by Tara Heavey
‘I’m afraid you’ve got rats.’
This time I really screamed.
Chapter Six
The alarm drilled into my eardrums at 7.30 a.m. I jerked out of a fitful sleep and, for the second time that morning, wondered where the hell I was. After a few seconds, I recognised the blurry lines of my new bedroom, pressed the snooze button and lay back in the bed and stretched.
And then I remembered. I groaned loudly, but there was no one to hear. No one to tell me that last night had been only a nightmare. But, even if I hadn’t been on my own, nobody could have performed that particular miracle for me.
After the two laughing policemen had left, I had lain awake for most of the night, ears strained for that evil scuffling. At one point, just as I was at last managing to drop off, a strand of my hair had fallen across my face and I had leapt up, shouting hysterically, convinced that a rat had just brushed past me. Sleep hadn’t visited again until about half an hour before the alarm had gone off. It wasn’t exactly what I would call wonderful preparation for the first day in my new office.
Rather than lie there and think of my new furry flatmates, not to mention my humiliation at having called the gardaí out to investigate the ‘intruder’ (I groaned again), I decided to get up. I checked my slippers carefully for signs of life and tiptoed cautiously into the bathroom. There was no way I was staying in this rat-infested dump. I was going to ring Tyrone at nine on the dot, and he could damn well arrange alternative accommodation.
I arrived outside my new office in the village of Ballyknock at five to nine precisely. I had been subjected to the hackney driver’s incessant questioning for the previous ten minutes, and my foul humour had worsened. What I wouldn’t have done for an O’Brien’s double espresso.... I was supposed to be meeting my new secretary – with my new key – at nine. I had decided to arrive a few minutes early, just to show that I was on the ball.
At 9.15 I was still standing there. This had gone beyond a joke. I was beginning to get curious looks from passers-by. Several cars even slowed down to get a better look at me – we’re not talking kerb-crawling here, just pure nosiness. I barely restrained myself from making rude hand gestures. Hardly the impression one would like to convey on one’s first day in a new town in one’s capacity as a solicitor.
‘There you are, dear. Have you been waiting long?’ A plumpish woman with rosy cheeks and short blonde hair bustled down the street towards me. She was clearly out of breath and struggling to carry several bulky plastic bags. I judged her to be in her early forties. Forty-five would hold her.
‘Only half an hour,’ I lied.
‘Oh, you poor love. Let’s go inside and get ourselves a nice cup of coffee.’ She dropped a couple of her bags and held out her hand. ‘I’m Patricia. I hope you’re Lainey – otherwise I’m after making an awful eejit of myself.’
I took her hand, shook it in a dazed fashion and confirmed that I was indeed Lainey Malone.
‘Well, Lainey, you are a pretty girl, aren’t you?’
I smiled uncertainly and blushed a little. It was very nice to be called a pretty girl, but surely that wasn’t the usual way to greet your new boss.
Patricia fumbled in an oversized handbag and pulled out a massive set of keys. She tried about ten of them in the lock before happening upon the right one. She kept talking the entire time.
‘You’ll never guess what happened to me this morning.’
I shook my head: no, I’d never guess.
‘I was getting the kids ready for school, and didn’t I have them all dressed and ready to go out the door, and didn’t Mikey only go and spill his entire bowl of Coco Pops all the way down his clean shirt, and didn’t I have to iron another one for him and wasn’t I fit to hit him, and of course then we were stuck in the traffic on Main Street and I was late, and there’s you, poor love, standing out on your own in the cold on your very first day in Ballyknock looking like nobody’s child, but they are giving it good for next week, mind....’ And on she went. I felt fit to hit little Mikey myself.
At last she found the correct key, and I entered what was to be my work-home for the next nine months. If I had thought the cottage was small....
The new premises of Tyrone Power & Co. consisted of an office for me (I could have cried, comparing it to my beautiful office back in Dublin) and an office-cum-reception-area for Patricia. This latter area housed a photocopier, a fax machine and that most essential piece of office equipment – a kettle. I watched gratefully as Patricia started fiddling around with it. My gratitude turned to consternation as she removed a large bottle of still mineral water from one of her bags and proceeded to fill the kettle with the contents.
‘Is there no sink?’
‘God, no, dear. Sure, how could you get a sink into this place? It’s far too small.’
Silly me.
‘Is there a toilet, even?’
‘Not at all!’ She thought this was very funny.
‘Well, what do we ... do?’
‘The bookies upstairs have said we can use their loo.’
How kind.
Maybe I could arrange a transfer to the London office instead.
Patricia redeemed herself by making me the most righteous cup of coffee. I holed myself up in my office for the next hour and tried to organise myself. This entailed ringing and e-mailing all my friends and family members to give them my new details. Well, what if they needed to contact me urgently?
After a while, Patricia stuck her head around the door (without knocking, of course. What would have been the point, anyway? The walls were paper-thin and we could hear every word the other said).
‘How are you getting on?’
‘Fine. And the coffee was lovely; thank you.’
‘You’re more than welcome, my dear. Tomorrow I’ll bring in some scones. How’s everything up at Power’s Cottage?’
‘Not great. I have a bad case of rats. I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.’
‘Rats! God love you! I’ll get on to the brother-in-law right away. He’s into the pest control.’ She made it sound as if hunting down vermin was his hobby. ‘He’ll have you sorted today. There’ll be no need for you to move out for even one night.’
‘Thanks, Patricia – that really would be terrific.’
‘I’ll go ring him. Then I’m off to do my grocery shopping.’
‘What – now?’ I glanced at the clock. It was ten to eleven.
‘Well, yes. I always do my weekly shop on a Monday morning. The supermarket is nice and empty then.’ Her face was full of innocent surprise. Imagine me not knowing that she always did her grocery shopping on a Monday morning.
As soon as Patricia left the building, I rang Tyrone. I was put through to Miss Moneypenny.
‘Oh, hi, Barb. Can I speak to Tyrone, please?’
‘Is it important? He is very busy this morning, you know.’
‘Yes, it’s important,’ I snapped. Cow.
‘Lainey! How goes it?’ boomed Tyrone.
‘Well, let’s see. The house you kindly lent me is crawling with rats, you couldn’t swing a kitten in the office, let alone go to the toilet, and my new secretary – who thinks I’m a pretty little thing, by the way – is off doing her grocery shopping.’
Tyrone hooted with laughter. ‘So far, so good, then.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Never mind. You’ve just got off to a bad start. The office is only temporary, you know that; as soon as something better comes on the market we’ll snap it up. Get Patricia onto the rat problem. Her brother-in-law –’
‘I know. She already told me,’ I said tersely.
‘Fair enough. What do you make of her?’
‘She’s very nice, Tyrone, but ... I don’t know. Do you really think she’s suitable?’
‘She may seem a little unorthodox, but just you wait and see. She types up a storm, and her local knowledge is second to none.’
‘You mean she’s a gossip.’
‘Don
’t knock it. You’ll discover that kind of thing is very useful in the country. You’re just a Dublin snob, that’s your problem.’
‘I beg your –’
‘Ah, get over yourself, girl. I’m only pulling your leg.’
We shot the breeze, both business and personal, for another ten minutes or so; then Tyrone had to go because Barb had buzzed him a total of four times. I was willing to lay bets that it wasn’t about anything important. It was fortunate for her that she managed to keep her jealousy reined in when it came to female clients; otherwise he would have had no choice but to fire her, damn good secretary or no.
My first morning on the job whizzed by. At a few minutes to one, I stuck my head into Patricia’s office.
‘What way will we work lunch? Do you want to go now for an hour and I’ll go when you come back, or what?’(Even though she’d only been back from her shopping expedition for forty-five minutes.)
‘There’s no need for that. I’ll just lock up and we can both go.’
‘But what if somebody rings when we’re both out?’
‘Sure, that’s what God invented answering machines for, girl. Besides, who’d be ringing anyway? All the solicitors’ offices in the county close for lunch; and if it’s a client and if it’s that important, they can always ring back at two.’
This did have a peculiar type of logic to it.
‘Right, so.’ I shrugged. ‘You’d better show me how to work the alarm.’
Patricia duly showed me how to activate and de-activate it, and I made a mental note of the code. As we were both leaving, she whispered confidentially to me, ‘Don’t worry if you forget the code and set it off accidentally. It’s not connected up to the Garda station anyhow.’
You what?
‘We thought about connecting it, but it’d be too much trouble. The likes of the wind or kids messing around would be setting it off all the time, and we’d keep getting calls at all hours of the night.’
‘But what if somebody breaks in?’
‘Sure, there’s nothing to take.’
‘Not yet. But soon we’re going to have confidential files.’
‘If any of the eejits around here broke in, they wouldn’t know what to take. They might run off with the kettle, but that would be about it.’
‘Even so, I’m not happy about that. I’m going to call Tyrone about it this afternoon.’
‘You do that, love, if it makes you feel better,’ said Patricia, patting me on the cheek and smiling kindly at me. (No, you didn’t read that wrong: my secretary patted me – me, her boss – on the cheek.)
It was most definitely time for lunch.
I let myself back in at five to two. There was no sign of Patricia, but that was okay. There was no sign of her at 2.30 either. That wasn’t okay. At 2.32 she breezed in through the front door and beamed at me.
‘Ah, hello. Did you have a nice lunch, dear?’
‘What time do you call this?’ I faced her, arms folded tightly across my chest, brows knitted into what I hoped was a stern frown.
She frowned back at me. ‘Is your clock not working? Don’t worry, I’ll have a look at it. It probably just needs new batteries.’
I looked at her face and realised that she was totally sincere.
And that was the last time I tried to be the big Boss Woman.
At about 3.30 that afternoon, from behind my closed office door, I heard the front door opening and Patricia’s loud and cheerful greeting.
‘Ah, is it yourself, Murt! How are you keeping?’
‘Ah, you know, Patricia – draggin’ the devil. Yourself?’ It was an old man’s voice.
‘I’m grand, Murt. What can I do for you on this fine day?’
‘I want to see the solicitor.’
‘Hold on now, and I’ll see what I can do.’ She stuck her head around my office door for the tenth time that afternoon. This time she looked particularly excited.
‘You’ve got your first client.’
‘Has he got an appointment?’
Patricia was clearly taken aback. ‘Well, no, he hasn’t. But I thought that, since it’s your first day and you’re not that busy yet, you might be able to squeeze him in.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Murt O’Brien. His people come from Dunmore way, his mother was a Brennan from Oldtown and his father ran the local hardware store. He married one of the O’Byrne girls out of the factory and his daughter is married to Tommy Hennessy, my second cousin once removed on my mother’s side – they’re after building a gorgeous extension –’
‘All right. Show him in,’ I said, clearing a space on my desk. ‘Only tell him he’ll have to make an appointment next time.’
I felt quite excited, really. My first Ballyknock client!
An extremely old man wearing a shiny black suit and a fedora hat entered the room. His face looked as if it was made of old brown leather. He stopped short of my desk and executed what I guessed was his version of a double take.
‘Who are you?’
I flashed him a professional smile and extended my right hand. ‘Lainey Malone. Pleased to meet you.’
He didn’t take it. ‘Where’s Tyrone Power?’
‘Mr Power is going to be in Dublin for the next few months. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me for the time being.’
‘I want to see Tyrone.’
‘I believe there’s a train leaving for Dublin at six.’
The old man stared at me long and hard. Then something flickered behind his eyes and he sat down across from me.
‘I want to buy some land.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’ll just take your details first. Name?’
‘Murt O’Brien.’
‘Murt. That’s unusual. Is it short for Murtagh?’
He gave me a funny look. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’
‘No, I’m from Dublin.’
‘That would explain a lot. Murt is short for Michael.’
‘Address?’ I wasn’t really warming to him.
‘Chapel Lane, Ballyknock.’
‘And that’s in County Kilkenny....’ I confirmed, writing it down.
‘No. Outer Mongolia.’ I looked up at him sharply. The ghost of what was probably a smile played about his shrunken lips.
‘Does your house on Chapel Lane have a number?’
‘What would I be needing a number for? Haven’t I lived there all me life? Everybody knows me.’
Yes, and I’m sure everybody loves you, too, you grumpy old git. ‘Now, PPS number, please.’
‘What do you need that for?’ he snapped.
‘The Revenue has to be informed of every property transaction in the State.’
‘I don’t want that shower knowing my business.’
‘I’m afraid you have no choice, Mr O’Brien. You can’t register your ownership of the land otherwise.’
‘I’ve never heard the like of it. I bet if Tyrone Power was here he wouldn’t be looking for any social security numbers off of me.’
‘I’m afraid he’d have to. It’s the law, Mr O’Brien. You’re not being singled out.’
‘Well, in that case, I’m going to be reporting you both to the Law Society. This is outrageous carry-on.’ He stood up shakily.
‘You do that, Mr O’Brien.’
He glared at me and shuffled out of the room, mumbling to himself as he went.
Well, that was a good start.
At about 4.30, I heard more voices outside and Patricia poked her head around the door again.
‘Are you ready for more clients?’
‘Do they have an appointment?’ I knew that I was wasting my breath.
‘Well, no, but....’
‘Sure. Show them in.’ It couldn’t go any worse than the last time.
Patricia ushered in what I could only describe as two sweet old ladies. They were wearing matching woollen berets and carrying matching square handbags.
‘Please come in and take a
seat, ladies.’
They both sat down, placing matching handbags on matching laps. Their smiles were focused on me, full beam.
‘I’m Lainey Malone.’
‘I’m Cissy Walsh, and this is my sister Hannah,’ the old woman on the right said in a sweet, wavering, old-lady voice.
I took down their names. Sisters. I should have guessed. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that they were twins – although it was hard to tell with old ladies, especially when they wore such similar hairstyles and clothes.
‘And can I have your addresses, please?’
‘We both live at the post office, Low Street, Ballyknock.’ Cissy appeared to be the elected spokeswoman.
‘Oh, do you run the post office, then?’
‘That we do, and our parents before us,’ said Cissy proudly. ‘And where are you from, Miss Malone?’
‘Oh, call me Lainey, please. I’m from Dublin.’
‘Isn’t that lovely. And are you going to be with us in Ballyknock for long?’
‘Just for a few months, until Mr Power can get down.’
‘Tyrone is a lovely man, isn’t he?’
‘You know him well, then?’
‘Indeed and I do. Didn’t I use to dandle him on my knee when he was still in nappies? His mother, God rest her, was a great friend of ours.’
I had a vision of Tyrone, wearing an adult diaper, sitting on Cissy’s lap, squashing her and her handbag to death. I tried not to laugh.
Hannah still hadn’t said a word, but, judging by her smile, she too thought that Tyrone was a lovely man.
‘Have you been working for him long?’
‘For about seven years. Now, what can I do for you today?’
The two women exchanged glances, their smiles faltering for a fraction of a second.
‘Not a thing, my dear,’ Cissy replied.
I was confused. ‘Then why ...’
‘We just wanted to come and introduce ourselves.’
‘Oh. But I was asking you for your details....’
‘Is that what you were doing?’ Cissy laughed. ‘We thought you were just being friendly. We had to come, you see. People will be coming into the post office asking about the new solicitor, so we had to come and find out for ourselves. Don’t worry’ – she positively twinkled at me – ‘we’ll be recommending you to everybody. You’re very good.’
