‘I am thinking of getting a full-time job,’ said Nessa. ‘Not just part-time bookkeeping. I mean, I just have to get out of my cell from time to time andseepeople.’
‘But you have a job,’ protested Rosie. ‘We need you for the hotel.’
‘A bigger job,’ explained Nessa. ‘One that takes up more of my time, so I have fewer hours to navel-gaze or watch videos on how to style a white shirt.’ She looked at Rosie. ‘Doing bookkeeping for the hotel doesn’t give me enough to do. I need to be me again, except I don’t know who me is or where me went. But maybe some kind of executive-level big corporate thing, you know, suits, shoulder pads, barking orders, Teams meetings, Zoom calls, Excel spreadsheets…’ She had a dreamy look in her eye. ‘Conferences and shared documents and Friday night drinks and oh…’ She sighed heavily. ‘My own packed lunch, eaten al desko, as they say. In a proper office, where I can gaze out of the window, talking to humans. Have those desk toys like the hanging ball thing or a Rubik’s cube.’ She looked so happy for a moment, envisioning this new corporate life. ‘And look, I know my only real job is bookkeeping and before that bar manager in Mucho Loco in Malaga, but it’s time to spread my corporate wings.’
‘You should,’ encouraged Rosie. ‘You’d be brilliant at bossing everyone around.’
Nessa gave her a look. ‘You’re the bossy one out of the two of us.’ She glanced around the lounge area. ‘It looks nice,’ she said, approvingly. ‘The hydrangeas are lovely. And the vases. I remember them from when we were little.’ She reached down to chop one of the cushions on the sofa. ‘That’s better. But, oh my God, this is terrible. I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this before…’ She looked aghast. ‘This is a complete derogation of hospitality!’
‘What on earth is it?’ asked Rosie, panicked.
‘There are no candles! There needs to be a night light on each table in front of each sofa. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, sometimes I think I am the only one with good ideas around here.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘Thanks for minding the twins. I really appreciate it. Laurence is at the golf club and will be back in a couple of hours.’ She paused. ‘I think Laurence is having some kind of… I don’t know… a crisis.’
‘A midlife crisis? He’s a bit young, isn’t he?’
‘He says that he wants more responsibility at the golf club, but he thinks his father doesn’t trust him. He’s meant to be a manager and his father is meant to be retired, but he’s still effectively running the place and refusing to include Laurence in decisions or meetings or anything. And Laurence was really hurt about it and he said that if his father was going to treat him like a child, then he was going to act like one.’ Nessa rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t know why they don’t just talk about it properly, like grown-ups, but I do think there is an immature streak in that family, I really do. His father has just bought himself an electric scooter for getting around.’
‘I saw him with a backwards baseball cap,’ said Rosie.
Nessa glanced at Rosie, up and down. ‘That navy suit…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s July…’ She tugged at her T-shirt. ‘You need nice, cool clothes…’
‘Not you as well…’
Nessa eyed her. ‘Who else has said it?’
‘Bertie and Grace.’
‘Well, they’re right. As always. Bertie is a man of impeccable taste. Grace may like her shapeless sacks, but no one should he wearing navy polyester…’
‘It’s not polyester!’ Rosie’s voice was a little shrill. But she made a mental note to check the label on her suit later. The jacket was hanging off the back of her chair in the office but the skirt made a rustling sound she’d never noticed before. And around the waist she could feel a band of sweat.
‘Now,’ went on Nessa, ‘you look like a trainee bank manager circa 1992.’ She paused, contemplating. ‘Or even 1987.’
‘1987?’ She was shrill again. What was happening to her?
‘Look, I’m your sister. It’s my civic duty to protect you and tell you when you look tired and boring.’
‘I am tired and boring!’
Nessa sighed. ‘Oh, I suppose we’re all tired and boring. I’m trying to be energetic and interesting by pretending I like sea swimming, but in fact I hate every second of it. But being a sea swimmer makes me sound like I have an actual personality. This T-shirt I’m wearing makes me a fraud. Vitamin Sea? Honestly, I make myself sick. Now, we’ll see you at Dad’s tonight. He’s making lasagne. Again.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘We all need a decent meal after Laurence’s microwaved pizza.’ She shuddered. ‘It was like eating something globular. Greasy and disgusting. By the way, Lucinda was round at mine this morning, asking questions about the wedding. She feels aggrieved that she hasn’t been involved in the preparations.’
Lucinda was their mother’s sister who had spent most of her life in Dubai but had arrived in Sandycove after Sarah’s death, claiming she wanted to be a part of her nieces’ lives. She was nothing like her sister, the girls’ mother, as she was selfish, petulant and an attention-seeker, only interested in other people if there was something she could gain. But for their mother’s sake, the girls endured her, although Teddy usually ran a mile, back to the garden, whenever he saw her coming. ‘I don’t know what it is about that woman, but she brings me out in hives,’ he said. Rosie often thought of her as being like a tornado, whisking its way across the land, sucking things up and disgorging them again. She had recently acquired a small, rat-faced dog called Pedro, whose every whim she indulged, and if anyone tried to pet him, he repaid the affection by snarling and snapping. Isabelle and Killian had long given up trying to get Pedro to like them.
‘But Lucinda doesn’t work at the hotel,’ said Rosie. ‘I don’t know why she thinks she should be involved. She’s the last thing we need.’
‘You know what she’s like,’ said Nessa. ‘The queen of the easily offended. Anyway, just so you know that she’s bound to pop up. As she does. She’ll want some of the wedding action.’
After Rosie had waved Nessa off in her car, she walked back into the office. The children stopped whispering and looked up at her, plaintively. They exchanged a glance.
‘Rosie?’ asked Killian, in his best, most polite voice. ‘Would you please…’
‘Yes, would you pleeeease,’ said Isabelle.
‘If we were really good…’ said Killian.
‘Really, really good,’ added Isabelle.
‘You’re both always really good,’ said Rosie.
