There was something about Rosemarie that could flip any disaster around. Emotion: gratitude.
‘But Rosemarie, I don’t see him as my type .?.?. exactly.’ Even as she spoke the words, they rang hollow.
‘Bull-shite!That’s just because your family are massive snobs and lifting anything heavier than a computer mouse is seen as manual labour.’
‘No!Pete’s a friend, he really helped me out today by just goofing around and I don’t want to spoil that. I really value our friendship. And right now, that’s all I need.’
Rosemarie sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘In that case, I have news about .?.?. Guess who? Only William. I was rummaging in the office fridge at lunchtime yesterday – God, that thing is a fucking biohazard – and I overheard him telling one of the guys that he goes to Ryans on a Thursday night with his friends .?.?. religiously. You’re welcome. Girl, we have the perfect point of intersection. We’ll just need to work on your acting skills ’cause you’ll have to fake surprise.’
At which point, they entertained each other with wildly theatrical enactments of shock and surprise until the barman warned them that they’d be thrown out if they didn’t shut up.
* * *
Later that evening, about 9 p.m., as Ally manoeuvred an extra-large Domino’s pizza box through the door of her apartment, her phone buzzed.
‘Darling, I’ve been trying to call you all evening.’
Uh-uh, right enough, there were four missed calls from Mum. Without waiting for a response, she burst out, ‘The fabulous news is, I’ve been ringing around and Allegra Carmichel has a contact who needs a temp for someone on stress leave. Could you be up to it? I mean .?.?. stress leave? What a load of fakery. They never had such a thing in my day.’
Well, that wasn’t surprising. In Mum’s day, unless you were actually chewing on the furniture, you were judged to be grand.
‘Anyhow, the great thing is you could start on Wednesday.’
There was no indication what the job was; Mum’s only concern was that she’d be back in a proper office.
‘Oh God, thanks, Mum, leave it with me,’ Ally muttered and got off the call as fast as she could.
She sat on the living-room floor with her back against the sofa, munching a luscious slice of pepperoni pizza while trying to get her thoughts straight. Harry and Sally were nibbling at the floating specs of food in their tank, so at least she wasn’t eating alone. Fish are way more intelligent than they’re given credit for, she’d read – they recognise people, apparently – and she’d gone and left them alone all day. ‘What am I going to do, guys?’ She sighed. The truth was that she was happy working in The Owl’s Nest but, apparently, happiness had nothing to do with life – it was a red herring, according to Mum. She was underselling herself. Harry and Sally bumped their noses against the glass. It wasn’t expert advice, exactly, but Ally felt comforted.
In sixth year, when she was eighteen, the career-guidance teacher had asked her what she dreamed of doing, and she’d listed off an eclectic barrage at the poor woman: running a donkey sanctuary, running a garden centre/café combo, travel agent, buying houses and doing them up, developing her own perfume range, being a TV chef .?.?. At that point the teacher had raised a hand wearily – clearly, it’d been a long day – and made a pronouncement on Ally’s future: business. But what did that mean, exactly? She’d drifted into HR, in a couple of companies, ending up in Celtic Concrete, where she’d settled, mainly because she’d hit it off with Rosemarie and they’d had fun going out on the razz at weekends and away on girls’ holidays. But, she thought uneasily, you couldn’t do that forever, and it certainly didn’t feel like her dream.
All she knew was that for the past week she’d felt more herself than she’d done for a long time. She’d found herself soaking up cooking skills from the others, dealing with customers, enjoying learning their names and their preferences. She thought fondly of epic Evelyn, idealistic Dave – and yes, Pete the Pal and hispuppy. It seemed like The Owl’s Nest was a refuge for people at a crossroads in their lives, even if that wasn’t the intention. ‘So,’ she asked the fish, who’d calmed down a lot after their supper, ‘do I pull out my wardrobe of pencil skirts and chiffon blouses again, and do what people expect of me, or for the first time in my life just do what feels right?’
Harry had flipped off to play in his mini treasure chest but Sally stayed, nudging the glass.
‘OK, then, I’ll trust myself,’ she agreed.
Just then the phone rang again .?.?. oh God, not Mum doing her recruitment bit again. She didn’t recognise the number and was about to cancel the call when something stopped her.
‘Hello?’
‘Ally, thank God you’ve picked up. It’s Pete. Look, I need a favour. There’s trouble around here, some nasty-looking guys hanging around. Complete arseholes. I’m afraid they’re going to try and break into the van. I hate to ask but would you mind if I came over?’
Pete sounded stressed, totally unlike his usual self.
‘Of course, I don’t mind and, yes, there is a free parking space.’
‘I owe you one, Ally, see you in a bit.’
As soon as she put down the phone, it struck her – why did he contact me? Surely he has loads of mates? She barely knew him, strictly speaking. Should she phone him back?
‘What’ll I do, Sally?’
Sally met her eye, bumped the glass and said nothing.
‘OK, you’re right. I’ll trust my gut,’ she said.
* * *
