Chapter 13
The following morning, she stood outside The Owl’s Nest, her heart feeling stubbornly anxious.
It was too drizzly for the retirees, who’d decamped indoors.
She pushed open the door to find both Dave and Evelyn doing prep.
So, there was no hope of dodging her fate.
Evelyn caught her eye and gave her a wave, while Dave – looking at least five years older than when she’d first seen him – grunted a greeting.
‘Glad to have staff who turn up ten minutes early.’
Instead of feeling gratified, Ally felt awful.
‘So, Dave, how’s Fia doing?’
His whole body sagged.
‘Thanks for asking. They’re inducing her this evening.’
Ally looked from face to face. ‘Wait, she’s not going to actually have the baby already . . . how far along is she?’
‘Twenty-seven weeks.’
‘Oh shit, Dave, I’m sorry.’ She glanced at Evelyn, who didn’t seem to have any helpful non-verbal signals to give her.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ she heard herself say lamely.
‘You’re here, that’s enough. You don’t know how much you two just being here and holding this place together means to me.’
His voice cracked with emotion. Uh-uh, this was not how she’d envisaged today working out.
‘I’ve been chatting to Pete, and he mentioned you might be needing new accommodation soon, so I’d be happy to have you using the space upstairs – if you want to, that is. He’s a few plans made out already that he’ll explain to you. Sure, he’s used to huge developments, this’ll be nothing to him.’
Ally felt herself flush at the mention of Pete, but Dave was far too upset to notice.
God, or whoever it was, seemed to have a plan that involved Pete renovating the building so they’d be flatmates.
What would that be like? Something in her leaped with excitement.
Could it actually work? She was being offered a perfect solution to her apartment crisis, so why did the whole thing feel about as stressful as the night before the Leaving Cert?
Because she’d already decided on a plan – a plausible, family-approved plan – and now it was being thrown into chaos.
Quite apart from that, Dave was facing a major life crisis and needed friends. It was hardly the moment to walk out on him.
* * *
‘Why in the name of Holy Saint Joseph would I want a pair of red wetsuit boots for Christmas?’
Ally had managed to avoid any in-depth conversations until her coffee break.
‘I don’t know, Rosemarie, you’re the only person I know with the same size feet as me. Look, what am I going to do? My life has become unmanageable. I’ve just been offered everything that I want, all at once, and now I think my head is going to explode.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Mum’s got me an interview for a job at Maeve’s friend’s firm.’
‘OK. So?’
‘And William came round last night and we ended up snogging.’
‘Stop,’ she shrieked. ‘Marks out of ten?’
‘Five. But that’s just because he was worried and tense that he might have caused his friends to get a criminal record. He’s very loyal.’
‘Tongues?’
‘More . . . teeth.’
‘Meh, it happens. What then?’
‘He’s invited me wall climbing.’ She allowed herself the teeniest white lie.
‘Are you insane? Have you forgotten you’ve the worst head for heights of anyone I’ve ever met? You have to sit down on escalators . . . you topple off bar stools.’
‘Well, thanks for the encouragement.’
‘So, what’s the bit that you’re not telling me?’
For some reason, she felt anxious talking to Rosemarie about The Owl’s Nest.
‘I was going to tell them that I might be leaving but . . . Dave’s baby is being born tonight, far too early, and I just feel . . . awful for them . . . and I just wish I could do something to help. He says he really values me and that we can renovate upstairs and live there for free.’
‘Wait, wait, wait. We?’
‘With . . . Pete, obviously.’
There was a moment’s silence while she heard Rosemarie take a pull on her vape.
‘Take my advice. Do nothing. Say nothing. Keep your head down. Meet me at six in Los Banditos.’
* * *
Los Banditos seemed to be working on the basis of Christmas Lite.
There were a number of grimly stoic Santas stationed in each of the windows and a yellowish snowman slumped by the cash register, while the staff were still wearing their obligatory sombreros and trailing round listlessly taking orders.
Still, it was a brave effort, and in her current state of mind, Ally was filled with sympathy for anyone’s attempts at doing life.
She decided to order a margarita instead of her usual Aperol spritz, on the basis that the latter had revealed itself as a Cursed Cocktail as far as she was concerned, so any change must be an improvement.
Just then Rosemarie strolled in, apparently unaware that the world was in a tailspin.
‘A sex on the beach, please, and a bowl of nachos,’ she drawled.
‘No nachos for me, thanks, I’m too stressed to eat.’
‘I’m sorry, Ally, but that is just not the spirit of Los Banditos. We’ll have two bowls of nachos with everything, and extra chipotle sauce, thanks. Well?’
‘I’ve spent half my Christmas money on overpriced sports gear that I’m not even sure I can return, and that I know in my heart I’ll just end up watching telly in.’
‘So does everyone . . . except a tiny minority. And they’re not natural.’
‘William is one of them.’
‘Except William.’
‘Thanks. Rosemarie, what’ll I do about the job?’
‘Well, there’s two ways of looking at it. Either you tell your mother that if she’s that keen on the job she should do it herself, or else you could go to the interview, play for time and see how things pan out.’
‘That’s too vague. I need more, Rosemarie.’
‘This is all about Pete, isn’t it?’
Ally nodded mutely then realised that, despite all the Santas and the squashed tinsel garlands, she was liable to bawl into her drink.
‘You like him?’ said Rosemarie.
‘Yes. That time he stayed over . . . It was kind of the feeling I’d always been hoping to find with someone.’
‘Then what are we even talking about?’
‘I can’t risk another disaster after spending five years with Francis. I’m thirty-six on my next birthday. I can’t waste time.’
‘Thanks for reminding me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. Look, Ally, this doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand . . . Why don’t you just go back to The Owl’s Nest and accept the offer of the flat?’
‘Because, first of all, it won’t be ready for months – at absolute best. In the meantime, I earn €300 a week there, and right now I’m burning through my savings.
On top of all that, even if I got myself into that flat, then if anything goes weird with Pete – which, believe me, it could – I’d be totally screwed.
I’d be worse off than I am now, and everyone would say I should have seen that coming. ’
‘Still . . . no guarantees in life. Why won’t you give him a chance?’
In truth, Ally half-wondered that herself.