Chapter Thirty-One
My mouth feels like the dustpan I’ve just emptied, full of dust. It’s tea time.
I’m parched. It’s mid-afternoon and I’ve emptied everything out of the barn and hosed it down.
It’s a massive space. I look around and up into the rafters.
The exposed beams reach up to the tin roof.
There are no internal walls, but at one end there’s a small store room under a loft space.
Other than that, it’s just a big open room. Such a waste!
There’s a fireplace at one end, and little windows to the front, made up of tiny squares of glass.
It’s stopped raining so I sit down on one of the old wooden benches outside and sip my tea.
I push the boat out and have one of the brownies from the fresh batch I’ve baked for Gerald.
I bite into the gooey chocolate centre. It feels well-deserved.
I’m halfway through my tea and brownie when I see Margaret’s silver Fiesta bumping up the lane.
‘Hey, this is where you’re hiding.’ She gets out of the car cheerfully. ‘On your own?’ She has a quick scout around for Sean as usual. She’s nothing if not persistent.
‘Yes, all alone, well, apart from Grace, that is.’ I pat her head as she lies gently panting at my feet.
‘Oh, OK. So, drinks in the pub tonight? Sevenish?’ Margaret says cheerily. I smile but shake my head.
‘Oh, and happy birthday!’ She hands me a present wrapped in balloon-covered wrapping paper with curly ribbons. I’m absolutely gobsmacked; one, that she knew it was my birthday, and two, that she’s gone to the trouble of bringing me a present.
‘What?’ I stare at the present. ‘How did you know?’ I feel my eyes prickle.
‘It’s just a little something, nothing major. I saw it in Maire’s shop and thought of you.’
‘But how did you know it was my birthday?’
‘Leo, twenty-first of August, remember? Born leader.’ Margaret reminds me of our first ever conversation in the café when she thought I was Sean’s new love interest. That seems like an age ago now, when I’d been new to the area and everything had seemed so …
odd. Now it all seemed strangely familiar.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ I say with unexpected delight, unwrapping the present, making sure I do it carefully so the paper can be reused.
‘Ah, go on, just rip it!’
I look up at Margaret. Why not? I think with a carefree grin. And I rip.
Inside is a lovely handbag, covered in sequins and buttons.
‘She’s fab with a sewing machine, is Maire.’ Margaret pushes her hands into the back pockets of her leather-look hotpants.
‘You shouldn’t have!’ I shake my head, feeling quite overwhelmed with her kindness.
‘Of course I should’ve! It’s your birthday!
Oh, and I’ve finished with this. Thought you might like it.
’ She hands me a well-thumbed book. Fifty Shades of Grey.
I take the book. It’s been ages since I’ve had time to read.
I’d gone mad on and bought a whole pile of books for the honeymoon, but I left them all behind when I ran.
‘So, drinks tonight, sevenish then?’ she repeats. ‘We’ll have great craic!’ She rubs her hands together with excitement. But I shake my head again.
‘Sorry, Margaret, not tonight.’ I think if I was to go out for a couple of glasses, I’d just get all maudlin and sorry for myself. ‘I’m having a quiet night in.’
‘But you can’t! It’s your birthday!’ She flops her hands to her sides and looks gutted.
‘Sorry, Margaret.’ I stand up to hug her. ‘Thank you for this.’ I hug her again.
‘OK, I’ve got to get back. Said I was popping out for coffee.
Might still have time for one if I’m quick.
’ She jumps back into the little car and I’m relieved she doesn’t pressure me any more into going out tonight.
A shower and a good book sounds perfect.
Besides, I really don’t have that much money and I need to save what I have got.
‘Oh, Margaret!’ I run after her. She stops reversing and winds down the window. ‘If you’re going to Gerald’s, would you take him the brownies I made?’ That way I won’t have to see the outside world at all today and tomorrow will be just another day again.
As Margaret and the latest batch of brownies bounce off down the lane, I get back to work with a smile on my lips and my spirits well and truly lifted.
I go to the shed and get the old silver and rust radio and take it to the barn.
I put on RTE 2, turn up the volume and sing along at the top of my voice.
Why not? No one’s going to hear me. I belt out the songs for the next couple of hours as I replace all the tables, chairs and boxes, which I’m putting up in the roof space at the far end of the barn.
I keep back a large bell I’ve found, an old silver cup and a whole bunch of silver trays.
I’m still singing along to the radio when a voice cuts me off in mid-verse.
‘Hello?’ The radio goes silent and I stumble halfway up the little wooden ladder to the loft space, dropping a box of rosettes.
Grace jumps up from her heavy sleep and barks in surprise at the man standing in the doorway.
I recognise him straightaway, and the thug behind him.
It’s Jimmy Power and his ‘lad’. My good mood evaporates immediately and I suddenly feel very nervous. I cling to the ladder.
He steps in and looks around the barn with a sniff. He’s holding a cigar and the putrid smoke sticks in my throat. His earring catches the light, flashing a quick spectrum of colour across the barn. I grip the ladder tighter.
‘Is Sean here?’ he asks, still circling the barn floor, getting closer all the time. I can’t think how to answer. My brain has frozen, my functioning brain cell obviously having decided to take the day off.
‘He’s, um …’ I can’t think. I don’t want to say I’m on my own, but on the other hand I don’t want him hanging around to speak to Sean.
‘He’s around … somewhere … maybe he’s just popped out, but he’ll be back, really soon.
’ Why couldn’t I come up with a good lie?
Or even tell the guy to get off Sean’s land and that he’s trespassing.
He laughs, making his belly wobble. His sidekick laughs too.
‘Just thought we’d take a look around, being as I’m an investor …’ His voice is dripping with sarcasm. ‘Just let him know I’m looking forward to getting my money back. Four weeks’ time. Tell him the clock is ticking. Tick, tock, tick, tock,’ he laughs some more.
‘I’ll tell him,’ I say curtly, not wanting to argue or prolong the conversation.
‘And he’s left you here on your own, you say?’ He throws his cigar to the floor and stamps it out. The floor I spent all afternoon cleaning!
‘Hey!’ I shout and turn without thinking and slip on the ladder, missing a rung, stumbling to regain my footing and jumping to the floor.
I’m at eye level with Jimmy Power. He steps right up to me and I lean against the ladder.
He presses his belly against me, pushing me against the wood.
Suddenly he thrusts one leg in between mine.
I can smell his stale cigar breath and his body odour.
I gag. I’m pinned there. I hear ‘the lad’ snort with excitement.
I turn my face away, looking for something I can reach out and hit him with.
I’m holding my breath. He laughs. The stench is disgusting.
‘Get off me,’ I try and push his heavy carcass away.
‘Or what?’ he says. ‘I’m just being friendly, getting to know the staff. I’m sure Sean would want you to be friendly to his investor.’
I look around hopelessly. I can’t even jerk my knee up to get him in the bollocks. I want to bite him. I can’t scream. I can’t do anything. I freeze.
Then I hear another car on the lane, and another. Oh my God! He’s brought reinforcements!
He looks up, surprised at the sound of car doors slamming.
‘Company?’ He raises one eyebrow, suddenly releasing me. So they’re not with him then. I take short gasps of breath and try to scramble back up the ladder, but he has me by the shoulder, hard. If they’re not with him, who are they?
‘Fi?’
I could cry with relief at hearing Margaret’s voice.
‘In here!’ I manage a good loud shout. ‘I think you should go.’ I finally manage to say something sensible to Jimmy Power.
‘Oh, really,’ he laughs, as does his lad. ‘Says who?’
‘Says me.’ Frank is standing in the doorway, carrying a barrel of beer. He shoves it towards the loan shark, knocking him backwards.
‘And me.’ It’s Dan, standing behind Frank, carrying a box of lager. He doesn’t actually do any shoving like Frank but he looks as if he might.
‘And me.’ It’s Margaret, in short purple hotpants and tights, her hands on her hips. Rosie and Lily are behind her.
‘I don’t know who you are, but you better get going. This is private property.’ Frank pushes some more with his barrel and eyeballs the loan shark. The atmosphere is practically crackling with tension. Jimmy holds Frank’s stare before suddenly turning and nodding to his companion.
‘I will be back,’ he says with a wet smile to me. ‘Oh, happy birthday by the way,’ he says, pushing past Rosie who’s holding a happy birthday balloon and a tray of sandwiches. I know all the colour has drained from my face.
There’s a slamming of doors and the sound of a car leaving down the lane at speed. Not until I’ve heard the car engine disappear can I breathe or speak.
‘Oh my God, thank you!’ I fall on Frank and then Margaret and Dan, who puts his arm around my waist.
‘Who was that?’ Margaret asks.
‘A low-life. Don’t ask. Just some guy Sean’s doing business with.’ I roll my shaking hands together.
‘Nice guys,’ Dan says, and I slip out of his hold.
‘Frank, you were amazing.’ I hug him again.
‘Bare-knuckle fighter in his day, weren’t you, Frank? Local champion,’ Margaret tells me.
‘I remember his last fight,’ Grandad says as Evelyn wheels him in carrying a cake on his lap.
‘Hey, this is great.’ Dan looks around the barn.
‘What are you guys doing here?’ I finally manage a flabbergasted laugh, part hysteria, part relief.
‘If Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Muhammad.’ Margaret claps her hands together, seemingly forgetting about the guys she’s just seen off.
‘But what … what?’ I stammer. ‘Sean’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve had people here.’
‘But Sean isn’t here,’ says Margaret naughtily.
She’s right, I think. And right now there’s no way I want to be on my own. They’ve just saved me from … who knows what, and I’m not about to send them away. Sean should be grateful to them. Who knows what might have happened if they hadn’t turned up.
‘Can’t have our festival organiser sitting on her own on her birthday.’ Dan puts down the beers.
‘Festival Girl Friday,’ I correct him with a smile.
‘Got any candles?’ Grandad asks.
‘I can’t believe you’ve all turned up for me.’ Now I am getting teary. Margaret hands me a small glass from her jacket pocket and pours a vodka into it.
‘Thank you,’ I say. The radio goes back on, sandwiches are put on a table, and candles in bottles come out of one of the boxes I was putting away.
I down the vodka and then another. Must be the shock, I think, feeling a mixture of relief and gratitude.
Besides, what harm can a few quiet drinks with some friends do?