He gave that laugh again, the awful one that wasn’t in response to anything in the least bit funny. ‘Oh, yes, this is the perfect time to say what I had to say. I wanted to give you a present, actually. But hell, why not give it to you anyway? What else can I do with it?’ He took a package out of his pocket and passed it without grace or ceremony to her. ‘I had it made especially for you.’
Even his voice didn’t sound like him any more. She just looked at the parcel, not knowing what to do next.
‘You may as well open it.’
With shaking hands, she tore back the paper, opened the box. Inside was a silver bracelet, stunning, simple. Engraved on it was a sentence. Come live with me and be my love.
‘Is it Shakespeare?’ she said, sick to her stomach, but needing to say something.
His voice was flat. ‘No, it was Christopher Marlowe and then John Donne. I’d always loved that, the fact that two poets used the same line.’
She hadn’t known he read poetry. Her voice was soft. ‘It’s a beautiful bracelet.’
‘Except you don’t want it. Or you don’t want the invitation. You don’t want me.’
She reacted against the sudden bitterness in his voice. ‘It’s not that. I don’t want to hurt you. But can’t you see this is the best thing? What we have to do?’
‘No, Lainey, I can’t see. I thought things were terrific with us.’ He gave a mocking laugh. ‘Funny how wrong you can be, isn’t it? You see, when I thought about you going away, I realised I hated the idea. And the more I thought about it the more I realised I didn’t like us living in separate apartments, let alone separate countries, with some pot plant controlling when I see you or when I don’t. I wanted to ask you to live with me when you got back from Ireland, Lainey. Marry me, if that was what you wanted. Have a tribe of children with me. Retire young and drive around Australia in a caravan with me.’ He paused. ‘Just as well I didn’t, isn’t it? Or I would have made an even bigger fool of myself than it seems I have already.’
She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. For one moment she wanted to give in completely. To just relax into it, fall into his arms, say you’re right, to hell with going to Ireland, this is where I want to be. But then the moment passed and everything else came tumbling into her head. She was leaving for a year, she had so many other, bigger things than her own life to worry about – her father, her mother, her parents’ marriage, the money they needed. There wasn’t room for anyone else at the moment. Not even Adam… ‘I’m sorry, Adam.’ The words burst out of her.
‘That’s it? You’re sorry?’
She couldn’t change her mind now. Head, not heart, she repeated to herself. The look in his eyes nearly broke her resolve. They both looked down at the bracelet, still in her hands. She moved to pass it back to him.
He shook his head. ‘Take it. Have it anyway. Think of it as a farewell present. I’m sure a jeweller over there can get rid of the inscription.’
His words stung. If this was the right thing to have done, why was she feeling as though the ground was crumbling beneath her? Had she misjudged it all? He wasn’t supposed to have been upset. He wasn’t supposed to have had this bracelet ready. And now it was too late to change anything. She blinked away tears, steeling herself, willing herself not to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ she said again.
This wasn’t the Adam she knew, this cold, angry one. ‘So am I, Lainey.’
There was a loud honk of a car horn behind them. It was Hugh, leaning from the driver’s seat of Lainey’s car, pointing at his watch.
They both turned to him, then back to one another. There was an awkward moment when they moved as if to hug, moved their faces as if to kiss. Less than two hours ago they had been naked, entwined in each other’s bodies. Now they could barely touch.
Finally, she brushed his lips with hers. He wouldn’t look at her, she could think of nothing more to say to him. He stepped back first.
Hugh enthusiastically honked the horn as they drove away, waving back at Adam who was standing by the footpath. Then he glanced over at Lainey and gave a cheeky smile. ‘Lainey and Adam sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’
‘Shut up, Hugh.’
‘He just proposed to you, didn’t he?’
‘I said shut up, Hugh.’
‘He did. I saw him take a ring out of his pocket. Jeez, what style, in the middle of a road, with your brother watching. That’s really romantic. Where are you going to get married, on the South-Eastern Freeway?’
She felt a searing rush of anger, at Hugh, at herself, at the whole stupid, messy, horrible bloody situation that she had just utterly mishandled. The feeling kept the tears away, leaving just a cold hard tightness. ‘Hugh, shut up. And you didn’t see anything, all right? You don’t say a word to Ma or Dad or anybody. Especially Declan.’
‘But I did see it.’
‘And I saw you moving those dope plants from the back of Ma’s tomato garden last year and I never ever mentioned it. But I still can.’
‘Touché,’ he said with a wide grin, as he crunched the gears and pulled out onto the main road.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAINEY STRETCHED, HITTING her arm against the wall and giving a surprised yelp. She wriggled, feeling a weight on the bed beside her. It felt cold, not the warm bundle Rex usually was. She slowly opened her eyes. This wasn’t her bed, this wasn’t her bedroom. The cold Rex was, in fact, her coat.
She was in Dublin, in Eva and Joseph’s flat above the Ambrosia delicatessen and café. She must have been cold during the night and pulled the coat on top of her. She lay back, stretching again, stiff from the long flight, and listened to the sounds around her – the traffic two floors down on Camden Street, the faint noise of a siren, a car radio. She knelt up on the bed and peered out of the window. She was definitely in a different hemisphere. The sky outside was Irish February grey, not the blue, blazing February sun she had left behind in Melbourne a day and a half before. She opened the window and leaned out into the cold air, shivering, dragging the warm quilt up around her shoulders. The travel agent opposite was advertising cheap fares to European capitals. Down the road two men were unloading shiny silver kegs from a brewery truck, passing them down into a hole in the footpath in front of a shuttered pub. Directly below her window was a doubledecker bus, its roof damp with rain.
Draping the warm quilt over her pyjamas, Lainey came out into the living room. It was a lovely room, the walls covered in sketches and paintings, the sofa a deep green, shelves piled high with books. There were framed photographs displayed on the walls and shelves. Lainey glanced at a few of them – many of them were of her and Eva, as children and during their Dunshaughlin schooldays. They hadn’t changed drastically over the years – she was still at least a head taller than Eva, and Eva still had that gorgeous long dark hair and big beautiful smile. There were several photos from the wedding, fun, informal ones which exactly captured the mood of the day. There was a lovely one of Eva, tall, dark-eyed Joseph and herself, the three of them dressed to the nines, laughing at something. Joseph’s hair probably – despite their best efforts, his black hair had stuck up in tufts all day long. Not that Eva had minded, Lainey remembered. Her friend had just beamed with happiness all day long. She put the photo down and looked around the room again, admiring it. Eva’s uncle Ambrose, who owned the delicatessen and the building, had given them complete freedom to do what they wanted, Eva had told Lainey. ‘He’s travelling all the time these days, said he only needs the small flat upstairs to come home and recover for a week or so before he heads off again. We’ve the run of the place really.’
There was no sign of either of them. Lainey guessed that Eva was downstairs in the delicatessen and Joseph had mentioned the evening before that he had an early start at art college. After working for many years as an industrial designer in London, he was now studying jewellery design. Lainey had a quick shower, changed into a warm jumper, a long woollen skirt and boots. On her bedside table was Adam’s silver bracelet.
During the flight she had taken it from her bag, put it on, taken it off again, then finally left it on. She looked at it for a moment now, then put it on again, pushing it under her sleeve out of sight.
She came down the front stairs that led directly into the Ambrosia delicatessen and café. Eva was behind the counter, wearing a white apron over a bright-red shirt, her long dark hair pulled back in a plait. She looked up and gave Lainey a big smile. ‘Well, good morning. It’s Sleeping Beauty herself.’
Lainey pulled a face. ‘Sleeping Troll, more like it. I feel like I flew Gnome Airlines.’ She gazed around the delicatessen and café and breathed deeply. ‘You lucky, lucky girl, Eva Mary. Imagine coming into this for work every morning. It’s like Aladdin’s cave, isn’t it? All the smells and the colours. I’d live down here if I was you.’
‘I practically do sometimes. How are you feeling? Did you manage to sleep?’
‘Sleep or coma, one of the two. I didn’t even hear you get up.’ Lainey yawned. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve left my manners on the plane. Joe’s gone to college, I guess?’
‘He has, but he said to say good morning to you.’
‘When did he say that? After he’d brought you breakfast in bed after rising at dawn to skip down to the park and hand-pick a bunch of rare blooms for you?’
‘Cup of tea in bed, yes. But no flowers. Not today. That’s just at weekends. Now, what do you want for breakfast?’
‘Another ten hours sleep and a full-body massage.’
‘Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. But I can make you a huge pot of coffee. And I can pull a few strings and get you the best table in the house and even make your breakfast myself.’
Lainey looking blearily at her friend. ‘Evie, are you the cook here now as well? Oh God, did you tell me that last night and I forgot? I’m so sorry, I must be hungover as well as jetlagged.’
‘No, I only cook on special occasions. Like when my cook hasn’t arrived for the day’s work yet because it’s only eight a.m. and we don’t open until nine. And when my best friend has arrived from Australia and I want to spoil her. So what would you like? Bacon and eggs? Pancakes? Toast and a hundred different jams? An omelette made with fresh herbs? I’ve started up a little herb garden out the back. That would perk you up.’
‘You can’t cook for me. You’ll just put me to shame for the year to come, when I see what you can serve up compared to the muck my guests will be eating. Come on, grab your coat and let’s go somewhere else. My shout.’
Eva left a quick note for her assistant manager, who was due to arrive any moment. Then they walked out into the cold, crisp air, down Camden Street, past the tailor, the pottery shop, the charity shops, all still closed. Lainey breathed deeply. Dublin didn’t just look different to Melbourne, it smelt different. The air was a mixture of winter smells, fresh rain on pavements, a hint of smoke from open fires burning in nearby houses, cigarette and Guinness aromas from the pubs along the street. They hurried into the warmth of a small diner on the corner, more smells adding to the mix – warm toast, sizzling bacon, hot tea. Lainey found a table at the back, while Eva stood at the counter and ordered a full breakfast for each of them. The windows were covered with condensation. Lainey used her sleeve to rub a little porthole to look out at the crowded pavements, the double-decker buses, the newsagent opposite selling copies of the Irish Times and the Irish Independent. ‘I’m hallucinating, Evie, aren’t I?’ she said as Eva took the seat opposite, balancing two cups and a very large pot of steaming tea. ‘I’m not really sitting in a café in Dublin having breakfast with you a few hours before I take possession of a bed-and-breakfast for a year?’
‘I’m afraid you are. Are you feeling a bit weird after the flight? I’m not surprised, that journey really took it out of me as well.’
Lainey was feeling not just weird, but heavy-hearted, and she knew the flight wasn’t completely to blame. She produced a smile from somewhere. ‘Oh, I think it’s more astonishment than jetlag, to be honest. Do you know what I should have been doing today? I should have been at the new museum in Melbourne, overseeing the launch of a new exhibition, mingling with guests, checking that there was enough champagne, thinking I might go down to the beach for a late swim. That’s my real life, not this, surely?’
‘Actually, you did say something along those lines last night.’ Eva grinned. ‘In fact, you were outspoken about quite a few things last night.’
Lainey winced. ‘Oh no, was I? I was so wired after all the delays with the flights, I bet I wasn’t making any sense at all.’
‘No, you were very clear actually,’ Eva said nonchalantly as she poured their tea. ‘A little outraged about the cold. Appalled at the traffic, why didn’t we get trams like Melbourne, so much more efficient. Then you cursed your aunt a fair bit, double-cursed the insurance company for refusing to pay up, told Joe he treated me far too well and I’d turn into a spoilt brat if he wasn’t careful. Then you rang your parents, drank most of a bottle of wine, sort of collapsed on the couch and we put you to bed.’
Lainey put her head in her hands then looked up, laughing. ‘Well, they do say the secret to a long life is to speak your mind, not let anything build up.’
‘Then you’ll live to be one hundred years old at least. Actually, Lainey, you talked about lots of things last night except Adam. You very obviously didn’t talk about Adam.’
A long pause. ‘Is that right?’
‘Did you do it, then?’ Eva asked gently. ‘Break up with him?’
Lainey nodded.
‘And was he okay about it?’
Lainey dug her nails into her palms to keep the tears from welling. ‘Um, no, he wasn’t exactly okay.’ She dug the nails in harder. ‘Evie, do you mind if I don’t talk about this just yet? I still think it was the right thing to do, it’s just I was a bit surprised –’
‘How much he didn’t want it?’
Head, not heart. She had made the right decision. She surreptitiously pushed the silver bracelet further up her sleeve and spoke firmly. ‘He’ll realise it was the right thing too, once he’s back at work, flat-out busy again.’
‘And you’re still sure it was the right thing to do?’
Lainey wasn’t sure of anything in her life any more, but she needed to be. She longed to be. She sat up straight. ‘I’m sure.’
Eva looked at her for a moment, then seemed to decide this wasn’t the time to ask any more. She held up her teacup in a toast. ‘In that case then, here’s to your big adventure.’
‘Adventure?’ Lainey laughed, relieved at the change of subject. ‘What’s adventurous about making beds?’
‘All right, here’s to your big challenge.’
‘Oh yes. Will I or will I not be able to cook six dozen eggs a week?’
Eva was laughing now too. ‘Here’s to your extended holiday?’
‘It’s not a holiday either, Evie, not really. It’s not like when I was here for your wedding, that was like being trapped in some wonderful golden bubble. This is real life now.’ Her tone changed. ‘And it’s not really my country any more. It’s all different, isn’t it? Prosperous, booming, go-ahead.’
‘Lainey, that’s all just surface stuff. Nothing’s changed really, I don’t think. And you’ve come back to run a B&B, remember, not be the President. You’ll fit in again straight away. It’ll be like falling off a bike.’
‘Muddy and painful? I hope not.’
‘Anyway, you’ll be so busy chasing away guests you’ll hardly notice where you are. The time will fly, you wait and see.’
Lainey was in her hire car on the road out of Dublin just after lunchtime, in plenty of time to make her late-afternoon appointment with her aunt’s solicitor in Dunshaughlin.
As she drove, she was struck by an overwhelming feeling of being home, being within a familiar landscape. She loved the feel of Dublin, the crammed streets, the River Liffey winding through the centre, the shops packed tightly beside one another. On the surface, it was any city – people hurr
ying back to work, others out shopping, the footpaths crowded with a lively mixture of people, their umbrellas and bright winter scarves adding splashes of colour to the moving picture. The streets were crammed with modern cars, crowded buses, some packed with tourists, others with commuters, jostling with taxis and cyclists, just as they would be at home in Melbourne. But in Melbourne she wouldn’t be driving past Trinity College, or the curved Bank of Ireland building, or over the river down O’Connell Street, past familiar shops like Eason’s bookshop, Clerys department store, the GPO, a gaggle of tourists outside probably being told of its role during the 1916 Easter Rising. And her car radio in Melbourne wouldn’t have been playing the RTÉ jingles and the announcers wouldn’t have Irish accents or be having a phone-in on the latest clashes between Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael, the two main political parties. ‘I’m in Ireland,’ she said aloud. ‘This is Ireland. I’m home.’ Saying it aloud helped make it real.
As she left the city centre she passed suburban streets lined with rows of identical terrace houses, many with little porches out the front as protection against the wind and rain. She drove past little pockets of shops and pubs, the signage on many of them new but the lettering raised and ornate, in the old-fashioned style. A new highway took her past the sprawling outer suburbs, past large shopping centres and new housing estates. Soon there were fields, each a different shade of green, stretching out either side of the road, their colours softened by the mist, the trees bare but beautiful in the gentle light. Everything was vivid to her, the green road signs, showing their destinations in Irish and English. The cars on the road boasted their Irishness too, their number plates advertising which county of Ireland the drivers were from, D for Dublin, C for Cork, G for Galway. She tried running through the 32 counties of Ireland in her head and was embarrassed to find she got stuck about three-quarters of the way through. A scandalous state of affairs, she thought. She’d have to fix that as soon as she could. Buy an ‘Ireland for Beginners and Returned Emigrants’ guidebook perhaps.
Spin the Bottle Page 8
