‘Right,’ I said, feeling a mixture of pride and embarrassment; it was like I had been chosen, like I’d been given a red rose on The Bachelor.
‘Do you have a minute? I can run through what we need from you,’ she purred.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ I shouted at her, way too loud. ‘You’re sure – I mean, I know you said . . . but you’re sure you want me?’ I had just royally failed every negotiation skill test and put a dramatic X through chapter five of my college business manual, titled ‘How to win new contracts’. I had shown all my hand, displayed every weakness and didn’t even consider playing hard to get. I probably would have agreed to do the job for no money because I was in such a state of shock.
‘Freya, we’re on the same team. We’re big fans.’ Her voice sounded smooth and velvety. ‘You’re on the up, Freya, and we want a piece of it.’ She spun around and started to strut along the corridor, very feline like. ‘Come on.’
I followed like an obedient stray.
She pushed a door open, and a surge of warm air and a light lavender scent greeted us. ‘Now, this is the boardroom.’
It was circular, with curved floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the manicured gardens on the campus. There was a huge multi-coloured table that looked like it had been splattered with primary-coloured paint spills. High-backed chairs in an array of complementary colours were tucked against it. It was a beautiful room, corporate yet friendly, professional but inviting.
‘Do you think I could take some photographs, so I can get the colours and dimensions right when I start planning displays?’
‘Go for it, Freya. Obviously everything you see or hear here is confidential and you will sign a non-disclosure agreement, but we know we are in safe hands with you, as are you with us.’ She looked at me like a mother watching her child win the egg and spoon race – absolute pride. Honestly, it was a bit creepy. I felt my throat go a little dry and scratchy.
Her confidence in me was mind blowing.
We spent the next twenty minutes touring the floor and the reception area. Anna pointed out the areas where they liked the flowers to be and explained delivery times. I snapped photographs and made mental notes of colours and designs that immediately sprang to mind. I was a sparkly disco ball, spinning around, dizzy with excitement. Anna placed a hand on my shoulder, possibly to bring me back down to earth.
‘I assume you want the job?’
‘Of course.’ I nodded, unsure of what to say next, but all I could think was, why me? Yes, I might be – what had she said? On the up, in some circles, some small boutique wedding circles, but I definitely wasn’t up yet, and I definitely wasn’t a corporate-style florist. I could do it, though, I was sure I could do it. It just wasn’t the type of thing I had done before. And it was out of nowhere. I hadn’t even attempted to get a job like this, I would never have put myself forward for something like this. This was a huge and unexpected opportunity.
This was a lucky break.
11
O’Brien’s was the kind of pub that demanded a reverential hush. It would have been unseemly to raise your voice, untoward to rowdily smash glasses against each other, and singsongs were not encouraged. But it was acceptable, in fact it was recommended, to get fall-down drunk on nine pints of Guinness; it just had to be done in a gentlemanly fashion. You know, the way you might see a man buttoning his jacket and straightening his tie as he held onto the wall to walk? That was O’Brien’s, Granddad’s favourite pub. It was dark and a little bit dreary, the bar was a deep mahogany, and the carpet was at least eighty years old – you could still spot the Guinness stains from the civil war. Branded mirrors from long defunct drinks companies lined the walls. There was an open fire that crackled and spat and exuded a deep smell of turf, a dartboard and back-breaking seats. It was a great little spot.
Granddad was already propped on his stool at the bar, the stool that he had been sitting on for the last thirty years, hunched over a pint, when Mason and I walked in. I planted a kiss on his cheek and he shook Mason’s hand. We sat on either side of him and he shouted at the barman and waved two fingers.
‘Just a mineral water for me,’ Mason protested.
I flinched. Please don’t do this, Mason.
‘Mason, just have a pint, it’s not a big deal,’ I pleaded, watching Granddad stiffen in disdain beside me.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve got the gym in the morning.’
I wanted to shake him. It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t Irish how offensive it is to turn down a drink in a pub. Alarm bells must go off in government buildings. This fella is peculiar, he’s no fun, what’s wrong with him? Jesus. Obviously it’s fine not to drink, but the secret is to accept the drink, and then just let it sit there and don’t drink it, or sip it slowly. Everyone will calm down once there’s a round in, but without one, there’s a fear that the sober person won’t get into the conversation, and no one will be able to relax. Mason had been in Ireland for four years, he knew the drill.
‘You will,’ Granddad said and immediately twisted his head away from him, putting a firm stop to any protests.
We watched as three full Guinnesses came to rest in front of us, the creamy heads and the black stuff whipped up and starting to separate. This was a time of hush, equivalent to the transubstantiation in Mass; nod your head and reflect. We waited for Granddad to wrap his hand around a glass, and then we followed. He held his pint in the air.
‘Congratulations to the two of you and to the wedding. Cheers.’
We clicked our glasses together and took our first sip. I sucked my bottom lip over my top to mop up my Guinness moustache. Delicious.
‘So how have you been, Granddad?’ Mason spoke slowly and loudly, deliberately over-enunciating his words, as if Granddad didn’t have any hearing or wits.
‘Just fine, Mason, and you?’ Granddad replied equally slowly and loudly.
Mason didn’t get the joke. ‘Just great, excited, you know, the wedding and everything. Did you hear Freya picked up a huge contract to do the flowers at BBest?’
Granddad swung back to me and shifted a little uncomfortably on his stool.
‘I did!’ I said. ‘Out of nowhere, nothing to do with Mason. I was approached by a director there. It’s great news. More reasons to celebrate, hey?’ I raised my glass again happily.
‘A bit strange that they found you out of nowhere,’ Granddad said, voicing his suspicions.
I shrugged, and leaned over to clink his glass. ‘They have my profile, I rank well.’
Mason’s phone rang, and he looked down at it and immediately stood up, putting it to his ear. He started to walk out the door, then looked over to us. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to take this, it’s work.’
I nodded and wriggled out of my navy blazer, swinging it over the back of my seat. Granddad surveyed my navy and white blouse.
‘Whatever happened to those green jumpers you used to wear?’
‘When I was eleven? And all the kids in school used to call me Freya the frog?’ I laughed at him, astounded by his memory.
‘Yeah, they were great jumpers. You still wore them, even though the other kids called you that. You didn’t care, you wanted to wear them, so you did.’ He leaned back on his seat and looked at me. ‘You were a hoot. You used to play with the boys’ toys, the action men, not the Barbies.’
‘Is this a trip down memory lane? Will I get out the violins?’ I took a big mouthful of Guinness.
‘You were all about the environment at one point. You called into the neighbours’ houses and made sure they were recycling. You did what you wanted to do and to hell with the consequences.’ He slapped his hand on the bar to emphasise his point.
‘I always think I sounded like an annoying child.’
‘No. You were independent and strong. It was your way or the highway.’
‘That was then,’ I said in a singsong voice.
‘Are you really going to marry that guy?’ Granddad asked, typically direct
. If anyone else had asked me that I would have turned into a prickly defensive cactus, but with Granddad I softened.
I nodded gravely. ‘He’s really good for me. He’s together.’
‘So are you.’
‘I’m not, not really.’
‘Hey, nobody puts my granddaughter down.’
I smiled and we sat in silence for a heartbeat.
‘How does he make you feel? In here.’ He touched his chest.
‘Good,’ I said, smiling.
‘Good?’ Granddad almost fell off his stool. ‘Good? No. No. No. That’s not what I asked. In here?’ His hand hovered over his heart. ‘Does he feel like you’ve come home?’
‘I suppose,’ I said. ‘I mean, Granddad, it’s not all fireworks for everyone all the time, it’s not like it was for you and Granny. Times are different.’
‘Love is the same,’ he interrupted. ‘Times don’t change that connection, that feeling when two souls finally find each other. A hundred years ago and a hundred years from now, it’ll be the same. Love is one of the only truths in this world.’
I grinned at him. ‘You are such a romantic, I could listen to you all day.’
‘I’m just a soppy old man who wants his granddaughter to be happy,’ he said into his pint.
‘I am happy. And I am with the best possible man for me.’ I paused, unsure whether or not to continue. ‘We’re a ninety- three per cent match, Granddad. It’s all there, everything we need is there.’
He exhaled an angry groan and I shook my head at him, hoping to put an end to this conversation.
We stayed quiet for a minute or two, watching Tony the barman work the bar. He played the beer taps like a musical instrument.
‘Cat and Jay are going to swing in for a drink, they wanted to say hello.’ I knew this would brighten Granddad up. He loved the two of them: Jay talked books and Cat flirted with him.
He tilted his head inquisitively. ‘Jay still playing those games?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll get Tony to put some pints on for them.’ He shouted down the bar and Tony nodded in full understanding. As if on cue, Cat flung the pub door open and marched up to the bar wearing a red trench coat that somehow made her look like a superhero. Jay followed her.
‘I knew you’d be sitting here, I just knew it.’ Cat held her hands up to the side of her face. ‘I swear I could be psychic.’
‘That and the fact that we just banged into Mason outside, who told us you were here.’ Jay peeled off his jacket, then held out his hand to Granddad. ‘How’s tricks, Maurice? Still wheeling and dealing?’
‘Me? Never?’ Granddad shook his shoulders in mock horror.
‘Good man, you got the pints in.’ Jay sat down in Mason’s chair and grabbed a Guinness. ‘Here’s cheers.’
Delighted, Granddad raised his pint and took a long, languid sip. Cat scooted over and joined me on the far side of the bar.
‘I heard about the BBest contract,’ she squealed quietly, and gave me a tight bear hug.
‘It’s the best news.’
Cat is always genuinely happy for me, she’s the type of friend who would definitely catch me under the arms during one of those team-building exercises. Unless somebody waved some chocolate under her nose, then it would be fifty-fifty.
Granddad passed her pint along the bar.
‘Thank you, Maurice, you always know how to look after a lady.’ She grinned at him. ‘Such a gent,’ she whispered to me. ‘Now, I have a little gift for you.’ She was levitating off her seat with excitement.
‘For me? Why?’
‘Well, it’s not a gift gift, I didn’t have to pay for it, but I know you are the one person who wanted this more than anything.’ She reached into her handbag.
‘Okay, I think. Thank you.’
She thrust a plastic bag at me. Cautiously, in case it might explode or walk away, I peeped inside.
‘No! You didn’t?’ A Waist Watch – the newest and most exciting BBest product on the market. I was speechless.
‘It’s one of the launch models. They couldn’t resell it because it had been taken out of its box, so I hopped on it.’
I took the device out, holding it delicately, like it might break in my hands.
‘Here, look.’ Cat stretched across and activated the screen. ‘Through your skin and sweat, it gives you a breakdown of your bloods, sugars, vitamins. What you’re missing, what your body needs.’
‘It’s incredible.’
‘The launch was amazing.’ Cat still looked a little awestruck at the memory. ‘RealTime is going to revolutionise the health industry.’
The watch bleeped and I jumped off my seat. ‘I’ll have to play around with it a bit.’
Cat flashed her wrist at me, displaying her own Waist Watch. ‘We can swap notes.’
Mason came back in and grabbed a stool beside Cat, giving her a light peck on the cheek, and then moved in to admire my watch.
‘It’s got this really cool sleep function too.’ He started to push some buttons. ‘It can monitor what you need.’
‘Thank you, Cat.’ I felt a bit overwhelmed.
She grinned. ‘Let’s call it an engagement present.’
‘Where’s mine then?’ Mason piped up. ‘Only joking, I have one on order.’ And then in a quieter voice he said to me, ‘I’ve just been landed a big presentation for tomorrow, I might finish this drink off and go home early.’
‘Okay, will I go with you?’ I asked, like the dutiful bride-to-be might ask, but I thought, Please say no, I want to get drunk with Granddad and my friends. Intergenerational drinking – it was great.
‘No, it’s fine.’
Yes!
‘Another round,’ I heard Granddad shout at Tony. I had a feeling he was settling in for a big night, which was fine by me. I could load up on Guinness tonight and sync up my watch in the morning, a vision of sobriety and propriety.
12
The next day I was sitting with Mam as she was speedily swiping through pictures. Men were flashing in front of my eyes faster than the speed of sound. She tutted and shook her head. We were going through her dating options in her kitchen. Country cottage-style pine, with a colourful collection of porcelain tea cups and milk jugs hanging from hooks adorning the walls. The well-worn kitchen table that had seen every family meal was the imposing centrepiece of the room. The room was, as always, warm and inviting; there was a rosy glow to the light, an almost pinky hue. I had done my morning’s work and was on a twenty-minute break. We were sipping tea and enjoying some chocolate biscuits. So far that day there had been no sightings of Richard.
‘Slow down, he looks okay.’
‘With the fish?’ She looked at me like I was demented, as if she didn’t even recognise the person she gave birth to twenty-eight years ago.
‘Maybe?’ I said, sounding decidedly less assured than I’d have liked it to.
‘Even the fish is saying don’t bother.’ She enlarged the picture to focus on the fish’s dead glistening eye looking humourlessly back at us. ‘I won’t, fish, I won’t waste my time on him,’ she spoke directly to the fish, making me laugh. ‘I ask you, why oh why would you wave a fish around on a dating profile? As if that’s going to make me want to meet him, like the fact he can catch a fish somehow symbolises his masculinity. It’s not just him, a lot of them are at it, it seems to be a trend with the over-fifties, that and standing beside cars. I don’t know which is worse. It beggars belief, really.’
‘Well, maybe, I don’t know . . . What would you rather see?’
‘Bank details.’ She erupted into peals of laughter.
‘They’re only trying to put their best foot forward. It’s not like you’re completely honest with your pictures anyway. Your shots are very glamorous, Mam.’ I looked at her in her yoga pants, her hair pulled back in a tight bun and last night’s mascara still pressed under her eyes, sucking the orange bit out of a Jaffa cake.
She looked far more attractive in the pictures than
she did in real life. One photo was a head and shoulders shot that showed just a hint of cleavage. She was lightly tanned, having just returned from a holiday in Spain, her large blue eyes sparkling and her teeth so perfectly white and straight they almost resembled dentures. It was an undeniably attractive shot, and yes, she was attractive but not that attractive.
‘I can scrub up well. Anyway, I haven’t had any complaints.’ She had that look about her, as though if I asked even one question, she would launch into a list of her recent sexual exploits. She could get graphic, and I would need a lot of alcohol to get through it. I said nothing and intently studied the screen in front of me.
‘I might contact him.’ On screen was a short clip of a very fit-looking guy doing sit-ups with no shirt on. He might be forty at a stretch, which was a good fifteen years younger than Mam.
I stifled a grin. ‘He looks like he has a really large bank account. Why don’t you go for your BBest matches?’
She paused, about to speak, but I got in first.
‘I bet I know why: it’s because there is no way a shirtless, inappropriate man is your BBest match.’
‘I just want to have some fun.’
‘Nothing wrong with that, Mam.’
She tapped away on her phone, and looked up joyfully. ‘There, done. I wrote, “Looking for a new workout partner?”’
I slapped my hand to my forehead. ‘Oh Mam, that’s all wrong, he’s probably a personal trainer or something.’
‘It’s a dating app, Freya, he’ll get the innuendo, I hope.’ She furrowed her brow and stared at her screen, confused. ‘Unless he’s one of those meathead types with all his brains in his pants.’
‘Mam, seriously!’
‘Anyway, what about you, darling? I have a whole stack of wedding magazines for us to go through. I’ve marked up some stunning dresses for you and a few mother of the bride outfits that look nice. I want to stay away from the floral and the big hats, I’m thinking more chic and classic, you know. I haven’t asked BBest yet. I wanted to look myself first to have a bit of fun with it. I know it will pick the perfect outfit for me. Also, we should be thinking of themes for the wedding.’
Right Girl Page 8
