First We Take Manhattan

by Colette Caddle

  At least they’d agreed to the party. Sheila and Sinéad had always celebrated their birthday together and it would look odd if they just ignored the day. He thought of the bash he’d thrown them last year in Lilli’s. It had been a great night, full of family, friends and of course some important contacts, too. You were never off duty in the world of politics, and Sheila understood that.

  But Sinéad was moody and unpredictable. He was probably nuts letting her loose in public. He had been determined that Christmas would be like every other year, but perhaps he should rethink that. It was only October. Better to just concentrate on the birthday in five weeks and see how that went first. Although they had agreed for it to go ahead, none of his in-laws were keen on the idea. Was he crazy to do this? What would Sheila say? Even now he found himself thinking that on an almost daily basis. He hadn’t realised how much he depended on her.

  She remembered everyone’s name and even their kids’ names. She could remind him who had a sick partner or had been recently bereaved and as a result he could make the right sympathetic noises. It was incredible how much that meant to people. Thankfully, they made allowances for him since she’d gone; he had all the sympathy in the world – a widower at just thirty-three. But people forgot, life moved on and he would have to move with it or he would lose everything that he’d worked so hard for. His thoughts returned to Sinéad. He never knew from one day to the next how she would be with him. There had to be some way to get her back on side. What would Sheila tell him to do?

  He remembered her laughing at his nervousness the first time she took him home to meet her family. ‘Just don’t be the car salesman, Philip. Be yourself.’

  That was it. That was where he’d been going wrong. Jumping to his feet, he hurried out of his office. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Cathy,’ he told his assistant as he breezed past her desk and down the stairs onto the street. His driver looked up from his newspaper in surprise. ‘Blackrock, please, Barry. I need to see my sister-in-law.’

  ‘No problem, boss.’

  Sinéad was alone in the shop filling boxes when Philip got there. He put his finger on the buzzer and kept it there. She looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. He glared at her and, scowling, she got to her feet, dusted off her hands on the back of her jeans and came to let him in.

  ‘I’m not deaf, Philip. What are you doing here? I told you on the phone that I don’t want to invite anyone to your party.’

  She turned away, but he took her arm and swung her back to face him. ‘Not good enough, Sinéad.’

  She shook him off, her eyes angry. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question. You’ve been treating me like shit lately and I don’t deserve it. You’re not the only one grieving, Sinéad. You’re not the only one who misses Sheila.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said folding her arms, her mouth twisting into a wry smile.

  ‘Don’t mock me. I loved – love,’ he corrected himself, ‘Sheila and I hope and pray she’ll walk back through the door. In the meantime, I’m just trying to get by, okay? Just because I’m not a drunken, broken mess doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I’m sorry you think it’s a bloody sin to laugh and smile but, tough, we all deal with things in our own way. I miss Sheila every day, Sinéad, every fucking day.’

  She stared at him, obviously startled, and then she crumpled, sobbing. ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.’

  He folded his arms around her and patted her back. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I know I’m not handling this very well, I know that everyone thinks I’m wallowing in self-pity, but I just miss her so much, Philip.’

  ‘I know.’

  She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. ‘She wouldn’t kill herself, Philip. She wouldn’t do that to me – or to you,’ she added hurriedly. ‘You can’t believe she did.’

  He leaned back against the counter and massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘People do all sorts of things if they think they have no other choice.’

  ‘What do you mean, no other choice?’

  He cursed inwardly. Why the hell had he said that? ‘I’m just saying that sometimes, when people are upset or depressed, they do things on impulse that they wouldn’t do when they’re thinking rationally. But you’re right, that’s bullshit, Sheila was very rational. It had to be an accident. You know that she liked to walk when she was stressed and she always loved Sandycove.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What?’ Philip asked, seeing the doubt in her eyes. He had finally got through to her and he wasn’t going to leave until he was sure that she believed him.

  ‘It’ll sound silly.’

  ‘Try me.’

  She sighed. ‘I feel I would know in my gut if she was dead, and I don’t.’

  He stared at her, lost for words for a moment, then pulled himself together. ‘Sweetheart, I hope you’re right.’ For the first time he looked around and noticed the bare shelves. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘We’re – I’m – closing.’

  ‘What?’ Philip straightened and looked down at her. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

  ‘The truth is, Philip, I’ve let things go and business is very bad. Max has come up with a plan to dig me out and part of that plan is to close the shop.’

  Philip felt a flash of anger at this bombshell. Sheila had come home daily with reports of yet more orders pouring in. She had even been contemplating opening a shop in the centre of Dublin. He struggled to hide his feelings. ‘But where will you work from?’ he asked when what he really wanted to say was, How the hell did you manage to fuck up all of Sheila’s hard work?

  ‘We’re looking at a few options,’ she said, fidgeting with her hair. ‘There’s a lot of empty office space around these days, so it shouldn’t be a problem finding somewhere suitable and cheap.’

  Be polite, Philip, don’t lose the ground you’ve made, Philip. Count to a fucking hundred, Philip. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  She smiled, looking relieved. ‘I think Max has it all under control, but thanks.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s there if you run into any problems. And about this birthday dinner, Sinéad, if you want me to cancel it, I will. It was a lousy idea.’

  ‘No, no, really, it’s fine! I want people to remember her and talk about her.’

  He searched her eyes. ‘So, are we good?’

  ‘We’re good,’ she said and threw her arms around his neck.

  ‘Great.’ He hugged her and kissed her cheek. ‘I feel so much better now that we’ve talked, Sinéad.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said still tearful.

  He hugged her again. ‘I’d better get back to work. Talk soon.’

  Before the car had even pulled away from the kerb, he’d pulled out his mobile and dialled a number.

  ‘I was going to tell you, Philip,’ Max said, sounding weary as they sat at the bar in Buswell’s hotel, ‘I’ve just been busy trying to sort out this mess.’

  Philip nodded to a member of cabinet who’d just walked through the door with a detective. ‘And have you?’

  ‘I’m getting there. Mainly by calling the retailers who’d cancelled orders telling them that my sister basically lost the plot after Sheila disappeared and offering them more attractive terms if they give her another six months’ trial. I told the bigger accounts that we were in the process of hiring a very talented new designer to work alongside Sinéad.’

  ‘Oh, well done!’

  Max looked at him, his expression grim. ‘That’s a small fib but I have a couple of agencies working on it.’

  ‘You’re taking a bit of a chance, aren’t you?’ Philip muttered and, catching the barman’s eye, ordered another round.

  ‘Yeah but, worst-case scenario, we get someone young and enthusiastic just out of college. On the up side, Sinéad got quite a shock when she realised how bad things were. I think she’ll get things back on track.’ Max l
ooked at him. ‘What brought you out to the shop?’

  ‘I thought it was time Sinéad and I had a chat. It went well, we cleared the air and she’s even given the birthday dinner her blessing.’

  Max looked surprised at the news. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. I must get her to invite a couple of retailers. It’s a perfect opportunity to mend some fences.’

  ‘Indeed. Have you found new premises for Sinéad yet?’

  ‘No, Sinéad said she’d look after that herself.’

  Philip frowned. Sinéad had said her brother was taking care of it. What was she playing at? ‘Well, I hope it all works out. I’d love to see her get back to her old self.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Philip glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go, Max. Thanks for meeting me. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’

  ‘Will do.’ Max stood and shook his hand. ‘And thanks for being so patient with Sinéad. I know it hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘No problem.’ Philip patted his shoulder and left feeling a lot better. With both Sinéad and Max in his corner, his future felt a lot more secure.

  Sinéad sat in the café sipping an Americano and waiting for Ellen and Rory to close up. She was feeling better after the chat with Philip. Dylan was right. She’d obsessed far too much about what might have happened to Sheila, but no more. She was going to make a go of her business. She opened her pad and looked through the sketches she’d done this morning. They were fine but they were missing something. Sinéad always knew when a hat was going to work just from the drawing. She would be able to see it in her mind’s eye, imagine it on a catwalk or in a shop window. She didn’t get any of those feelings looking at these sketches. They were staid, safe, possibly even boring. Had she lost the gift? The thought caused a flutter of panic in her stomach.

  ‘Sorry for keeping you waiting, sweetie.’ Ellen appeared at her side with another coffee for Sinéad and tea for herself.

  Rory turned off some of the lights and joined them, setting a plate of biscuits on the table and settling back with his espresso. ‘What a day.’

  ‘Don’t complain,’ Ellen warned him. ‘The takings are better than they have been in weeks.’

  ‘I know,’ he yawned. ‘We really should consider opening in the evenings even if just over Christmas and New Year.’

  ‘Yes, we could offer a short menu and maybe do that “bring your own wine” business and charge for corkage.’ Ellen looked at Sinéad. ‘At the moment you just have to do anything you can to get customers through the door. Every penny counts.’

  ‘Which brings me very neatly to the reason why I wanted to talk to you guys.’ Sinéad looked nervously at them.

  Rory perked up. ‘Go on, then, we’re all ears.’

  She leaned forward on the table and looked from one to the other. ‘Well, you know I’m selling the shop.’

  ‘We can’t afford to buy it and expand, Sinéad. If only we could,’ Ellen warned.

  ‘It would be great, but the cost of knocking the wall down is beyond us at the moment,’ Rory agreed.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m suggesting. I wondered how you’d feel about having a tenant.’

  Rory frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Sinéad nodded at the ceiling. ‘Your place upstairs is just like mine, right?’

  ‘No. When we first moved in we planned to put tables in upstairs so we made it one big room.’

  She beamed. ‘Even better. Guys, I need a studio and I hate the idea of leaving Blackrock. Well, the truth is I’d miss you. So I wondered—’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Ellen clapped her hands in delight. ‘Oh, my God, why didn’t we think of this before?’

  Rory grinned. ‘I have no idea. Sinéad, we would love to have you.’

  ‘Thank you!’ She reached out both her hands to take theirs and gave a sigh of relief. ‘Max has been pushing me to find somewhere but I didn’t want to move out of the village and I knew that you guys could probably do with the cash. I’ll be the perfect tenant and I’ll pay you a fair rental. Get in touch with a couple of agents and find out what the going rate is.’

  Ellen rolled her eyes at this. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like family, and we only ever use upstairs for storage.’

  ‘No, we’re going to do this properly or not at all,’ Sinéad insisted. ‘This is a business proposition.’

  Rory smiled. ‘Okay, Ms Fields, you have a deal. How are you managing to get out of the lease next door so easily?’

  She grinned. ‘My brother, the wheeler-dealer, is subletting it.’

  ‘Please tell me it’s not to another restaurant or coffee bar,’ Ellen begged.

  ‘Of course not, as if I’d let him do that,’ Sinéad retorted. ‘No, it’s a launderette and dry-cleaning firm.’

  Ellen smiled at Rory. ‘That will be handy.’

  ‘Very. I must make them a cake to welcome them.’

  ‘Oh, good idea, sweetheart.’ Ellen squeezed his hand.

  ‘This is such a relief, you have no idea,’ Sinéad said with feeling.

  ‘I was dreading you leaving,’ Ellen admitted.

  Sinéad felt tears well. ‘You amaze me. I’ve been impossible to live with since . . . well these last few months, but that’s all going to change.’

  ‘You are going to be just fine.’ Ellen jumped to her feet. ‘Come on, to hell with the coffee, let’s go to the pub. We’ve got some celebrating to do.’

  Chapter Seven

  Krystie felt a little emotional as the plane flew along the coast and began its descent into Dublin. It had been a tearful goodbye at the apartment and she was glad she hadn’t let Sandy accompany her to the airport: it would have been far too hard on them both. She’d promised to Skype her friend as soon as she had Internet access and after a tight hug she’d jumped into the yellow taxi that would take her to the bus station and waved at her flatmates as the tears coursed down her cheeks. She had picked up the phone a number of times to call her folks and let them know she was coming home but she still couldn’t bring herself to admit that her dreams had come to nothing. In the end she had phoned her good friend, Sharon, instead who had immediately invited her to stay for a few days. Krystie jumped at the offer. It was only putting off the inevitable, but it would give her a chance to take stock and to catch up with Sharon.

  ‘Wow, it really is green.’ The American woman beside her leaned across to get a better look.

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ Krystie couldn’t suppress a proud smile as the plane cruised along the coast and then turned and began its descent into Dublin airport.

  Once in the terminal she weaved her way through passengers down the long corridors towards Immigration and joined the queue at Security. As she neared the kiosk she heard the Garda’s broad Dublin accent and started to giggle.

  He held his hand out for her passport, eyeing her suspiciously as she stepped forward. ‘Is something funny?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just I haven’t been home for a while and it’s good to hear the accent,’ she explained.

  He looked up from her passport. ‘You’re from Dublin? How the hell did you end up with a name like Krystle?’

  She cringed. ‘Awful isn’t it? Me ma was mad about Dynasty. My brother is Blake and my sisters are Fallon and Alexis, but she calls herself Alex.’

  ‘You drew the short straw, then,’ he said sympathetically.

  ‘It’s not too bad. I call myself Krystie.’

  ‘Ah, now, there’s a grand Dublin name! Fáilte abhaile, a chara.’

  She laughed. ‘Go raibh maith agat.’

  ‘Oh, was that Gaelic?’ her neighbour from the plane journey asked, wide-eyed and clearly impressed.

  ‘Yeah.’ Krystie smiled. ‘He said welcome home, my friend, and I said thanks.’

  ‘Are you fluent?’

  ‘Sure! We only ever speak Irish at home,’ she lied, glibly.

  ‘That is so cool. Everyone should preserve their heritage the way you guys do.’

  Krystie felt
a pang of guilt at deceiving the woman. ‘Thanks. Lovely to meet you. Have a great holiday,’ she said, and hurried on to collect her bags.

  When she finally emerged into the arrivals hall, she looked around and grinned in delight at the sight of Sharon McCarthy jumping up and down and waving frantically. She rushed forward to hug her old friend. ‘Hey! It’s so great to see you.’

  ‘You too, Krystie. I can’t believe you’re here.’ Sharon was beaming but her eyes were bright with tears.

  ‘Stop that, you silly cow,’ Krystie said affectionately, but there was a lump in her throat too.

  ‘Well, that’s charming, that is!’ Sharon laughed.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?’ Krystie asked as they pushed the trolley out to the car park.

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ve been really looking forward to it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about you and Marty,’ Krystie said. Sharon had been married only a couple of years but a few months ago her husband had announced out of the blue that it had been a mistake and he was leaving.

  ‘I suppose I should be grateful that he left now instead of waiting until we had kids.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Krystie said, thinking this all sounded just too familiar. ‘He’s still a bastard, though.’

  Sharon threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re home. We’re going to have a grand time.’ They reached the car and stashed Krystie’s bags in the boot.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t afford to go out partying,’ Krystie warned her friend. ‘I’m broke.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ Sharon said cheerfully.

  ‘And I need to stay out of the city. If word gets back to Ma that I’m home and haven’t been in touch I’m in serious trouble.’

  ‘But why haven’t you told them, Krystie? They’ll be thrilled that you’re home.’

  ‘I know that, but I was talking to Alex last week and my folks are seriously struggling to manage at the moment. Dad’s hours have been reduced and Blake’s still living at home and he’s on the dole. The last thing they need right now is another mouth to feed. But I knew Ma would be hurt if she knew I was in Ireland and staying somewhere else.’