Chapter 9
When the giant urn came to a boiling frenzy, Edith produced two outsized teapots, and she and Kitty made tea just as the swarm descended, heaping sugar into cups, snatching biscuits – one man held one between his teeth, and another three on his saucer – and sloshing milk into cups. Kitty kept trying to keep up with the wiping, as well as keeping the rows of cups in neat formations like a tiny, china Roman legion.
‘Are you all right to keep the hordes watered and biscuited?’ asked Edith. ‘While I make my announcements… just a bit of general news, community ephemera, miscellaneous points of interest, or disinterest, depending on one’s view.’
Kitty nodded, already planning exactly how she should start the washing-up – saucers first, so she could restack the cupboard properly. It was good to be busy.
Through the hatch, she could see Edith make her way to the front of the hall, just in front of the stage, beside the old, rickety steps.
‘Ladies and gentlemen…’ Edith boomed, smiling, as the room fell silent, everyone turning to face her, like sunflowers in the sun. ‘Thank you for coming.’ Edith glanced down at her notecards. ‘Now just a little bit of business… which I won’t dwell too long on, knowing how much we all detest such doodahs and dib dabs… Right… first up, as you know, we lost our stalwart organiser, Margaret Dooley, last month, who was last heard of sunning herself in Albufeira, so we need a new organiser… any takers? We’ve also lost Julie O’Flaherty to a creative writing master’s, so she is now no longer available to us in the wide-ranging way she once was. So, any volunteers to be on the top table, as it were?’ She looked around. ‘Anyone?’
The once buoyant sunflowers kept their heads down or found a point on the wall suddenly fascinating or looked at their phones as though they had just received an emergency text that had to be responded to in that instant.
Edith beamed when a hand went up. ‘Ah! Janet! I knew we could rely on you. Thank you.’ She leafed through her notecards. ‘Now, one more call to action. We need people to join the mixed five-a-side team at Sandycove Seafarers. This is football, soccer, the beautiful – so they say – game. The team’s captain, Tara Gilhooley, is desperately looking for more members as she has lost four of her team to college courses, I think Veronica Flaherty-Joyce is about to give birth to a mini Flaherty-Joyce and Ciarán McGonigal decamped to Slovenia…’ She peered into the crowd. ‘Is Tara here? Ah! There she is. What else have your former team members succumbed to? Any plagues, pestilence or poxes?’
‘We lost Aoife Murphy to a nursing job in Perth,’ said a voice belonging to a tall, broad-shouldered woman, with cropped hair, in a sleeveless top and tracksuit bottoms, sliders and socks. ‘And Rosie Egan-Maloney to her bar exams.’
‘Thank you, Tara,’ said Edith, ‘so we need volunteers, please? Those who want to add a little fun in their lives… anyone whose life is a little on the dull side?’
At the word ‘fun’, Shazza flicked her head in Kitty’s direction.
‘Someone who needs adventure, excitement, fresh air and have Tuesday and Thursday evenings free? A few fun games of football, represent Sandycove against other local teams?’
Football? No way. Kitty, who had zero hand-eye coordination, had spent her school years desperately trying to get out of hockey by claiming to have a seven-year-long menstrual cycle and an aversion to showing her legs in public. Her father used to take her to the Sandycove Seafarers. Those Saturdays were always wet and cold, the seating in the rickety stands was uncomfortable and Billy would shout words of encouragement to those on the pitch, as the rain trickled down Kitty’s back, and all she could think about was the hot chocolate he always brought her afterwards. Billy used to play himself and then he’d coached, even moving to the States for a time to work for a team over there.
‘We’re in,’ said a man from across the room, who Kitty couldn’t quite make out. ‘Put our names down.’
Edith was smiling. ‘I knew I could count on my nephews,’ she said. ‘Right, Tom and Rory it is. Anyone else?’
Kitty could still feel the heavy weight of Shazza’s razor-sharp stare, but she refused to make eye contact, knowing it would be like staring into the eyes of the Medusa.
The last time she’d been at a football match was twenty years earlier with her dad. She’d hated it then, had no interest in football and knew next to nothing about it. There was no way she could or would volunteer, despite the terrible feeling her right hand was about to go rogue and shoot up. She’d last felt like this at a very expensive auction and had had to practically sit on her hands to stop herself from bidding on a priceless painting.
‘Will anyone else respond to the plaintive call of their village?’ said Edith.
Kitty was beginning to wilt under Shazza’s telepathic pressure and finally looked over. ‘Let’s both join?’ Shazza mouthed, eagerly, and then she turned back to Edith, her hand in the air. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘But on one condition. If Kitty O’Sullivan does it with me.’
Kitty’s face flushed, and that feeling of panic, the fluttery, gnawing sensation, rose within her.
‘I’ll join,’ she said, her voice dry. ‘I’ll join them too.’
Everyone turned towards her, with varying expressions of relief that they hadn’t been strong-armed into making such a commitment.
Edith was all smiles. ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘New blood.’
What have I let myself in for, thought Kitty, as Shazza elbowed her way through the crowd to Kitty.
‘Our plan has begun!’ she said, eyes shining.
‘What plan?’ said Kitty.
‘The frills-no-frills one.’
Kitty closed her eyes. ‘But I hate football…’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Shazza. ‘This isn’t football, not in the true sense of the word. This is more like joining one of those clubs at university which are really about the drinking afterwards. No one will expect us to actually play.’
‘Explain to me how joining a five-a-side football team is part of our plan?’ asked Kitty.
‘Because it’s about you having fun…’
Kitty thought of Dave. Please come home, she said to herself. It’s horrible being on my own, knowing that I have to go and play football tomorrow night, knowing that there is no one at home. She took out her phone. Maybe she would just give him a quick text, check in on him and see if he’d managed to get his head together again.
‘Put your phone away,’ ordered Shazza, sharply.
‘I was just checking the time!’
‘You weren’t. You were seeing if Dave had called…’
Kitty shrugged. ‘He might need me to contact him, just so he knows I don’t hate him. And he might be fed up with living with Maureen… and just need gentle encouragement…’
Shazza held up a hand. ‘Stop right there. Put your phone away. And promise me, never, ever, evvvverrrr, contact him. If he wants to speak to you, he knows your number, where you live, work… it’s not going to be difficult for him to track you down. He’s – and I can’t emphasise it enough – absolutely grand.’
Kitty nodded, knowing it was probably true. But there was one male in her life who did care where she was. ‘What about Romeo?’ she said. ‘He’s only happy when I’m around. He likes me being there… what if he gets attacked by Timmy again?’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,’ said Shazza, ‘that Timmy is a thug…’
‘Who’s a thug?’
It was a man’s voice and Kitty turned to see someone about her age with dark, floppy hair, eyebrows which curved over his deep brown eyes, a strong jaw which made her think of Dave and his non-existent chin which was balanced out by an excess of neck, as though there was a bit of giraffe in there, going back a few generations.
‘Just Timmy,’ Shazza explained to the man. ‘He rips off ears and leaves his victims broken and bleeding… I tell you, Sandycove is going to the dogs… or cats.’ She winked at Kitty. ‘Kitty, this is Tom Sweetman, he’s the new veterinarian… I’m surprised you haven’t met him.’
The name rang a bell. ‘Sweetman?’ said Kitty. Could he be the vet that had been such a focus of excitement?
‘I know,’ he said, smiling back. ‘Stupid name…’
‘No… not stupid…’
‘It’s a bit stupid,’ said Shazza. ‘I mean, you’d have to go around being sweet all the time. That’s a lot of pressure on anyone. It’s best to have non-adjective names, ones that don’t suggest unrealistic personality traits.’
The man was laughing. ‘It is a bit much to live up to…’ He turned to Kitty, expectantly. ‘I don’t know your name,’ he said.
‘This is my best friend, Kitty O’Sullivan,’ said Shazza, as Tom Sweetman shook Kitty’s hand. ‘She’s a woman on the verge of a whole new life, one involving fun and frolics and… football. Kitty, Tom and his brother Rory are Edith Waters’ nephews and are also brand-new members of the Sandycove Seafarers five-a-side team.’
So this was Professor Sweetman. He did look like a young George Clooney with dark eyebrows and a twinkling smile. Probably had women fawning over him all the time. But there was a sweetness about him, and unusually for a good-looking man, he didn’t have that kind of arrogant aura of someone who is used to general swooning.
‘Why are you on the verge?’ he asked Kitty.
‘Circumstances beyond my control,’ replied Kitty, trying to sound evasive, but he was looking at her as though he wanted to know. So he was one of those men – the ones who were actually interested when you spoke.
‘Ah, those,’ he said. ‘Circumstances, unfortunately, are rarely within our control.’
‘Too true,’ said Shazza. ‘I’m all for not trying to control anything these days. Going with the flow, seeing what the universe has in store for us. I mean, who knew that we’d be joining a football team? And our first training session is tomorrow night.’
Another man joined them, a smaller version of Tom, his hair a little longer, his face softer. ‘My brother, Rory,’ said Tom.
Rory, who had a beard, an armload of tattoos and a ‘Cher Turn Back Time Tour ’89’ T-shirt, held out his hand for Kitty to shake. ‘How’s it going?’ And then he turned to Shazza. ‘Last time I saw you was at the Sandycove festival…’
‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Shazza. ‘I was a little tired and emotional. Thank you for being so nice.’
He shrugged. ‘All I did was listen.’ He smiled at her. ‘Feeling better?’
She nodded. ‘Much, thank you.’ Shazza turned to Kitty. ‘Rory caught me at a low ebb, just after the whole thing with Mr Unmentionable. But I am now determined to be on a permanently high ebb.’
Rory nodded at her. ‘Good plan.’
‘Are either of you any good at football?’ asked Tom. ‘Have you either played much?’
Shazza shook her head. ‘I’m rubbish,’ she said. ‘I’ve never watched a football match in my life. I have been only peripherally aware of the concept of football and I know that it is popular with certain swathes of the population… but me, no. I may as well be attempting a spacewalk or Dry January. Anathema, in other words.’
Tom turned back to Kitty. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve never played,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Tom. ‘Rory is better than me, but we weren’t the type of kids who played on the street. Our older brother, Paddy, was the footballer in the family. He was eight years older than me and used to go for training at the Seafarers’ ground.’
‘Tidy-up time!’ Edith was clapping her hands. ‘Tom, you and Rory are on chair-stacking duty and then sweeping.’ She smiled at Kitty and Shazza. ‘What about you two on washing-up? Something tells me you would do a very good job of that?’
Kitty looked at Shazza, raising her eyebrows. Shazza laughed. ‘Washing-up is all part of the plan,’ she said, just loud enough for Kitty to hear. ‘There is method in my madness. Wait and see. Just put yourself in the hands of the universe… or me…’ She grinned at Kitty. ‘And all will be well.’
Kitty could do nothing other than hold up the tea towel. ‘Wash or dry.’
‘Dry!’
Kitty threw the tea towel at Shazza, making her laugh all the more.