Are You Ready?

by Amanda Hearty

  Sarah worked in the Stone Studio, a small yet hip gallery in Monkstown village, only a few minutes from where she lived. Having studied art in college, and struggled to become an artist and sell her work for years, she had finally got a job that suited her perfectly. Maggie McCartney’s gallery was just the kind of place Sarah used to visit in the hope of one day exhibiting her own work. She had actually shown her portfolio of work to Maggie, but Maggie had kindly explained that it wasn’t commercial enough to be sold by her, but that there was some part-time work going in the gallery. Sarah had worked in a variety of awful part-time jobs, from a busy call centre to a grumpy dentist’s surgery, where she had answered the phone and dealt with terrified patients, so working in a gallery seemed ideal. And Sarah’s artist’s eye meant she was very useful to Maggie when it came to hanging pictures, staging shows and choosing paintings. So Sarah worked part-time in the gallery, yet still tried to create her own pieces when she could. But gradually her hours in the gallery grew longer. And months later, when Maggie announced she wanted to spend less time in Dublin, and more in her villa in Marbella, Sarah was offered the job of running the Stone Studio full-time. The day Sarah accepted this job was bitter sweet: yes, she was excited to be offered such an interesting job, but she also knew that her own dream of becoming a full-time artist was now dead. Sarah found this hard to accept, but soon she began to enjoy the job more and more. To be paid to spend time talking to and working with artists, and helping them sell their pieces, was great. She knew how happy and proud they felt when she rang to say she had sold one of their works. Even if she couldn’t be an artist herself, at least she could help other creative souls.

  Sarah was a people’s person, and really enjoyed helping someone find art for their home. She was always interested to discover what kind of home they lived in, what colours they liked, and where they wanted to hang their purchases, and she worked hard to find the right piece for each customer. Finding out how others lived had always fascinated her. One day she hoped to own a house like all her customers did, and have a husband to spend all day Saturday walking around art galleries with, and spend hours debating what artist might be right for their kitchen.

  But for now she had her mum, and within another few months hopefully enough money for a deposit on a small place of her own. But no amount of saving would get her enough money for a husband. She found it so hard to meet anyone, and although she loved going out with her friends, she was beginning to settle into a ‘spinster’ routine more easily than she wanted to. Her friends were always trying to set her up on dates, but it never worked out, and more and more she found herself making excuses as to why she couldn’t meet the ‘perfect man’ or ‘ideal future husband’ for a drink or date. She told her friends how she was too busy working or had to help her mum, and although these excuses were often true, she sometimes simply lied: she preferred to spend the night curled up in front of the TV with her mum, talking about life rather than living it.

  Suddenly the door swung open and Clodagh, the final-year art student who worked at the Stone Studio part-time, ran in.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah, the flipping bus broke down, but I’m here now. I’ll quickly go and change.’

  ‘OK, and then can you bring up another twenty wine glasses, Clodagh? And we need to count these catalogues to make sure we have enough for tonight. We’ve Willow McIntyre’s new exhibit opening in one hour, there’s work to be done.’

  6

  As Sarah locked up the gallery she breathed a sigh of relief that the evening had gone so well. Willow’s pieces had been both critically liked and commercially loved by the gallery’s customers. She had sold over half of them in two hours. Sarah was delighted by the money the gallery had made and by how happy Willow would be. Even though Willow looked like a hippy who did not have a care in the world, and wouldn’t notice whether her art had sold or not, Sarah knew that – like any artist – Willow would care, would be over the moon to see a little red dot beside a piece, and know someone had loved it enough to buy it and display it at home. Sarah had not seen enough of these red dots on her own work to have made it as an artist, but she still knew what it felt like. Helping other artists really did make her happy.

  She glanced at her watch and knew she was late. She was meeting her sister Mel and her husband John for drinks in the pub in Monkstown, just up from the gallery. They had been married for two years now, and were a great couple, and Sarah loved hanging out with them. She got on well with John, and he always made her feel comfortable in their house, even when she spent hours discussing her love life, or lack of it. He was always trying to set her up on dates and help her meet Mr Right, though she often joked he just wanted her out of their house. But she knew he did care, and it was this kindness that had attracted Mel to him years before.

  As she walked in the bar, she laughed at how she didn’t think John or Mel would have any time left for setting her up with men soon, as Mel was eight and a half months pregnant and ready to pop! She was so excited for her older sister, and knew she would be the best mum ever.

  ‘Sarah! Over here!’ Mel shouted over the music and loud pub conversations. The two sisters were very alike. They both had long blonde hair, long noses, long legs and long feet – which were the family curse!

  ‘How was the opening?’

  ‘Great, a big success, you should have called in,’ Sarah replied.

  ‘We would have, Sarah, but we thought it unfair as “the bump” would have taken over the entire small gallery’s space. And when Mel heard you were serving cheese she knew she couldn’t make another show of herself like the last gallery opening!’ John laughed hard, recalling the last opening, where Mel, who had been craving cheese and crackers like a demon throughout the pregnancy, had lost the complete run of herself and started crying when the artist’s mother took the last cracker. It had all been very embarrassing and John had had to run out to Spar to buy more, and then quietly bring Mel home, where he had plenty of emergency stores of cheese and crackers hidden away.

  As Sarah sat down she saw John’s brother Tom, and another guy she didn’t know, sitting at the end of the table. As Tom caught her eye he smiled and stood up to give her a kiss. Tom was really tall, with sandy hair and kind blue eyes, and Sarah had noticed many a girl eyeing him up every time they were out.

  ‘Sarah, this is Ross. He is just back from living in America,’ Tom said.

  As she shook Ross’s hand Sarah could see Tom, Mel and John all look at her excitedly. Oh God, she thought, this is another set-up. What a nightmare! Mel could have at least warned her. Sarah was wrecked from her evening at work, and hadn’t even brushed her hair, or put on any make-up. Ross and Tom both started to chat to her, and though she was annoyed by being ambushed, she relaxed when the lads starting telling her funny stories of their days in school, and before she knew it was having a great time, and on her third beer. Then Ross went to the bathroom, and Sarah had a chance to comment on events.

  ‘Mel, as nice as Ross seems, you could have told me what you were planning before inviting me for a “drink”. You know I’m getting sick of being set-up. It is embarrassing.’

  ‘I swear I didn’t know Ross was coming. Trust me, I just wanted it to be you and Tom,’ said her sister. ‘Tom brought Ross along unexpectedly. Myself and John wanted to ask you and Tom something, something important.’ And with that Mel started crying. She was so emotional nowadays that Sarah just turned to John, who was frantically trying to order cheese, any kind, off the waiter. Once he had, he turned back to the others.

  ‘Myself and Mel wanted you guys here tonight to ask you a big favour. We would like to ask you to be godparents to our soon-to-be-born child – or one large lump of cheese, as I fear! But seriously, what do you say?’

  Sarah was in shock. She was so delighted, she jumped up and hugged them both. ‘Of course I will. I would be honoured to be your child’s godmother. Wow! I don’t know what to say!’

  Tom looked like he had been hit over the
head with a plank of wood; he sat in shock, eventually managing to speak.

  ‘What exactly do I have to do? Oh God, does this involve making sure they don’t drink until they are eighteen or something? Because much as I would love to be a godfather I don’t know if I could handle not drinking around the child until then!’

  ‘No, it doesn’t involve that,’ Mel laughed. ‘You will both be great godparents, we are so happy you’re taking on the job.’

  Sarah was so excited that, before she knew it, she was chatting away to Ross about what kind of godmother she would be. It involved a lot of going to the Lambert Puppet Theatre, and face-painting, and within an hour she was pretty tipsy, but he didn’t mind. She was so happy for Mel and John, and about them asking her to be a godmother. Her excitement lasted, and so, when Ross was leaving and asked if he could take her number she didn’t do the usual – and back off or give him a fake one – she gave him the right number and a quick peck on the cheek. It was an exciting evening, and Sarah felt life was good. For once she went to bed imagining that her single days might soon be over, and she dreamed about what her children would look like with Ross as a father.

  7

  ‘Molly, the orders for Sterling Bank are in, can you start work on them, please?’ Fran, Molly’s aunt, asked.

  Fran was delighted to have Molly working for her. She knew Molly was talented and had a passion for food, but unfortunately for years she had not been able to afford to hire her, so apart from helping out at weekends Molly had been stuck working in her finance job. But since the business had grown and got more and more customers, it had been wonderful to be able to hire her favourite niece.

  Fran had worked in various restaurants in Dublin over the years, and then five years ago had made a big jump and bought a nice basement café on Mount Street. It had needed months of work, but eventually she had opened the Heavenly Bakery and Café. They kept their prices reasonable, yet they weren’t fools and knew all the young business people in the area could afford to pay extra for homemade delights like speciality breads and outsize filled vol-au-vents. And even though the café had seats for customers, they found more and more offices were asking them to deliver.

  Molly’s mum, Helen, and Fran had both learnt to love cooking from their own mother, and even though Fran owned the bakery and café, Helen came in to work a few days a week to help with baking. No one could make a chocolate fudge cake like Fran’s sister Helen!

  Fran’s own daughter Eve and her French boyfriend André also worked full-time in Heavenly. Eve was young and very chatty: great with the customers and at making sandwiches. André’s tall, dark, handsome looks persuaded many a young single girl to pop in for a sandwich or small salad, only to find out their French dreamboat was very much in love with the waitress.

  So with both Eve and André working full-time for her, Fran had never thought she could offer Molly a role in the café, but then when she saw how sad Molly was getting, and how disheartened about everything, she knew she had to try to help. So when Luke had told her he would help Molly out financially if Fran could at least pay her the minimum wage Fran had eagerly agreed. And now she did not know where she would be without her niece. Molly’s cooking, enthusiasm and ideas were brilliant! Fran was used to doing the majority of the cooking, and struggling to create new dishes by herself, but with Molly by her side, they now had time to enjoy choosing ingredients, discussing new ideas, even staying late to try out different kinds of salads or quiches. She could not imagine Heavenly without Molly now. Her food – and her passion for it and for life – was irresistible.

  ‘Right, where is my apron, Molly? And let’s get going on all these young bankers’ lunches.’

  8

  Molly sat down on the old park bench in Merrion Square. What a day! She must have made ten lasagnes, 120 brownies, twelve salad plates, and God knows how many sandwiches, but she loved it. She still couldn’t believe how quickly her life had changed. Her finance job felt like a lifetime ago, and although the gossip and chat with the girls had been good fun in there, and drinks on a Friday had always been wild, she didn’t miss the work. Towards the end she had found the constant talk of who got what bonus, and who was on what salary, very cold and materialistic. She had wanted a job that she was passionate about, that made her smile, that stretched her mind, and most of all gave her joy. Salaries and bonuses shouldn’t come into it, and although everyone needed to pay the bills, you did have to weigh up what made you happy and how you wanted to live your life. And Molly wanted to be surrounded by food, ingredients, tastes, smells, chatter and laughter. Sometimes you needed to take a pay cut to get where you wanted, where your heart wanted to bring you to; and you needed to listen to that heart, and not your bank account.

  Of course if it hadn’t been for Luke’s encouragement and support and her Auntie Fran’s belief in her, she would still be stuck working in the bank, earning lots of money but being totally unhappy. But now Molly felt lucky, so blessed. Life was good.

  Molly clipped back her long dark hair, and unwrapped her Parma ham and Italian cheese on ciabatta bread. It was hard to get a few minutes to yourself during the day, so she often didn’t eat her own meal until well after the lunch crowd had left. That was why, at four thirty, she was finally eating.

  As she washed down her lunch with a bottle of the organic apple juice they kept in Heavenly she got a text message from Luke reminding her he was finishing work at five, and not to be late. He had booked to go to the latest James Bond film in the Savoy cinema at half past five, with the intention of grabbing dinner after the film. Luke didn’t like her being late, he was always on time. Molly knew she had a few more cakes to finish and deliver to a local firm that wanted to celebrate a birthday after work, and she worried that she might not make it to the Savoy on time; she didn’t want to upset Luke, he had been so good to her. Molly had been so unlike herself, so moody and depressed for the last year in her job, and had often taken it out on Luke, and they had fought almost every night. But now that he had helped her move jobs she felt they were getting on better; even though he didn’t understand her need to go to work extra early just so she could have the kitchen to herself and invent new recipes. Still, she knew he loved her and wanted things to work out for them. She quickly finished her drink and started to walk back to work. She needed to get her cake icing done ASAP!

  9

  Ben wolfed down his cornflakes while trying to read the newspaper and iron a shirt for work. He was late as usual, and yet ‘the more haste the less speed’ was his philosophy, so he was re-reading the Irish Times report on that weekend’s Liverpool match. He crossed the pristine Shaker-style kitchen and opened the dishwasher to pack his cereal bowl, but saw the dishwasher had just finished and was full of clean dishes and cutlery. Damn, he thought, to pack this one dish I’m going to have to unpack about fifty other ones. No way, he decided, and instead washed his cereal bowl in the sink and replaced it in the press. Mum will never know, he thought!

  Ben hopped on the 46a bus and put on his iPod, and as U2 blared away in the background he thought about what lay ahead of him in work that day. He was a sports correspondent on one of the daily free newspapers. He was not an editor, or even a full-time reporter, but he didn’t care. He loved sport, especially football, and was having a laugh being able to go to matches and report on them. And although the money wasn’t that good, he couldn’t expect it to be, either. He hadn’t trained as a journalist, he hadn’t even studied English in college. He had actually studied commerce at UCD, and specialized in accounting, mainly because his father owned a small accounting firm. His father had taken over O’Connor & Son from Ben’s grandfather, and his dream was that Ben would also work with him and eventually take it over. And although Ben had at one stage wanted that, the older he got the more he had felt pressurized into it, and hadn’t wanted the responsibility of running a family company. He liked to feel free and not be tied down, and he knew that the minute he went into the company he would be in it for
life, no turning back. And Ben was not that kind of person: he liked freedom and no responsibilities. He liked to feel he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But, of course, he did feel guilty quite often. He saw how disappointed his father was with him. His father should have retired a few years ago, but Ben knew he was holding out in the hope that Ben would change his mind and run the business. His father was the perfect gentleman and family man. Always there to help his mother around the house, and then head for a round of golf in Foxrock Golf Club, but making sure he was back in time to get the house ready for the dinner parties they threw almost every second weekend. Both Ben’s parents had plenty of friends and were great at having parties, going on holiday and socializing. His father was a fine host, and always made sure everyone felt comfortable in any occasion, and while his mum was always nagging Ben, it was her concern and interest in others that made her so popular. She was always first to visit a friend in hospital, or bake a cake for a family in times of grief.

  They were a great couple, and even though seeing them so happy should have made Ben want to settle down and experience what they had had for almost forty years, it didn’t. He knew eventually he would settle down, but for now he needed to experience the opposite: live life to the full with whoever he wanted. He wasn’t the biggest womanizer or anything, but he just had itchy feet, and liked to work and be with whoever felt right at that time. And at this moment he felt like being an underpaid yet happy and relaxed sports correspondent on his oldest friend Jeremy’s latest venture – a free Dublin daily paper. He had only got the job because of Jeremy, and even though he knew that all the sports staff had felt a bit miffed that he had got it without any qualifications, he was able to hold his own and, after a few articles, started receiving praise from the editor and getting on better with the staff. They were a relaxed bunch, really, and usually great for drinks after work on Friday on Dawson Street. Though sometimes, when he ran into his old University College friends, all coming back from work in Dublin’s biggest accountancy firms, he did feel a pang of guilt, and regret that he wasn’t working alongside them. But then he would always think of O’Connor & Son and tell himself, not yet, or maybe never, and remember he was only thirty, and that was young enough.