‘No, no. I just had, well, a bit of a favour to ask you.’
James pipes up. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a minute. Have a few things to sort out in the jeep.’
Left alone in BallyGoBrunch, John and I look at each other awkwardly.
‘I could probably scare up some tea.’ I gesture towards the kitchen.
He waves me away. ‘Ais, we’re having a bit of trouble with sponsorship. For the jerseys.’
‘For Rangers?’
The Knock jerseys have had ‘Oifig an Chips’ emblazoned across their fronts for as long as I can remember. It’s the town’s foremost chipper and a proud GAA supporter.
‘No, for the county jerseys.’
‘And?’ Where is he going with this?
‘I was wondering if you might be interested in BallyGoBrunch sponsoring them?’
‘What happened to Mulcahy Feeds?’
‘They’ve pulled out. Johnnie Mulcahy’s son isn’t going to make the team and he’s thrown a fit. And I’m being blamed because I didn’t pick him. He’s like the Honey Monster trying to hold a hurl, though, Ais. I couldn’t put him in, in all good conscience.’
‘John, you’re cracked. This is a tiny café. County jerseys have car brands and insurance companies and grain providers on the front of them. Not BallyGoBrunch.’
‘Well, look, I heard about your money. And you’d get a great deal. And the team is so good this year, Aisling. I swear.’
He looks so earnest. And the idea of fifteen strapping players with my logo across their chests is very enticing. ‘I’ll think about it.’ A smile spreads across his face. ‘I said I’ll think about it.’ But he knows me well enough to know I mean yes. ‘So you’re doing well for yourself, anyway, with the coaching and the big leagues?’
‘Ah, sure I am. It’s great. A dream role.’
‘And you’re managing work alright too?’
‘Just about, just about.’
I can’t leave it unsaid. ‘What’s all this about you diva-ing around the place, looking for your own stool in Maguire’s and velvet ropes at the Vortex and being too big for your boots to train with Rangers?’ I pause and then add, ‘And showing off your VIP girlfriend.’
John’s cheeks flush and his deep scowl appears. ‘Jesus, Ais, not you too? All that stuff is bullshit. I’ve never asked for special treatment in my life. It’s all big talk by lads who have nothing better to do than be jealous. I’m too busy to be training – there are only so many hours in the day. And Megan’s not a VIP. She’s a teacher.’ I thought she had a St Pat’s look off her alright, underneath the tan.
‘Well, is it true you let the school down on medal day?’
‘I was at work! I never said I could make it – people just assume I have all this free time but I have a paid job too.’
‘Alright, alright.’ I laugh and the tension breaks.
John turns to look out the window. He nods towards James, who’s studiously examining the contents of the back of his jeep. ‘He seems nice. Yer man. Yer fella.’ He looks back for my reaction. My cheeks are immediately aflame. I grab a brush that’s leaning against the wall and try to sweep up James’s drill.
‘He’s a lovely fella. Great to work with. Lovely lad.’ I’m sweeping. I’m sweeping. I’m sweeping.
‘Are you sure that’s all?’ John teases gently. Jesus, this feels weird. Him slagging me about another man.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
As I look up I see a car pulling into the car park, driving up alongside James’s jeep. I’d know that blonde head anywhere. Natasia leaps out and straight into James’s arms.
‘Sure look,’ I say, trying to keep the flatness out of my voice. ‘There’s his girlfriend.’
Chapter 41
‘And this is where we’ll have the tasting station, sampling all the local produce for people to try before they buy. That was Constance’s idea.’ Mammy and Constance are going full steam ahead on plans for the eco-farm. One of the big sheds has already been earmarked for the farm shop, and they have Shem Moran and William Foley levelling the ground for yurts. I’ve gone in with them on the yurts. They’ll be flat out with hen parties. I’m convinced of it. William will be picking willy straws out of the hedgerows.
I’ve invited Majella, Sharon and Carol out for a look. Mammy has agreed to exclusively stock Carol’s sausages when they’re up and running. Carol is going to be doing her own branding and everything. I’m going in with her on that too, with Sharon’s cajoling. She’s got such a head for business, Sharon. Now, I don’t know how she even lifts her head with the weight of all the extensions and eyelashes, but a bit of glam never hurt anyone. At least that’s what she told me when she insisted on giving me an eyebrow shape and a bikini wax this morning, in preparation for the big café reopening. I tried to insist that nobody was going to be seeing my goother, but she said it would make me feel ‘strong and sexy and empowered’. I don’t know what she was on about, but before I knew it she had me bald as a coot. I swear I can feel a breeze. Thank God nobody’s going to see it.
‘And this is going to be the petting z–’
Constance is interrupted by a screeching of tyres in the front driveway.
‘Who’s that now, flying in the gate?’ Mammy marches out towards the front of the house and we all follow.
I see the red van, Marty Boland’s van. Then I hear him.
‘Where is she?’
And as I turn the side of the house I see him standing there, big beetroot face on him and veins about to explode out the side of his neck.
Mammy is calm as can be. ‘Who’s “she”, Marty? The cat’s mother?’
Carol steps out from the back of the group of women. ‘Is it me you’re after?’ Her voice is slow and steady.
‘You have some neck.’ He has some neck, if you ask me. He literally looks like he’s about to take off. ‘Carol Boland Sausages? You have some neck!’ he bellows.
Constance Swinford lets out the poshest gasp I’ve ever heard and rears up to him. ‘Sorry, whom exactly do you think you’re talking to? How can we help you?’ she says in her snootiest voice.
‘I want you to tell that bitch that she’s not destroying my business. Those are my sausages. My name was on them first. I own them.’
Silence for a moment. The ‘bitch’ hangs in the air.
Sharon speaks first. ‘Look, you, you fuckin’ bully. You built a business exploiting your wife and taking all the glory. And now she’s gone and you’ve nothing to use as a doormat. Serves you right.’
Marty looks like he’s going to combust. ‘How dare you! I knew you were trouble the minute you arrived with your short skirts and your hair, tarting women up. Strutting around the place, asking for it. Asking for it!’
Mammy gasps and tuts and pushes Marty’s arm. ‘Get off my land now. Making a holy show of yourself. Get off right now before I call the guards.’ Marty shoves her away, enough to make her stumble back, and before I know it I’m going for him.
‘You pig! You miserable pig.’ I get two good shoves in before Majella pulls me off him.
‘He’s not worth it, bird. You’re not worth it.’ She practically spits on Marty’s feet.
‘No.’ Carol speaks quietly. ‘No, he’s not worth it.’
She steps forward. Right up in front of him, all five feet nothing of her. Apron still on. She hardly ever takes it off. ‘I feel sorry for you, Marty. I really do. But I will not listen to your abuse and your temper for one more second. I gave you that business, and now I’m taking it away. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it, and I do. You’ll have to find someone else to walk all over.’
She turns her back on him and goes back towards the shed. Sharon sticks her neck out at him, snarling, ‘Shove your sausages up your hole,’ and runs after Carol.
Constance is the first to regain her composure and address Marty matter-of-factly. ‘You best be off now, Mr Boland. I heard you lost the Ard Rí contract. My condolences. But that’s business, isn’t it?’
Mammy adds, ‘If Seamus had seen this display in his own driveway today he would have been disgusted. Shame on you, Marty Boland. Come on, ladies.’
And we all turn and walk away, like something out of the A-Team. If the A-Team had bald goothers and wide-brimmed brown hats and eyelashes like sweeping brushes.
‘Are you alright, Carol?’ When we reach them, she and Sharon are sitting on two upturned crates, lifting their faces up to the sun.
‘I’m grand, Aisling. Just grand. Right, let’s get back. Work to do.’
Carol, Sharon and Majella all bundle into my Micra, and I’m just saying my ‘bye, bye, bye, bye, byes’ to Mammy and Constance when there’s a call from across the road.
‘Aisling! Aisling!’
It’s Niamh from Across the Road. Calling at me from across the road – probably to give out to me that the café isn’t vegan and gluten free. She’s not alone.
‘Hello, Niamh. Hiya, Natasia.’
‘Massive congrats, Aisling!’ Niamh exclaims. ‘Mum has told me all about your little café. Good for you!’
‘Yes, that’s excellent, Aisling. How proud I am.’ Natasia is so nice. I feel bad for hating her, but I can’t help it.
‘Lovely to see you, Natasia. You’re around a good bit these days, though, aren’t you?’ I can’t stop now that I’ve started. It’s like picking at a Shellac manicure that Sharon warned you not to pick at. ‘Mammy saw you at the Mountrath and I’m sure I saw you the other day out the road at the café – you were gone again before I had the chance to say hello.’ In truth, I said goodbye to John and went and hid in the kitchen. James stuck his head into the café to tell me he was heading off for an hour or so but I didn’t respond.
‘Oh yes,’ Niamh butts in, ‘of course, you came to see James.’
‘James Matthews?’ Majella’s head comes out the back window of the car. I’ve confided in her a little bit about my crush on him. It may have been a mistake. She has us married off in his castle on a lough in Scotland already. I’ve tried to explain to her that I don’t think there’s a castle or a lough, but she’s got romance fever too bad.
Natasia smiles. ‘Yes, James. It’s such a coincidence that he’s working down here too. I hadn’t seen him in so long, not since Harry’s birthday party last year.’
‘Come again?’ Majella is half out the window at this stage. Sharon is holding onto her legs in the back seat.
‘My boyfriend, Harry. James’s brother.’
Majella eyes swivel around to me so fast I think they might come out of their sockets. She grunts as the car window digs into her midsection but manages to get out, ‘So James is single?’
‘I know, can you believe it?’ Natasia laughs. ‘But I feel like he’s … what’s that expression … got his eyes on someone?’
There’s that breeze again. At least, I think it was a breeze.
Chapter 42
‘Does that feel nice?’
By God it does. I haven’t been touched like this since – Jesus, I can barely even think about it without screwing my feet up into balls – since Antony in Vegas.
‘How about that?’
The rubbing gets more intense, over my shoulders and down between my shoulder blades. It’s a completely new sensation with someone I’ve only known for such a short time. But it feels right. So right.
‘Okay, lie back down there and I’ll wash that treatment out.’
Sharon offered to do my hair and make-up for the re-opening party, and I couldn’t exactly say no, although I’m terrified of what’s she’s capable of after she stripped me bald. My eyebrows look great, though, I must say. Strong Stuff is looking great too, fair dues to her. She finally has it exactly how she wants it. In the front, she has three cutting stations with nice, big mirrors. In one corner there’s a manicure station and one of those big electronic pedicure chairs that beat your back black and blue under the pretence of giving it a massage. Along the back wall are the sinks for hair washing, and to the side is a door out to a corridor with a treatment room for waxing and then the new sunbed room. I must say, I’m impressed with the swanky décor and up-to-date magazines, and the tinkly music is very relaxing. Most importantly, the place is absolutely spotless.
‘So what are you thinking, hun?’ Sharon says to my reflection in the mirror. ‘Let me guess, nothing too mad?’
‘You have me there,’ I admit. ‘I just want to … look my best. But still, you know, like myself just a bit better.’
‘Gotcha, hun,’ she says, cranking up my chair with her pointy red stiletto. ‘How about some nice, simple make-up – just a bit of definition, nothing wild? And a curly blow-dry?’
‘That sounds perfect, Sharon. Thanks.’
I know the soft opening for BallyGoBrunch was grand at the time, but after everything that’s happened I decided that the reopening deserves a bit of fanfare. Feck the cost. Nothing too exciting, mind, but definitely some free wine and balloons and the finest cocktail sausages anyone has ever tasted – Carol’s exclusive new recipe in an exclusive new size, just for tonight. It’s the least I can do to thank everyone for pitching in these past couple of weeks, and I’m hoping to get a bit of a buzz going online.
I decided to splash out on caterers for the evening so myself and Carol can actually relax and let our hair down. We were up late last night drawing up the contract so I can officially become a 49 per cent stakeholder in Carol Boland Sausages Ltd. We even lodged the name as a trademark – it’s mad what you can do online now – and there’s a patent pending on her secret recipe. I told her to put it all down on paper in case she pops her clogs, and she’s going to have the location written into her will. You can’t take any chances when you’re sitting on a potential goldmine.
I’ve seen enough Dragons’ Den to know that branding is just as important as how a product tastes – no problems there, anyway – so Elaine is hooking us up with a swanky designer to make the packaging look fancy. Carol’s greatest ambition is to get them stocked in SuperValu, but I said to her, why stop there? I’ll get them into Avoca if it kills me. Maybe even Fallon & Byrne. She’d never heard of Fallon & Byrne herself, and I had to confess I only know about it from the one time Sadhbh dragged me in there for some of that mouldy cheese she loves and we saw Louis Walsh doing his Big Shop. Even she was a bit starstruck. Well for some paying €9 for imported breakfast cereal.
I’m sitting at one of the front tables in the café blaring Destiny’s Child over my new fancy sound system and folding napkins when I spot Pablo’s little banger pulling in to the car park. I’m not expecting him, or anyone, for hours yet. He gets out and immediately runs around to open the passenger door for Majella, and the two of them walk towards the front door arm in arm. Maj is carrying a big bunch of sunflowers and laughing her head off and it makes me smile to see her so happy. She’s another one who’s made of strong stuff. We all are, I’ve discovered.
I’m so distracted by the flowers I don’t even look at Pablo until they’re inside the café and only a few feet from me.
‘Tell him they suit him, Ais,’ Majella goes. ‘He’s very self-conscious but I think they make him look sexy.’
Pablo is wearing glasses. Not the glasses he was so morto about in Mammy’s kitchen – they’re a lovely stylish brown pair. Turtleshell, or whatever it’s called. And they suit him down to the ground.
‘Pablo, you look mighty,’ I say, and he smiles coyly at Majella. ‘Very distinguished.’
‘I explain everything, and Majella, mi amor, is so understanding,’ he says, gazing down at her.
‘I couldn’t give a shite about your vision,’ Maj says, staring up into his eyes. ‘The only problem was the glasses he had were minging. I went into Susie Ó Súilleabháin’s with him and we picked this pair together. Much better.’
‘Ah, how’s Susie?’ I ask with a smirk.
‘Still charging too much for contacts, but I’m over it,’ Majella replies. ‘She was very good to Pab, and since we found out laser surgery
won’t help him, she gave us her family discount on these frames. They’re designer, you know.’
‘They look it and all,’ I say, nodding furiously. Designer my eye but, sure, look, if it keeps them happy, what harm.
‘Pablo has something he wants to say to you, don’t you, Pab?’
He nods and takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I ask you to lie to Majella, Aisling. I know is wrong. She believes …’ and he turns to Majella and cocks his head, ‘sister before mister.’
Majella nods approvingly and looks at me. ‘Will you still be my chief bridesmaid, Ais? I don’t want anyone else up there with me.’
I feel like crying. Me and Majella have had this pact since we were kids and used to walk around with pillowcases on our heads pretending to be brides. Someday I hope she’ll do the same for me. ‘I’d be honoured,’ I say and let out an involuntary squeal, throwing my arms around her. Visions of the hen party are already running through my head. I’ll have to give Maj the send-off of all send-offs. Is it too Celtic Tigery to think about going abroad? I have half a notion to head back to Vegas, although I’m not sure we’d get out alive this time. I must see if the Thunder from Down Under are doing any European tours.
‘Speaking of which,’ I say. ‘Hang on there a second.’ I leg it into my little office and grab the crisp white envelope I collected last night. Breathlessly, I hand it to her. ‘This is my engagement present to you,’ I say. ‘I want it to be the happiest day of your life.’
Majella takes the fancy gift voucher wallet out of the envelope, and the Ard Rí wedding brochure falls out on to the floor. Pablo picks it up, looking confused.
‘I’ve paid for your wedding,’ I explain. ‘The Ard Rí Effortless Elegance Package. The voucher is valid for any Saturday in the next twenty-four months, but I’d advise you to book fast because you know yourself how–’
Majella bursts into tears and her hands fly up to her face. Pablo immediately throws his arm over her shoulder and starts rubbing her hair.
The Importance of Being Aisling Page 31
