Pete looked shocked. ‘Aaah, Ally .?.?.’ was all Pete could come up with.
Ally realised her heart was pounding like a jackhammer and she was blushing from head to toe, but thankfully it was too dark for anyone to notice.
‘Sorry .?.?. to .?.?. interrupt. I was just dropping back the keys.’
Oh crap, the bag she’d stashed earlier in the cloakroom was right down the other end of the room. A surge of defiance ran through her – this might feel like a monumental hideous betrayal, but sod it if she was going to be stopped from picking up her party gear.
‘I’ve got to .?.?. er .?.?. get something,’ she spluttered and, without glancing at either of them, clattered down to the cloakroom, grabbed her stuff and swept out the door with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘Night!’ she called over her shoulder. Once back outside on the cold pavement, she could feel her body sag. Don’t let yourself think, wipe out the image. Just walk .?.?. walk .?.?. keep walking. Phone Rosemarie.
‘Hi, this is me. I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m busy in hell.’
Ally found her feet clumping back down towards the shops around Grafton Street. It was 7 p.m. With late-night opening, everything would still be busy on the Thursday so close to Christmas, as everyone took the opportunity to do their last-minute shopping. She could lose herself in the swinging lights criss-crossing the pedestrian streets, the raucous buskers, the carol singers, the shouldering crowds. Somehow, she would melt into the bustle of humanity and not have to live inside her own stupid, gullible head.
After about an hour of walking, she realised her feet were sore so she sat down in M&S, ordered a hot chocolate and gazed out the window at the blur of movement. It was only then she realised she was crying. Finally, she blotted her tears with the serviette, admitting to herself that the sneaky cry had made her feel a little better and cleared her head. With all of the drama, she hadn’t even done any Christmas shopping. Well, she was right across the street from Brown Thomas department store, so maybe it was her chance to redeem a truly shitty evening.
She wandered into the store and found herself hit by wafts of glorious scent, trailing past rows of cosmetics, past the designer handbags, then into the perfume department. It all felt overwhelming so she came to a halt, finding herself plonked opposite the Jo Malone counter, which seemed to be about as far as her legs would take her.
She spent a therapeutic ten minutes spraying little bits of paper and finally chose ‘English Pear and Freesia’ for Mum, ‘Wood Sage and Sea Salt’ for Maeve and ‘Pomegranate Noir’ for Rosemarie, assuming that her love life was going so well that she was likely to need it.
Just then her phone buzzed and she noticed there were two voice messages – neither of them from Pete.
‘OMG, this is the shite-est party I’ve ever been at. And I helped organise it. Guess what? Crystal prepared the Ritz crackerslast night. FFS. Everyone says they miss your parties .?.?. But .?.?. wait for it .?.?.Los Banditos has a karaoke machine tonight, so we’re all splitting and heading over there, 9 p.m. Fergus and Ronan coming as well. OK?’
The other was from Francis: ‘Erm, hi Ally. Look .?.?. this is pretty embarrassing but .?.?. well, it turns out Fleur wasn’t what I thought .?.?. Long story .?.?. I’ll explain to you, but I just wanted to say that .?.?. I still miss you. That evening we spent together showed me that. And I was stupid and I’m sorry .?.?.’ The message seemed to end, but then he continued, ‘Oh, and I wonder, are you free to meet tomorrow after work? Anyway .?.?. see you .?.?. bye. This is Francis, by the way.’
Ally stared at the screen as she felt all the pieces in her brain rearrange themselves yet again, like the scoreboard for theEurovision Song Contest. First, she was losing, now she was winning. For a moment she contemplated a reply .?.?. sod it, she decided finally – she had endured enough traumatic experiences for one night. Francis could wait.
Chapter 25
So she might be the biggest, most naïve eejit – possibly on the planet – but at least there was a world beyond her current heartache, even if that brief, beautiful glimpse of a future with Pete had proved to be just a mirage. So she’d go to Los Banditos, especially since she’d grabbed the party dress, despite her mortification, and get a taxi because her feet were already complaining.
Peering through the steamy glass door of Los Banditos, Ally could see the normally sedate Mexican restaurant was positively heaving. The entire staff of Celtic Concrete, plus regular customers, were pushing back the tables for a karaoke disco and it was clear that she would be the most sober person in the room by far. It looked like the fifty bottles of white wine had hit the spot and most people were already well onto round two.
‘Aleee, you made it!’ shrieked Rosemarie, who was hanging onto Fergus in his boot cast. ‘Get a drink,’ she roared over the din.
Ally didn’t need persuading and jostled through the crowd of thoroughly pissed employees to order an Aperol spritz, only to find herself rubbing shoulders at the bar with Con, the CEO. Feck it, she couldn’t give a hoot at this stage.
‘Ally, you’re looking well, we missed you at the party,’ hehollered, apparently having completely forgotten that he’d fired her a couple of months ago.
She was just leaving the bar with her drink when Crystal burst through the crowd – definitely a role model for how much skin you could feasibly show – and hugged her.
‘Ally, are you OK? I just want to say that this has been the most amazing year for me and so many dreams have come true, and .?.?. girl, I hope you can hear this .?.?. Don’t give up. Next year this could be you.’
She indicated her spray-on boob-tube silver dress. Oh well, fair play to her. Oh, to have a fraction of that self-belief, whether it was shared by anyone else or not.
Every so often Ally got a flashback of the scene earlier in The Owl’s Nest, but for the most part, Los Banditos turned out to be the perfect spot to hide from her sorrows.
Con grabbed the microphone and, having clearly been told at some point in his life that he was a good singer, he ripped off his jacket and tie and hurled them into the crowd as he started belting out ‘La Bamba’, to the audience’s delight.
After that, their regular waiter, Enrique – egged on by the other staff – took the microphone and tore into a selection of Spanish and Mexican hits to universal ecstasy, as he revealed himself a talented professional singer.
Just then, Ally felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see William grinning at her. He looked friendly and uncomplicated, and instinctively, she smiled back.
‘How’s it going, Ally? You look great. I really like your dress.’
‘The Ketchup Song’ was blaring at full volume across the restaurant, triggering a flash mob of hand jiving and wobbly knees while Rosemarie and Fergus slow-danced in the midst of it all. William gestured to her, and they struggled through the crowd to find what passed for a quiet corner amidst the din. He seemed to be unsure of where to begin.
