The Ballroom Café (27 page)

‘When the tables are set, we will both sit down. There is a bank manager to be kept happy,’ she said firmly. She led the way upstairs and showed him the sets of china, kept in a mahogany sideboard. ‘Mind you don’t drop any; we have been lucky, no breakages yet.’

He picked up a cup and turned it upside down, to check its provenance. ‘You will find it very hard to replace any of these if they break. Why not go for simple white cups like everybody else?’

‘Yes and bought-in shop cakes as well; that is what will keep me standing out from the crowd,’ Ella guffawed loudly.

Fergus Brown carefully turned up his cardigan sleeves. ‘You know best, Ella.’ Slowly he made his way from table to table, placing the plates and saucers before returning to the store and taking down six cups.

‘Go easy there,’ she said, beginning to count out slices of cake.

‘Easy peasy,’ he snorted, and began to whistle a tune.

Despite her aches from a restless night, she found herself swaying, just enough to enjoy the tune.

‘We won’t have time for a coffee if you don’t get your skids on.’

‘No wonder Miss Kading left. You are a slave driver.’

She hushed him because she heard Iris climbing the stairs. ‘She always seems to know what time the coffee will be brewed,’ she said.

Iris had seen the car parked at the back of the house and thought Fergus Brown must be walking in the grounds. When she saw him sitting down, waiting for a coffee, she turned to Ella and whispered, ‘We are not open for another hour; what’s with Fergus Brown?’

‘Fergus has kindly agreed to help out until I can find a replacement for Debbie.’

‘Muriel and the gang are going to think it is Christmas. Has he moved in as well?’

Ella slapped down Iris’s mug on the counter. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

Iris threw three cubes of sugar in her coffee. ‘I think you had better get your story straight before the ladies arrive.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Ella said, walking over to join Fergus.

He took her hand when she sat down, but she pulled it away quickly.

‘Ella, who is the one being silly now? Let them think what they like. We know the truth.’

‘I don’t like being talked about, Fergus.’

He leaned closer to her. ‘Think of it this way: while they are yattering on about us, they won’t have time to question you about the other thing.’

Iris, throwing her eyes to the heavens, left to plant some drills in the kitchen garden. Ella stirred her coffee and looked out the window. From here, she could see the women’s heads as they walked down the short lane between the church side gate and Roscarbury Hall. Even from this distance, she could see there were more women than usual this morning.

‘A mob following the leader,’ Fergus remarked. She did not need to reply, but she felt a certain apprehension rise up inside her, so she went behind the screen and pretended to fuss about napkins. Fergus walked around the café, straightening the settings and fiddling with the cutlery as he watched Muriel Hearty lead her team up the avenue.

‘They are nearly on top of us.’

Ella came out from behind the screen, flattening her apron over her skirt.

‘Play it cool. Muriel will do all the talking, if you let her,’ Fergus whispered.

Ella would have answered, but she heard the group in the hallway.

‘There you are. I told you, nothing closes the Ballroom Café,’ Muriel Hearty trumpeted, quickening her pace on the stairs. Muriel, dressed in her light-green spring swing coat, sashayed into the café, calling out Ella’s name. ‘Oh, Mr Brown. How nice to see you. I did not know you were back visiting these parts.’

Fergus opened up a small apron, lightly shaking it out before tying it at the waist. ‘Not just visiting, Mrs Hearty. Miss O’Callaghan has been kind enough to offer me temporary employment.’

‘You? Working here? Whatever next. Where is Debbie?’

‘She has gone home, left yesterday afternoon,’ Ella said, from behind the counter.

‘Without waiting to say goodbye,’ Muriel said, making a face to the other women.

‘She asked me to convey her best wishes to you all.’

‘That was nice of her,’ Muriel harrumphed, and turned her back to the counter, calling out loudly, ‘My usual please, Ella.’

The women settled themselves down and enjoyed giving their orders to Fergus, who wrote everything carefully, double-checking with everybody whether they wanted cream with their cake.

‘You are spoiling them, Fergus. They are not used to such attention. The coffee will go cold with all your chat,’ Ella said, lining up the cups of tea and coffee on the counter for collection.

‘You are hard on him, Ella. Isn’t it great to have a man around the place all the same?’ Muriel said, transferring to a stool at the counter.

Ella concentrated on plating the cake as Muriel watched Fergus deliver a tray of coffee.

‘Is there something you are not telling us, Ella O’Callaghan?’

‘Whatever do you mean, Muriel?’

Muriel leaned over the counter, her two elbows pushing the plates of cake out of her way. ‘We all know he is not in need of a job.’

Ella put down the knife and picked up a silver tray. ‘He won’t have a job here for long if he does not hurry up with the orders,’ she muttered.

Muriel waited until Fergus collected the tray and was down near the café windows before she spoke again. ‘Go on, Ella, you can tell me. Sure, I am only delighted for you.’

Ella stopped what she was doing. ‘He is helping out. What is wrong with that?’

‘Nothing at all. It is sweet.’

Ella shook her head. ‘One of these days, Muriel, one of these days somebody will …’

‘Will what, Ella O’Callaghan?’ Muriel said, standing up.

‘Nothing, Muriel, nothing.’

‘Have you heard anything?’

Ella sat down on her stool. ‘Not yet, Muriel. It could be months. It might be never.’

Muriel reached over and took her hand. ‘We are all rooting for you; you know that.’

Ella made to stand up. ‘I know.’

‘Debbie should not have left.’

‘There was no reason for her to stay.

‘Don’t you remember Mary Murtagh?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘She had the beehive hairdo and the shortest skirt in the county. I think they went to Australia.’

‘She was a nice girl,’ Ella said.

‘We will all miss Debbie, though Fergus is definitely doing his best.’

‘He is a good friend,’ Ella said, for that moment forgetting she was talking to Muriel Hearty.

Muriel reached over and pinched Ella’s cheek. ‘Nobody is going to begrudge you this bit of happiness.’ Muriel giggled like a child.

Ella, flustered, called to Fergus to start clearing the tables. ‘You are going to have to learn to chat less and work more,’ she snapped at him as he pushed a tray of crockery onto the counter.

‘Sure, we all love the extra attention,’ Muriel said, going back to her table to finish her coffee.

Ella stood and watched for the next few minutes, as Fergus lingered at each table, the women giggling and joking excitedly. When he wandered close to her, she noticed he was limping a little. Calling him softly, she beckoned him to come in behind the counter.

‘You are doing too much. Take your break now.’

‘I am enjoying it, Ella. I am fine.’

‘You stupid man; if you don’t take a break, I will fire you.’

He laughed out loud and several of the women turned around, hoping to be included in the joke.

‘If I didn’t know you liked me so much, I would think you were being serious,’ he said, throwing his hands in the air and sitting down.

‘I can call Iris to take over for the last hour or so.’

‘That’s more like it. Maybe we can stroll down to the lake.’

‘That would be nice,’ she said, and began to clear some more tables.

Muriel and her three friends were the last to leave. Each stopped at the counter to chat to Fergus before they went.

‘You are a hit with the ladies anyway,’ Ella said.

‘All in a morning’s work. Are we ready to go to the lake?’ he said.

‘After the washing-up.’

She washed and he dried, placing the china cups and saucers on the counter so Iris, when she arrived, could set the tables for the afternoon.

‘Won’t Iris mind? She strikes me as happiest with her feet in muck.’

A voice from behind made both of them jump. ‘I would not put it exactly that way, but you are right, Mr Brown.’

Fergus Brown, who had begun to fidget with the end of his tie in his embarrassment, made to speak, but Iris put her hand up to stop him.

‘You two young things better get going, before I change my mind,’ she said, grabbing too many china cups, so they clinked loudly.

‘Be careful with the china, won’t you?’ Ella asked, but Iris did not answer, waving her hand in mock irritation.

They tramped across the parkland, the sunlight on their backs, Ella too nervous to link arms until they were well away from the house.

‘When do you think you will hear from America?’

‘I have not even written a letter yet. Martin Moran says it could be a few weeks. They have to tell him and his parents. I am sure it will be a blow to them. His name is James. I like that name; it sounds strong.’

‘I will wait with you, Ella. We can work in the café together,’ he said, taking her hand in his and rubbing it gently, because it looked cold. He slipped her hand into his pocket and they walked on to the water’s edge.

*

Roberta was walking past the post office when Muriel called her in.

‘How are you, Roberta? You are looking well.’

‘What it is, Muriel? You saw me yesterday. What is eating you?’

Muriel called her husband.

‘I need to have a chat with you, Roberta. Wait until I hand over the reins to hubby.’

Roberta sighed elaborately and checked her watch several times as Muriel briefed her husband before letting herself out of the small office and locking the door behind her.

‘Do you have time for a cuppa? We can go upstairs to the apartment.’

They walked up the stairs, Muriel talking non-stop to cover her nervousness. Roberta walked into the middle of the room and looked around.

‘We should let out Roscarbury for thousands if you can get two hundred euro a week for this,’ she said, walking to the window.

‘Will a mug do? I don’t believe in having china cups for tenants,’ Muriel said, washing out two mugs and switching on the kettle.

‘What is it, Muriel? Why have you brought me up here?’

‘You have not heard then?’

‘Heard what?’

‘The American found out who her mother was.’

‘Miss Kading? She has gone.’

Muriel spooned instant coffee and sugar into each mug and poured the boiling water before answering. ‘Did you hear who the mother was?’

‘I saw she was upset. She said goodbye. I don’t know anything.’

‘Mary Murtagh. That’s who it was.’

Roberta did not say anything.

Muriel grew more agitated.

‘Do you remember she was a bit wild? Michael Hannigan was very taken by her.’

Roberta put down her mug on the counter. ‘What do you mean, Muriel?’

‘Roberta, don’t play the innocent with me. We all know what he was like. Sure, Ella was the only one who thought the sun shone out of his arse.’

‘I didn’t know about Mary Murtagh,’ Roberta said, her voice low, her head hurting.

‘Of course, if he was the father, Debbie Kading might be related …’

Roberta jumped up so fast the coffee sloshed onto the new carpet.

‘May God forgive you, Muriel Hearty! Don’t you think my sister has enough to put up with, without your incessant gossiping?’

Muriel ran to get a cloth to mop up the spill. ‘Will you calm down; we are only talking.’

Roberta gathered her handbag close to her. ‘It is loose, hurtful talk, Muriel, and I warn you, if you continue to say things like this I will go to Reidy, the solicitor.’

Muriel stopped scrubbing the carpet. ‘I am only saying what every other person is thinking.’

‘Stop it, Muriel. Ella is on tenterhooks as it is. Don’t you think she has been through enough? This could kill her. Debbie Kading has gone back to the States; let’s leave it at that.’

‘There is no need to go all legal on me. Sure, I am not one for gossip at all. I can’t help it if, sitting down there behind the glass, everybody tells me their woes.’

‘I have to go; I have a lot to do this morning,’ Roberta said tightly, making her way to the door.

‘We must have a proper chat one of these days,’ Muriel said, following her, her voice deflated.

Roberta did not answer but swept out of the post office before Muriel reached the bottom of the stairs. Her heart was thumping and she needed a drink. She turned left, as if to walk home, breathing deep in an effort to appear calm. A man tipped his cap to her and she made an effort to smile, but she wanted to run and to scream. All these years she had loved him, believing he had been truly conflicted about the sisters. She remembered Mary Murtagh: she had been such a quiet girl, everybody said, until she started to doll herself up like a tramp.

Passing the cemetery, her pace slowed. The path was little used, but she diverted down, skirting around the graveyard wall, until she came to the clearing. Ella made sure to keep the grave tended. There were fresh flowers in a pot that was inscribed ‘Gone, but not forgotten.’

Reaching into her handbag, Roberta took out her hip flask and unscrewed the top slowly. All the times she had stood here and cried for him, begged him to give her a sign he was in a better place.

She slugged long and hard, letting the sherry slip down her throat until she finished most of the hip flask. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she sat on the big old rock they had taken out the ground when they dug the grave. Idly, she pushed at the white marble stones Ella had scattered a few years ago. Some were completely covered in moss, others dirty and stained from rain and hard frost. The sherry made her feel warm, but her leg had stiffened with the creeping damp. She felt the tears flowing; she made no attempt to stop them.

Gerry O’Hare was walking back from visiting his wife’s grave when he saw Roberta over the wall. He pretended not to notice and went on to his car. He could still see her between the trees, sitting on the old rock, her shoulders hunched, her head bowed. He walked up the narrow track and called out softly. ‘Do you want a lift back to Roscarbury, Miss O’Callaghan?’