Chapter 21
By ten to eight the next morning, she was standing in The Owl’s Nest, drinking a mug of tea and waiting for the lads to arrive.
There was no sign of Pete, but that was fine – it was still early.
Just then there was a rap on the door. Phew, the lads were in good time.
She turned round to open it, only to me met with .
. . Oh God . . . William’s face beaming at her through the glass.
What in the name of holy hell was he doing here?
The request for workers hadn’t included him at all.
Oh crikey . . . he must have misunderstood and assumed they were all included.
Now what was she going to do? This was a bloody disaster.
This was going to muddy the waters with Pete, and God knows they were muddy enough as it was.
William was possibly going to act like a sort of boyfriend and screw everything up.
Too late now . . . all she could do was smile, fling open the door, then make her excuses and scuttle off to the loo.
Think. Think. She needed . . . someone to act as a buffer. Rosemarie. Rosemarie had a brass neck, she could deflect anything. Ally hadn’t time to text – it’d have to be the dreaded early-morning call.
‘Who— What? Whathappened? Whasswrong?’
Ally briefly tried to convey to a semi-comatose Rosemarie the predicament she found herself in.
‘Wha—? On a Saturday . . . you want me to get up and work? All day? Are you insane?’ Her tone was scandalised.
‘Fergus is here.’
A millisecond’s pause.
‘What’ll I wear?’
The transformation was stunning, although a thought did strike Ally: she’d probably end up having to pay Rosemarie’s wages herself, but no matter, it was a small price to pay. If she herself could just stay out of sight behind the counter for the day . . . well, it might work out somehow.
Back in the café, the three lads were seated round a table being served breakfast by Evelyn, who seemed quite happy to fuss over them.
Just then Ally’s phone rang – Rosemarie. Please God she hadn’t changed her mind. Ally slipped into the storeroom, and before she even had time to draw breath, her friend’s face appeared on a video call.
‘Here’s my outfit. What do you think?’
She’d barely glanced at the screen before she replied, ‘Gorgeous. Perfect. Just feckin’ get here, OK? I really, really owe you one, Ros.’
Ally was only then remembering about Fergus and just how accident-prone he was – there was a very real possibility he could put his foot through a floorboard or send The Owl’s Nest back to the Stone Age by blowing all the fuses.
Mind you, Rosemarie was pretty disaster-prone herself .
. . Oh, stop stressing about everything, she scolded herself.
Back in the café, William was looking shiny and up for whatever would come at him, Ronan was looking a bit for fuck’s sake, what am I even doing here, while Fergus kept saying things like, ‘God, Evelyn, this is a beautiful coffee and scone. I’ll have to take the recipe for my mother.’
Ally felt a wave of gratitude towards them for turning up early on their day off. Still, she’d better catch Pete and explain to him about the slight personnel change. Speak of the devil . . . Just then she spotted him heading in through the back door.
‘OK, Pete, there’s good news and bad news. The lads are here, plus an extra one.’
‘Great . . . so, what’s the bad news?’
‘My friend Rosemarie is coming too.’
‘Jaysus, which of them does she fancy?’
‘The tall one. But don’t worry, I’ll cover her wages, she’s my responsibility.’
Pete laughed. ‘You’re as bad as me, feeling responsible for everyone.’
Ally noticed he was wearing clothes that looked ironed. Wow, something really important must be happening . . . Of course, he had to look like the boss, she remembered.
Clearly, he had the whole job laid out in his mind and was focused to the point of being slightly scary.
Oh wow, she could see exactly that guy who could control a huge project and deliver it on time.
And woe betide any amateurs whose top priority was their choice of earrings.
Talking of which, where in God’s name was Rosemarie?
Oh, please, she’d just personally vouched for her, so don’t let her be late.
A surprisingly short time later, the door burst open and Rosemarie appeared in full makeup. ‘Stop the lights, lads, I couldn’t decide on my outfit! Didn’t think I was going to make it, so I hopped in a taxi in the end. What did I miss?’
Ally ducked to avoid meeting anyone’s eye and made herself busy behind the counter while privately deciding she would soon take Rosemarie aside and give her the heads-up that this was a proper job, not an all-pile-in-for-the-craic situation.
‘I’ve ordered a skip for nine,’ announced Pete. ‘In the meantime, let’s make a start.’
He looked dubiously at Rosemarie’s skimpy outfit but said nothing as the five of them trooped upstairs.
Oh, bloody hell, what had she even been thinking of, pulling her mates in to work for Pete.
It felt as though a sinkhole had opened in her confidence .
. . What sort of an eejit am I? Then she gave herself a strict talking-to about overthinking, overstressing and generally having a vastly inflated view of her own importance.
Evelyn seemed to read her mind. ‘Let them off with it. Sure, any crowd he was paying minimum wage would be the same.’
By eleven, nothing awful had happened. Maybe, just maybe, everything was magically going to work out.
She could hear a steady stream of tramping up and down the stairs as they hauled rolls of old carpet, clapped-out furniture and boxes of junk, and dumped them in the skip.
She began to cheer up – this was actually fantastic!
Her input was helping to transform Pete’s vision into reality.
In a quiet moment, she crept upstairs; there were no feet through floorboards, no blown fuses – just William and Ronan manoeuvring an old bedstead downstairs between them.
Fabulous! She gave them a happy thumbs up and sailed downstairs, feeling effective and purposeful.
It was then she heard a squeaky voice that was unnervingly familiar.
‘I’ll just have one poached egg, no toast – I’ve a teeny-tiny appetite. How about you, Frannie-baby?’
Oh. God no. Of all days.
‘Hi Fleur, hi Francis.’ Oh crikey, did she know about the bonk? Probably not, or the atmosphere would’ve been a lot worse, but still . . . Francis was wearing a camel overcoat which even her father would’ve considered ‘a bit too stuffy for me’.
‘Ooh, Ally, still here? How lovely,’ squeaked Fleur.
‘Hi, Ally, there you are,’ said Francis, somewhat unnecessarily. Meanwhile, Ally was betting he’d rapidly deleted the text asking to see her. He ordered an all-in gourmet breakfast roll, despite Fleur’s pretty pout.
‘We have to watch your cholesterol, babe, don’t we?’ She winked proprietorially, giving his stomach a flirtatious prod with her pink nail.
Humph, so much for the kebab and chips he’d horsed into that night.
Ally pointed them to a table and set to wearing her best poker face while taking their drinks order: Earl Grey for Fleur and large skinny latte for Francis (another pretty pout, head on one side from her), though Ally knew he’d have preferred full-fat.
Just then there was a clamour of voices from upstairs and the whole crew crowded into the café, filled with the buzz of shared purpose.
Everyone seemed in good form, to her relief, and Rosemarie was laughing heartily at one of Fergus’s stories.
He seemed to have entirely forgotten the whole drink-over-head incident.
She managed to catch Pete’s eye.
‘Well, how’s it going?’ she hissed.
‘Fine,’ he said with a shrug, which, without being offhand, felt disconcertingly literal. He’s just in work mode, she consoled herself, let him off.
Just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump as though a tarantula had just dropped from the ceiling.
‘William,’ she barked weirdly, surprising herself. ‘Sorry . . . sorry, you gave me a fright.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Pete, who was hovering nearby, raise an eyebrow. Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . Oh well, what else had she expected?
William was looking chastened.
‘Sorry, Ally, you’re at work, I get that. We’ll be down the back here . . .’ He jerked his head towards a large table, while Dave passed by with a platter of sandwiches and rolls.
‘Everyone seems happy?’ she said to Pete, trying to ignore the William thing that just happened.
‘Yeah, yeah, great . . . all good.’ His response told her he was backing off.
Crap. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
Oh God, just then she realised she’d forgotten Francis and Fleur’s beverages.
She dropped them down just as the pair were taking smoochy selfies for Instagram.
Fleur really did look radiant, thought Ally glumly.
‘Ooh, look, Frannie, they’ve arrived. We thought you must’ve forgotten,’ she purred, while Francis acknowledged her with a raised eyebrow but didn’t meet her eye.
‘Goodness, this place has such atmosphere . . . You must love it here.’ Fleur beamed. ‘Though, didn’t I hear that you were working in Hogget and Simpson, the law firm, as a receptionist? Did you not like it there?’
‘Well,’ said Ally, ‘let’s just say I opted for quality of life over corporate values.’
‘Ree-ally? Gosh, you’re so braaave, I don’t think I could be that brave, could you, Frannie?’ She patted his arm with her teeny-tiny hand that was practically screaming for an engagement ring. ‘I’d be afraid of ending up . . .’ Here she eyed Ally’s charity-shop lace blouse. ‘Poor.’