The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘Comfort food,’ he’d said wisely, as he ground fresh garlic into unsalted butter for the bread, just before their visitors arrived. ‘In case things get a little tense tonight, good, solid carbohydrates should keep your son and daughter-in-law grounded and nourished from within.’

  ‘None for me, thanks,’ Irene said, waving the dish away when Jayne tried to serve her. ‘Mushrooms are very bad for my PH balance.’

  Jayne said nothing, just served everyone else around the table and silently blessed Melissa for being there, even though the poor kid looked bored out of her head. Until Irene started picking on her, that is.

  ‘So how is school coming along?’ Irene asked her imperiously. ‘Studying hard, I hope?’

  ‘Melissa works so hard that I really want her to take a bit of time off,’ Jayne answered for her, almost ready to burst with pride when she looked at her pretend-granddaughter. ‘Honestly, you’d have to drag this young lady away from her books!’

  ‘So how did we do in the Easter half-term exams?’ Irene insisted.

  Melissa glanced nervously around the table before answering. ‘Emm . . . well, I did okay, I think,’ she answered in a shy little voice.

  ‘Define “okay”?’ Irene demanded. ‘Because Holly and Molly did exceptionally well, didn’t they, Jason?’ she added proudly. ‘Holly even got a B2 in honours maths. We’re thrilled with her! We think she might go on to do medicine, you know. She’d make such a wonderful doctor. And Molly got a B1 in English, so we’re confident that she’s a future little journalist or news presenter. I always think she’d be wonderful on television. She has just the right cheekbones for the six o’clock news.’

  ‘Oh really?’ said Melissa, trying her best to be polite.

  ‘Come on, then, out with it. What sort of grades did you manage to get?’

  ‘Oh, now, does it really matter?’ Jayne interrupted. ‘Melissa has had a lot on her plate lately, so the last thing I’d be thinking of is school grades. Isn’t that right, pet?’ She smiled across at her.

  ‘Actually, I got six A1’s and two B2’s in the half-term exams,’ Melissa said quietly, to a stunned silence from Irene. She looked so poleaxed, Jayne thought, she almost wished she could take a photo.

  ‘And you’re staying here for how long exactly?’ Irene said, instantly changing the subject.

  ‘Melissa will be here for just as long as she likes,’ Jayne answered for her. ‘Sure it’s a pleasure to have her.’

  ‘Jayne, may I be excused?’ Melissa said, pushing away the half-eaten bruschetta in front of her. ‘I’d really love to get some fresh air, if that’s okay?’

  The tension is getting to the poor girl, Jayne thought. And really, who could blame her?

  ‘Of course, love,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go for a nice walk around the square and see if you can’t find that useless cat of mine? Magic loves you and I know she’ll come inside for you if you coax her enough.’

  Melissa heaved a big sigh of relief, and didn’t so much skip as bolt away from the table and straight out the hall door.

  ‘Right then, now that it’s just us adults . . . ’ Jason said to Eric, easing himself back into his chair as his mother served up the main course – a lentil stew with chickpeas, cauliflower, and broccoli, and a green bean salad with toasted almonds on the side. ‘I suppose it’s time to talk about the elephant in the room.’

  ‘Jason,’ Jayne said warningly, but it was too late.

  ‘You and my ma, then,’ Jason went on.

  ‘Of course I appreciate that this is the source of a lot of negative energy emanating from you.’ Eric replied calmly. ‘And I’d very much like to help you work through that, if I may.’

  ‘Sorry, what did you just say?’ Jason began, but Eric spoke over him.

  ‘First, though, may I ask that we all join hands and just take a moment of mindfulness? I mean, come on, you guys. Look at this beautiful food that this beautiful soul has prepared for us. It’s like a banquet! Isn’t this the perfect moment to give thanks to your mom? Sorry . . . ’ he added, catching the flint in Jason’s eye, which in fairness was hard to miss. ‘I mean, your “ma”.’

  Jayne flushed a bit at that, unused to being thanked. Unused to being complimented, for that matter. Then Eric locked his tanned hands with hers, in a warm, firm grip. He reached across the table to offer his spare hand to Irene, but she pointedly refused it.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said crisply, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t possibly give thanks for food I’m allergic to. No offence or anything, Jayne, but I’m on a special low-fibre diet just now. The chickpeas in this would blow me right out for a full week. I already told you this, don’t you remember?’

  Jayne distinctly remembered her saying no such thing, but she let it pass. Meanwhile Eric went on, undeterred.

  ‘Thank you, Gaia,’ he said in that deep, sonorous Southern accent, ‘for the bounty we’re about to receive. Love and peace to all here.’

  Jason snorted, then said with a grunt, ‘Right then, Eric. Now that the new-age, hippie stuff is out of the way, you can answer a few questions that Irene and me have been dying to ask you.’

  ‘Jason, please,’ Jayne appealed, but Eric kept his hand cupped over hers, as if to reassure her it was absolutely okay.

  ‘Please. Go right ahead,’ he said to Jason soothingly. ‘At the retreat where I worked, we had a saying: “Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom”.’

  ‘Right then,’ Jason replied, squaring his shoulders and adjusting the belt of his trousers, as if he was gearing up for a right good row. ‘In that case, maybe it’s time for you to start being honest with us, mate. So what’s the deal with you, anyway?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Eric said politely, looking puzzled.

  ‘I mean, what’s the story, sunshine?’ said Jason. ‘You beam in here in your white rig-out like an extra from Jesus Christ, Superstar, you latch onto my mother, a poor, gullible widow, you dump your backpack in the corner and it looks to me like you’ve no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. So here’s what I want to know,’ he added, waving a fork threateningly in the air. ‘What. Is. Going. On?’

  ‘Jason, that’s quite enough out of you,’ Jayne said firmly, putting her foot down and wishing she’d done it a lot sooner. ‘Eric is my guest and either you welcome him warmly, or else you can leave. The choice is yours.’

  ‘We don’t mean to be offensive,’ Irene chipped in, ‘but you have to understand where we’re coming from. Jayne is family and we have a duty to protect her from . . . well . . . let’s just say from casual encounters that could end up causing a great deal of pain in the long-term. After all,’ she added, speaking slowly as if she were choosing her words carefully, ‘we know absolutely nothing about you, Eric. Other than the fact you’re from Florida and you run some kind of mind/body/spirit centre that seems to charge a small fortune from elderly retirees looking for “inner wellness”.’

  ‘Posh way of describing a snake oil salesman,’ Jason muttered under his breath. ‘I checked you out online and that’s what you sound like to me.’

  ‘I’ll thank you both to stop it right now,’ said Jayne warningly, but Eric kept his hand squeezed tightly down over hers, his grip was warm and reassuring.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said evenly. ‘I get it. Information is currency, so let me tell you guys a little bit more about myself. I’m exactly the same age as Jayne and, like her, I’m a widower.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t have five wives hidden away somewhere in Florida?’ Jason asked petulantly. ‘That you’ve conveniently forgotten about?’

  ‘I sure don’t.’ Eric smiled. ‘My late wife passed away five years ago now – she was a schoolteacher, you know – and I firmly believe that her spirit, along with Tom’s,’ he added with a respectful bow towards the urn on top of the TV, ‘is what brought Jayne and I together.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jayne said thoughtfully, ‘I think so too.’

  ‘We met online, didn’t we?
’ he went on, with a fond glance towards Jayne. ‘But even though we were thousands of miles apart, the connection really felt immediate.’

  ‘That’s because of the whole past lives thing that you were telling me about.’ Jayne smiled back at him.

  ‘Oh, please, Ma,’ Jason spluttered, ‘are you hearing yourself? Past lives? For feck’s sake!’

  ‘But it’s a very real thing,’ Eric said evenly. ‘When our spirit is ready to pass over, we often reconnect with souls we’ve known in a different incarnation. Be it a husband, wife or a child – believe it or not, we’ve all known each other before going back thousands of years, just in different guises until we’ve purged all our Karma. And that wonderful process goes on and on for generations, until we reach Transcendence.’

  ‘Go on, Eric,’ Jayne said fondly. ‘Tell them about our past life, when I was a young slave girl in ancient Rome and you were out fighting for Mark Anthony. In forty degree heat, can you imagine?’

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ Jason said, getting to his feet awkwardly, considering his belly was wedged in behind the table. ‘Come on, Irene, we’re out of here. There’s only so much shite I can listen to and I’ve reached my limit. And as for you,’ he threw back at Eric, ‘if you’ve got any secret skeletons in your cupboard we should know about, then trust me, sunshine, we’ll find out and send you packing so quick your head will spin – and that’s no idle threat, mate. Now I mightn’t be able to stop you staying here, but I sure as hell can watch you like a fecking hawk when you’re under my roof.’

  ‘Except that it’s not technically “your roof” at all, now is it, love?’ Jayne replied calmly. ‘And there’s no need to leave so abruptly. You still haven’t had dessert. I made Eton mess especially – you like that.’

  Jason wavered for a second as he hated refusing food, but Irene calmly took control. In one deft movement, she was on her feet, handbag clutched against her bony little frame.

  ‘Thanks all the same, Jayne,’ she said, crisply. ‘but frankly, I think it would sicken us.’

  ‘You know, I’m sensing a lot of energy imbalance in the room right now,’ Eric said, rising to his feet and towering over everyone. Just like a gentle giant, Jayne thought, looking up at him with admiration. ‘So what do you say we all just take a little time out, to sit together in silence and maybe burn a little sage to cleanse the atmosphere? As we say back at the Healing House, negative thoughts will never give you a positive mind.’

  ‘We’ve a great saying where I come from too,’ said Jason, who was something of a last-word merchant. ‘Take your “energy imbalance” and shove it right up the high hole of your arse.’

  Nancy

  NATIONAL THEATRE

  ‘Yes, of course I was offered your part first, dearest, but I just had to turn it down. I didn’t feel it was quite challenging enough for me, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ came the astonished reply, ‘did I actually hear you right? Do you really mean you didn’t feel it sufficiently challenging to play one of the most comic matriarchal characters ever to grace a stage? What an extraordinary admission! Do you mind if I write that down, my darling? I might have to quote you in my memoirs.’

  The cast of Pride and Prejudice were having a quick coffee break at the National and, to no one’s surprise, Mrs Bennet and Lady Catherine de Bourgh were sitting side by side in the green room, tearing strips off each other, but with the politest of smiles plastered on their faces as they stuck the knives in.

  Nancy was standing over by the coffee machine, well within earwigging distance and struggling to keep a straight face as Alan Vaughan, who was playing Mr Wickham, sidled up beside her, wanting to know what was so funny.

  ‘You mean you’re actually writing your memoirs?’ Lady Catherine said cattily, wafting a prop fan in front of her face in mock horror. ‘Goodness, is it really possible something that inflammatory could actually be published? Is there actually a market for that sort of thing?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Mrs Bennet simpered back. ‘I’m working on it as we speak. In fact, I’m quite confident that it’ll be a bestseller. You’ll have to come to my little book launch, dearest. Do you good to get out and about.’

  ‘And will this be a tell-all autobiography?’ Lady C sniped. ‘By which I, of course, mean, will you include details of your private life? After all, that’s what you’re most famous for, isn’t it, darling? That’s really what everyone will want to read. You know, the dirty, salacious bits. Shall we say, the more tabloid side of your life.’

  Mrs B faffed about with her prop reticule for a bit, trying to think of a suitable comeback, but in the heat of the moment, couldn’t.

  ‘It’s certainly going to be a considerably long book, then, isn’t it?’ Lady Catherine said, getting up to refill her coffee. ‘Volume one of three, I should think. Mind you, the bit about your actual career could probably be condensed into a single chapter at most.’

  ‘Game, set and match to Lady Catherine,’ Alan hissed to Nancy under his breath, as she hid a discreet little smile.

  ‘Course, the challenge for me now,’ she said, ‘is to transfer all that combustible energy between them onto the stage.’

  Truth be told, though, Nancy thought, aside from the bitchiness between the two elderly divas, rehearsals were whizzing along very nicely, thank you very much. The production was actually in pretty good shape and with six weeks and counting to the opening night, they even had the luxury of coffee breaks.

  Working with Diego Fernandez was proving to be both gruelling and challenging, and there were days when she crawled out of the theatre so bone-tired that all she was really fit for was a quick Deliveroo meal for one before collapsing into bed. But so far, they’d already blocked out all of the first act and most of the second too, and were now really drilling down to some serious scene and character development work, which was the part of the process where Nancy really felt herself come alive.

  She was fast learning that just sitting at the same table as Diego was like a masterclass. He cared so deeply about his work and once stayed on at the theatre till well past midnight, discussing the most authentic Regency patterns on china cups with the set designer, as an exhausted Nancy stood patiently beside him.

  Diego’s nickname may have been Rumpelstiltskin, she discovered, but only really because he cared about every tiny detail so passionately, and how could you possibly fault that? Plus, she’d noticed, he only ever really lost his cool whenever he was trying to communicate something vitally important, but his English deserted him. Which is when he’d start stomping at the floor in frustration and almost doing a little flamenco dance on the spot, until she calmed him down and did her best to interpret whatever it was he’d been trying to say in the first place. He seemed to trust her by now, though and as a result, everyone was benefitting.

  By and large, though, Nancy was finding the whole process almost exhilarating and there really were times when she had to pinch herself and marvel at her sheer good fortune that she got to work with actors of this calibre all day every day. She’d taken the job in Dublin primarily because it wasn’t in London, little knowing how much she’d end up enjoying the whole process and how quickly she’d settle in.

  She, Alan and Mbeki had been having a lovely chat about the upcoming Dublin Film Festival, each of them earmarking movies that were definite ‘must sees’. The three of them were fast becoming firm friends; again, something that made Nancy really look forward to getting to work every day.

  ‘I’ve got a mate coming over from London to stay with me.’ Mbeki was smiling. ‘He’s a huge film buff, so the film festival sounds perfect.’

  Then Nancy noticed the time and gave everyone their five-minute call, before they began the rest of their rehearsal session.

  ‘So how is the flat-hunting coming along then?’ Alan asked her, as he pulled himself back into a too-tight looking Regency ruffled shirt, which messed up his head of bright coppery red hair so that it stood up on end.

  ‘You’ll
regret asking me that.’ She smiled back, trying not to laugh at the way his hair made him look like he’d just been electrocuted. ‘You must be one of the few cast members who I haven’t bored to tears about the absolute palace I’ve been lucky enough to land.’

  ‘Have you got photos? Go on, then, let’s see how the other half live.’

  ‘Have I got photos?!’ Nancy replied, dramatically whipping her phone out of her jeans pocket and instantly bringing up pics of twenty-four Primrose Square. ‘Take a look at this, my friend, and prepare to weep.’

  Alan peered over her shoulder as she scrolled down through every one of them, giving him a running commentary on each and every corner of the house, estate agent-style. Proudly, she bragged about every single feature, particularly dwelling on the walk-in closet, which really was so fabulous, it was a bit like a Pinterest board come to life.

  ‘Even my own mother can’t believe it,’ Nancy said happily. ‘She says she’s coming over to Dublin just to make sure I’m not making the whole thing up.’

  ‘So I take it the opening night party will be held chez vous?’ he said cheekily, as Mbeki tried to coral everyone back into the rehearsal room to continue blocking Act Two.

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Nancy said thoughtfully, taking her place at the director’s table, with Diego on her right and Mbeki on her left. ‘I’d love for you all to meet the neighbours. They really are salt of the earth Dubs and probably the nicest people you could ever come across.’

  In fact, the very thing that Nancy had never experienced over in London was the very thing she’d been lucky enough to land bang slap in the middle of: good neighbours who actually gave each other the time of day, and that wonderful sense of warmth and friendship that you only get when you’re really made to feel like you belong somewhere.