Upside Down Inside Out

by Monica McInerney

  He’d expected to feel something. Regret. Disappointment. But he hadn’t felt anything like that. Just relief. And optimism. He hadn’t felt that for a long time.

  It had been surprisingly simple. A friend with a graphic design business two offices down had already offered Rosemary work. But Rosemary wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. She’d started to think seriously about retirement, she’d told Joseph. Or a long holiday, at least. He’d make sure she received all her entitlements, either way.

  The designers were just days away from completing their projects. They all had plenty of other work lined up, too. A website design company was happy to take over the lease on this building. He’d contacted all his other clients and explained that he was closing Wheeler Design down but would still finish the designs he was contracted to do. He just wouldn’t be working from London.

  He went back to his desk and picked up the brochure again. He’d spoken to a few people about it and they’d all agreed this was one of the best art schools in Europe.

  He turned to the section on jewelry design and started reading it again. It sounded good, better than good. He pictured the designs in his head—they were coming thick and fast these days, despite everything going on around him. And then he tried to picture Niamh again. In Galway somewhere. On a coast, maybe. Or the beach, perhaps. The wind in her hair. Working on her sculptures…

  She had to be there somewhere, he knew that. He was determined to find her.

  Eva sat at her dining table, surrounded by architects’ drawings and builders’ quotes, nearly pulling her hair out in frustration. How could one carpenter charge four hundred euro and the other only ninety-five? Either the expensive one was trying to rip her off, or the cheap one was terrible and was planning on using substandard material.

  As for the council approvals—there was so much red tape. She was planning on opening a small cafe, not the Taj Mahal.

  Oh God, maybe she should have become a sculptor after all. It would have been a lot simpler than this.

  The following morning, Joseph looked at his phone. He was sick of the damn thing. He was beginning to feel it had been grafted onto his ear. But he’d had a flash of inspiration during the night. This was the last person he wanted to call, the last person he wanted to ask, but things were getting desperate.

  He checked his watch. It would be late afternoon in Melbourne. It might be a good time. He dialed the number.

  A well-modulated Australian voice answered. “Four Quarters, St. Kilda, Lisa speaking. Can I help you?”

  “Could I speak to Greg Gilroy, please.”

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Joseph Wheeler. Of Wheeler Design. I’m calling from London.”

  “Just one moment, sir.”

  He waited, listening to the funky hold music. Then a brusque male voice cut in. “Greg Gilroy.”

  “Greg, hello. This is Joseph Wheeler speaking. From London. You might not remember me—”

  “The Pommie kitchen hand who left me in the lurch? I remember you very well.”

  Joseph kept his temper in check. He needed Greg’s help, no point getting him off side. “I’m hoping you can help me with something. I’m trying to contact Niamh Kennedy or her friend Lainey, but I’m not having any luck with the phone numbers I have.”

  “Aren’t you?” Greg said in a pleased tone of voice.

  “That’s a shame. Can’t help you, mate. Sorry.”

  “You don’t have a mobile number for Lainey? Or an e-mail address?”

  “No, mate, sorry.”

  Greg was smiling. Joseph could hear it in his voice. He knew without doubt that the bastard did have a mobile number for Lainey, and that there was no way he was going to give it to him. He spoke again, in a different tone of voice. “So Greg, I understand you’re opening a new cafe soon, is that right?”

  Greg sounded suspicious. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Got a name for it yet?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Joseph was relaxed. “Names are so important, don’t you think? What do you think of the name Cats, for example?”

  “Cats? What are you talking about?”

  “You could call your new cafe Cats. Your food has nine lives, after all.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, mate?”

  Joseph’s tone was chatty, even conversational. “It was extraordinary, Greg. Before I worked those few days in your cafe, I had no idea prawns could be recycled like that. Or that chicken could be served three days after its use-by date. I’m sure the Melbourne health authorities will be just as fascinated too, when I give them a ring. Just as soon as I hang up from you, in fact. Thanks for your help, Greg. Good-bye.”

  Joseph hung up. Would he ring the Melbourne health authorities? No. But Greg would never know that.

  At home, Eva put a cushion on top of the phone. Then a newspaper. Then a rug. She just couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

  Lainey was being carried up the stairs to her apartment by Brendan and Hugh. Perched on a makeshift seat formed by their linked arms, she was having a big fit of the giggles. “Never join the fire and rescue service, will you?” she said, shrieking again as they nearly tipped her over the side of the stairs.

  They finally reached the landing on the third floor. She stood on one foot as she scrabbled in her bag for her keys.

  Brendan was looking out of the landing window at the pub just down the street. “Fancy a beer, Hugh? While Lainey gets her stuff?”

  “Oh, you two. I’m just picking up some clothes and some of Rex’s toys. I won’t be a minute.”

  Hugh rolled his eyes. Lainey was sick, the way she treated that cat. Like it was her child or something.

  Brendan knew his sister well. “Your minute is an hour in normal human time. We’ll just have the one. Anyway, you’d be surprised how quickly we can drink a beer.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she said wryly as she unlocked her front door.

  Joseph made a decision. He’d try Lainey’s number one more time, for the last time. He would drive himself mad otherwise. He dialed the number. He knew it by heart by now.

  Lainey had just hopped into her living room when her phone started ringing.

  Joseph almost fell off his chair when the ringing stopped and a breathless voice answered. “Hello, Lainey speaking.”

  “Lainey! Hello. This is Joseph Wheeler and I’m looking for—”

  “Joe? Backpacker Joe? That Joe?”

  “Yes, that Joe. Lainey, I’m looking for Niamh. A phone number, can you help me?”

  “Phone number? But haven’t you got one already? She left them both for you, didn’t she? On her message.”

  Lainey knew about the message? “Yes, she did. But I didn’t get them.”

  “You didn’t get her message?”

  “No, not exactly. I know she left one but I didn’t hear it. It’s a long story. All I can tell you is that she rang nearly three weeks ago and I haven’t heard from her since. Is she all right?”

  “Is she all right?” Lainey repeated. “Um, yes, she’s fine.” Her voice sounded calm but her mind was working at a million miles an hour, trying to take all this in. Joe was still calling her Niamh, not Eva, so he couldn’t have heard her message. Or her phone numbers. Which explained why he hadn’t rung her back. But he’d obviously been trying to find her. This call was proof of that. So he was obviously still keen. That was a good thing.

  But the bad thing? The bad thing was that he still didn’t know the truth about Eva, even though Eva had tried to tell him. This was tricky, all right, Lainey thought. Then again, she did specialize in sorting out tricky situations.

  But was this one her situation to sort out? It was in a way, she decided firmly. She was the one who had started this whole Niamh mess, so she had every right to clean it up, didn’t she? She made her decision. “Joe, are you sitting down? Good. I’ve got quite a lot to tell you.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Eva walked down Camden Street on her way
to work, thinking over the night before, her first singing gig in four years.

  After just the first few songs, she’d known the session in the city-center pub was going to be a good one. She’d forgotten the way it could happen so unexpectedly. It took a particular combination of things—the right mix of people in the audience, the right mood in the air. All of the singers and musicians coming together, watertight with their harmonies, fluent with their melodies, guessing what the other was about to do at the split second they did it. Last night had definitely been one of those nights. The band had played Irish reels and jigs, ballads and modern songs, switching from one to the other, the crowd joining in with Eva and Lorna, the other singer.

  She’d been nervous at first, glad the stagelights meant she couldn’t see out into the audience. But the crowd had been enthusiastic from the start. She’d sung a solo, a long traditional song that she’d known since childhood, starting with slow sad notes and ending in a fast, sweet tumbling tune. There’d been loud applause at the end.

  A voice broke into her thoughts. “Morning, Eva, love.”

  Eva turned to the woman setting up her fruit and vegetable stall. “Hi, Brenda.”

  “Howya, gorgeous.”

  “Hi, Sean,” Eva called over. “How’s my favorite fourteen-year-old?”

  “Pining for you.”

  She shook her head at him as she walked into the delicatessen. You see, Eva, she told herself. You can have a normal life again. It’ll just take time. “Morning,” she called.

  Ambrose poked his head from behind the new partition. “Good morning, Eva, how are you this lovely day?”

  “Grand, thanks.” He seemed very bright this morning. She put her coat in the temporary storeroom and glanced over at the cafe area at the back of the shop. It was really coming together. It had been a good idea of Ambrose’s to open the delicatessen again, even before the cafe was ready. Customers were looking at the menu Meg had drawn up, promising to come and have lunch once everything was up and running in a few weeks’ time.

  Ambrose came over, “We’ve had a phone order this morning, I wonder if you could look after it for me?”

  “Of course,” she said, going behind the counter.

  “Who’s it for?”

  “A new customer, actually. It’s a picnic lunch for two people.”

  Eva started putting the order together. Three kinds of cheese, she decided. Olives, crusty bread, ham, a selection of the handmade chocolates…

  “Morning, Evie,” Meg called over as she came downstairs.

  “Hi, Meg.” She was all smiles too, Eva noticed. What had got into the pair of them this morning?

  Meg peered into the cardboard box Eva had taken out. “Oh, is that for that picnic order? Maybe we could offer picnic baskets as part of Ambrosia’s service, Evie. Especially in the summertime, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s a great idea.” The delicatessen was packed with food perfect for a picnic. All they’d need to do was get some nice little baskets, some serviettes—it could work very well.

  The memory of the picnic she and Joe had shared that day in the hotel room flashed into her mind. Is this what it would be like from now on? Little things reminding her of him all the time? The day before, she’d seen a tall, dark-haired man in the street and her heart had leaped. Then he’d turned and she’d realized he was nothing like Joe. She’d been glad and disappointed all at once.

  The phone rang. “I’ve got it,” Ambrose called. Eva could just hear his voice. “Lainey, how are you? Still having that good weather Eva was telling us about? Good, good, yes, she’s right here, hold on a moment.”

  He held out the phone to her. Eva put the box down and came over, puzzled. Lainey rarely rang her at work. And they’d spoken only two days before. “Lainey? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is brilliant, Evie. But I need to tell you something, and you’re probably going to be cross. So before I tell you I just want you to know that everything I said was with your well-being in mind and that our friendship is very, very important to me, okay?”

  “Lainey, what on earth are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”

  “Not a drop. But I have been talking. To Joe.”

  “To Joe?”

  “He rang my house the day before yesterday.”

  “What? Where is he, Lainey? Why hasn’t he rung me?”

  “He didn’t ever get your message. The one you left him, explaining everything. The one with all your phone numbers.”

  “He didn’t hear any of it?”

  “His mother accidentally erased it or something, it’s a long story, apparently. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, he hadn’t heard your numbers so he couldn’t ring you. And he knew you were waiting to hear from him but he couldn’t get in contact with you. He’s been trying to find you for days and days.”

  “How is he? Is he all right? How is his grandmother?”

  “He doesn’t actually have a sick grandmother.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “That wasn’t true. He had to go back to London suddenly because of the business problems. It’s all a bit complicated. But he didn’t ring me to tell me about his grandmother, he rang to talk about you. And I’m sorry, Evie, I hope you don’t mind, but I told him everything. About Niamh. About the dinner party. How it all started. How we made it all up just as a laugh. And that you’d been trying to tell him the truth for a long time. I also told him that you’d seen the website, that you knew the truth about him as well.”

  “You told him all of that? Oh, Lainey—”

  “I know, I know I promised not to interfere ever again. But he was so concerned, Evie, and I just felt he had to know everything. And I felt bad because it was my fault in a way that all of this happened, and I wanted to do anything I could to put it right. I hope you’re not mad, are you?”

  Eva wasn’t mad at all. She was just so relieved that Joe had been trying to contact her, that he still wanted to talk to her. She wanted to talk to him. Now. She spoke quickly. “Of course I’m not mad. I’ll ring him now, is he at home or at work, do you know?”

  “He doesn’t want you to ring him.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “He wants to see you. Talk to you face to face.”

  “Face to face? Where is he? Is he in Dublin?” Her pulse quickened.

  “I don’t know where he is. All I know is he asked me not to phone you until today. He said he had to get organized.”

  “Get what organized?”

  “I don’t know, I’m keeping right out of it from now on. I just wanted to ring and wish you luck. And just remember what a lovely woman you are. And what a good man he is. And how perfect you are together. My child, I give you my blessing.”

  Eva laughed. “Lainey, what are—” It was too late. Lainey had hung up.

  Ambrose walked past. “Everything all right, Evie?”

  It was better than all right. Joe wanted to see her again. Face to face. Oh God, was he about to walk into the shop? What did she look like?

  “Everything’s fine, Ambrose. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She nearly ran to the little bathroom to look in the mirror. Her hair was back in the plait, a few stray strands coming loose already. She tucked them away, fumbled for her lipstick and quickly reapplied it. Did she look tired? She hadn’t had that late a night, she’d been home by midnight. But what about her clothes? The white shirt and black skirt? They weren’t the sort of clothes he’d seen her in in Australia. Did she have time to go home and change? No, what if he came into the shop while she was gone?

  She heard the faint sound of the front doorbell ringing and her heart leaped. Was it him? She peered around the door. No, it was another customer. Meg was dealing with her, chattering away about the cafe.

  Eva took a last glance in the mirror then came back into the shop.

  “You’re looking very well,” Ambrose said surprisingly.

  “Am I? Thanks, Ambrose.” Was it just her imagination
or was he behaving a little oddly today?

  The doorbell rang again. A short, red-haired man came in.

  Eva went in behind the counter. “Good morning, can I help you?”

  “Good morning. I’m here about that picnic order.”

  She picked up the container. “Here it is. All ready to go.”

  “Are you Miss Kennedy?”

  Eva nodded.

  “Do you want to bring a jacket or anything? The wind is fierce this morning.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You should bring your jacket, it’s cold out there.”

  “But I’m not going out.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s what I was told, anyway. Go to the delicatessen on Camden Street, pick up the picnic basket and Miss Kennedy. Oh, and give you this. Sorry, I forgot.”

  Eva took the envelope the man was holding. With shaking hands she opened it and read the words, written in firm black handwriting. “Please come. Joe.”

  “You need the day off, Evie, do you?” Ambrose had come up behind her.

  She spun around. “You know about this?”

  “Just a little. Enough to know you need the day off.”

  “You’ve been talking to Joe too?”

  “That would be telling, Evie. Now, off you go. You don’t want to be late.”

  “Late for what?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I can’t really say for sure.”

  “But I can’t leave you here.”

  “Meg and I can handle the shop between us. It’ll do you good to get out in the fresh air.”

  Eva looked from Meg to Ambrose. They were both smiling at her. “Where am I going?”

  “If you leave, you’ll find out,” Ambrose said. “Good-bye now.”

  She picked up her bag and coat and the box of picnic food and followed the taxi driver outside. His car was double-parked.

  Sean was leaning against the railing, looking on with interest. “Evie, where are you off to?”

  “I haven’t a clue, Sean,” she answered honestly. She got into the front seat and waved to Ambrose and Meg in the doorway. As the car moved into the traffic, she turned to the driver. “Do you know where I’m going?”