‘The owners have spent a few bob on it, I’d say.’
‘It certainly looks well loved,’ she agreed. ‘Could you give me a moment?’
‘Take all the time you want, love,’ the driver said, turning off the engine.
Kathleen released her seatbelt and eased herself out of the car. She was stiff from all the travelling. Inhaling deeply, she was holding back tears.
The once black door was now a cheerful shade of cornflower blue. The brass fixings were polished to a gleaming shine, and the woodwork around the window frames was flawless.
Wooden boxes were filled to spilling point with delicate blooms in varied shades of pink. The railings were expertly painted without a sign of rust. The granite steps were scrubbed, showing none of the dirt she remembered from her childhood. Memories of days at the beach, trips to the town and cold winter winds echoed through the corridors of her mind.
Afraid she’d get caught snooping and ruin her chance of being allowed inside, Kathleen pulled the letter she’d written on the plane from her handbag. Under her signature, she added the name of the hotel she was planning to stay at and popped it into the iron post-box attached to the gate. Saying a quick prayer, she hoped with all her heart that the owners would be welcoming.
‘Is that it?’ the driver asked, looking surprised. ‘I thought I’d have time for a quick nod-off.’
‘I don’t want to appear too pushy,’ she said. ‘I’m terrified of being told to go away.’
‘If they’re any way decent, the owners will invite you in,’ he assured her.
Kathleen stared at the square as they drove around the park and out the other side. She rattled her brain to remember the neighbours’ names. ‘Mrs Caddy lived in number eight,’ she recalled. ‘She hated children and we called her Mrs Crabby behind her back.’
‘We all knew someone like that as children!’ The driver laughed. ‘You’d wonder why they were so cranky. I’d never bark at a small child now that I’m an adult, would you?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t,’ she agreed. Although she was reluctant to leave Cashel Square, Kathleen was truly worn out. Jet-lag and exhaustion crept over her, making her eyes burn and her limbs long to stretch out.
Mercifully the Caracove Arms had a room available. True to his word, the driver spoke to his friend and made sure she was welcomed with open arms.
‘Thank you for being so lovely,’ Kathleen said, handing him the fare with a generous tip.
‘The pleasure is all mine. Great to meet you and I hope you have a fantastic stay.’
Not up to facing a table for one, Kathleen ordered a portion of Irish stew and a glass of cold milk to be served in her room. She managed to stay awake long enough for the meal to be delivered. The lamb was cooked to perfection. Knowing she shouldn’t give in to sleep until that evening if she were to overcome the jet-lag, she perched in an armchair and tried to watch the television. She toyed with the idea of turning her cell phone off and decided against it on the off-chance that her letter might prompt a response. Before long her head slumped forward as sleep enveloped her.
Dear Diary
I’ve been having – hash-tag – THE worst time. I know it’s her job but my Mum is like so so so so *multiplied by a trillion times* ANNOYING.
All she cares about is study. She’s acting as if my exams are more important than world hunger.
These exams are a total waste of space. They’re not my school-leaving ones, just lame end-of-year joke stuff. The real deal is a whole year away. I keep pointing this out to my mother but she’s on this mega-rant and once she gets started it’s blah, blah and triple blah. They’re totally meh, which roughly translates as who gives a toss?
At times like this, I wish I had a brother or sister to take the heat off. At least if there was someone else in the house I could sound off at them.
(a) That would mean I didn’t have to write this diary.
(b) I could blame him/her for everything.
It’s not all bad news, however. In spite of my mother I’m managing to distract myself in these times of stress. I’ve met this guy. He’s called Elton (named after his mum’s fave singer – he can totally handle it) and I can safely say he is a total mint-bomb.
When I first met him I thought he was a bit out there. You know the type, bit of a deep thinker and comes out with loads of random stuff that makes you, like, huh? But once you get to know him, he’s just the bomb.
He says we connected. I totally feel it too.
There’s one slight hitch in heaven. He’s dating this girl Jenny. She’s in the year ahead of me in school and she’s totally wrapped up in him. She’s one of those foghorn types so the whole school knows she’s his GF.
He says she was fun for a while but she’s been buried in books for weeks and refuses to go out. He’s so over her.
I feel bad that he’s dumping her for me. But all’s fair in love and war, right?!
I’d say she’s going to be devastated. I mean, I would be if he was dumping me. But Elton says there’s no time to stand and stare in this life, we’ve got to roll with the punches.
We kissed last night. Elton ended up with my chewing gum in his mouth. He pulled his hand through his hair, said, ‘Thanks for the gum, doll,’ and walked off. Slick.
He’s texting me when the deed is done and we’re hooking up.
I was going to wear my cropped Abercrombie trakkie bottoms with a tight vest. But I’m not sure Elton is a labels type of guy. He’s not grungy but he’s all about saving the whale and world peace and carbon footprints. So he may not appreciate me rocking up in gear festooned with names. He had a rant at one of the guys about his DKNY shirt. Said it’s free advertising on behalf of the label. I never thought of it like that. Elton’s so deep.
Other proposed outfit is yellow baby-doll dress with All Stars. Guys go for the super-cute look, don’t they? Even if he’s saving the planet he’d prefer to do it with a good-looking girlfriend, surely. I found a fiver in Mum’s raincoat pocket yesterday. As it was left there I figured she wouldn’t need it so I’m going to buy fake tan. I’ll be rocking the mahogany look.
Tomorrow is going to be über-sick. #excited
Later
Amélie
Perfect Wives Page 39
