Chapter 23
ROSIE
Grace had grinned at her as they loaded up the Land Rover. ‘First event done.’
‘With a few hitches,’ said Rosie.
‘No one is dead. Including Laurence. Unfortunately. I think he is in danger of ruining the wedding for us. Why is he behaving like this?’
‘Nessa thinks he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. He feels boxed in and bored,’ said Rosie. ‘But I think we’re just going to have to warn him to stay away.’
‘But he knows the bride and groom,’ said Grace. ‘He claims they’ve invited him to everything. Remember when he used to be quite sweet, when we were all teenagers?’
‘He still can be,’ said Rosie. ‘Nessa loves him. At least I think she loves him. Or she endures him, I’m not sure.’
‘The steroids ate his brain,’ said Grace. ‘And he was too in awe of his dreadful brother Benji. Remember once he jumped into the sea at the Forty Foot and landed on Gaz McCullough’s head? On purpose? I wonder if Niamh and Seán are really happy that he’s gatecrashed the wedding?’
‘Surely they would say something to him?’
‘I’ll mention it,’ said Grace. ‘To make sure. But they all seem happy, don’t you think? The sausages were a triumph. The cocktails, even if I do say so myself, spectacular. And the beach was beautiful. I think the rain added to the fun.’
Rosie laughed for the first time that day. ‘You are the biggest optimist I have ever met.’
‘I have to be, don’t I? I mean, if I wasn’t, I would be permanently depressed. No man, living in a rainy country, a bleak future of being single and relying on my mother for company.’
Rosie laughed again. ‘That’s never going to happen.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a little romance. Or a big romance. Or even a middling one. Don’t care what size actually.’
‘What about Francois?’ She raised an eyebrow at Grace.
‘I don’t think he’s into me,’ said Grace. ‘Il est très handsome, and all that. But he’s very food focused…’
‘He’s a chef. He’s literally paid to be food-focused.’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t mind if he was a little me-focused as well.
’ Grace sighed. ‘There are only so many times I can insist that we run through menus. Maybe it’s the kaftan?
French women don’t wear kaftans, do they?
They are all far too polished and stylish.
’ She shrugged. ‘Love me, love my kaftan. I’m not taking it off for anyone.
’ She paused. ‘Of course, if he asks nicely, I will.’
Rosie laughed, and for the first time in months, perhaps years, she felt a kind of surge within, perhaps of adrenaline, an almost reckless feeling. She hadn’t felt this happily unhinged in a very long time and it felt almost exciting.
The sun was already out again, the rain, which had saturated the sand and formed pools on the walkway, was now rapidly evaporating, the air hot and humid as a steam room. Rosie and Grace drove up the hill back to Cliff Top, zipping across the drive and around to the back of the hotel.
Rosie backed the Land Rover into the garage. ‘Back a little,’ yelled Grace, from behind the car. ‘Bit more… bit more… that’s it!’ She slapped the back of the car, and then once the car was stopped and the boot open, they began unpacking everything and putting it away.
Grace dragged the soaked canvas out of the back of the car.
‘The gazebo’s had it,’ she said. ‘It always was difficult to erect. The person who sold it said there was a knack to putting it up, but a knack takes too long to acquire, like inner peace or a spare tyre. Note to self, never buy a second-hand gazebo. That and never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs or a person who doesn’t read books. ’
When everything was neatly stored away, the gazebo consigned to the recycling, Grace opened up two of the deckchairs and dug around in the cool boxes, where there was still ice and bottles of spirits.
‘Drink?’ she suggested. ‘A Cliff Topper? I have all the ingredients.’
Rosie sighed. A proper drink was exactly what she needed. And they were effectively off duty. ‘I’ll take whatever’s going.’
‘Really?’ Grace looked shocked. ‘I thought you were going to say no. You always say no.’
‘Well, today I’m saying yes.’
As Grace mixed them a cocktail, Rosie pulled out another chair, an old Adirondack which was cobwebby and had a slat missing, but was still serviceable.
The air was still after the rain, the birds singing their hearts out against the sound of Teddy’s chainsaw from somewhere in the grounds.
Rosie lowered herself onto the old picnic chairs, resting her feet on the Adirondack.
Her clothes smelled of fire and smoke. She felt strangely happy for some reason, as though something good had happened but she couldn’t remember what.
It couldn’t be the fact that Patrick was around, surely?
If she continued in this vein, then it was going to be doubly awful when he left again.
‘I think I nearly blew up the village today,’ she said as Grace passed her a drink.
Grace began to laugh, as she sat down, clutching her cocktail. ‘That would be a good headline in the Sandycove Newsletter. Hotelier Lays Waste to Small Coastal Community.’
Rosie took a sip. ‘Wow.’
‘Amazing, aren’t they? I think I’m a cocktailing genius.
And perfect with a packet of these…’ She threw over a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.
‘You know what I say, keep it classy!’ She opened hers, balancing it between her knees.
‘Now, this is the life…’ She closed her eyes for a moment.
‘What a mad afternoon. I’ve never seen rain like that before.
Very disappointed in the weather apps. I mean, none of them predicted a cloudburst like that.
It shows the things that aren’t predicted do happen.
It’s like…’ She looked all mystical for a moment.
‘You can’t predict the future, can you?’
‘Meteorologists usually can.’
‘But not today. They should have done a control alt delete on their computers, or satellites or whatever.’ Grace grinned at her.
‘I mean, today was completely chaotic and it was glorious. From the moment we arrived to a vision of you exploding something, to bloody Laurence in the sea and then the rain, and you getting hit in the face.’ She paused. ‘Did he hurt you, by the way?’
Rosie shook her head. It wasn’t her head which throbbed, it was her hand where Patrick had pulled her up. She could still feel it.
Grace was looking around. ‘I’m going to make this our secret bar.
There’s an old wine fridge in the kitchen I spotted.
I could keep it stocked out here. Bring out a catering box of crisps.
’ She stood up and topped up their glasses from the jug she’d made.
‘And by the way, nice to see Martin Moore again.’ She gave Rosie a look.
‘I always thought the two of you would be good together. Would you like me to set you up? Or drop a few hints to Martin that you might be receptive, romantically?’
‘Please don’t.’ Rosie ate some of the crisps.
‘Don’t you want a romance?’ Grace looked at her. ‘What about a little harmless dalliance?’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘In Martin. Or dating full stop?’
‘Dating full stop. I’m too busy and have too much going on.’
Over the years there had been dates. There was William who spoke so quietly she couldn’t hear a word he said so had no idea if he was intelligent or funny or anything else.
And there had been Donncha who was the opposite and spoke so loudly – even in the cinema – that her ears actually rang when she finally got home, as though he was a human Dolby surround-sound system.
And there had been Peter who was far too nice and his most common refrain was, ‘I don’t mind, whatever you want. ’
Grace was looking at her. ‘But you don’t do anything but the hotel.
You need a social life. You need to have something other than the hotel.
’ She held up her drink. ‘Like this. Talking about other things and nothing about bedrooms or carpets or menus or having to smile. In fact, I am banning you from smiling and being nice.’
Rosie laughed. ‘You’re right. More secret cocktails and bags of crisps.
’ She did feel different as they stretched out on the old chairs, perhaps it was the smoke-infused clothes, the fact that that she’d been on the beach all day, the fact that she hadn’t been in control.
She’d been consumed by chaos but somehow she’d survived.
‘We should do this more often,’ said Grace. ‘Have a little aperitif. And perhaps we could invite someone to join us.’
‘Like who?’
‘Oh, I don’t know… Francois, perhaps. The man is pure godliness, the accent, the Frenchness, the ability to cook. And that chef’s hat thing… it’s surprisingly sexy.’ She sighed. ‘I wonder… does he wear it everywhere?’
Rosie laughed. ‘Okay, I will be your decoy. I will drink here if it means you feel more able to ask Francois.’
Grace smiled. ‘It’s a deal. We have to find someone for you now. And my suggestion is the lovely Martin Moore. He’s always fancied you.’
She really should get back out there and Martin was good-looking, decent and able to put up shelves and fix taps. What else did you need?
‘Ah, there you are, girls.’ It was Maureen, carrying the little Belleek cup. ‘It’s good as new. I used my ceramic super-strength bio-epoxy-ceramide glue. It’s as strong as it was when it first came out of the factory. Stronger, in fact. It’s like it never happened.’
‘I need that epoxy-whatchamacallit,’ said Grace.
‘Might mend a few things of mine. When I found out about the unmentionable…’ Grace’s previous partner, Tom, was one of those people who were hugely controlling but incredibly charming and she’d been hook, line and sinker, until she discovered he was two-timing her.
‘I could have done with Maureen’s glue to stick me back together again. ’
‘Humans need time,’ said Maureen. ‘Cups can be done in seconds.’
Rosie was turning the cup over in her hand. ‘It’s like it never happened.’
‘The capacity to heal is a wonder of the world,’ said Maureen. ‘However it is done.’ But she looked pleased with herself and happy that she’d fixed her friend Sarah’s cup. ‘I’ll see you girls later. Just going to have another dunk, if you know what I mean?’
She winked at Rosie and carried on back to the hotel.
‘Dunk? Is she going swimming?’ asked Grace.
Just then they heard the sounds of Isabelle and Killian. ‘Rosie! Rosie! Where are you?’
‘By the garage,’ called Rosie.
Nessa and the twins turned the corner. ‘What on earth is going on?’ said Nessa. ‘Rosie, you’re drinking… don’t tell me al-co-hol? Oh dear Jesus. I’m going to faint with shock. Grace, is this your influence, are you leading my sister astray?’
‘Afraid so,’ said Grace.
‘Well, then thank you,’ said Nessa. ‘This woman needs to be led astray more often.’ She glanced at Rosie’s clothes. ‘And what are you wearing? You actually look nice for once.’
‘My ego is going to be out of control,’ said Rosie.
‘Look, I’m rushing,’ said Nessa. ‘Laurence is AWOL, again, God knows where. I think there’s some crisis at the golf club because he’s been gone all day.
He came home briefly and then said he had to go again.
He did say he’d be finished at about 9 p.m. and bring the twins home and get them into bed.
Do you mind if they stay here in the hotel until then?
They can go and help Dad in the garden for a bit. ’
Rosie and Grace glanced at each other, knowing exactly where Laurence was.
Nessa turned to the twins. ‘You’ve promised me you’re going to be as good as gold, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ they said in unison.
‘We’re going to go and see Granddad,’ said Isabelle. ‘See if there are any tomatoes in the greenhouse.’
They ran off and Nessa sat down in the Adirondack chair. ‘I really appreciate it, Rosie,’ she said, looking at her sister. ‘I really do.’
‘Why don’t you ask Laurence to come home?’ asked Grace, pouring Nessa a drink.
‘I do! He doesn’t listen. Or he says he will come home but is always delayed. He’s a dog who won’t stay on the porch. I can’t keep him tethered down. He has to want to be at home and if he doesn’t then we may not survive.’