Moving On

Theatre

Theatre

‘I WON TWO TICKETS TO RIDERS TO THE SEA FOR Friday night, if you fancy coming along,’ Danny said.

‘I’d love it.’ She’d never been to a play – her only theatre outings had been pantomimes as a child, sometimes with Danny. ‘How did you win them?’

‘A raffle that your boss’ brother was running for the Vietnam boat people. First thing I ever won.’

It was December. They were in the college bar for their usual Wednesday drinks. They’d missed just one week since they’d started, when Danny had gone home for the mid-term break. They met other times too, at the disco Ellen sometimes turned up for on Saturdays, or at his house for dinner, or a game of Trivial Pursuit. There were always other people around then – this would be their first time going out alone.

It wasn’t a date. You couldn’t call it that. He’d won the tickets; it was pure chance. They might hug on meeting and parting, she might wonder sometimes what he’d be like as a boyfriend, but there was nothing more to it. He’d never asked her out, and he wasn’t doing it now. Still, the following night she changed into her favourite dress, and the boots she hadn’t been able to resist.

‘You look nice,’ Frances said. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

‘It’s only Danny.’

‘I know it’s only Danny. You can still have a good time. Put on a scarf, you’ll catch your death.’

They met at the roundabout. She smelled toothpaste when he leaned in for the usual hug. She tucked her arm into his for warmth as they walked. ‘So who’ll be at home for Christmas dinner?’ Her words came out in soft clouds that drifted away.

‘Everyone. My brothers are coming from England, and Sheila will be there with husband and daughter – they went to his folks last year – and Connie and Nora are threatening to bring the fiancés. It’ll be bedlam, but my mother’s thrilled.’

‘I’m sure she is. You’ll have a great day.’

‘How about you?’

‘Oh, just me, Mam and Joan – and Seamus, Joan’s boyfriend, will show up after dinner with a bottle of Baileys. Very exciting.’

She said it lightly but he squeezed her arm, and she knew he was thinking of her father not being there and guessing how she felt about it. Their fifth Christmas without him.

‘I won’t see you for a while,’ Danny said. Tomorrow he was going home for the holidays, and in January he was beginning three months of work experience in a computer company in Dublin.

‘I’ll miss our Wednesday nights,’ she said, ‘and the rest of it.’

‘Me too. It’s been fun getting to know you again.’

They walked easily together, their paces similar. He wore a blue woolly hat she hadn’t seen before and a fur-lined denim jacket she knew well. She would miss their nights out.

The theatre lobby was warm and bustling. Smartly dressed people milled around, everyone looking happy and expectant. ‘You want a drink?’ Danny asked. ‘We have a few minutes.’ But she shook her head so he went off in search of a programme. As Ellen was leafing through it a bell rang to summon them to the auditorium. They climbed the stairs to their balcony seats and settled in, and after a few minutes the lights dimmed.

A hush spread then, conversations halting until all was silence. Ellen took in the set, the interior of an old Irish cottage. Table, dresser, fireplace with kettle suspended, spinning wheel. A cough sounded loud in the dark silence. It felt like they were poised on some brink.

The play began, and from the opening lines of dialogue she was transfixed. This was no panto; this was something with its own kind of magic. This was a story with life breathed into it. She sat enthralled until the curtain came down, and then she got to her feet with the rest of the audience as the cast took their bows, trying to pull her head from the little cottage with all its sadness, and move back to reality.

‘Thanks so much,’ she said as they filed down the stairs. ‘That was amazing.’

‘Glad you enjoyed it. Let’s get a quick drink on the way home – a hot whiskey to keep the cold out.’

‘Good idea.’

His arm rested lightly on her back. Looking at them, a person would assume they were a couple. They got to the lobby and shuffled with the crowd towards the exit – but upon reaching the door they saw rain pelting down outside, streetlights reflected in the wet stone.

‘Damn,’ Danny said. ‘Looks like we’ll have to find a taxi.’

‘Let’s give it a few minutes; it might lighten off.’

‘Ellen?’

She turned to see Ben – a jolt of recognition – with a woman she didn’t know. He introduced her as his sister Ruth. ‘This is the Ellen I was telling you about,’ he said.

‘I escaped for the evening,’ Ruth confided, and Ellen remembered the little niece Ben had mentioned. A poppet, he’d called her. She introduced Danny, and the four of them regarded the rain.

‘Looks like it’s here to stay,’ Ruth remarked. ‘Are you driving?’

‘No – we walked. We’re going to get a taxi.’

‘I have a car,’ she said. ‘Sit in with us.’

‘We’re fine—’

‘Come on, it’s no trouble. We’re just around the corner’ – so the four of them hurried to the car, with Danny being dropped first. No hot whiskey after all, and no chance for Ellen to react to the kiss he gave her – a soft brush of her cheek, no more – before he opened his door and got out.

‘I’ll drop a line,’ he said, ‘when I’m landed.’

‘Do. Happy Christmas. Good luck in Dublin,’ and he was gone. On the way to Frances’ house she told Ben and Ruth about their early friendship, and their years apart. ‘We ran into each other again, just after I started in the bookshop.’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Ruth said. ‘Is this your road?’

‘Yes, just up here on the left.’ The rain hadn’t been there to stay after all; now it was gone, and the moon shone down on the wet street.

Ben got out of the passenger seat and opened her door. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘We should do a storytime for Christmas, to kick-start it. Ruth said she’d come and bring Sadie, so at least you’ll have an audience of one.’

‘She’d love it,’ Ruth called from within.

‘I thought you’d forgotten about it,’ Ellen said. She’d almost forgotten her offer herself.

‘Not in the least, just other things getting in the way. It’ll have to be Saturday of next week, to give us time to get the word out.’

‘Last Saturday before Christmas. People will be busy.’

‘Let’s give it a shot anyway. We’ll need a poster for the window. Can you do it?’

‘I’m not sure . . . I could word it, but I’m not arty. My lettering mightn’t be great.’

‘Let’s do it together – between us we should be able to come up with something presentable. Could you stay on for a bit after work on Monday? I’ll buy you a bag of chips to say thanks.’

She feigned shock. ‘What – no overtime?’

He thought. ‘You can come in half an hour later on Tuesday.’

‘Deal.’

Lying in bed that night, she arranged the poster wording in her head. Christmas Storytime at Piles of Books as the heading. Eleven o’clock would be a good time. She’d wear a Santa hat if she could find one. She could read the sweet story of the little girl who met Santa that she’d been leafing through the other day.

And they could give out little goody bags as the children left. A colouring book, a box of crayons. Maybe a bag of jellies.

This is the Ellen I was telling you about . He’d been talking about her.