by Faith Hogan
‘No, I suppose not,’ Kate said, thinking of the unfortunate allergic husband upon whom he’d been foisted.
She turned to study Kate now. ‘You’re not from around here?’
‘No. I’m just… taking a little break.’
‘Funny time of the year for it.’ She dug into her rain jacket, pulled out a pack of mints, flipped the lid in a practised move and popped two on her hand then offered some to Kate. ‘Smoking, I figured the mints were better than the fags.’ The words were philosophical. ‘I’m Rita, by the way. Rita Delaney.’ She stuck out a short-fingered chubby hand.
‘Kate Hunt.’ Kate shook hands with a lot more warmth than she used when she was in London. ‘I’ve seen you about,’ she nodded back towards Ballytokeep.
‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you?’ Rita looked out towards the ocean. ‘I’m always knocking about the town, retired, you see. Last year. It’s why I got Barry,’ she nodded towards the terrier. She blew out, as though that somehow explained everything in life. ‘It’s a nice spot here, isn’t it? I mean, you could sit here for the day with your thoughts,’ she looked at Kate, ‘not that too much thinking is good for you.’ There was the hint of warning in her voice, as though she was scolding a child.
‘I like it. It makes a change. Normally I don’t get much time to think.’ Kate smiled; this woman was easy to talk to.
‘London?’
‘How did you guess?’ Her accent gave her away straight off. In London, they all thought she was Irish, here they thought she was English. The truth was she was a bit of both.
‘It’s a gift.’ They both laughed. They sat for a while: strangers in companionable silence. ‘It’s a good place to lose yourself,’ Rita’s voice was hardly a whisper. ‘If you need to.’
‘Doesn’t everyone at some point?’
‘Does everyone? I don’t know. I know that it’s easy to lose your footing and feel that life is moving away from you.’ Rita sighed. ‘I think that’s what I feel now I’ve retired.’
‘Was it tough?’
‘Two years.’ She said it with the finality of death. ‘Next June, it’s two years.’
‘Early days so.’
‘You’re trying to make me feel better.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’ Kate would love someone to come along and make her feel better.
‘No, but I suppose it’s that whole losing yourself thing. I need to get… something.’ She looked out into the ocean, as though it might provide the answer. ‘It feels like I’ve lost something and even if I can’t have it back again, I’m sure there’s something else out there for me to find.’
‘That makes sense to me.’
‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It sounds simple too.’ They both laughed at that.
‘Come on.’ Kate stood and shook the sand from her windcheater. ‘I’m going to the old bathhouse; the walk will do us both good.’
‘Right,’ Rita called the little dog. He was playing at the water’s edge and then ran obediently towards her. His coat was soaked and filled with sand, but his eyes shone bright with happiness at this unexpected excursion from their normal route.
*
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Kate said. It was her first thought as they turned down the cove and saw the bathhouse snuggled into the cliff face. It was a turreted, stocky grown-ups sandcastle. ‘It could have been emptied from a child’s bucket,’ was her first reaction. It had been painted, white with a light blue trim once, then the waves and the spray had all but washed that away. It still sat proudly, if shabbily, on a huge flat rock, that upturned in a lip over the sea. It was a plate, large enough for any giant.
‘Genesis Rock – it’s a metamorphic rock, probably over a thousand million years old,’ Rita said. ‘Sorry, did I mention I taught geography and home economics, once upon a time.’
‘No, but I probably should have guessed.’
‘I don’t remember the bathhouse even being open. I could imagine that I’d have spent all my days here if I had.’ Rita looked at the washed white walls that reached high into the cliff face.
‘Well, Archie said they ran it for a few years, but he didn’t say when it shut.’ This place probably held sadness for Archie, if his brother died here. Kate couldn’t feel it. Instead, it made her feel energized, as though the sea was spraying something like an invitation deep into her lungs. It made her heart pound with an expectation she hadn’t felt in years. Even the deserted castle keep that loomed up in grey stone at the tip of the headland seemed to carry a hopeful secret in its towers.
‘It must have been lovely once. Even now, you can see.’ Rita rested her hands on the thick window ledge, her nose pressed firmly to the cold glass of the windows. ‘It looks like they just closed up one evening and never came back.’
Kate walked to the back of the bathhouse; it dug into the cliff face, as though the construction of one depended on the other. Alongside the building, a small narrow road clung to the cliff for a couple of hundred yards before it feathered off onto what counted as a main road in these parts. Far below, the waves lapped serenely against the stone. It was low tide now; Kate wondered how close the water actually came to the rock. ‘I’d love to get a look inside.’ Rita followed her round to the front of the bathhouse. They peered through a sea sprayed window for a few minutes. Inside, Kate could see there were tables and chairs, a small stove and an old-fashioned counter where once someone had taken orders for afternoon tea. ‘It’s a little café, wouldn’t it be lovely if it was open for coffee?’ Kate mused, it was so much more than just a bathhouse.
‘I was thinking the same thing. Wonder if they left a key about.’
‘Wishful thinking, I’m afraid.’ Kate settled herself on one of the giant window ledges that ran along the front of the building. She could imagine this place in summer, flower planters leaden with colours, the sun reflecting off the white and blue of the rounded walls and the gleaming window glass casting sparks of sunlight across the ocean.
‘Wishful thinking, is it?’ Rita smiled, she held a key she’d found tucked deep in one of the huge cast-iron planters standing sentry at the arched front door. The key was sturdy, blackened and ancient. When Rita slipped it into the lock, it turned as if it had been waiting for them all this time. ‘Oh, my…’ it was as much as either of them could manage. ‘Oh, my…’ Rita uttered the words again.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Kate said and she felt it as much as she saw it. The place had something. It was a real Edwardian tearoom. The cake stands on the counter stood dusty but still upright to attention, the china cups and saucers cobwebbed but delicate and lovely. ‘It’s such a shame. That it was just left, like this. It feels as if…’
‘It’s waiting for something or someone to come back for it?’
‘Yes, maybe.’ It was exactly what Kate thought. This place, it was like herself, and as she walked about the cast-iron tables, she had a strange feeling. It sent ripples through her. This was happiness; she knew it, remembered it from before. As the sea breeze dashed through the little room, so too it seemed to rush into her heart, breathing in something close to hope.
‘I should probably be getting back.’ Rita looked at her watch, but her expression said she would prefer to stay. ‘Dinners to be cooked, husband to be fed and all that jazz.’ She lingered for a moment, lightly grazing her fingers across one of the wicker chairs. ‘It really is beautiful, such a shame.’
‘Yes, such a shame,’ Kate said absently.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,’ Rita said as she handed the key to Kate. ‘You will lock up properly, won’t you.’ She cast a reflective eye about the place.
‘I live in London,’ Kate said, ‘I double-lock everything.’ It was true, she lived in London, but now she was wondering, did she actually belong there anymore.
3
Todd
Todd was not sure what the blonde-haired woman’s name was, but she was out cold and it looked like they had had a good time. He was wasted; the big venues d
id that to him. It was as much a product of adrenalin as it was the booze. He needed one to get through the other, that was the truth of it. The other guys in the band figured it was age. They had all settled down years ago – not that it stopped them much. ‘You should consider it,’ Jeb had said late one night as they drank whiskey in another characterless bar, in another anonymous city. ‘A wife keeps you fit and young, regular meals, early nights, healthy lifestyle for eight to ten months of the year – you can’t put a price on that, mate.’ Jeb had gone through several wives – they got younger each time – and, at last count, he had eight kids – Todd did not want to think about what Christmas was like in the drummer’s household.
‘Yeah, well, I’ll take my chances,’ he slapped Jeb’s slightly wobbly middle. They’d started the Ace of Spades more than two decades ago. Back then they’d been too fired up on life to think about much past the next record. Then there had been no sagging bellies or scary wives. It was before a string of Grammies and the cover of Rolling Stone. They had been different people.
‘That’s relaxed muscle, that is,’ Jeb had said; he was only half joking.
‘Mate, that’s been relaxed so long, it’s comatose now.’ Denny agreed with Jeb though; he married Meg over twenty years ago. They were a real couple, kids, fights, break-ups and make-ups.
Todd didn’t see himself settling into that.
Now, he looked out at the white waves that drifted in and out rhythmically in the distance. Wondered for a moment if he should wake the girl up and ask her what city they were in. He had a feeling it was Atlantic City; it had to be. He was here before; when they were starting out. It was exciting then, different from London, unlike anywhere he’d ever been. The sea was light blue here, back in England, this time of year; he thought the sea was black. ‘That’s the drugs for you,’ Denny had said wisely, though they both knew that Todd’s drug of choice was whiskey; always had been; a man knew where he was with whiskey. Atlantic City meant they were at the halfway point. Two more weeks on the East Coast and then they took a break before heading out west. He looked back at the blonde again, slung his jacket over his shoulder; he needed coffee, strong coffee. Maybe she would take the hint and be gone before he got back.
The hotel was plush – ‘best in the city’, Denny had said. It was too fancy for Todd, but it was clean and he could have things as he wanted them and that was important. ‘It was rock ’n’ roll enough for Elvis when he stayed here, good enough for Aerosmith and the Foo Fighters,’ Denny had shaken his head. The five-star restaurants would be fine by him.
Todd made his way out into the sunshine, cursed under his breath that he’d forgotten his shades – now that wasn’t very rock ’n’ roll. A little away, he spotted a sign for Starbucks. A couple of years ago, it would have been enough to make his day, now of course, you could buy a cup of Joe at your local petrol station. What was the world coming to? It was a question Todd found himself asking more often these days. When he pushed the door open he was greeted by the smell of breakfast, only the heavy undertone of caffeine stopped him from heading back onto the street again.
He cast his eyes about the place first, it looked okay, ordered his coffee, took a corner pew. It’d be at least an hour before he was fully awake, ready for civilized conversation. In the meantime, he would nurse his hangover gently, to the sounds of some unheard of country singer, maybe pretend to read the local paper. The seediness of the city suited his mood perfectly. The glitzy nightlife cast a dark shadow on sunny days. This was a city where gambling was a religion and morality was long ago sacrificed at the altar of profit.
Todd caught a glimpse of his reflection in the plate glass window; he ducked his head down. He was unrecognizable from the publicity shots. Here, today, with his unshaven face, hair coloured too dark for his Belfast grey skin, he looked like a badly aging fifty-something-year-old. Claudia said it was the fags that wrecked his skin. Like he cared. The booze didn’t help, but she knew better than to mention that. Anyway, he was in better shape than poor Dave. The Ace of Spades had started out as a five-piece. Todd, Dave, Jeb, Pete and Mike; they never replaced Dave when he overdosed. A thing like that – death – it should bring you closer. With them, it actually did the opposite. Now, whenever they sat in the same room, all they could see was the empty space.
Jeez, but he was maudlin today. He moved over on the bench seat an inch, better to avoid his depressing reflection in a mirror. Oh, yes, there was much to be said for Photoshop. Not that he was vain – he never considered himself vain – it was the suddenness of it all. One minute he was swanning about London with the world’s hottest model, the next he was sitting in Starbucks feeling and looking old enough to be her father.
Claudia.
He fancied Claudia from the word go, problem was, like everything else, he wanted her most when he thought he couldn’t have her. She made him work for it, and for a while, it had been worth the effort. They had fun. It was good while it lasted, but now, well it was a big world out there and Claudia wasn’t getting any younger, was she? She was thirty on her last birthday; he threw her a big bash in her favourite fancy restaurant, all the usual faces turned up and then some, because they were London’s golden couple. Everyone worth knowing had been there. Thirty – that was when, in Todd’s experience, women started to get broody.
He sighed. He was glad of the row. Not when it happened. Not that he’d actually engineered it, well not much. A year ago, he would have done what he could to avoid a fight, but now? Well, if Claudia didn’t ring him, it wasn’t something that was going to keep him awake at night; it would be a relief more than anything.
Denny said all along that Claudia was too good for him. It annoyed him a little that as usual Denny was probably right. At least he could take the moral high ground and claim he was doing her a favour. Not that any of the guys would believe for a minute that Todd was putting Claudia, or anyone else, before himself. That was the thing about being the lead singer; it gave you an absolute right to be a selfish bastard. They expected nothing less of him.
He drank his coffee in brooding silence. Accepted a refill, knew all the caffeine in the world would do bugger all to change his mood.
Down from where he sat he could see the Atlantic City Boardwalk Hall. They had, if he remembered correctly, two more nights here. Sell-out gigs. Lucky guy. So why didn’t he feel so lucky anymore?
‘Pancakes, sir?’ the waitress smiled, but Todd knew that it was all about the tips here, she didn’t recognize him. Her nasal twang was New Jersey through and through.
‘No, I’m good thanks,’ he tried to sound American, but there was no covering his Belfast brogue. The breakfasts here looked good, everything about the place looked clean, but it was too early for food. Todd did not like to look at anything solid, not before noon. His mother would be dismayed; she always started her day with a decade of the rosary and a bowl of porridge. He wasn’t sure which of them kept her on the best side of the daisies for almost seven decades and still fresh-faced when she’d succumbed in the end. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill, placed it under his cup and drew the leather jacket closer to his neck. Even with the startling sun, there was a cool nip in the air. The Yanks had some sense of humour when it came to weather; it was seven degrees in spite of the sunshine. At least in Belfast you knew where you were; it was rain or more rain. Todd made his way back to the hotel.
‘So, you came back?’ The blonde had not taken the hint; she was still here, parading about in the complimentary bathrobe.
‘It is my room. I thought you would be gone by now.’ Blunt honesty was one of his greatest weapons in clearing out what he didn’t want from the night before.
‘It’s Daniella by the way,’ the blonde said; she looked older in the glaring sunlight. Older and harder than she looked when he was drunk. Was this what he was coming to? Pulling women who were almost as old as himself and bolshie too? ‘I get the feeling you don’t remember much?’
‘If it was worth memorizing, I’d have
managed.’
‘You’re a real piece of work, do you know that?’
‘I try,’ he said, taking out his cigarettes. Normally he didn’t smoke in hotel rooms, he’d set off too many alarms, but he had a feeling the nicotine would do him good. He could feel a headache coming on, the fag hitting him straight made him a little dizzy.
‘And tell me this, will you try to remember when I publish the interview you gave me last night and you cried like a baby about that girl you left standing at the altar all those years ago?’
‘I said nothing of the sort.’ The dizziness made him sway.
‘Oh, yes. And Claudia Dey, I think what you said was Claudia Who?’ When she smiled, he thought there was something oddly familiar about her, but he was too busy trying to catch his breath to focus much on it.
He backed away from her, fell into one of the designer chrome and leather sofas that liberally littered the suite. He pulled open his jacket; suddenly the room seemed too confining. It perched too high over the incessant waves, crashing white and frothy on the shore too many storeys below his penthouse room. The ceiling was moving towards him oppressively. The plate glass windows restraining him from real oxygen, his lungs felt like they were filling with something that might suffocate him. The blonde was looking at him, assessing him, she was speaking but he could not focus on her words. He watched as she moved towards him, then bent over him, as though examining him. She was taking his pulse, shouting now, running towards the phone. ‘Oh my God,’ he heard the blonde shout, ‘he’s having a heart attack.’ There was nothing he could do. The world as he knew it was disappearing into a grey mirage, and when he closed his eyes, he began to feel like maybe that it was all fading fast away from him.
4
Iris, 1956
She would marry William Keynes. He had seduced her, it was the only way she could put it. Taken her, as she never dreamed it was possible to be with a man, and she was glad. She was a woman now. Afterwards, he pulled up his pants and roughly spit in the handbasin. He said they would have to leave the little room that had been theirs for almost five hours. She felt like she could stay here forever, although it was grubby and other people’s clothes hung from hooks on the wall. She loved being in his arms. It was time to go back to serving breakfasts and settling accounts with travelling salesmen for another day. Already, her mother would be shuffling about her own room. She would be applying rouge to her sunken cheeks and pinning her pewter-coloured hair high, selecting clips carefully from the dish they rested in at night. She’d thought of her mother last night. Guilt, that was what had pushed her mother to the front of her mind. Mrs Burns expected more of her daughters than this. She had let her down, let them all down. But, then she reasoned, she couldn’t help herself. The attraction to Willie Keynes had been too strong, she’d never felt anything like it in her life. Had Mrs Burns ever felt like this? Had she felt like this for Iris’s father? Iris pushed the thoughts out as quickly as she could.
