Upside Down Inside Out

by Monica McInerney

  His flat was surprisingly tidy, she thought as she let herself in. Mind you, there didn’t seem to be a lot to get messy. For someone so successful, Joseph didn’t go for the trappings very much. He took after Lewis in that respect. Lewis had never been one for status symbols either.

  She noticed that the answering machine was flashing. Joseph, ringing to let her know how he was going, as he’d promised. She pressed the play button. A female Irish voice filled the room. “Joe, this is Niamh. I must have just missed you. I’ll call back again later.”

  Then moments later, a second message. “Joe. It’s me. Niamh again. I’m sorry, but I think I’m about to use up all your tape. I’ve got a fair bit to say. And I need to say it to you before you come to Ireland…”

  Kate listened. Oh God, it was the Irish woman. The one he had met in Australia. And this sounded private. Very private. She shouldn’t be hearing this, it was definitely for no one’s ears but Joseph’s.

  She picked up the answering machine, quickly turning it around, trying to find the stop button. She touched it. The voice stopped. Good. Then she noticed the tape was still going round. She’d obviously just hit the volume control. She touched the button again and the voice echoed around the room.

  “…you. That time I spent with you in Australia was the best time I’ve ever had in my life. That’s really blurting it out, isn’t it? And I don’t know where this leaves us now. What you will think. But I hope it’s nothing terrible. I do have phone numbers. In Dublin. It’s up to you if you want to ring me, after all I’ve just told you.” The Irishwoman slowly called out two sets of numbers.

  “Joe, I won’t call you again but I hope you’ll ring me. Because—”

  The voice stopped. Kate watched through the window on the machine as the tape clicked, stopped, then started rewinding again. What was it going to do now? She’d just picked it up again when the phone started to ring, startling her. She dropped the machine with a clatter and watched, horrified, as it kicked into action.

  The tape started rolling again. The caller’s voice filled the room. It was a London accent, a young woman speaking clearly and slowly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wheeler. This is Susie from Shoreditch Health and Fitness ringing on Sunday afternoon. I was actually hoping to catch you at home. This is just a courtesy call, hoping that everything’s fine with you. Our records show that you joined nearly two months ago but you haven’t actually been to the gym yet.” She continued to talk for two minutes, her spiel very practiced.

  Kate thought the woman was never going to stop talking. She wanted to shut her up but she didn’t know how to stop the tape running. As she stood there watching, the cassette clicked and started to rewind. It finally stopped. Unconsciously holding her breath, she pressed the play button again, fingers crossed that the Irishwoman’s voice would come back on.

  It didn’t. The only sound was the chirpy London accent of the gym receptionist. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wheeler. This is Susie from Shoreditch Health and Fitness…” Oh no, Kate thought. The new message had obviously wiped out the other one. The important private message with the phone numbers. Which she couldn’t remember if her life depended on it.

  She knew that Joseph would hate the idea she had heard even a bit of that message. He’d always been so private. He hadn’t even told her he’d split up with Tessa until three months afterward. What did she do now?

  She could just say nothing and hope the Irishwoman rang back again soon. But there had been enough hidden secrets between her and Joseph over the years. They had a clean slate now, she wasn’t going to start filling it again. She picked up the phone and rang Joseph’s mobile number.

  CHAPTER 39

  The answering machine was flashing when Eva arrived home after work the next day. Her heart lifted. Joe. At last.

  She’d been a bag of nerves since she’d left the message the day before, waiting for her home phone to ring. She hadn’t even gone around the corner to the shop. She’d just sat within easy reach of the phone, pretending she was doing something other than waiting for it to ring.

  But it hadn’t. He must be thinking about it still, she’d decided. Or perhaps he’d been caught up at work or somewhere, and had decided it was too late to call her when he got in. In which case he was bound to call early in the morning. Before she went to work.

  But he hadn’t. Of course he wouldn’t have, she’d reasoned. He couldn’t be sure what time she’d leave for work, so he would have decided it was best not to ring in case he got her just as she was going out of the door, in a hurry. That wouldn’t be the right time for the sort of conversation they would need to have.

  So he was probably going to ring her at work. That wouldn’t be ideal but it would be fine, she’d decided. She would be able to take the call in the storeroom, the most private place in the shop. She’d just have to hope the builders weren’t using their drills or electric saws when he rang. Or their hammers. The noise was a little overpowering.

  But the phone hadn’t rung for her at work. The only calls had been from suppliers, wanting to find out from Ambrose when the shop would be re-opening and whether it was true they were starting a cafe at the back.

  But here it was at last, she thought now. The message from him. She pressed the replay button. It wasn’t Joe. It was Jillian, the band manager. “Eva, it was fantastic to hear from you. I was thinking of you just the other day when I was walking past your uncle’s shop. What are you up to in there? It looks very exciting. I’d love to talk to you about you doing some singing. I’m actually managing a couple of bands these days, playing for the tourists in a few pubs around town. And there’s always a spot for someone with a voice like yours. Try me again, will you? We’ve got a few gigs coming up in the next few weeks. Maybe it could start sooner than you think?”

  It was good news. Exciting news. But Eva still felt terrible, because Joe still hadn’t rung.

  Lainey was just coming out of her apartment. It was barely six a.m. and she was hardly awake.

  She was about to shut the door when she noticed the lace on one of her running shoes was undone. As she crouched down to tie it, Rex slipped out through the open door and made a dash for the stairs.

  “Rex! No, Rex! You’re not allowed down there.” She stood up quickly and ran down the stairs just in time to see a little pointy tail flick around the corner of the landing.

  “Rex! Come here!” She jumped the final two stairs to save time. As she landed she heard a loud crack and felt a searing pain. Her leg gave way beneath her. “Owww!” she screamed. The noise stopped Rex in his tracks ten stairs down.

  Doubled up, she clutched at her ankle, rocking and muttering to herself. “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow.”

  Someone came up the stairs below her. It was Adam, her downstairs neighbor. He picked up Rex as he came past. “Lainey? My God, what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  Her face was tight with pain. “I think I’ve broken my ankle.”

  Joseph put down the phone and crossed out another number on the long list in front of him. There had to be a better way to find her. Over the past three days he’d rung hundreds of Kennedys in Ireland. He’d started with Galway, then moved out to all the counties surrounding Galway. He’d spoken to old women, young men, teenagers, children. But none of them had heard of a sculptor and singer called Niamh who had just got back from a holiday in Australia.

  If only Kate had been able to remember the numbers Niamh had left. But she had been so embarrassed about hearing any of Niamh’s message, it was hardly surprising the two numbers hadn’t stayed in her mind. “I’m so sorry, Joseph, I only heard snatches of it. I remember she said that the time she spent with you in Australia was the best time in her life. And I think she said it was up to you to ring her if you wanted to talk to her again.”

  He very much wanted to talk to her again, but he couldn’t find her. She must have an unlisted number, there was no other explanation. But Kate had said she’d left two numbers. So what could the second number have been?
/>
  He ran his hand through his hair. Then it came to him. Of course. How could he be so stupid? It must have been Lainey’s number in Melbourne. Perhaps she’d left a message with Lainey for him, which was why she’d left that number on his answering machine. But she hadn’t needed to. Because he already had it.

  He picked up the phone again and dialed Lainey’s number.

  At that moment, Eva was on the phone to Lainey in Melbourne.

  “Crutches for a fortnight? At least? Oh Lainey, that’s terrible. You poor thing. How on earth are you managing the stairs to your apartment?”

  “I’m not. I tried once and nearly fell head over heels again. I’ve moved back home with Mum and Dad. Me and little Rex. Just until the swelling has gone down a bit and it isn’t complete agony every time I move. My brothers are carrying me everywhere, doing my every bidding, it’s brilliant. And Rex loves it, all this company and attention.”

  “So are you picking up messages from home or should I ring you at your parents’ number?”

  “At my parents’. Or this mobile number. I turned the answering machine at home off. There was no point people leaving messages thinking I’d get back to them when it could be days before I even heard them. Besides, everyone who knows me has my mobile number.” Then Lainey’s tone of voice changed. “So, Evie, any word yet?”

  Eva’s tone changed too. “No. Not yet.”

  “It has only been a few days.”

  Only? They’d been the longest few days of her life.

  Lainey went on, “He might have been called away for work. Or maybe his grandmother had a relapse. Or maybe—”

  “He heard my message and decided he didn’t want anything else to do with me.”

  “Stop that. You told me what you said on your message and it was great. It was perfect. I’m sure he’ll ring you. Maybe he’s just thinking it all through. He’s not free of blame either, you know. Maybe he’s really embarrassed that you caught him out. You can’t possibly know. But I’m sure he’ll ring, I saw the way he looked at you.”

  Eva was a little consoled. “Thanks, Lainey.”

  “No worries. Just be patient, okay?”

  In London the next day, Rosemary picked up the final page from the printer. Number after number was listed on the pile of pages.

  She knocked on the door of Joseph’s office. “Excuse me, here are those numbers you’re looking for—every art gallery in Ireland, is that right?”

  “That’s right, Rosemary.” He took the pages. “Thank you very much for doing that, I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. She waited, half hoping for an explanation, but Joseph had turned back to his computer screen.

  Puzzled, she walked back to her own desk. She’d never known him to be interested in art or sculpture before. And he’d certainly never mentioned Ireland. It was all very odd.

  In the delicatessen that afternoon, Eva stood back as Meg dragged the sample table and chair across the wooden floor. She and Ambrose winced as the metal tips of the chair legs screeched.

  “I’m sure we could fit in another table, Evie. Look, if we squashed this one up against the wall here. And moved these chairs in tight here. Plenty of room.”

  “No, I don’t think so. There’d hardly be room to move. And no one wants to sit tight up against someone else, feeling their every word is being overheard. Let’s stick to seven tables and that’s it. Now, how are your menu ideas coming along?”

  Meg beamed at her. “Well, I’m definitely sure about soup. Several different varieties every day, I thought, served with crusty white bread. And what about big thick sandwiches with plenty of fillings. And some hot dishes, of course. Like Thai chicken curries or vegetarian lasagnes. Gourmet pizzas, perhaps, with smoked salmon, feta cheese and spinach leaves. And what about salads, with lots of crispy vegetables and fresh herbs? And shall we have some really good desserts as well? Like rich chocolate mudcakes? Or caramelized apple tarts? I love making cherry almond biscuits. And pancakes are quick and delicious—What? What did I say?”

  Meg stopped and looked back and forth between Eva and Ambrose, who were both openly laughing. Eva reached over and tousled her hair. “What you said was brilliant, Meg. Just brilliant.”

  That morning Eva had told Ambrose the whole story. Explained to him the real reason she’d left art school four years previously. She’d waited anxiously for his reaction.

  “Do you really think it matters, Evie? Because it doesn’t change a thing as far as I’m concerned.”

  She’d looked at him. Then she’d smiled in relief. “You’re right, Ambrose, I don’t think it does matter anymore.”

  The following day, Joseph put the folder of business papers to one side and turned his attention back to another pile of paper on his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed a number in Ireland.

  “Oh, good afternoon,” he said politely when a young woman answered. “I wonder if you can help me. Do you happen to represent a sculptor by the name of Niamh Kennedy? No? Are you sure? Do you happen to know anyone who does? No? Well, thank you anyway.”

  He drew a line through that name, then dialed the next number on the list.

  Two nights later, Eva knocked on the door of the rehearsal room at the back of a big house in Mountjoy Square.

  Jillian answered. She beamed at Eva. “The prodigal daughter returns. Welcome back, Eva. Come in.”

  Eva followed her into the room. The floor was crowded with instrument cases, packing crates doubling as stools, boxes of sheet music and a few small speakers. Six people smiled at her. She smiled nervously back.

  “Okay,” Jillian said in a businesslike tone when the introductions were over, “let’s get cracking. Eva, you might as well throw yourself right into it. We’re really playing for the tourists these days, I should warn you. Cover versions of everything from The Corrs and The Pogues to Van Morrison to U2. Even Boyzone at a pinch. Can you cope?”

  She nodded. “Can I just check one thing? You don’t do Enya covers, do you?”

  “No. Why, would you like to?”

  Eva shook her head. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay, let’s go. ‘Dirty Old Town,’ on the count of three. One, two, three…”

  Joseph put down the phone yet again, mystified. Who was she, the Scarlet Pimpernel? She seemed to have disappeared without trace.

  In between meetings with the auditor and hours of paperwork, he had been ringing the galleries on the list Rosemary had given him. He’d had no luck there either. He’d discovered there was a well-known potter in Ireland called Shauna Kennedy. And an up-and-coming tapestry artist called Niamh Brogan. But no one had heard of a Galway-based sculptor called Niamh Kennedy, even when he described the work she did, based around ocean and beach images. One of the owners had thought it sounded very interesting. She’d actually asked Joseph to get this Niamh to phone her, to perhaps come in and show some of her work.

  Niamh’s friend Lainey had disappeared as well. He’d tried her number at all different hours, morning in Australia, nighttime in Australia, lunchtime in Australia. But there was never any answer, not even the answering machine. He didn’t understand it at all. It was as if they had both just disappeared off the face of the earth.

  He tried Lainey’s number again now, just in case she was there.

  Lying on the couch in her parents’ living room, Lainey called out to her brother in the kitchen. “Hugh, can you make that two slices of cake, please? I’m a bit peckish tonight. It must be part of the recovery process.”

  “Recovery process? Lady Muck-itis, more like it,” Hugh said, coming into the room carrying a tray of coffee and cake.

  Meanwhile, in her flat across Melbourne, the phone started to ring again.

  Eva lay in bed, trying to get to sleep. It was a little difficult with all the noise Meg was making packing downstairs.

  She couldn’t begrudge her. It was all very exciting, and very generous of Uncle Ambrose to offer the first-floor flat to her, rent-fr
ee, while she worked as the chef at Ambrosia.

  “You might want to wait until the cafe is up and running before you move in,” Eva had suggested. “You’re welcome to stay with me until then.”

  But Meg was too excited to wait. “It’s been great with you, Evie, but I’m going to move in as soon as I can. Furniture or no furniture. My own flat, this is incredible!”

  Eva turned over in bed, wincing as she heard something go crashing downstairs. Holy God, was Meg ripping the cupboards off the walls and taking them with her?

  The house finally fell quiet but Eva still lay there, looking up through the skylight at the night sky. She was too anxious to sleep. Not just about the cafe. Slowly but surely, it was coming along, but there was still such a lot to get done. More than she’d expected. Tables and chairs to order. Kitchen equipment to buy, install and test. Final menus to decide on. Extra staff to interview. And the delicatessen to keep running in the meantime. Oh yes, she had every right to be a bit anxious about the cafe, but that was nothing compared to how she was feeling about Joe. It had been ten days now since she’d left the message on his machine.

  And it was starting to seem that he was never going to ring her back. He’d found out she’d lied to him and now he didn’t want to know her. It was as simple as that.

  Joseph put down the last pile of paperwork, then stood up and walked to the window. The Hoxton bars and restaurants below were filled with people as usual, designers, artists, writers, computer programmers, all making deals, discussing plans.

  He’d been part of it all once, when he’d started his own company. It had taken ten years to set it up. Ten years of long hours, late nights, risks, hard work, to get it to where it was today. He looked back at his desk. And it had just taken him less than half an hour and several signatures to officially close it all down.