The Month of Borrowed Dreams

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  Fury looked round and raised his eyes to Heaven. Then, taking the hammer, he patted The Divil on the head. ‘Good man. You’re a great dog altogether. Go on now. Go out and wait by the van.’

  As the little dog trotted away obediently, Fury scowled at Brian. ‘There’s no call to go looking sideways at me, I know I’m a right fool.’

  Setting down the hammer, he picked up the screwdriver and turned back to the door. Then, without looking at Brian, he began to explain. ‘He did it one time when he was a pup and, as it happened, a hammer was what I was reaching for. So, of course, I made a big fuss of him and told him he was great. Then, the next time it happened, I was reaching for a chisel. So all the lads made a joke of him when he went off and got me a hammer, and you should have seen the look on the poor dog’s face. He was scalded with embarrassment.’

  Swinging round, he faced Brian truculently. ‘So, I told him he was great again, and that was the rock I perished on. He’s been doing the same damn thing ever since.’

  ‘Bringing you a hammer.’

  ‘No matter what I’m reaching for. And I’ve been letting him think he’s a great man.’

  Contriving to keep a straight face, Brian enquired how long this had been going on.

  ‘Ten years. No, all right, twelve. Maybe eleven.’ Fury glowered at him. ‘It’s my fault, not his.’

  ‘No, I see that. Yeah. Absolutely.’

  ‘I’d normally keep him shut in the van if there’s other lads around.’

  ‘Yes, well, probably best.’ Brian indicated the door. ‘It’s looking good, that.’

  ‘Well, it is now it’s properly hung. I might let those wasters that drove it here stick a window into a wall, maybe. But there’s an art to hanging a door.’

  ‘The whole place is looking pretty damn good, actually.’

  Fury glanced around the room grudgingly. ‘When are you bringing herself up for a look?’

  ‘Hanna? She’s seen it.’

  ‘Ah, would you cop onto yourself, man, you’re fooling no one. Doesn’t the whole world know she’s the one you’re building it for?’

  Brian’s jaw clenched. ‘Who says so?’

  ‘Not me, anyway, so you can stop glaring like a basilisk. I keep my beak shut till I’ve good reason to open it. Most people round here don’t, though, and that’s a fact.’ Having regained the advantage, he pointed the screwdriver at Brian. ‘I’m telling you this, too, though you won’t thank me for it. I’ve never known a woman take to a house she wasn’t consulted on. Mark that.’

  ‘But this is total nonsense. We’ve no plans for Hanna to move in with me.’

  With a disdainful snort, Fury thrust the screwdriver into his pocket. ‘Well, if you say so, I suppose I have to believe you. But if that’s the case, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.’

  Brian turned away, then swung back again. ‘Christ, man, did you never hear of timing?’

  ‘I did. And I heard of fellas that went and missed their chance.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jazz felt the water stream over her head and told the disembodied voice that the temperature was perfect. Last night she’d been struck again by how much she had to be grateful for. A job handed to her on a plate when other people were struggling with unemployment. A place to live that perfectly met her requirements, even if it was tiny. And Sam, whom she’d met by chance and was now so essential to her happiness.

  It was gratitude that made her work so hard, determined that Louisa’s investment should result in a successful business. But yesterday, coming home late to find Sam slumped in front of the telly, she’d worried that he might be feeling neglected. They hadn’t gone out on the town or even had a proper night in together for ages. So today she’d got up at the crack of dawn, done a full day’s work before lunchtime, and booked an afternoon appointment at a beauty salon in Carrick.

  If Sam was right, finding love was just a crazy lottery, so what could be more dreadful than to lose what she had found? And, considering the amount of time she spent in the office, you couldn’t blame him if he felt he came second to her job. He hadn’t said so, or even hinted at it, but Mum had spent twenty years or something failing to see what was going on in her marriage so, as soon as the thought had crossed Jazz’s mind, she’d felt that she must act on it.

  The disembodied voice asked if she’d like conditioner. ‘We have coconut or almond blossom.’

  ‘Er, you don’t have rosemary, do you?’

  As soon as she’d spoken, Jazz realised she’d clicked back into work mode. Edge of the World Essentials was developing a range of organic herbal hair products and, according to the latest focus group analysis, rosemary was coming out way ahead of the rest. But today she was supposed to be a domestic goddess, not a marketing geek. ‘No, look, it doesn’t matter. Almond blossom is fine.’

  She lay back, breathing in the sweet scent and enjoying the sweeping touch of the brush on her scalp. Later, wrapped in a gown with a towel round her shoulders, she smiled into the mirror at the stylist standing behind her.

  The girl smiled back. ‘I’m Mandy. Just a trim and blow-dry today, is that right?’

  Jazz nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  She left the salon two hours later with perfectly blow-dried hair swinging just above her shoulders, waxed legs, and subtle nude polish on her nails. Having decided to go the whole hog, she’d had a pedicure as well as a manicure, and a shoulder massage while she’d waited for the nail varnish to dry.

  It was a balmy day and Carrick was looking its best. The lampposts along Main Street were hung with baskets of blue and white lobelia, and people were sitting outside cafés chatting in the sun. Jazz’s plan was to spend the next couple of hours buying food for a special meal, and to be back to Lissbeg in time to spend the evening cooking and eating it with Sam. She knew he’d be there when she came swooping in to surprise him. He was a freelance HR consultant and today was one of the two days a week when he set up jobs and did admin stuff from home.

  Inevitably, the flat would be chaotic when she got in. But that wouldn’t matter. It was so small that tidying up really didn’t take all that long. The bed would have been left down but that wouldn’t matter either. She’d plan a meal that could happily be eaten side by side, propped up against the pillows. She and Sam were basically ready-meal people but, so long as she went for something suitably special or exotic, ready-made would be fine. Scallops in a gorgeous creamy sauce, say. Or an artisan beef and ale pie, which Sam would probably prefer.

  One of Carrick’s department stores had a small upmarket food hall and, wandering round, Jazz found a pie made with beer from a local brewery, and dauphinoise potatoes for two that came in an ovenproof dish. The guy behind the counter recommended a selection of what he called rainbow salads.

  ‘Lots of colour on the plate, see? Beetroot. Lovely green kale leaves. Edible flowers – look, borage and marigolds. Colourful seeds and toasted nuts. All this dreamy golden fennel, and strips of gorgeous crunchy rainbow chard.’ He was ladling salads into separate bowls as he spoke and, assembling them on an oval plate, he spread his hands dramatically. ‘See what I mean? So inviting!’

  What Jazz saw was that the whole lot was going to cost a fortune. But it did look delicious, and in her mind’s eye she could see the plate on the floor beside the bed, like a shot in a lifestyle magazine. She nodded, and he swathed the assemblage in cling film, then eased it into a cardboard sleeve with ‘Recyclable Packaging’ stencilled on the side.

  With the pie, potatoes, and salads packed in one of the store’s lifetime shopping bags, she selected two pots of chocolate mousse and a bunch of grapes with bloom so dark that they almost looked black. Then, having bought a bottle of wine, she threw caution to the winds and took the lift up to the lingerie department. If tonight was going to be a turning point in how she and Sam saw their relationship, something in oyster satin and lace seemed the right thing to wear.

  Even before she’d become a workaholic Jazz hadn’t had much luck f
inding boyfriends. Looking back, she could see that the move to Finfarran hadn’t helped. In her Lissbeg schooldays, most of the time that she hadn’t been over at Eileen’s she had spent locked in her bedroom, feeling grim. If Nan had had her way she would have been hoicked out of there, but Mum, whose parenting at that stage had amounted to walking on eggshells, had always announced that she needed time to adjust.

  The result, Jazz supposed, was that she’d ended up being a late developer. She’d already left school and was working before she’d fallen in love. Her job, as a cabin crew member with a budget airline, had brought her the freedom to travel, but the hours had been unsocial and, inevitably, that first love affair had failed. Afterwards she’d moved on to a series of short-term relationships, many of which had hardly been more than extended one-night stands. At the time it had seemed like a buzzy, exciting lifestyle but, ultimately, it had left her feeling even more rootless than before.

  Actually, working as what he’d described as a ‘trolley dolly’ had largely been a way of annoying Dad. Even though he’d doted on her, she’d always resented his arrogance and, besides, she’d still been screwed-up by the divorce. As far as Dad was concerned, his precious daughter had been destined for university, so choosing to thwart him had given her a pleasing sense of control.

  Anyway, it hadn’t lasted long. Exactly as she’d been whipped off to Ireland with no prior warning, her job with the airline had come to a sudden end. One moment she’d been driving her car without a care in the world, and the next thing she’d known she’d woken up in hospital with people saying she’d been lucky to survive a head-on collision with a wall. It had literally been a life-changing experience, and in the weeks of convalescence that had followed the crash, she’d realised it was time to put down some roots. Changing career course and coming back to work in Finfarran had seemed counterintuitive at first. But London no longer felt as if it belonged to her and, having no ties anywhere else, she’d embraced Louisa’s project with a huge sense of relief.

  Now, as she hovered between satin and silk, she told herself Sam was wrong. Life actually wasn’t a crazy lottery. Everything was ruled by Fate, not chance. What if she’d married her first love and that had been the end of things? What if she’d kept on travelling the world and never returned to Finfarran? Either of those things might well have happened but they hadn’t. Because the universe had been driving her inexorably towards Sam.

  She drove home to Lissbeg with a bubbling feeling of excitement, music playing at full volume and the windows wide open. Her perfectly polished nails on the wheel and her hair blowing in the wind made her feel like a film star. And that was just what this evening was going to be like. That bit at the end of Brooklyn when Saoirse Ronan is standing on the ship’s deck, having chosen to follow her heart.

  Jazz could see it all again as the car sped towards Lissbeg. The director had done this amazing close-up on the actress’s huge eyes, and you could see the character’s certainty and serenity as she stood there with the wind in her hair. There’d been this little insecure girl standing behind her, scared and not knowing what might lie ahead. But Saoirse, who played Eilis, the heroine, turns round and tells her she’s going to be fine. She mustn’t be afraid because she has her whole life ahead of her, and you can move on and leave behind the confusion of your past.

  And, later, at the big ending, Eilis is standing on a street in Brooklyn waiting for Tony, the American guy she’s in love with, to finish work. There’s this great shot of her leaning against a wall, knowing he’s there across the road and willing him to come out. And then he does, and the music goes crazy, and their eyes meet and, next thing, they’re in each other’s arms.

  This evening was going to be just like that, except that she’d be bursting into the flat and Sam would look up and see her. She’d be in jeans and a shirt, not one of those 1950s full skirts like Saoirse’s. And Sam – who was no film star – would probably be watching telly in his pants. The chances were that the place would be like a bombsite but it wouldn’t faze her because none of that day-to-day stuff would even matter.

  Pulling into her parking space, she lifted her Bag for Life off the back seat as if it were lighter than air. She’d bought a bouquet of lilies that they’d put on the console table or, if there wasn’t space there, in a corner on the floor. As she climbed the stairs to the flat, she realised the scent of the lilies might be a bit overpowering, so maybe they’d need to sleep with the window open or stick the vase out on the landing as a last resort.

  Giggling at the thought of what the neighbours would make of lilies on the landing, she struggled with her latchkey, and pushed open the door. The flat was spotless. No papers on the floor, no dishes in the sink, no rumpled bed. The console table was bare except for her MacBook. The bed was folded away and every surface and corner was clean.

  For a moment, thinking Sam must have had the same impulse that she’d had, she looked around as if there were someplace from which he might appear. But, of course, there wasn’t. Maybe he’d cleaned up like mad and gone out to buy wine and flowers and something for dinner. Everything looked lovely anyway so, crossing the room, she dumped her bags and the bunch of lilies on the table. Then she turned and saw the note that was taped to the wardrobe door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Driving back to work from a meeting at the County Library, Hanna noticed the increasing number of coaches using the motorway. By the start of the second week in May, the tourist season in Finfarran was always well established, and from now on Lissbeg would see an influx of visitors drawn by the medieval psalter. Fortunately, the exhibition had its own entrance and was manned by volunteers, so the crowds beyond the glass wall behind Hanna’s desk made no difference to her workload. They added to the dynamic of the library, though, and increased her sense that summer was on its way.

  For the last week she’d been wondering about her next choice for the film club. Brooklyn had been a winner. Far more people than usual had emerged from the film wanting to read the novel, and several readers who hadn’t been to the screening had turned up the following week requesting the book. Hanna had noticed that the majority were women, possibly drawn by the cover image of Saoirse Ronan and the handsome American actor who’d played the hero in the film. Sometimes she thought that, while people like Mr Maguire arrived seeking a pulpit from which to pontificate, others came to her library simply wanting to borrow dreams.

  Mr Maguire’s latest contention was that the film club’s programme should be decided by secret ballot, but when this had been mentioned in Hanna’s hearing she’d ignored it. She knew from experience that a vote system inevitably provoked lobbying followed by fierce recrimination; and that, as a result, the film club would simply peter out. By making the decisions herself at comparatively short notice, she could preserve anticipation, and absorb the blame afterwards if anyone hated her choice. This time she’d decided to go for a contrast, so the posters for the June film club meeting advertised a screening of The Revenant, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and based on the novel by the American author Michael Punke.

  Conor had frowned and said he’d never read it. ‘I didn’t see the movie either, but the poster was kind of striking. Wasn’t DiCaprio covered in ice and eaten by a bear?’

  ‘That’s the one. But he isn’t eaten by a bear, he’s mauled by one when he and his son are guiding a group of trappers somewhere up in the frozen north. Most of them abandon him, and one chap, who’s been paid to stay, tries to kill him but, in the kerfuffle, stabs the boy instead. Then, against all the odds, DiCaprio survives and tracks down the murderer. The book’s subtitled A Novel of Revenge.’

  ‘Not exactly a date movie, then?’

  ‘No.’

  Conor considered for a moment, then chuckled. ‘Kind of depends, though, doesn’t it? Different strokes for different folks.’

  He was holding the fort now, having had his lunch break earlier, and Hanna had eaten a sandwich before leaving Carrick so she planned to spend half an hour
or so out in the nuns’ garden. It was a sunny day with a hint of a breeze, and goldcrests were nesting in the conifers by the old convent wall.

  As she walked through the archway from the courtyard to the garden she stopped short, just avoiding someone hurrying by, head down and shoulders hunched. About to apologise, she realised who it was. ‘Jazz! Hello . . .’

  Opening her arms for a hug, Hanna paused and stepped backwards. Jazz had clearly been crying and, equally clearly, she wanted to hurry away.

  Fearful of doing or saying something wrong, Hanna dithered. Then, as Jazz gave a forced smile and tried to keep moving, Louisa approached from the other side of the garden.

  For a moment, Jazz reacted like a cornered rabbit. But as Louisa came close enough to realise what was happening, the hunched shoulders dropped and Jazz raised her chin, daring them to comment on her puffy face and red-rimmed eyes. It was obvious that she’d tried to conceal the evidence with makeup, but anyone could see that she must have been in tears all night.

  ‘Sweetheart . . .’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I should have been in the office this morning.’ Ignoring her mother, Jazz spoke to Louisa who, Hanna could see, was taking care not to look shocked. ‘I had a bad night but I’m fine, and I have a meeting with Saira. I ought to get on.’

  ‘Darling . . .’

  ‘I have a cold. It’s ghastly, but I don’t think I’m infectious. So I’d better get to that meeting.’ Jazz made to walk on. Then she turned back and looked directly at Hanna. ‘Sam and I have broken up. He’s moved out, actually. So he won’t be coming to lunch at the weekend.’ Her face flushed, and she controlled her voice with an effort. ‘I’m so sorry but I’ll have to cancel as well. There’ll be all sorts backed up on my desk since this morning. Sorry, Mum.’