Love Letters (8 page)

‘But Himself said – that’s your great writer man, Dermot Flynn – he said he wouldn’t go to a festival he had to travel five miles to, and so they have it here. It’s grand for business. Now, have you had tea – I mean proper tea, not just a cup of tea in your hand?’

‘Yes, we had an all-day breakfast at the café.’

‘He would have given you a grand big Full Irish, didn’t he?’

‘He did, only we saw a girl.’

‘Oh yes. She’s my niece. A lovely girl.’

Accompanied by constant, amiable chat, the girls were escorted to their room. It was, Monica declared, a picture.

‘I’ve never seen anything so fantastically kitsch in my life! It’s a fairy palace!’ she said once their landlady was safely out of earshot.

‘And all in mauve,’ agreed Laura, slightly less enthralled. ‘I don’t think there’s anything that could take another purple frill if its life depended on it.’

Monica bounced on one of the single beds. ‘Comfy. What’s the bathroom like?’

‘Mauve,’ said Laura, peering into a little room adjacent to theirs. ‘Even the loo paper is mauve. But it seems to have everything, including a bath.’

Her yearning for one must have been audible because Monica said, ‘Why don’t you sink into it while I sort the car out? Then we can either go out or just stay in and watch television.’

By the time Monica came back the television was watching itself with Laura lying on top of one of the twin beds in a mauve towelling robe, fast asleep.

‘There’s nothing like an early night for making you feel like exercise!’ said Monica, sounding uncharacteristically Brown Owl-ish.

Laura sipped the tea Monica had brought to her bed. ‘So you didn’t wake up at one in the morning then?’

‘Nope. And the sun is shining, and as the days are so short, we should get out there and enjoy it!’

‘Did you manage to get your car sorted?’

‘Yup! A sweet man is going to sort it out today. It won’t be ready until tomorrow but I’ve had a brilliant idea how to spend our time.’

Laura hadn’t known Monica particularly long but she saw Ulterior Motive written all over her. ‘How?’

‘While I was finding the garage I passed a bike-hire place. They don’t get much custom in the winter so they’ve let me have two at a bargain rate.’

‘Bicycles.’

‘Yes!’

‘Did you notice that we came down a long hill to the village? Wherever we went would involve a long hill up.’

‘It’s good exercise.’

Laura hid her smile behind another sip of tea. She’d find out what the ulterior motive was soon enough. ‘OK then.’ Knowing Monica as she felt she now did, Laura suspected it was a man.

‘Anywhere particular you want to go on your bike, Mon?’ she said a couple of hours later, when, full of Irish breakfast, including several pints of tea, they pushed their bikes up the hill, out of the village.

The bike-hire place had given them a map, helmets and reflective clothing, none of which were particularly attractive but though all very practical. The map was rather creased but Monica had inspected it closely before they set off.

Monica didn’t answer. ‘The trick when you’re cycling is to calculate the distance at about two miles an hour and then multiply by three. It usually works out about right if you add half an hour.’

‘I haven’t ridden a bike for years.’

‘That’s fine. You never forget how to ride a bicycle,’ said Monica. ‘It’s just like—’

‘Don’t tell me,’ grumbled Laura as she clambered on to the saddle, ‘riding a bicycle.’ She pushed on the pedals and moved forward a few feet, wobbling slightly. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be able to cope with the hills.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘I will be if you tell me what you’re up to. I’m not expiring with a heart attack without knowing why.’

Monica allowed herself to pant for a few seconds. ‘One of the reasons I was so keen that we should come to this little hole in the hedge was because it’s bang next door – well, a bike ride away – to another little hole in the hedge I really want to visit.’

‘Because of a man,’ Laura stated.

‘Did I tell you that or did you just guess?’

‘We may only have been best friends for quite a short time but I think I know you well enough to work that one out.’

Monica tried to look offended, but not very hard.

They stopped talking while they climbed a few more yards. When it flattened out a bit and Laura had more breath to spare she said, ‘You did give me a bit of a clue. You said you had unfinished business at the meeting.’

‘Did I? Well, yes, and he’s called Seamus. He’s a real doll. I met him at a gig last year. We exchanged emails and postcards for a while and then I just stopped hearing. I want to find out what’s happened to him.’

For all her efficiency and practical nature, Laura had a strongly romantic streak. She may not have had much of a love life herself but she’d read a lot of romantic fiction at an impressionable age. ‘So were you really in love with him?’

‘No, not that. Obsessed, probably. He was tall and dark with blue eyes.’ Monica’s halted her bicycle for a minute so she could think better. ‘Let’s just say he’s on my To Do list.’

‘How do you mean?’ Laura was confused. She was beginning to perspire and she wondered if it was affecting her brain.

Monica shrugged. ‘Well, you know.’ She paused and checked out her friend who was a few feet behind her. ‘Haven’t you a To Do list?’

‘Frequently, but it doesn’t have men on it.’

‘Doesn’t it? Mine’s only got men on it.’

Laura felt suddenly envious. Not for Monica the mundane ‘washing’, ‘ring home’, ‘buy loo cleaner’ type of list that kept her life on track. Hers probably started with George Clooney and worked its way down through Harrison Ford to Jeremy Clarkson. ‘But you’re not in love?’

The idea was obviously ridiculous. Monica laughed. ‘What is it with you and love? No! I want to find out if he’s as good in bed as he looks. Laura, why are you looking at me like that? Have you never fancied the pants off anyone?’

‘No,’ she panted. ‘Not really.’ She took a little run up the hill, trying to catch up with Monica who was taller and obviously a lot fitter.

‘What, never? I just couldn’t sleep with anyone I didn’t really lust after.’

There was a tiny pause before Laura said, ‘Nor could I.’

Monica pressed on cheerfully. ‘That’s all right then. But I don’t think it’s right to sleep with someone just because they’re there, or you need a lift home or something.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Laura muttered. ‘I’m a . . .’

‘Hang on.’ Monica stopped suddenly and turned round. ‘Are you telling me what I think you are?’

‘I don’t know. I hope not.’ Laura was panting when she came level with her friend and regretting her momentary need to confess something she wasn’t exactly ashamed of, but did make her a bit unusual and possibly strange. Monica was looking at her curiously.

‘When you say you wouldn’t know, does that . . . Are you – a virgin? I mean – have you never gone to bed with a man?’

‘I do know what being a virgin means.’

‘And are you one?’

Monica didn’t seem to be judging her. ‘Yes,’ Laura admitted, embarrassed. It wasn’t so much that it was wrong to be a virgin but it was odd. She wiped her brow, so she didn’t have to see Monica staring at her.

‘How old are you?’ Monica wasn’t staring but she did seem curious.

‘Twenty-six.’

‘Wow!’ said Monica, impressed. ‘And you’ve waited this long!’

‘I wasn’t waiting, it just didn’t happen.’

‘Well, I think it’s sweet,’ said Monica after a pause. ‘Weird but sweet.’

She set off up the hill again and Laura fell in beside her. ‘It’s no big deal,’ said Laura. ‘But I do think it would have to be the right person for me.’

‘Of course,’ said Monica uncertainly. ‘I think it’s lovely that you don’t just sleep around like I do.’

‘Do you?’ Monica was obviously what her father would describe as a ‘goer’ but she didn’t appear to lack the normal morals, either.

Monica shrugged. ‘Well, not really, but I don’t hold back, if you know what I mean. I’m always very careful, always use a condom, make sure I like the guy a bit, and it’s not only that I want to get into his pants.’ She paused. ‘But your way is better, I’m sure.’

‘It wasn’t a deliberate policy.’

Monica was thoughtful. ‘Or maybe you could do a lot worse than sleep with a friend, sort of get it over with.’

Laura shook her head. ‘I’m not being precious about it, but being a virgin doesn’t really interfere with my life. Besides, my best friend is gay.’

‘Oh, Grant? Well, maybe you’ll meet some other nice man who’d be nice and safe to do it with.’

‘Maybe,’ said Laura. But however weird still being a virgin made her feel she didn’t think she’d want to deal with the matter so pragmatically. It had just sort of happened that way and she’d never felt the need to get rid of it just for the sake of it, like a outmoded piece of furniture.

Laura walked most of the three miles to the little village they were heading for, but she was looking forward to being able to coast all the way back down to Ballyfitzpatrick. It had been a long time since she’d taken so much exercise but in spite of being aware of her unfit state she was enjoying the sensation of all her muscles working and felt exhilarated and energised.

‘You must admit, the views are absolutely stunning!’ said Monica, who was used to cycling and, unlike Laura, panting only slightly.

‘Oh yes, it’s amazing.’

They were standing on a cliff, gazing out to sea, regathering their energy before going to hunt out Monica’s Lust Object. The sun sparkled like diamonds on the little waves. The sky was pale blue and seemed to glint with potential frost. The grass on the clifftop was close-cropped, green still, although it was winter. Behind them was a row of whitewashed cottages. When Monica had stopped sweating, the plan was that they were going to knock on the door of her potential lover. Laura was planning to stay and enjoy the view but she hadn’t told Monica that yet. She wasn’t sure how’d she’d take it.

‘Actually,’ said Laura. ‘I might lie down.’

She did and it was wonderful. Her long walk uphill had made her warm and the sun on her cold face made her think of summer. Maybe this trip wasn’t a wild-goose chase, and if it was, maybe it was fine just to have fun. Grant was always saying she took life too seriously. Well, maybe she’d stop doing that and just go along for the ride. Although maybe he wouldn’t appreciate arranging cover for her absence from the bookshop just for her to have a little winter sun.

Monica lay down next to her. ‘Oh, this is rather blissful, isn’t it? If I told the girls in the band that I’d spent half a week lying on a clifftop in Ireland, in January, they’d think I was mad.’

Laura chuckled, watching a bird cross the sky through half-closed lids. ‘Don’t you think they know that already?’

‘Mm, probably.’

‘It’s funny, all the people I know think I’m incredibly sensible, except for my parents, of course,’ said Laura sleepily. ‘You should have heard my father when I told him I was coming to Ireland. He thought I should spend any time off I had looking for another job.’

‘Well, you are in a way. The festival is another job.’

‘Hm. Not exactly well paid.’

‘I’m not being paid at all. Although I don’t mind. They’re giving the Sisters of Swing a really good spot at the music festival and this –’ she indicated the crisp winter day around them ‘– is just a jolly.’

‘I don’t think my parents would ever understand the concept of “a jolly”.’

‘Jaysus, they should be grateful you’ve got a job and aren’t living off “the burroo”.’

‘You’ve got very Irish all of sudden. What the hell are you talking about?’

‘It’s what they used to call benefits over here. A man on the ferry told me. And I’m practising. I may go home with a leprechaun.’

Laura chuckled. ‘Personally I prefer my men a little taller.’

‘Huh! I didn’t think beggars could be choosers!’

‘I’m not a beggar, I’m just looking for Mr Right.’

‘Big mistake. Mr Right Now is far better. Take it from one who knows.’

Laura laughed. There was something about lying on one’s back in the sunshine that made one inclined to laughter, she discovered. When Monica finally decided she no longer looked like a scarlet woman in all the wrong ways, she ordered them both to their feet. Laura had forgotten about leaving Monica to her embarrassing errand, and got up. They brushed bits of grass off each other’s backs, picked up their bikes, and headed on into the village.

The village was postcard pretty, with its whitewashed cottages around the cove. Not for this village the garish colours of Ballyfitzpatrick – here there must have been rules, but the effect was delightful. Even in January it looked like the perfect holiday destination. The cottages were no longer thatched and the boats in the harbour were all modern but there was a man sitting mending nets in the sunshine.

‘They pay him to look picturesque,’ said Monica.

‘He does his job very well,’ said Laura. ‘He looks perfect.’

‘And if we can’t find Cove Road, we can ask him, but I think it’s all Cove Road, so it’s just a case of finding the right house.’

It was surprisingly straightforward, only, on the doorstep, the ridiculousness of the whole thing hit Laura and she got the giggles. ‘Oh God, Monica, I’m so sorry, I can’t do this. You’ll have to do it on your own.’ She could hardly speak. ‘It’s just so silly! We’ve ridden bikes, for goodness’ sake, to meet a man who may not even live here. We’re grown women, not thirteen-year-olds!’ She went off into another fit of laughter and crossed her legs, just in case.

‘Really, Laura, I thought you were the sensible one of us! I’m flighty, you’re sensible: those are our roles. We must stick to them.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Laura spluttered. ‘I just can’t knock on the door and say, “Can Seamus come out to play?” I just can’t! And I can’t stand behind you while you do it.’ She swallowed, took a deep breath and got a grip at last. ‘Tell you what, we’ll get the bikes out of sight at least. I’ll look after them, and you can do this on your own.’