‘Yes, it would.’
‘Would that also mean I’d have to spend time with you every day? Or call you on the days we didn’t see each other? That I would have to take you out to dinner or to see a movie or some comedy or some music as often as possible? Basically take you wherever you wanted to go?’
She nodded.
‘Would I also have to kiss you quite often?’
‘I think that would be part of it, yes.’
‘Here and now, for example?’
She nodded.
He kissed her. She kissed him back. It was even better than it had been by the lake in Ireland. The feel of his skin under his T-shirt. The touch of his lips on hers, on her skin. His hands holding her tight against his body, his fingers caressing her skin, as their bodies moved closer and closer and…
Ray knocked on the window. ‘Public place, folks,’ they heard him call.
They broke away from each other. Maggie could tell Gabriel was as affected by the kiss as she was.
He gently touched her cheek. A touch rich with promise. ‘Do you know, I really think this sounds like a good arrangement.’
‘I think so too,’ Maggie said.
‘I’m sure there are terms and conditions we need to sort out, though, don’t you? Points to discuss. It’s probably just as well I’ve got a table booked for dinner in —’ he checked his watch, ‘ten minutes ago.’
He stood up and held out his hand. ‘May I escort you through the streets of New York, Ms Faraday? Very quickly, so we don’t lose our reservation?’
‘I’d like that very much.’ She more than liked it. She couldn’t stop smiling about it. All the sadness she’d felt, the confusion, seemed to have disappeared into the air. She was exactly where she wanted to be, with the person she most wanted to be with.
He kissed her again, quickly, beautifully, as if he had read her mind. ‘I wouldn’t ever two-time you, Maggie. I thought you’d guessed what was happening. I’m sorry I upset you.’
‘I should have asked you about it in Donegal, but it all happened so quickly.’
‘Next time I’ll make sure you know exactly what’s going on.’
‘Next time?’
He smiled. ‘Next time we pretend to be engaged to each other. I enjoyed it so much I thought we could make a career out of it.’
They had just said goodnight to Ray and were outside the building when Gabriel stopped. ‘There’s actually something else I’ve wanted to ask you. Ever since I met your family in Donegal. But perhaps it’s not fair. You’ve just had a long flight —’
‘I’m fine, really.’
‘I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.’
‘You won’t. I’m sure you won’t.’
‘It’s just the question’s been on my mind and you’re the only one who can answer it.’
She was worried now. ‘Please, ask me.’
His face was very serious. ‘Maggie, what’s nine hundred and forty-seven multiplied by forty-two?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Thirty-nine thousand, seven hundred and seventy-four.’
He smiled at her. A beautiful smile. ‘That’s amazing. That’s exactly what I thought too.’ He took her hand as they started walking down the street. ‘Do you know what I think, Maggie Faraday? I think the two of us are going to get along very well indeed.’
EPILOGUE
One year later
The house in Glencolmcille looked magnificent, if Miranda did say so herself. She’d been busy all day, hanging fairy lights in the trees outside, arranging fresh flowers and unpacking all the supplies into the freezer and refrigerator.
It was a cool day, so she lit the fire. She arranged candles all around the house. She didn’t light them. She would wait until she heard the first sound of the cars arriving. They expected to be there around seven, they’d told her. Three carloads of them.
That reminded her. She still hadn’t finished making the beds. She ran up and down the stairs with armfuls of linen. How on earth had Juliet managed this every year? Miranda was only one day into it and she was exhausted.
An hour later, everything was finally ready. The dining table was set. The dinner – a rich, spicy boeuf bourguignon – was ready in the oven. She’d cheated, of course. She’d bought everything pre-made in Donegal town and driven across the county with it carefully packed into an ice chest. She’d picked up fresh seafood in Killybegs. She’d bought local cheese for dessert. There was also enough champagne and wine to last a week. They would very possibly get through it in a night or two.
She’d warned them all what to expect. ‘You might not see any sunshine at all, even though it’s summer. It might be lashing rain every single day.’
They all told her they weren’t coming for the weather. No one came to Ireland for the weather, did they? They were coming for the scenery, the atmosphere, and to see this wonderful house she’d been going on about for years.
There would be six in total. Her friend George from Greece. Two friends from London. One from Barcelona. One from Sydney. And another new friend from Hong Kong. He was a manager of one of the hotels there. It was early days in their relationship, but things looked promising.
Her family had been astonished when she rang around to see if they minded her taking over the house for the last week in July. They’d all agreed six months previously that they weren’t going to be able to keep up their July Christmas tradition this year. It was getting too hard for everyone, with their different commitments. For Clementine, particularly. Miranda was the last person they’d expected to continue it.
‘I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for my friends,’ she said. ‘They always thought it sounded so quaint.’
She heard the sound of a car. Her first arrival. Behind it, a second car. Fantastic, an instant crowd. She hurriedly lit the candles, then ran to the refrigerator and opened one of the bottles of French champagne. As they pulled into the driveway, she was standing in front of the house with a tray of brimming glasses and a big smile.
This was what life was about, Miranda decided, as they started beeping their horns and waving at her. Friends, food, fizz and fun.
And family, of course. Just not all the time.
In Melbourne, Eliza was trying not to look too obviously at the clock on her desk. The woman sitting opposite her was one of her least-favourite clients. Katherine had been coming to her for over a year now, but it didn’t seem to matter how many times Eliza made suggestions or helped her reset her goals. She came back each month having done absolutely nothing different.
‘— and so I tell my son, over and over again, that if he doesn’t lift his game, I’m going to —’
Eliza thought about dinner the previous evening. She’d met Mark in a wine bar on the beach at St Kilda. He had good news to tell her. The separation was happening. Not just happening, but happening amicably. His wife was ready to leave the marriage too. She hadn’t been happy for years, apparently. Eliza had almost laughed at the look on Mark’s face.
‘You don’t seem pleased about that.’
‘I thought I’d done all I could to make her happy.’
‘Including having an affair with me for years?’
He looked abashed at that.
They would take the next stage slowly. She hadn’t invited him to come and live with her. He hadn’t suggested it. He talked about finding a place of his own. She said she’d look forward to seeing it.
‘This will be different for us, Eliza, won’t it?’ he’d said. He sounded as nervous about it as she was. It would be different. She hoped it wouldn’t become ordinary. She was going to do all she could to stop that happening.
The woman was still talking. ‘And then my husband said I was putting on weight, not losing any, and I said to him —’
‘Blah, blah, blah, blah,’ Eliza said.
‘I’m sorry?’ The woman looked at her. ‘Did you just say, “blah, blah, blah, blah”?’
Eliza looked alarmed for a brief moment. �
��I don’t know. Did I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘How rude of me.’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Why would I have said that, do you think?’
The woman shifted in her seat. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I must have had a reason. Can you think of one?’
‘Because you thought I was going on and on too much…?’
‘That could have been it, yes. Can you think of another reason?’
‘That you are probably thinking that I come back here every appointment saying the same old boring things.’
‘Yes, that would be another reason.’
The woman sat up straighter in her chair. ‘Is that what you think? That I don’t do anything that you suggest? That I just come back and go “blah, blah, blah, blah” every time?’
‘Don’t you?’
There was a long, uncomfortable silence; the woman glaring, Eliza unblinking.
The woman sat up even straighter. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. But not any more. You’re right, Eliza. I’ve been self-indulgent. This time I am going to change. I was thinking about not coming to see you any more, you know. You didn’t seem to be helping me at all. But not now. I’m going to start coming every fortnight. And I’m going to tell my friends to come to you too. I needed a good talking to and you gave it to me. You’re incredible.’
Damn, Eliza thought.
Juliet stood nervously at the side of the stage. Across the other side, Myles winked at her. He mouthed something.
‘What?’ she mouthed back.
He mouthed it again.
She still couldn’t figure it out.
He reached for a piece of paper beside him, scribbled something in black marker and held it up. She could just read it. You’ll be GREAT!
She mouthed a thank you. There was just time to smooth down her skirt before the MC introduced her. She hoped no one could see that her legs were shaking.
It was the gala awards presentation of their Young Chef competition, ten months in preparation. It had started as a tentative idea, just a seed of a thought, in the weeks after she and Myles had returned home from Donegal. They had talked more in those weeks than they had in years. They had both cried a lot as well. He told her how isolated he’d felt from her. She explained to him about the gap there had been in her life, how nothing had ever seemed to fill it. It was the part of her that wanted to look after something, nurture something. See it grow. She’d always assumed it had to be a child. Maggie had come some way in filling it, but she was an adult now. Independent. She didn’t need aunts fussing over her. Juliet thought that might have triggered her attempt to separate from him. That and turning fifty.
‘What you need is some more Maggies, perhaps,’ Myles said. ‘Boy Maggies and girl Maggies that need looking after.’
They talked about it. Ideas sparked between them. At first they discussed developing mentor schemes with the dozens of young waiters and waitresses who worked in their cafés. It was Myles who suggested they do more than that. ‘You have a gift for cooking, Juliet. You’re brilliant at it. Why don’t we do something to help young chefs?’
They launched it properly. They advertised it in all of their cafés. Juliet did interviews with local newspapers and radio. One of the national papers did an article about her. They described her as a passionate advocate for good food and nutrition. A strong believer in what young people had to offer.
More than a hundred young people applied for the twelve scholarships. She met with them all. They were all sizes, nationalities and personalities, ranging from fifteen-year-olds just out of school up to twenty-four-year-olds, the age limit they had set. There were cheery ones, moody ones, grumpy ones, ones with natural talent and others who had to be encouraged. Juliet chose twelve contenders and tried to coax the best out of them all. Three fell to the wayside in the early days. She learned not to blame herself for that. She took on another three instead. She travelled around the UK, running workshops in their cafés. The students’ work was assessed over six months. The winner tonight would be offered a position as her assistant, eventually being put in charge of his or her own café. The other eleven would be offered further training, and then full-time positions in their other cafés, either in the UK or Australia.
She stayed realistic about it. She didn’t see them as her own children. She wasn’t their mother and Myles wasn’t their father. But she was proud of them, she believed in them and she wanted them all to do well and be happy. And if that was the closest she could come to being a mother herself, then that was fine.
She looked out into the crowd, and then briefly at Myles standing in the wings. She could feel his love and encouragement. As she opened the envelope, her hands trembled only slightly.
She smiled. ‘And the winner of the inaugural Young Chef Award is…’
Clementine had to laugh. She’d come all the way to the bottom of the world, joined one of the most isolated communities on earth, and what had she discovered? That they celebrated a July Christmas.
Maggie had been extremely amused about it. Clementine had emailed her with the news.
They’re worse than us, Clementine wrote. Everyone dresses up. They take turns being Santa. At least we never did that.
Everyone dresses up? Maggie wrote back. Even you?? What as??
Clementine’s reply was brief. I’ll send photos. I can’t begin to describe it.
She’d been down south for nine months now, with another five to go. Her research into the breeding habits of the Adélie penguins was progressing slowly, but well.
She checked the time and did a calculation. If she had it right, Maggie would be just about to land. Clementine knew her daughter would love it if there was a welcome-home email waiting for her. She quickly wrote the message, ending with lots of love and good wishes for the days ahead. She’d just sent it when she heard a knock on her door. ‘Clementine? Are you ready? We’re all going across.’
‘Coming,’ she called. She pulled on her antlers, double-checked her reindeer suit was on the right way around, and made her way out of her room.
In London, Leo was getting very excited. He thought he’d done well with his lawnmower invention. His petrol-pump device was used all over the world. But this one had the potential to be even bigger. The best of them all. He decided he was going to give this one a name. Not any name. His name. It would be called ‘The Faraday Cleaner’. Catchy and to the point.
The idea had never gone away, not since he’d seen the cleaner in the airport that day, more than a year ago now. He’d been in a lot of airports since then, and seen the same situation time and time again. It was so obvious. The machines were the wrong shape.
He had done his research. He went to the manufacturers to investigate every industrial cleaner already on the market. He pretended he had his own cleaning business and was looking to upgrade his stock. He got a lot of information that way. He made sketches of alternative designs. He visited factories specialising in moulded plastic shells, in cleaning bristle production and in swivelling wheel design. He made a prototype. The first one was a disaster. He’d misjudged the length of the brush. It left more dirt behind than it collected. The motor also wasn’t anywhere near powerful enough.
He started again. He decided to start small and build his way up this time. The first prototype had cost him a lot of money to produce. He decided to make a mini version. If it worked on a small scale, it would work on a big scale.
It did. It performed better than he might have hoped. He laughed now, setting it to work again to clean the top of his desk. He had rented this serviced office in east London several months earlier. It made sense to be based in the UK while he was developing a product like this. Bigger population and the right manufacturing capabilities as well.
He set up some obstacles on his desk. A pile of books, the phone and a fax machine. The mini Faraday Cleaner worked around them with ease, the angled body adjusting to suit the different spaces, the little brush underneath
lifting and changing shape as required.
‘Leo Faraday, you are a genius, if I do say so myself,’ he said aloud.
That was the first step. Now he had to get serious about it. He needed to find out if it would do more than clean one desk in London. It needed trialling. It needed to be put to work in heavy-duty situations. He’d thought about approaching hospitals and hotels himself, before realising how he might appear. An old man with a miniature cleaner under his arm? They’d laugh at him.
The previous night he’d had a brainwave. When in doubt, go to the experts. Talk to the people who would be the end-user of his product, as the phraseology went. It had taken him some time to locate the file, but eventually he had. The slight drawback was they were based in Dublin, but he could fly across easily enough.
Best of all, he could drive up to Miranda afterwards. What a surprise that would be for her. It made him happy to think of the Donegal house being used. Even though the rest of them had decided not to go there this year – and he hoped it would only be this year that they missed their July Christmas – he liked to know it was being celebrated in some way, that Tessa’s beautiful idea was still being perpetuated. Ireland was very fashionable at present, Miranda had told him. Much more so than Greece or Spain. She’d had to turn some friends down. They’d all wanted to come and stay in her rustic Celtic hideaway, she had told him.
He moved his phone back into the middle of his spotlessly clean desk and dialled the number. 00 to get out of the UK, 353 for Ireland and 1 for Dublin. He heard the ring tone.
A woman answered. ‘Good afternoon, O’Toole Cleaners. Can I help you?’
‘Oh, good afternoon. Yes, I hope you can. My name is Leo Faraday and I am an inventor. Now, this might sound odd…’ He spoke quickly, putting his case succinctly. ‘I’m now at the stage where I need to do a test run with someone in the business. Last year I had some dealings —’ he allowed himself the small white lie ‘— with Mrs Sally O’Toole. I wonder if she is there now? Could I have a quick word?’
Those Faraday Girls Page 55
