Chapter 24
Just get dressed! she told herself the following morning.
It was one thing to have a passionate kiss with Pete and a declaration of all he’d like to do for her, but quite another to turn up for work in the same small café and have to work beside him under the watchful eye of Evelyn.
To be honest, she was feeling a mixture of longing and trepidation at the thought of meeting Pete in public after what they’d shared.
Oh well, lots of work relationships had probably started like that. And ended too.
When in doubt, glam up. She pulled out her dark-denim wide-legged jeans and a new cream top with a corset bodice which could have looked a bit provocative, except for the long sleeves that toned it down sufficiently.
Then she added a swipe of eyeliner, red lipstick and a cropped red cardigan to make the top look a bit more work-friendly.
Grand. Oh God, better have a party dress with her, just in case .
. . it was the week before Christmas after all .
. . She pulled out a blue satin minidress and her favourite black lace ankle boots – cheapie but almost identical to the Dolce and Gabbana ones – and shoved the lot into her bag. Fabulous.
* * *
There was no sign of Pete anywhere. Still, it meant she’d no option but to throw herself into serving the regulars, who were turning up with the sweetest Christmas cards; Noel and Christie wrote:
Best grub in town, where would we be without Owl’s Nest HQ?
The gym bunnies wrote:
Thanks for our regular caffeine boosts, here’s to another year of fitness goals.
Ally secretly suspected that Niamh was angling to get her discount back before the year was out.
The staff were leaning into the Christmas spirit too: Evelyn was wearing a sparkly crochet top, while Dave was in a full-on reindeer jumper. They were working flat-out when her phone buzzed. At the sight of Pete’s name her heart leaped.
Van keys under counter. Dave knows X
OK. A bit minimal, but she knew better than to take it personally. There was an X after all. Pete was liable to say less than he felt, unlike a lot of other people.
* * *
By 5 p.m. Ally was sitting in the van, realising the pedals were miles away from her feet and having the strangest experience of trespassing on Pete’s world: a packet of gum thrown on the dashboard, a half-open pack of sandpaper on the passenger seat, all suffused with a particular smell – not sweat, not unpleasant, but uniquely him.
No time for that, she thought, wrestling with the mirrors and the seat until everything was just about reachable and she pulled out into the traffic, feeling like she was driving a small building through town.
Finally, she pulled up at the balloon shop where Rosemarie was waving at her with both arms and, between them, they spent twenty minutes wedging 200 balloons into the back of the van, which ended up feeling like the inside of a giant Aero bar.
It felt weird going up in the lift at Celtic Concrete with a massive bunch of balloons in each hand, hoping to God she wouldn’t run into Con on the way to the main office.
Once there, she and Rosemarie hung up the winter wishes banner, which looked the opposite of festive; in fact, it evoked some version of purgatory, featuring warm wine and soggy snacks.
‘Right, that’s it, all ready,’ said Rosemarie. ‘It looks shite. Wait till Crystal sees her vision in action.’
* * *
Driving back across town in the van, with the music blaring and chewing a stick of Pete’s gum, Ally felt elated for no particular reason.
Almost like she’d revisited her old world, only to find that, at some stage, she’d shed a skin and her life had grown too big for Celtic Concrete.
She was just pulling up the lane to the back entrance to the café, when she noticed the light was on.
Oh good, that meant Pete must be back. Her heart leaped with excitement.
She parked up and ran around to the front, buzzing to share the silliness of the whole situation.
She could see through the glass that the café was only half-lit, so to a casual passer-by it wouldn’t have looked open.
Puzzled, Ally tried the door and found it unlocked, so she turned the handle and walked in.
‘Hello?’
Down the back, but just visible, was Pete . . . and he had his arms around a blonde woman, who Ally recognised from photos as . . . Tanya, his ex. Her head reeled in shock.
Oh. My. Freaking. God.
She was already too far inside the café to slip out unnoticed, so she found herself simply frozen to the spot. They both swung around to face her, and it wasn’t clear which of them was more surprised.
Pete looked shocked. ‘Aaah, Ally . . .’ was all Pete could come up with.
Ally realised her heart was pounding like a jackhammer and she was blushing from head to toe, but thankfully it was too dark for anyone to notice.
‘Sorry . . . to . . . interrupt. I was just dropping back the keys.’
Oh crap, the bag she’d stashed earlier in the cloakroom was right down the other end of the room. A surge of defiance ran through her – this might feel like a monumental hideous betrayal, but sod it if she was going to be stopped from picking up her party gear.
‘I’ve got to . . . er . . . get something,’ she spluttered and, without glancing at either of them, clattered down to the cloakroom, grabbed her stuff and swept out the door with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘Night!’ she called over her shoulder. Once back outside on the cold pavement, she could feel her body sag. Don’t let yourself think, wipe out the image. Just walk . . . walk . . . keep walking. Phone Rosemarie.
‘Hi, this is me. I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m busy in hell.’
Ally found her feet clumping back down towards the shops around Grafton Street.
It was 7 p.m. With late-night opening, everything would still be busy on the Thursday so close to Christmas, as everyone took the opportunity to do their last-minute shopping.
She could lose herself in the swinging lights criss-crossing the pedestrian streets, the raucous buskers, the carol singers, the shouldering crowds.
Somehow, she would melt into the bustle of humanity and not have to live inside her own stupid, gullible head.
After about an hour of walking, she realised her feet were sore so she sat down in M&S, ordered a hot chocolate and gazed out the window at the blur of movement.
It was only then she realised she was crying.
Finally, she blotted her tears with the serviette, admitting to herself that the sneaky cry had made her feel a little better and cleared her head.
With all of the drama, she hadn’t even done any Christmas shopping.
Well, she was right across the street from Brown Thomas department store, so maybe it was her chance to redeem a truly shitty evening.
She wandered into the store and found herself hit by wafts of glorious scent, trailing past rows of cosmetics, past the designer handbags, then into the perfume department.
It all felt overwhelming so she came to a halt, finding herself plonked opposite the Jo Malone counter, which seemed to be about as far as her legs would take her.
She spent a therapeutic ten minutes spraying little bits of paper and finally chose ‘English Pear and Freesia’ for Mum, ‘Wood Sage and Sea Salt’ for Maeve and ‘Pomegranate Noir’ for Rosemarie, assuming that her love life was going so well that she was likely to need it.
Just then her phone buzzed and she noticed there were two voice messages – neither of them from Pete.
‘OMG, this is the shite-est party I’ve ever been at.
And I helped organise it. Guess what? Crystal prepared the Ritz crackers last night.
FFS. Everyone says they miss your parties .
. . But . . . wait for it . . . Los Banditos has a karaoke machine tonight, so we’re all splitting and heading over there, 9 p.m. Fergus and Ronan coming as well. OK?’
The other was from Francis: ‘Erm, hi Ally. Look . . . this is pretty embarrassing but . . . well, it turns out Fleur wasn’t what I thought .
. . Long story . . . I’ll explain to you, but I just wanted to say that .
. . I still miss you. That evening we spent together showed me that.
And I was stupid and I’m sorry . . .’ The message seemed to end, but then he continued, ‘Oh, and I wonder, are you free to meet tomorrow after work? Anyway . . . see you . . . bye. This is Francis, by the way.’
Ally stared at the screen as she felt all the pieces in her brain rearrange themselves yet again, like the scoreboard for the Eurovision Song Contest. First, she was losing, now she was winning.
For a moment she contemplated a reply . .
. sod it, she decided finally – she had endured enough traumatic experiences for one night. Francis could wait.