Chapter Twenty-Two
Tonight’s the night.
I mark the zip placement with my fabric chalk. Opening the zip, I align it with the marked area on the red fabric of my party dress and pin it in place. Attaching the zip foot to the sewing machine, I begin sewing it in. I can’t shake the nervous jitters that are all about me.
Because tonight’s the night.
As arranged before he left my flat, Donal will meet me in M.
O’Brien’s at seven o’clock for Mia’s party.
It’s now three o’clock, and my nerves are playing havoc.
Not about Donal, I am really looking forward to seeing him.
If this was a regular drink with Donal, I’d be relaxed and looking forward to a proper tasty, meaty meal and good wine, with funny, easy, two-way conversation.
In fact, I’ve wondered far too many times about how he got on with that date I saw him with in Bewley’s. But tonight is all about Logan.
What will I feel?
What will I say?
What will he say?
What will the outcome be?
‘Only one way to find out,’ I say out loud, and finish the zip.
Standing up, I make my way out to my rooftop and look up at the loud, high-flying jumbo jet, leaving a long white trail above me, in the cloudless blue sky. Then I look over at Logan’s well-faded Rolling Stones T-shirt draped over the old crate to dry in the sun.
Shutting my eyes momentarily, I hold my face up to the bright light.
This incessant heatwave isn’t letting up and it’s all anyone can talk about – the news stations, the newspapers, the postman, every shop assistant.
The traffic moves freely with buoyant drivers, windows rolled down, beckoning cars out of slip roads ahead of them, forgiveness given freely to people blocking yellow junction boxes.
The pace of Dublin life has slowed dramatically in the unrelenting heat.
The outdoor areas of bars and restaurants are flooded with scantily clad people.
My phone rings and it’s a FaceTime from my parents in Bordeaux. I answer the call.
‘Darling!’ Their cheeks are pushed together as they both try to get a good look at me, and the picture is pixelated – they don’t have great internet in their place.
‘Parents!’ My heart soars with love for them both.
‘We tried to call this week, you’re hard to pin down, my darling,’ Mam says, her eyes filled with adoration for me.
‘I’m so sorry, it’s been manic,’ I tell them, a big grin on my face.
‘Can we send you money for a flight? Come and let us pamper you for a week?’ Dad implores, but the line breaks up a bit.
‘I will come, I promise. I’ve been flat-out working, but I’m coming for Christmas, if that’s suits?’
I don’t want to burden them with my financial worries. There’s no answer, they are frozen on the screen. I hold my phone up higher, even though I know the coverage is bad on their side. I repeat my Christmas intentions, and the screen unfreezes and they squeal like a pair of kids.
‘Yes! We’d adore that. Your room is all ready.
We miss you so much!’ Mam tells me, just as the call drops.
I try to call back, but the line won’t connect.
I need to get out there to see them more.
I try to inhale a cool breath of fresh air, to no avail.
I’ve barely eaten all day, just a slice of melted cheese on toast.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
My phone rings again in my hand.
‘REBECCA BEYOND LOOKS’ flashes up on the bright screen of my vibrating phone.
Oh what? Noooo! Don’t cancel on me, Donal! You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you? With the tall, glossy-haired woman in the dungarees you ate scones with! I knew it!
I groan and answer. ‘H-h-hello?’
‘Grace?’ A softly spoken older woman’s voice.
‘Yes?’ I cross my fingers.
‘Hi there, it’s Faye Sheridan, from Rebecca’s office, Donal—’
‘Wants to cancel on me?’ I jump in before she can finish.
‘No. Oh no! He’s asking if we can pass on your phone number to him if you’re agreeable to that? We always check, obviously.’ She’s matter of fact. Safety first. Professional. We never swapped numbers, and not for the first time, I really wish we had.
‘Oh, yeah, sure, that’s fine.’ I’m not relieved, though, he could still be calling me to cancel.
He’s the sort of guy who would want to do it himself.
Glancing at the clock, I relay my phone number back to Faye.
She repeats it painfully slowly and cautiously, careful she has every digit correct, then she hangs up.
Only seconds pass before my phone rings again.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
‘Hello?’ I sing in my pretend happy voice.
Please don’t cancel.
Please don’t cancel.
Please don’t cancel.
I chant with my eyes clamped tight.
Pause.
‘Hi, Grace, Faye just text me your number.’
‘Aw, hiya, Donal,’ I say, almost impatiently, though I don’t mean to, it’s my nerves.
‘Eh, how are you doing there? Big night. How are the nerves?’ He waits.
I press the phone closer to my ear. ‘Eh, yeah, I’m okay.’
‘Good. Quick question for ya?’ he goes on, more speedily now.
‘Yes?’ I pace the room, stare at the crimson-red dress draped on the sewing machine table. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself.
‘I’ve been on the go all day here. Is there any grub at this party tonight?’
It takes me a minute to hear him properly, because all I’m expecting to hear is some kind of apology for cancelling, him telling me he really likes that woman he went on the date with in Bewley’s, and they’ve decided to go away for the weekend to Paris.
I clench my fists. Snap myself out of it.
‘G-grub? No. Well, actually, knowing Mia she will provide some nibbles – ya know, spicy stuff on wooden sticks with coriander – but just drinks mainly, I’d say.
’ I hit speaker on my phone as I flop onto the velvet couch, utterly relieved. ‘And I know you’re not a tapas man.’
‘Ah, that’s what I thought, just didn’t know if it was a sit-down meal or somethin’? I haven’t been to any kinda party in a long while. So would you be free a little earlier to grab a bite beforehand?’ A deafening pneumatic drill sounds in the background and I retract.
‘Shut it down, Anto!’ Donal hollers away from the mouthpiece. It stops after a second. ‘Sorry about that, finishing touches to an adjoining brick wall here in a basement.’
I glance at the kitchen clock. ‘Rightio,’ I say. ‘And yes to the food, I’d love that, actually, but M. O’Brien’s doesn’t do food.’ I expend a quiet breath, suddenly even more hungry.
‘Aha. Well we could go somewhere else? Any particular restaurants or food joints you’d like me to take you to?’ Donal asks, politely.
I break into the biggest smile. ‘Wagamama,’ I say, outright. Just the thought of a lovely meal with him suddenly makes me very happy.
‘Ohhhh, yeah, love me a Yaki Udon,’ Donal gushes down the line.
‘Me, too – or a Chilli Chicken Ramen . . .’ I add, and my tummy actually rumbles.
‘Chilli Steak Ramen . . .’ he adds with a quiver in his voice.
‘Chicken and prawn Yaki Soba . . .’ I take up the baton.
‘Bury me with it!’ He laughs out loud, in that gorgeous, real laugh.
‘Stop! All so delish!’ I sit up, both feet on the ground, and rub my bare foot along the worn carpet.
I’m smiling so hard. He’s just got the nicest manner, even over the phone.
He’s like a warm hug, and I feel my anxiety about my reunion with Logan ebb away, out the door and floating off down the pointed rooftops of Old Camden Street.
‘Is it okay if I save your number in my phone?’ he asks me.
‘Sure,’ I say. Then I blurt, ‘But will you text me now because you came up as a withheld number . . .’
‘Sure. How are the nerves holding up. Really?’
I take a minute. He’s so kind. ‘Better now that I’ve talked to you,’ I admit.
‘That’s good. I know where you live, so I can call for you around five and we can walk to Wagamama together? How does that sound?’
‘Stalky?’ I joke.
He laughs heartily.
‘But perfect.’
‘See you then,’ he says genially.
‘See you then,’ I repeat, and Donal hangs up. I pace the flat and then press speed dial on Mia’s number to wish her luck tonight. She picks up on the first ring.
‘I’ve had two glasses of Pinot already with Charlies’ she laughs down the line.
‘I’m glad. I’ll see you in a few hours to celebrate your legal freedom,’ I say.
‘You’re good.’ Not so much a question, more a motivational push.
‘I am.’
‘Laters hot stuff.’ She disconnects the call.
Now time for me to start getting myself party ready.
Logan Hunter, here I come.