Chapter 14
The morning of the interview, Ally woke up feeling uneasy and lay there for a while, going over her planned wardrobe.
It wasn’t hard – just a case of pulling out one of her Celtic Concrete outfits that were less than two years old.
So, neat pencil skirt, satin blouse, heels and belt.
She’d been finding it impossible to get excited about the whole thing, but after knocking back a mug of coffee in her favourite cat mug while applying her makeup, she was cheered to see she didn’t look half bad.
Still, deep down it felt like getting dressed up for going down the mines. Look, she told herself, I absolutely don’t have to take the job, it’s only an interview. Just go to shut Mum up, so at least I can say I tried . . .
She arrived at the address of Hogget and Simpson, a Georgian house just off Baggot Street, and pushed open the door to find herself in a cool tiled hall with a white marble statue on a table. The place felt smart, chilly and formal.
A harassed-looking woman with heavy-framed designer glasses and a bob, wearing an enviable navy dress that Ally immediately clocked as being from AllSaints, bustled out of a side office.
She was struggling with a thick file under one arm and a box balanced under her chin, while an insistent male voice was coming through the speaker on her mobile.
‘No, no, I’m sorry, he’s not in yet. Surprise, surprise. No, I don’t know when he’ll be in. You know what Vincent’s like. No, I can’t take a message, I’m not a . . . bloody secretary.’
It was obvious from the exchange that they were in dire need of a receptionist or some sort of troubleshooter. She felt the woman’s eyes fasten on her. ‘Ally?’
She nodded. The woman was too busy to even speak – she just jerked her head towards another office, which was literally packed with files and boxes from floor to ceiling. If she hadn’t seen Hogget and Simpson on the door, she might have mistaken it for a hoarder’s den.
The woman dumped the armful of papers on her desk and introduced herself as Georgina, one of the partners, though Ally couldn’t help wondering if the workload mightn’t be rather unevenly distributed.
She flicked through Ally’s meagre CV that proved she’d stayed in her last job for nearly six years and enjoyed going to films as a hobby.
Fabulous. Oh, so what, Ally thought – she hadn’t had time to think up anything better, so she braced herself for the dreaded question as to why she’d left her previous job so suddenly.
Up close, Georgina looked not much older than herself, but completely exhausted.
Ally actually began to feel sorry for her.
‘Look, you’ve been recommended by Maeve and . . . Elizabeth Mariani?’
‘My mother.’
‘Right, so as far as I’m concerned, that’s more than enough. Can you start tomorrow?’
Wow, the shortest job interview in history. Also, the one she’d least wanted to get. Georgina must have felt her hesitation.
‘I see here from your CV that you’ve been earning a considerably higher salary than comes with this post. Look, we just need somebody to hold the place together, so I’m willing to compromise – how does €37,000 sound?’
Ally blinked. That was almost ten grand higher than the basic salary.
This job was getting harder and harder to refuse.
It would also instantly solve the problem of having to explain why she’d been fired from Celtic Concrete.
Her heart was trying to make itself heard in a tiny squeak but the evidence from her head was drowning it out entirely.
‘Sure, thank you . . . Actually, that sounds great.’
The lines on Georgina’s forehead relaxed. ‘Glad to hear it, and welcome to the team. I think you’ll be perfect.’
Ally could have been importing Class A drugs or running an illegal puppy mill for all Georgina knew, but she reflected, with a twinge of guilt, that once you knew the right people, doors swung open.
‘Super, we’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine a.m. and I’ll show you the ropes.’
* * *
‘Well, how did you get on?’ trilled Mum’s voice excitedly down the phone.
‘I got it.’
‘Fabulous, I knew it. I was just chatting with Allegra Carmichel on our Thursday walk, and I was telling her I’d managed to put you forward for the job, and as she said to me, “Hildie, where would that girl be without you? Without a doubt you are amazing.” That’s the only word for it, she said: “amazing”. ’
Ally sighed. She was far from amazed – this was all too familiar. No matter what she did, if it was something bad, then it was typical and she was to blame; if it was good, then it was all down to Mum. And if you confronted her with it, she’d be appalled, incredulous. And worst of all, wounded.
So, she had a job that would allow her to pay the mortgage – barely, and only if she didn’t eat too much. She’d been persuaded by the pet shop to bulk-buy the fish food. Maybe she could share a bit of that . . .
Oh God, now she was going to have to face The Owl’s Nest and resign. She stopped dead in the street. She actually couldn’t bear the thought but there was nothing else for it – just tell them and get it over with. It was like pulling off a plaster: the longer you dragged it out, the worse it got.
* * *
She’d taken the morning off for the interview, so maybe they’d be too busy to ask her where she’d been. Then she’d be able to have a quiet word with Dave and it wouldn’t all feel too catastrophic.
Of course, everyone was there, including Dave, who looked like he needed pegs to hold his eyes open and was eager to tell her that the baby was a great little fighter and nearly breathing on his own in his high-tech incubator. Ally’s heart sank, how was she going to break her news to him?
Pete meanwhile was up on a ladder, changing a light bulb, when she walked in, so Ally found herself facing him at an alarmingly intimate level.
‘Morneening,’ she trilled.
God, she really hadn’t expected her voice to come out that high. ‘It’s great to see you, Ally,’ said Dave. ‘I thought you were on your morning off and I was just saying how we missed you.’
He looked so warmly at her that she felt like a total traitor.
‘I just finished . . . what I was doing. So, can I help?’
‘You’re telling me – you do barista, I’ll do food.’ Dave grinned. ‘The team’s all here. We’re good.’
Ally had the feeling that it wasn’t just the work she was needed for, it was her presence itself.
Funny, she’d never felt before that she was someone who really made a difference, who was valued, in a way.
And here she was, about to walk out on them, leaving them in the lurch.
But how on earth could she turn down a solid job offer?
Just then the door burst open and the same four women whom Ally had served on her first solo run piled through the door – they had become cheery regulars.
‘Oh, hi, Ally, can we have the usual?’
‘Oh, and um, some of that berry tart and four spoons – we’re being good before Christmas,’ another of them announced to general laughter.
‘Sure, girls, take a seat. I’ll be with you in a mo,’ she called breezily.
She immediately set about filling the filters with ground coffee and she was so engrossed in the task that, turning round, she almost jumped to see Pete gazing at her, his large eyes full of questions.
Her heart lurched and she realised her hands were shaking, so she hid them below the counter.
He jerked his head towards the storeroom.
‘Can I talk to you?’
‘Sure, just give me five minutes here,’ she whispered.
Glancing round, she caught Evelyn’s eye. The older woman made no comment but turned back to preparing her Waldorf salad.
Pete was pacing distractedly when she slipped into the storeroom and closed the door. Oh God, she was in the wrong with him as well.
‘Hey.’
‘Ally, I need to talk to you. I feel like we’ve sort of lost contact, or something has happened . . .’ He seemed to have run out of words to express what was obviously gnawing at him.
Oh help, what was she going to say to him? She opened her mouth, quite unsure of what was going to come out.
‘Pete, I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid.’
‘Afraid . . . of what? Me?’
‘No. Not exactly.’
‘Look, I know it’s complicated. I’m complicated. Things with me are messed up at the moment. I just want to say that I’m not usually like this.’
She nodded.
‘Look, I wouldn’t blame you for a moment for not wanting to have anything to do with me. A beautiful girl like you, and right now I’m homeless.’
‘That’s not it. Anyway, that’s not how I see things.’
‘I know you don’t, Ally, and that’s why I . . . like you.’ The tone of his voice caused her insides to melt.
She wasn’t sure afterwards which of them had made the first move, but the next moment she felt her hands pressing against the dusty T-shirt (the one Rosemarie had assured her was Prada), his rough stubble against her face as she parted her lips to allow his tongue to probe her mouth.
There was no need for thought, no self-consciousness, as she felt her body yielding to his strong arms.
‘Er, excuse me . . .’ said Dave. ‘There’s a queue forming outside.’
‘Oh, oh, gosh, sorry, yes, I’ll be right there . . .’ she stammered, breaking away from Pete, despite the fact that, strictly speaking, she wasn’t even supposed to be working that morning. She stumbled out into the light and the sea of faces, feeling totally disorientated.
‘Hi, yes . . . sorry, who’s first?’
Thursday lunchtime was busy, especially coming up to Christmas, so she worked steadily for the next two hours, buttering, scooping and making coffees, which was probably a mercy, given her inner turmoil.
Eventually, she looked at her watch to see the time was ten past two and allowed her shoulders to drop.
There was nothing else for it: she was going to have to face Dave and be honest.
* * *
His face was aghast.
‘Tomorrow? You’re starting the new job tomorrow?’