Chapter 10
‘Ah, ye eejit, why did you tell Pete you have an interview? Now he’s sure to tell Dave. Then Dave will feel let down and have to replace you.’ Rosemarie was adamant.
‘He won’t tell Dave, I made him promise not to.’
‘Anyway, how is taking some watered-down, underpaid version of your old job going to change anything? You know your mother has batshit ideas where you’re concerned.’
‘You can’t say that about my mother, only I can say that.’
‘Sorry, but you’re totally in denial. I can’t listen to this.’
‘Right, Rosemarie, if you’re going to be like that, I’ve got a job to do.’
Ally ended the call and noticed her break was over, so she went back inside and saw Evelyn putting the finishing touches on a coffee walnut layer cake.
‘Now,’ she exhaled, ‘I’m going to rest my feet and have a nice cup of tea before I go home. You wouldn’t drop it down to me, love?’
‘Of course.’
Ally placed the steaming cup on the table in front of her and had a look around. The place looked quiet, so she sat down opposite the older lady, whose knitting needles clicked rhythmically as she worked away on a pale-blue Aran cardigan.
‘Beautiful,’ Ally remarked. ‘Who’s it for?’
‘Myself. Nobody else. More for the doing of it than the wearing.’
‘My grandmother used to knit all the time. She said it kept her sane.’
‘Same. You see, if I’ve something on my mind, I’ll be working away here and I’ll be thinking of this thing, or that thing, which happened in the past.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well . . . the cable down this side, that’s the year I spent in the children’s home; the cable pattern on the other side, that’s the different foster homes . . . and so on.’
‘And do you find it really helps?’
‘It doesn’t change anything but, let’s say, watching the stitches move from one needle to the other and the rows build up, you feel that .
. . things are changing, I suppose. So, once things get worked into the pattern, they become a part of something bigger and at the end of a few hours . . . I do feel better.’
‘You know what, Evelyn, I think I could do with doing some knitting myself.’
She glanced up at Ally over her glasses. ‘Is it your man?’
To her frustration, she began to feel her chin wobble. Evelyn pushed a serviette towards her.
‘Sorry, it’s not . . . only him. I just can’t hear myself think.’
Without looking, Evelyn turned the knitting and started on another row, her fingers seeming to move of their own volition.
‘There’s so many voices in my head . . . my mother, my friend, myself,’ gasped Ally.
‘So, who do you normally listen to?’
‘I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve just drifted into things – my job, my ex-boyfriend. But now everything’s gone crazy.’
She explained about the rogue email and losing her job, expecting either a laugh or a rebuke, but Evelyn kept working steadily.
‘You know, sometimes when people make mistakes or say the wrong thing, it’s because secretly they want something to change.’
‘That sounds like a line out of a fairytale.’
Evelyn smiled and nodded, without seeming to take the least offence.
* * *
Ally was back behind the counter when her phone pinged.
Sorry for being a cow. Can u talk?
Ally wedged herself round the side of the big fridge for privacy and made the call.
Rosemarie seemed to have completely forgotten their spat and started chatting as soon as she picked up the phone. ‘Jesus, you’ll never guess. I did a bit of rooting around online and you know what? I found paparazzi shots of Fitzmaurice’s ex, and she is seriously plastic.’
‘What?’
‘And she’s gone mad altogether with the filler in her cheeks.’
‘Ah, Rosemarie, loads of people get filler.’
‘Not like this. We are talking . . . Alvin and the Chipmunks.’
‘Calm down, Ros, she’s entitled to.’
‘I don’t want to be mean . . . but she’s also got an arse the size of Heuston station. BBL and that didn’t come cheap. He’s obviously been bankrolling her.’
‘Whatever, Rosemarie, but he’s allowed the situation to happen. Anyway, I don’t want to sit here obsessing about another woman,’ said Ally wearily.
‘Which leads me on to my next point . . . We need to be in Ryans pub on Thursday night. I overheard William arranging it on the phone. So . . . look hot. Don’t, for God’s sake, be boring and tasteful – that’ll get you nowhere.’