Chapter 37
ROSIE
Up at the newly installed garage bar, Martin had edged his chair closer to Rosie’s, the toes of his sandals perched on the edge of her chair. Francois and Grace had foraged in the garage for some more crisps. After a little alcohol, Francois’s high standards had slipped.
Martin began telling them a story about the first time he was called by Rosie to come to the hotel to sort out a problem.
They couldn’t get hot water to run in the bathroom taps.
‘It took me ages,’ he said. ‘It was a real head-scratcher. I turned things on. Turned them off. Took the boiler apart. Ran tests. Everything. And then, I was lying awake having a ponder, when it came to me. I tried the cold taps in every room and hot water poured out. Every single tap was labelled wrong. H instead of C and C instead of H.’
‘That’s Dad’s fault,’ laughed Rosie. ‘He’s short-sighted.
I remember the year that we put up the Christmas tree, plugged in the lights, and there was a boom, and the hotel went dark.
Pitch-black. And we were fully booked. Oh God.
Nightmare. Maureen found some candles and I went to phone Martin.
He was the only one who knew where the fuse box was. ’
‘I was in the middle of my mam’s sixtieth birthday dinner,’ said Martin. ‘And I was going to say no, but how could I say no to Rosie? She sounded distraught…’
‘I was,’ agreed Rosie.
‘And so I brought the whole family with me. Mam, Dad, my brother Kev, my little sister Sineád. And we got up here, the place was so dark you wouldn’t have known there was a hotel here at all.
And I got my torch, went round the back, flootered around, and…
boom, lights back on. You would have been able to hear the cheering down in the village.
My family all stayed and there was a hooley that night. It was good, wasn’t it, Rosie?’
‘Some people loved being in the dark, though,’ said Rosie. ‘One woman said I should do dark weekends, candles only…’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Grace. ‘Like going back to the old days.’
‘And no hot water or heating?’ said Rosie.
‘I don’t mean all modern conveniences, just lights,’ said Grace. ‘I’m making a mental note.’
‘We need more of these crisp things,’ said Francois, standing up and wobbling slightly. ‘I am going hunting for them.’
‘So will I,’ said Grace. ‘I know there’s an extra box somewhere. And I’ll top us all up.’ She winked at Rosie as she moved past her.
Martin pulled his chair a little closer to her and cleared his throat. ‘Rosie,’ he began, ‘you know you and me?’ He paused. ‘Well… I was wondering if there is a you and a me?’
‘A bit philosophical for this time of night, Martin.’ Rosie laughed, a little awkwardly. That was the problem with alcohol, it brought to the fore feelings which you were able to ignore when sober. She liked Martin but there was never going to be a them.
Behind her, she could hear Grace and Francois engaged in some pretty intense flirting. ‘Tell me what that secret ingredient in your sauce is,’ Grace was saying. ‘Please!’
Francois said something which Rosie couldn’t quite hear, but there was a shriek from Grace.
‘Marmite!’ she shouted. ‘Bloody Marmite! But I hate the stuff!’ But she was giggling again. ‘You are a fagician,’ she said. ‘You’ve made me love Marmite.’
‘I don’t know if there’s ever going to be a me and someone ever again,’ said Rosie.
‘Why not?’
She hesitated, but then suddenly the words tumbled out. ‘I think I might still be in love with someone I was in love with years ago…’
‘Ah…’ Martin nodded as though he was a doctor listening to a patient list her ailments.
‘My head is full of him and I haven’t let him go. I haven’t thought about him for years, but now I realise that he was there, all the time, I was ignoring it. But I don’t want to ignore it any more. And I don’t want to let go.’
Martin was quiet for a moment. ‘Fair enough.’
She looked at him. ‘And if there was to be a me and someone else, then it would be you.’
‘That’s very decent of you,’ he said. ‘I appreciate the offer. It’s better to be in the running than not even at the start line.’ He paused. ‘Where is this fella, then?’
‘He lives in America.’
‘Long way away. Now, if you’d said Wicklow or Kildare, we could have done something about it.’
‘Maybe. But it’s no good. We had our chance. He’s got his life, I’ve got mine. He’s not going to stay in the hotel with me and I’m not going to leave the hotel.’
‘Tricky one.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Grace and Francois were giggling and throwing crisps in the air, trying to catch them in their mouths.
‘Grand, so.’ Martin stood up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Well, I appreciate you telling me. And so, we’re friends, you and me. Okay. I got your back as well as all your plumbing and electrical needs.’
But she was distracted by the sight of Patrick, spotlit by the moon, walking towards them. His eyes on Rosie’s, burning into hers. Martin turned his head to see who she was staring at and then back at Rosie.
‘Everything all right?’ said Rosie, startled. She stood up. ‘How’s the party going?’
‘Oh, I’m ready for bed,’ he said. ‘And I just thought… I just wanted…’
Martin looked from Rosie to Patrick, as though he understood. ‘Good night,’ he said, giving Rosie a quick smile. ‘See you both.’ And he walked past them, along the moonlit path, round to the front of the hotel.
Patrick stood looking at her and then they both moved towards each other and she felt Patrick take her hand and, in an instant, she was in his arms, melting against his chest, his lips on her hair.
It was like time travel, nothing had changed and she could hear his heart beating. ‘Rosie,’ he said. ‘Oh, Rosie.’
‘Patrick?’ She lifted her head. What did this mean, what did he want?
Was this the end? Was he saying goodbye?
She realised she didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him, ever again.
She couldn’t stand it. No one had ever compared to him, she felt exactly the same as she had done ten years earlier when she thought her life was over now her heart had broken into a million pieces.
‘Rosie…’ he whispered. ‘Come with me to Boston. I asked before and you said no, but will you come now?’
This was it, this was the beginning of her happy ending. This was where she would say yes and the credits would roll and her life would suddenly open up in a million different ways. Fireworks in the end credits would be a nice touch. All she had to say was ‘yes’.
‘No.’
He pulled back, immediately stiffening, and looked at her.
‘I can’t…’ She hated her voice then, all weaselly and weak.
But she was scared, the thought of stepping into the unknown where so much could go wrong and where she might be engulfed by failure and chaos.
Hiding in the hotel was all she was able for.
‘Patrick… I can’t… this is my home. My life. Everything. My mother’s hotel…’
They were back to exactly where they were ten years earlier.
Patrick had frozen from the moment she hesitated, the intensity and passion had dissipated and he was back to being his cool, smooth self. She was about to speak when there was a voice in the darkness.
‘Patrick?’ It was an American accent. A beautiful blonde woman was looking at them, a smile on her lips, as though amused.
‘I thought I’d surprise you. I have a room in some hotel nearby but I thought I’d say hello, but I think I might be disturbing something…
’ She raised an eyebrow at Patrick and then Rosie.
Behind them, Grace and Francois appeared.
‘Well, hello to all of you,’ said the woman with a laugh.
‘Doesn’t this look cosy?’ She shot a look at Patrick.
‘And I thought you were coming over to be best man.’
Patrick looked stunned for a moment before recovering himself. ‘Kerry-Anne,’ he said smoothly, ‘may I introduce you to Rosie O’Malley, owner of this hotel.’
The woman reached forward and shook Rosie’s hand. ‘Kerry-Anne Daly,’ she said. ‘Patrick’s business partner from Boston.’
‘And this is Grace and…’ Patrick appealed to Francois.
Francois stepped forward. ‘Francois Jones.’
‘Jones?’ hissed Grace. ‘I didn’t know you were a Jones. That’s not very French.’
‘My farzzer is Welsh.’ He shrugged. ‘It makes me even more passionate.’
Grace laughed. ‘I like the combination,’ she said, before lowering her voice. ‘It’s quite exotic. And erotic.’
‘Anyway,’ went on Kerry-Anne, ‘I was on my way home from Paris and thought I’d stop by.
We have decisions to make.’ She hesitated, looking at Patrick, and Rosie saw something pass between them, something more than business partners.
There was a look in Kerry-Anne’s eye that made her wonder what else was going on.
There was the sound of someone walking towards them. It was Kate, peering at them all in the half-light. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said to Patrick, and then, looking from Rosie to Kerry-Anne to Grace, who was now standing with Francois, ‘I thought you were coming back to me.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Kerry-Anne, almost amused. ‘Another one.’
‘Annuzzer what?’ said Francois.
Kate was glaring at Rosie. ‘Is there something going on between the two of you? I thought there was when we all arrived. And I thought you were focused on the wedding, just like I am. God, Patrick, you’re meant to be the best man. Not the best gigolo!’ And she turned and left.
Kerry-Anne was beginning to laugh. ‘Patrick, you have been busy. You remind me of the men in my family.’