Chapter 2
‘Yeah, Ally, but you know why he’s going all gangbusters on this?’
Rosemarie’s voice on the phone was at least keeping her company. She was walking from the Luas stop towards the office while Ally was shuffling onto the tram against the stream of workers going in the opposite direction.
‘Does it even matter at this stage?’
‘It does. He knows right well. He knows he’s a stingy fucker and you pointed it out to the whole place so now he has to stamp on you.’
‘Rosie, when did being right ever matter? It’s whoever has the power. Being right doesn’t count for shit.’
‘Even still. Look, I’m coming to the office now. Quick, tell me about William. You snogged him . . . Go, girl. Well, is he a good kisser? Tongues? I’d say he knows how to handle himself. He has that cocky vibe.’
A woman across from Ally did a double take then pretended not to be listening.
‘I’m . . . er . . . on the train, talk to you later.’
And that was it, Ally was alone.
* * *
So, what do you do at 9.15 on a Friday morning, when you’re carrying the contents of your desk in a bag and going in the opposite direction to the rest of the world?
It felt far too early to face her untidy apartment with its unmade bed.
She couldn’t face the department stores downtown with their well-to-do customers, and even the cinemas didn’t open till noon.
She found herself wandering along Smithfield Square towards home, gazing at the cafés and small shops as she passed.
She found herself drawn towards one, not because it looked as smart or as trendy as some of the others, with their minimalist décor and chic slate-grey exteriors, but because it was the opposite.
It had a bright-red awning and glass door with a canary-yellow surround that seemed to smile out at the street.
The Owl’s Nest was the name above the door.
Well, it should have been, but somebody was in the process of painting it, so it currently read Ow (which perfectly matched her mood), with the rest in marker, even though it was coloured more like a parrot’s nest. It sounded to her like a refuge, somewhere a long way from dreary reality.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the warm aroma of fresh coffee and cinnamon and yeast baking.
The white noise of the coffee steamer drowned out the thoughts in her head for a moment, and she felt her shoulders drop as she plonked her bag on a table by the wall and made her way to the counter.
A gaunt but kind-looking man in his forties approached her and asked what she’d like.
Suddenly, she realised that she hadn’t spoken to anyone in person since that awful meeting with Con and felt a surge of gratitude for his simple friendliness.
She stared at the hot-drinks menu blankly and goldfished for a moment before they started to make sense.
‘Large latte, extra hot,’ she burbled at last. Feck the expense and the calories. ‘And one of those scones, please.’
She pointed to a mound of crumbly glazed berry scones behind the glass counter, straight out of the oven, faint steam still rising off them.
‘And sure, why wouldn’t you?’ He smiled. ‘Go ahead, I’ll drop it down to you.’
Ally felt a sudden lump in her throat. Quick, turn around, sit down and don’t be a big eejit, bawling in a café because someone was pleasant to a customer, she scolded herself.
She settled into one of the cushioned chairs, took out her phone for camouflage and tried to examine it intently, despite the fact that everything was blurred from tears.
Her chin was quivering uncontrollably. Oh crap, this was a full-on rummage-in-your-bag moment to disguise the sob because you’d just been horribly fired from your five-year job so that you wouldn’t even get a proper reference and God only knew what the future was going to hold.
After she’d spent a few minutes rooting around in her bag like a hyperactive gerbil, the pleasant guy dropped down her order. ‘There you are now, enjoy.’
That was all he said, and yet the message felt larger than the simple utterance.
She buttered the warm scone and sank her teeth into it with a sigh.
Now what?
At the next table were two toned-and-tanned-looking women in their early forties, dressed in Gym+Coffee casuals, with manicured nails and just a smidge of Botox.
She gathered from the chat that they’d just finished a class at the gym next door and were now treating themselves.
Shamelessly earwigging on the conversation, she deduced they each had a husband and a smattering of kids; both were now job-sharing and seemed to have their lives spectacularly sorted out.
These were real grown-ups. This was everything she ought to be.
For a moment Ally wavered on the edge of despair, before curiosity took over and she found herself drawn into their world.
‘Of course, Abby is doing Grade 3 violin, but I honestly think that teacher is useless. She should be on Grade 4. It’s ridiculous, she could be good. She’s eleven, I said, now’s the time to push her.’
The other woman was making supportive sounds.
Oh my God, thought Ally, imagine having a mother who saw you as an extension of her ambition.
Something about the shock of everything had stripped away her tolerance for stupid notions.
She wanted to shout at the woman to just let the poor kid do her little exam as she was, let her be happy, bring her to the zoo, buy her an ice cream.
Soon she’d be a teenager and she wouldn’t give a shit about spending time with her mum, or her stupid music exam. Happy times are gone so fast.
But these women were untouchable.
A marmalade cat trailed through the café and Ally reached down to stroke its soft fur as it rubbed its head against her leg.
It purred and then flowed on, bestowing its attention on the person at the next table, before being gently ushered out the door by the friendly owner.
It seemed to be the sort of place where nobody freaked out at the small happenings of life.
She sipped gratefully, stretching out her coffee for as long as she reasonably could, reluctant to leave this oasis of peace.
At the table beside her sat an older lady wearing slacks and a crochet-squares cardigan that Gen Z would consider a real find in a charity shop, but which she had probably made herself, and it suited her perfectly.
She was reading an actual paper, unusual in itself, and there was something about her lined face and lack of artifice that drew Ally in.
She shifted her gaze quickly as the woman looked up, and hurriedly gathered her things together.
Backing out of her seat, she felt herself collide with something hard – or rather, someone.
‘Sorry, sorry, oh gosh,’ she blathered, swivelling round to find herself facing a broad chest dressed in a dusty white T-shirt. Her eyes tracked upwards to a tanned, stubbled face with large grey eyes gazing down at her.
‘Mind yourself there,’ he said, which wasn’t spectacular in itself, but the deep tone of his voice reverberated through her unnervingly.
Embarrassed, she batted the feeling away as she stammered, ‘God, sorry, I’m all over the place. Are you all right?’
This was ridiculous, he was a good eight inches taller than her and powerfully built. He was also wearing an impressive-looking tool belt into which was slotted an electric drill on one side and a large collection of carpentry tools on the other.
‘God, I hope I didn’t break anything.’
Her inner cop-on voice was yelling at her to shut the feck up and stop apologising like a big eejit. Thankfully, he seemed to take this good-naturedly and smiled down at her.
‘Not at all . . . Not that fragile, I’m glad to say.’
Glancing towards the door, she could see the edge of a ladder on the pavement outside.
‘Oh, you’re doing the painting work,’ she heard herself commenting. ‘Good for you.’
‘Thanks. Has to be done.’ He smiled.
Ally could hear the chuckle in his voice.
‘More than me, anyway. Just today, I mean. Not normally. I mean, I wouldn’t normally be off at this time.’ Why was she feeling this ridiculous need to explain herself?
Oh God, will you stop burbling and just get out the door before you accidentally confess your entire sad sack of a life to this random man, she warned herself.
‘Anyhow . . . I’m . . . erm . . . finished,’ she explained, indicating the table.
The man nodded, his eyebrows slightly raised.
‘That’s the way of it,’ he replied, not unkindly.
‘Yes.’
A moment later, she was out on the street, blinking in the late-morning light, with just the vaguest hint of an aftershave lingering on her blouse and reflecting on the peculiarly zen exchange.
* * *
She pushed open the door of her apartment to be met with the gloom of a hurried exit and wandered into the dismal atmosphere of the living room, where the curtains were still closed.
Her cereal bowl and mug were sitting on the counter where she’d left them earlier that morning, which already felt like aeons ago.
Without even taking her coat off, she sat down and took out her phone.
There was one job she couldn’t avoid any longer: trying to explain to William why she’d included his name on that fateful email, without revealing to him that she’d been desperately trying to get his attention, like a lovesick teenager.
Hi William, really sorry to land you in all this. The joke from hell ?. Went wrong. I hope everything is OK for you, best Ally.
It was a bit vague and about as witty as a tax audit, but she hadn’t the heart to be her usual sparkly self.
She sat gazing at the phone and drifted into a reverie. She closed her eyes and remembered his mouth bumping against hers . . . his weight pressing her back against the rough wall.
Just then her phone jangled, making her jump.
‘Howaya, I’m on my vape break.’
‘Oh, hi, Rosie.’