The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  Jayne, for instance, from number nineteen, further down the square. Just the previous evening, she’d generously sent down a Tupperware container full of nourishing lentil stew, which Nancy had gratefully devoured, along with a few slices of home-made chocolate biscuit cake for dessert.

  ‘Sure I know what all you career girls are like.’ Jayne had smiled kindly when Nancy called around to her house the following morning to thank her and to return her Tupperware. ‘Never enough time to eat. No wonder you’re as skinny as you are, Nancy, love. You need a bit of fattening up while you’re with us here in Ireland.’

  ‘Nothing beats a proper home-cooked meal.’ Nancy had grinned back. ‘When I first came to Dublin, dinner for me meant siting in a horrible hotel room eating stale crisp sandwiches on the side of the bed. So this was like a Michelin-starred meal, by comparison.’

  ‘I’m only delighted you enjoyed the bit of stew,’ Jayne said. ‘Least I could do after you were so good to Melissa.’

  ‘She’s a little sweetheart.’ Nancy smiled, remembering her big chat with that adorable girl the day she’d first moved in.

  ‘She loved meeting you . . . It was all “Nancy this and Nancy that”. You’ve got a little fan there, let me tell you.’

  ‘I thought maybe Melissa was your . . . ’

  ‘Granddaughter?’ Jayne said, finishing the sentence. ‘Oh, don’t worry, everyone thinks that. But we’re just as close as family any day of the week – I’ve been appointed her guardian, you know, and I’m only delighted about it. Melissa’s parents live next door,’ she added, indicating number eighteen just next door with her thumb. ‘But things aren’t so good there just at the moment, I’m afraid.’ Then she dropped her voice and whispered, ‘Long story, love. Her dad is away and he’s trying to get home as soon as he can, but still, if you ask me, he’s not trying hard enough. The man’s place is here now with his family, not thousands of miles away in the middle of the desert.’

  Of course, Nancy was dying to get to the bottom of this, intrigued to know what had or hadn’t gone on in number eighteen. Just then, though, a tanned, good-looking man about Jayne’s own age, with shoulder-length silvery hair tied back in a ponytail, wafted through the hallway behind. He was super tall, so tall that he almost had to stoop down a bit just to get out through the front door. He had two yoga mats tucked neatly under his arm, but instantly stopped in his tracks to say hi when he noticed Nancy standing there. Jayne flushed a bit, then introduced him as Eric.

  ‘Now, you will excuse me for not asking you in,’ she added apologetically, ‘but the thing is, Eric and I were actually on our way out. To an Ayurveda yoga class in town, if you don’t mind . . . Did you ever?’

  ‘Forgive my ignorance,’ Nancy said as the pair of them stepped out through the door, ‘but what exactly is Ayurveda yoga?’

  ‘You’ve never heard of it?’ Eric asked, in a deep, soft-spoken accent that Nancy recognised. She’d once worked on a show that had toured to Florida and South Carolina, so she knew that lilting drawl a mile off. ‘It’s completely transformational – and truly humbling,’ Eric went on. ‘It’s a whole other lifestyle choice, you know.’

  ‘Eric got me started on it only just last week,’ Jayne beamed, locking the hall door behind her, ‘but already I feel ten years younger.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome to join us for today’s class?’ Eric said, politely extending the invitation to Nancy. ‘It’s all about finding balance within your three doshas. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t find it hugely beneficial.’

  ‘Excuse me . . . my three what?’ Nancy asked, utterly mystified.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as complicated as it sounds,’ Jayne laughed as they walked companionably down Primrose Square together.

  ‘They’re energies that exist between all of us,’ Eric went on to explain. ‘First, you’ve got the vata, which is the space and air we all need. Then you’ve got your kapha, which is the water and earth we’re all dependent on. And lastly, you’ve got pitta, which is the fire that exists within all of us.’ Then he turned to look at Nancy, almost assessing her.

  ‘I think she’s more of a pitta type,’ he eventually said, like a doctor pronouncing a diagnosis, as Jayne nodded along in agreement.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Nancy said, thinking that the only ‘pitta’ she’d heard of up till then was pitta bread.

  ‘Oh, now, it’s nothing to worry about,’ Eric said, ‘it’s real common in the Western world.’

  ‘It means you have an excess of fire, love,’ Jayne explained patiently. ‘Although not in the heartburn sense. More in the emotional sense, isn’t that right, Eric?’

  ‘I’m guessing you work in a high-stress environment?’ Eric asked.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Nancy replied, with a mock eye-roll.

  ‘I’m sensing some pain too,’ he added sagely. ‘Maybe something from the past that you’re still working through?’

  There was a tiny, giveaway pause before Nancy answered. ‘Something like that, yes,’ she eventually said, and left it at that.

  Eric and Jayne both seemed like real sweethearts, and completely trustworthy too, but still. That was as much as Nancy was prepared to give away. For the moment, at least. From the corner of her eye, she caught Jayne looking at her keenly, as if she was trying to second-guess at some deep-buried secret, but thankfully, she said nothing.

  They said their goodbyes and Nancy watched as the two of them strolled happily off towards busy Pearce Street, marvelling at what a happy, contented couple they seemed to be. Life could be hard sometimes, she thought, cutting and cruel with unexpected curveballs that knocked you for six. And yet, occasionally, if you were very lucky and held the faith, every now and then miracles could and did happen. A sweet old soul like Jayne, for instance, meeting and finding happiness with someone lovely like Eric. A pair of dotes, as Dubliners were wont to say.

  Nancy strolled on, admiring the springtime loveliness of the cherry blossoms on Primrose Square. No matter what age you are, she thought, and no matter what you’ve been through, you’re never really too old for romance, are you?

  And after everything she’d been though herself in that department, maybe, just maybe, there was light for her at the end of tunnel too.

  *

  Later that same day, after yet another gruelling rehearsal session, Nancy found Melissa sitting outside the steps of her house on Primrose Square in the watery evening sunshine, with a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice on her lap. Melissa absolutely lit up when she saw Nancy coming, and scrambled over to her like a puppy who’s just happy their owner is home and wants to hang out.

  ‘Hey, there you are! Look, I’ve been re-reading the book and I’m up to the bit where horrible Mr Collins proposes to Lizzie and it’s still so funny every time I read it! How were rehearsals today?’ she added, beaming brightly up at Nancy, adoration written all over her pale little face.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid to say this out loud in case I jinx it,’ Nancy smiled back, ‘but I’ve got a feeling that we’re getting there.’

  ‘Wow,’ Melissa said, almost with stardust in her eyes. ‘Your job is just so cool. I was telling my friend Hayley all about you in school today and she was, like, seriously impressed.’

  ‘Just don’t speak too soon.’ Nancy laughed at her innocence. ‘The thing I find about any rehearsal process is just like that line from Shakespeare in Love.’

  The kid looked up, mystified.

  ‘“The natural condition of any show is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. But strangely enough, it all turns out well. No one knows why, it’s a mystery.”’

  ‘Shakespeare in Love?’ Melissa asked, puzzled, so at that point Nancy shut up, realising that the kid wasn’t even born when that movie first came out.

  ‘Melissa, you have to watch that film!’ Nancy said. ‘It should be required viewing for anyone with even a passing interest in theatre. Come over to me some evening and
I’ll download it for us. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’d love it!’ Melissa chatted away, skipping on the pavement as they reached the steps of Nancy’s house. ‘You know we’re doing Pride and Prejudice in school? When I told my English teacher today that one of the directors of the stage show was my new neighbour, she couldn’t believe it! She’s taking our whole class to see the show, and I can’t wait.’

  ‘In that case,’ Nancy smiled, ‘you could get to see the show twice. Because I was kind of hoping you’d be my guest on opening night?’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Melissa squealed almost at warp level. ‘That would just be the best thing ever !’

  ‘I hope you still think so after you’ve seen the show,’ Nancy laughed, delighted at her enthusiasm.

  ‘So is it okay if I call to your house in about an hour or so?’ Melissa asked, as they got to Nancy’s front door and she began to fumble about in her bag for the keys. ‘We can find out some more about your mystery landlord. I mean, can you just imagine how cool it would be if that Sam Williams guy did turn out to be single? And if he liked you and you liked him and you ended up dating and this was how you met and then maybe you ended up getting married and it was all because you housesat for him and I was your bridesmaid and you got married out here on the square and all the neighbours were invited and Eric did a weird kind of chant-y blessing and there was a party afterwards and even my best friend Hayley was invited? Wouldn’t that just be the most amazing thing ever?’ She looked up at Nancy with hopeful, shining eyes.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve put an awful lot more thought into it than I have,’ Nancy said, with a wry little smile. ‘But please, swing by later if you’d like, when you’ve done all your homework. I don’t think Jayne would be impressed otherwise.’

  A text message pinged through and the two of them instinctively went to check their phones at exactly the same time.

  ‘It’s my phone, I think . . . Oh my God, that’s my dad!’ Said Melissa, brightening as she read the message on her phone. ‘He says he’ll Skype me in five minutes, so I better run. See you later, Nancy! And don’t worry, between the two of us, we’ll find out everything there is to know about Sam Williams!’

  Sam Williams, Nancy thought, as Melissa skipped happily off and she let herself in through the hall door. In what little spare time she had, she’d been googling him to death, as you do, but he seemed to be one of those people who was pretty shrewd about their online privacy, because apart from page after page of boring company listings and details of various work functions he’d attended, she could find very little of a more personal nature about him.

  According to all her trawling, it seemed that yes, indeed, Sam Williams was pretty senior at a large software development company and seemed to travel a helluva lot for his work. His company was vast, with tentacles in every major city going, stretching from New York to Frankfurt, and from London to Shanghai, where he was now. Every single thing he’d been telling Nancy about himself tallied and there was very little about him that wasn’t calculated to impress the shite out of any woman.

  As the line in Pride and Prejudice went, it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a fortune, must be in want of a wife. Sam Williams seemed single, he acted single and there was certainly nothing about his living space to suggest that there was a wife, a lover, or any kind of a long-term partner on the scene.

  Not only that, but Sam had been in touch with Nancy regularly. A lot. An awful lot. She didn’t think she was imagining it, but far, far more frequently than seemed usual in a conventional landlord/housesitter relationship.

  It had been almost two weeks since she’d moved in and they’d quickly graduated from emails flying back and forth about mundane things, like what the alarm code was, how to switch on the boiler or else when bin day was. The kind of queries Nancy knew she should have been onto the letting agency about, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to get in touch with that awful Irene again. Far easier, she thought, to just hear it directly from the horse’s mouth. Anyway, in no time at all, Sam’s messages to her quickly became far friendlier in nature.

  Hey! How are you settling in? No complaints so far, I hope?

  This came through just as Nancy was leaving Primrose Square to get to the National Theatre in time for rehearsals. She was crossing the road at Townsend Street, but still zipped him back a reply while she was waiting for the pedestrian lights to change.

  Settling in so well, I may never leave. May also revise my rash decision not to have a cast party here. House too stunning, needs showing off.

  Almost immediately, Sam was back to her.

  *Sighs reluctantly* No vomit on the carpet, that’s my only stipulation.

  And like a tennis rally, she was back to him moments later.

  Entirely your own fault for decorating house so beautifully.

  There was a natural lull in all communication then, but at lunchtime Nancy checked her phone again, the minute she was out of the rehearsal room. And sure enough, there was yet another text waiting from him.

  You’ve gone vv quiet on me, Nancy.

  She was straight back onto him and the ensuing text marathon went thusly:

  Ahem. Well excuse me for having to work for a living.

  And his reply?

  Am currently swimming in the South China Sea, if you’re interested in knowing about my day.

  Well, of course that was too big a bait for Nancy to resist.

  Forgive me, Sam, am clearly labouring under a gross misapprehension here. Was under the impression you actually had a proper job. Or are you a trust fund boyo gallivanting out in the Far East while the rest of us slave away here in lashing rain and actual hailstones?

  His response was instantaneous.

  Boyo. Love it. It seems, Ms Thompson, that you’re picking up on one or two Irish-isms during your stay in Dublin’s fair city. P.S. Personal apologies about the hailstones. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to reapply factor thirty sunblock – it’s eighty-five degrees in the shade here, dontcha know.

  By then, of course, Nancy was hooked. Yes, this was flirting between herself and a total stranger based somewhere out in the backarse of Shanghai. But it was all good, light, teasing fun, so what the hell, she thought.

  Right, that’s it, Mr Williams, you’re well and truly rumbled. I’ve decided that you’ve got to be one of those Euromillions lottery winners who tells no one, just retires young and travels the world lounging around in 5 star hotels. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sadly some of us have actual jobs to do.

  He was back to her within minutes.

  You are doubtless aware, Ms Thompson, that there is a time difference between Dublin and Shanghai? Seven hours ahead here, to be exact. So you will admit it’s possible that I, too, have done a 12-hour day and am now chillaxing with a swim?

  She was on her way back to rehearsals after lunch when that one pinged through. Although for ‘lunch’, the rest of the cast grabbed a snack in a coffee shop across the road, while Nancy stood on the pavement outside where there was a better Wi-Fi signal, on her phone the whole time.

  She was racking her brains trying to think of a smart-arse comeback to that, but just then a breathless Mbeki caught up with her, all fresh-faced and clear-skinned and so brimming over with energy, Nancy was sorely tempted to ask her what health supplements she was on.

  ‘Hey, Nancy,’ she said brightly as they fell naturally into step together. ‘You’ve been on your phone non-stop for the whole lunchbreak; you never even ate a scrap. Like a good production assistant,’ she added teasingly, ‘I notice everything.’

  ‘Mbeki,’ Nancy said, turning to her thoughtfully. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Fire away,’ came the smiling reply.

  ‘Have you ever used Homesitter.com before?’

  ‘Yeah, loads of times.’ Mbeki shrugged. ‘I once landed a place right on Times Square in New York, for a complete song . . . Best holiday of my
life! Why do you ask anyway?’

  ‘Well . . . did you hear a lot from your landlord? Like . . . an awful lot? Texting back and forth pretty much non-stop?’

  ‘No,’ Mbeki said, without hesitation. ‘Not at all. I mean, I had an email listing out a few house rules and all the dos and don’ts, but other than that . . . ’ She trailed off as Nancy’s phone pinged yet again.

  May have to call you for a proper chat soon, Nancy.

  You know neither the day nor the hour.

  Interesting, Nancy thought, as she and Mbeki strolled back to the theatre. This guy was thousands of miles away; he couldn’t do any real harm to her. So completely unlike what she’d just been through in London.

  But in a good way.

  Susan

  From the journal of Susan Hayes

  Dearest Ella,

  It’s your birthday soon and words can’t say how much I’m dreading it. So here’s what I’m journalling today instead. A happier memory of a far happier birthday. Do you remember, my darling? How could your old mum ever forget?

  ‘So, sweetheart, it’s your birthday very soon, and your dad and I were wondering what you’d like to do? Maybe a trip to the movies and then something to eat with your pals afterwards?’

  ‘No offence, Mum,’ you said, flicking back that mane of unruly strawberry blonde curls that I could never get to lie down straight, no matter how hard I tried. ‘But most of the movies targeted at my age group are so juvenile. Just gross-out comedies or, even worse, chick flicks.’

  ‘So I’ll take that as a no, then?’

  ‘A definite no!’ you’d told me firmly. ‘Chick flicks,’ you’d added disparagingly, miming a gagging gesture at the very phrase. ‘Who even thought up a term like that? Not a woman, anyway. Hollywood is so patriarchal and it’s our duty not to support gross-out comedies. It’s the principle of it, Mum.’