by Sharon Owens
Lily asked Bridget if she had ever thought of giving John Kelly a call. And Bridget said no, she didn't think she was ready to take on another man yet, and probably John had forgotten her anyway.
‘Well, you take care of yourself, now, pet, and call us any time you fancy a chat. All right?’ Lily said.
‘All right. Love you,’ said Bridget.
‘Love you too,’ said Lily.
Jack knew by the expression on Lily's face, when she put the phone down, that her meddling days were not over yet. And he said she must do what she had to do, as long as she didn't involve him in her scheming. Lily duly got in touch with John Kelly and gave him Bridget's address in Isleworth. He got on the next plane, and picked up an engagement ring at the airport.
When Bridget saw him standing at the bar of the Irish pub where she worked, she burst into tears. She thought of her picture of the Sacred Heart, and of her lucky pebble too. And wondered which of them had helped her to land this lovely man. And then John proposed, getting down on one knee on the dusty floorboards as the teatime customers applauded.
‘You're crazy,’ she laughed, as she accepted his impulsive gesture.
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, but it wasn't the right time to say anything.’
‘Is that really true?’ she asked, tears streaming from her big blue eyes. ‘Or are you just being nice?’
‘It's true,’ he said. ‘I told Steven Butterworth that very day that I had fallen in love with you. Ask him if you don't believe me. He's going to be our best man, by the way.’
‘This is fabulous,’ she said. ‘But I insist on paying for the wedding. As it happens, I've just come into a bit of money. But I'd like it to be pretty low-key? Just my sisters and a few close friends?’
‘Fantastic! That's just fine,’ he said. ‘We'll get married anyhow you like.’
‘I don't want to go back to Belfast, though.’
‘Okay, I'll move over here and join the London force. I love you, Bridget O'Malley. What else can I say?’
‘You don't need to say anything else,’ she said. ‘I've been waiting to hear those words all my life.’
And Barney? He continued to while away his days reading books and smoking his pipe beside the turf fire, but not in his old snug in the tavern. That had been Barney's big idea the day the pub was sold: he'd suggested the three old friends move in together. Sure, they'd spent most of their time sitting in Beaumont's anyway. And did it matter where they were, as long as they had a bit of company?
Himself, Joey and Francy Mac left their little back-to-back houses in the heart of the city and moved to a tiny village just outside Bangor. Lily Beaumont bought a thatched cottage there with a view of the ocean, and the three old men became her tenants. It was a good investment, she said, and they could have it for as long as they needed it.
It was a bit embarrassing, three old guys living together, they thought, when they moved in with their few bits and pieces. But nobody in the locality bothered them; and what was the point in soldiering on alone in this world when you didn't have to? And wasn't it lucky the cottage had three bedrooms, they told the milkman, and also the man who delivered the turf, and the postman too. Just to make sure there were no misunderstandings on that score.
Joey took up fishing, and Francy Mac bought a Springer Spaniel pup to keep him company on his rambles along the beach. They took it in turns to make the dinner, and Lily arranged for a local woman to come in once a week with a can of polish, and keep things shipshape.
‘Wasn't it lovely of Lily and Jack to remember us when they sold up and moved out of Maple Street?’ said Barney one day, as he looked out to sea from the sitting-room window. ‘It's a grand thing to end your days with a view like this, amid good friends and with a decent landlord.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Joey. ‘It was, surely to God. I wonder who the eejit was, that covered over the lovely painting in the first place?’ Lily and Jack had let their dearest friends in on the big secret. ‘Although I suppose it kept the artwork from fading?’
‘God rest their soul and I hope they're in heaven,’ said Barney. ‘Who's for a can of stout?’ The other two nodded and he poured them one each. They had decided to become healthier, now that they were living in the country, and they had reduced their stout-consumption drastically. But still, on summer evenings like this, when the seagulls were wheeling across the bay and there were a few sailboats bobbing on the waves, there was nothing sweeter than a sip of stout and an hour of gentle conversation by the fire.
‘Here's to Lily and Jack,’ said Barney, raising his glass. ‘And their generosity.’
‘And here's to the tavern on Maple Street,’ said Joey. ‘May she still be standing firm, long after we are gone.’
‘Indeed,’ added Francy Mac, patting the dog's head. ‘But I hope we don't kick the bucket for a good while yet.’ They all laughed at that. ‘Cheers!’
At that exact moment, Lily and Jack were curled up in bed together, listening to a gentle breeze stir the leaves on the trees outside. They could hear the traffic going by on the main road, and the rattle of a window cleaner's ladder at the house next door.
‘Did you ever think we'd be as lucky as this?’ Lily asked her husband in a sleepy voice. ‘Having an early night in our lovely townhouse? And nothing to do tomorrow but rest?’
‘No, I never did, I have to say.’ He smiled. ‘We're the luckiest people in the whole wide world.’
‘Do you think we should start looking for a new business to buy, Jack? A new pub?’
‘I think we should enjoy ourselves for a while before we go down that road,’ Jack said quietly. ‘After all, we have twenty years of holiday time due to us.’
‘You're right,’ Lily agreed. ‘But we should start looking soon. Our nest-egg won't last for ever, you know.’
‘Kiss me,’ he soothed then, eager to stay in this dreamtime of their lives for just a little bit longer. ‘Stop worrying about the future and kiss me.’
So she did.
