Chapter 5
By six thirty she was ensconced at her favourite table in Los Banditos, with a good view of the door.
She’d had a blissful nap on the sofa to the faint bubbling sound of the aquarium.
She’d looked up a website which explained that fish had very acute hearing and could hear all sorts of noises but were very sensitive to any sort of disruptive din.
Not that she could blame them – quite obviously, herself and the fish had a few things in common.
While she waited for Rosemarie, who was frequently late – apparently, because of ‘who she was’ – Ally gave in to temptation and the dangerous pleasure of checking William out on social media.
While she’d been cocooning, or rather having a mini-breakdown last weekend, William had been hiking in the wilds of Connemara with a crowd of like-minded mates, dressed in trendy fleeces and hats, lounging on massive limestone boulders and drinking from flasks like an ad for Timberland.
He was a totally fulfilled human being, and she was a blob.
She felt herself deflate like a week-old party balloon.
At that moment Rosemarie barged in the door with her usual tsunami of energy, unmissable in her oversized green shaggy coat, giant pink glasses and copper-coloured micro-fringe.
‘For fuck’s sake, I thought I’d never get out of that kip – it’s like Hotel feckin’ California in Celtic Con. Right, what are we having?’ She eyeballed Ally for a second. ‘You look different, what’s up?’
‘Me? Nothing.’
‘Oh my God, don’t you dare be mysterious, you’ve already let me down flat.’
‘What? No. How?’
‘Snogging William against the wall last Wednesday and not texting me immediately. Then getting fired, which is awful as I’m now stuck with Crystal, who is trying to manipulate me into doing all the shit she used to dump on you.
And the latest is . . . she wants me to .
. . wait for it . . . organise the Christmas party.
Holy feckin’ God, is there not enough suffering in my life? ’
‘Already? God, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK, I can take her.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Basic psychology. Crystal is an exhibitionist. Her greatest desire is to be admired, her greatest fear to be overshadowed. So, I start letting her know that I’ve got these great ideas, which I won’t divulge – I’ll just hint at how popular I’m going to make myself with management and pow!
She snaps back like the cord on a Hoover. ’
‘Wow, I never thought of that. Anyhow, apart from your plots, any news of William?’
‘Yes, unfortunately.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Really? What’s wrong?’
‘What’s wrong is . . . When you meet somebody in the lunchroom on Monday and you say “Did you do anything at the weekend?” obviously, the correct response is “Not much, how about you?” which makes everyone happy.
In reality, it means you’ve spent a fortune on some frock in Om Diva, thereby blowing any hope of ever saving for the deposit on a house, gone out, got shit-faced in Pyg bar and had rashers in your pyjamas on a Sunday.
Which is a proper, self-respecting way to spend your weekend.
But I mean . . . William . . . He’s always bloody done something, hasn’t he?
Abseiled over the Cliffs of Moher in a Batman costume for charity or something.
And we’re all sitting there, feeling like a crowd of losers. ’
Ally was delighted to hear this but felt like she had to stick up for him just a bit.
‘In fairness, he did probably have a few pints with the lads in Connemara, Rosemarie.’
‘Ally, be very careful. Whenever I hear you say “in fairness”, I know you’re about to get walked on by someone. I’m not saying he’s not a nice guy, he’s just a bit more . . . earnest than I’d be able for.’
‘I don’t know, Rosemarie. We all need something to live up to.’
‘The fuck we do, that’s your overachiever family talking. That’s what stops you feeling good about yourself when you should.’
Rosemarie was a fabulous friend, and she had some views that were nigh on impossible to argue with.
‘Anyway, out of curiosity I made an excuse to cruise by William’s desk this morning. You’re welcome.’
‘And?’
‘It was his coffee break. He was reading.’
‘Interesting. Reading what?’
‘I don’t fucking know. A book by some bald guy. Never mind that, what I want to know is, is he a good kisser? I’m guessing yes.’
Yikes, this was going to call for a bit of invention, because the truth was pretty hazy. The memory of his warm probing tongue in her mouth flooded back for a moment. On the other hand, this was Rosemarie, so there was no point in lying.
‘We were both pretty pissed.’
‘The start of so many great love stories. And?’
‘I started to feel queasy, so I panicked and bolted.’
‘It happens. Did you tell him?’
Ally shook her head.
‘That’s the main thing. No harm done. You just need a second chance.’
‘But how?’
‘Leave it to me.’
The waiter in the summery sombrero, which was looking more and more dismal on the sodden first day of November, trailed by wearily so they ordered their second margarita.
‘So, how are the new fish babies? What’re their names?’
‘Harry and Sally.’
‘Pow! Good choice.’
‘That’s what Pete said, it was his idea.’
Rosemarie nailed her with a stare through her oversized glasses.
‘Pete?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. He’s just a pal at work . . . he’s a bit of a laugh. I’ve actually been glad of him these past couple of days.’
‘Pete the Pal, OK, I’m saying nothing. Hey, what’re you doing Saturday?’
‘Working.’
‘Great, I’m going to drop by to say hi, have a cappuccino. I can’t wait to see you in your latest incarnation. I think it’s kind of romantic, actually, working in a café. Like Jennifer Aniston in Friends.’
Ally had a flashback of herself covered in margarine, with her fringe plastered to her forehead, but for a moment she had the feeling that Rosemarie might just envy her a little.
* * *
Ally pushed open the door of her cosy little apartment, where instead of an empty echo, there was now a warm glow emanating from the sitting room.
‘Hi, guys, did you miss me?’ she cooed in her ‘pets’ voice.
She didn’t know if sound waves starting in the air would transfer to water; nonetheless, the fish nosed up against the glass, so maybe they really were glad to see her.
From her bag she retrieved two slices of pizza left over from lunchtime: black olives, Serrano ham, Gruyère cheese, all on wafer-thin homemade dough.
In fairness, Dave and Evelyn really were great chefs.
She sat on the ground, against the sofa, and munched her warmed-up pizza.
‘I wish I could be as certain of everything as Rosemarie is,’ she confided to Harry and Sally.
‘But it just doesn’t work like that for me.
What do fish do all day? If I were a fish, it would be so relaxing – I wouldn’t need a job, I wouldn’t even have to worry about any dating shite, because I’d just have been bought with someone.
’ A thought did cross her mind . . . What did Sally really think of Harry – or did she think at all?
Since no advice was forthcoming from her fish, she took out Love Links and flicked through it until she came to the chapter on soulmates.
The gist of it was that your soulmate is the person who’s your perfect match, so you fit together and can negotiate all the different stages of your life, not just the heady honeymoon phase.
But what happens if the other person doesn’t feel the same way?
There was a time she’d thought Francis was her soulmate.
And still, in her darkest moments, she wondered if she hadn’t let him go too easily. But none of this was helping.
She came to the conclusion that the saying that opposites attract was rubbish. Couples who had the most in common had a closer, more enduring bond. So, if she was to have any hope with William, she had to get fit, and that involved one thing. Exercise.
It was all about motivation, she decided, while rifling through her drawers and pulling out the coral Lululemon top and leggings she’d found in the end-of-summer bargain bin a few years ago, which had been waiting for this very moment for their first public outing.
The following morning, she squeezed straight into the Lycra outfit without looking in the mirror, so no chance to chicken out, then threw on her oversized grey coat and was out the door before she’d time to say ‘fitness goals’.
Result! She hopped off at the Smithfield Luas stop and hurried towards The Owl’s Nest. She’d worked out the plan: arrive at work half an hour early and go for a jog on her pre-chosen route – fifteen minutes would be plenty for a start.
Then, after, freshen up with baby wipes and deodorant to avoid ponging out the customers and quickly change into her normal clothes before starting her shift at eight thirty, feeling like a goddess. Ace.
She passed by the window in the semi-darkness and noticed Evelyn lost in her own world, having worked her way through a mountain of wraps and baguettes which sat, crusty and inviting, in a stack behind the counter.
Pizzas sat pre-prepared on greaseproof paper, while lemon drizzle and carrot cakes were cooling on wire trays.
The food processor whizzed through batches of buttercream and lemon icing for the toppings.
It struck Ally that although everyone kept saying what a great chef Dave was, it was Evelyn, humming away to her transistor radio, who was the unsung heroine.
‘Evelyn, how do you do all this?’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what time is it?’ squawked Evelyn.
‘I’m early,’ Ally announced as she flew through the café and into the staff cloakroom.
‘Thanks be,’ said Evelyn. ‘I was nearly having a stroke, thinking I was behind,’ she called to Ally’s back.