Chapter 36
The Shamrock was quiet, given it was too early for Enda Dunne and Ned Kenny to call in for a pint, and being midweek and a scorcher, Grace was betting the bay was the place to be today anyway. The thought of the sparkling water gave her a yearning to feel damp sand between her toes and to splash about in the calm sea.
Aside from an English couple sitting outside in the beer garden, Grace and Hannah were the only people in the bar. Hannah had decided she’d see the week out, helping behind the bar so Mam could fuss about Dad before heading back to Cork. She’d announced that Feed the World with Bees would survive without her until Monday, but between serving pints, she’d been handing out complimentary packets of wildflower seeds, still doing her bit for the charitable organisation, and festival flyers. Grace, annoyingly, was still on leg rest, and it was too glary to work on her laptop outside. But right at that moment, neither sister was working.
Hannah had downed the bottle of spray and cloth she’d been wiping tables with to flop down in the chair opposite Grace. She was swinging her crossed leg back and forth, and Grace had closed her laptop and was staring at her sister’s feet. What fascinated her was the worn leather Birkenstocks Hannah had swapped her Doc Martens for, finally conceding it was too hot for boots. Grace suspected that the slip-on sandals with their chunky buckle were the real deal. Proper seventies vintage. Full marks to Hannah for practising what she preached and refusing to wear anything that wasn’t recycled. It was admirable, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. The thought of slipping her feet into someone else’s shoes made Grace feel a little ill. Still, the image she was currently picturing, i.e. a long-haired, peace-and-love type with bunions or worse, a verruca getting about the place in those Birkenstocks, was enough to put her right off her cheese-and-onion crisps. Almost.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Hannah asked.
‘I was admiring your Birkenstocks.’
‘Vintage,’ Hannah said, confirming Grace’s suspicions.
‘So come on then. Tell me about this Dylan. You’re forever talking about him.’ Grace decided she wasn’t doing herself any favours fixating on the Birkenstocks so pushed for info on Hannah’s colleague.
‘I’m not.’
‘Hannah, you are. I even heard you talking in your sleep about him.’
‘You did not.’
‘I did. You were after moaning, like, and saying, “Oh, Dylan, Dylan, you’re so sexy.”’ Grace couldn’t keep a straight face, and she started giggling.
‘You so made that up, and Dylan and I share a like-minded ethos, is all. I admire him. We both want to make the world a better place for future generations. And there’s nothing to tell. He has a girlfriend.’
‘That sounds familiar,’ Grace said as she shoved her hand in the crisp packet, but only crumbs were left.
‘OK, I suppose I do fancy him.’ For whatever reason, Hannah had decided to come clean. ‘He’s gorgeous for one thing with these huge brown eyes that are just so, so…’
‘Soulful?’
‘Exactly. Dylan feels things like injustice and the damage being done to our planet through greed like I do.’
Her sister had always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and Grace felt a kinship with her. ‘We’re a right pair, hankering after a fella we can’t have.’
‘So I was bang on about you and Chris?’
Grace nodded. ‘I’m wasting my time, though.’
‘Well, I think we should commiserate with another bag of cheese-and-onion each.’
Ordinarily, they weren’t supposed to eat their way through the stock, but these weren’t ordinary times. ‘I think that’s a grand plan,’ Grace agreed.
However, before their plan could be implemented, the door burst open and Isla Mullins, with her hair plastered to her forehead in sweaty strands, appeared.
‘I’ve got déjà vu of the other afternoon, only that time she had balloons for Dad’s hooley,’ Hannah whispered.
Isla scanned the pub swiftly, pinpointing the two sisters. ‘Grace, I’ve got Eileen keeping an eye on the shop for me for ten minutes, because I needed to tell you this in my official role as Event Council Coordinator.’
‘You’ve got my full attention,’ Grace said.
‘And mine,’ Hannah added.
‘Although you’re looking a tad hot and bothered there. Would you like a glass of orange juice?’ Dad would go spare if he knew she was helping herself to crisps and now offering the locals free drinks. Ah, well, Dad was resting in the television lounge looking forward to his lunch filled with wholegrains and greens – not!
‘An orange juice would hit the spot nicely. Thank you, Grace. I’m after running down Main Street. And what’s your job title?’ Isla pointedly asked Hannah.
‘Well, at the moment, it’s bar person.’
‘Grand, you can fetch my juice then, because it’s private festival business I’m here on,’ Isla said as she tapped her foot, waiting for Hannah to get up. She sat down in the vacated seat, her eyes on Hannah as she flip-flopped up to the bar.
‘Where was she after getting those Birkenstocks from?’
It wasn’t like Isla and her penchant for leprechaun attire to be in the know when it came to fashion items having a resurgence. ‘A thrift shop somewhere.’
‘I had a pair just like those in 1976 I donated to a charity shop just a few weeks back.’
Grace offered a weak smile and glanced at the Irish shop owner’s feet. They looked to be around the same size as Hannah’s. She’d gone right off those cheese-and-onion crisps now at the thought it might be Isla’s old sandals Hannah was getting about in.
Isla dragged her eyes away from Hannah’s feet and got back to what had her in a flap. ‘’Tis not good news I’m after bringing.’
‘Oh?’ Grace braced herself.
‘The council won’t consider our event licence application.’
‘Why not?’ That didn’t make sense, given it was an alcohol-free event and would bring people to the village, which would benefit the business owners. It was a clear win, and as such, she’d thought the red tape surrounding the festival would be easy to snip through.
‘Because as the event promotor, you should have had a pre-application consultation before publicising the event and selling tickets. The powers that be are sticklers for protocol, and you’ve broken it. I’m afraid you’ve marked your card, Grace. They won’t consider the application now.
Grace was gobsmacked and barely aware of Hannah placing Isla’s drink in front of her. This was the first she’d heard of pre-application consultations, but how much did she know about holding an outdoor event in Ireland? Nada. She’d not done her homework properly.
‘Isla, there must be something you can do. I don’t know, offer them money or something.’
Isla looked aghast at this idea. ‘I’ll not bribe local authority members, Grace Kelly.’
‘Sorry,’ Grace replied meekly.
Isla downed her juice, wiped her mouth and said, ‘I’ll have to be getting back, but I felt I owed it to you to tell you you’ll have to pull the pin on your festival in person.’
‘What?’ Hannah stared at Isla.
‘Your sister will explain.’ Isla pushed her chair back, leaving Grace staring after her as she exited the pub.
‘Grace, what was Isla on about?’
Grace explained what had happened, how she’d hit a roadblock. ‘I’ll have to ring Chris.’
‘That can’t be right.’ Hannah was saying, shaking her head, but Grace didn’t hear her as she phoned Chris, desperate to talk to him.
But Chris didn’t answer; Ulla did.
He was busy, she said in that clipped manner that brooked no discussion.
‘It’s urgent, Ulla.’
‘He’s busy,’ Ulla replied. Then she hung up.
Grace stared at the phone in her hand, bewildered. ‘She hung up on me.’
‘Cow,’ Hannah replied. Then: ‘Sorry, I forgot we’d sworn off saying the C word.’
Grace couldn’t summon a smile because her day couldn’t get any worse – or so she thought.