The Tavern on Maple Street

by Sharon Owens

  ‘Actually, I don't do cleaning,’ said Bridget, breaking into Lily's thoughts. ‘Did I not mention that at the interview?’

  ‘You said no catering.’

  ‘That's right, and no cleaning either. I'm a barmaid, not a cleaner. Tell you what, though. I'll be standing behind that bar at two this afternoon, ready to serve till closing time. I'll not even take my minimum legal tea breaks. Okay?’ And she smiled apologetically, withdrew into Lily's gorgeous sitting room and closed the door behind her. Lily wanted to cry with frustration but she hurried into the shower after sending Jack out to buy some more groceries. And ten glue-sticks. Lily decided she'd have to have a gentle talk with Bridget in the near future, about cooperation and helping other people out in times of need, but first she had a class to teach.

  At ten precisely, Jack opened the front door of the tavern and was stunned to see at least fifty middle-aged women waiting there. They were all standing very still, facing the door and waiting for him to speak. It was like something out of a science-fiction film. Some of the women seemed to have just come from the hairdressers, and wore expensive coats and shoes. The rest looked more approachable and friendly in their sensible warm anoraks and windswept perms. Their faces were full of expectation.

  ‘Just one moment,’ he said and he half closed the door.

  ‘How many Picasso-wannabes are you expecting?’ he asked Lily in a whisper.

  ‘About half a dozen maybe? Ten, if I'm lucky.’ Lily was setting out small wicker baskets on the tables, containing paper squares and pastel chalks. ‘It's very short notice, but the secretaries I spoke to on the phone said they would put the word out for me. Plus, it's ten pounds each which might be too much for a lot of people.’

  ‘I don't think the price has put them off one bit, Lily. Brace yourself,’ he said. And he opened the door wide and waved them all in.

  Lily thought she was hallucinating when she saw the seemingly endless procession of chattering ladies file in and stand around the walls of the tavern, waiting patiently to be seated. She counted them. There were sixty-five would-be card designers. They were all looking respectfully at her. She decided she'd better get the class started.

  ‘Okay, ladies. Welcome to the craft class. And thank you for coming here today at such short notice. I wasn't expecting quite so many but I think we'll fit in, although it might be a bit of a squeeze. Now! If you form a line here, we'll get the names and fees out of the way, and then everyone can just take a seat and we'll get started?’ Lily held her breath for fear someone might object to the price she was asking, but it was going to be okay. The women were fumbling in their handbags for purses, and pointing out desirable tables to their friends, and Jack was smiling at his wife as he quietly lit the fire. He'd already offered to make the tea and pass round the sponge cakes that Lily had baked the night before. Thank goodness she'd hidden them in tins behind the bar otherwise Bridget might have scoffed the lot. Lily wanted to kiss Jack, but first she had to earn six hundred and fifty pounds. Wow, she thought, I did expect I'd be a nervous wreck this morning but this is going to be fun!

  After much good-natured shuffling around of tables and chairs, hanging up of raincoats and anoraks, and sharing out of paper and pencils, the women were finally ready to receive instruction. Lily smiled at them all and took a deep breath.

  ‘Now, has anyone here ever drawn a stylized angel on textured paper, using pastel chalks?’ she asked. And the room exploded with laughter.

  The class was a resounding success. After an initial period of silent concentration, a gentle babble of happy chatter started up and continued throughout the morning. Soon, the women were rolling neat tissue-paper balls and scoring delicate feathers onto card-wings, like bona-fide experts. The ladies told Lily they were delighted to be doing something so enjoyable in the run-up to Christmas, as well as the usual drudgery of shopping and cooking. They also thought the class was terrific value for money, as they would have six handmade cards each to take home, which would have cost them at least twenty pounds in the shops. They learned how to draw angels and fairies and plum puddings and snowmen, and they glued paper to card, and glitter to paper, and even mastered the art of making envelopes. They asked Lily if they could come back the following week and learn something else, and Lily said she'd be only too happy to show them how to weave a Christmas wreath.

  When Jack served the tea and cakes at lunchtime there was a deafening round of applause, and one of the women said that the sight of such a handsome man, with a tray of cups and saucers in his hand, was the sweetest thing she'd seen in years.

  All too soon it was over, and with huge reluctance the women gathered up their precious creations and filed out of the tavern. Some exchanged phone numbers and arranged to meet up for lunch during the week. As the last stragglers were leaving, Barney, Joey and Francy Mac arrived. They were very relieved to see their beloved booth was still available for them even if the table was covered in glitter and glue.

  ‘I thought I'd come to the wrong pub for a minute,’ said Barney. ‘I've never seen so many women in the same place.’

  ‘Aye. Let's have a wee nip of the hard stuff to get over the shock,’ said Joey. ‘My shout.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Francy Mac.

  5. The Devaney Brothers

  Lily was on a high on Sunday morning as she cracked some eggs into a glass dish and began to beat them with a fork. To celebrate the success of her craft class she was making a cheese and mushroom omelette. She'd have preferred a huge fry-up of bacon and sausages but, thanks to Bridget and her outrageous appetite, they were reduced to eating leftovers. Jack set knives and forks on the table and poured orange juice into three pretty glasses. Just then, Bridget came padding into the kitchen, covering her yawn with a well-thumbed copy of Vogue magazine.

  ‘Tired?’ asked Lily. And she poured the beaten eggs into a large pan full of butter-fried mushrooms.

  ‘Frazzled,’ Bridget moaned, reaching for a glass of juice.

  ‘Well, I'm not surprised. We did quite well last night in the bar. There were a couple of hundred customers at the very least.’ Lily gathered up the remains of several different blocks of cheese and sprinkled them on top of the eggs.

  ‘Yeah. Since word got out about the closure, more people have been coming in for a farewell drink,’ Jack added. He felt uncomfortable when Bridget was eating with them and he was embarrassed by the fact that she was still wearing her too-short robe. He wished she'd get dressed before breakfast. The perfect angel the customers saw downstairs in the bar was nothing like the bedraggled starving creature himself and Lily had to put up with every morning. Bridget then spent hours in the bathroom, transforming herself, and they suspected she was using Lily's perfume as well. Lily and Jack had wasted thirty minutes already today, debating whether to take the bottle out of the bathroom altogether, and take the risk of offending Bridget.

  ‘It wasn't the bar work. It was Gerry. He rang again last night.’

  ‘I never heard the phone,’ exclaimed Lily. ‘What time did he ring?’

  ‘Four, as usual. I took the phone into my room at midnight. Just in case he woke you again,’ Bridget said, and drank her juice in one go. She'd decided it was much more comfortable holding lengthy conversations with Gerry when she was nice and snug under the blankets.

  ‘How considerate of you,’ muttered Lily. And then she felt mean, so she asked politely how Gerry was getting on.

  ‘He's going to America for two weeks, leaving today.’ Bridget eyed the omelette sizzling in the pan and checked to see if there was a place set for her at the table. She was delighted to count three plates. ‘Some training thing, but he said he wanted to keep in touch with me while he's over there. He's missing me like crazy but he'll get over it eventually. That smells fabulous, Mrs Beaumont.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lily, her face turning pink with worry. ‘As long as he's paying for the calls.’ There was an awkward silence.

  Bridget yawned again. ‘Is a bit of that dee-lish ome
lette coming my way?’ she asked brightly, as Lily expertly flicked her creation over with a large spatula.

  ‘Surely, there is,’ said Lily. ‘Why don't you go back to bed and I'll bring yours in to you on a tray? Tea and toast as well? Do you like marmalade? If you've been consoling poor Gerry half the night, you deserve a treat.’

  ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Beaumont. Aren't you an absolute pet? I think I'll take you up on that very generous offer,’ murmured Bridget, and she drifted out of the room under a cloud of tousled white curls. ‘Don't bother with the marmalade, though. I don't care for it much,’ she called back just as the sitting-room door closed behind her.

  ‘Jack, is that girl for real? I was only joking about the Room Service,’ whispered Lily, almost ready to follow Bridget into her delphinium-blue boudoir and confront her about the missing drops of Chanel. ‘How can someone so tiny be so completely self-centred?’

  ‘Maybe that's how she's survived this long in the big bad world? By looking out for number one? At least she's gone back to bed. Thanks, baby,’ Jack whispered. ‘She puts me off my food. What a mess! She had mascara on her chin.’

  ‘So, you don't fancy her, then?’ Lily asked, pretending to be jealous.

  ‘No way. She frightens the life out of me, if you must know. I bet she has a vicious temper when she's crossed. Plus, she's half my age.’

  ‘That wouldn't deter some men.’

  ‘I only want you, Lily. You know that.’ She smiled at him. She did know.

  ‘Bridget's probably a lot tougher than she looks. Now I understand why poor Gerry needed so much therapy. But she must still care for him, to chat for half the night.’ Jack put his arms round his wife as they waited for the eggs to finish cooking, and Lily shivered at the thought of Gerry and Bridget's doomed relationship.

  ‘Why can't they just sort it out, for heaven's sake? Life is far too short to waste it playing mind games,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘When I think of what might have happened to you on the day of the bomb, I get terrified. What would I have done with myself all these years without you? How would I have coped?’

  ‘Hush, don't upset yourself.’ He kissed her softly on the cheek.

  ‘But even the thought of losing you makes me feel sick with dread. And then I feel so guilty for being happy that we survived the Troubles when so many other people didn't. And I want to know why the world is the way it is.’

  ‘Well, you didn't have to manage without me, Lily. I did survive. It isn't a matter of why I'm still here and why others aren't. It's a random thing. There's no design to it. I'm here and it's now.’

  ‘But there must be a reason why innocent people suffer.’

  ‘It doesn't help to look back to that day, Lily. We've got to focus on the future.’

  ‘You're right. I'm sorry for being so maudlin.’

  ‘Hey, look on the positive side,’ Jack said brightly. ‘Bridget doesn't like marmalade and we've got three pots of the stuff here in the cupboard. At least we'll not starve this Christmas. We can have marmalade soup, with roast breast of marmalade for mains, and then marmalade pudding for afters.’ They both managed to laugh although there was a tinge of worry about it. Neither one of them had brought up the subject of Christmas Day itself. Would they be sharing their wonderful romantic celebrations with Bridget this year? She hadn't said anything about going home to her parents or to Gerry's apartment for the big day. And then Lily felt guilty again for wanting her lodger out of the house at Christmas. If Bridget had nowhere else to go, then she could stay with them and they'd make the best of it. Very few women were as fortunate as she was, or as loved and cherished. She must try to be less selfish.

  ‘I'm so lucky to have you for a husband,’ Lily whispered, and Jack planted another gentle kiss on the back of her neck.

  ‘Are those eggs ready yet? I'm fading away, here.’

  She turned the omelette out onto a warm plate and felt almost happy. Once Jack had cheered her up, Lily couldn't be gloomy for long. She counted her blessings as she served Bridget breakfast in bed. And she tried very hard to remain in a jovial mood when she spied the broken teapot sitting on top of the television.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Bridget, as she shovelled a huge lump of food into her tiny little mouth. ‘I didn't mean to do it.’ As if that would somehow absolve her from any sense of responsibility, thought Lily. Or from having to pay for another one.

  ‘That's all right,’ said Lily patiently. ‘These things happen.’

  ‘Everything will be fine,’ she told Jack, as they enjoyed their breakfast in welcome privacy. ‘If Bridget doesn't eat us out of house and home, and break everything of value in the property and put our phone bill through the roof, everything will be fine.’ Lily hadn't seen the stains on the carpet yet because Bridget had covered them up with several large carrier bags.

  ‘You know what?’ said Jack. ‘I never liked that teapot.’

  ‘Well, I did. At least we're still ahead financially, thanks to the Christmas cards.’ Lily had made a fortune from her craft class and there was going to be another one the following Saturday. Upon reflection, she realized that buying materials for the Christmas wreaths was going to prove very expensive. She'd have to have enough circles of florist's foam, wire, wire-cutters, holly branches, fir branches, red ribbons and roses for sixty-five people. She'd have to see if she could get some of the materials in a discount store. But it was so enjoyable teaching the class that Lily didn't mind a sizeable reduction in profit next time. She was just so relieved to have made it through the morning without her nerves deserting her.

  ‘This is great,’ Jack said, clearing his plate. ‘What will we do this morning? Have we enough time for a quick stroll round the park before opening? I could do with some fresh air. The only problem with having extra customers is having lots of extra cigarette smoke as well.’

  ‘No, my love. Sorry. I want to make some adjustments to the furniture downstairs and then I'm interviewing the Devaney brothers.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our potential new in-house folk-and-blues band.’

  ‘Don't tell me, a bunch of crazy old men playing fiddles and flutes and drinking all our best whiskey?’

  ‘No, sweetheart. They're very good-looking twin brothers called David and Michael. A couple of twenty-four-year-old stunners in leather jeans, actually. And they play acoustic guitars and they're very sexy. I saw them yesterday when I was coming back from the bank. They were busking outside Donegal Arcade. They were terrific, Jack.’

  ‘Bring it on, then. What have we got to lose?’ He smiled.

  ‘Now,’ she said, setting her plate into the sink, ‘I'm going to shift a couple of tables away from the left-hand side of the fire to make room for them to play. And then I'm going to word another few ads for the newspapers to promote the folk nights.’

  ‘It's going to be that easy to get more customers?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Won't there be sectarian riots at closing time? These folk nights can attract a certain type of customer, if you know what I mean. Hothead patriots with barely repressed violent urges. All of them thinking they're in the movies. Tearing up the paving slabs to throw at the police…’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Honestly, you're paranoid! And you told me to look to the future. That's all over and done with, Jack.’

  ‘I'll believe it when I see it. Can't you just ask the Devaneys to sing some rock and pop? Lloyd Cole and the Commotions, maybe? Fairground Attraction… that kind of thing? Keep everyone happy?’

  ‘I don't know if they sing pop songs. And those groups were well before their time anyway.’

  ‘Lily, tell them it's pop or nothing. They're getting a regular gig and a cosy fireside stage to go with it. I don't want the pub wrecked.’

  ‘All right.’ She smiled. ‘You're the boss.’

  ‘That's right,’ he laughed. ‘And don't you forget it!’

  When the Devaneys showed up at lunchtime, Lily had created a little a
rea for them to perform in. The brothers introduced themselves to Lily and Jack and everyone shook hands. David was very flirtatious and charming, with short spiky hair and one gold earring, while Michael was shy and softly spoken, with a head of Leo Sayer-style shoulder-length curls. David said the tavern looked very nice indeed and he tried out the performance area for size. Michael simply nodded at Lily and Jack politely. Both brothers had sexy, angular faces and terrific muscular thighs. An attribute not wasted in their tight leather trousers.

  ‘Where're my sunglasses?’ whispered Jack as the brothers bent over their guitar cases and Lily had to stifle a giggle as the lights above them were reflected on the brothers' firm behinds. ‘Where did they get those trousers? Busking must pay better than we think.’

  Daisy, Trudy and Marie were hanging up their coats behind the bar, having just arrived for work themselves. The three girls were delighted that they were in time to witness a musical audition. Barney, Joey and Francy Mac were safely installed in their booth with full pints of stout and the Sunday newspapers.

  The Devaneys accepted a cup of tea before donning their instruments and David asked if anyone had any unusual requests. He began to tune his guitar, and Michael tried not to blush when he spotted Marie smiling shyly at him.

  ‘I've got an unusual request,’ whispered Bridget to Daisy. She had just come downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. ‘But I don't know if David's that kind of man.’

  ‘Hands off,’ said Daisy in a low voice. ‘I saw him first.’

  ‘All's fair in love and war, my dear,’ replied Bridget firmly. ‘You get on with unloading the dishwasher. And those tea towels could do with a hot iron, Marie.’

  ‘Man-eater,’ said Daisy under her breath, but Bridget wasn't listening.

  ‘I do love tight leather trousers.’ Bridget sighed. ‘There'll be no surprises for his wife on the honeymoon.’

  ‘Aren't you seeing a doctor? I mean, romantically?’ Daisy wanted to know. ‘Mrs B said you were never off the phone to a doctor called Gerry Madden.’