The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  Indeed, the door had jangled a moment later and the lady herself had swept into the store bringing with her a cloud of cloying perfume. Noreen had wanted to hiss at Maisie to close her great big gawping mouth because she looked like the village idiot which was all well and good for her but there was no need to make them all look bumpkins. She was out of earshot though, lurking alongside the packets of digestive biscuits she’d been wondering whether to have with her morning tea and so Noreen had to bite her tongue. Emer had leaped to attention and was fawning all over the elegant apparition asking what she could fetch for her. She wouldn’t be able to complain the service at Grady’s wasn’t up to speed Noreen had thought proudly as she watched her niece scurry toward her in order to fetch the newspaper which Mrs Darby was bemoaning had not arrived at Briar House that morning. It meant Mr Darby’s day had not gotten off to a good start, she informed Emer tightly.

  Noreen handed the correct change to Emer, observing her press it into Mrs Darby’s gloved hand. She’d half thought her niece might curtsey as she received a nod by way of thank you. Then, leaving nothing but her expensive scent in her wake, Mrs Darby was gone. They all stood in reverent silence for a good few minutes until Emer, who’d resumed her position at the window, announced the car had slipped away from the main street. Their shoulders relaxed and business resumed as normal. Maisie decided she deserved a digestive with her tea and she’d push the boat out and buy a packet of the chocolate covered biscuits. It wasn’t every day there was this much excitement in Claredoncally.

  Noreen had been driven demented all afternoon listening to Emer drone on and on about what perfume Mrs Darby had been wearing. Did she think it was Dior or Guerlain? It was definitely French, her niece informed her. ‘Did you see her coat, Aunty Nono?’ It wasn’t as if she could have missed it, Noreen thought, as Emer gushed further. ‘I bet you it was from Paris. I heard she goes to the fashion shows there and buys her clothes direct from the designers. That’s why she looks like a film star.’ Her eyes were alight and her chin was resting on her cupped hands. She was leaning on the counter in a manner that would have Malachy telling her to stand up straight because the staff at Grady’s Convenience Store didn’t slouch, if he were to spot her. Noreen didn’t ask how her niece knew all this about Mrs Darby’s wardrobe but was guessing it was fodder for village gossip. She’d been unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes as Emer pondered aloud as to what the interior of Briar House was like.

  ‘Sure, Emer,’ she’d said. ‘It’s only a house. We’ve all got to live somewhere and the bigger the house the more cleaning there is to be done.’

  Emer was undeterred. ‘I bet it’s very grand with priceless art and antiques everywhere. Imagine having someone to cook for you and someone to clean for you, Aunty Nono. Imagine if all you had to do was click your fingers and someone would come running.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like it,’ Noreen stated, her niece’s enthusiasm for the Darbys’ ostentatious lifestyle was making her cringe. She paused in her clicking of the price gun, leaving the remaining jars of coffee she’d been unpacking in the box for a moment. ‘No, it wouldn’t be for me to have a stranger living in my home privy to all our private business. And sure, why does anyone need more rooms than they can ever use?’

  But Emer hadn’t wanted to hear about practical things; she wanted to daydream about impractical things such as big houses full of servants, French perfume, and coats the latest fashion in Paris.

  ‘There’s no point getting ideas of grandeur, Emer. It only makes you hanker for things you can’t have and there’s no happiness to be found in doing so,’ Noreen had said, trying to snap her niece out of it. Her words were wise but still, she’d thought, there was no harm in the girl having a smart new coat and while Roches Stores might not be the Paris catwalk, she was sure she’d find a style similar to Mrs Darby’s collared, wrap coat. Royal blue would look well on Emer, and she and Malachy would be lost without her these days. It would be nice to acknowledge how indispensable they found her with a thank you gift. The bottom line though, Noreen knew, was she wanted to see her face light up when she pulled the coat from the bag and it was for this reason, she was currently listening in on a most interesting tale the woman in front of her was after telling her friend as she waited for Roches to open their doors.

  She was about to find out what had happened to Bridie at the dance last Friday night when she’d felt a tap on her shoulder. She swung around to see a face she recognised but couldn’t quite place. The girl, around Emer’s age, registered her confusion and explained. ‘Hello, Mrs Grady, I’m Angela. We met a while ago when I came home with Emer for a weekend. She brought me by your shop to say hello. Emer and I shared a room in Dublin.’

  Ah yes, the penny dropped, she’d been pleased to meet the girl and have a peek through the window into what Emer’s life in Dublin was like. ‘Angela, yes of course. It’s lovely to see you again. How’re you?’

  ‘I’m grand, thanks.’

  ‘Are you working here in town these days?’ she asked, noting the girl’s smart blouse and skirt. She had a name badge pinned to her chest and her hair was pulled back in a tidy ponytail.

  ‘I am, yes. I’ve a job at the Bank of Ireland. I transferred from Dublin not long after Emer left.’ Her expression closed a little. ‘Things were a little awkward after everything that happened. I’m pleased I ran into you because I’ve wondered how she’s doing?’

  Noreen was puzzled, the girl was being very cryptic. ‘Have you not been in touch with her yourself then?’ Perhaps the pair had had a falling out. It couldn’t have been easy sharing a poky bedroom. You’d be forever stepping on one another’s toes.

  Angela wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  Something had definitely gone on, Noreen thought, but it wasn’t any of her business. ‘Well, I for one think leaving Dublin and having a fresh start has been the best thing for her. She’s working for me and Mr Grady at the shop now and living back with her mammy and da for the time being.’

  Angela looked startled by this news.

  Noreen couldn’t help herself. ‘Sure, why don’t you phone her. You two were thick as thieves weren’t you.’

  Angela blanched at Noreen’s terminology and she flapped her hand dismissively, her manner telling Noreen she was keen to be on her way. ‘Ah, no, tell her I was asking after her would you? I’m glad things are working out.’

  ‘They are. She had a lucky escape when that Phelan one broke off their engagement.’ Noreen could never keep the righteousness from her voice when she breathed that man’s name. It raised her ire to think of him casting her beautiful niece aside the way he had and it was a good job he’d never shown his face in Claredoncally.

  Angela’s cheeks burned hot with two red blotches and her words tumbled out before she could stop them. ‘Well, he hardly had any choice not after what Emer did. I’m sorry, Mrs Grady, but I don’t think that’s a fair comment.’

  Noreen was taken aback by the girl’s strong reaction. Her pulse quickened the way it always did when she knew things could go one of two ways. She could leave the conversation there and pretend she’d never met up with Angela. She could carry on happily about her business or, she could push further and find out something instinct was telling her she wouldn’t want to hear. She and Rosamunde had assumed Phelan had gotten cold feet and Emer had never given them reason to think otherwise but here was Angela alluding to Emer being the one at fault. She couldn’t help herself, the plaster had to be ripped off now. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Angela wished she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just, well it’s not fair on Phelan you thinking he’s faithless. I’d best be on my way or I’ll be late.’ She made to walk away.

  Noreen put her hand on Angela’s forearm, stopping her. ‘Please, Angela, will you tell me what Emer did?’

  Angela hesitated. There was a pleading look on Mrs Grady’s face. She didn’t know why she was so sur
prised Emer hadn’t told her family the truth of what had happened with Phelan. She’d proven she wasn’t to be trusted when she left Dublin in disgrace. Sure, she’d left her in the lurch having to cover her share of the rent, upping and leaving without a word of notice the way she did. Angela was a firm believer in second chances though, and she’d hoped Emer might have changed her ways. She’d hoped this because, despite her sneaky, dishonest streak, she was also brilliant fun and they’d had lots of laughs together in Dublin. She missed her old friend but not enough to pick up where they’d left off, besides which, she had a feeling Emer wouldn’t thank her for visiting her in Claredoncally.

  Angela hadn’t a clue why she’d done what she’d done either, because if she was short of money, she’d only had to ask and Phelan would have helped her. Come to that she would have helped her. But she’d never even hinted at having money problems. She’d simply helped herself to what wasn’t hers and when she got caught, she’d been tearful and apologetic, pleading with Phelan not to break things off. She’d only taken the extra she was due, she’d cried. She worked hard and deserved more than the paltry sum she was paid at the end of each week. Angela had heard all of this from where she was perched on the edge of her bed in their room. She’d stared unseeingly at the wallpaper with its faded flowers and patch of damp in the corner, biting her thumbnail in disbelief as Emer’s and Phelan’s voices carried up the stairs from the hallway where they stood. He’d only raised his voice the once, when Emer refused to give him back the ring he’d proposed to her with. ‘It belonged to my grandmother and you’re not taking that from me too!’ he’d shouted, and Angela had blanched picturing the scene below. The last thing she heard him say before the door banged shut behind him was, ‘You’re not the girl I thought you were.’

  Emer had refused to talk to her about what had transpired but Angela had seen the white band on her finger, left behind by the ring. The story of Emer thieving from her employers, her fiancé’s parents no less, had filtered through their circle of friends and when she found herself ostracised, she’d packed her bags. Angela had arrived home from work to a note Emer had scrawled to say she couldn’t afford to stay in Dublin and had gone back to Claredoncally to stay with family.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ she asked Mrs Grady. She’d only met Emer’s aunt and uncle the once but she’d seen the way they fussed over their niece and their eagerness to meet her friend. They were good people and if Emer was up to her old tricks then her poor aunt deserved to know what she was capable of, especially as she was working for her in their shop these days. She chewed her bottom lip, still uncertain she wanted to be the one to tell the sorry tale.

  Noreen bobbed her head, willing the girl to spit it out whatever it was. Sure, she was beginning to wonder from the drama of it all if it was murder Emer was after committing.

  ‘Alright then. I’m sorry, Mrs Grady, but Emer was fiddling the books at the factory. Stealing to put it plainly. She was lucky the family didn’t press charges when she got caught out, but you can see why Phelan had to break their engagement off. Even if he could have found a way to get past what she’d done, his family couldn’t. He was heartbroken.’ Her face flashed with sympathy for Emer’s ex-fiancé. Noreen stood there feeling a little other worldly and something else. It took her a moment to work out what it was. Foolish, that was how she felt. A naïve and foolish woman. She was relieved when Angela announced, ‘I’ve got to get back to work. I thought you should know in case, well, I thought you should know.’

  In case a leopard didn’t change its spots, Noreen finished silently for her. She couldn’t muster up any words to say to Angela and as the girl shifted from foot to foot waiting for, well, Noreen wasn’t sure what exactly she was waiting for because what could she say by way of response? After a painfully eked out silence she took her cue and with an apologetic goodbye, strode off down the street. Noreen watched her, unsure if the bile that had risen in her throat was at the thought of her niece being no better than a common criminal, or whether it was because of her own stupidity in not having pressed her further. She should have kept at her until she told the truth of what had happened between her and Phelan. She should have known something wasn’t right. A numbness began to creep through her limbs and she forced herself to move before it rendered her frozen to the spot.

  The doors to the store had opened and the line was finally snaking inside the building but Noreen left her place in the queue and headed for the AIB Bank where she and Malachy held their account, the bewilderment Rosamunde had expressed over the money Emer seemed to be splashing about foremost in her mind. The throwaway comment, her sister had made as to Noreen and Malachy holding Emer up to be something she was not played over in her mind. They’d trusted Emer week after week with their takings. When had either of them last thought to check a bank statement? She’d do so now, she thought, pushing open the doors and joining the handful of people waiting to attend to their business. She stared at the man in front of her. He was wearing a brown suit and she didn’t notice the fluffy lint stuck to it as she normally would, tutting to herself she’d never let Malachy leave the house like that. She didn’t disapprove over the creased trousers either as she prayed silently she wouldn’t find what the sick feeling now settled in her stomach was telling her she’d find when she looked into things.

  ‘SHE’D BEEN HELPING herself the whole time. Malachy and I were taken for gullible fools, Father.’ Noreen wrung her hands as she finished her tale, her throat feeling heavy with the effort to keep the tears at bay. Even now, so many years later, the abuse of trust wounded her to her core.

  ‘No, Noreen.’ Father Peter shook his head. ‘Big hearted and trusting was what you and Malachy were.’

  Noreen looked at Father Peter’s kindly face, drawing strength from it. ‘You know it wasn’t the stealing that hurt the most. It wasn’t even the awful words Emer hurled at us before she left.’ She shivered recalling how, when confronted, Emer had at first denied any wrongdoing. It was only when Noreen waved the statement and the book, the indisputable proof of glaring and unexplainable discrepancies, she’d begun to apologise. She’d wanted a few nice things, to treat herself, was that so bad? She was sorry, she’d pleaded. Malachy had stood by Noreen’s side, his expression set in stone, and when Emer saw her apology wasn’t going to be accepted with the understanding she felt was her due, she’d lashed out.

  Noreen had flinched as though physically slapped when Emer threw at them she’d only taken what was her due, what she was worth, and then a nastiness had seeped in. ‘You suffocated me with your neediness, did you know that?’ Her eyes were as mean as her words. Malachy had spoken then, his voice hard as steel as he told her to leave the shop and not to come back. There was a look of disbelief on Emer’s face and her gaze swung to Noreen, who even then wanted to take her niece in her arms and tell her all was forgiven. She stood firm by Malachy’s side though, as was her duty, and Emer slammed out of the shop leaving her and Malachy to stand in hollow silence. Noreen would never forget the look on her husband’s face when he at last turned to her and said, ‘Well, that’s that.’ He never spoke of Emer again.

  ‘What cut the deepest, Father,’ Noreen said, blinking away the images from the past, ‘was the way the light went out in Malachy’s eyes that day.’

  Chapter 22

  Noreen couldn’t believe a week had passed since she’d been at Alma’s Tea Shop. Her days didn’t normally race by, they were more inclined to meander past like a lazy stream but she’d been lost in her memories and hours had disappeared at a time. Yes indeed, time had gotten away from her as she’d lingered in the past because here she was, back at the tea shop once more. She greeted Kathleen, Margaret and Agnes, who were already there knitting like the clappers. On a plate in front of each of them was a currant bun sliced in two with a miserly spread of butter, with a pot of tea in the centre of the table. Alma was clattering away behind the counter arranging the food cabinet for what she no doubt hoped would be the
lunchtime rush. Noreen pulled a chair out and sat herself down next to Margaret.

  ‘Currant bun, Noreen?’ Alma called over.

  ‘No, thank you, but a cup and saucer would be grand.’ She was cutting back on extras such as currant buns between now and her trip to Dublin. It wasn’t exactly a hardship when it came to Alma’s offerings. The slice of cream cake visiting Father Peter the other day was eaten out of necessity to be polite but there was no risk of offending her three old friends if she didn’t partake of a currant bun. Right now though, there was an acrid odour in the air hinting at a disaster in the kitchen. ‘What’s that awful stink, Alma?’ Her nose wrinkled.

  ‘I was after burning the scones on account of a phone call from my daughter. I forgot all about them. The smell’s murder to get rid of and it’s too cold to have the place airing out.’ She waved the cloth she held in her hand. ‘You don’t notice it after a while.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ Kathleen said, looking up from her knitting. ‘Although if my coat reeks of burnt scones, it’s you I’ll be sending the dry cleaning bill to.’

  ‘Ah sure, hang it in on the washing line for half an hour when you get home. Give it a good airing and it’ll be good as new. There’s not enough money in a pot of tea and a currant bun for the likes of the drycleaners.’