Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  ‘This was my dad’s domain,’ she said. ‘I think, Dr Butler, he was a little depressed. But we didn’t know it at the time. He was a bit of a difficult man…’

  ‘I used to have one of those,’ said Will. ‘And call me Will.’

  ‘And I’m Nell.’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘I knew your father a little,’ said Mum. ‘He always struck me as a man who liked his own way.’

  Will laughed. ‘That is a very nice way of putting it.’

  Mum gazed around the room. ‘The tiles around the fireplace are so beautiful. I’d forgotten quite how yellow the flowers were. I always thought they must be daffodils, don’t you? My mother used to grow them in the front.’

  ‘They still come up,’ said Will. ‘I had lots of daffodils this year.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum looked delighted. ‘Could they be my mother’s daffodils? They could be, couldn’t they?’ She beamed at us, and I thought that ghosts can be wonderful things, that they can appear in a little daffodil. ‘I will walk past the house next spring,’ she said. ‘Just to see them.’

  ‘And you have to promise to knock on the door,’ said Will, ‘and come in for a cup of tea.’

  ‘I would love that.’

  ‘And I could dig them up for you? Put them in a pot?’

  ‘Well, just one or two would be lovely.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ he said. ‘They belong to you, anyway, don’t they? Shall we go to the kitchen?’

  She nodded, and then, when his back was turned, she poked me. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ she mouthed, as I frowned at her to shut up, but she smiled happily to herself, as we went into the kitchen.

  ‘The range!’ she said. ‘I would have thought this would have been thrown out years ago!’ She laid her hands on it. ‘It’s lovely and warm. My mother and I would stand against this during the winter.’

  ‘It hadn’t been used for years when I moved in,’ said Will. ‘But I found this company that refurbishes them, takes them apart, cleans every piece and puts them all back together again.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done a beautiful job,’ said Mum. ‘The double doors out to the garden are lovely, what a great idea… and may I see the scullery?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You know where it is. I’ll make the tea or pour the wine. Which would you like?’

  ‘Well, we’d love a cup of tea,’ Mum said. ‘If it isn’t too much trouble.’

  ‘None at all.’

  We sat at the kitchen table – Pablo on Will’s lap – as Mum talked about growing up in the house, and not at any moment did Will appear bored or impatient for us to leave. In fact, he seemed the opposite, as though he was enjoying himself too.

  ‘So you and your mother hung that wallpaper?’ he said, pointing to old Anaglypta on one wall of the kitchen. ‘I thought it was too nice to remove. It was hidden behind an old dresser. The rest was a little dirty to keep, but that was perfect.’

  ‘Mam was the paster and the cutter,’ said Mum. ‘I was the hanger. Had to stand on the kitchen table and try and keep it from sticking together or sticking to me.’ She laughed. ‘We weren’t the best at it, I can tell you.’

  ‘Well, it’s still here. Can’t have been too bad a job.’

  ‘No,’ said Mum, her voice wavering. ‘It wasn’t. I remember the two of us laughing a lot that afternoon.’ I reached over and held her hand. ‘Ah, I’m all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just so lovely to be here. I feel a little overwhelmed. But very happy.’ She smiled at Will. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s a real pleasure,’ he said, smiling back. Pablo had been asleep but woke up and started barking as a motorbike roared past the house. ‘He may be a tiny Yorkshire terrier,’ said Will, ‘but he thinks he’s a Rottweiler.’

  ‘Well, I think he’s a very lovely dog,’ said Mum, taking a bit of biscuit and holding it out for Pablo. He nibbled it, and then gave her hand a lick, before taking the whole biscuit, hopping down onto the ground and snaffling it whole. He then came over to me and sniffed at my ankles and looked up at me, and then gave me the tiniest lick. Our relationship was definitely improving.

  At the door as we left, Mum turned to Dr Butler. ‘Thank you for such a lovely visit… it brought back lots of memories… good ones. Thank you.’

  ‘You are so welcome. Both of you,’ he said, smiling at us as we trotted down the path, all nerves gone as we happily rushed to the car, Mum slinging her crutch onto the back seat like an old hand.

  ‘How was that?’ I said, when we were inside. ‘What did you think? Was it nice to be back?’

  She nodded. ‘I can’t really express how nice it was,’ she said. ‘It’s as though the ghosts have been put to rest.’

  ‘It’s really lovely to think of you there. You and… Gran.’

  She smiled. ‘Gran.’ She lingered on the word. ‘She would have made a lovely grandmother.’

  ‘She is a grandmother,’ I said, holding the locket.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, she is.’ She put the key in the ignition. ‘And what did you think of Dr Butler?’

  ‘You mean Will?’

  ‘I think it’s a long time since I have met a young man as nice as him,’ she said.

  I glanced back at the house. ‘Oh my God!’ I said. ‘He’s still standing there, waiting to wave us off!’

  ‘I like him even more,’ she said, giving a regal wave. ‘A man who waits to wave you off is a true gentleman.’

  And we pulled away, both of us giving Will – with Pablo in his arms – another wave goodbye, as he turned and closed the yellow door behind them.

  Something has happened, I thought. Except I wasn’t sure what that something was. But there was a feeling that I was slowly moving towards something, like a liner making a painfully slow turn in the ocean. As though everything was falling into position. But that was silly. How could it be? I just hadn’t been at home for this amount of time in so long. But I felt lighter and happier and more joyful than I could remember.

  And then there was Will. I couldn’t stop thinking of him waving Pablo’s paw goodbye. And how lovely he was to Mum… and to me.

  Stop it, Olivia, I ordered myself. Stop dreaming. You’re going back to London in two weeks and that’s it. You have a life there, which you have built up over ten years. And a proper job. And a flat to live in. It’s more than you have here. Except…

  No exceptions, I told myself. Dreams are for those who don’t have plans. Dreams get you nowhere.

  18

  Jeremy: Have I done something wrong? Why are you not responding? I thought you were going to be resting and yet you seem too ‘busy’ to text me back.

  Jeremy: When are you coming back to London?

  Jeremy: Olivia? Are you there?

  Jeremy: Olivia!

  Jeremy: I have said I am sorry. What ELSE DO I NEED TO DO?

  Me: Hi Jeremy, I am really busy working at the shop and I am also organising a festival.

  Jeremy: WHY DO YOU NEED TO BE SO HOSTILE?

  Roberto: Someone knocked on the door last night. I had just made a caramel chai (OBSESSED!) and I heard a knock…

  Me: Who was it?

  Roberto: Someone who isn’t my friend any more. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be in my life.

  Me: Felipe?

  Roberto: Might be.

  Me: And?

  Roberto: I told him I’d think about it. Will call later. Off to make a treacle pudding. Love you Princess Liv. Miss you.

  Me: Miss you too.

  ‘Mam’s taking the kids and the flight’s at 6 p.m.,’ Jessica said on Friday morning as we were unpacking new stock. ‘As soon as I finish, we’re going straight to the airport. We’ll have a glass of bubbles in the bar because Damien always says you have to start the holiday before you get on the plane…’

  ‘He’s got the right idea,’ I said, unfurling some long silk dresses in beautiful, bright colours and hanging them on the rail. I’d be going back to London with a brand new wardrobe… not to b
e worn to the office, obviously, but at least on my time off I’d look a bit more like me. I laid one of the long silk dresses against me. ‘What do you think? I might wear this to the midsummer festival…’

  ‘It’ll be gorgeous on you,’ said Jessica. ‘I’ve got the one-shouldered top ready for Saturday night.’ She looked excited. ‘I’m keeping it as a surprise from Damien. I’m going to wear it with my jeans and heels. I hope he likes it.’

  ‘He’ll love it,’ I said. ‘You’ll look amazing. He’s a very lucky man.’ I walked across the shop to the back of the window. ‘We should change this for midsummer,’ I said. ‘Maybe some of these lovely dresses… a midsummer theme? What about flowers? Bunches of wild flowers in little vases, as though they’ve been picked from the fields. Daisy chains… what else? A shrine to some pagan goddess!’

  Jessica looked unconvinced. ‘Not very fashiony,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘A bit arty.’

  ‘Yes…’ But the more I thought of it, the more I liked it. ‘I’ll go down to the flower shop and see what they have. I promise nothing too ridiculous.’

  My phone rang and I went into the back to answer it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘My granddaughter says you need fireworks for the twenty-first. Midsummer,’ said the voice. ‘Is that right?’

  I’d been leaving messages for Harry Daly for the last couple of days and finally he’d called me back.

  ‘Is this Harry Daly?’ I said.

  ‘It is the very one,’ he said. ‘Now, you do know you’re asking for the impossible. All our fireworks were booked months ago.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry…’ We’d have to forget about the fireworks, I thought. ‘It’s very last minute…’

  ‘Tis,’ he said. ‘Tis indeed. But apparently this is for Sandycove…’

  ‘That’s right…’

  ‘I grew up in Sandycove,’ he said. ‘I was born in the little blue house down by the harbour. Grew up with seals swimming in front of the house. Used to have my own lobster pot from about five years old. But moved to Bray when I got married… that was some time ago now… I’d say sixty years now. So, it’s for a festival, is it?’

  I nodded. ‘Midsummer…’

  ‘When the fairies come and play, is it? When they steal babies if you don’t keep an eye on them, when they put stones in your boots and will turn your hair white overnight, is it?’

  ‘Well, just music and food,’ I said. ‘And fireworks… but…’

  ‘Well, fireworks – good ones, mind – are getting harder and harder to find these days. You can get the cheap ones easy as rain on a holy day. The cheap ones make more of a noise but less of a display. But the ones I sell are special. Mine come from a man in China. Fifth-generation firework master. End of a line, like me. No sons, no grandsons, no one to teach and no one to learn. Now, his fireworks, though, they’d make the hair on your neck stand to attention, they would. His fireworks dance with the stars.’

  ‘They sound wonderful,’ I said. ‘But…’

  ‘Every time I set one off,’ he said, ‘I feel like I’m seeing a firework for the very first time. Suddenly the whole world is magic.’

  I wondered why he was torturing me with stories of these fabulous fireworks which were unavailable. ‘So you don’t have any…’ Bronagh would have to be disappointed, I thought. I was disappointed.

  ‘Now, I didn’t say that,’ said Harry. ‘It just so happens that I have a few in the back of my shed. I thought to meself, I did, if Sandycove needs fireworks, then I will have a small dig around and see what I can find. And I found quite nice ones, so I did. Left over from the display at the Phoenix Park on New Year’s Eve. Now, that was quite a night, even if I say so myself. I will see you on midsummer’s eve. I’ll be there early evening to set up.’

  ‘That’s brilliant! It’s the church car park, Sandycove,’ I said. ‘We’ll see you then!’

  I put the phone down, delighted. Another thing to tick off the list.

  In the shop, Cara was sitting on the chaise longue, looking pale. Jessica was leaning on the arm, beside her.

  ‘Just wondering if you needed a spare pair of hands,’ she said. ‘I just can’t look at my books again. I think I’m going mad.’

  ‘How are the exams going?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s all a bit stressful,’ replied Cara. ‘I just needed to get out for a while. I don’t have another exam until Monday. And then it’s all over on Friday.’

  ‘I remember doing mine,’ I said. ‘It’s not an easy time.’

  ‘No,’ said Cara, quietly. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘I’m going to make you a cup of tea,’ said Jessica. ‘You sit there on the chaise longue and put your feet up.’

  ‘Let me help you sort out the shoes,’ Cara said. ‘It’s just nice not to be revising.’ She sat down beside me and quickly and efficiently began sorting everything into sizes and pairs.

  ‘So how are you getting on?’ I asked.

  She pulled a face. ‘It’s just weird to think that once these exams are over, my life is decided,’ she said. ‘I can’t get my head around it, like why do these choices or decisions or moments in your life define everything? It seems wrong, somehow.’

  ‘But they don’t define everything,’ I said. ‘You think they do, but you can change your mind, make U-turns, and head off in a totally different direction. Life is not mapped out.’

  ‘Yeah… perhaps.’

  Jessica returned with two mugs and one cup of tea. ‘Here we go,’ she said, smiling, handing them out.

  ‘How are Ellie-Mae and Frankie?’ asked Cara, taking a mug and perching on the edge of the chaise longue.

  ‘Fine,’ said Jessica. ‘Frankie is all excited about the midsummer festival that Olivia is organising. He’s hoping Miss Rachel will give him a more prominent role because last year he was at the back, behind the girls. And Ellie-Mae has decided she doesn’t want to be a ballet dancer any more. But she says she will only go on stage if she can wear her scientist outfit that my brother made for her. It’s this little white coat made from his old shirt and a pair of goggles.’

  ‘She sounds adorable,’ I said.

  ‘Damien isn’t so into the idea,’ said Jessica. ‘He told her that scientists are boring and they develop squints from looking down a microscope. Honestly, you’d think he was born in the 1800s!’

  ‘Tell him that you can be whatever you want these days,’ Cara said. ‘You certainly don’t need your father’s permission.’

  ‘Oh, he’s only joking,’ said Jessica, quickly. ‘You know how he is. He’d do anything for Ellie-Mae.’ She paused and she caught my eye and quickly looked away. ‘Anyway, so we’re off to Barcelona tonight, did I tell you, Cara? It’s always been one of my fantasy places to go to.’

  ‘Moscow’s mine,’ said Cara, without hesitating. ‘But one hundred years ago. I want to live the life of a member of the aristocracy. Obviously, before they were all murdered. I would like to travel around in horse-drawn carriages, through snow, wrapped in furs.’

  ‘And go to balls and things,’ said Jessica.

  ‘I’d even wear a dress,’ said Cara. ‘Although I know aristocratic Russia is obviously ideologically everything I stand against, but… it’s just nice to think about.’

  ‘When did you first fall in love with pre-revolution Russia?’ I asked.

  ‘Nan and I watched Doctor Zhivago when I was eight. And she was all about Omar Sharif, and I was all about the snow and the costumes and the accents. It kind of changed my life. We had it taped on an old VHS and I wore it out.’ She stopped. ‘The course in NYU has six months in Moscow. In the winter.’

  ‘There you go!’ said Jessica. ‘It’s made for you.’

  ‘It’s Moscow now… not one hundred years ago. And anyway, I really would prefer to stay in Dublin. What about you, Olivia?’

  ‘Um…’ I thought for a moment. ‘A beach in Kerry,’ I said. ‘On a hot summer’s day. And there’s no one around, except you and the white sand and the cold s
ea… and you are paddling in a rock pool and there are little fish swimming about and crabs, and seaweed…’ Mum and I had gone to Ballybunion on one of our rare holidays. We never went away as Mum was always working, but one year, she actually closed the shop for a week and away we went, staying in a little B & B close to the beach.

  Since talking to Will yesterday, I couldn’t get the idea of seaweed out of my head. Local seaweed, cleaned and all the oils extracted, salt from evaporated seawater. I could feel it now on my skin, that silkiness. Would it work? If people loved sea swimming, wouldn’t they love to feel all that goodness on their skin?

  Stop it, Olivia, I told myself. People dream all the time and that’s all they are, dreams.

  Being back in Sandycove was making me see London afresh. I felt lost in the city and I wanted to visit London as a tourist but then be able to live my real life somewhere with soul. And Sandycove had soul in spades. When I’d left, ten years earlier, I couldn’t wait to leave, but either it or I had changed. There was real quality of life here, I thought. A community. And I loved all the talking… here, you really took the time of day with people. You wanted to know how they were, what they’d been up to. In London, you never even made eye contact.

  ‘And you, Jessica?’ I said. ‘Where would you like to be right now?’

  ‘At my mam’s,’ she said. ‘With my sister and brother, and we’re all little and it’s Christmas Eve. Nothing has ever topped that feeling. You know, when life is so simple and Santa is on his way.’

  Cara and I nodded, remembering what Christmas Eves used to be like.

  ‘We’d decorate the house,’ Jessica continued. ‘The whole place would be done. Tinsel, that silver stuff that hangs off the tree like icicles, the cake would be cut on Christmas Eve. And, most important of all, the crib. Ready to put Jesus into his bed the next morning.’

  I thought of Mum as a little girl with her mother – Gran – and had a vision of them listening and singing along to Christmas music, getting everything ready for the next day. My locket was still there, around my neck.