Chapter 9
Next morning, Ally pushed open the door to The Owl’s Nest to find Evelyn working through her usual mountain of food: creamy hummus, vibrantly coloured quiches, crusty breads, fragrant almond and lemon tarts, and chocolate pavlova with cream.
Ally marvelled at how her tiny, birdlike frame could summon the energy to produce such abundance.
Ally immediately began to take the chairs down and set up for opening at eight thirty.
‘Evelyn, how did you manage all of this? You look exhausted.’
She made both of them a mug of tea and helped Evelyn with the washing-up.
‘Don’t mind me, I’m a morning person. I’ll go home as soon as this lot is finished.’
Ally caught a glimpse of her in the artificial light and judged her age to be in her late sixties, possibly seventy. Surely, she was on a pension?
‘Couldn’t you knock off early and take it easy? We could cover here.’
‘Ah no, I’ll be grand. Anyway, I’m only sixty-two and I’ve no pension – I need the shift.’
Ally tried to hide her surprise. It just showed how a hard life could take its toll.
Only then did she realise Evelyn was looking at her.
‘Are you all right? You look worried,’ observed the older woman.
Ally explained about her situation with her flat if she didn’t find a better-paid job. She made no mention of Pete.
The older lady seemed to be lost in thought for a moment as she smoothed cream onto a cake and decorated it precisely with a pattern of strawberries. Ally wondered if she’d lost interest.
‘You know,’ she said at last, ‘there’s two floors above this.
Dave has the lease on the whole building, you should talk to him.
Sure, not long ago all of these places were rented out as affordable flats, until the standards got too high and the law changed.
’ She sniffed. ‘Now perfectly good premises like upstairs are lying idle. It’s a scandal, really.
It has a kitchen and all, it just needs a bit of fixing up. ’
A light began to glimmer at the end of Ally’s financial tunnel.
‘And do you think he might let me move in?’
‘You can ask him. Nothing ventured . . .’
Just then the door opened and Dave bustled in, looking like he was barely holding it together.
He replied to their enquiring expressions without being asked.
‘The baby’s still in place. Twenty-six weeks.
Fia’s going stir-crazy – she can’t move, but they say every day they hold off the birth is going to make all the difference. So, we’re sitting it out.’
He was going through every step of it with her.
Which just went to show, there were some really great guys out there.
Despite that, it was definitely not the moment to bring up crashing in the flat upstairs, possibly illegally.
Still, she mused, there was one person who would be ideal to do a bit of fixing up. And that person was Pete.
* * *
As the breakfast shift began, she greeted the regular customers by name – Christie and Noel had moved their coffees inside as the winter set in; both widowers considered The Owl’s Nest a home from home.
Throughout everything, she kept one eye on the door with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
By eleven o’clock there was still no sign of Pete and her heart began to sink.
On the other hand, she noticed a distinct improvement in her barista skills, finding herself able to use both hands as her muscle memory kicked in, prompting her movements seamlessly.
Niamh, the Gym+Coffee lady, hadn’t tried it on with the big reduction since the last time and had become a regular acquaintance, although Evelyn always gave her a wide berth. ‘I’ll let you do the honours with this one,’ she’d mutter.
There was a tightness around the young woman’s mouth, as though every piece of her was toned into obedience. Underneath, Ally could pick up her agitation.
She began to prepare a large latte with a shot of hazelnut – a lot more calorific than Niamh’s usual Americano – so something was definitely up.
‘Busy day?’
Niamh rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t get me started, Ally. Do you have kids?’
‘No . . . Well, not yet.’ She smiled conspiratorially as Niamh glowed a little at being taken into her confidence, before fixing her with a glare that made Ally feel like a pinned butterfly.
‘I’m driven demented with my twelve-year-old. I had her booked in for orchestra camp – and bear in mind this child has the talent, if only she’d put her mind to it . . .’
Ally was finding herself compelled to nod.
‘But no, what does she insist on? Ice skating and hanging out at Dundrum with her classmates. You know what that means? Sitting on a dirty floor like ragamuffins, slurping some ghastly blue concoction . . . But as I said to her: Rebecca, if you want to be exceptional, you have to be prepared to behave exceptionally, not just trail along with the rest of the gang.’
‘And . . . how did she react?’
‘Ally, I will not repeat in public the word she used.’
Wow, reflected Ally, it must have taken some character to push back against this tiger mom.
‘Funny, when I was twelve, my mum wanted me to be a dancer – ballet, if you don’t mind,’ said Ally airily.
‘Ballet?’ said Niamh, unable to control her raised eyebrow.
She might as well have added and now look at you. Bugger that, Ally thought. As a matter of fact, after rushing around from early morning these days, she was feeling decidedly more toned than in her previous job.
‘The truth? It was my mother who had the fantasy of being a dancer, not me. I say to anyone, at any age: whatever it is, go out and do it – it’s never too late.’ She smiled at Niamh.
The woman looked at her in surprise, unsure exactly what had happened but unable to detect any hostility.
‘Oh, right, thank you,’ she muttered and made her best effort at a dignified exit.
Ally felt unaccountably good – perhaps it was a tiny strike for allowing kids everywhere to be themselves.
Just then the door opened and, oh God . .
. there was Pete, wearing his familiar aviator jacket, prompting a painful lurch in her heart.
Overcome with confusion, she instantly glanced away, pretending not to see him, and busied herself with an imaginary order, but she continued to track him from behind her hair as he disappeared into the storeroom.
You’re being weird, she inwardly shouted at herself, why won’t you just smile and say good morning like any normal person?
But it was genuinely awkward. They’d shared intimacy, and she knew him better than she was supposed to.
Plus, he hadn’t been in touch since the previous morning, when he’d charged out of her apartment, so what was she supposed to think?
She certainly wasn’t going to creep around, pathetically trying to catch his eye.
If he wanted to explain what had happened, then great – fantastic – but in the meantime, lie low, she urged herself.
Despite that, her hands were shaking. She caught Evelyn watching her.
‘You like him, don’t you? I’m not blind.’
‘Is it that obvious? I don’t know whether to give him a chance or to run for my life.’
‘Dave speaks highly of him and that says a lot, but let’s say . . . some men can get very tangled up in their lives. Mind yourself.’
She gave Ally a pat on the arm as she walked away.
There was no pretending – this was miserable.
She sought refuge in the cupboard-sized staff loo, where she competed for space with a mop and bucket, everyone’s coats and the new guy’s – Ronnie – folded e-scooter.
She had a pee and a good bawl, then dried her eyes with loo paper.
She felt a surge of warmth towards Evelyn, with her thrift-shop wardrobe and homely wisdom.
There was nothing to be done about Pete, that was a fact.
She raised her palms in a gesture to mentally let go of the situation, or try at least, then reapplied plenty of eyeliner and lipstick, which surprisingly cheered her up.
Her heart might feel like a punchbag, but whatever she had to face, it’d be done while looking slightly fabulous.
Just as she was emerging, she heard a ringing middle-class voice.
‘I’m looking for my daughter – she’s the barista, you know.’ Oh no.
‘Mum, sssh! Listen, I’m not the barista – that’d be Dave, the owner.’
‘Lovely. Well, look how cosy this is, like a little hobbit hole, and it’s quite trendy, isn’t it? The perfect little fill-in spot for you.’
Ally was cringing.
‘Mum, look, just sit down . . . Sit down, I’ll bring you a lovely coffee – and this is Evelyn, I can highly recommend her latticed apple tart and cream.’
Mum was enjoying herself far too much to sit down. She rarely went out, and when she did, she behaved as though she were at an Oscars party.
‘Scrumptious . . . I’d adore that, darling, and so what if it’s nothing but celery tonight?’ she tittered, oblivious to Evelyn’s even gaze. ‘I have to be good . . .’
Ally managed to produce her order in record time, in the hope it might distract Mum from making any more loud gaffes.
‘Now, the reason I’m here is very important . . . I’ve a new job for you.’
‘Mum, sssh! I have a job. It isn’t that stress-leave job you mentioned before, is it?’
‘No, I mean a proper job. This is a lovely law office – it’s a pal of Maeve’s and all they want is a nice, well-spoken receptionist who won’t scare the clients.’
She mentioned the salary, which was half what she had been earning at Celtic Concrete. It wouldn’t even go near her mortgage. God, Mum hadn’t a notion.
‘And the super thing is, I said you could start next Monday, but they said the following week, assuming you pass the interview. Much more suitable. Pop out and buy yourself a few nice little outfits so you look your best – none of this tatty lot. Now, I’ve to fly and pick up Allegra Carmichel, who’s just finishing up with her gallbladder man.
Bye, darling. And say thank you to that little woman – I’m just being good, it’s nothing personal about her baking. ’