‘Shem, no,’ she’s shrieking into the night. ‘You don’t know how bad it is. You can’t get too close, you’ll hurt yourself.’
‘The dog,’ he roars. ‘Willy! I don’t think I let him out before we left!’
‘Daddy, leave it,’ Shane shouts after him, and Shem thankfully stops and turns back to Liz. They both silently touch foreheads, arms around each other, and I see their shoulders shuddering like the way mine and Majella’s used to when we got a Mass Laugh. Except no one is laughing now.
Majella. She’s standing beside Shane’s beloved Subaru, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her face is expressionless, a blank mask, and I know from my health and safety training that she’s probably going into shock, so I whip off my fleece and throw it over her shoulders.
‘Aisling?’ She’s looking at me like she hasn’t seen me in years. If only. ‘Aisling, how did this happen? What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ I say, drawing her in for a hug, trying to keep her warm. I hear a car pulling in behind me and Mammy’s footsteps flying across the gravel.
‘Is everyone out, Shem?’ Mammy shouts, looking at faces to see who’s here and who isn’t. ‘Shem? Shem?’ she shouts again, louder this time. ‘Liz, where’s Pablo?’
****
It took the fire brigade fifty-one minutes to reach the house after Mammy called 999. Not an atrocious length of time when you consider the state of the roads around BGB, but not quick enough to save the house either.
Mammy went back home for blankets and coats, and we all stood with our arms around each other in a guard of honour at the Morans’ front gate while the eight strapping men got it under control. It turns out Shem did have smoke detectors, and the batteries were working fine, but unfortunately there was no one home to hear the alarm when it went off. And the working smoke alarms were somewhat negated by the full tank of green diesel he had in the shed. We’re lucky the whole village didn’t burn down.
Pablo was working a shift in the Ard Rí, as he apparently does every Sunday night. He saw me calling but decided against answering the phone, and I suppose I don’t blame him after what happened at the baby shower. Majella was the same. She’d dragged the entire family up to the forty-eight-hour Ridey Bridey Wedding Showcase at the Exhibition Centre in Dublin, and they were already on the way home, surrounded by brochures for Botox and teeth whitening, when she noticed my missed call. Again, no surprise that she didn’t ring back. As soon as Mammy got off the phone with the fire brigade she called Liz, and Shane put his foot down and got them here in record time. God knows he’s had plenty of practice speeding around the backroads of BGB in the Subaru. It’s like he was working towards that call all his life.
It was close to 5 a.m. when I decided to call it a night and convinced Majella to come upstairs with me for a bit of rest. Shane was asleep in the cat’s armchair with Pablo curled up at his feet. There was no talking to Shem and Liz – they were up and down to the house every half an hour, bringing pints of water and ham sandwiches to the firemen, trying to get closer and closer to the charred remains. Mammy was nearly falling asleep on her feet, butter knife in hand.
I give Majella my favourite flannel pyjamas, and we lie side by side in my single bed like we used to at slumber parties, except tonight the fight hangs between us like a brick wall. We’ve been wailing and crying and hugging for hours, but we haven’t actually talked and I haven’t apologised. Do I need to apologise, I wonder? I thought I was helping her. She’s my best friend. I can feel the tears coming again.
‘Majella,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry, I should never have said anything about Pablo and Susie. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I wasn’t.’
‘I should never have called you jealous,’ she says quietly, turning to face me. ‘But you really hurt me, Ais. I know Pablo would never cheat on me. I just know it.’
‘Did you ask him?’
‘He said he could explain. And I believe him. I trust him.’
Now isn’t the time to get into this. I change the subject. ‘What was the Ridey Bridey fair like?’
‘Dire.’ Then she smiles. ‘You would have loved it.’ She laughs softly. ‘I can’t stop watching Don’t Tell the Bride. I have half a notion to go on it – you know they pay for everything? The price of weddings, Ais. I had no idea.’
Sometimes I wish I was more like Majella. Not a complete hames, of course, but just a bit more oblivious. She must be the only person on the planet who hasn’t realised that weddings are mad expensive. She’s never even priced a photo booth and, by God, she’s been in enough of them – and walked off with her fair share of novelty sunglasses and blow-up guitars. And the lack of stress means she has hardly any wrinkles. It’s definitely food for thought.
‘Maj, did I tell you I’m worried that Mammy is selling the farm?’ I know I didn’t tell her but I feel like pouring my heart out. I need my best friend back. ‘I don’t think she has enough money to keep it going.’
‘What?’ she says, her eyelids slowly closing. She must be exhausted. ‘Where is she going to go?’
‘I don’t know, Maj. But I’ll have to go with her.’
‘You could always live in the café.’
BallyGoBrunch. The break-in. I’d forgotten all about it. What a day. But before I can start panicking, Majella’s gentle snores lull me into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter 36
I only get an hour’s sleep in the end before I slip out of bed and into the bathroom to beat the rush. My hair stinks of smoke and my head feels heavy with the weight of my thoughts. Who smashed up the café? How did the Morans’ house go on fire? And, the worst thought of all, are the two somehow connected?
Downstairs the sitting-room door is closed, and I suspect Shem and Liz are on the lumpy pull-out couch, God love them and their backs. I press my ear to the door and sure enough hear Shem crying Willy’s name in his sleep. The poor craythur. There’s no sign of life anywhere else, and the clock tells me it’s ten past eleven. There’s a list of things I need to do: get in touch with James Matthews, call the insurance company, tell my suppliers I won’t need any deliveries until, well – who knows when I’ll get BallyGoBrunch open again? And I have the Morans to think about too. Where are they going to go? They’ve got nothing. My problems pale in comparison. I can’t bear to think about it.
‘Aisling?’ Pablo suddenly appears out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere. He must have still been at Shane’s feet, only under the blanket. I think back to him and Susie Ó Súilleabháin face to face at the Ard Rí, and even though Maj is convinced he’s innocent, I have to fight the urge to give him a clip around the ear.
‘Hiya,’ I say curtly instead. ‘Tea?’
‘Please, yes, that would be nice.’
I busy myself filling the kettle and getting the cups so I don’t have to make eye contact with him, but he hovers around me anyway, getting under my feet. I don’t know how Majella puts up with it.
‘Will you ever just sit down?’ I say, plonking the teapot in front of him on the table, and he immediately sinks into a chair.
‘Can I please say something?’ he says quietly after taking a sip. ‘I need to do some, how do you say it, explanation.’
I glance at the clock and sigh. ‘Go on. Majella will be up shortly. It’s her you should be explaining yourself to, not me.’
‘I need your help, Aisling,’ he says, taking another gulp of tea. ‘I don’t want Majella to know … that’s why I lie.’
So he has been lying! Jesus, he’s not going to try and convince Maj to have an open marriage, is he? Or worse, is he one of those lads who insists on having a whole rake of wives? Well, he can feck off if he thinks I’m going to get into polygamy. Can you imagine the chat at the Tidy Towns meetings?
‘What are you on about, Pablo?’ I say, narrowing my eyes. He’d want to spit it out fairly lively.
‘It’s my eyes,’ he whispers. ‘My vision, is so, so bad. I can only see,’ and he holds out
his hand in front of him at arm’s length, ‘to here.’ And then he looks over his shoulder and pulls a pair of glasses out of his jeans pocket and puts them on.
‘Pablo. What are you on about?’ I’m more confused than ever.
‘I lie about my eyes. My terrible, demon eyes.’
‘Hang on a second – has this all been about you getting glasses?’ It just doesn’t make sense. ‘Why are you keeping this a big secret from Majella, Pablo? It’s hardly something to be ashamed of.’
He starts shaking his head furiously. ‘Oh, you don’t understand. Mi amor, she hates glasses. She told me she was, back in the school, with the bull?’
With the bull? What bull? There was that time that Billy Foran’s herd broke into the football pitch but nobody got hurt – there was just a lot of shite around the goals. I can’t even imagine it coming up in conversation between Pablo and Majella, although it did make the front page of the parish newsl–
‘Bullying!’ Pablo shouts, looking up from his phone triumphantly. ‘Majella, she was bullying for wearing glasses. She hates them with some passion. She must never know about my eyesight. That’s why I’m wearing the contacts.’ He takes off the offending glasses and blinks at me furiously.
‘But I saw you with Susie Ó Súilleabháin in the Ard Rí – she was going in for the shift.’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth it dawns on me: Susie is an optician.
‘No, you misunderstand.’ He interrupts my thoughts, slapping his thigh. ‘Susie is a nice lady. An eye doctor. She had just given me the lenses. She was making sure they fit. They make my eyes very, you know, dry. She says they won’t work for me – I must wear glasses or accept no see.’
He’s still blinking away, obviously in bits from the contacts. I’m trying to take all this in. But another thing is bothering me. ‘What the hell were you doing in Dublin with Susie, though? I saw you with my own two eyes on South William Street. And not to rub it in, but I have 20/20 vision. And you lied to Majella about being there. She said you were training in Kilkenny!’
‘Susie,’ he says, smiling, ‘she refer me to op– op– octopus surgeon.’ He looks so hopeful that he might have got it right that I don’t have the heart to correct him. ‘And my English no very good – she go with me to, how do you say, translate.’
‘Why are you making such a big deal out of this, Pablo? Would you rather Majella think you cheated on her than tell her you need glasses? You’re carrying on like it’s leprosy. She wears bloody contacts herself, you know.’
His face darkens. ‘Majella must never know. She tells me, Pab, you are perfect specimen of man. You are flawless, much better than Irish muck savage. She cannot know my secret. I take it to my grave.’
‘Pablo, you have to tell her! If you don’t, how am I supposed to explain what I said?’
‘Next week I find out if I can get the laser surgery, and until then Susie has given me enough contact lenses. They hurt bad. My fingers are crossed. Then no more secrets and lying. Please, Aisling, you must promise me it stays secret. I am forever indebted. I teach you salsa.’ Then he gets up and starts salsaing over to me, his hips swinging like they’re on hinges. Like I don’t have enough on my plate.
‘You’re grand, thanks,’ I say, draining my tea. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? About you and Susie? I didn’t come down in the last shower, you know.’
‘Aisling, you are smart. Majella always say it. I wouldn’t lie to you. If you doubt me, please ask Susie. She will tell you all!’
I sigh. It’s too early for this craic, but he does sound genuine. ‘I have to go out for a while. Will you start making breakfast? There are sausages and eggs in the fridge. Good man.’
My phone rings as I’m tiptoeing out of the house.
‘Hun, I heard what happened to the café. Are you okay? Can I do anything?’
‘I’m grand thanks, Sharon,’ I say, grabbing my keys. ‘A bit shook, but there was no cash taken so I’m trying to stay positive. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get the place back together, though. They did a right job on it, the feckers.’
‘They didn’t get into the safe?’
‘Nope. And I had the full weekend’s takings in it too.’
‘Are you there now, hun?’
‘Just on my way,’ I say, starting the car.
‘I’ll pop over so.’
James Matthews’s jeep is already in the car park when I get there, but there’s no sign of the man himself. The café looks worse than I remember, if that’s even possible. I tip into my little office and call the insurance company, who explain they’ll start processing my claim as soon as I get my crime number off the guards. And then it will take up to twelve weeks to get any money out of them. The lad on the phone must have asked me fifty times if the alarm was armed. I tried to explain that the light was flashing and I have no idea why the siren wasn’t going. The bloody thing is only a few weeks old, and I said I have the receipt and warranty ready to produce at a minute’s notice if he wants to see them. I threw in a mention of the Sale of Goods and Supply of Services Act 1980 for good measure. I know my rights and paid close attention in first year Business Studies. That shut him up.
‘Knock, knock.’ James Matthews pokes his head around the door frame. ‘I didn’t want to come in until you arrived. Wow, Aisling, I’m so sorry this happened.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, smoothing down my hair. ‘I know it’s a mess but I’ll get it sorted. I need to get reopened, though, James. I’m haemorrhaging money here.’
‘Right, well, I called in a favour and the replacement windows and door are arriving first thing in the morning. What else can I do to help?’
Finally some good news! I thought that would take weeks! I can’t help myself – I jump out of my seat and throw my arms around his neck. His shoulders are good and wide and he smells like something citrusy. They must have upgraded the toiletries at the Mountrath, or maybe he uses his own posh stuff. Then I catch a hold of myself. God, Aisling, they’re just windows.
‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ll feel so much better once the place is secure again,’ I stammer.
‘Don’t be,’ he says, ‘sorry, I mean. You’ve had a tough twenty-four hours. I heard there was a house fire last night over near your mum’s too? I could smell smoke in the air this morning leaving the Mountrath.’
‘It was awful,’ I say. ‘Majella’s family home, completely burnt to the ground. Luckily no one was hurt.’ I don’t mention anything about poor Willy.
‘Where do you want me to start?’ he says, looking out into the café. ‘There’s plenty of room in the skip out the back – will I chuck some of the broken furniture?’
‘That’d be mighty, thanks,’ I say, turning back to my desk and consulting my list. ‘I need to go through these figures here to see where I stand. Then it’s hunting for more tables and chairs.’
‘No problem at all,’ he says, heading off.
I’ve only just picked up my calculator when I hear tyres on the gravel outside and then the unmistakable sound of heels skittering across the tiles.
‘Hun?’
‘In the office, Sharon,’ I call out. Her arches must be fecked.
She’s white as a ghost when she comes through the door. In fact, she looks like a completely different person. If it wasn’t for the outfit – shiny leggings and a backless shirt – I wouldn’t have recognised her at all. She doesn’t even have eyebrows!
I spring from my seat. ‘Jesus, Sharon, are you alright? Here, sit down, sit down,’ and I sort of hoosh her in before she collapses.
‘What? I’m fine,’ she says, looking confused. ‘Oh, I know what it is, I’m not wearing make-up. I left in such a rush I didn’t get a chance.’
‘You look so … different,’ I say.
She’s sort of fidgeting in the doorway, and I feel like there’s something on the tip of her tongue.
‘Are you OK, Sharon? Will you have some tea? The kettle actually survived, would you believe.’
&
nbsp; ‘No thanks, hun,’ she replies. ‘Is it okay if I walk around? Have the guards already been?’
‘They have,’ I say.
‘Did they have any ideas as to who might have done it?’
‘None. They asked if I had any enemies. The only I person I could think of was Marty feckin’ Boland? I have a whole pig in the freezer that’s going to go to waste now. I don’t think he’d be able to live with himself knowing that, but I really can’t think of anyone else who’d do this.’
Her eyes dart around the room. ‘What did they use to break the windows?’
‘The guards said it was probably a steel bar.’
‘And no money was taken?’
‘Not a cent. It was pure vandalism,’ I say with a shrug.
She taps her lower lip with her finger and stares into space for a minute, deep in thought. ‘I have to go, Aisling,’ she declares suddenly.
‘Did you hear about the Morans’ house?’
‘I did, hun. How’s Majella?’
‘In bits.’
‘Ask her if there’s anything I can do, will you?’
‘Of course.’ And then after a quick hug she totters out again.
****
The longer I looked at the books, the more depressed I got. I might be able to pick up some new furniture in charity shops, and maybe do another trolley dash around IKEA, but replacing the big appliances – I just can’t afford it. And I know I can’t ask Mammy for a loan, not when she’s clearly in dire financial straits herself. What the feck am I going to do? I can’t stay closed for 12 weeks.
James Matthews did a fine job clearing out the dining room, and suddenly the café looks as bare and raw as it did before I moved in. Talk about coming full circle. The only good thing to come out of this entire episode is I’ve had an idea for a way we can help the Morans – in the short term, at least. It won’t get them back on their feet entirely, but it will raise a few bob – enough to get them a lease on a new house and a few essentials to keep them going.
Mammy is up to her oxters in a stew when I land in to the kitchen. By the looks of the herbs scattered around on the table, Carol is not too far away. Mammy wouldn’t be too up on using herbs. ‘Not everyone likes flavour, you know, Aisling,’ she told me once when she caught me bringing garlic into the house. She’ll stretch to a bit of parsley for a white sauce to go with ham and cabbage, but that’s it.
The Importance of Being Aisling Page 27
