Bríd, Jazz, Orla, and Maura opened their mouths simultaneously, but before they could speak, Paddy stood up and walked out of the room.
‘Oh dear.’ Orla half got up from her seat and sat back down, looking troubled. ‘I . . . he wasn’t feeling great this morning. He might have gone to lie down.’
‘Ah, poor Paddy, is it the flu, maybe? I saw he had no appetite for the tea.’
Orla smiled at Maura and said that could be it. Then she sipped her own tea, clearly wanting to get up and follow Paddy but feeling it would be rude to desert her guests.
For the millionth time Conor wished that his dad wasn’t so touchy about his depression. There was no shame in it but, all the same, he hated people to know. Sometimes he’d be so lethargic that he hardly seemed to see or care what was happening around him. But other times he’d be super-sensitive and couldn’t bear to see anyone looking anxious, so it wasn’t surprising he hadn’t been able to cope with the tension around the table.
He’d be back in the other room now, beating himself up for walking out on Orla. On the other hand, Conor thought, you’d almost be grateful to him for the interruption. Seizing the opportunity, Jazz had got up and was talking fiercely in an undertone to Eileen, while Orla put more water in the kettle and Bríd shoved the cake at Aideen and gave her a heartening wink.
When they sat down with a fresh pot of tea, Jazz and Bríd took over and, by the time the last pastry was eaten, some stuff was actually on the way to being settled. They’d even agreed to set up a closed group on Facebook, where they could be in touch and upload photos and info. And Jazz had announced firmly that by the end of the month they’d need to agree on a date and really begin looking for venues.
That was when the shit would really hit the fan, if you asked Conor. Still, they’d have to face it sooner or later and, given the way Eileen had the bit between her teeth, sooner might be best.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jazz rolled over and reached out for her phone. She’d been dozing for the past ten minutes or so, subconsciously waiting to hit snooze on the alarm, which she’d set for six thirty. But squinting at the screen, she could see that this was a call from Dad.
‘Hello?’
‘Dad. Are you okay?’
‘Of course I am.’
Struggling into a sitting position, Jazz peered up at the clock on the wall. ‘Because it’s twenty past six.’
‘I wanted to catch you before you went out to work.’
‘Yes, well, you’ve done that. So what’s happening?’
‘Not a lot. I just thought I’d call and see how my daughter is.’
‘Oh, come on, Dad, no, you didn’t. What’s the story? Granny Lou said she’d got the impression you were planning to come over.’
She heard a second’s hesitation before his bland response.
‘Well, yes, I hope so, but I haven’t firmed up my plans. Actually, I called to say I’ve had an offer on the house.’
‘Cool. Or is it? Are you going to accept?’
‘You knew I was selling?’
‘Sure. Louisa told me that too.’
‘Yes, I asked her to. When I got the offer it seemed important that you should be the first to know. After all, it is your home too.’
Jazz swung her legs out of bed, went through to the kitchen, and set about making coffee with the phone cradled between her shoulder and her jaw. If the house was her home, too, she thought, it might have been good if he’d let her know before putting it on the market. But that was typical Dad. He’d have calculated that calling sooner might produce objections. Far better to leave it till an offer was on the table, when causing a fuss would make her look like a brat.
She sighed as she closed the fridge door with her hip. Seeing Dad in his true colours always made her feel bereft. The knowledge that, in his way, he truly loved her was never enough to make up for the loss of the father she’d thought she had. Not only that, but she hadn’t found out the real truth for ages. When he and Mum had split up, Dad had told her no one was to blame. With no reason to doubt him, she’d believed him. So, of course, Mum had had to play along. It wasn’t till she’d left school that she’d discovered what had really happened, and that was only because Mum had refused to keep on endorsing his lies. In the fallout, which had left her furious with both of them, each had claimed they’d been trying to protect her and, on a good day, Jazz could see what they meant. By now she’d mended her bridges, at least where Mum was concerned. But on a bad day it seemed as if nothing in her life could ever be relied on.
That wasn’t something she wanted to dump on Mum, though – any more than she was prepared to admit that the news of an offer on the London house had caused her stomach to lurch. Given what Mum herself had been through, it didn’t seem fair. Besides, when Louisa had first mentioned the sale Jazz really hadn’t been bothered. But now, with Sam gone and her own world shaken, it felt like yet another blow to her sense of where she belonged.
Dad must have heard the sigh because his voice became concerned. ‘You do know that my home will always be yours as well, sweetheart?’
‘You’ve found a place to buy?’
‘I think so. It’s in a wonderful location. A very sexy block, right by Tate Modern. Not as big as the house, of course, but with two bedrooms. One of which will have your name on it.’
Hers, or Granny Lou’s, or anyone else’s who happened to be his house guest. Not a place where she could leave her clothes in the cupboards, or sleep under the quilt that Mum had made for her twelfth birthday, from patches of all their favourite colours, in velvet and brocade. Suddenly it seemed awfully important to know where that quilt was now.
‘You haven’t started to clear things out, have you? Because some of my stuff is still in my room in the house.’
‘Of course I haven’t. I’ve hardly had time to consider the offer.’
‘But you’ll take it?’
‘Yes, I think I will. I’d like to close on the flat as soon as I can. These places get snapped up in an instant. Actually, it’s not been listed yet, but I happen to know the agent. We handled a case for him once.’
Jazz pulled a face. Insider knowledge had always got Dad what he wanted. That and his weird ability to put people in the wrong. It was a subtle form of bullying she’d lived with as a child and never even noticed, but now that she was alert to it, it always made her angry. ‘Look, I’m glad you called, but I would have preferred to know about this sooner. You could have told me you were selling, instead of letting me find out from Gran.’
‘But, darling, aren’t you being a little selfish? I had to tell your grandmother first – after all it’s her London pied-à-terre too.’
‘Yes, but it’s not my pied-à-terre, is it? You said it yourself, it’s my home.’
‘I thought Mum would tell you.’
‘Oh, no! Stop right there! You’re not going to blame Mum for this. Actually, she was gutted because I had to tell her.’
‘Look, something tells me I’ve woken you too early. Let’s talk another time.’
Jazz could feel a lump rising in her throat. ‘And don’t try blaming me either. I’ve every right to be fed up, Dad. And I am.’ The lump in her throat got bigger so she decided to stop this now. ‘I need to go, if I’m to have any breakfast. Leave it, Dad, it doesn’t matter. You’re selling and that’s fine. Just keep me in the loop, please, from now on, will you? Gotta go. Bye.’
Louisa wasn’t due in the office that day and Jazz was glad. Having her grandmother as her partner-cum-boss was complicated, not least in terms of how she was seen by the rest of the team, so she’d sworn from the start that she wouldn’t let family stuff intrude at work. Dad’s phone call had thrown her, though, and if his name or the sale were mentioned today, she had a feeling she might behave unprofessionally. Swear loudly, say, or burst into tears. It had been bad enough when Louisa-as-boss had delivered the swingeing pep talk about Sam. Having her turn into Granny Lou with sweeties and a paper hankie would be w
orse.
* * *
It was a gorgeous evening when Jazz left work after a successful day. Sauntering across the nuns’ garden, where Saira Khan was chatting to a group of volunteers by the polytunnel, she saw Mike talking to her mum near the gate to the library courtyard. He waved and came along the path towards her, calling out cheerfully as soon as she was in earshot.
‘That psalter is amazing. There’s a page with pipers and fiddlers dancing down the margin. Little grotesque animals and fat, boozy monks. I’m going to intercut shots of them with snippets of trad music sessions in pubs.’ Arriving at her side, he frowned and assumed a cod Yorkshire accent. ‘You’re looking a bit down. Trouble at t’ mill?’
Jazz laughed. ‘No, work’s fine. I just started the day with a phone call from my dad.’
‘And that’s bad because?’
‘Oh, because he’s had an offer on the house where we lived in London. And he’s planning to come to Finfarran on a visit.’
‘And that’s bad because?’
She laughed again. ‘You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, it’s a long story and I’d hate to bore you to death.’
‘Okay, here’s a thought. Do me a favour.’
‘What?’
‘Come and have dinner with me in Ballyfin.’
She stepped back and he shrugged. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter, you’ve probably already got something planned with your boyfriend.’
‘Nope. No boyfriend. Not since a couple of weeks ago. Actually, I was on my way to get fish and chips.’
‘Well, come and have them in Ballyfin instead.’
As she hesitated he gave her a broad smile. ‘How about I cut the crap and just say this? You’re lovely but I’m not looking for a holiday romance, and if I were I wouldn’t be targeting someone who’s just broken up with her boyfriend. I am looking for company, though. What d’you say?’
‘I thought you had family over here to hang out with.’
‘I haven’t got round to making that call.’ Mike looked at her quizzically. ‘Is this you politely giving me the brush-off?’
Jazz grinned. ‘Why Ballyfin?’
‘Because I haven’t been there and I need to go. It’s the tourist hub of Finfarran.’
‘Where they charge a king’s ransom for a bag of fish and chips.’
‘In that case, let’s push the boat out and go to a swanky hotel.’
‘Yeah, right. Who’s paying?’
‘The swanky hotel. I called the manager of the Marina and said I was shooting these videos, and he said to come and interview a few guests and have a meal on the house. As well he might, since he’ll be getting free publicity. But I don’t fancy eating alone, so you really would be doing me a favour.’
‘Blimey, is this how you journalists feed yourselves?’
‘All the time. Us freelance types have to take things as they come.’
* * *
The Marina Hotel was a modern building set above the curved golden beach, with a glass winter garden where sofas and easy chairs faced the sparkling Atlantic. On the opposite side of the reception area was the entrance to a banqueting suite where a noisy post-wedding party was in full swing. While Mike arranged his next day’s schedule, Jazz retreated to the winter garden with a glass of wine. Twenty minutes later she joined him in the first-floor restaurant, where they were ushered to a window table with a stunning view of the ocean.
As they sat down Mike asked Jazz how her bridesmaid’s job was going.
‘Oh, don’t start me! I should have researched the role more carefully before taking it on.’
‘Can’t be easy when you’ve just had a bust-up of your own.’
Mentally, Jazz told herself that it wasn’t. There’d never been any question of Sam and herself getting married but, now that he’d gone, Eileen’s endless harping on about doves and flowers was sort of wearing.
Still, though Mike was nice he was a stranger and Jazz had no intention of turning him into a confidant. She shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. I got dumped, that’s all. First-world problem.’
‘Okay, I get it, this time you are giving me the brush-off. Let’s eat chips and talk about books and films. But, just for the record, I don’t believe in the concept of first-world problems. Well, obviously I do if we’re talking famine or no clean water. Or being stuck in a war zone. Getting dumped doesn’t compare to that. But having food and water doesn’t deny you the right to sorrow.’
‘So what are you now? A psychiatrist?’
‘No. I’m stating the obvious. Everyone everywhere feels the same human emotions. Okay, I guess feeling crap is worse when you’re also being shot at or starving. But it’s not a matter of one person’s problems trumping someone else’s. That’s just daft.’
Later, when the sun had gone down, and lights on yachts and fishing boats were reflected in the dusky water, they strolled out into the warm night. Jazz paused where the wall of the marina seemed made for strollers to lean on, resting her elbows on stone and her chin on her linked hands. Together she and Mike watched as the last of the daylight faded and stars began to appear in the ink-dark sky. ‘Weird to think of the rest of the world out there in darkness.’
‘Well, half of it’s just getting up to a new day.’
‘Yes, but I think that’s what I mean. All those lives being led in other places, and we don’t see them. It’s the Bali Ha’i thing. A sense of something out there in the distance that you can’t reach.’
‘Easy enough to reach them. You just have to jump on a plane.’ Mike put his own elbows on the wall. ‘Or take a slow boat to China. I’ve always fancied the idea of doing that. Or, better still, a slow boat to nowhere in particular. It’s the journey, not the destination, that counts.’
‘Yup. “A banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you’re out of the old life and into the new”!’
‘Is that a quotation?’
‘Probably not accurate, but it’s a thing I remember from The Wind in the Willows. Did you read it when you were a kid?’
‘Isn’t there an animated movie?’
Jazz chuckled. ‘You are so not a book person!’ Turning round, she leaned back with her shoulders against the wall. ‘I’ve no time for dreams about taking a slow boat to China.’
The look he gave her in response produced a spurt of irritation in her. ‘I’m building a life, okay? It’s hard work.’
‘But life isn’t something you build. It’s what happens.’
‘Not when the choices you make impact on other people.’
‘Okay. Who?’
Once again, he didn’t seem to be prying, just showing an interest. ‘Well, I’ve taken on this bridesmaid’s job. So Eileen, for one. And my grandmother. I’m a key person in a start-up business in which she’s the prime investor.’
‘But nobody’s indispensable. Surely they wouldn’t want you to stay if you felt like moving on?’
‘Well, possibly, but Eileen’s my best friend. And while I’m not saying I’m indispensable, if I left my job it would destabilise the team we’ve been building at work. People who’ve given up other jobs to join Edge of the World Essentials, and people like Saira Khan and our growers whose lives it’s changed. Saira had never worked outside her home before she joined us. Some of our growers have taken out loans and expanded because we’ve offered them a new market for their produce.’
He didn’t appear convinced, so she tried again. ‘And, look, it’s not just about work, it’s about family too. My gran lives with my nan, and it’s great that Nan has company. If Edge of the World Essentials went pear-shaped, that arrangement might have to change.’
‘But your nan’s domestic arrangements aren’t your responsibility. Or are they? Am I missing the point?’
‘Well, no, they’re not. But, yes, in a way they are. Because if they did change, and I wasn’t here, my mum would end up having to deal with the fallout on her own.’
‘Why would there be fallout?’
‘Because m
y nan’s getting old and she’s a difficult woman.’
‘Okay, you’ve lost me now.’
Jazz groaned. ‘I get lost myself sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Nan, and she’s sweet underneath, really. Families are just – complicated. Don’t you think?’
Mike shook his head. ‘Not if you don’t allow them to be. At least, that’s what I’ve found.’
Pushing herself away from the wall, Jazz grinned. ‘Well, that’s either wholly admirable or unutterably selfish. And now I reckon it’s time I went home.’
They’d driven to Ballyfin in his car and he dropped her back at her flat, thanking her for her company and turning back for a moment before he went away. ‘Look, I know it’s none of my business, but it seems to me that you’re longing to jump on that slow boat to China.’
‘You’re right, it’s none of your business. Thanks for dinner.’
‘Okay. See you around.’
Upstairs, Jazz shed her clothes and shrugged herself into a dressing gown, then, remembering a memo she needed to send next day, looked round for something to write with. There was a notebook by her bed on which she often scribbled reminders but the pen she kept beside it had disappeared. Crossing to a pot on the console table in which she kept writing implements, she selected one at random and found it was a biro printed with the name of Sam’s firm. Absurdly, the tacky logo brought tears to her eyes. Telling herself not to be a fool, she made her note, and took her copy of Brooklyn off the shelf beside the bed. She’d read until she felt sleepy, then turn off the light. Heaven knew, after Dad’s early call and the late evening with Mike, that shouldn’t take long.
But tonight, like every other night since Sam had left her, darkness brought a sense of the bed being huge and empty without him and, as she lay awake for hours, the walls of her flat seemed to close in like a trap.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rasher was still blown away by the thought of a big fry-up and several cups of tea in the mornings. In the past he used to hoard the price of a takeaway tea sometimes, but sleeping rough with money on you wasn’t a good idea. If you got known for it, you could wake up robbed. Sitting round asking for the price of your morning tea was pretty awful, though, so sometimes he’d taken the risk and got away with it. Then you had to find a place that’d take your money, which wasn’t easy. Half of them would smell you coming and throw you out.
The Month of Borrowed Dreams Page 17
