As Grace mixed them a cocktail, Rosie pulled out another chair, an old Adirondack which was cobwebby and had a slat missing, but was still serviceable. The air was still after the rain, the birds singing their hearts out against the sound of Teddy’s chainsaw from somewhere in the grounds. Rosie lowered herself onto the old picnic chairs, resting her feet on the Adirondack. Her clothes smelled of fire and smoke. She felt strangely happy for some reason, as though something good had happened but she couldn’t remember what. It couldn’t be the fact that Patrick was around, surely? If she continued in this vein, then it was going to be doubly awful when he left again.
‘I think I nearly blew up the village today,’ she said as Grace passed her a drink.
Grace began to laugh, as she sat down, clutching her cocktail. ‘That would be a good headline in theSandycove Newsletter. Hotelier Lays Waste to Small Coastal Community.’
Rosie took a sip. ‘Wow.’
‘Amazing, aren’t they? I think I’m a cocktailing genius. And perfect with a packet of these…’ She threw over a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. ‘You know what I say, keep it classy!’ She opened hers, balancing it between her knees. ‘Now, this is the life…’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘What a mad afternoon. I’ve never seen rain like that before. Very disappointed in the weather apps. I mean, none of them predicted a cloudburst like that. It shows the things that aren’t predicted do happen. It’s like…’ She looked all mystical for a moment. ‘You can’t predict the future, can you?’
‘Meteorologists usually can.’
‘But not today. They should have done a control alt delete on their computers, or satellites or whatever.’ Grace grinned at her. ‘I mean, today was completely chaotic and it was glorious. From the moment we arrived to a vision of you exploding something, to bloody Laurence in the sea and then the rain, and you getting hit in the face.’ She paused. ‘Did he hurt you, by the way?’
Rosie shook her head. It wasn’t her head which throbbed, it was her hand where Patrick had pulled her up. She could still feel it.
Grace was looking around. ‘I’m going to make this our secret bar. There’s an old wine fridge in the kitchen I spotted. I could keep it stocked out here. Bring out a catering box of crisps.’ She stood up and topped up their glasses from the jug she’d made. ‘And by the way, nice to see Martin Moore again.’ She gave Rosie a look. ‘I always thought the two of you would be good together. Would you like me to set you up? Or drop a few hints to Martin that you might be receptive, romantically?’
‘Please don’t.’ Rosie ate some of the crisps.
‘Don’t you want a romance?’ Grace looked at her. ‘What about a little harmless dalliance?’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘In Martin. Or dating full stop?’
‘Dating full stop. I’m too busy and have too much going on.’
Over the years there had been dates. There was William who spoke so quietly she couldn’t hear a word he said so had no idea if he was intelligent or funny or anything else. And there had been Donncha who was the opposite and spoke so loudly – even in the cinema – that her ears actually rang when she finally got home, as though he was a human Dolby surround-sound system. And there had been Peter who was far too nice and his most common refrain was, ‘I don’t mind, whatever you want.’
Grace was looking at her. ‘But you don’t do anything but the hotel. You need a social life. You need to have something other than the hotel.’ She held up her drink. ‘Like this. Talking about other things and nothing about bedrooms or carpets or menus or having to smile. In fact, I am banning you from smiling and being nice.’
Rosie laughed. ‘You’re right. More secret cocktails and bags of crisps.’ She did feel different as they stretched out on the old chairs, perhaps it was the smoke-infused clothes, the fact that that she’d been on the beach all day, the fact that she hadn’t been in control. She’d been consumed by chaos but somehow she’d survived.
‘We should do this more often,’ said Grace. ‘Have a little aperitif. And perhaps we could invite someone to join us.’
‘Like who?’
‘Oh, I don’t know… François, perhaps. The man is pure godliness, the accent, the Frenchness, the ability to cook. And that chef’s hat thing… it’s surprisingly sexy.’ She sighed. ‘I wonder… does he wear it everywhere?’
Rosie laughed. ‘Okay, I will be your decoy. I will drink here if it means you feel more able to ask François.’
Grace smiled. ‘It’s a deal. We have to find someone for you now. And my suggestion is the lovely Martin Moore. He’s always fancied you.’
She really should get back out there and Martin was good-looking, decent and able to put up shelves and fix taps. What else did you need?
‘Ah, there you are, girls.’ It was Maureen, carrying the little Belleek cup. ‘It’s good as new. I used my ceramic super-strength bio-epoxy-ceramide glue. It’s as strong as it was when it first came out of the factory. Stronger, in fact. It’s like it never happened.’
‘I need that epoxy-whatchamacallit,’ said Grace. ‘Might mend a few things of mine. When I found out about the unmentionable…’ Grace’s previous partner, Tom, was one of those people who were hugely controlling but incredibly charming and she’d been hook, line and sinker, until she discovered he was two-timing her. ‘I could have done with Maureen’s glue to stick me back together again.’
‘Humans need time,’ said Maureen. ‘Cups can be done in seconds.’
Rosie was turning the cup over in her hand. ‘It’s like it never happened.’
‘The capacity to heal is a wonder of the world,’ said Maureen. ‘However it is done.’ But she looked pleased with herself and happy that she’d fixed her friend Sarah’s cup. ‘I’ll see you girls later. Just going to have another dunk, if you know what I mean?’
She winked at Rosie and carried on back to the hotel.
‘Dunk? Is she going swimming?’ asked Grace.
