Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  He caught me looking. ‘They’re new,’ he said, in a Dublin accent.

  ‘What are?’

  ‘My hot pants.’ He came round to my side of the counter. ‘I saw you admiring them.’ He grinned. ‘Irish?’

  ‘Dublin,’ I said. ‘You too?’

  ‘Obviously. Ballymun-born and Ballymun-fled. You?’

  ‘Sandycove.’ I found myself smiling back. ‘How long have you been in London?’

  ‘Five years,’ he said. ‘Never going back. I wouldn’t get away with wearing these where I grew up.’ He held out his hand. ‘Roberto. Formerly known as Robert. But I think Roberto sounds nicer, don’t you? More me?’

  ‘Much nicer,’ I agreed, shaking his hand. ‘Olivia.’

  ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Liv,’ he said and then strutted back behind the counter as though he was on a catwalk. ‘Not everyone could get away with these,’ he said. ‘Only those with a tiny arse and great legs. Even if I do say so myself. So…’ He leaned on the bar across from me. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how Kylie am I?’

  ‘Kylie?’ I laughed again. ‘Um… seven?’

  ‘Seven?’ He looked appalled, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Seven! Hey, Charlie,’ he called to a man who was wiping down the long table. ‘She says I am seven out of ten.’

  ‘That’s being generous,’ said Charlie, without looking up.

  Roberto ignored him. ‘Kylie,’ he went on to me, ‘is, you see, my muse. My alter ego. By day I am but a humble and fabulous barista, by night I am Miss Minogue in Les Femmes Magnifique. You should come. You look like you could do with a bit of fun.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A club. My God, you really are straight off the boat. I compère three nights a week – Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays. You’ve never heard of it? Or me?’ He called over to the other man again. ‘Charlie, we have a stranger in town. She doesn’t know about the club… she’s never seen Miss Minogue…’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘You’re only a legend in your own little mind, Roberto. Have you made her a coffee?’

  ‘Where are my manners?’ said Roberto. ‘Would you like a latte? Or a cappuccino? On the house. We like to welcome our compatriots when they are new in town. And I make the best coffees in East London. Right, Charlie?’

  ‘Whatever you say, Roberto.’

  ‘And you’ve got the job, by the way,’ he said, grinning, fluttering those eyelashes. ‘We need someone to corrupt, don’t we, Charlie?’

  ‘I didn’t even…’ I began.

  ‘You didn’t need to,’ said Roberto. ‘I read your aura. You need a job, right? And you need somewhere to stay. And you need a new best friend?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, then I’m your fairy godmother. Or your fairy disco queen.’

  And that was it. We became inseparable, sharing life’s adventures over ten years. He was the reason why I stayed so long, he made working for Maribelle bearable because I had someone to come home to, someone who made life better. But because of Maribelle’s incarceration and my split with Jeremy, I had begun to question if I wanted to return to work with its long hours, stress and constant anxiety. There had to be more to life.

  It was Sunday morning and I woke early again. Despite feeling the effects of the previous night’s wine and champagne, I went for another run. The day was even more glorious, a beautiful sunrise, the sea like a diamanté cloak, the sky high and blue, with seagulls circling, the air so fresh and clear. I was wearing the locket. Just having it around my neck was giving me a feeling of strength. My runs were not so much rocket-propelled as locket-propelled, and I kept going, despite my legs aching slightly from the previous day, my mind going over everything, from work in London to Joseph Delaney to Seasalt to Roberto to Jeremy.

  Mum was waiting for me when I got back home and handed me a cup of coffee.

  ‘Go and have a shower,’ she said. ‘I want to take you somewhere.’

  ‘Where?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll show you when we get there.’

  She still wouldn’t tell me when I came downstairs, freshly washed and dressed, and we got into the car, Mum’s crutches beside me, as she drove us back into the village, and up along Sandycove Avenue. She indicated and slowed down, and then neatly reverse-parked outside one of the houses I’d always noticed and loved. There was a small black wrought-iron gate and a terracotta, slightly cracked tiled path leading to a yellow door with large glass panels which were tinted pink.

  I looked back at her. ‘This was your house?’

  Mum nodded. ‘I like the yellow door,’ she said, turning off the engine. ‘Nice and bright. It used to be navy. Every time I drove past this house, I just felt so sad,’ she said. ‘I thought of Mam and… well, I just stopped coming down Sandycove Avenue.’

  I looked at the house. ‘But it’s only a fifteen-minute walk from our house. You could have… just told me and…’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘Because people need to know this kind of thing… I could have… I don’t know… I would have liked to have known that this is the house my mother grew up in.’

  ‘I know.’

  We both looked back at the house again. So, this was Mum’s home, this was my family’s home, full of my history and stories and memories. These people, this house, these lives which were so connected to me were all here. I wished I’d always known it.

  ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ I said. ‘It looks friendly…’

  She nodded. ‘I always liked it. When Dad died, his brother was the executor and sold it and gave me a few bits and pieces. But Dad’s will did leave me £5,000. He didn’t leave me destitute. Although he never spoke to me again after Mam’s funeral. He saw you and didn’t say a word. But it was that money we lived on and, after moving out of Betty’s house, we moved into the flat above the shop and then I took over the lease on it below.’ Mum turned to me. ‘I do wish I’d told you all this before. I should have done. I was just trying to move on, I suppose, and put it behind me. But the thing is, you bring your past with you. You can never escape. I couldn’t put it into words. My great shame. My great undoing. The gossip in the village! And then losing Mam.’ Her voice cracked a little. ‘I felt as though I had brought this terrible thing on our nice family. For years I blamed myself when now all I want to do is go back in time and give me a hug and tell myself that eventually everything is going to be okay.’ She smiled. ‘And that the little baby is going to be the most wonderful thing that has ever happened.’

  ‘I want to give your younger self a hug as well,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘Come here, sweetheart.’ She hugged me. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. I think you’re amazing.’ I wished I had her strength.

  We looked back at the house. ‘Mam used to grow daffodils in the front, along the path,’ went on Mum. ‘And she’d pick them for the kitchen table and I’d look forward to them every spring. Every time I see one, or buy a bunch, I think of her and wonder if she’d been born twenty years later, how different her life would have been. She wouldn’t have married Dad, that was for sure. He hadn’t had a happy life.’ She sighed and looked back at me. ‘I never felt sorry for him until recently. And now, all I can do is feel sorry for him. He was trapped in that universe of shame and recrimination. Everyone must have been so scared to do the wrong thing.’ Mum looked back at the house. ‘Shall we go in?’

  ‘We can’t!’

  ‘We can ask. Come on.’ And she was already getting out of the car, leaning on her crutches. All I could do was follow her. There was no way she was facing this on her own.

  ‘The knocker’s the same,’ said Mum, as we stood at the door. ‘Mam used to Brasso it every Friday morning. At Christmas, she’d take it off the door and clean it at the kitchen table. That week, everything would be scrubbed to within an inch of its life.’ She knocked on the door and immediately a dog began yapping. Then the door opened. ‘Hello,’ began Mum. ‘We…’ And then. ‘Dr Butler!’
>
  Pablo was furious at this interruption, still yapping madly, but Will, dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt and holding a mug of coffee, just looked bemused. ‘Is everything all right?’ he said. ‘I am just back from a run.’ He glanced at me.

  ‘We didn’t know you lived here,’ said Mum. ‘I knew the house was on the market last year… but no one told me who had bought it.’

  Will was looking increasingly puzzled, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

  ‘We’ll just leave you to it,’ she said. ‘Come on, Olivia.’ She pulled on my sleeve. ‘Sorry for bothering you. Thank you, Dr Butler, so sorry!’ She yanked at me and began making her way down the path.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Will called us back. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mum grew up here,’ I said, turning back. ’We didn’t know you lived here.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Well, then. That explains a lot. Would you…?’ He pushed the door open more and stepped aside. ‘Would you like to look around?’

  It had been all right when we thought a stranger lived here, but asking for a house tour of someone we knew, however vaguely, wasn’t right at all.

  ‘We couldn’t possibly,’ said Mum.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  ‘Again, so sorry to have bothered you…’

  We turned around again.

  ‘I really don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Or come back for a cup of tea or a glass of wine later? I can imagine it must be lovely to see your old house. It hasn’t changed much. I mean, there’s no extensions, and there seem to be all or most of the original features. Fireplace, the coving… the windows.’

  Mum stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘The ceiling rose?’

  Will nodded.

  ‘The dado rail in the hall?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘The scullery with the little window?’

  He smiled. ‘I bought the house because of the scullery window.’

  Mum beamed back. ‘Well… if we weren’t imposing. We could come back at a time that was more convenient.’

  ‘What about an evening this week?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mum. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said.

  ‘Goodbye, Dr Butler,’ said Mum, almost swinging on her crutches, as though in training for an unofficial Olympic sport. Will must think we were utterly mad, I thought, as I raced after her. But I found myself smiling, thinking of him and Pablo in that lovely house. And the fact that he had invited us back.

  14

  Roberto: Am going to attempt a Victoria sponge. Mary Berry says it is ‘entry-level’. Couldn’t actually sleep with the anticipation. How are you?

  Me: Lots going on! Busy!

  Roberto: Good busy or bad busy?

  Me: Not sure. Will let you know.

  Roberto: Big hugs to my favourite girl. YOU, not Kylie (she’s my second).

  Jeremy: Hey Olivia. Hope all is well in the Emerald Aisle! Say hello to the leprechauns and Bono for me! By the way, I’m looking for my cufflinks. The ones with the Scottie dogs on them. You didn’t take them, did you? TIA.

  It was Monday morning and I was on my way to Nell’s, texting Roberto, when I walked past James.

  ‘Morning, Olivia,’ he said, glancing up briefly. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Morning, James,’ I said, but something was wrong – there was no Sammy. James simply didn’t look like James without old Sammy loping beside him. Every time I had passed him in the street, over the last week, or spotted him in the distance, or popped into the deli, Sammy had been there.

  ‘Where’s Sammy?’ I asked. ‘Having the day off? Still in bed?’

  James stopped and turned around. ‘It’s not good news, Olivia,’ he said. ‘I mean… poor old Sammy… it’s the end, really. He’s twelve… and… that’s old for a Labrador.’ He stopped speaking and shrugged. ‘I mean… it’s best for him to just let go… the thing is, I think he’s hanging on for me.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘It’s the kind of thing he’d do, not wanting to upset me.’

  ‘Oh God. Poor Sammy.’

  ‘I’ve had him since he was seven weeks old. Tiny he was and the runt of the litter. His back legs weren’t right. But I was going through a hard time, so was he, and we… we just understood each other.’ His voice broke at the end. ‘Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? If you’d told me fifteen years ago that I would be crying over a dog, then I would have said you were mad.’ He shook his head, pulling himself together. ‘Anyway, I shouldn’t be going on about it… you don’t want to hear about Sammy.’

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  James jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘I don’t want him to go, but it’s worse thinking that he might be in pain. And so, he’s being put to sleep today.’ He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m a state!’ He tried to smile.

  ‘James, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I don’t think I can even say this without becoming a blubbering fool, but… last night, Sammy knew his time was up. At about 3 a.m., he tried to get onto my bed – he hasn’t done that in years. He was struggling to get up, so I got out and helped him up. The poor fella. And so he crawled in beside me and kept staring at me, you know, his big brown eyes…’

  ‘Everything all right, young James? Anything I can do?’ shouted Bernard Murphy, looking over from across the street.

  ‘You’re grand, Bernard, but thank you…’ said James, and then, back to me, ‘I’m making a show of myself in the village…’

  ‘Where’s Sammy now?’

  ‘He’s at home. On his own… but I had to open the shop… I can’t just close it for a dog…’ His voice cracked. ‘Alison had to get up early to go to Albatross. She’s short-staffed this week. And so…’

  ‘I’ll look after the shop,’ I said, immediately. ‘Don’t worry. You go home to Sammy.’

  He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘I can’t… I…’

  ‘You can. Just give me the keys and I will look after everything. Okay?’

  He looked at me. ‘You’re sure?’

  I nodded. ‘Totally.’

  For a moment he didn’t say anything. And then, ‘Thank you.’

  I told Jessica what had happened and she waved me away. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Poor James. I’ll miss that lovely dog, I can tell you. Ellie-Mae and Frankie loved him. He let them sit on him and kiss his face all over and never pulled away.’

  James’s Deli was a small, square space, a counter running in a right angle around two sides. A row of low brass lights hung over the wooden counter, and one wall was painted a beautiful, dark glossy green, where long, open shelves displayed jars of peppers and artichokes and tomatoes and pickles shone like jewels. On one end of the counter was the fridge full of cheeses and meats and at the other end was the wine section. Tall shelves behind the counter contained everything you could think of – posh crackers, Belgian chocolates, tins of olives and anchovies.

  With the lights on and blinds up, I prayed no one would ask for some cheese that needed to be sliced or salami that needed weighing or anything difficult like that. But I started setting up the shop as best I could. In the storeroom, I found a navy canvas apron and tied it on and hovered for a moment, wondering what to do. James always stacked a pile of wooden crates with fresh vegetables and garlic cloves and tiny new potatoes and whatever fruit was in season just inside the front door, and I found them in the walk-in fridge and placed everything artfully.

  The till looked a lot like the one in Nell’s – which I had finally come to terms with – and after switching everything on and giving the floor a quick sweep, I propped the front door open. I carried in the delivery of fresh bread and milk which had been stacked outside, placing the bread in the baskets on the counter and the milk in the fridge beside the coffee machine.

  Bernard Murphy poked his head in, eyes like saucers when he saw i
t was me behind the counter. ‘I don’t want to pry,’ he said, ‘but how is James? I sensed he was a little on the upset side this morning.’

  ‘It’s Sammy,’ I said. ‘He’s being put to sleep today.’

  Bernard Murphy put his two hands over his mouth. ‘Oh, the poor man,’ he said. ‘I thought as much. I know what it’s like to lose a best friend. I once had a spaniel called Daniel O’Connell. Lovely dog.’ He stepped inside. ‘He used to do this thing where he would rest his head on my foot while I was eating. And for years afterwards, I could still feel it, that warm head.’

  Bernard seemed very moved by James’s loss, gone was his usual puffed-up chest. He came over and stood at the counter, playing with bars of fudge which were stacked by the till.

  ‘They ask nothing of you,’ he said. ‘No demands. Just give, give, give. Daniel O’Connell was a remarkable dog. Slept on my bed throughout my childhood. He died on the morning of my nineteenth birthday. I still remember it like yesterday. It was the end of innocence.’ His voice cracked. ‘Right!’ He pushed the fudge back into a neat pile. ‘We must get on with the day! I will return with an action plan to make sure James’s Deli stays fully functioning. We will share this burden!’

  He returned fifteen minutes later and placed a cup of tea from Albatross on the counter and a croissant.

  ‘This will keep you going,’ he said. ‘Alison sent it over to say thank you. She and James have become very friendly lately.’ He nodded at me, making sure I got the meaning. Gossip, I realised, could be imparted in a myriad ways. ‘So, troops have been summoned, the cavalry assembled. We have organised a full schedule of reserve staff and you can stand down from your post at 11 a.m. Mrs O’Keefe will be preparing the lunch special.’ He stood to attention, giving me a salute.