by Anne Crosse
“Well, you also think?” Robert asked.
“You know what, sir? I have completely forgotten what I was going to say,” James replied.
“Can’t have been that important then, can it, if you’ve forgotten it already,” Robert said.
“I’m starving, sir. The breakfast this morning wasn’t much to write home about. Even the tea was cold, and you said your coffee was lukewarm,” James said.
“Yes, remember lukewarm Benny in Dunworth’s Pub, famous for his lukewarm coffee?” Robert said, and laughed.
“He’s left, and I heard the new replacement is exactly the opposite, his coffee is so hot, it would melt the enamel off your teeth,” James said.
“Would there be any chance he might come and work at Dobbyn’s? Honestly, it’s hit and miss in that excuse of a hotel. It all depends on who’s on duty in the kitchen, I have noticed. The so-called chef is total crap, but the woman who fills in for him when he is off, is good. She probably gets a fraction of what he is getting, but she deserves to get more than him. Chef, my arse. He probably took a poxy six-week course and got a certificate at the end of it. Surely you can take online courses now. All you have to do is sign up and pay with your credit card, which I hasten to add, every Tom Dick and fucking Harry has now. You can get qualifications in almost anything, if you have the plastic dosh card. It’s all…”
James waved his hand in the hope that the gesture would stop Robert’s long-winded speech and said, “I think we would not only work much better, but feel much better if we had some decent hearty sustenance inside us.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Robert asked, brightening up.
“A slap-up brunch in Dunworth’s Pub, would I be right in thinking that’s what’s on your mind, sir?” James said.
“Onwards, James, and don’t spare the horses.”
“Tally ho,” James said, grinning.
CHAPTER 10
HOME OR HERE – the sign was written in bold capitals with a black marker, and James couldn’t help smiling at the statement. Dining here would be a bit of a problem if there was a crowd. There were just two tables as far as he could make out, and one seemed to be occupied. He spotted the books, and a tub of ice cream with something that looked like a small protractor sticking out of it. His eyes rested on a familiar tin beside the books. Mathematical instruments, he noted, exactly like the ones he had during his schooldays. Things hadn’t changed much. The tables were blue Formica with silver edgings and legs. They were, if he rightly remembered, very popular in the sixties.
James approached the counter.
“What would you like?”
He looked in the direction the voice had come from, but he couldn’t see the questioner in the midst of the rising vapour. The plunging of a fresh basket of chips into the boiling dripping was the cause of all the steam, he guessed.
“It’ll clear soon,” the voice assured him.
“A bag of chips,” James said. As an afterthought, he added, “Please.” Must not forget his manners, especially where a lady was concerned.
“Here or take away?”
“Here.”
He could just about make her out, young and pretty, and she was pointing an equally pretty finger in the direction of the vacant table.
“I’ll bring them over. Two euro, please,” she said.
After James handed over the coin, he did as he was bid and headed for the unoccupied table.
There were posters of bull fights all around the walls. Handsome matadors in brightly coloured garb holding red cloaks aloft featured in every one of them. Was that where the term red rag to a bull came from? How unusual, he thought, posters like those in a little place like this. Was it possible the owners were Spanish, or maybe they had a villa over there to retire to sunnier climes during the winter months? They must be well-off. This chipper business was probably only a sideline to keep them amused.
The jukebox in the corner caught his eye. The machine gleamed; the glass and chrome had been polished to within an inch of its life. Someone was doing a great job with the upkeep of it. It was obviously cherished by the owner, he concluded.
He didn’t see her approach and only became aware of her presence when she landed the bag of chips on the table and touched his shoulder.
“I took the liberty of putting salt and vinegar on them. All the men seem to like loads of salt and vinegar,” she said.
When he looked up, she had already seated herself at the other table. “Thanks for the liberty,” James said.
“If you were taking them back to the hotel, I’d have put them into a second bag to keep them warm.”
“The hotel,” James echoed. She knew where he was staying. Well, that shouldn’t surprise him: after all, the whole town knew.
Her blue eyes bore into his. “The customers’ every need is met here. Just saying, in case you didn’t know.”
James pointed to the jukebox. “How much is it to play a record?” he asked.
“Two euro gets you two plays. You can insert two one-euro coins, or a two-euro one; you are spoilt for choice.”
“Everything is two euro round here,” James cajoled. “This is the land of the two euro.”
She laughed at that and then started writing in the open copybook.
“English Essay,” James said, guessing.
“My favourite subject, would you believe,” she replied.
“Mine too. I mean, when I was at school, it was the thing I liked the best. Maths came second, I loved working things out. Still do. I see you’ve made use of your maths set in more ways than one.”
When James noticed she was staring at the melted contents of the tub, he felt he had to apologize. “That’s my fault for delaying you, can I buy you another one to make up for it?”
“Don’t be silly, I was taking a liberty anyway.”
“Treating yourself to an ice cream’s a liberty, is it?”
“It always goes wrong when I do something I’m not supposed to do. It’s like I’m being given a message that I’m not meant to enjoy anything at all.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another one?” James asked. “I’d be delighted to treat you, if you’d let me.”
“Eat your chips before they go cold, or else it’ll be me who will be apologising for spoilt goods.”
James opened the bag and started to tuck in. “These are absolutely delicious. You really know how to cook a chip,” he said.
“We use dripping from the local butcher. Harry is his name. He claims his mother always used it to fry chips when he was growing up, and it was her who gave him the idea and the recipe for his award-winning dripping.”
“A recipe for dripping, that sounds a bit far-fetched,” James said, and laughed.
“I totally agree with you. What is it? Only grease rendered down from roast meat, surely,” she said.
“I love the posters,” James said, changing the subject.
“I don’t. Killing defenceless animals is cruelty personified.”
“I wouldn’t say bulls are entirely defenceless, they would kill you given half a chance,” James replied.
“Only if you taunted them.”
“Is there a Spanish interest in the family?” James asked.
“Belgium is the foreign link. My mother comes from there. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting her, she will tell you what chips are called in her native country.”
“Pommes frites,” James said, smiling.
“An educated man. I like that, not many like you in this backward country town. But then, you’re not from round here so, that says it all, really.”
James made his way over to the corner to study the jukebox. “A working jukebox, what a treasure,” he said.
“Everything works here, including myself. Only I work the most, if only it was admitted. You wouldn’t believe the amount of chores I have to do here, and as for my homework, that’s always on the back-burner.”
“I’m James, by the way.”
James studied the playlist and fumbled in his pocket for a coin. He was in luck, he realized – he had a two-euro coin left. He inserted it and pressed the letter C and the number one.
The strains of “Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll,” filled the air. His mother was a big fan of Cliff Richards. She would have loved this if she were here, he knew.
When the song ended, James returned to the table and folded his chip bag closed. He’d eat the rest back in his room. Marie had given him a mountain load, he’d noticed, possibly because she thought he needed fattening up, like a turkey for the Christmas table.
“You’ve only played one, you can get two,” Marie said.
“Would you like to choose one?” James asked.
“Don’t mind if I do. Can you do it for me?” Marie replied.
“So, what’s it to be?” James asked.
“Press the letter L and the number five,” Marie replied.
Bobby Darin singing ‘Dream Lover’ started to play.
Marie closed her eyes and listened to every word, while James took the opportunity to gaze at her unobserved. She reminded him of the marble statue of Aphrodite, one of his favourites when he was going through his fascination with art stage.
“So, what’s the story with the jukebox,” James asked when the song ended.
“It belonged to my grandfather, my father’s dad. He had it shipped over from England in the sixties. A man before his time, as they say. And as you can see, we are still stuck in the sixties. Nothing’s changed here, we are in a time warp.”
“To give her credit, I must say your mother does a good job keeping the jukebox looking like new,” James remarked.
“You must be joking! Queen Hanne of Belgium would break a nail if she tackled that chore.”
“Queen Hanne, the woman who will educate me in regard to pommes frites.” James laughed.
“The very one.” Marie laughed.
“So, who looks after the jukebox then?” James asked.
“My father, and you want to see him cleaning and buffing the silver parts and the glass. Bet you didn’t see one fingerprint on it until you graced it with your own. Tomorrow, he will be wiping them off. It will be like you never laid a finger on it.”
“You can tell him I was most impressed,” James said.
“He’ll love you for that.”
“Tell him I love the posters too.”
“He brought them back from one of his trips up north. He likes them, so I have never actually told him how much I hate them. Sometimes you have to take other people’s feelings into consideration, don’t you.”
“So, how did they meet, your parents?” James asked.
“He was in Belgium working in a beer factory and she was a wages clerk. And before you ask me what he was doing there, I don’t think he even knows the answer to that himself.”
“Sowing his wild oats, I presume,” James said.
“Apparently, he did sow some oats, because there was a quick trip down the aisle. That much I have learned from listening at keyholes,” Marie said, and laughed.
“Keyholes are great educators.”
“They came back here when my grandad died. They took over the business, which was all Hanne’s idea, by the way,” Marie explained.
“So, is she having a night off, your mother, seeing she’s not here?”
“She’s having more than a night off,” Marie said, and smiled knowingly.
James knew it was an innuendo, but he didn’t want to pry.
“My father is upstairs. If I want him, all I have to do is holler.”
“That’s good.”
“Did your boss tell you I called to see him?” Marie asked.
“No, he didn’t,” James said.
“I wanted to be sure those bullies got what was coming to them, so I had this mad rush to the head and went to see him. It was cheeky of me going to his room in the hotel, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
“Those Dillon fellows tormented you, didn’t they?”
“The last thing that horrible Dick Dillon did to me was really low. He pulled my beret off my head and then he pushed it into the pillar box outside Kneeshaw’s jewellers’ shop.”
“So, did you get it back in the post?” James asked, grinning. “Sorry, that was a bit insensitive.” He bit his lip.
“Miss Kneeshaw saw it all going on. She sorted it out, though. She got the post office crowd to open the letterbox and retrieve it. And yes, you could say I got it back in the post,” Marie said, and laughed.
“Those Dillons sound like a right pair of thugs who are absolutely no loss at all,” James said.
“Their mother is a lovely woman, though. I hope she is enjoying her freedom now that they’re gone for good.”
“Did your father know about this aggro you were getting from those two yobs?” James ventured.
“What you really want to ask is, did my father ever take them to task?”
“Just wondered if he knew, that’s all,” James said.
“I didn’t tell him the half of it because I was afraid if I did, he’d kill…” Marie stopped abruptly.
James picked up the chip bag. “I’ll finish these back in my hotel room,” he said.
“Will I wrap them up for you?” Marie asked.
“Not at all, they’re grand,” James answered.
“You’ll have to make a run for it, you don’t want them getting cold.”
After James departed, Marie closed her copybook. She couldn’t concentrate now, she realized. She’d have to finish her essay in the morning because her mind was on other things.
He was nice, this James fellow. Gorgeous, in fact. That long shiny hair of his was just divine. She loved his lovely soft voice. If ever she were to write a book, she would base her main character on him.
Did Edna O’Brien have a real Mr Gentleman in mind when she wrote The Country Girls, she wondered.
Tonight, in the privacy of her bed, she would go over every word this lovely James had said. He would be her very own Mr Gentleman, smiling at her from top to toe. Thank God he didn’t see the calliper on her leg tonight. But how could she hide it from him in the future, because he would hate her from the minute he saw it.
CHAPTER 11
James had managed to muster up the courage to suggest to Robert that a thorough search of the Dillon brothers’ rooms might be a good idea. He had been careful to put it in such a way as to make Robert think it was really his idea. He knew the man so well by now, it was like writing lines for him.
“Would you mind if we had a look at your sons’ bedrooms, Mrs Dillon?” Robert asked.
Nellie Dillon immediately stood aside. “Not at all,” she replied.
Robert and James made their way up the heavily carpeted stairs.
“There’s just the two rooms up there,” she called after them. “Do you want me to come up and tell you which is which?”
“Not at all, Mrs Dillon. We’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” James answered.
On a dressing table that had seen better days, there was a cross, a holy picture of Christ, and a silver candlestick complete with a white wax candle. There were several pairs of rosary beads laid out side by side.
“This is the failed priest’s room,” Robert guessed.
“Looks that way, alright,” James agreed.
“Father Pat’s altar,” Robert said. “Did he say mass, I wonder?”
James was staring at the beads.
“See anything you like?” Robert said jokingly.
James picked up a pair of pearl beads.
“Nice choice,” Robert cajoled.
“These are real,” James announced. “Real mother of pearl.”
“You mean they’re not plastic.”
“Worth a few pounds, these are,” James said, nodding.
“So, where did he get them?”
“You’d only get these in a jeweller’s,” James suggested.
The rest of the room threw up nothing else of interest, so they made their way to the room next door.
“What’s with the carpet on the stairs? Looks new,” James remarked.
“I would say it’s been laid on top of another one. Stair carpets aren’t usually that thick,” Robert replied.
“At least she wouldn’t hear the two boyos descending or ascending,” James said.
“A blessing, if you’re a light sleeper,” Robert said.
“So, this is the famous Dick’s room,” James said.
“It would appear so, seeing it’s the only other one up here. Such a tiny house, claustrophobic.”
Nothing of note surfaced as far as Robert could see, but as he prepared to leave the room, James caught him by the arm.
“What is it, James?”
James dropped to his knees and looked under the bed.
“Mind there’s not a piss pot under there, Jamey lad,” Robert said, and laughed.
James pulled out a tin case.
“What treasure have we here?” Robert asked.
James opened the case to reveal an array of watches, clocks, silver candlesticks, and a velvet box containing silver cutlery.
“Jeweller’s stuff,” Robert said, nodding.
James held up a large wad of fifty-euro notes. “And look at this little pile, sir,” he said.
“Now, that is either the jeweller woman’s dough, or their employers’. How much do you reckon there is, James?”
“At a rough estimate, I’d say a few thousand,” James replied.
“That much.” Robert was surprised. “I hardly think the jeweller woman would have that kind of money at her place. She couldn’t be making much in the shop. Unless, of course, she doesn’t use the bank and keeps it all on the premises instead.”
“Should we talk to the employers first?” James ventured.
Robert made for the door. “Employers, definitely first,” he answered.
“What’ll I do with this, sir?” James asked.
