Chapter 9
9
When she woke, it was gone 9 a.m. and her head felt heavy after her disturbed night’s sleep. She’d gone off quickly enough when she’d got back into bed but had still slept lightly, dreaming about an imaginary Owen Aherne serenading her with ‘It’s a Long Way from Tipperary’ while her mother clapped along in the background. Still, it was nothing a paracetamol and some coffee wouldn’t fix.
As she poured out her cornflakes, her mobile broke into song, causing her to cringe. ‘Barracuda’ by Heart was belting out from where it lay atop the microwave. Bloody Nora had programmed the song as both her ringtone and her incoming message alert as punishment for their having lost a pub quiz due to her lack of knowledge about all-women rock groups throughout the ages. Granted, Nora had had a few drinks under her belt, and they’d all thought it was a great joke at the time, but now she had no idea how to change it back. It wasn’t a good look when one was enjoying a civilised latte or riding on public transport.
She picked it up and squinted at the inbox.
C tht u rng lst nite was out Ewan hot wot u wnt?
Speak of the devil! It was Nora; her texting shorthand was always so bloody cryptic, and she never included any social niceties like an X or ‘luv Nora’, Jess grouched, deciphering the curt message out loud: ‘See that you rang last night – was out – Ewan hot – what you want?’
Nick phd me we have a date this thurs nite – did you have sex last nite?
A reply that didn’t require a code breaker this time bounced back almost immediately.
Told u so! MYOB PS: kncking off erly to jmp ot plne.
Jess stared at the glowing screen; if she didn’t know better, she’d have read that last bit as knocking off early to jump out of a plane . No, that couldn’t be right; it was more likely she was planning on knocking off early to jump Ewan’s bones again. She’d phone Nora for the low-down this evening. She knew from experience it was useless trying to hold a conversation with her when she was at work. With that decided, she raised her spoon to tuck into her cornflakes.
‘ Barracuda’ pounded out again, making her drop her spoon.
‘Piss off, Nora!’ she said, aware that talking to herself was a side effect of living alone, but this time the message was from Brianna.
Morning Jess sorry missed your call was having sex – what did you want sweetie?
Jess had to smile. Nora and Brie might have hailed from different planets, but she loved them both the same, though at this moment in time she probably loved Brianna a teensy bit more. She was nicer, after all.
After a series of frantic texts bounced back and forth about her upcoming date with Nick and thankfully not about Brianna’s Sunday night delight, she finally managed to finish her breakfast. Dumping the bowl in the sink, Jess glanced at the phone. She might try to contact Amy’s brother before jumping in the shower.
As she punched in the code for Northern Ireland followed by his phone number, she decided it was probably a pointless exercise. It was ten o’clock on a Monday morning, after all. This Owen chap would probably be hard at work, toiling in the fields or whatever it was that farmers did on a Monday morning. As it connected and began to ring, though, she decided to hang on – she could always leave a message on his answerphone.
To her surprise, the phone was picked up on the fourth ring. It wasn’t a good line, but she did manage to detect a gruff male voice as it was answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hello, is that Mr Aherne?’ she enquired, putting on her best journalistic tone.
‘Aye.’ He sounded wary.
‘Er, right, well.’ So much for consummate professional, she thought. ‘My name’s Jessica Baré, and I write a weekly column for the Dublin Express .’
‘Aye.’ He sounded even more suspicious.
‘Well, what I’m ringing about, Mr Aherne, is your sister, Amy.’
There was a static-filled silence.
‘Are you still there, Mr Aherne?’
‘What are you wanting, dragging all that up again?’ His voice, despite the gruffness, had the sing-song quality of the North to it.
What was he on about? She wondered. Maybe he and Amy weren’t on good terms, or perhaps she’d done something illegal? Her nose twitched the way it always did when she sensed she was on to something – there was definitely a story to be told here.
‘It’s just that I’ve got her book, you see. It’s a children’s storybook that you gave her for Christmas back in 1973. She wrote her name inside the cover; that’s how I know it was hers.’ She rushed on, and he didn’t interrupt her – he probably thought she was mad, so in for a penny, in for a pound.
‘It’s a bit of a long story, but I collect old Ladybird books – Series 606D to be exact. The stories are all the classic children’s fairy tales, but it’s the illustrations I love, and, well…’ She paused momentarily, wondering whether he would interrupt and tell her she was mad, but he remained silent. ‘Nearly all of the books in my collection are pre-loved, with other children’s names scribbled inside them. It devalues the book for most collectors, but I like it – you know, the thought that another child has loved that book.’
There was still no response. Jess twirled her hair round her index finger with her free hand. She couldn’t blame him – not really, because her brilliant idea was beginning to sound pottier by the minute. She inhaled deeply before telling herself to just cut to the chase before he hung up, writing her off as a crackpot caller.
‘Anyway, Mr Aherne, to get to the point, as I mentioned before, I recently acquired Amy’s old copy of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs from an eBid auction, and that’s when the idea came to me. Where is she now – the child who used to own that book? And that’s it really – that’s what I’d like to write about.’
If she expected him to begin enthusiastically filling her in on what his sister had been doing for the last thirty-odd years, she was out of luck.
‘The thing is, Mr Aherne…’ she said, filling in the crackling static that was, if she was honest, getting a tad creepy, ‘I’d love to get in touch with Amy to see whether she’d be open to my idea.’ Christ, he really wasn’t making this easy. ‘Erm, so that’s why I’ve rung you, to ask whether you could give me your sister’s contact details? I couldn’t find a listing anywhere for her, and I tracked you down because Amy had scribbled the name of your farm inside the cover of her book, too.’
At last he broke his silence, clearing his throat before answering her. ‘Ah, well now, it’s the sorta ting she might have been open to for sure, but you could find it a bit hard getting in touch with her seeing as our Amy’s been dead for the past twenty-nine years.’