Chapter 1
1
‘Oi, nice slippers, love!’ a broad Dublin twang shouted from the heavens.
A lack of privacy was the downside of apartment living, Jess thought as her gaze shot upward to scan the myriad windows overlooking the courtyard. She was rewarded by the sight of a lad with a crew cut who looked far too young to be the proud owner of such a bulbous drinker’s nose. His purpose, judging by the plume of smoke he’d just exhaled through his nostrils, for hanging out the window on a Saturday morning wasn’t to spy on other residents but to have a sly smoke.
Having been there and done that, Jess shrugged. Each to their own was her motto because she, better than most, knew what it felt like to always have someone else sticking their ten cents’ worth in. As her mother’s face floated before her, she gave Puff the Magic Dragon a little curtsey and got an excited wolf whistle in return before opening the door to her block and disappearing inside.
It was true, she mused, the parcel tucked under her arm as she waited for the lift, getting older brought confidence. There was a time when she would have blushed a shade of beetroot upon being whistled at like that. That was back in the days when men were still allowed to down tools on building sites in order to harass the young women hurrying past. Funny, too, how when you were a nubile, barely post-teen strutting your stuff around Auckland’s CBD, you took those whistles for granted – almost as your due – and then when you reached a certain age, you became pathetically grateful for them.
Jess knew that before the morning was out she’d be texting her best pals with the exciting news that she’d received a wolf whistle and… wait for it… she was wearing her elephant suit, as her friends liked to call her Penney’s tracksuit ensemble.
Her apartment was housed on the second floor of the Sandbank Wing of the Riverside complex – although she often joked that by the state of the Liffey when the tide were out, perhaps the Smelly Mudflat Apartments or Abandoned Shopping Trolleys Apartments might have been more apt names. Being on the second floor was something that made her feel happier when she spied the diehard smokers like ole randy, big-nose boy – if there was a fire, at least she had the option of jumping.
This cheery trail of thought was interrupted as the lift door opened and disgorged Gemma from across the hall. She looked to be a woman on a mission, judging by the water bottle in hand and the amount of skin-tight black spandex on display.
‘Morning, Jess!’ chirruped the svelte redhead with the bouncy ponytail and perky everything else. ‘Glad to see you’re up and at it.’ She gave Jess’s track pants and slippers the once-over. ‘Well, kind of anyway.’
‘We can’t all be gym bunnies, Gem. Besides, you’ll do yourself an injury on that cross-trainer one of these days. Just you mark my words.’ Pushing past her, she stepped inside the lift. ‘Besides, my old bones have a good ten years on yours.’
Gemma laughed. ‘Listen to you – you sound like my gran and she at least does aqua-aerobics twice a week! You really should come with me, you know.’ She winked conspiratorially. ‘There’s lots of hotties there.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it,’ Jess muttered, hitting number two. She had no intention of breaking the golden rule by which she lived her life. No man would ever see her in spandex; nor would she get hot and sweaty in front of the opposite sex unless there was something fun in it for her!
‘You’ve been saying that since Easter and we’re nearly into October now, so why don’t you put your money where…’ Gemma’s voice trailed off as the doors slid shut in her face.
Gemma was right, she supposed. She did sound like a granny, even though she’d only just turned thirty-four, which in this day and age of forty being the new thirty meant that technically she was twenty-four. Cheering up at that thought, Jess let herself into her apartment.
The tired hardback cover peered up at her as she tossed the paper the book had been wrapped in onto the floor – she’d pick it up later. Being a slob on a Saturday was every single girl’s prerogative. She stroked the cover reverently. This was it – the copy she needed to complete her collection! The rest of the Ladybird books were piled into the worn leather suitcase she’d swooped on after spotting it at one of her favourite local second-hand haunts.
The collection the case contained wasn’t overly valuable, given that most of them had someone else’s name scribbled inside. What was it with kids needing to put their mark on everything? It was this graffiti that devalued the little they were worth. For Jess, though, their value wasn’t monetary; it was magical. She could pore over her tattered copy of Cinderella for an age, mesmerised by Cinder’s beautiful ball gowns. There was just something so enchanting about the whole idea of living a life of rags to riches.
Oh, she knew that these days such stories weren’t considered PC, but in her opinion, things in that department had gone too far. Take, for instance, the day her local library had banned Enid Blyton’s Noddy books. Sacrilege! To say she’d been heartbroken at the ridiculousness of it was an understatement. It had certainly never crossed her mind that Noddy’s relationship with Big Ears was anything other than a platonic friendship.
She understood now, though, that this was because kids don’t view the world the way adults do. With kids, there are no hidden agendas. But then it’s not the children who pay for the books, is it?
Jess dismounted her high horse at the remembered injustice of it all as the phone began to jangle.
‘Hey, it’s me. What are you doing? Harry, put that down!’ Brianna shrieked, and Jess, holding the phone away from her ear, grinned at the mental picture her friend’s tone invoked.
‘The book arrived.’
‘ Snow White – the one you bought off eBid?’
‘That’s the one.’
Brianna could see the romance in collecting old books, unlike their mutual friend, Nora, who, upon spying the vintage suitcase and its contents for the first time, had exclaimed, ‘What on earth do you want with that old pile of mouldy shite? Honestly, Jess, you’ll be coming home with second-hand smalls next.’ A second-hand Jane Nora was not.
‘Yes, and oh, Brie, it’s just gorgeous.’ She began flicking through the little book’s pages, gazing at the pictures as she did so. ‘You want to see the wee cottage in the woods; it’s…’
‘Like something out of a fairy story,’ Brianna finished for her with a laugh that was cut short. Jess could make out some sort of scuffling noise, which was swiftly followed by, ‘Harry Price, you give that to Mammy right now! If Daddy catches you playing with his new razor, there will be murder.’ She gave a heartfelt sigh that sounded like a long, slow hiss down the phone line. ‘Whatever you do, Jess, don’t ever have children.’
‘Ha! It would be the Immaculate Conception if I did, and did I hear you right? Did you say Harry was playing with a razor?’ She was mildly alarmed – Brianna had a laid-back parenting style, but that was a bit much, even by her standards.
‘It’s electric and he’s pretending to shave like Daddy.’
‘Phew, that’s all right then. Oh and, Brie, if perchance I do meet Prince Charming before the menopause and have babies, then I hope they’re as gorgeous as your Harry. Put him on for me, will you?’
‘Huh! Not so gorgeous at five o’clock this morning when he decided to pay us a visit. Honestly, the concept of a weekend being for sleeping in is completely foreign to him. Wait a minute… Harry, love, it’s your Aunty Jess wanting to say hello.’
A few moments later, heavy breathing signalled Harry had taken possession of the phone.
‘Hello, sweetie pie, how are you today? Are you being a good boy for your mummy?’
The heavy breathing stopped. ‘Yes, but she’s not being a very good mammy.’
Jess choked back a laugh. ‘Why’s that then, Harry?’
‘I need to use Daddy’s razor or I will get prickles.’
Brianna’s voice trilled in the background, ‘You won’t get prickles, Harry, because you’re not in the throes of puberty just yet, even though some days I could swear I’m living with a hormonal teenager in the body of a five-year-old. Now give the phone back to Mammy and say cheerio to Aunty Jess.’
There was a thunk as he dropped the phone in protest, and then the line went dead. Jess smiled to herself and shook her head. It really was lucky for Harry that he was such a cutie.
She hung up her end and waited for it to ring again. She didn’t have to wait long.
‘Sorry about that. His Highness is being a right sod this morning. We’ve both got cabin fever, so I’d better keep it short before he gets himself into some real mischief. Now, I know it’s a bit of a crap day and you’d never know it was supposed to be the tail end of an Indian summer, but we do live in Ireland, after all, and if I don’t get out and about with Harry, I will go mad!’
‘I take it Pete’s at work then?’ Jess interjected. Despite having the look of a builder about him, Brianna’s nearest and dearest actually worked in IT, doing that cryptic kind of stuff that IT people do. She’d once asked him to tell her in layman’s terms exactly what it was he did for a living, but his explanation had left her none the wiser. It was something to do with contracting his computer skills out to a major retail outlet, for which he was paid well enough for Brianna not to have to work and for them to live in a lovely home with all the latest mod cons.
‘Yeah, he’s finishing off an urgent job and won’t be home until late. So how do you fancy a trip to Bray? We could do the Greystones walk, followed by a glass of wine in the pub. A lemonade and bag of crisps will keep Harry quiet, and then we could all hop on the Dart back to mine for a BBQ dinner. Nothing flash – sausages in bread with salad – but I’ve managed to entice Nora.’
Brianna lived in a pretty red-brick, two-storey house in the bustling seaside hub of Bray, a mere thirty minutes outside of Dublin. With the hills of north County Wicklow surrounding it, there was no better place for a Saturday afternoon ramble. Jess glanced out the window at the grey old day. Exercise hadn’t been on her agenda, but a spot of fresh sea air, some good company followed by an ice-cold glass of Sav – well, it would do her the world of good. Besides, if it meant she didn’t have to cook a dinner for one, she was all for a BBQ!
‘You can’t beat a good old banger, so count me in. Meet you at the station around two?’
‘Perfect! We can head off from there. I’ll let Nora know, and we’ll see you then.’
Jess hung up the phone.