Upside Down Inside Out

by Monica McInerney

  Fifteen minutes later Eva was no further than a hundred meters down the road, still waiting at the taxi rank.

  There were three groups of people ahead of her. They’d already been waiting for ten minutes before she arrived, one of them told her. Some big do at the Tennis Centre, apparently, a big rush on taxis tonight. It was ridiculous, another one of them complained. Why weren’t there more taxis on the roads?

  Eva was amazed. Complaining about a twenty-five-minute wait? That was a short wait in Dublin. She’d waited nearly two hours near O’Connell Bridge one night. And it had been pouring rain.

  A voice broke into her thoughts. “Hello again.”

  She spun around. It was the Englishman. She smiled at him. “Joe, hello. Or should I call you Mister Travolta?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was a friend of yours.”

  She really liked that glint of humor in his eyes. “It didn’t matter one bit, believe me.” She glanced back in the direction of the party house. “You’d had enough too?”

  He nodded. “I tried to find the person who’d invited me, but no luck. So I called it a night too.”

  “And did you manage to do your dancing?”

  “I did. It was quite a spectacle, if I say so myself.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “But you’ve seen Saturday Night Fever?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, there was no difference, really. John Travolta and I, one and the same moves.”

  He was still deadpan, she noticed, even if his eyes were laughing. They stood side by side, silent for a moment, watching as one cab pulled up and picked up the first group. They all moved up in the queue and Eva turned in his direction again. “So, are you enjoying Melbourne?”

  “Very much,” he said. “And you?”

  “Oh yes.” Eva desperately tried to think of something interesting to say to him. She blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “The trams are great, aren’t they? Really bright and convenient.”

  He gave her a long look. “Yes, they seem to be.”

  She groaned inwardly. Oh, for God’s sake. A whole new city to discuss and what had she brought up? Public transport. That would really get the conversation going. Why, Eva, I’ve never met anyone able to speak about tram networks in such a fascinating way. What do you think about the buses?

  “And you’re a sculptor and a singer, Niamh?”

  She nearly jumped. He seemed to notice her surprise. “Your friend was telling me.”

  Oh, hell. When had Greg managed to give Joe the whole spiel? She’d only left them alone for a few minutes. She was about to confess that Niamh wasn’t actually her name when she stopped herself. At least Niamh might have something interesting to say. The way Eva was going, she’d start talking about Melbourne’s marvelous phone booths or roadside markings soon. She’d been Niamh for the past four hours already, in any case. What would another ten minutes hurt? She turned toward him and smiled. “That’s right, I am.”

  “You’ve sung with Enya, I believe?”

  Good God, had Greg been handing out detailed press releases? “Yes, that’s right,” she said, more cautiously. She needed to play it down a bit. “Not as an ongoing thing, though. More as a guest musician. Enya’s songs have so many layers, I just come in and do some of them for her sometimes.”

  “Really? Just sometimes?”

  He seemed really interested. Oh, God, what else could she add? “Yes, you know, if she has to go to the shops or something, and they don’t want to waste the studio time. They call me and I sing the notes for a few hours…”

  “That’s an unusual approach, isn’t it?”

  Was it? Uh oh. Where was Lainey when she needed her? “Do you think?” she said vaguely.

  “And are you a big fan of that sort of ambient music?”

  Her tongue took off before her mind could catch up.

  “I do like it, yes. It’s very relaxing. In fact it can be quite hard to stay awake sometimes.”

  “You’ve fallen asleep in the middle of recording?” The hint of laughter was back in his eyes again.

  Eva decided she liked seeing it. She had a feeling he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, but it didn’t really seem to matter either way. She warmed to her theme. “Oh, it happens occasionally. Even Enya nods off sometimes. Especially when we’re singing in Irish. The words are so beautiful and we’re singing them over and over again, it can have quite a hypnotic effect.”

  “You can speak Irish?”

  “A little.” She’d learned it at school, though she’d forgotten most of it. “But I don’t have to be too fluent. We tend to repeat the same words endlessly.”

  “I’ve never really heard Irish being spoken. Could you give me an example? From one of the songs you sing?”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Her mind went completely blank. Then the electricity pylon across the street caught her eye and an Irish phrase popped into her head. She started singing the three Irish words over and over, very softly, just to give him an idea. “Bord-soláthar-leictreachais-bord-soláthar-leictreachais-bord-soláthar-leictreachais…”

  “It sounds beautiful. What does it mean?”

  “Um, it’s an ancient Celtic myth,” she said. “About the search for power, that sort of thing.” That would do nicely, she thought. He didn’t need to hear she’d just sung the Irish words for Electricity Supply Board.

  He nodded. “And you’re a sculptor as well as a singer?”

  She accepted the new topic of conversation with gratitude. “I am. That’s my first love. My passion. The singing is just a sideline.”

  “You feel passionate about your work?”

  She really had his attention, she realized. He was looking at her as if she knew something he really longed to know. “Oh yes, I completely love it. It’s my life. I’m always working in some way, looking out for an unusual shape, or an interesting use of color, wondering how I’m going to put them together.” That sounded good, she thought, pleased. Even if she was actually talking about her shop window displays rather than sculptures.

  “And do you produce just one-off pieces? Or do you mass-market some of your ideas, so more people get to see them?”

  An easy question, at last. Art versus commerce had been a common topic of conversation at art school. “Oh no,” she said fervently. “You can’t mass-market art. That would be completely selling out. I think if you truly believe in what you’re doing, you have to be prepared to make sacrifices for it. To live simply if you have to. Money gives me freedom, I know, but I don’t want to be rich. I think it’s too risky, it leaves you open to being compromised.”

  “In what way?”

  She warmed to her theme, really enjoying the way he was looking at her. Curious. Interested. “I just think money can be a corrupting influence. Not just in art and music, in every industry. It can cushion people, make them soft. Or place them on a sort of treadmill, where they feel they have to keep running, keep making more, or everything will collapse around them.” Straight out of a second-year art school essay, she thought.

  “But everyone needs some money. Especially if you want to travel, see the world like this.”

  She thought quickly. “I’m fortunate, I suppose. My trip has been sponsored. By people interested in my work. Commissions, you know the sort of thing.”

  He nodded.

  “But I still insist on doing it in a low-key way. No luxury hotels for me, I just keep it as simple as I can.”

  “Oh.”

  Eva started to feel a bit guilty. She was getting worse than Lainey with her storytelling now. What next? A quick Riverdance jig on the footpath?

  Another taxi pulled up then. A man climbed in and the rest of them moved up a space. A young couple walked down the road and joined the queue behind Joseph.

  Eva decided it was time to change the subject. “And you’re on a working holiday, is that right?”

  Joseph paused for a long moment. “Yes. Sort of.”r />
  “And is it easy to get holiday work here in Australia?”

  Another pause. “I don’t really know, actually.”

  He obviously hadn’t started looking yet. “Well, keep Greg’s place in mind, won’t you, when you start looking. He does need staff.”

  “Greg’s place?”

  “Do you remember? He gave you his business card?”

  “Oh yes.” He smiled at her. “Do you think he’ll remember giving it to me?”

  “I’m sure he’ll remember. Anyway, I’ll remind him for you if he doesn’t.”

  “Thank you, Niamh.”

  What gorgeous eyes he has, she thought. And a really lovely voice—quiet, deep. She realized she was staring at him again. She forced herself to look away.

  Two taxis arrived. The second one was Eva’s. On impulse she turned back to him.

  “Apparently there’s a taxi shortage tonight. You could be waiting for ages yet. Do you want to share this one back to the city with me?” She decided it wasn’t too big a risk. In any case, she’d be safe enough with the taxi driver.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Which way are you going?”

  “South Yarra. Chapel Street.”

  She knew South Yarra. She’d been looking at cafes there. “It’s right on my way. We can drop you off first.” They climbed into the car and it pulled away from the curb.

  Back at the queue the couple behind Joseph had been listening to the exchange with curiosity.

  “Lucky bloke, wasn’t he?” Aaron said to his girlfriend as the taxi drove off. “We should have asked if we could share it as well.”

  In the taxi, Joseph leaned forward and gave the driver the name of his hotel. Overhearing, Eva assumed it was a backpackers’ hostel. So she was surprised some minutes later when the taxi pulled up in the driveway of a luxurious hotel. Backpacker hostels had come a long way, she thought.

  She was quite sorry the trip was over. She’d really enjoyed talking to him. “It was great to meet you, Joe. And best of luck again, I hope you enjoy your travels.” She suddenly wanted the moment to last longer. On impulse, she held out her hand. He seemed slightly surprised. Then she felt his hand clasp hers. It was strong. Cool.

  “Thanks, Niamh. I really enjoyed meeting you too.” They shook hands, very formally, then he stepped out of the cab and took out his wallet. “Please, take this for my share.”

  She waved away the note he was holding out. “Not at all. You were on my way.”

  “No, I insist.” Joseph put the note on the seat and quickly shut the door. With a wave he was gone.

  It was only when she got home that she discovered it was a hundred-dollar note.

  CHAPTER 18

  Greg woke Eva at ten o’clock the next morning, full of apologies for his drunken behavior at the party. He mumbled something about being on antibiotics for a toothache and them not mixing well with the alcohol he’d drunk.

  No, I don’t imagine two bottles of wine and at least six bottles of beer would mix very well with tablets, Eva thought but didn’t say aloud as she twisted the phone cord just out of Rex’s reach. The cord had enough little toothmarks on it as it was.

  “Will you forgive me?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “And I haven’t forgotten my offer for you to come down to Four Quarters. To get some inspiration for your work.”

  Eva winced. She had been feeling guilty about that. It was one thing to pretend to be someone else at a dinner party. That had been just a joke. And all right, it had made it easier for her at the party to pretend to be someone else. But coming down to Four Quarters to get inspiration for her work? That was taking it too far. She’d just have to come clean. “Greg, really, it was very kind of you. But—”

  “No buts, Niamh, really. It’d be a pleasure to have you around. You can stay there as long as you like. I’ll call the manager now and let her know you’re on your way.”

  “Greg, I—” She heard another voice in the background then Greg came back on the line.

  “Sorry to interrupt you but I need to go. I’ll see you again soon, then, will I? This time tomorrow, perhaps?”

  “Greg—”

  “I hope so. Bye, Niamh.”

  He rang off. Eva sat, looking at the phone. She’d tried. She’d just have to tell him next time she saw him. She had just stood up to make a pot of coffee when the phone rang again. She picked it up.

  It was Lainey. “Every little detail, come on. What did you wear? Did he call you Niamh all night? Come on, spill the beans.”

  For the next hour Eva and Lainey lay on sofas in their different cities, drinking coffee, talking about Lainey’s work and going over every detail of the night before.

  “Oh, well done, you. An action-packed night and you made a hundred-dollar profit,” Lainey said at the end.

  “I can’t keep it, Lainey. The poor man, he must have thought it was a ten-dollar note. I rang the hotel I dropped him at last night and asked to get put through to the hostel section, but they said they didn’t have one. And I didn’t know what his surname was either, which didn’t help. Perhaps he was embarrassed about where he was really staying and just pretended he was staying in that hotel.”

  “You never know, you might see him around town again. What did he look like?”

  Eva opened her mouth, about to describe him. Dozens of words sprang into her mind. He had beautiful dark eyes. A deep, warm voice. A London accent. He was tall. He wore a T-shirt very well indeed, as though he worked out occasionally. And he had a particular way of looking at her. As if he was really interested in what she was saying.

  “Evie? What did he look like?”

  Eva didn’t want to tell Lainey. She didn’t know why.

  Yes, you do know why. You don’t want to say he was gorgeous in case she wants to meet him herself.

  “Oh, dark hair. Tallish.” She quickly changed the subject. “Lainey, can you give me some advice? I’ve had an idea, about the shop in Dublin. And I’ve got myself into a bit of a fix with Greg.”

  “Oh, excellent. Tell me everything.”

  Eva spoke quickly, explaining the idea she’d had about opening a small cafe in the delicatessen. “And Greg has offered to let me come and watch Four Quarters at work. But he thinks it’s for inspiration for my sculptures and it’s not, and I feel terrible—Lainey, are you laughing at me?”

  “Of course I am. You should hear yourself. Oh dear, oh woe. Evie, stop taking everything so seriously. You’re not trying to infiltrate the Kremlin. It’s just a bit of fun. Greg gets the chance to pretend he knows a famous person and you get the chance to get some good inside knowledge for your own place. It’s a win–win situation.”

  “But he really believes me. He really does think I’m a sculptor and that I sang with Enya. You should have heard some of the things he was saying at the party.”

  “Evie, I’ve known Greg for years. He will find this funny, I promise you. Eventually. It’s time he stopped being so star-struck anyway. And he’ll blame me, not you, so don’t worry. Just enjoy yourself, spend a nice day sitting in a cafe. You can even claim all your coffees as tax-deductible work expenses. God knows, Greg won’t give you one for free. Listen, I’d better go. See you at the end of the week, I hope. And enjoy yourself, okay?”

  The next day, Eva arrived at Four Quarters expecting to find the manager, as she had arranged with Greg. Instead, Greg himself was already there and in a complete flap. He was pacing from one quarter to the other, speaking loudly into his mobile phone. Eva cast a glance at it. No, there didn’t seem to be any inscriptions on it à la Dermot. That was a relief, she supposed.

  She waved across to him and took a seat at one of the tables. It only took her a moment to recognize the music that was playing, in all four quarters of the cafe. Enya.

  Greg finally finished his call and came over, all charm and manners. “Niamh, it’s great to see you again. And I’m so sorry again about the other night, you know, those tablets
and all.”

  Eva accepted his apology with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re great to have me here, thanks a million.”

  “Did you recognize the music? I got one of the waitresses to go out this morning and buy it especially for you. Is this one of the songs you sang on?”

  Eva pretended to listen. God, they all sounded the same to her in any case. “Ah no, not this one,” she hedged. “Mine are later on in the CD, I think. You seem very busy, is everything okay? Have I come at a bad time?”

  Greg’s smile faded slightly. “No, it’s just my bloody daytime receptionist has resigned. Walked out on me, just like that. Didn’t give me any notice or anything. Money hungry, she was. But now I’m stuck, I need someone with a great voice to answer the phone and help handle the lunchtime crowds, and the employment agency is giving me the bloody runaround. Saying they haven’t got time to audition everyone’s voices and their best choice won’t be available until later in the week. What am I supposed to do for three days? Answer the phone myself?”

  An invisible lightbulb appeared above Eva’s head. She could help Greg out of a spot and spend time in the cafe as well. Then she wouldn’t feel half as bad. And maybe he wouldn’t be half as cross when he found out she and Lainey had been playing a trick on him. “What about me?”

  “You?”

  “Couldn’t I answer the phone for you? Help out at lunchtime? As a favor, not for payment, that is. Until you get someone else. If my voice would be okay?”

  Greg nearly swooned. “Your voice would be perfect. Better than perfect. Niamh, are you sure?”

  “I’m very sure.”

  He beamed at her. “Then it’s a deal.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Joseph looked at himself in the hotel room mirror. He was wearing faded jeans and another of George’s T-shirts. Much better, he realized.

  He’d certainly had no luck the day before. Dressed in one of the white linen shirts and dark suits he’d worn at the conference, he had called in to several hostels in the city center. He’d tried to make conversation with some of the backpackers, get some feedback on the backpacks they were using. He wanted to be sure the modifications he was making to the design of his own backpack would be workable.