Take a Look At Me Now

by Anita Notaro

  Dave looked around and signalled a waiter with a click of his fingers. He noticed several people glancing in their direction.

  ‘What white wines do you have by the glass?’ he asked and then couldn’t understand a word the Polish waiter said.

  ‘Chablis?’ he asked hopefully and the waiter nodded and disappeared.

  ‘So, tell me, how are you?’ he asked as he settled back in his chair to get a better look at her.

  ‘Good, thanks. I was in town for a meeting with my solicitor, and I thought this would be a handy place for us to meet.’ She thanked the waiter and took a sip of the wine.

  ‘Great, yeah. I come here all the time, actually.’

  ‘Do you? It’s very posh, isn’t it? They took my car keys at the entrance and offered to bring it around when I was leaving. How American is that?’

  ‘Well, they, eh, sort of know me here.’ Dave shrugged. ‘I mentioned that I was meeting you so that might have had something to do with it.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’m impressed.’ They chatted for a while and Dave’s hopes were dashed again when all she wanted to talk about was a quote for some work she was doing on the salon. Still, he reasoned with himself as he headed for his local an hour and a half later, it was better than nothing. He’d offered to call down and give her a quote, and maybe working closely with her would move things on between them. He’d already decided that he wanted more than an odd night here and there with Lily. As he waited for his pint he fantasized about explaining to Marie that he had to leave, how neither of them had intended it to happen but they’d fallen in love. Dave and Lily, it had a nice ring.

  ‘How’ya?’ Kylie interrupted his daydream.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he said as she sidled on to the next barstool.

  ‘Did ye get my texts?’

  ‘Oh yeah, been busy all day. I’ve just come from a meeting in the Clearview Hotel, actually.’

  ‘Very snazzy.’ She eyed him up. ‘You look bleedin’ great. Smell all right too,’ she told him. ‘Want to buy me a drink?’

  ‘Actually, I’m only having the one . . . but yes, of course.’

  ‘So am I. Double vodka and Coke, Damien. I’m parched.’ She winked at the barman who gave a thumbs-up to Dave.

  Christ, Dave thought, Damien was right. She’s dog rough. He didn’t want to offend her though, so he made small talk for ages and listened to her innuendos and gave as good as he got, all the while thinking of Lily and how she’d rubbed up against him as they’d prepared to go.

  ‘I’d better head,’ he told Kylie as he drained his glass twenty minutes later. ‘I’ll see you around, yeah.’

  ‘Want to give me a lift home, like last night?’ She had unbuttoned her jacket to reveal her huge breasts only partially hidden by a red, shiny top with black lace edging that looked way too tight for her.

  Why not, he thought now, deciding that this time they’d go to a quieter spot he knew. He’d quite like to get her on the back seat on all fours, he decided. This time he’d show her who was boss, all in a playful fashion, of course. Dave was not a man to be rough with women.

  ‘Nite, Dave.’ The barman’s grin was very broad as Dave picked up his keys. Hell, he thought, it’s a far cry from walking upstairs in the hotel with Lily the way I imagined, but what the heck, my gearstick is throbbing.

  Kylie put her hand on his crotch as soon as she’d closed the car door. ‘Where to, big boy?’ She grinned, feeling his cock.

  ‘Wait and see.’ Dave drove past her estate around the corner to a small wooded area and pulled in facing a wall. It was pitch black.

  ‘Now, you bold girl, you’ve given me a hard-on and I am going to have to make you pay.’ He got out, opened her door and pulled her out, then opened the back door and helped her inside. ‘Bend over, you naughty hussie,’ he instructed, shoving her black Lycra skirt up around her waist.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ She laughed and turned to show him her breasts, now on full view below her T-shirt, which she’d yanked up.

  Dave reached over and got on top of her, pulling down her knickers. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He leaned back and tried to breathe.

  ‘Give it to me, big boy’ was the last thing he heard.

  30

  LILY

  FOR SOMEONE WHO’D spent most of her adult years plodding along, avoiding decisions and happy to be led, it was a radical departure. I’d never realized there was such a high to be had from taking control. I wondered how many days – weeks even – I’d wasted sitting around watching TV, waiting for Alison to tell me what we were going to do next. Since Charlie had arrived and Sally had moved away, I’d even given up partying the way I used to. My life became one long round of reality shows and Maltesers. I’d taken the term couch potato to a whole new level. Now, I was buzzing. The café had taken shape, in the space of a few weeks. All the hard graft and relentless haggling had kept my mind occupied as well, which had helped me enormously.

  It was a beautiful space, I decided as the cleaners buzzed around me, plenty of natural light and much roomier than I’d first imagined. Maureen Stanley had done a great job with the design. There was lots of wood, polished to look like chocolate, and a wonderful granite counter top that resembled broken biscuits. The chairs were so comfortable they made you want to sit and relax, and instead of flowers there were tiny pots of growing herbs on each table and window boxes on the inside low ledges, full of tomatoes and chillies, all thriving – for the moment, at least – and enjoying the south-facing aspect.

  But it was the food I was most excited about. Orla, Sally and I had spent hours on the phone over the past few weeks, and emailing recipes or faxing articles from magazines. I was up to my neck in the latest food trends, most of which I was determined to ignore. Orla had come over twice: flying visits, mind you, but her presence had helped me hugely and it was her idea to go for what she called ‘home-baking colours’ – caramels and creams with splashes of raspberry on the herb pots. She and Maureen got on like a house on fire and Sally was constantly wailing because she couldn’t be here.

  No drug I’d experimented with had ever given me this kind of buzz. Champagne didn’t even come close, I decided as I stood in the middle of the café on the day of the launch – having had only four hours’ sleep – and revelled in it all as if I’d built it myself, brick by brick. It was called The Confident Kitchen, a play on the title of the book I’d so much enjoyed. Richard had scoffed at my ingenuity but I’d laughed at his sarcasm. Aunt Milly had suggested Cheeky Charlie’s, after the boy who tugged at my heartstrings every time I heard his voice on the phone, especially with the cute Cork accent he was rapidly acquiring. Sally had emailed from Sydney to suggest Serious about Food, which I’d discarded on the basis that she must have been either drunk or stoned or both when she thought of it. The locals had already named it the Con Shop.

  ‘This café is based on being confident about what we serve instead of being dictated to by trends,’ I told anyone who asked, and the Wicklow People even picked up on it and requested an interview with me. I nearly had a heart attack when they rang, but only after I’d convinced myself it wasn’t someone I knew pretending to be a reporter. Sally thought it was all a hoot.

  ‘Morning, chef.’ I turned to find Orla beaming in the doorway.

  ‘Oh my God, you made it.’ I still couldn’t believe she was here.

  ‘Of course I did. Didn’t we speak on the phone last night from my mother’s?’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’ I crossed the floor in double-quick time.

  She produced a big bunch of flowers. ‘Lilies for Lily.’ It was her customary declaration – on even the most piddling occasion – and I loved her for it.

  ‘Idiot!’ I hugged her and she smelt of yeast. ‘Am I glad you’re here,’ I told her, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Can you believe it? I’m so excited that I’m afraid for what little sanity I have left.’ I pinched her and she yelped. ‘Are you really here – home, I mean? For good?’

 
‘As long as you’ll have me, boss.’ Her eyes darted around. ‘God, it looks brilliant. Even though it’s only two weeks since I’ve seen it it’s changed so much.’ She did a little dance. ‘And I’m warning you, Sally is saving like mad. She doesn’t like the thought of the two of us being in this without her. Jealous bitch,’ she said mischievously.

  ‘I meant to email her earlier, just to let her know we’re missing her.’ I grinned. ‘Although we did talk briefly a couple of times yesterday. Anyway, I’ll ring her tonight with all the gossip.’

  ‘She’d love that, she’s dying to know how it goes. Come on, show me around, quick.’ Orla was excited.

  ‘Let’s grab a coffee.’ I moved over to the machine. ‘I want you to try it anyway ’cause I’m no expert. Then I’ll give you the grand tour, so you can see all the finishing touches. Should take fifteen seconds, twenty if you need to pee.’

  ‘Listen, babe, I’m impressed already. Even from the outside it looks different from anything else on the street. And you’ve added loads of little personal touches since last time, I can see that already.’ She glanced around. ‘I like the signs.’

  ‘Thanks. Maureen found a local artist only last week and he did them for me. I wanted them incorporated into the tiles.’

  ‘All of our poultry is free-range and local,’ she read. ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Tell us if you have any food allergy and we’ll prepare your meal in a separate area of the kitchen,’ she quoted as I handed her a coffee. ‘That could be a lot of trouble,’ she warned. ‘And it’s not really practical.’

  ‘I know, but we can just about do it. I’ll show you in a sec. Besides, it’s important. I’ve done my research. Apparently, it rarely happens but it’s very reassuring to people, especially those who have children with nut allergies, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I like this one.’ She was smiling at a sign that said ‘This week’s main supplier of fruit and vegetables is . . .’ It was a tile that looked like a picture frame. Underneath there was a photo of a bunch of nuns holding carrots and massive marrows. ‘Someone should tell the farmers of Wicklow that they shouldn’t expose the general public to their cross-dressing fetishes,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘The local nuns are the best farmers for miles around,’ I told her. ‘Wait till you see their farm shop. I was very excited the day I found them.’

  ‘That is seriously anal,’ Orla teased. ‘So, show me the rest of the changes then put me to work.’

  ‘I have to bring you over to your new flat after we’re done here,’ I reminded her. ‘Christ, even the mention of the word flat makes me realize how much work I’ve still to do sorting things out in Dublin.’

  ‘Are you OK? You’ve a lot on.’ She looked worried.

  ‘Yeah, just logistically it’s tough at the moment: flat in Dublin, flat and shop here, Charlie in Cork.’ I sighed. ‘But your flat, madam, is gorgeous.’ I’d only found it the day before, which was cutting it fine. ‘You’re going to love it.’

  She screamed. It was a jagged sound, like those electric shocks that cartoon characters get. I’d forgotten that one annoying habit of hers. Still, today it seemed perfectly normal so I joined in and we danced around, which is what we were at when Violet and her friend Naomi – new recruit – arrived.

  The day was as demanding as a newborn baby after that. Orla settled in quickly, which was great, and she really did seem to love the flat in a converted stable block on the Marlton Road, fifteen minutes’ walk from the café. In the afternoon she set to work on the food for the party that evening. I’d made all the breads the night before and left them ready for the ovens. We were doing a variety of seafood from nearby Kilmore Quay in Wexford as well as homemade bangers and mash, and there was a big beef and Guinness casserole simmering on the stove. For dessert a local woman had made the most divine rhubarb crumble. She was to be one of our regular suppliers and offered to call in today with a big jug of her ‘proper’ custard, brimming with organic eggs and ‘cream from grass-fed cows’. We also had a drizzled lemon cake – my speciality – with a tangy icing, to be served warm and runny with homemade vanilla crème anglaise. Orla was impressed with how organized it all was. ‘Hardly any need for me.’ She grinned and I swatted her with a slotted spoon.

  ‘Get outta here, I just wanted to ease you in.’ I laughed and we worked in the comfortable silence of friends who know each other’s ways. ‘Anyway, as you and Sally keep telling me, I’m not a chef.’

  ‘Only joking, chef.’

  ‘No, I’m a cook, self-taught. From tomorrow you’re the boss in the kitchen,’ I warned her.

  ‘So, what are you wearing tonight?’ Orla asked as she made a tempura batter with ice-cold sparkling mineral water and munched some of the vegetables waiting patiently to be coated.

  ‘I bought an amazing dress. It’s sort of, I dunno, all colours really.’

  ‘You, in a dress?’

  ‘Yeah, gas, isn’t it? Who’d have thought it, eh? Still, you can take the girl out of the tomboy but you can’t—’

  ‘You look great at the moment, actually. I noticed it the minute I arrived.’ She was watching me. ‘I expected you to be . . .’

  ‘In tatters?’

  ‘I was going to say in mourning . . . I know,’ she held up her hand as I was about to interject, ‘you are still in mourning but, well, you’ve changed these last few weeks. Last time I was over you were, I dunno, haunted-looking but now you’re blooming and I’m delighted. I know how difficult it’s been.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I felt the memories creep up my back. ‘But having Charlie’s kept me going,’ I told her. ‘He’ll be moving up any day, as soon as I find a house. I can’t wait. And having this,’ I looked around with delight, ‘has been my saviour, actually.’ I smiled at my old friend. ‘All the hard work’s meant I’d no time to think. Now, well, it’s a dream come true.’ As I said it I felt a wave of guilt wash over me as I remembered that it had taken my sister’s death to fulfil this particular dream.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around much at the time.’ Orla picked at her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘What with Mum ill and the job and everything . . .’

  ‘I know.’ I went over and hugged her. ‘Your phone calls helped – a lot – and you came when I really needed you. Having you here for the funeral saved my life.’ I shrugged. ‘It was just bad luck that my two closest friends were living out of the country at the time. But even the few short trips you made during the planning stage here helped me loads.’

  ‘By the way, Sally says I’m to make you talk to me.’

  ‘About what?’ I was wary.

  ‘She wouldn’t say. But she said you’d know.’

  ‘Don’t mind her, she’s barking.’

  ‘She is. Still, losing Ali like that . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘That’s one of the hardest things. No time to say all you should have said in the past to someone you love, and no future to make up for lost opportunities . . .’ It was out before I realized it.

  ‘Yeah . . . I can imagine,’ she said quietly. ‘And Lily, I won’t put any pressure on but you know where I am . . .’

  ‘Yes, right here in my kitchen.’ I couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘Or in my new flat a few minutes down the road.’ She came over and danced me round the room again and we laughed about it all.

  As we worked in comfortable silence I thought more about what she’d said. Actually, there wasn’t that much to tell her. Progress was slow. I’d had a message from William inviting me to Paris for the weekend. I’d no idea what that was about. Judging by his voice, he was on the weirdest master-of-the-universe trip at the time. There was a missed call from him as well. I was astounded by his cheek. Just a day or two after I’d met his wife he was casually inviting me to Paris to ‘savour the culinary delights of the most romantic city in the world’, according to his message. Yeah, right, mister.

  Dave was a bit of a mystery at the moment. After our meeting in the hotel when he’d practi
cally thrown himself on top of me, I hadn’t heard any more from him. He was supposed to come down to look at the shop conversion and even though I’d left a few voice messages and sent him a text, he’d never responded. Maybe he was sulking, I thought, which was a bit uncharitable of me. Still, it was odd. He’d been all over me like a rash last time I saw him.

  James sent me a text saying simply I’ve told Tamsin about us. That had made me very uneasy for a while, but then I realized there was no ‘us’. He was referring to him and Alison, and really, at the end of the day, it had nothing to do with me. I was a bit surprised not to have heard anything further, but then I’d been too busy to give it much thought.

  Richard was my only success story in that department to date, after the near-disaster that night in the flat. He’d called the next morning, all fidgety and with darting eyes. I was very businesslike and told him I valued the tenuous friendship I believed we had struck up – which was true. Then I threw myself on his mercy and asked for his help. He was as generous as I’d first found him to be and, as a large portion of my happy-ever-after fantasy had deflated once I knew he couldn’t have been Charlie’s father, this seemed to work. So we decided – without talking about it – to become mates. This mostly involved him helping me sort out the café and me buying him the occasional pint in order to pick his brains even further. So far so good.

  Later that afternoon I went all out and got my hair blow-dried and Violet did my make-up. It was so late by then that I threw on my dress and went to check on all the last-minute details downstairs.

  The place was magical in the half-dark of a November afternoon. The darkness was something else I was looking forward to in the country. It was solid, no street lamps or car lights to break up the inkiness once you got off the main roads.

  I adjusted the wall lights several times and lit the candles. It looked perfect: in fact it would have been, if only my sister had been there to share it all. I had a lump the size of a gobstopper in my throat as I thought how proud she would have been, so I walked outside quickly in my flimsy dress and never felt the bite of the wind as I surveyed my kingdom from the opposite side of the road. Crossing back again I was bathed in a shaft of pale pink light that seemed to fill the entire street during the blue hour of that particular mid-winter afternoon.