by Niamh Greene
‘We could form a human chain round the site!’ a middle-aged woman in a floral dress calls.
‘That’s a stupid idea.’ The overweight man in the blue jumper snorts. ‘And it’s illegal.’ He looks certain of this.
‘It’s not stupid,’ another woman, in a dark jacket, interrupts.
‘It is. And, anyway, even if it’s not illegal, there aren’t enough of us to form a chain round a development site,’ Blue Jumper retorts.
‘We could do a nude calendar to raise awareness!’ someone shouts from the back of the hall.
‘Yeah, I’ll pose naked behind my pitchfork – how about that?’ someone else bellows.
There’s a wave of laughter at this suggestion.
‘Order!’ Peg yells. ‘Come on now, lads, stop wasting time!’
‘The supermarket is a great idea. We should be welcoming it with open arms, not trying to stop it.’ A man in a tweed hat has stood to address the room.
‘I agree!’ a voice calls. ‘We need jobs! We don’t all want to die farming, you know!’
The hall erupts. It looks like people are fairly divided about the supermarket development: some passionately oppose it and others welcome it. How on earth will they come to some agreement? This is complete chaos.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ a sharp voice blasts, cutting right through the noise with ease.
I turn to see Odette Ffrench, two fs, walking purposefully towards the front of the room.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Ted mutters to Peg. ‘I thought she wasn’t coming tonight.’
‘She wasn’t supposed to,’ Peg replies, out of the corner of her mouth. ‘The sly dog – she can’t bear to miss a thing.’
‘Apologies for my tardiness,’ Odette says crisply. ‘I was delayed at an important meeting elsewhere. Let me just quickly set up and then we can continue.’
She doesn’t elaborate about where she’s been – it’s as if she wants people to speculate about what the important meeting might have been about.
I hover over my seat, unsure what to do next. Should I sit down? Everyone has fallen completely silent now that Odette has made an appearance – she’s obviously organizing this entire thing because they all seem to be looking to her for leadership. All except Peg and Ted, who are glowering openly in her direction.
‘Maggie here was just about to make some new suggestions,’ Ted offers. ‘I think she should continue.’
‘I second that!’ Peg says quickly, backing him up.
‘Maggie, how nice to see you again.’ Odette bares her sparkling teeth at me. ‘And what a surprise.’ She’s more than just displeased: she’s livid that I’m here.
‘We invited her,’ Peg says stoutly.
‘Of course you did. Well, she’s very welcome, even if she is somewhat of an … outsider.’ Odette lingers carefully over the word, so everyone knows what she means – outsiders are not to be trusted.
‘Why don’t you continue, Maggie?’ Peg says. ‘You were just about to say something.’
I crouch over my chair, half standing, half squatting. Should I say another word or just slide back into my seat in silence? The way Odette is staring at me is scary.
‘You timetabled her contribution, did you?’ she interrupts, before I can reply.
Ted and Peg glance at each other.
‘We thought we’d just let her speak,’ Peg says, looking furtive.
‘Off the cuff, do you mean?’ Odette replies, her lips pursing slightly. ‘Right. And that would be lovely. But, as you know, if we don’t stick to the agenda things have a habit of getting out of control. If Maggie’s little talk isn’t timetabled then she really should speak at the end – when we address any other business.’
‘I think we could make an exception, just this once.’ Ted pouts.
‘Yes, of course we could, Ted,’ Odette agrees brightly, ‘and we can, if you like. But if we do that then everyone will expect there to be exceptions every time we meet. Unless you’re happy for that to happen?’
Her voice is sickly sweet, but there’s no escaping what she means. I start to sweat. Have I somehow become a pawn in this game of cat and mouse? It feels like it.
‘No.’ A look of defeated resignation crosses Ted’s face and he slumps back into his chair.
‘Right, then.’ Odette is smug in victory. ‘Well, why don’t I get the ball rolling? You can distribute the agenda I took the liberty of printing up and we’ll start with Item One.’
Three hours later, I’m wedged between Peg and Ted in the snug of the local pub, wondering how I came to be there.
I’m completely up to speed on the proposals for the new supermarket. There are two distinct camps: Odette leads the pro contingent, Ted and Peg lead the dissenters and everyone else seems to be rowing in behind. There still has been no real agreement about what to do, despite Odette’s best efforts to convince everyone that the supermarket could herald a new dawn for the village and Peg and Ted’s attempts to explain that it would sound the death knell for country life.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ I say quietly, anxious to leave before someone plants a drink in front of me and I can’t escape. ‘I’m really very tired – I probably should get some sleep.’
This is no lie: I’m exhausted after another very long day and all I want to do is crawl into bed.
‘Sleep?’ Ted says cheerfully. ‘Can’t you sleep when you’re dead? Sure the night is young!’
‘Yes, and sure why would you want to go back to the cottage all alone?’ Peg clucks, linking her arm through mine.
‘Have a drink!’ Ted insists.
‘Yes. You could have a Cosmopolitan,’ Peg suggests. ‘Matty makes a lovely Cosmo, doesn’t he, Ted? They’re never too bitter, not like some you can get.’
‘Who’s Matty?’ I ask, taken aback. Cosmopolitans? In the middle of nowhere? Surely all these muckers only ever drink pints of stout – maybe whiskey chasers if they’re feeling wild.
‘Matty is the publican, of course,’ Ted answers. ‘His Cosmos are legendary round here. But I prefer the White Russians myself – they have a great kick.’
‘Or Slippery Nipples.’ Peg licks her lips. ‘I love a nice Slippery Nipple.’
‘Um, I’m not sure I could manage a cocktail, actually,’ I murmur. ‘Maybe a glass of wine …’
It’s useless to resist. If I have just one drink I can leave straight afterwards and no one will be offended.
‘Well, he has a wonderful wine list,’ Peg enthuses. ‘It’s very extensive, isn’t it, Ted?’
‘It sure is.’ Ted smiles. ‘That Château de la Guiche is something special.’
‘Oh, yes, that’s lovely! You could have a glass of that, Maggie.’
‘OK,’ I agree, slightly stunned. Château de la Guiche? Isn’t that the rare red I read about in the wine pages of the Irish Times? The one that’s won awards? How come a small country pub stocks it?
Within minutes, I’m sipping the most delicious glass of wine I’ve had in a long time.
I have to admit, this is a revelation. I never would have imagined that the village had a place like this. It’s an old-fashioned pub, that’s true, but the décor is cosy, not twee, and the wine list is the best I’ve seen in ages. Could it be possible that I misjudged this place?
‘So, Maggie. What made you want to move to Rose Cottage?’ A woman with a shiny face leans across the table between the empty glasses that have already piled up. These people can drink – and how.
‘Em, I just wanted to get away from the city, I suppose,’ I murmur. I don’t really want to get into the real reason I’m here. It’s far too complicated.
‘Right. So, no other reason, then?’ the woman probes.
I can see Peg glaring at her, as if she wants to lean across and slap her hard. Why does she look so furious?
‘She’s working on a special commission, Betty,’ she announces suddenly, as if unable to stop herself.
Betty? Betty from the butcher’s? No wonder Peg’s s
o cross – isn’t she the limp-sausage-roll woman? The one who competes with Peg’s egg sandwiches? There’s obviously a fierce rivalry there – I saw both of them circling the buffet earlier, keeping an eye on which food was most popular with the locals in the hall, sandwiches or sausage rolls. I might have imagined it, but I’m almost sure Peg was jotting a tally on the back of her hand.
Now Peg’s face is dangerously flushed. She has two empty Cosmopolitan glasses in front of her and the drinks have quite obviously gone straight to her head.
‘Is that right?’ Betty says tightly. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Yes, it is.’ Peg smirks, as if she’s thrilled she met and befriended me before Betty had a chance to.
‘Who’s it for, this commission?’ Odette interrupts, shaking her impeccably groomed hair and looking me in the eye. She’s kept quiet until now, but she doesn’t believe a word of my story, I can tell.
I take a sip of my wine and try to decide how to answer that. Odette has it in for me, I know. Luckily Peg jumps to my rescue. ‘It’s top secret!’ she says defiantly. ‘She can’t divulge a thing about it. Isn’t that right, Maggie?’
‘I didn’t know artists’ work was so cloak-and-dagger.’ Odette stirs her gin and tonic with her swizzle stick and smiles sweetly.
‘Well, my client is a very private person,’ I say, egged on by her smug expression. ‘I have to respect his wishes.’ I don’t feel bad about lying – I don’t think I’ve ever disliked anyone more.
‘I see.’ Odette doesn’t look convinced. ‘Where did you say you’ve exhibited again?’
‘Oh, lots of places,’ I answer airily, taking another gulp of wine for courage. ‘All over, really.’ Telling lies is quite easy. And it’s getting easier with each sip of this delicious wine.
‘She’s very highly regarded,’ I hear Peg confide loftily to Betty from the butcher’s. ‘We’re lucky to have her – very lucky.’
‘I see.’ Odette regards me carefully. ‘I must Google you, take a look at your work.’
Crap. If she does that she’ll find out that this is all a lie. ‘Well, I don’t paint under my own name, of course,’ I say.
‘You don’t?’ Odette raises an expertly plucked eyebrow. ‘Why ever not?’
It feels like the entire table swivels towards me to hear my reply.
I clear my throat and try to think of some reasonable excuse to make this sound plausible.
‘Edward!’ Odette looks past me to the door of the pub, her face suddenly alight. ‘Come and sit here!’
I breathe a sigh of relief and relax my shoulders. Now that her boyfriend is here, hopefully she’ll lose interest in interrogating me.
‘Hi there!’ Edward says, as everybody calls hello. They all look delighted to see him – he’s obviously popular. ‘Sorry I missed the meeting.’
For a split second Odette’s face reveals her devastation – she must have thought he’d been there to witness her little victory earlier in the hall. She wants very badly to impress him: that much is clear.
I can sense that Edward is standing directly behind me, but I don’t turn to greet him. I’m still very annoyed that he called me useless behind my back when I’ve been trying my hardest to muck out properly.
‘Edward, sit here.’ Odette pats a space beside her on the bench. ‘There’s plenty of room.’
That’s for sure – everyone avoided sitting beside Odette when we came in, even those on the pro-supermarket side of the community.
‘Thanks, Odette,’ Edward says easily. ‘Let me just get everyone a drink first.’
People call out what they want and then I hear his voice in my ear. ‘And you, Maggie, what would you like?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say, concentrating very hard on staring straight ahead. ‘I still have this.’ I indicate the wine glass in front of me, which still has a drain of red liquid in the bottom. It was absolutely divine and I’d love another, but I’m not going to let Edward buy it for me. No way. Not after what he said about me to Matilda.
‘But it looks like you may need another in a minute.’ I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Why don’t you tell me what that is?’
‘It’s Château de la Guiche, Edward,’ Peg volunteers cheer fully. ‘And you should get her another, we need to celebrate – Maggie here is our new arts representative!’
‘Is that right?’ Edward whistles. ‘That’s great news altogether! I did hear you were a famous artist.’
‘You did?’ I snap my head round to look at him. Who told him that? Peg probably.
‘Yes. A little bird told me.’ He smiles again. ‘You’re a dark horse, Maggie. I’d love to see some of your work.’
‘Maybe some time,’ I mutter into my glass. God, this is mortifying – this charade has gone way too far. Now everyone thinks I’m something I’m not. What if they find out the truth? It will be so embarrassing.
‘So, what do you think we should do about the supermarket? I’m intrigued.’ Edward’s staring intently at me and I shift nervously under his scrutiny. I really wish he’d stop talking to me – it’s making me feel very uncomfortable. Why is he pretending to be interested in my opinion? He thinks I’m a dumb city girl – Matilda told me so and I believe her. For one thing, every time he talks to me he has this strange little smirk playing round his lips – like he’s mocking me.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply curtly. Go away and play with your prissy girlfriend, I add silently in my head.
‘Oh, come on,’ he persists. ‘A smart city girl like you – you must have a very interesting perspective on the issue.’
There it is again – he’s making fun of me! ‘Well, it’s complicated.’ I stare at him, remembering my vow to try to maintain a civil and professional relationship, for Claire’s sake. ‘There are no black or white answers, I would say.’
‘You’re right.’ He smiles at me. ‘That’s what I think too. Now let me get you that wine.’ He walks away to order the drinks before I can protest.
He’s just back and setting the round on the table when Peg pipes up: ‘Let’s have a toast!’ she calls.
Is it my imagination, or is she slurring slightly?
‘Yes, shush everyone!’ Ted knocks his glass on the table to quieten the crowd. ‘Behave now!’
Peg clears her throat and everyone leans in to listen to what she has to say. She’s obviously going to speak about the supermarket development, maybe say that she hopes it will all work out in the end. It’ll be a mini miracle if it does. ‘We’d like to officially welcome Maggie to Glacken,’ she says, swaying a little in her seat.
Eh? Why is she talking about me? I snap my head up and find that she’s gazing at me, a wide smile on her face.
‘We’re honoured to have her here with us,’ she goes on, ‘and even though we don’t know her all that well yet, we love her already. Here’s to Maggie!’ Peg raises her glass, the liquid slopping gently over the edge as she sways, and everyone else follows suit.
‘Here’s to Maggie!’ they cry. ‘We love her already!’
Oh, God. I grip the glass that Edward has handed me and try not to die on the spot. I can’t believe she’s done that.
‘Speech, speech!’ Ted calls. ‘Go on, Maggie!’ he urges, when he sees my stricken face. ‘It’s tradition.’
‘I’m not very good at speeches,’ I demur. And I definitely don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I have already.
‘Come on, Maggie,’ Edward says, ‘we’re waiting!’
Why is he smiling at me like that? Like he’s a nice person? I know he’s not – not after what he said about me. Still, he does have such lovely twinkling eyes. Maybe he’s not all bad. Maybe Matilda made a mistake.
‘OK,’ I stutter. ‘Well … it’s lovely to meet you all,’ I begin. ‘I’ve never been anywhere quite like Glacken before …’
‘And you never will again!’ someone calls.
‘… but it’s nice to be here. So … may the road rise before you and may th
e wind always be at your back!’
Everyone looks a bit confused by that – maybe it was the wrong thing to say – but it’s the only Irish blessing I can remember.
‘And so say all of us!’ Edward calls, and I grin at him in relief.
‘And so say all of us!’ everyone else cries. I slump back into my seat and almost drain my wine in one gulp.
It has an amazing kick when you knock it back fast like that. As it heats my insides and goes straight to my head, I look around and smile happily. The villagers really are very nice – I’m actually enjoying being here sharing a drink with them, in spite of my reservations about the inbreeding and the insanity. Maybe I was too hasty, jumping to unfair conclusions about country life. This might be the best night out I’ve had in yonks – everyone’s so relaxed and chilled, not like in a city-centre wine bar where they’re far too busy posing to enjoy themselves.
I’m basking in this contented glow of camaraderie when I catch Odette’s eye. She doesn’t look friendly like all the others: instead she’s glaring at me with undisguised hatred, patently furious that Edward has been speaking to me, including me in village life. She wants to leap across and stab me with her swizzle stick – it’s written all over her face. In fact, from her expression alone, I know for sure I’ve just made enemy number three.
Rule Thirteen: Try something new every day
‘You’re late.’
Matilda, Edward’s fiery teenage daughter, is standing on the front step, dressed in cream jodhpurs, a fitted hacking jacket and riding boots. Her surly face is caked with too-dark foundation, her eyes are lined with thick black kohl and her hair has been viciously blow-dried poker straight. It’s obviously a special occasion.
‘Late? What are you talking about?’ I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and squinting against the bright sun streaming through the door. God, my head hurts.
‘The gymkhana?’ Matilda says, her voice dripping with contempt. ‘You were supposed to be at the stables an hour ago to help get everything ready.’
She eyes me from head to toe, taking in my crumpled T-shirt and bleary eyes. A haughty sneer plays round her lips. She thinks I’m very old and very past it, I can tell. She may be right.
