If the Shoes Fit

by Pauline Lawless

  She was ten years old when her world fell apart. Her mother was killed in a fall from a horse. Three years later, her father had remarried. It was hate at first sight for Tessa and her stepmother. Claudia was insanely jealous of Edward’s affection for his daughter and a year later persuaded him to send Tessa to boarding school. She’d hated every moment of it, missing her “Daddikins” as she called Edward, and also her beloved ponies. Small wonder then, that she’d grabbed the opportunity to go to London modelling, when it had presented itself.

  Now trying constantly to reach George’s very exacting standards and failing miserably had catapulted her back to her teen years when her stepmother Claudia had exerted the same pressure on her and she had come up sadly short then too. Her stepmother had been a control freak and, little by little, she was beginning to realise that George was the same.

  She had the strangest feeling that in the year since she had come to live with George she had lost herself – lost her enthusiasm for life. He had somehow managed to dampen her spirit. She knew he meant well but it was getting her down. What she had perceived as mature and steady, now seemed to her stuffy and controlling. Maybe she’d been right. They were too set in their ways to start again.

  She’d thought that coming back to live in a country house in Ireland would mean a big warm kitchen with the dogs lying by the Aga cooker, just like the big house in Galway where she’d grown up. She’d imagined friends joining them for supper around the big wooden kitchen table. How naïve she’d been! When she’d shared this vision with George he’d been horrified.

  “Dogs in the house? You can’t be serious, Tessa, and entertaining friends in the kitchen when we have a perfectly good dining-room?” he’d spluttered, shuddering at the thought. “Why do you think we have a beautiful mahogany table and Chippendale chairs, not to mention the silver and Waterford crystal?” He was so irate that she quaked under his gaze. “Eating in the kitchen – and dogs there too! Unthinkable!” He shook his head, still disbelieving.

  She never mentioned it again.

  Now that George was gone for the day she could relax and enjoy herself. She had invited her friend, Kate, for lunch and as Kate plonked down at the kitchen table, Tessa took a bottle of Sancerre from the fridge and poured them each a glass. In between sips, she bustled around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the Greek salad she’d prepared earlier.

  She’d first met Kate in the golf club and they’d clicked straight away and were now good friends. Tessa knew she’d never be any great shakes as a golfer, she’d left it too late for that, but it was nice to make new friends and she enjoyed the game. Kate was really sweet and the only person Tessa would ever dream of confiding in, knowing that she could trust her.

  “This salad looks delicious, Tessa, and the dressing . . . mmmm . . . it smells great,” Kate sighed, inhaling the lovely aromas wafting up to her.

  “My secret recipe,” Tessa grinned, sitting down opposite her.

  “I love these trendy square white bowls. Very Japanese-looking,” Kate continued, reaching for a slice of crusty bread. “Presentation is everything, isn’t it? It enhances the food so much.”

  “I agree. I got these bowls in Dunne’s Stores, would you believe? Mind you, George would have a fit if he knew. It gives me a perverse pleasure to be eating off them – and in the kitchen – with Napoleon basking by the Aga!” She grinned triumphantly, like a child who’d been naughty and got away with it.

  Kate silently agreed with her. There were very few people Kate didn’t like but George was one of them. She found him stuffy and pretentious. She would never understand how Tessa had ended up with him. They were like chalk and cheese. Of course, she would never let Tessa know how she felt.

  “He’s driving me crazy at the moment, Kate,” Tessa confided, popping a forkful of salad into her mouth. “He’s so meticulous and fussy. Yesterday, he complained about the way I was loading the dishwasher. The day before, it was that I was eating my lunch without a napkin. He’s such a bloody stickler for etiquette, it’s making my life hell.”

  “That does sound a bit over the top, I have to say. I suppose it’s just his way,” Kate reflected.

  “I broke a cup last week and honestly he behaved as if I’d smashed the whole china dinner service on the floor,” Tessa continued, her voice rising with indignation. “It was just one cup and it was an accident, for God’s sake. You’ve no idea, Kate!”

  “Does George never have an accident like that?” Kate asked her, dabbing her chin with her napkin where some of the dressing had escaped.

  “No, never! He’s so bloody careful. He says I don’t watch what I’m doing.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “I suppose he has a point. I am a bit of a day-dreamer,” she admitted, her pretty mouth turning up at the corners.

  Kate thought how beautiful she was and such a lovely person too. George should appreciate her and not be so niggly over – let’s face it – unimportant things. She felt that he was damned lucky to have met Tessa, but she didn’t voice these thoughts, not wanting to fire her friend up even further.

  “He’s set in his ways, I suppose,” she said lamely.

  “You can say that again!” Tessa was on a roll. “I was cooking dinner last night and he comes in and starts telling me how to make lasagne. I ask you! I’m half Italian, for God’s sake!” She spilt some of her wine as she banged her glass down on the table.

  Napoleon jumped and, sensing her distress, ambled over to sit at her feet. Absentmindedly, she stroked his soft coat.

  “I suppose the fact that he’s lived on his own for so long makes it difficult for him now,” Kate said, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Well, he’ll be living on his own again soon, if he doesn’t cop on,” Tessa continued, wiping up the wine she’d spilt with some napkins. “Dear Lord, he’s like an old woman sometimes. You know he hits the roof if I don’t fold the towels in a certain way. God, who the hell cares if the towels are folded facing the wrong way or not? Life’s too short for such nonsense.”

  “George apparently doesn’t think so.”

  “I’ve tried doing everything his way, for the sake of peace, but it’s difficult. I feel like I’m losing my identity. I’m a thirty-six-year-old woman for God’s sake! Surely I can fold the towels any damn way I want!” She speared an olive with so much gusto that it flipped across the table.

  “I understand but you should calm down,” Kate said, retrieving the olive. “You’re stressing now and that’s not good for your heart.”

  “Sorry, you’re right,” Tessa replied sheepishly. “You know, I’m really concerned that George might be suffering from that disorder . . . you know the one . . . what do they call it?” She frowned, trying to remember. “You remember, Jack Nicholson suffered from it in the movie As Good As It Gets?” She looked to Kate for help.

  “Obsessive-compulsive disorder – God, I loved that movie!” Kate was laughing as she said it. “Do you remember the scene with the dog? It was so funny!”

  Tessa was laughing with her. “It was a howl. I remember I laughed so hard I wet my pants.”

  “Ooohhh . . . Jack Nicholson was brilliant!”

  “Yes, he was. Obsessive-compulsive disorder . . . that’s it . . . well, I honestly think George is suffering from it.” She paused, suddenly serious. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I think your problem, Tessa, is that . . .” Kate hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Well, because George works from home, you’re together all the time. What you need is a job to get you out of the house.” She looked at Tessa questioningly as she drained her glass, wondering what she’d think of the brilliant idea she was about to propose.

  “I’d love to work again, Kate, but it was work stress that caused my heart attack. I wouldn’t want to go down that road again.” Tessa grimaced as she poured more wine.

  “It doesn’t have to be anything stressful,” Kate insisted. “Actually, I think I have just the thing for you.” She got up from the table and went
to her bag. Taking out a magazine, she handed it to Tessa. “There’s an ad on page sixty for a job that would suit you down to the ground. I thought of you when I read it. It’s part-time and it would suit you to a tee.”

  Tessa took a sip of wine as she read the ad, intrigued. “Gosh, this sounds interesting but I don’t know if I’m what they’re looking for.”

  “Why not?” Kate demanded. “I’m always admiring your shoes and you certainly have a passion for them. You have such great taste, you look gorgeous and you’d be a great saleswoman. And,” she continued, leaning across the table to Tessa, “it would give you some breathing space from George.”

  “I suppose so, but let’s face it, I’m no spring chicken. They’re probably looking for young women. I’m thirty-six.”

  “For God’s sake, Tessa, that’s not old and anyway it says no age limit.” Kate had all the angles covered.

  “Yeah, but do they really mean that?” Tessa looked doubtful.

  “You’ll never know until you try it.”

  “I suppose,” she said, reading the ad again.

  “Go on, Tessa! Apply for it. You can always change your mind.” Kate clapped her hands and Napoleon jumped up out of his cosy sleep again.

  “George won’t like it,” Tessa said, frowning.

  “To hell with George!”

  Kate raised her glass and Tessa clinked hers against it.

  “To hell with George!”

  They drank off their wine, laughing so hard they almost cried, and the big Labrador stood up and anxiously ran from one to the other of them, licking them furiously.

  “Oh, Nap! You silly boy!” Tessa said hugging him. “I’m fine, really I am.”

  Kate wondered if this was true.

  Chapter 4

  Niamh knew that she’d no chance of even being called to interview for the job. It was two weeks now and she’d heard zilch. Who in their right mind would give her a job, with her CV? They’d probably thrown it in the bin straight away. She’d heard that most companies didn’t even reply to applications these days unless they wanted to interview you. How rude, she thought. I’ll just have to see if I can get a morning job in one of the local shops. She knew she was clutching at straws. Every young mum wanted a job like that.

  Every day her mother asked if she’d heard anything and every day it was the same negative reply.

  “Forget it, Mam. They’re not interested.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got a good feeling about this. I even started a novena for you.” Eileen desperately wanted her to get it.

  “You and your novenas!” Niamh smiled at her. Her mam – ever the optimist and a great believer in the power of prayer!

  She was sorting the washing out on Thursday morning when she heard the post dropping through the letter-box.

  “Post for you,” Bridget cried out in her pseudo-posh accent that fooled nobody.

  “Coming,” Niamh replied, thinking – not another bill!

  Taking the letter from Bridget, she saw that it was hand-written on very expensive stationery. Hardly a bill! Bridget had noticed that too and stood waiting to see what was in the envelope.

  “Thank you, Bridget,” she replied, putting it in her pocket, enjoying her mother-in-law’s crestfallen face. She was so damned curious!

  Niamh couldn’t wait to read it but finished loading the washing machine and then went into the bedroom to read it in private. Her heart was hammering violently. It couldn’t be the job, could it? She was afraid to open it, in case it was a rejection, but eventually she plucked up the courage. She thought she was seeing things but no – there it was, in black and white. She read it again and again in disbelief, “We would like you to attend for interview, on Wednesday next, at noon, in The Davenport Hotel.”

  Hardly able to contain her excitement she rushed over to her mother’s.

  “Mam, they want me to come for an interview!” she said breathlessly, bursting in the door.

  “I knew it. I told you. My novena to St Jude worked!” Eileen was overjoyed and pressed her hands together.

  “Mam, he’s the Patron Saint of Hopeless Cases!” Niamh cried.

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” her mother said, sheepishly.

  She was so happy to see her young daughter’s face aglow with hope. Better start another novena to be sure she gets it, she thought, although how anyone could not see Niamh’s potential, she didn’t know. She said a quiet prayer of thanks to St Jude. “But you’ve some more work to do,” she told him.

  Niamh was in a tizzy as to what she would wear to the interview. She’d bought a lovely green print, crossover dress in Oxfam last year and she’d seen a pair of gorgeous shoes, that exact same colour, on sale in Dunne’s last week. Could she possibly spend some of Tuesday’s Children’s Allowance on them? Yes, she decided. This was a shoe company and she really must wear smart shoes to the interview. She had nothing remotely smart enough in her wardrobe and, as she was only a size three, she couldn’t borrow from her sisters or friends.

  To her relief, the shoes were still there the following Tuesday and reduced yet again, to €15. What luck! Maybe this was an omen. They were divine and their platform soles made her look much taller than her five-foot-one. She loved them.

  The next morning, she had to sneak out with the dress and shoes, in case Bridget would get wind of where she was going. She still hadn’t said a word to Gavin, who was still asleep in bed.

  She went to her mother’s to get ready. She was a bundle of nerves and Eileen wasn’t much better.

  Val was hovering around.

  “Do you think that dress is suitable?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose.

  “What’s wrong with it?” asked Niamh, anxiously.

  “Oh, nothing,” Val shrugged, leaving Niamh full of doubts as to whether it was okay or not.

  “Don’t mind her! You look lovely, pet,” Eileen reassured her, glowering at her older daughter. “Those shoes are perfect with the dress. Thank God it’s a lovely day and not raining.”

  Niamh had been terrified of that very thing, as she had no suitable coat to wear, but someone up there was looking out for her – St Jude, maybe? She smiled to herself. She was getting as bad as her mother!

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Eileen asked, anxiously.

  “No, Mam, thanks all the same. I’ll feel much happier knowing that you’ll collect the kids from school, if I’m delayed. Just say a prayer that it all goes well,” Niamh said nervously.

  “I won’t stop praying till you’re back,” her mother said, giving her a big hug.

  “Thanks, Mam.”

  “Good luck, love,” Eileen cried after her, tears in her eyes for her brave young daughter.

  Rosie had known that she’d hear nothing back. She was too old for the job. They would want young glamorous women, not old fogies like her. When she mentioned this to Gail, ten days later, her daughter exploded.

  “Mum, for God’s sake, you’re talking like you’re eighty years old! You’re still young and vibrant. Anyway, as I keep saying, it said no age limit in the advert.”

  “Oh, they have to say that. Otherwise it’s considered ageist,” Rosie said with authority. “Like they can’t specify sex or race or the next thing they know they’re up in court for discrimination.”

  Gail gave up. But she was cock-a-hoop two days later when Rosie rang to say she’d been called for interview.

  “I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’ – but I did,” Gail said delightedly.

  Rosie was a nervous wreck for the next five days, wondering what to wear and what to say. Gail was afraid she might chicken out at the last moment, so she insisted on driving her mother to the interview.

  Calling to collect her that morning, Gail let out a low whistle.

  “Mum, you look terrific. Wow! You could pass for forty. We should have lopped another four years off your age.”

  Rosie was flattered, though she knew she was looking her best. She’d bought a
new Paul Costello suit, in her favourite shade of coral. She’d had her hair cut and coloured – it was now a lovely silver blonde – and for the first time in her life, she’d had acrylic nails applied. She’d always had a problem with her nails. They kept splitting and she envied all those women who had long, beautiful talons. Now, she was one of them and she kept waving her hands in front of her, admiring the elegant coral manicure.

  “Mum, your nails!” Gail shrieked, catching sight of them. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Thank God, her mother was back in the land of the living again. Please Lord, she prayed, let her get this job. It will be the making of her.

  Rosie was very apprehensive. But at least I’m feeling again, she thought. She gabbled nervously, non-stop, till they reached the hotel.

  “I got a good-luck card from Sheila this morning,” she told Gail. “Wasn’t that very nice of her? She thinks this is just what I need.”

  So do I, thought Gail, but she didn’t say it aloud.

  Rosie said a little prayer: Wish me luck, Jack. And she felt him there with her, holding her hand. A strange calmness came over her and she smiled at Gail.

  “I’m ready for them, love.”

  Tessa hadn’t given much thought to the job application until she received the letter asking her to come for an interview. She debated whether to mention it to George and then decided not. Better to wait and see what came of it. They might not offer the job to her and, even if they did, it might not suit her. No, she’d wait until it was a definite proposition. She felt a flutter of excitement and hoped that this would be, as Kate had said, the solution to her problem.

  Trying to figure out a way to go to Dublin without George wanting to accompany her, she hit on the bright idea of asking Kate to come with her.