by Maggie Finn
Grabbing a towel, Sean dried off and pulled on a hoodie. He always kept a flask of soup in the van and he sat in the open side door looking at the view. That’s grand, he thought. The surf hadn’t been anything special, but right now Sean was making the most of any opportunity to get out on the waves, painfully aware that his time here was short. Sean wasn’t entirely sure what the future held, but right now he lived ten minutes from the coast and he wasn’t going to take it for granted.
He thought about their oddball meeting with Kevin Judd up on the cliff top. Would Ross Oil really build some giant energy platform here? Right now, his senses filled with the crash of the tides and the tang of salt and wind and grass, it all seemed impossible. How could anyone dare to think of changing anything so beautiful? But then WestTec had already volunteered to help; or at the very least to participate in persuading people it was a good thing.
He sipped his soup thoughtfully. Of course, Sean might not last that long. Caroline had been talking more and more about his move to London to set up their new office.
Could he – should he – go to London? The funny thing was, he’d always planned to go there – someday, anyway – and there had been some truth in what his father had said about potential. Sean knew he was underachieving. He’d left college full of ambitions and ideas for all kinds of wild projects and big plans, imagining himself running campaigns for Disney and Coca Cola – or maybe starting a cool surf fashion line or some sort of innovative digital app thing. But first he needed to clear his debts, so he’d come back to the West Coast for the summer, just helping out in the office, goofing around, earning a few Euros.
That was the summer Caroline had started to get sick – and that had been the turning point. Or the place he’d stalled, depending how you looked at it. Either way, Sean had stayed partly because he was needed, but partly because right then he wanted stability, no risks. Simplicity.
So all the ambition had been shelved, or maybe it just drained away like sea water into sand. Sure, Sean always put 100% into every job, but creating catalogs for trucking firms wasn’t stretching him. And yes, he could picture himself driving an open-topped car (red, for some reason) to his high-tech office in Soho, then coming back to his flat in Chelsea where… well, that was where he stopped.
When Sean imagined a life in London, he didn’t see parties and Michelin-starred dinners and a glamorous life on the town, he pictured himself sitting alone.
He put away the flask and slid his surfboard into the back of the van, taking the coast road back toward town. He might end up lonely in London, but then Sean wasn’t exactly a social animal right now. He hadn’t been on a date in a year, despite Stacy in the office continually trying to set him up. That was the bottom line: there really wasn’t anything stopping him from going to London – or LA or Lahore. Except one thing.
He couldn’t leave his mum. His mother had frontotemporal dementia: the nerves in her brain were dying. She didn’t recognize people, she repeated things, she could say cruel things. But worst of all, it had leeched out her personality. Gilda had been a happy person, always laughing, seeing the positive in everything. Now she was grey, her back hunched, a troubled, confused frown constantly on her face. For Sean, it was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud.
And to his shame, he avoided visiting her. Dad was there every day because routine made things better for her and reduced the confusion. But Sean found it hard, especially when he had to tell her who he was. ‘Remember, it’s not you who’s suffering here,’ his Dad would say, and perhaps Aiden could pull off that trick, but Sean struggled with it. Dementia reminded Sean of the landmines he’d heard used in the Vietnam war. They weren’t designed to kill, but to injure; a dead soldier was one less soldier on the battlefield, but a wounded soldier removed three – one casualty and two more carrying the stretcher. That’s how the disease had affected Sean’s family. It felt like they were all limping along, not quite doing their jobs, not quite living their lives. Or was it just an excuse?
‘It is an excuse,’ he said out loud, immediately resolving that he’d go and see his Mum after work. She was still his mum and….
‘WHOA!’
He barely had time to react. One second there was open road, the sea on one side, the next there was a looming green thing filling the windshield. Sean yanked the steering wheel to the left, then the right, swerving so suddenly that he felt the Combi lift up onto two wheels.
‘Whoa!’ he hissed as his left wing mirror caught the green blur as he passed – it’s a van, it’s a van, his brain dimly registered – then he was running up the embankment, whipping the wheel back to avoid disappearing over the cliff, finally jerking to a halt inches from a flimsy wooden fence, teetering on the edge of the drop.
Sean blinked, let out a breath, then checked he was still in one piece. No airbags in a 1970s van, but thank goodness the seatbelt had done its job. He’d bumped his head on the windshield, but no cuts, nothing broken. Nothing he could feel anyway.
The VW didn’t look so healthy, however. The engine was growling, but the van wouldn’t move forward or back. He was stuck. He turned off the ignition and, with difficultly – the driver’s door opened into a spiky bush – Sean edged around the vehicle and down onto the road. Shock and relief giving way to anger, he ran at the stranded van. ‘What on earth do you think you’re playing at?’ he shouted, pulling the door wide. And looked into Molly’s face.
‘You,’ he gasped.
‘Oh Lord, I’m so, so sorry,’ she said, her face white. ‘I was coming up the hill and Miguel stalled and now I can’t even get him to turn over.’
‘M – Miguel?’ stuttered Sean, looking over her shoulder then up and down the road. ‘Who’s Miguel? Where is he? Is he hurt?’
‘No, I mean the van,’ said Molly. ‘I, ah, I call him Miguel. I don’t really know why…’ she trailed off sheepishly. ‘He got stuck.’
‘You could have killed me,’ snapped Sean, ‘I could have killed you. If I hadn’t swerved, I could have shunted us both over the cliff!’
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ said Molly, color returning to her face. ‘But I didn’t deliberately stop here.’
‘Well, if you’d properly maintained this rustbucket, maybe it wouldn’t have conked out halfway across the road.’
Molly let out a snigger, then covered her mouth.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing, it’s just… “conked out”? Who says “conked out”?’
‘I do! I say “conked out” – and don’t change the subject.’
‘What, you’d rather go back to where you were telling me off for failing to keep my van roadworthy?’
‘Yes! No!’ He threw his hands up in frustration. Sean took a deep breath, then let it out. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted, but I’d just narrowly avoided falling to my death.’
Molly paused, then smiled.
‘Apology accepted. And I apologize for having almost killed you. Truce?’
She stuck out her hand. Sean hesitated for half a second, then took it, feeling that now-familiar tingle. Molly pulled her hand back and rubbed it on her leg. Had she felt it too?
‘So what are we going to do?’ she asked.
Sean put his hands on his hips and looked at “Miguel” properly for the first time. ‘Well you can’t stay here. If a lorry comes around the corner, there’s no way it’ll miss you.’
Molly reached down and twisted the ignition. It made a half-hearted whirring cough, then died.
‘Could be flooded, could be the starter. We’ll have to push.’
‘Push?
‘Well I’m stuck on the bank back there, so I can’t tow you. So it’s either push or roll it backwards.’
Molly looked at him, then nodded. ‘Okay, but what about the brake?’
‘Good point. I’ll push from the back, you release the handbrake, then jump out and push from there. You’ll have to steer with one hand.’
Sean braced himself against the d
usty rear doors of the van, then shouted ‘Now!’
For a second, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move it – or worse, if Miguel was going to roll back and run him over – but then Molly added her legs to the effort and the van began to move. Inch by inch at first, one staggering step forward, then another, legs burning, then it began to slowly roll and the pushing became easier. ‘Keep going!’ he shouted. ‘Almost there.’ The incline was getting less steep, then flat, then Sean could feel the back doors move away from him. ‘Hit the brakes,’ he called, before dropping to a crouch, breathing hard. But the van kept rolling.
He looked up: Molly was gone.
‘Molly? MOLLY!’ he shouted, clambering to his feet. The van was over the lip of the hill now and picking up speed. ‘Oh no,’ he murmured, breaking into a run, but it was going too fast. Sean made a grab for the rear door handles and missed by a foot. Miguel was going faster and faster as he pounded after it, heart in his mouth. Then suddenly the rear lights flared red, the little van seemed to jerk and there was a roar as it shot forward, disappearing around the next bend. Utterly confused, Sean kept running – then ran straight into the back of the van, glancing off the side and landing in a heap in the grass at the side of the road. He looked up to see Molly winding down the van’s window.
‘What are you doing lying down there?’
‘I was trying to save you. Again. I thought the van had run away.’
‘Don’t be silly. I was bump-starting it; you need to get a bit of speed up.’
She revved the engine, making Sean flinch.
‘Anyway, I can’t turn it off now, could be I ran the battery down back there. Do you want a lift to the garage?’
Groaning, wondering how he’d got himself into this, Sean limped around the frog-green van and clambered inside. With a jerk, Miguel moved away in a cloud of smoke.
‘You’re right by the way,’ said Molly, ‘Miguel’s not in the best of repair, but I can’t exactly afford a full service right now. I’m sure it’s just something simple. I hope it is anyway.’
‘Well I hope I’m just stuck too.’
‘Davy at the garage has one of those big trucks with a hook on the back,’ said Molly cheerfully, ‘He’ll have you back on the road in no time.’
It was only then that Sean remembered to look at his watch.
‘Ach no,’ he groaned.
‘Need to be somewhere?’
He shook his head.
‘Not anymore.’
Caroline had called a board meeting to discuss the company’s expansion plans and had made it very clear that Sean’s presence was vital. Unless Davy at the garage had a teleport device as well, there was no way he was going to make it. Molly glanced across at him.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Nothing seems to go right when we’re together, does it? Maybe someone’s trying to tell us to keep apart.’
‘No!’ Sean had blurted it out before his head had consulted his tongue. ‘I, I mean, er, I mean I don’t blame you.’
Molly laughed. ‘That’s sweet, but maybe you should. Every time I set eyes on you, I ruin your day.’
Actually, you’ve made my day, thought Sean. Twice. He was about to say something to that effect when something on the cluttered dashboard caught his eye; a pile of flyers. He picked one up.
Molly’s Café presents
A Summer Feast
In Clover Cove
Free Sandwiches
Games and prozes
Excellent cake
‘That should read “prizes”, by the way,’ said Molly waving a hand. ‘My friend Raff made them.’
‘So when is it?’
Molly looked across, then did a second take. ‘Awww no!’ she groaned, ‘I knew there was something missing.’
Sean held up the leaflet, an idea forming in his head.
‘Look, if you like, I could help you out. I’m good with this stuff.’
‘What? No, it’s fine, I’ll just get Raff to re-do them.’
‘Seriously,’ said Sean, ‘I’m good with this stuff.’ He handed her a business card.
Molly quickly glanced down at it.
‘You’re a designer? You can do posters and stuff?’
‘I’m a creative consultant, but yes. I can do most things. In fact, I could look at giving your whole operation an overhaul.’
‘Operation?’
‘Well, the café. You know, logos and branding.’
He noted her blank look and added, ‘You could even do your own line of coffee or jam, or….’
Molly suddenly turned in her seat, causing Miguel to swerve across the road.
‘Seriously? You’d do that? After all the grief I’ve given you?’
‘As long as you promise not to crash again,’ said Sean quickly. Molly laughed and jerked the van back to the right side of the road. Sean let out a sigh of relief.
‘Look on it as social duty. I help you, your profits increase, you have money to fix your van, the roads are safer. Plus I save on my own van repairs.’
Molly looked at him, her face serious.
‘Look, I’ll pay for whatever damage I caused.’
Sean chuckled. ‘No problem,’ he said, ‘Maybe you can pay me in hot chocolate one morning.’
He swallowed and took a deep breath.
‘Actually, how about I come over tomorrow after work? I’ll do a few sketches and we can take it from there?’
Sean hoped it sounded casual, because to him it sounded desperate. It felt desperate. Then Molly smiled and Sean felt the whole van light up.
‘It’s a date,’ she said. ‘Well, not a date, but… see you at seven?…’ She looked down at the business card. ‘Sean. And I’m sorry for making you miss your appointment.’
But Sean didn’t care about the meeting at all. Not anymore.
Chapter Eleven
Molly looked at the pile of clothes on her bed and despaired. She had tried on everything in her admittedly small wardrobe and everything made her look too fat, too twee or too, well, sexy. Not that there was much in the latter category, given that ‘going out clothes’ in Kiln County consisted of a checked shirt or any skirt above the knee. And maybe – if you were feeling daring – some earrings. Molly had one sparkly blue cocktail dress and a little black thing that clung to her curves, both from her days in Dublin; but even then, they hadn’t had much air-time. Nights out from restaurant kitchens tended to be spontaneous things very late after work when no one cared how you were dressed. Besides, Molly didn’t want to look too nice. It wasn’t like this was a date date. But still…
She rummaged through the pile and came out with a pencil skirt and a white blouse. Together they looked business-like and respectable, but at the same time, well, some men found the secretary look sexy, didn’t they? She pulled them on and looked at herself in the mirror. It’d have to do. Wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, anyway.
She walked down the narrow stairs into the kitchen.
What was the wrong idea, anyway? Sean – so strange to know his name after all this time thinking about him as ‘the surfer’ – was nice and all; okay, so he was pretty hot with his cheekbones and his floppy surf-hair, but she didn’t know anything about him. Where was he from? And top of the list of things Molly didn’t know about Sean O’Hea was whether he was interested in her. Perhaps he was just a good guy, the kind who genuinely likes helping strangers. After all, in three meetings, he’d mended her foot, offered to help with her accounts and rescued her from a potentially fatal traffic accident. And now he was coming over to help her with her ‘branding’, whatever that was. Didn’t that suggest more than mere kindness?
‘Ach, Molly,’ she scolded her reflection in the microwave, ‘But you’ve no time for such nonsense.’
That much was true. If she stood any chance of saving the café, she needed tunnel vision, to concentrate on one thing: making a huge success of the business.
Molly looked around the café and felt a sinking in her heart. ‘A huge success’
. So easy to say, but not so simple to pull off. Sean clearly meant well – so did Raff and Ryan all the other villagers who had pledged their assistance – but was it even possible? And if she made enough to keep the wolf – or the bailiffs – from the door for the next month, could she keep it going? Molly genuinely wasn’t sure.
Even her natural positivity couldn’t change that big pile of zeros on the wrong side of the balance sheet.
Just then there was a knock at the door.
‘Sean?’ she whispered. ‘It can’t be.’ She looked at the clock and gave a start. Oh my, how had it got so late?
‘Coming! Coming!’ she called, scooping a dish towel off the back of a chair and shoving them under the counter, then smoothed down her skirt and stepped into some shoes. Not exactly stilettos, but they’d have to do.
‘And it’s only a business meeting, after all,’ she reminded herself.
Click-clacking to the door, she threw it open, trying to look casual and nonchalant, but suspecting she looked what she was: nervous and slightly fraught.
‘Hey Molly,’ said Sean. He, on the other hand, looked relaxed and effortless. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his hair neatly combed. He was gorgeous. Realising she was staring, she quickly stepped back.
‘Come in, come in.’
‘Well this is nice,’ smiled Sean as he stepped into the café. Molly swallowed. She had covered the largest table with a simple white tablecloth, adding a chilled bottle of wine and a cheese board with sliced olive bread she’d whipped up that afternoon. Molly had been aiming for casual, but now she was looking at it, it looked like she’d set it for a romantic meal a deux rather than a meeting about logos and such. Sean seemed to read her mind.
