Chapter 17
The warmth hit her as soon as she pushed open the door to The Owl’s Nest. Unusually, Evelyn was there on her own – there was no sign of either Pete or Dave.
The older woman’s face lit up when she saw her, which caused Ally a further pang of guilt.
She was surrounded by the Saturday specials: a breakfast quiche that consisted of a very thin buttery puff pastry loaded with a mushroom and spinach filling; a bacon and asparagus one; and a vegetable tart filled with glowing shapes of red and green peppers and courgette peeping through the golden glaze.
A hint of garlic hovered in the air alongside the aroma of baking.
‘Are you on your own, Evelyn? Where’s Dave?’
‘He texted me to say that the little baby had had a rough night, but that he’s managed to pull through. Still, you know . . .’
‘Oh God, poor Dave and Fia, what an absolute nightmare for them. Sure, we can’t expect too much from him if he’s been sitting in a hospital all night.’
‘And the new lad, Marco, apparently has had a puncture on his bike . . .’
They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
She was dying to ask about Pete. And yet even the possibility of mentioning his name felt exposing, plus she hadn’t heard a squeak from him since the previous week. Evelyn had the uncanny ability to pick up on her thoughts.
‘You’re wondering about the other fella?’
Ally nodded, grateful she hadn’t had to ask.
‘He hasn’t been in great form since you left, if that’s what you’re wondering about. Very quiet.’
‘Really?’ She hadn’t intended it to come out quite so happily.
Evelyn turned back to pour a thick sponge-pudding mixture into a cake tin and then spooned a huge dollop of apricot jam into the well in the centre, but Ally could see the smile on her face.
She’d begun taking chairs down and setting up tables with a sprig of fresh flowers on each, but she couldn’t resist her curiosity any longer.
‘Evelyn, d’you think Pete hates me for leaving? ’
Evelyn posted the sponge into the oven and then looked up. ‘That wouldn’t be the impression I got.’
Ally smiled at her gratefully.
‘And as for the rest of us . . . sure, what else could you do? You were offered a full-time job. You can’t pay your mortgage with loyalty. Anyway, you’re here now – isn’t that the main thing?’
‘Yeah.’ Still, she wasn’t convinced. There were ten minutes left before they opened but she was conscious there was something missing.
‘Evelyn, we’ve no Christmas decorations up, no Christmas tree or anything – what’s the story?’
‘Well, if you have time to do them, that’s well and good. I haven’t.’
Clearly, The Owl’s Nest was barely hanging in there. The menu, on which its excellent reputation depended, right now was resting almost entirely on the frail shoulders of Evelyn.
‘I’ll do the decorations. Where are they?’
‘Upstairs, in one of the storerooms. God knows, they got chucked up there last year and forgotten about.’
‘In that case, I’m going to put them up right now. It’s the only place in town left with no decorations, it’ll put customers off. Apart from the Grinches who hate Christmas.’
She slipped behind the counter and then up the dusty, sawdust-scattered staircase.
It felt weird that she hadn’t done this before.
The room she found herself in was surprisingly bright, with a full view of the busy street – or it would have, if the windows were given a thorough clean.
All the rooms on that floor were of generous proportions, and that included a basic-looking kitchenette and a bathroom.
So, this was the place Evelyn had been talking about.
She was spot-on, it was a gem going to waste.
After a few minutes of rifling through piles of junk, she came across a rather unpromising-looking box of decorations.
The stairs went up another level and Ally was sorely tempted to rush up and have a quick gawk, but the image of Evelyn working away alone in the café sent her clattering back down the stairs.
Still, she promised herself, as soon as she had a minute, she’d creep back up and have a look.
But when would that be? Next week, the week after?
Never? She had to keep reminding herself that her involvement with The Owl’s Nest had diminished.
What right did she have to be up there at all?
She was manoeuvring the bulky box downstairs and round a tight corner, when she found herself face to face with Pete. As usual, her heart leaped, and judging by his face, he was feeling something similar. Everything felt slightly weird and she could see a look in his eyes of . . . hurt.
‘Hey, Pete, how are you doing?’ Ally could hear the note of regret in her voice.
He shrugged. ‘Grand.’
He didn’t look grand, and if her feelings were showing as clearly as his, neither did she.
‘I’m going to put the decorations up when I get a moment. They’ve obviously been pretty hard-pushed this last week . . .’
Oh God, she could literally hear the thought bubbles floating round the room: and you know why that is, because you bailed out and left them in the lurch. Or maybe that was just her paranoia. But probably not.
Pete nodded but Ally could tell he wasn’t really listening.
‘I . . . erm . . . I just had a quick look upstairs. There’s a lot of junk but you can see it’s really got potential . . .’
Oh God, another clanger. There was literally nothing she could say right now that wasn’t putting both feet in her mouth.
‘Yeah, it’s a good space all right.’
‘Pete, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ God, even that sounded presumptuous.
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, there you have it.’
That sounded pretty final, and she couldn’t think of anything to add. Everything felt wrong. She felt like a visitor and that felt wrong. She and Pete were talking to each other like strangers and that felt wrong too.
‘I’d . . . er . . . better get back down to Evelyn.’
‘Sure.’ His tone couldn’t have been more offhand as he turned away and continued working on the wall-to-ceiling shelves that Ally suspected Dave had only ordered to give his mate a job.
Miserably, she crept back into the café as Evelyn was unlocking the door to a few people who were already queueing outside.
Ally smiled and greeted them warmly – at least in the one day she was there, she could make as much of a difference as possible.
She made four coffees while Evelyn made two avocado toasts and two eggs Benedict.
After that there was a slight lull, so Ally set about putting up decorations.
The ones in the window were fine but how the hell was she going to manage the high stuff?
‘Pete? Can you give me a hand out here, please?’ There was a silence. ‘Pete?’
‘I’m in the middle of something. Can it wait?’ he answered gruffly.
Oh, that was the first time he’d ever refused her anything.
She felt a horrible sinking feeling, and then the thought of Francis surfaced, accompanied by the shock of seeing another girl’s intimate possessions in his bathroom.
She’d had her chances in life . . . and blown them.
And now everyone had moved on and she was left . . . nowhere.
Oh well, there was only one thing for it.
She grabbed a high stool from the side table and carefully climbed on it – no point in doing herself in.
Soon the place had a festive, if slightly retro, look.
Ally recognised the decorations from her childhood, but that was exactly what Dave had intended.
The Owl’s Nest reminded everyone of some place, or some time, when they’d felt at home.
If only she could feel the way she used to about it.
It was odd, but that lovely chemistry you stumbled upon sometimes in life, and maybe took for granted, was all too fragile.
And once broken, how could you stick the pieces back together again?
Around ten thirty, Dave showed up, looking like he’d had at least a few hours’ sleep. He glanced around the café, an expression of relief on his face.
‘Who put all of these decorations up? Thank God! I’d a nightmare about being chased across the square by an army of angry Christmas trees.’
‘I’m glad that’s all it was,’ said Evelyn. ‘How’s the young fella doing?’
‘He got an infection yesterday, and they weren’t sure . . . how it was going to go, but it turns out he’s responding to the antibiotics so the doctors say he’ll be . . . OK.’
He slumped with relief against the counter.
‘Sit down, Dave, I’ll get you a coffee,’ said Ally, feeling relieved at having something to do.
‘Reminds me of home, Ally. You’ve done a great job, we’ve been really missing you.’
The remark was meant kindly, but it only made her feel worse.
All morning, a steady stream of customers dressed in earmuffs and sparkly scarves trooped through, including Noel and Christie, who were organising a carol-singing event in town and had to get their breakfast rolls for the day.
Evelyn’s quiches were vanishing fast and the second lot she’d prepared were baking in the oven.
‘Evelyn, take your break, I’ll drop you down a nice big cappuccino,’ urged Ally. As she was frothing the milk, she noticed Evelyn producing the knitting from her bag and starting a new row, silently counting stitches as she went.
‘You’ve got loads done since last week. Do you think you’ll have it finished for Christmas?’ She could tell Evelyn was chuffed she’d noticed.
‘Well, it’s not for anyone else, so nobody’s waiting – I’ll get it done when it’s done.’
She was working through a complex pattern involving a wave design.
‘And is that stitch for something in particular?’
Evelyn frowned thoughtfully and smoothed out the knitting.
‘This is for a fellow who left me standing outside the Ambassador cinema in 1985, when we were supposed to be going to see The Breakfast Club.’
‘He stood you up? That’s awful. Why?’
‘I never found out . . . maybe he didn’t fancy the film. But I was mad about him. I was sure he was The One. Still, you live and learn.’
‘And there’s a stitch all of its own just for that night?’
‘There is. Sometimes it’s the small things that are the really big things, and the big things . . . well, you just get on with them. What choice have you?’
Ally glanced around the café, where everyone seemed to have what they needed for now.
‘Evelyn, what’ll I do about Pete? He seems really upset.’
‘Nothing. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. You just have to let it all play out. You can’t fix everything.’
Well, that wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, but with the luck she’d been having lately, doing nothing was at least as good an idea as any of her other plans.
She worked tirelessly through the day; every time there was a lull between customers, she cleaned every possible nook and cranny.
By closing time, when Dave was cashing up, she hauled the chairs up on the tables and swept around, leaving the place ready to open on Monday morning, even though she wouldn’t be there to see it.
Dave handed her €100 out of the till, which was more than she was due.
‘For all the extra work you did today, Ally. You really made a difference, especially at the moment.’ He threw on his coat, and she knew he was heading back into the hospital.
‘Dave . . .’ She looked down at the money.
‘Don’t even think about handing that back. The customers were asking all week where you were. Oh, and don’t worry about locking up – Pete is still here.’
For all the difference that’d make, she mused, packing some leftover spinach and goat’s cheese pizza slices into her bag and putting on her coat to leave. Then she heard a familiar voice behind her.
‘I’ve put on the kettle, will you stay?’
It was such a simple statement, but her heart lurched.
‘Sure.’
Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Pete jerked his head towards the ceiling.
‘I see you managed to get them up by yourself.’
‘Not much choice, had I, since you turned me down?’ she said with a wry smile, before realising that for him saying no to a woman was actually a big deal.
‘I did, didn’t I?’ He glanced at her from under his eyebrows.
She watched his big hands make the two mugs of tea and bring them down to the little staff table by the wall.
‘No sugar – that right?’
‘Good memory.’
Just then Patsy padded in from the back room where he’d been snoozing all afternoon and nosed at her leg, begging to be picked up. She lifted the fleecy white bundle, relieved to have some distraction, and let him lick her face with his tiny tongue.
‘I miss dogs. We always had dogs at home,’ she said.
‘So . . . the fish aren’t quite the same?’
‘Turns out they don’t much appreciate being cuddled, though they’re great listeners.’
‘It’s good you’re here, Ally.’ And like most things Pete said, it felt like so much more than the bare words.
‘How is your son doing? He hasn’t had any more . . . episodes?’
‘No, thank God, he’s been fine since . . . but, it’s always there, you know.’ He sighed. She was struck by the contrast between her easy chat with Francis and this terse exchange with Pete, where every twitch was charged.
The reason was, she realised, with Francis there was nothing at stake. No strong feelings. What there was between them was just a memory.
‘Pete, are you really planning on renovating upstairs?’
‘It’s an option, sure. Would you like that, Patsy, would you? Yes . . . yes, you would.’
He took the puppy from her arms and mussed his fur; as Ally watched, Patsy yawned, before settling contentedly into his owner’s strong arms. A silence fell.
‘But, actually, I might have to go away for a bit.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yeah, I’ve a bit of work to do up north, for my mam.’
Her heart sank. Evelyn was right, there was absolutely nothing she could do in the situation. It seemed that her path and Pete’s were moving further and further apart.