Chapter 40
40
“Let’s have a look at this Fassbender Suite,” Mum said.
On the first floor, it was an attractive, light-filled bedroom.
“Very nice.” Claire scanned the four walls. “But where’s Fassbender?”
“You thought he’d be sitting here in a glass cube?” Helen asked.
“A girl can hope. Not technically a suite either, is it?”
“What’s the difference?” Mum asked.
Margaret had her phone out. “A suite is ‘a set of rooms,’?” she read. “Emphasis mine. I must admit I’m only seeing the one room.”
“There’s a sofa bed!” I was afraid they’d go back to reception and complain. “As well as a normal bed.”
“Still doesn’t make it a suite,” Claire said. “But what the hell, who cares!”
“I need feeding,” Mum announced. “Where’ll we go?”
Everyone looked at me.
“I’ve only eaten here in the hotel.”
“No.” Wherever Claire traveled, she was all about “The locals love it.” According to her, only basics scuttled back to the safety of their hotel to eat. “I haven’t come all this way for an anonymous club sandwich in a bland hotel.”
“You’d be lucky to get a club sandwich, anonymous or otherwise, here.”
“I’m too weak with hunger to walk another step,” Mum said.
“Just this once,” Claire conceded, so the seven of us descended on Emilien. Where we all had toasted sandwiches because “I couldn’t recommend anything else,” he said. “It would be irresponsible.”
Margaret exclaimed, “Isn’t it great we’re all here together?”
In dolorous tones, Mum said, “It’s only four of my daughters. Wouldn’t you miss Rachel?”
“You saw her last night,” Claire said, the M’town newsletter open before her. “Okay! There’s a lot on this weekend.” Suddenly her laptop was out. “We need a schedule. Who wants to go to The Playboy of the Western World in a tent tonight? Nobody? Good. Karaoke!” She was delighted. “In the parish hall this evening. Tenner in, for charity.”
“It’ll be crap,” Helen said.
“That’s the whole point! We’re going.” Her fingers were a blur on her keyboard. “The parade tomorrow morning?”
“The one in Dublin is a joke of a thing,” Mum said. “Imagine how bad it’ll be down here.”
“You haven’t been in five hundred years. It’s good these days. We’re going.” More clicking from Claire. “A ceili tomorrow night here in the hotel. Yes! Attendance is mandatory. A long word, Mum, which means you can’t opt out.”
“Who says I can’t opt out?”
“Me. Sunday morning, a scavenger hunt. No idea what it is, but also mandatory. All weekend, around the town they’ll be serving Irish stew, boxty, rainbow doughnuts, green tea…”
“Free?” Mum asked.
“ Not free, you old fool. Nothing is free in Ireland—”
“—except verbal abuse from your daughters.”
“Okay!” Claire announced. “Schedule WhatsApp’d to you all.” Obediently all our phones began binging and beeping. “Today, we go down the town to laugh at the shops, then an early dinner, karaoke and maybe late drinks.”
“Anna!” Margaret had just remembered. “I brought you clothes. Dressy stuff. You won’t want to look ‘relatable’ in your downtime.”
She was the most thoughtful person I’d ever met. Always anticipating the needs of others. Speaking of which, she asked, “Should we make a reservation for dinner?”
“On it,” Claire said. “There’s a place—”
Helen groaned. “Not ‘a small gem off the beaten track’ where we’ll have to sit in a weirdo’s front room.”
“Better than some poxy pizza place on Main Street.”
“What time’s the booking?” Helen asked.
“They don’t take bookings. We’ll just wander in.”
“This weekend will be busy .” I was anxious. “It might not be that easy.”
“Wouldja relax . They’re off the beaten track. Nobody knows about them, we’ll be grand.”
But at 6 p.m., after we’d walked almost a kilometer out of town, we discovered that “The small gem off the beaten track” had closed during the pandemic and never reopened.
“The fact they didn’t answer their emails wasn’t a clue?” Francesca asked as we tramped back to civilization.
“?‘Off the beaten track’ means you can’t expect a thirst-trap with hourly TikToks.”
“ Hourly TikToks ,” Francesca murmured. “If you could hear yourself…”
Poor Francesca. She had only come because she’d had “Three messy break-ups’ and was afraid of being alone.
“What’s that up there?” Helen was squinting at the cliff.
“The Big Blue. A bar.”
“No. Further up, in the trees, are they…turrets?”
“It’s her ladyship’s house.”
Breathlessly, Helen asked, “Have you been up there? Could we get an invite?” Helen had what she insisted on calling “The horn” for gloomy, Victorian houses.
“Ask her yourself. She works at the hotel,” I said. “So what now? The poxy pizza place on Main Street?”
We picked up our pace…and just a moment! That cool woman sauntering up the street looked just like Rachel…because it was Rachel! And…Luke? Yes, definitely Luke, all tight-jeaned and ride-y. Who had they in tow? It was young Lenehan!
And bringing up the rear…was that—holy mackerel— Joey ?
“It’s RachelandLuke!” Claire had taken off at a sprint. Followed by the rest of us, lunging like lemmings, in her slipstream. Flinging ourselves at the new arrivals, you’d have thought we’d been sundered for several years.
“How come you’re here ?” we demanded in delight.
“Bank holiday weekend,” Luke said. “Nothing planned. Yous are here, a no-brainer, we threw our stuff in the car, swung by to pick up Joey, then Lenehan and, yeah.”
“Why didn’t you text?”
“We did!”
On cue, our phones began to ping as we moved into coverage.
After I’d hugged Lenehan, I focused on Joey. “Hey!” I cried, my heart happy, my arms wide for a hug.
“Yeah, hey.” Barely making eye contact, he slid away from me.
“You’re back?” His reticence was confusing.
“Looks like it.”
He seemed different, as if he’d been gone for a lot more than a day. No longer in the bad jeans I’d made him buy but in black, slouchy things, covered by a dark overcoat which looked both anonymous and expensive.
“His boys are away,” Luke said. “Couldn’t have him on his own on a bank holiday weekend.”
I managed to say, “The more the merrier.” But I was upset.
“How many?” asked the friendly young woman as we crowded into the pizza place on Main Street.
—
“Aaaah.” Mum scanned our group. “Seven.”
“There’s maybe a few more than seven.”
“Well, Regan can sit on Helen’s lap—”
“—and Helen can sit on mine,” Claire said.
“And you can sit on mine,” Francesca called from the back.
“We’ve no tables for seven available at all tonight.”
Back on the street, we eyed each other, wondering who to turn on.
“Tripadvisor says—” Margaret said.
“I’d rather die of hunger!” from Claire.
“We’ll have to break up into smaller groups,” I said.
A barrack of dissent rose but after we’d been turned away from two more restaurants, Claire faced facts: we’d have to throw ourselves on Emilien’s mercy. However, a further rejection awaited—the lounge at the Broderick was packed .
“The prodigal go-boy!” Emilien declared. “Seeing as it’s yourselves, we’ll make a stab at room service. Go on up. We’ll attempt a selection of toasted sandwiches. Are you drinking red or white?”
“Red,” Claire said.
“White!” Mum said.
“We’ll take four bottles of red,” Claire said. “One of white. Tap water for Rachel.”
“What about me?” Regan asked.
Emilien leant over the bar. “Hello. I didn’t see you there. Thought I was hearing things. There’s Sprite in the minibar above. That do you?”
“Sure will.” Claire answered for her. “We’ll take the wine now.” She flapped her hands at him to get going. “Quick. Good man. I haven’t had a drink in four hours. Thanks.”