Chapter 22
She captioned it:
Name a fish, make a wish (no name too long, too short or too silly)
That moment of excitement carried her about as far as the Luas, where she was waiting in the dark for the train to come when her phone buzzed – another text from Francis.
What did he want with her? Hadn’t he already got everything he wanted without tormenting her on a cold, wet and windy Monday morning?
Well, he was engaged now so he could bloody well wait.
She stuffed the phone back into her bag, but thinking about him had dented her lovely cloud of positivity.
Still, soon her phone began pinging away as people suggested names for the baby fish – they shared how they’d made a wish and it had brightened their morning. So, that was nice.
Ally switched on the Christmas-tree lights to cheer everyone up and began to set up the tables.
The first two lady customers arrived and immediately got excited by Evelyn’s scrumptious-looking display.
They ordered a filled croissant and a large Americano each, which gave Ally thinking time while she went through grinding, heating and pouring, in what had become second nature.
Question: how was she going to re-create the lovely intimacy she’d shared with Pete on Saturday?
Answer: she couldn’t. It wasn’t up to her. All she could do was stop obsessing about him being upstairs – he knew where to find her. She needed to focus on herself. Simple.
As the morning wore on, excited pairs and groups turned up – hooting with laughter and hugging each other, laden with gift bags, bottle bags, plants – for the Christmas coffees and lunches they’d been promising themselves for months.
Honestly, it felt like a privilege to have a job in what had become so many people’s happy place.
During Ally’s – very late – coffee break, Rosemarie phoned. ‘Whatsup, where is he?’
‘Upstairs. Feck that. But listen, I forgot to tell you, Francis got engaged.’
‘Fuck no. The Tadpole has landed. There is no God.’
‘But Francis’s texted me this morning. I didn’t reply.
I mean, WTF? Why isn’t he just rushing around town with his big coat flapping behind him like Hugh Grant, gripping bunches of roses and crashing through the doors of a jeweller’s shop to surprise her with a motherfucking massive ring?
What’s he doing annoying me at the Luas stop at 7. 30 in the morning?’
‘Yes. That is a question.’
‘Rosemarie, what’s going on? What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing at all . . .’ she replied blithely.
‘Feck, I’ve got to go, there’s a queue. Don’t do anything. I’ll talk to you later.’
* * *
Lunchtime rolled by and soon it was time for Evelyn’s break at the little table by the wall, where Ally dropped her down a mug of tea and a toasted cheese sandwich.
Most of the customers had cleared off early – busy with Christmas shopping or whatever – so Ally sat down opposite her.
By this stage Evelyn had almost finished her cardigan front.
She glanced up at Ally while she counted her stitches but then paused before starting another line.
‘I don’t know what to do, Evelyn. He’s so hot and cold. Sometimes I feel so close to him and then . . . it’s like he’s gone. Should I just forget about him?’
Evelyn thought for a moment. ‘With some people, I’d say, yes.’
‘I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but your knitting-up-wishes thing . . . well, it hasn’t really worked.’
‘How do you know?’ she said. ‘If a man won’t leave a family high and dry, that’s not necessarily the worst sign.’
‘For them maybe, not for me.’ Ally was aware of feeling slightly resentful towards the older woman, which she recognised was ridiculous – it wasn’t Evelyn’s responsibility to make her life work exactly the way she wanted.
‘You can never fathom all the moving parts.’ Evelyn sighed. ‘My advice is to go and start up your own knitting.’
‘Like what?’ Stupid question.
‘Choose your wool, choose your pattern . . . and get started.’
‘You know what? I will.’ It was odd, but even saying that made her feel better.
* * *
There was no sign of Pete all day; however, after Evelyn had gone and Dave had cashed up and left, she heard the familiar voice behind her.
‘All right?’
‘Oh hi. Fine, yeah.’
He needn’t think she was going to fawn all over him.
What was the point in her heart pounding and desperately longing for the heat of intimacy?
It was only going to cool down again. In short, she was exhausted – if there was any trying to be done, let him do it. Pete seemed to be searching his mind.
‘How was yesterday?’ he said at last.
‘Fine, what about you?’
He laughed awkwardly. ‘Actually, I went to a camping shop to get my tent.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘And brought the two boys.’
OK, so that’s where he was: family day out. Well, it’s better to know these things, she decided bravely.
‘So, what did Tanya make of it?’
‘Oh God, no . . . Tanya in a camping shop? Hell would freeze over.’
What was going on? Pete was hard to read, as usual, but his tone hadn’t felt nostalgic, which cheered her up.
‘And did the lads enjoy it?’
‘Loved it. They can’t wait to come and stay a night with me and Patsy.’
‘That’s actually really sweet. Do they know how freezing cold it is up there at night?’
He touched the side of her arm. Was that just friendly? Was she being friend-zoned?
‘Anyway, I just think what you’re doing up there is amazing.’ God, she sounded so formal.
‘Yep, I’m finding myself amazed a lot of the time . . .’ He looked around ruefully. ‘Especially with Christmas coming up.’
‘I know. It’s shit, I get it. At least my fish don’t know it’s Christmas. My flat is a maternity ward at the moment . . . Sally’s had 200 babies, which means that, according to Rosemarie, I’m their nana. I just hope they don’t all want gift tokens.’
‘Maybe I could dress up as Santa for them?’
‘And they could sit on your knee? Pete, this is a ridiculous conversation . . .’
‘You started it.’ He grinned.
They talked about Fergus’s ankle, which thankfully only needed a boot, so he could still drive to work in his automatic car, and that meant that at least there wasn’t going to be a big insurance claim.
Pete looked visibly relieved, and in spite of her new detachment, Ally had to actively stop herself from reaching out and stroking his face.
‘Maybe that’s a good omen,’ he said. ‘Maybe our luck’s changing . . .’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Not really.’ That answer was kind of rubbish, because he’d proved to be super-resilient, she thought – how could he have achieved everything he’d done without ironclad self-belief? Surely if he could survive the past few months, he could survive pretty much anything.
‘You do know Rosemarie and Fergus are now having a passionate affair, and it’s all because of the piano.’
‘You just never know, do you?’
‘Well, I’d better go . . . I’ve to catch the wool shop,’ she said, gathering up her things.
‘Ally . . . erm . . . what’re you doing this Wednesday?’
‘It’s my day off, so . . .’
‘I know. I was just wondering . . .’
He hesitated.
‘I’ve to go up to Monaghan, to my mother – she needs a few jobs done before Christmas – so I said I’d— so . . . anyway . . . would you like to come?’
What? God. She had not seen that coming round the corner.
‘Erm . . . sure.’
Feck the Christmas shopping.
‘So, does that mean I’m builder’s mate for the day?’ Slow down, Ally, she kicked herself. But he chuckled. He was pleased, there was no disguising it.
‘I could definitely do with one of those.’
‘Will I bring my playlist for the car?’ She was trying hard not to accidentally smile too much.
‘Yeah, do that, we can sing along . . . all the way . . . or you could sing and I’ll—’
‘Tap in time on the steering wheel?’
‘Yep, that’d definitely be my instrument of choice.’
‘Great, let’s do it.’ She smiled, waving as she backed out the door.
* * *
She tumbled through the apartment door with her carrier bag full of wool and needles just as Rosemarie rang.
‘Hi, how’s Fergus?’
‘Fabulous, of course. He’s not the problem. It’s this party on Thursday. Ally, it’s going to be poxy.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s all Crystal’s bloody fault – she’s just ordered 200 grey helium balloons and a massive banner, all saying: Winter wishes from Celtic Concrete. Grey balloons, with black letters. Jesus, did you ever hear of anything more depressing in your life?’
‘Why?’
‘Feck knows. I think she was trying to be on-brand or suck up to Con or whatever. It’s going to be shite, like a big avalanche of gloom. I mean, winter wishes is like saying: “Happy Miserable Fucking Freezing Indefinitely Long Succession of Weeks”. Yeah, thanks.’
‘OK, it’s bad, but at least you won’t have to blow them up.’
‘No, but we need to collect them. Look, I know you were fired but you’re the only one with a car. Could you meet me at work so we can go to the balloon shop?’
‘Wait – did you say 200 balloons? Rosemarie, I only have a Fiat 500, how’s that going to work?’
‘Shite. You’re right.’
‘Wait . . . Pete has a pretty big van. I could ask him for a loan.’
‘Pete, the Man with a Van. How is he, anyway? I was just thinking that maybe you should let him go.’
‘Well, that’s the thing. He’s asked me up to Monaghan on Wednesday to visit his mother.’
‘Visit the mammy? That’s amazing, I take it all back.’
‘But I don’t even know why he asked me . . . We’re not even going out. I mean, what are we?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go with it. Oh, and I nearly forgot, have you been onto to Francis yet?’
‘No, why?’
‘Just do. I’ve got to go, see ya.’
Ally shoved the phone into her pocket and trailed into the sitting room to check on the fish nursery.
Nobody had apparently been eaten by anyone else, so she followed the YouTube instructions, diluted some baby fish food, sucked it into a syringe and put it into their side of the tank.
At least she was being an earth mother and nurturing some little creatures, which gave her a warm glow of being needed by someone.
The phone buzzed – oh, my God . . . Pete’s name always caused her a jolt of excitement.
Pick U up on Wednesday 8.30, dress warm ??
‘OK,’ she told Sally, who was swimming around as normal and seemed to have completely forgotten she’d given birth. ‘I can’t force anything . . . if it’s to be, it’ll happen.’ Still, she wasn’t totally convinced.
But ‘dress warm’ . . . How could she make that work? A sexy fleece? Did such a thing even exist? Distractedly, she shoved a leftover slice of lasagne into the microwave and, in the intervening three and a half minutes, had a think.
The very thing! The pile of unopened sports clothes she’d ordered a few weeks ago in a feverish desire to impress William and then, when everything had gone to shite, had shoved into the bottom of the wardrobe.
She ripped open the storm-blue fleece and the sort-of matching hiking boots and very nice black leggings, then examined herself in the mirror; her long dark hair and large grey-blue eyes were really set off by the colour of the fleece, although it all looked completely effortless .
. . Because it was! Oh yes, she had the perfect outfit and it hadn’t taken a feather out of her.
There really was a God of leisure and activity clothing.
Just as the microwave pinged, Ally realised how starving she was and settled down on her favourite cat cushion, with her back against the sofa, and took a forkful of steamy, creamy, cheesy deliciousness.
That felt better. For all of the big, high-stakes emotional dramas, there were small moments of simple bliss like this, and she was starting to appreciate them more.
Francis. She’d forgotten about him, damn. She texted:
How’s it going, Fran? Everything OK?
That just about represented her feelings towards her newly engaged ex.
No response.
Oh well, she could wait. She pulled the rusty-red wool out of the bag and studied the knitting pattern she’d chosen – a long V-neck jumper with two narrow cables down front and back .
. . quite complicated. But then, she reasoned, so was her life, so there was no point in trying to work it out by choosing something too simple.
Following the pattern closely and with a YouTube video for moral support – since her previous knitting experience consisted of a single dubious sock in primary school – Ally cast on the rib and was delighted with herself at completing two more rows.
OK, it didn’t look much but it was a start.
She didn’t feel that anything major had shifted in her life, but probably Evelyn hadn’t either in her first couple of rows.
Just then she was hit with a bout of wobbles about Wednesday.
What if they ran out of things to say on the way?
What if his mother wasn’t too pleased to see her, and it was awkward and mortifying?
She whipped out the knitting again; OK, one more row to calm her nerves and a wish that tomorrow would be fun.
It didn’t feel like magic, but by the end of the row she felt distinctly calmer.