The Ballroom Café (26 page)

She paid extra attention to her powder, because she knew many of the women in the village would be watching for any clue she was waiting for definitive news.

Pinning a small Christmas tree Weiss brooch to her cardigan, for no other reason than it might distract her customers and provide a point of conversation, she combed her hair, pulling it back from her face, pinning it up with a tortoiseshell comb that once belonged to Bernie O’Callaghan. Ella tweaked a few loose curls out, letting them fall down to frame her face.

It could be days before she knew his name; Martin promised he would tell her his first name whenever he found out, no matter what. When she allowed her mind to wander, she was silly in her head imagining all sorts: thinking of walking across the parkland together, walking down the town, teaching grandchildren to bake, letting them run cars on flour mountains. She shuddered in anticipated happiness at the thought, and then the worry came flooding over her, that maybe he would not want to know her and life ever after would be unbearable.

Tidying up stray clothes on the way, she made her way out of the room. Walking into the café, she saw the tables had been cleared. The tables by the window were taken up by people she had never seen before.

‘You have been run off your feet, tidying up after the hordes,’ she called out, her head down, checking the till.

When there was no answer, she went behind the screen, where Roberta was drying her hands with a tea towel.

‘There is a hand towel; you should not be using that,’ Ella snapped, her voice low and firm.

Roberta folded the teacloth slowly. ‘I am sorry, I was doing my best.’

Ella did not answer.

Roberta fidgeted with her fingers. ‘Miss Kading got news. She was upset. I was helping her out.’

Ella attempted to keep her composure, but the old anxiety was seeping through her. ‘I am sure she is grateful,’ she said, turning back to the counter quickly so that her sister would not see the tears in her eyes, memories of her husband and her daughter flooding her brain, making her unable to say anything else.

Roberta slipped past her and out of the café as May Dorkin and Chuck Winters came in. May took up the last seat by the window and Chuck came to the counter.

‘We will have two teas and chocolate cake, Miss O’Callaghan, please.’

He drummed the counter, as he waited.

‘Have you something on your mind, Mr Winters?’

‘I was wondering, Miss O’Callaghan, could you give me some advice?’

‘If I can, Mr Winters.’

‘I have asked Ms Dorkin to join me for tea. Do you think she would mind if I asked her for dinner some evening, the new restaurant in Ashford?’

‘Why are you asking me, Mr Winters?’

He looked embarrassed, running his hand nervously along his beard. ‘I am sorry; I know you have a lot more important things on your mind.’

Ella lowered her voice so she sounded kind. He leaned across the counter to hear her better. ‘Look at her, Mr Winters. Tell me, is that a woman happy to be asked to tea?’

They both looked at May carefully fixing her blouse, a smile on her face, a nervousness about her as she clasped and unclasped her top button several times.

‘I hope so.’

‘Isn’t that your answer?’

*

Debbie packed her bags and loaded her car before going to see Ella in the café.

Ella, who had been arranging biscuits on a serving plate, stopped what she was doing. ‘You look well today.’

‘In my case, looks are definitely deceiving.’

‘Curse that goddamned disease. I wish to God in heaven it was me, not you.’

Debbie put her arm around Ella’s shoulder and squeezed tight. ‘Never, with the prospect of meeting your son on the horizon.’

‘It is an unfair world, Debbie; I won’t have anyone tell me different. I can’t believe what happened to you and my own son.’

‘It’s done.’

‘But where does it leave you now?’

‘I want to go home; this journey is over.’ Debbie sat on the stool Ella normally used towards the end of the day when she was tired and had to count out the drawers of the till.

‘Ella, I’m so glad I met you.’

Ella blubbered, reaching into her pocket for her handkerchief. ‘What have I done, Debbie? If it were not for you, I would not know what happened to my son.’

Debbie squeezed her shoulders again. ‘I have a long drive ahead.’

Ella shook herself free and, pocketing her hankie, straightened her dress. ‘Of course you do; that is enough of me, feeling sorry for myself.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I know.’

‘Ella, I’m tired.’ Debbie picked up a lemon biscuit and bit into it. ‘You have enough on your plate now. I’m genuinely happy for you, Ella.’

‘I know you are, darling, but we don’t know yet if my son will want anything to do with me.’

‘He would be mad not to,’ she said, and Ella saw her eyes were wet with tears.

‘I just wish you were not so hasty.’

‘It can’t be any other way,’ Debbie said as she reached and took Ella’s hand.

‘Did you meet Roberta?’

‘I did.’

‘Don’t let it fester any longer; I think the two of you are quite lonely.’

Ella walked to the sink and began to sluice it out with water. ‘There is nothing wrong with being alone; I’m alone, not lonely.’

Debbie picked up her car keys. ‘Will you come down to wave me off?’

Ella nodded, unable, at that moment, to speak. Slowly, she patted her hands dry before linking her arm tightly with Debbie’s as far as the car.

‘You have everything? The brooch?’

Debbie nodded, throwing her handbag in the front seat. She saw Roberta on the old stone seat and ambled over to her.

Roberta quickly stuffed her hip flask into her oversized handbag.

‘I’m leaving. I wanted to say thank you for this morning, and goodbye.’

‘You are welcome. Have a safe trip,’ Roberta said, her hand up to shield the sun from her eyes.

Debbie had already turned on the path when Roberta added: ‘I am sorry it did not work out for you.’

Debbie mumbled thanks and continued to where Ella was leaning against the car bonnet.

‘You don’t have to go.’

‘I have to.’

Debbie jumped behind the wheel, afraid if she hugged Ella she would not want to leave. She turned the car, revving it too much, when Ella knocked on the window.

‘I am not good at words, Debbie. You know how much I care about you.’

Debbie reached out her hand and Ella gripped it tight, before letting her go.

Ella stood and watched as the small red car made its way down the avenue, stopping when a group of women waved Debbie down. The car swerved past the crater pothole before rounding the rhododendron, to turn out onto the road to Rathsorney. She could not explain it fully, but Ella felt a terrible loneliness creep up through her. She did not hear Roberta approach from behind. Roberta pushed a note to her sister.

Close the place now. Haven’t you had your moment of glory? R.

Ella scrunched the note in a tight fist.

‘You would like that, wouldn’t you? The Ballroom Café stays open,’ she snapped, whipping back into the house, making for the stairs before the next wave of customers came bursting in. Iris was in the door behind her.

‘That wasn’t Debbie I saw leaving?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is she coming back?’

‘No,’ Ella said, cutting slices of chocolate cake too thin so they broke as she transferred them to a serving plate.

‘So how are we going to manage?’

Ella put down her knife. ‘I have no idea, Iris, simply no idea.’

‘You are in a bad way, Ella.’

‘I will miss her. She was taken from her mother and sent to America, and look at the life she had. What if my son has been unhappy, or with people who could not love him?’

Iris pushed Ella in behind the screen. ‘I will take over; go rest.’

Ella pulled her hands down her face. ‘Don’t you see there is no rest until I meet him, and even then those lost years will haunt me?’

‘Will we close up for the day? There are only a few left.’

‘Everybody will guess, then, that I am one of the women involved.’

Iris put up her two hands in exasperation. ‘Sure, doesn’t everybody know that anyway? You sit there and I will put the signs up at the gate.’

Ella sat on the small stool they usually used to reach the high shelf where she kept the napkins. Her head was swimming with worry for her son, and fear that she would never be able to meet him. Clasping and unclasping her hands, she listened to the low hum of conversation in the café, afraid one of the local customers would come to the counter.

She was in a desperate state; she knew Iris had seen the signs. She wanted to cry, but she could not; she wanted to scream, and she did, inside her head, her hands clasping her fingers tighter, until the realisation of pain made the scream go away. She wanted to tidy up, but she could not move from the stool; her mind and body were paralysed in the time when her baby was taken from her. How could she have ever believed he was dead? She surely should have known; she had carried him for nine months, talked to him every day.

When she heard somebody go behind the counter, she presumed it was Iris. She ignored the light tapping on the screen.

‘Ella, are you there?’

She jumped when she heard his voice, flustered, wanting to answer but not wanting him to see her in this state.

‘Ella?’

She stood paralysed, unable to move, unable to utter a word. She wanted him to go away, for Iris to return so she could put talk on him. The screen was slowly inched back and Fergus Brown pushed his head through.

‘Ella, are you all right?’

He stepped into the small area around the sink as she tried to wipe her face and take deep breaths to calm down. Placing his arms around her, he spoke in soft tones, as a parent would to hush a distressed baby.

‘I heard the news. I had to come.’

She did not answer but placed her head on his chest and let him stroke her hair.

They stood like that for a while, until Iris came back into the café and began the final clear-up.

‘Will we go for a drive?’ Fergus asked.

‘Go, a change of scenery will do you good,’ Iris called out from where she was counting the money at the till.

She pretended not to take too much notice of Ella and Fergus. Ella pulled away and slipped from behind the counter to get ready in her bedroom. She slicked on some pink raspberry lipstick and picked her soft purple coat with the black handbag and shoes. She was about to go out the door when she saw her jewellery box on the dressing table.

Reaching in, she took out the Weiss triangular-shaped rhinestone pin. A simple clear-stoned triangle, her mother said it was pure in its beauty and should only be worn on extra-special occasions. ‘A mother does not have time for such occasions,’ she announced, and the brooch was confined to the little box it came in. Ella pinned it to her lapel. It flashed, reflecting a rainbow of colours when she moved, making her look and feel peacock-elegant.

When she came down the stairs, Fergus was waiting on the landing as Iris locked up the café.

‘We’ll take a run into the mountains.’

He held the door, as she sat in his Rolls Royce. She thought if her head were not so full of her son, she would have very much enjoyed the drive through Rathsorney. Even in this quiet mood, she smiled when Muriel Hearty, saluting Fergus Brown as they stopped at traffic lights, nearly tripped on the pavement when she saw his passenger.

‘Isn’t it nice to know we can cause such a stir by driving through the town,’ Fergus said, tapping the steering wheel lightly with his fingers.

There was a companionable quiet between them as Fergus pushed his car up the narrow mountain roads. Ella let her mind wander past the heather and the stones to the clouds, and to wonder if she would ever show these places to her boy.

When Fergus pulled in to a lay-by, she did not comment.

‘I took the liberty of packing a picnic basket before I left,’ he said, reaching into the back seat. He poured hot coffee in stainless steel cups and they nibbled on smoked salmon and brown bread.

‘What if I had said no?’ Ella asked.

‘I would have been stuck with Iris, or even Muriel Hearty. The air up here clears the head; the view is soothing on the eyes.’

‘You heard my boy is in New York.’

‘Muriel is always up to date.’

‘Maybe she even knew before I did.’

‘What happens next?’

‘Maybe Muriel knows.’ Ella finished her coffee. ‘I wait, Fergus. Garda Moran said if I draft a letter to him, they will make sure it is delivered. It will be up to him after that.’

‘None of these things happen quickly, Ella.’

‘I know. I just wish I knew what to say in the letter. “I am the mother who let you be taken away, believed you were dead, never visited your grave, did not even know where it was, because I never asked.” What is he going to think of me?’

‘You are being too hard on yourself.’

‘Am I?

Fergus Brown did not answer immediately, but he let her compose herself. When he spoke, he reached out and took her hand.

‘I am here for you. Maybe I can help in the café, for starters. I am not going to let you go through this on your own.’

She squeezed his hand but could only manage a thank you before floods of tears cascaded down her cheeks, creating wavy channels through her make-up.

Fergus Brown was as good as his word. His Rolls Royce lumbered up the avenue just past seven. Ella, sitting with a cup of tea in the kitchen, heard the purr of the engine and the hens’ excitement that the day had begun. She saw him get out of the car, take off his overcoat and throw it on the back seat, and pat the dog before making for the back door.

‘You are very early,’ she said.

‘Reporting for duty.’ He saluted elaborately, clicking his heels, standing to attention.

‘Come in, you old fool, before you catch your death. There is work to be done.’

‘Don’t we have time for a cuppa first?’