by Sharon Owens
‘Compliments of the season, to three of our best customers,’ Jack said, in the most jovial voice he could muster. He was feeling quite emotional. It was a mixture of pre-disco nerves and Lily's sudden change of heart about fighting to hold on to the business.
‘How kind,’ said Barney.
‘Very decent of you both,’ croaked Joey.
‘Yes, indeed,’ added Francy Mac.
‘We just wanted to thank you for your loyal custom over the years,’ said Jack. ‘It might be the last time we're all together at Christmas. So thanks again, and Merry Christmas!’
‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ they said quietly.
‘Lily says you are very welcome to join us tomorrow for Christmas lunch. If you have no other plans, that is? We'll be sitting down to starters at around three. By the way, there's a party starting at seven tonight, and it could be a bit noisy. I'm playing some records, God help me. I'm sorry to say it's a private affair.’
‘Don't worry about us, Jack. We'll just nip out when the music starts,’ Barney said. ‘Thanks very much for the dinner invitation. Much obliged. We'll be there. Won't we, lads?’ Barney had no family so Christmas was a lonely time of the year for him.
‘We will, surely. Thanks a lot, Jack.’ Joey was quite overwhelmed. He usually spent the day alone. His two children had moved to Australia years before.
‘Cheers, Jack,’ added Francy Mac. His three children lived in Scotland, but he hated travelling there on his own. He usually spent the day visiting his wife's grave. ‘You're a good man. And many thanks to your good lady wife.’ Then the door of the booth closed again and Jack was making his way back to the bar through the crowds. They could hear him shouting, ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Please note! Private party at seven o'clock tonight.’
19. The Party of the Year
Marie and Trudy were trying to keep an eye on the vanilla custard for the party buffet, as well as preparing the last of the various canapés and pastries. Bridget was icing gingerbread biscuits very badly, and Lily was counting out bottles of chilled champagne from the fridge. Daisy and Jack were downstairs clearing and cleaning the bar, ready for Clare Prendergast's fancy-dress party. In a moment, they would carry down all the food, and then they'd have about ten minutes to get changed into their party clothes.
‘Thanks for doing those biscuits, Bridget. Although God knows what Father Damien will say, if he comes to visit and sees you working,’ said Lily. ‘He'll think I'm a heartless slave-driver.’
‘He'll think you're like a mother to me,’ said Bridget, quietly. ‘Because that's the truth.’ In the midst of the chaotic kitchen, they hugged each other.
‘I never had a daughter of my own. I wasn't blessed with children,’ said Lily, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘I didn't mind because I was so happy with Jack. But having you girls here, these last few weeks, has made me see what I've missed. It's been wonderful, hearing young voices and seeing a bit of life about the place. Really, it has.’
‘Do you mean that?’ asked Bridget, her face white with hope. Trudy and Marie looked shy, but happy too.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Lily. ‘I've loved having you here, it's been like having a real family. The extra work has been unbelievably difficult, but getting to know the four of you has been wonderful.’
Bridget closed her eyes with happiness. She didn't feel quite so unlovable any more. Then the phone rang. Lily was glad of the distraction, because she thought she might cry, and there'd been too many tears in the tavern already this Christmas. The caller was a very excited lady asking about some cake or other, in a very high-pitched voice. Initially, Lily thought it was a nuisance call. But then the jumbled words began to make sense. In a cold sweat, Lily knew it was Clare. And Clare wanted to know how the preparations were going. Lily almost had a heart attack when she realized she had forgotten to ice the anniversary cake.
‘Everything is ready,’ she lied. ‘Come on over.’
Lily came bolting into the kitchen, to look for some packets of icing sugar on one of the kitchen shelves. She scrabbled around in desperation, finding nothing.
‘Oh, my God, I put them right here. Where are the packets of sugar? They're lost! They're not here. Oh, sweet Saviour! Marie, get me some nuts and cherries. We'll improvise!’
‘Lily, I've been meaning to tell you something,’ faltered Bridget. But Lily, her panic mounting, wasn't listening.
‘Clare and her husband are staying in the Hilton, girls. They'll be here in half an hour, at the very most. They'd just ordered the taxi when Clare rang me. Oh, help. Help me do something to decorate this cake!’
‘I iced the cake last night,’ admitted Bridget, in a small voice. ‘I couldn't sleep.’ Trudy, Marie and Lily froze. They looked at the gingerbread men with their wobbly smiles and too-big buttons.
‘Where is it now?’ asked Lily, her voice breaking with despair. ‘You didn't eat it as well, did you?’
‘Of course not! I put it back on top of the cupboard there, in that big box.’ They all looked up at the spot Bridget was indicating. ‘I used ready-made marzipan, and mixed up the icing myself.’ Lily thought she might collapse with worry. Bridget was next to hopeless in the kitchen. And if the cake was ruined, there wasn't time to ice another. Or even buy a replacement. The shops were closing early because it was Christmas Eve. Bridget hopped up on a chair and carefully reached down the precious container. They all held their breath as the lid came off. The marzipan was slightly higher on one side, and the icing had been eased up into gentle peaks with a blunt knife. But because the icing was slightly too watery the peaks had collapsed again into gentle waves, and some had dripped down onto the silver card base. The cake was studded with an entire packet of 200 pink sugar-rose decorations. Lying down on the top, half-buried in the icing, was a tiny model of a married couple, which had come from Lily's own cake, long ago in Scotland. Jack had bought it, and stuck it on a fruitcake from the supermarket; and they had eaten a slice each in bed, on their honeymoon.
‘I found the bride-and-groom decoration in the sitting-room cabinet, when I was looking for a safety pin, a few days ago,’ said Bridget. ‘The groom's left arm is missing, I know. But isn't he gorgeous, all the same?’
Trudy and Marie did not trust themselves to open their mouths. They could see that Lily's lovely cake was a disaster. But they weren't going to be the ones to tell Bridget that she had ruined the centrepiece of the party, not when Bridget's parents were still lying in two government-bought coffins on the other side of the city.
‘Mind you, I put them on standing up. They must have fallen over during the night.’ Bridget tried to prick the miniature lovers out of the hardened icing with a fork. Lily stopped her just in time.
‘Leave it, Bridget,’ she whimpered. ‘They're stuck fast.’ Lily wanted to strangle Bridget more, at that moment, than she ever had. She couldn't believe Bridget had used her precious wedding decoration. Bad enough that she had ruined the cake. But what would happen if Clare Prendergast wanted to keep the tiny bride and groom, after the cake was eaten? Lily treasured that little piece of plastic kitsch. It was the only keepsake she had left of her own wedding day. She cursed herself for not hiding it better. She should have dug a hole in the yard, ten feet deep, and filled it with her things before Bridget O'Malley moved in and turned everything upside down. Marie suddenly remembered she had to show Jack where the tablecloths were, and Trudy went to help spread them out over the counter. They squeezed out through the narrow door frame together and ran down the stairs. Bridget searched Lily's face for some reaction to her cake design. Lily held her breath and counted to ten.
‘Do you know what?’ said Lily, nodding her head. ‘It's fine. Absolutely fine.’ She was too tired to make a scene. If Clare wasn't happy with the cake then she could just throw away the bill. Lily Beaumont had finally reached the end of her tether.
‘Thank goodness,’ said Bridget. ‘I was worried there for a minute. You all went a bit quiet on me. I mean, what other way is there to decor
ate wedding cakes?’
‘I wasn't going to use any decorations, Bridget,’ said Lily tenderly. ‘I was going to smooth out the icing. And put real white roses on the top.’
‘Well, for pity's sake! That's nothing like what I did,’ cried Bridget. ‘I've messed up again, haven't I?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Are you sure?’ Bridget was still not convinced.
‘She'll love it, I know she will.’ Lily was grim with determination. She only hoped that Clare wasn't easily upset.
Trudy and Marie came back then, saying Jack had the tablecloths on the counter and they were to bring down the food. The two girls searched Lily's face for some reaction to the cake fiasco, but she only sighed and smiled weakly. They had a party to get through and Lily didn't have the energy for any hysterics.
After several trips up and down the narrow stairs, everything was looking good. The fire was crackling away, most of the afternoon's cigarette smoke had cleared, and Jack was giving all the chairs a quick once-over with the mini-vacuum. Barney, Joey and Francy Mac said goodbye, and thanked Lily profusely for their unexpected dinner invitation.
‘That's all right,’ she said, for the fifth time. ‘Sure, it will be lovely for us to have the company.’ And she saw them out onto the street. Back inside, it was almost time for the party to begin.
‘If there's not much more to do here, can you girls get ready to serve?’ said Lily, a heavy feeling of tiredness beginning to settle on her shoulders.
‘Okay. I'm going to be Cyndi Lauper,’ gushed Daisy. ‘She had red hair too.’
‘I'm going to be a female version of Adam, from Adam and the Ants,’ said Trudy.
‘Haven't you been that for years?’ said Bridget drily, and they all laughed.
‘And I'm going to be Kate Bush,’ said Marie. ‘Though not in anything too revealing. Her long skirt and wrapover-top phase, you know?’
‘I wish I could go to the party,’ said Bridget sadly.
‘We'd love you to be here,’ said Lily. ‘But there's a taxi due at eight thirty to take you to the airport, and your sisters need you to be strong for them.’ She slipped some rolled-up banknotes into Bridget's hand. ‘Here, take them out for a meal and talk about happy times.’
‘There weren't any,’ said Bridget simply.
‘Make some up, then. Or ask them about their lives now. It's never too late to be happy,’ said Lily quietly. ‘And surely, you don't want them to see you miserable? They had enough misery when they were growing up.’
‘You're right,’ said Bridget. ‘I'll do my best.’
‘That's the girl. Oh, and by the way, why don't you invite them over tomorrow for Christmas dinner?’
‘Honestly?’
‘Sure. It'll be no bother at all. After all the catering we've done recently. There's only the six of us, and Barney's crew.’
‘Thanks, Lily.’
Lily set the wedding anniversary cake on a little table beside the main Christmas tree, and half hid it behind a big sprawling garland she had made for the fireplace. The drips on the base were well covered by the fresh green foliage, and the 200 pink roses sparkled and shone like diamonds. They all surveyed the room.
‘I think we've actually managed to pull it off. Who'd have thought it?’ laughed Lily.
‘Thanks for last night, everyone,’ said Bridget.
‘For what?’ they asked.
‘For the note under the chocolate cake. It was very nice of you.’
‘That's okay,’ said Jack. ‘Good luck for this evening. Tell your sisters we're thinking of them.’
‘I will.’ Bridget went upstairs to get ready. After staying a minute or two to survey the room, the other girls and Jack followed suit.
When Clare and Peter Prendergast arrived a few minutes later, they were thrilled with what they saw. Lily let them in and explained that the rest of the staff had gone upstairs to change. The late-afternoon customers had drifted off and there was a sign on the door that said, ‘Closed for Private Party’. It was all very exciting. The Christmas trees looked magnificent twinkling against the aubergine richness of the walls. The fire was glowing merrily with a bright orange heart. The food was laid out on the counter, which was now draped with gold-coloured cloths. There were gold napkins and a rustic wire basket full of red apples dipped in egg whites and sugar. Centre stage was the cake that Bridget had decorated the night before. Everything about the cake was lopsided, and Lily apologized and explained what had happened. But Clare and Peter laughed their heads off and posed behind it for lots of photographs. Clare had her hands on the cutting knife and Peter put his arms round her. They gave Lily a disposable camera and she took twenty pictures of them.
‘Watch my fingers,’ Peter said, as Clare giggled and almost tripped over the leg of the table.
‘This is a fantastic spread,’ said Clare, checking her back-combed hair in one of the gold mirrors. ‘I'm Madonna in the early years! Can you tell?’
‘Yes. The lace hairband and all the crucifixes gave it away,’ said Lily, smiling.
‘I usually obsess about my hair and make-up,’ explained Clare. ‘So tonight, I thought I'd throw caution to the winds and come as a total mess.’
‘Don't listen to a word of it,’ said her adoring husband. ‘She was two hours in the hotel bathroom getting ready. She cut the arms off a perfectly good jacket as well.’ Peter was wearing a black leather coat and black jeans, which apparently meant he was the lead singer of the Stranglers.
‘Peter doesn't do dressing-up,’ said Clare. ‘Even for my special anniversary party. Would you believe he used to wear eyeliner?’
‘I'm too unfit to outrun any thugs who might take against me, these days,’ he said shyly. There were footsteps on the stairs, and they turned to face the hall door.
‘Meet DJ Nostalgia, aka my husband, Jack,’ said Lily, as Jack carried in the turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce wraps and added them to the feast. He was wearing a gold lamé suit, which Daisy had found for him in a second-hand store. Apparently, some crazy man had once got married in it, and it had been hanging at the back of the shop ever since. ‘He'll be keeping you all glued to the dance floor.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Jack. ‘Don't give me a big buildup. I've never done this kind of thing before. Believe me. I'm a total novice.’
‘That's what they all say,’ said Clare, laughing until her eyes watered. She had never felt so happy and relaxed.
‘This is just great, honestly,’ said Peter. ‘We're really pleased. The food looks wonderful. Let's kick off the celebrations with a few glasses of Red Witch, shall we? For old times' sake?’
At that moment, Trudy and Marie came down the stairs in their finery and did a twirl for the general company. Marie's hair, now released from its ponytail, was a halo of mahogany spirals, and she had covered her face with softly shimmering glitter. She was wearing a white wrapover top and a long grey flared skirt. She was a picture of elegance. Trudy had painted a white stripe across her nose, there were tiny plaits and feathers in her hair and she wore knee-length trousers and a white lacy blouse. Clare took their picture and Jack slipped a background tape into the CD player. The party atmosphere leapt into life. Even before the guests arrived, they all knew it was going to be fantastic.
The girls looked briefly confused when they heard the Red Witch drinks order, but Lily showed them how to add blackcurrant cordial to a mix of lager and liquorice-flavoured spirit.
‘Just very small measures, mind you,’ said Peter. ‘We used to drink pints of this stuff but if we attempted it nowadays we'd be ending the night in hospital.’
‘Blimey, you oldies know how to live,’ muttered Trudy, and there was another blast of laughter. Then Daisy came dancing into the room, her wrists dripping with bracelets. She was wearing several different colours of eye shadow, and her hair had been back-combed into a candy-floss cloud. She was wearing a red tulle skirt, a bright yellow vest and several studded belts.
‘Aren't you getting cha
nged, Daisy?’ asked Jack with a wink, and the laughter flowed again.
‘Technically, I should be in my bare feet but these tiles are awfully cold,’ she said. ‘So I'm keeping my boots on.’ They all glanced down at Daisy's sturdy leather boots. She had laced them up with yellow ribbons, as a compromise.
‘Seriously, you should go on Stars in Their Eyes. You should be on the stage,’ said Clare.
‘I'd love to be a pop star,’ said Daisy, dreamily. ‘Unfortunately, I can't sing a note and I can't dance either.’
‘Don't let minor details like that stop you,’ trilled Clare, helping herself to a turkey and stuffing wrap. ‘Oh, my word, these are absolutely gorgeous!’ She lifted a side plate and began to fill it up with pretty nibbles. ‘I couldn't eat a thing at lunch, I was so excited. I'm starving now. Hope you don't mind?’
‘Eat away,’ said Lily. ‘It's your party.’
Jack, Trudy, Marie and Daisy took up their positions behind the bar. The Devaney brothers were next to arrive. Dressed in denim dungarees, flat caps and braces, they had come as Dexy's Midnight Runners. They were both very impressed by Daisy and Marie's sexy costumes. In fact, they thought it might be rather difficult to concentrate on the playlist with such temptation in the room. They accepted Clare's invitation to sample the buffet before taking their guitars and going to sit beside the fire. As the CD came to an end they began a gentle version of ‘The Power of Love’, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Everyone was visibly moved. Afterwards, they decided to keep the love songs for the end of the night. Clare and Peter were looking at their watches now. The guests were due any minute.
‘I hope they haven't forgotten,’ said Clare. ‘Did we put the right date on the tickets?’
‘Of course we did. They'll be getting dressed up,’ soothed Peter. ‘Don't worry. Arrival times are more relaxed in Ireland.’ He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured them all a glass. ‘Enjoy the peace, darling. It will be mad-crazy here in no time.’
