‘’Course not, so long as you don’t forget about me and stop being my friend?’
‘Erm, hardly! Do I look like I actually need to cut off my left arm? OK, next thing, I’m in shit. I need your help. I completely forgot I was supposed to organise the Celtic Concrete Christmas party this year, because you used to always do it. We were going to hire a karaoke machine and everything .?.?. and now it’s too late and they’re all gone and it’s going to be a disaster.’
‘Sounds like hell on a sleigh, no wonder you blocked it out. When is it?’
‘Thursday.’
‘Isn’t that .?.?. kind of late?’
‘Yeah, I know it’s ridiculously close to Christmas, but the only alternative apparently was to have it all done and dusted by 8 November and I couldn’t do that to the poor feckers. My only hope now is that people will be on the last few days before Christmas and they’ll be losing the run of themselves altogether, and everything will be just a blur so they won’t notice how disorganised it is.’
‘So, you’re thinking .?.?. basically just alcohol and a few balloons?’
‘That’s about it. Crystal’s doing the food so I’m privately encouraging everyone to eat beforehand.’
‘Very wise .?.?. How can I help?’ Ally was on a roll with the drive to support good causes. ‘Oh, but just to warn you .?.?. my fish is due babies.’
‘Really, how many?’
‘Hard to tell. Hundreds? Thousands, maybe.’
‘But it’s not like you’re going to need to be up bottle-feeding them? Or getting them all little Christmas stockings .?.?.’
‘Rosemarie, this is just a silly conversation. And don’t try telling me I’m their granny – I’m feeling ancient enough this evening as it is.’
‘Wasn’t going to .?.?.’
And the conversation continued in this vein the rest of the way home.
That night, she turned out the light in the tank and went to bed, worn out from offering to do good works. At least that was something she had control over.
Chapter 22
Next morning at 6.45 a.m. she woke, jumped in the shower and made a coffee, before remembering the aquarium. She switched on the light and let out a yelp of excitement – it was like magic: right before her eyes, swimming in the tank, were scores of tiny white fish with huge black eyes. She remembered what the girl had said about separating them, so she grabbed her phone and filmed herself scooping out Harry and Sally with a little net and popping them in a glass of water while she fitted the mesh to divide up the tank – which was a bit tricky with one hand – and then uploaded the video to Instagram. It was too momentous a moment not to share.
She captioned it:
Name a fish, make a wish (no name too long, too short or too silly)
That moment of excitement carried her about as far as the Luas, where she was waiting in the dark for the train to come when her phone buzzed – another text from Francis. What did he want with her? Hadn’t he already got everything he wanted without tormenting her on a cold, wet and windy Monday morning? Well, he was engaged now so he could bloody well wait. She stuffed the phone back into her bag, but thinking about him haddented her lovely cloud of positivity. Still, soon her phone began pinging away as people suggested names for the baby fish – they shared how they’d made a wish and it had brightened their morning. So, that was nice.
The Owl’s Nest was bustling. Pete waved at her as he disappeared upstairs while Evelyn, who’d been in since 4 a.m., was still working steadily, filling croissants with ham and cheese, or mushroom and cheese, and adding them to the already mouth-watering display on the counter.
Ally switched on the Christmas-tree lights to cheer everyone up and began to set up the tables. The first two lady customers arrived and immediately got excited by Evelyn’s scrumptious-looking display. They ordered a filled croissant and a large Americano each, which gave Ally thinking time while she went through grinding, heating and pouring, in what had become second nature.
Question: how was she going to re-create the lovely intimacy she’d shared with Pete on Saturday?
Answer: she couldn’t. It wasn’t up to her. All she could do was stop obsessing about him being upstairs – he knew where to find her. She needed to focus on herself. Simple.
As the morning wore on, excited pairs and groups turned up – hooting with laughter and hugging each other, laden with gift bags, bottle bags, plants – for the Christmas coffees and lunches they’d been promising themselves for months. Honestly, it felt like a privilege to have a job in what had become so many people’s happy place.
During Ally’s – very late – coffee break, Rosemarie phoned. ‘Whatsup, where is he?’
‘Upstairs. Feck that. But listen, I forgot to tell you, Francis got engaged.’
‘Fuck no. The Tadpole has landed. There is no God.’
‘But Francis’s texted me this morning. I didn’t reply. I mean,WTF? Why isn’t he just rushing around town with his big coat flapping behind him like Hugh Grant, gripping bunches of roses and crashing through the doors of a jeweller’s shop to surprise her with a motherfucking massive ring? What’s he doing annoying me at the Luas stop at 7.30 in the morning?’
