Be Careful What You Wish For, page 32
‘Only gorgeous,’ she pronounced, hoping it would be extravagant enough.
Georgie radiated gratification. ‘They take after our side of the family.’
They returned to find Melina still contemptuous at the idea of living in what she insisted on calling a dormitory town.
‘Greystones is a community in its own right,’ Tim pointed out, but she wouldn’t be gainsaid.
He smiled at Melina with such affection that Molly’s stomach churned with jealousy. So what if he were a balding dentist, he treasured his wife. Anyway, Barry had written a story the other week based on research showing that just over fifty per cent of Irish men aged twenty-two plus were subject to hirsute deprivation. Her gaze strayed to Hercules: no danger of an exposed crust there. Molly treated herself to a fleeting reverie in which she shampooed his black hair and combed it out.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea, Molly?’ asked Tim.
She started. ‘We’re consenting adults; it doesn’t hurt anyone.’
Three faces around the table expressed bewilderment.
‘Do I think what’s a good idea?’ she added hurriedly.
‘Asking my barber for a discount on the grounds he has less work to do on my scalp as I continue to moult,’ explained Tim.
‘Only if you’re prepared for mockery in addition to rejection,’ said Molly. ‘Imagine if he claimed he should charge you more because of the search fee involved.’
Tim pretended to flinch. ‘How did you find this one, Georgie?’
‘Struck lucky, I guess.’ Hercules leaned so close to Molly she could count the yellow flecks in his brown – make that espresso – eyes. ‘Will we hit the road, Molly? I’ll phone for a cab if you’d like to share one.’
Molly contemplated punching the air by way of answer but some degree of circumspection prevailed. ‘Brilliant idea, ring straight away,’ she beamed. ‘We’ve kept Melina and Tim up late enough. They probably have an early start with the babies.’
‘They’ll wake at four a.m. demanding milk,’ complained Melina. ‘I’m going to have a hangover; I’ve been remiss about drinking water. In for a penny, in for a euro. Empty that bottle into my glass, Tim. The girls are sleeping so soundly you’d think we drugged them. Dipping their soothers into brandy doesn’t count as drugging our children, does it?’
Tim shook his head in feigned despair. ‘What if Molly thinks you really do that? You’d only have yourself to blame when the social services turn up on the doorstep tomorrow.’
Melina hugged him.
‘I’ll start the wash-up while we’re waiting for our taxi,’ Molly volunteered, gathering coffee cups as one of the candles spluttered out.
‘I won’t hear of it, not on your first visit,’ Melina insisted, surfacing from her cuddle. ‘The next time you come we’ll have you sterilising nappies and scrubbing floors but tonight you’re a guest.’ She lowered her voice as Tim cleared the table and Hercules spoke to a taxi company from the phone in the hall. ‘My brother seems smitten by you, Molly. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’
Molly was beguiled, although faintly incredulous. It was the twins he couldn’t tear his gaze away from. She wasn’t convinced Hercules had dribbled in her direction. She was certain she’d have noticed the pool of saliva at her feet.
‘Have you been seeing each other long?’ Melina was still sotto voce.
‘We’re not really seeing one another. We just meet up at lectures in the National Gallery occasionally.’
Melina gave her a woman-to-woman look.
Molly shrugged. ‘I think he’s great,’ she admitted. ‘I’m probably a couple of years too old for him –’
‘Nonsense.’ Melina’s dismissal was reassuringly swift. Molly noticed Hercules’ voice was now coming from the kitchen rather than the hallway. He must be talking to Tim.
Melina added: ‘Georgie’s always preferred slightly older women. Girls his own age are too immature for him. Even as a kid he wanted to hang out with my friends and I’m four years older than he is. You must be about the same.’
‘About the same,’ parroted Molly, jettisoning three years without a qualm. Fibbing about your age didn’t count as a lie.
Hercules returned, pulling the detested fleece over his T-shirt. ‘The taxi should be here any minute. It makes sense to drop you first – you live in the centre of Blackrock, don’t you? I’m further out. Great food, sis. You must ask Tim to teach you how to cook some day.’ He bent over to kiss her cheek.
‘That falls into the category of keeping a dog and barking yourself.’ She kissed him back. ‘Anyway, I do the maintenance cooking. That’s where the real work lies. Anybody can manage the big production numbers. Pull the curtain back so you can watch the traffic, Georgie. The girls can sleep through fire and flood but a doorbell wakes them at the first peal.’
‘Action stations, the cab’s pulling up.’ Hercules hustled Molly into her coat. ‘Did you have any bags other than your handbag? Right, I’ll direct the taxi-driver while you rub noses or whatever.’
Tim, who had finally remembered to take off his chef’s apron, brushed his cheek against hers. Melina opened her arms wide for an embrace
‘I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an evening more,’ said Molly. It was no embellishment.
* * *
As the taxi turned into her street she looked levelly at Hercules, seated a respectable distance away from her.
‘Would you like to come in?’ Molly invited. She didn’t add ‘for coffee’.
‘Would you like me to?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t lower her gaze – although she remembered later that the taxi-driver reduced the volume on the radio so he could eavesdrop.
‘I’m coffeed out,’ said Hercules.
‘Me too.’ That was as direct as she was willing to be. She looked out of the window.
The cab pulled up outside Molly’s block.
Hercules touched her elbow, recalling her eyes to his face. ‘Let’s pay him off here.’
CHAPTER 23
Helen was feeling abandoned by her friend. Resentment simmered as she rang her number for the third time in the space of forty-five minutes and was confronted with Molly’s answerphone. No, she wouldn’t like to leave a message. She was due to collect Patrick from the airport in a couple of hours and she needed all of Molly, not a disembodied voice. And wasn’t she supposed to be dropping her keys around to Sandycove by lunchtime today – unless that offer of the loan of her apartment was no more than hot air.
Helen was in angst mode, arranging and rearranging the sofa cushions. She hadn’t been able to face work that morning and had taken the entire day off instead of the agreed half-day. Tony hadn’t sounded his usual accommodating self when she phoned to tell him of the change of plan. It was fair enough, conceded Helen, she’d given him zero hours’ prior warning. But she’d been an exemplary employee until some weeks ago; that must count for something. And if it didn’t, then to hell with J. J. Patterson and his entire management team. They could sack her for all she cared.
She trailed out to the kitchen and plugged in the kettle for want of something better to do. The prospective meeting with her brother was making her as jittery as a cat. When the doorbell rang Helen reacted as though she’d just lost one of her nine lives. Surely Patrick hadn’t caught an earlier flight and decided to surprise her? Lucidity evaporating, she wondered about pretending there was no one home. Helen tried to peek out and check who was at the door without being seen. It wasn’t possible. She’d rush out that very day and buy a mirror to position opposite her kitchen door so it would reflect the outline of callers, provided they stood to the side of the step where there was a glass panel. In the meantime she’d have to open the door without prior knowledge of her caller. Which she did, but with the gravest reservations.
It was Molly. Helen was so relieved she tripped standing back to allow her in.
‘Been at the spirits already?’ asked Molly. Without waiting for an answer she jingled her flat keys: ‘Something for the weekend. Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything you want – wine, coffee, toyboys – oops no, I’m right out of them, I used the last one up yesterday. I wouldn’t mind a mug of something before I head north. I’m off home to the mammy again this weekend. She’ll start to imagine I have no life.’
Helen followed Molly into the kitchen, where she was inspecting the contents of her breadbin.
‘Excellent, Helen, you have brown bread without the blue op art pattern splattered over it that mine has. I’ll rustle myself up some cheese on toast before I brave Bus Aras.’
Helen watched her rooting in the fridge for cheese. ‘Molly, are you going away especially to allow Patrick and myself to have your apartment?’
‘Seems so. You can send off that promised testimonial to the Pope recommending me for canonisation any time you like. Although I suppose they’d have to make me a Blessed first. Mind you, a weekend in Derry isn’t so bad. I might see Mary-P again. She’s postponed her wedding until the autumn so that some relatives from New Zealand can attend.’ Molly wiped her hands on her corduroy jeans, belatedly snatched a length of kitchen roll to mop up the extraneous cheese shavings, and added: ‘I may allow herself and Paul to whisk me off to view their own personal waterfall in Ardara. I could do with tossing in a coin and making a wish. A waterfall has to be even more effective than a fountain, superior pump action, and it’s too long to wait for a full moon. The only problem with a trip to Derry is my mother’s social life – that hits me where it hurts. She has a better one than I do. She’s twenty-nine years older than me and doesn’t even have all her own teeth. Does that sound fair to you? Don’t bother to answer.’
Helen struggled with the cascade of gratitude that soared through her. She wanted to tell Molly how much she appreciated the gesture; all she could manage was a husky ‘Thank you’.
‘Don’t mention it, angel face. Now, fasten your seat belt because I have something sensational to tell you as soon as I’m sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and a wedge of cheese on toast.’
Molly cut another slice of cheese off the block for nibbling while the grill heated and waited for Helen to quiz her. With a hint that juicy, nobody would be capable of containing themselves. Helen proved more than capable. She inspected her nails while Molly nibbled cheese.
‘Something sensational involving a certain man we both know,’ dangled Molly.
Helen nodded and burnished her nails against cream linen trousers.
‘Are you flesh and blood at all, woman? You don’t have an ounce of curiosity in you. It’s unnatural.’ She looked closer at Helen; she seemed paler than usual. Molly removed her snack from the grill and sat alongside her; Helen was obviously distracted about this get-together with Patrick. It was a waste, having such a luscious gobbet of news about Hercules to dollop on her plate; it wouldn’t receive due attention. Exercise some restraint, Molly advised herself, and save telling her about the dinner until after the weekend.
‘I went on a date with Georgie last night and he came back to my place.’ She spewed toast crumbs from her mouth.
‘Who’s Georgie?’ Helen abandoned her nails.
‘The Greek, Hercules, the hunk from McDaid’s off-licence.’
‘He rang you up and invited you out?’
‘No.’ Molly wondered if she should make another slice of cheese on toast; this one had effected a vanishing trick. ‘We met last night at the art lecture, had our usual cappuccino afterwards and then he asked me to go to his sister’s with him for dinner.’
‘You went on a first date and met his family, all in the one night?’ Molly had every atom of Helen’s attention now. ‘I always knew you were an operator, Molloy, but this is big time. This is The Point as opposed to Vicar Street.’
Molly glowed.
‘So what was his sister like and where does she live?’
‘Never mind that,’ said Molly, ‘we can talk about her later. Cutting to the chase, we shared a taxi home afterwards and I invited him in for coffee.’
‘So you grabbed him by the hair and dragged him off to bed. No wonder you look sated.’
‘I’m not totally driven by animal impulses,’ said Molly. Somewhat huffily, Helen noticed.
‘Of course you’re not,’ she placated.
Molly sniffed and clattered about, making herself more cheese on toast.
‘Did you get a snog at least?’ asked Helen.
Molly nodded.
‘With tongues?’
Molly nodded more vigorously.
‘And did the earth move?’
Molly considered. She’d been so euphoric at finding herself soldered lip against lip with Hercules that she hadn’t actually assessed whether all the chemistry was bubbling away in the appropriate test tubes. Now that she gave it some thought … he’d poked his nose into the corner of her eye more than once, his breath hadn’t been exactly ambrosial after Tim’s curry but hers probably hadn’t either, the kissing had happened on the doorstep as they’d said good night and not on the comfort of the sofa, and he’d also managed to stand on her foot. Apart from that she had no complaints.
‘Are you lost for words or lost in the memory of a snogorama?’ enquired Helen.
Molly tapped her teeth. ‘The jury’s out on the boy’s technique. I think I’ll have to demand a rematch before I can make an informed decision. Let me see, it had, um, verve rather than polish. But hey, verve’s good. I can teach him polish later.’
‘So there’s going to be a later?’
‘All arranged. He wanted to meet up on Saturday night but obviously I’ll be otherwise occupied, engrossed in chewing my nails to shreds while my mother debates which of her beaux to bestow her favours on.’
‘Helen laid a hand on Molly’s arm, ‘You’d be going on another dream date with Hercules if it weren’t for me.’
‘More material for the sainthood,’ shrugged Molly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want him thinking I’m available on Saturday nights with two days’ notice – less if you consider it was after midnight.’
What was Molly planning to do about Fionn, wondered Helen. Molly shook her head in a ‘you’ll never credit what I’m about to tell you now’ sort of way and brought her friend up to speed on Helga’s unexpected arrival.
‘Poor Fionn,’ said Helen, for once taking his side.
‘It’s caveat amator,’ objected Molly. ‘I never led him on. I made it crystal clear this was nothing more than an interlude for me until I found a real boyfriend. One who wouldn’t have a Scandinavian wife dropping by.’
‘Is she a Finn?’
‘Norwegian, why?’
‘Just thought there’d be a certain symmetry to Fionn ending up with a Finn,’ explained Helen.
‘He hasn’t ended up with her.’ Molly shocked herself with the venom of her response.
Helen looked at her. Slowly she elevated one eyebrow and even more leisurely she arched the other. Molly pursed her lips defiantly. The kitchen clock struck the hour.
‘Janey Mac,’ squeaked Helen, ‘I need to be behind the wheel in fifteen seconds if I’m to reach the airport on time to meet Patrick’s plane.’
‘Are you taking the toll road or driving through town? If you happened to be going via Gardiner Street you could drop me off at Bus Aras.’
Helen hesitated. The centre of town would be mobbed with traffic but it was the least she could do for Molly. If she ran short of time she could always abandon her car in the set-down only area outside Departures and sprint in for Patrick, instead of leaving it in the airport car park.
‘Let yourself into the car while I set the burglar alarm, Molly.’ She thrust the Golf keys at her friend and snatched up an overnight bag by the front door.
Helen meant to check her appearance in the bathroom mirror on her way out but was in such a panic that she forgot. Molly smiled as she saw her angle the car’s rear-view mirror towards her at the first set of red traffic lights.
‘A vision. As ever,’ she told Helen, who pulled a face. ‘Fionn sent me a gargantuan bouquet of flowers this morning,’ added Molly. ‘In case you’re wondering why the flat looks like a florist’s shop.’
‘That was kind of him.’
‘Guilty conscience,’ retorted Molly.
‘Any note with the blooms?’
‘Three little words. No, not those words. “Sorry. Love Fionn.” I’m not certain what he’s sorry for. For ditching me in favour of his wife, or for his wife turning up? Usually I’m hounded by the man leaving messages on my answerphone but he hasn’t rung once since he told me she was arriving. It would be courtesy to call and say he realised Helga was the love of his life and he didn’t need me cluttering up their relationship any longer, but does he bother his head?’ Molly rummaged aggressively in her bag and produced a packet of mints.
‘You’re being inconsistent,’ said Helen as they sucked.
‘So sue me.’
‘What happened to caveat amator?’
Molly sucked aggressively. Two sets of traffic lights further on she conceded: ‘It’s true, I’m behaving a little strangely. Here I am with the Greek panting for a date – well, asking me for one, anyway – and I’m not exactly ecstatic. Mean-while, Fionn, about whom I’ve been less than enthusiastic from day one, only has to mention his wife wants him and I turn all territorial. Helen, I’m a mess.’
Join the club, thought Helen.
‘But not as big a mess as you are,’ added Molly.
Helen almost swerved into the path of an oncoming Jeep, which continued blaring its horn long after they were past. Molly decided it would be safer to muzzle herself regarding Helen’s bubbling cauldron of a personal life. At least for as long as she were a passenger in her car.
At Gardiner Street Molly hesitated, one foot on the pavement. ‘Don’t let him force you or cajole you or even drug you into doing anything you’ll regret,’ she admonished.
Helen was aghast. ‘Drug me? Molly, he’s my brother.’
‘Exactly.’
