But then he felt a wave of loss for the tavern. He loved the pub as much as Lily did. It was like a child to them and it was their duty to take care of it. He loved lighting the fire in the mornings and watching the glass bottles on the window sills sparkle in the firelight. And he liked being the owner too. He was proud to see his name on the sign above the bar. It was a good feeling to know that he was a man of property, even if it was only a creaky, dusty, back-street pub with three retired decorators in near-permanent residence.

  He'd go along with whatever Lily wanted, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. It was just for a little while anyway. A few short weeks, he told himself. He could survive a few weeks' upheaval when the last twenty years of his life had been so peaceful and fulfilling. He went into the furniture shop. The bored young man sitting inside, beside a portable gas heater, was so pleased to get some business that he offered to load up the new bed into his van and give Jack a lift home with it, there and then.

  That evening, Lily poured herself a cup of scalding hot tea and cut a slice off the overdone Madeira. Jack was downstairs in the bar, tending to the evening drinkers. Bridget was helping him and learning the layout of the bar. The new bed was stacked against the wall in the sitting room, still wrapped in its plastic sheet. In a few minutes, Lily would push the sofa and the coffee table closer to the window, and fit the bed in that shady corner by the door. She'd dust the room and take all the framed photographs of Jack and herself off the mantelpiece. She would miss decorating a freshly cut Christmas tree in the room this year, but she told herself that, unless her plans worked out, they wouldn't be dressing the tree there ever again.

  Lily hoped Bridget had been telling the truth about being good with cocktails because she had been on the phone to various colleges all afternoon, trying to secure a few student Christmas parties. She'd also arranged for some ladies from a community centre on the Ormeau Road, and some more from a reading group in Bangor, to come to the tavern on Saturday for a Christmas card-making session. It was something she'd been meaning to do for ages but she hadn't been able to summon up enough courage. Now, the fear of becoming homeless was greater than the fear she would make a fool of herself.

  After she finished her supper and prepared the room for Bridget, she took a big box of art materials down from the top of the wardrobe. She picked out some clean sheets of coloured tissue paper, fresh white drawing paper and metallic card which she would use for the craft classes. She had a fancy biscuit tin full of pens and sharp scissors, and her beloved wooden box of pastel chalks as well. She'd buy some glue-sticks in the post office before the ladies arrived. She sat up until one o'clock in the morning, making a few sample cards to show the women. A fat snowman made of white tissue-paper balls, a delicately drawn angel with gold-card wings, and a tall Santa with long thin legs. The cards looked very professional when they were standing in a row on the table. The women would have a great time, Lily decided. If any decided to turn up, that is. She prayed for at least ten pupils. Anything less would be slightly embarrassing. Yawning, she turned out the kitchen lights and trailed up to her attic bedroom. The door to Bridget's room was firmly closed. It was a bittersweet feeling for Lily. She had lost her beautiful sitting room for a while, but, hopefully, the sacrifice would pay off.

  Trudy and Marie were due to begin work behind the bar tomorrow evening but Lily hadn't told Jack yet that Trudy seemed oversensitive to criticism, was allergic to lemons and had an acute button phobia. She was a student, in the final year of a geography degree, she'd said at the interview. And she'd be grateful for some part-time work. Lily thought Trudy seemed kind and polite and she did have excellent references. She was twenty-three with long black hair and wise, thoughtful eyes. And she was more than willing to help with the baking too. These facts compensated for Trudy's overdone make-up, the multicoloured hair extensions and the rather bizarre eyebrows. Or maybe I'm just out of touch with youth culture, Lily reminded herself. This must be the kind of thing the boys go for these days, she thought, as she frowned at her own clear skin and old-fashioned hairstyle in the bathroom mirror. On the other hand, Lily was rather pleased with herself for achieving her objective. She'd set out to hire f
our pretty girls and that was exactly what she had done.

  Marie, the fourth new barmaid, was so quietly spoken that it was often hard to hear what she was saying. But that was her only apparent flaw. In all other aspects, she was perfect. Also twenty-three years old, she was a natural brown-haired, blue-eyed beauty who never stopped smiling. She could even read sign language and speak French and Italian. And even though such talents were unlikely to be called for in the tavern, it was nice to know they were there. She had just completed her European Languages course, she told Lily, and she needed a part-time job while she decided what to do with the rest of her life.

  Lily was exhausted by the time she slipped into bed and moulded herself along the back of Jack's lovely warm body. She fell asleep at once, imagining how she would greet her craft class on Saturday.

  4. Gerry Madden and the Midnight Oil

  It was three o'clock in the morning. A light but persistent drizzle drifted down from the clouds above the city, and washed all the smoke and soot in the air into narrow trails down the front of the buildings. Inside the tavern, Lily and Jack lay in a deep sleep with their arms wrapped round each other. In the corner of the bedroom were two large cardboard boxes. One containing some personal effects from the sitting room and the other full of paper, feathers, sequins, and all kinds of lovely things destined to become colourful greeting cards at the weekend.

  Downstairs on the first floor, Bridget O'Malley was sitting up in bed, wide awake and enjoying her luxurious surroundings. She could never sleep during her first night in a new place. She had to get used to the colours and textures of a room before she could relax properly. She thanked her lucky blue pebble (from a New Age shop in California) that the acting lessons in America hadn't been wasted. Nobody on earth was better than Bridget was at appearing forlorn and dejected in front of an audience. And look at her now. Wasn't she on the pig's back? All her problems solved with one stroke. A little phone call from the unemployment office and she was saved from the gutter yet again. She kissed her lucky pebble and dropped it back into her handbag.