The Restaurant Read online

  Was Jack a desperate attempt to heal things between them? Had Shane hoped a new baby would change her, soften her?

  ‘He’s been brilliant – Dad, I mean. After Mum left, he never once said anything bad about her. He changed his work schedule so he could be home earlier on the days he has Jack, and he brought the three of us to Austria at Easter because we had no summer holiday last year.’

  How wrong you can be about someone. How hastily you can judge them, with no real evidence. I’m sorry about all of it, he’d said that night in the restaurant. None of it was my doing, he’d said, and Heather had rounded on him, as much as called him a liar.

  ‘I met him,’ she says. ‘He came to the restaurant one evening, not so long ago.’

  ‘Emily’s restaurant?’

  ‘Yes. Emily put him sitting next to me.’

  ‘I didn’t know he’d been there. He never said.’

  ‘I wasn’t very nice to him,’ Heather says slowly. ‘I – well, let’s say I blamed him for things that now I’m thinking were probably more down to your mum.’

  Nora nods. ‘Mum was the boss, for sure. It’s not that Dad was weak – he just wanted to keep the peace, so he went along with her.’

  Heather wonders which of them finally put an end to the marriage. ‘Things are better now?’

  Nora’s smile is watery, but it’s there. ‘A lot better. Dad is actually not a bad cook. We take it in turns to do dinner, and Eoin pitches in too, when he’s in the mood.’ The smile fades a little then. ‘Heather, don’t tell him I told you – Dad, I mean, if you’re talking to him again. Please don’t tell him.’

  ‘Of course I won’t.’

  Just then, the doorbell rings. Heather glances at her watch and sees a minute to half five. Johnny Cotter, right on time with his special delivery.

  ‘Come with me,’ she says. ‘I got a kitten for Lottie: I think her reaction will be worth seeing.’

  They go downstairs to let in Johnny and the kitten, and to set all the rest aside.

  Emily

  JULY. SOFT RAIN AND SUDDEN DOWNPOURS. Snatches of sunshine that paint rainbows in puddles, skies that turn in an hour from limestone grey to cornflower blue and back again. The odd thunderclap, umbrellas and sunglasses kept close to hand. Gardens in full bloom, fresh-cut grass, flowers spilling from suspended baskets and newly painted window boxes.

  The town has a different feel to it in July, with families packed up and gone to mobile homes on the coast, or apartments by more exotic shores. It is full of clusters of European teens on the streets, raincoated and backpacked, attending English classes at the local comprehensive, and older tourists who wander around churches and gaze at statues, or sit at pavement café tables with opened maps.

  More foreign faces than usual are to be found around the big table in The Food of Love. Solo travellers, couples, groups who happen on it by chance, or hear about it from others. ‘It’s like the United Nations in here today,’ Heather says, upon leaving one lunchtime. ‘I think we might be the only two locals in the room.’

  She must be wondering if there’s been any development with Fergal. She hasn’t brought it up since Emily reported on their first meeting in the park. Are you going to see him again? she asked then, and Emily told her she didn’t know. In fact, they have been in touch again but Emily has made no mention of it, still not sure that it’s the wisest course of action.

  What are they doing? What is happening here? On the face of it, nothing very much. A handful of phone conversations – twelve, to be precise. Another couple of walks in the park when he’s back in town at the weekends. Twenty or thirty minutes they last, a few rounds of the perimeter, and that’s it.

  Well, not quite it. Somewhere over the course of the phone calls, she’s slipped back into what she calls their comfort zone. They’ve grown easier with one another: she’s cast off her wariness at renewing contact with him. It’s Ferg, for goodness’ sake.

  And yes, she will admit to a small buzz of anticipation on the days when she knows a call is imminent. She does enjoy the laughter he can still evoke in her with some deadpan comment – and yes, she tends to replay their conversations afterwards, as she whisks egg whites and grates lemon rind and crushes digestive biscuits – but they’re friends, still friends, nothing more.

  He’s expressed remorse, she’s forgiven him: end of story. They’ve put their past to bed, and she’s glad of it. Now they’re moving on, like sensible adults.

  He didn’t phone on the anniversary of their wedding date. I’ve got meetings all day, he said, and it might well have been the truth – but it could also mean that he remembers. Maybe he thinks about it every year, like she does.

  The only part of this that she’s truly uncomfortable with is the secrecy – because she’s still said nothing about it to anyone apart from Heather. Not to Daniel, or her other friends, or her parents. They wouldn’t get it – none of them would. They’d be afraid for her, and furious that he’d dared to make contact again. She understands this completely. So for the moment at least, their re-acquaintance, their reconciliation and newfound … companionship must remain unshared.

  She feels bad about keeping it from Daniel in particular – although these days, his sister’s doings might not be high on his list of priorities. Every time Emily has spoken with him in the past two weeks, he’s managed to manoeuvre the conversation around to one particular topic.

  Nora taught herself to play the guitar. Nora has a nut allergy: she almost died when she was five. Nora’s folks separated last year, her mum moved out to an apartment. Nora’s father took her and her brothers to Austria at Easter. Nora’s fluent in French and German.

  Nora, not Nuala or Noreen. Nora, who caught his eye as she served him buttered popcorn in the cinema where she works. Emily doesn’t remember the last time a girlfriend occupied his thoughts to this extent – did any of them?

  He brought her for dinner again to the restaurant last week. They lingered until Emily was able to join them for coffee – and during a lull in the conversation she caught a look on her brother’s face as he watched Nora tracing the embossed pattern on the tablecloth, and she sensed that he was about to entrust his heart, if he hadn’t already done so. Be careful with it, she told him in her head. Be sure before you let it go.

  She wants to tell him about Ferg. She wants to assure him that it’s different now, that there’s nothing for him to worry about. He and Ferg used to get on: surely he’ll accept this new situation when she explains it.

  He doesn’t.

  ‘I don’t believe it. You’re seeing that cretin again, after what he did? What are you thinking of, Em?’

  ‘I’m not seeing him, not in the way—’

  ‘You’ve met him. Isn’t that what you said?’

  ‘Yes, but we only—’

  ‘And he phones you.’

  ‘Daniel, it’s not what you think, really it isn’t.’

  He folds his arms. ‘Tell me what it is then, because I’m finding this very hard to get my head around. What exactly is going on here?’

  ‘I told you, we’re just friends. We’ve got over what happened—’

  ‘What happened? What he did, you mean. Easy for him to get over it.’

  She shouldn’t have said anything. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth. ‘Daniel, that’s all in the past. If I can let it go, why can’t you? I thought you’d understand.’

  ‘Oh, I understand alright. I understand that he’s muscling in again, and you’re letting him. Em, he’s hurt you once, he’ll do it again.’

  ‘He won’t, honestly. He won’t get the chance, because I’m not going to … get involved with him. I’m not.’

  Daniel shakes his head. ‘I should have binned that letter when it arrived.’ Not listening to her, not believing her. He means well, she knows he does, but she changes the subject and vows not to talk about her ex with him again.

  Later that afternoon her phone rings.

  ‘I won’t be down this weekend,’ Fe
rg says. ‘I have to attend a conference on Saturday.’

  ‘Your mum will be disappointed,’ she replies.

  ‘Only Mum?’ Laughing immediately after, sparing her the awkwardness of having to respond. ‘But I have Monday off in lieu,’ he goes on, ‘and I was thinking you could come up to Dublin, just a day trip – or you could stay over. You’re off Monday and Tuesday, right?’

  ‘Well, yes, but … Dublin?’

  ‘Why not? We wouldn’t have to hide here.’

  ‘Hide?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Emmy – don’t pretend you’re not terrified someone will catch you out with me. Isn’t that why we only meet in that grotty little park?’

  She remains silent. How can she deny it when it’s the truth?

  ‘Look,’ he says, ‘I get it. They all hate me, I know that – and I hate putting you in an awkward position, but I like seeing you. So I thought we wouldn’t have that problem if you came here. We could actually go out in public with no danger of me being lynched.’

  She smiles. ‘They’d probably stop short of lynching you.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. I’d say Daniel would cheerfully string me up, given half a chance.’

  He would. ‘Ah, well. Brothers, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  Silence falls, not an uncomfortable one. They can do comfortable silences now.

  ‘Think about it anyway. Just an idea.’

  ‘I will.’

  A day out in Dublin: ages since she’s been there. Or two days, if she stayed over.

  No. If she goes she won’t stay over, won’t complicate things. But she could do one day. She wouldn’t drive – Dublin traffic terrifies her – but she could get the early bus and be there by ten. She’d have the whole day.

  They’d have the whole day.

  They could go to the Hugh Lane, her favourite gallery. Have lunch somewhere nice after that, and maybe a stroll in Stephen’s Green if the weather obliged. On her way back to the bus she could nip into Marks & Spencer, pick up some Percy Pigs for Mike.

  It could be lovely. She’ll think about it.

  ‘Has Astrid been in?’ Bill asks the following day. ‘Haven’t bumped into her in a while.’

  ‘She was here a few days ago. Saturday, I think, or maybe Sunday.’

  ‘OK … I was wondering if she’s got anyone to do her garden yet. Did she mention it at all?’

  ‘No, she said nothing to me. Didn’t you say you had someone in mind?’

  ‘I did – but she’s hard to get hold of.’ He hesitates, and Emily notes the shadows beneath his eyes, the worry in them.

  ‘It’s my daughter,’ he goes on, glancing up at her. ‘Christine. She’s … Well, we’re not living together, she’s left home, it’s … a bit complicated. Anyway,’ he says, turning to check the blackboard, ‘I’ll have the French onion soup, thanks, Emily.’ And that seems to be the end of that particular topic, so she lets it alone.

  Washing up after lunch, she thinks about the daughter she’d forgotten he had. He did mention her, a long time ago – must have been soon after he began coming here – but he never normally brings her up in conversation, never mentions her when he comes to do a repair. From his remarks today, and his apparent discomfiture, it sounds like there’s been a falling-out of some kind. Poor Bill, must be rough if he’s not on good terms with his only child.

  ‘I’m thinking of going to Dublin on Monday,’ she says, lifting a bowl from the water, handing it to Mike to be dried. ‘Just for the day.’

  ‘Yeah? Why not?’

  She wonders if they could fit in a trip to the Botanic Gardens, where she’s never been. They might have a gift shop where she could pick up a little pot plant for Astrid – and maybe something for Bill too, to say thanks for always being at her beck and call.

  The week passes. ‘I’ll come up on Monday,’ she tells Ferg when he phones on Friday. ‘Just for the day.’

  ‘Excellent. Let me know what time you’re arriving, and we can make a plan.’

  It’s a step forward. It’s an advance on meeting him here in the park. She feels like they’re entering slightly different territory. It keeps her awake on Friday night.

  What did Daniel say? He’s hurt you once, he’ll do it again. But he wouldn’t have looked her up, wouldn’t have made contact if he was just planning to hurt her again, would he? What kind of person would do that? Ferg isn’t cruel or evil – he’d never deliberately cause her anguish.

  She turns over, thumps her pillow. She’ll go to Dublin. She’ll enjoy the day with him, like she would with any friend.

  The sun is shining on Monday morning as she walks the short distance to the bus station, which probably means it’ll be raining by eleven. Who cares? She’s packed a raincoat in her small rucksack; she’s prepared.

  She’s not prepared.

  ‘I still love you,’ he says. Sitting on a bench in Stephen’s Green, after the Hugh Lane gallery and a visit to the Garden of Remembrance and a sushi lunch. He tells her he still loves her as tourists stroll past, as ducks and swans glide across the pond in front of them, oblivious. ‘I never stopped loving you, Emmy.’

  She can’t say, now that it’s come to this, that she wasn’t half expecting it. Waiting for it. Wanting it, if she’s totally honest. She can’t deny any of that, so she remains silent and watches the ducks, and she doesn’t snatch her hand away as he reaches for it and encloses it in both of his.

  ‘I was a fool, Emmy. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I gave you up. I made the biggest mistake of my life that day – but I really want to show you that I’ve learnt from it. I want you to give me a chance to prove it to you. I want us to try again.’

  She turns to face him. Ask, a voice in her head demands. Ask him now. Don’t chicken out.

  ‘What about Therese Ruane?’

  He doesn’t flinch. His face doesn’t change, apart from a tiny crease that appears between his brows. ‘Therese? What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s in Canada. People said … you went to her.’

  ‘Emmy.’ He’s shaking his head, still cradling her hand. ‘I’m so sorry if anyone said that to you. You know how people assume, and jump to conclusions. I chose Vancouver because I knew a few who’d gone out there, and Therese just happened to be there too. I didn’t go because of her, I swear. You must believe me, Emmy. We were over before I met you, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, but … Therese finished it, not you.’

  ‘I know that. What does that have to do with anything?’

  You told me she broke your heart, she wants to say. Maybe it was over for her, but not for you. Maybe you never really got over her. But he looks so innocently at her that she can’t bring herself to voice it.

  ‘Listen,’ he says. ‘Full disclosure. I met Therese casually now and again – it was unavoidable, with friends in common, but there was nothing more between us.’ He hesitates. ‘I did go out on a few dates with other women while I was there, I can’t deny that. I was trying to forget you, Emmy, but it didn’t work.’

  She tilts her head to the sky then and sees a bank of clouds settling in. They’ve had it dry so far; they haven’t done too badly. And the rain might still hold off till she’s back on the bus.

  ‘So what do you think? Can we try again? Will you risk it?’

  Her hand is warm in his. She thinks of the bleak days and weeks and months that followed his departure. Plenty more fish in the sea, Gran had said – but Emily hadn’t ventured down that path again. She hadn’t gone fishing; she was done with fishing.

  And maybe, all along, she’d been waiting for Ferg to come back to her. Maybe, on some level, she had trusted that he’d return, and this was why she hadn’t looked elsewhere. Was that it? Could that be it?

  Nobody would be pleased if they got back together. Daniel would probably refuse to have anything to do with him, and her friends might well take the same stance. It could be Emmy and Ferg and nobody else – but time would change that, surely. Wh
en they saw things working out, when they realised he wasn’t going to abandon her a second time, everyone would get over it, wouldn’t they?

  He’s hurt you once, he’ll do it again. If that were true, if you followed that logic, you’d never give anyone a second chance. One mistake, and you’d never forgive or trust or believe them again. So harsh, so final. So alien to everything she tries to live by.

  She won’t live by it.

  ‘Emmy.’

  She turns.

  ‘Do you still have feelings for me?’ he asks in a low voice.

  Here. Here is where she must be careful. ‘I … I don’t know. I’m not sure.’

  He nods. ‘OK. I get that. But you’re willing for us to try again?’

  ‘… Yes.’ Is she? Yes, she is. Yes.

  He smiles. ‘Thank you. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘We must take it slowly,’ she says. ‘You mustn’t rush me.’

  He draws her hand to his lips. He turns it over and kisses the palm gently. ‘I promise,’ he says. ‘I promise it’ll be different, Emmy. Second time lucky.’

  She’ll say nothing to anyone for now – apart maybe from Heather.

  Or maybe not.

  You’re not in any danger? Heather had asked, and Emily had assured her that she wasn’t.

  And now here she is, in danger of trusting him again. In danger of falling for him all over again.

  He stands, still holding her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he says.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Wherever you want. This is your day.’

  This is her day. This is the seventh of July, the day that will forever be the one she agreed to try again.

  ‘Let’s just walk,’ she says.

  Baby steps. That’s what they must take.

  Bill

  HE’S MADE A TOTAL MESS OF IT.

  I might know someone, he said. That was his first mistake. He should have said, ‘My daughter might be interested.’ The reason he didn’t – and of course he can see the nonsense of it now – was because he couldn’t admit to Astrid that he can’t contact his own daughter. So Astrid was given the impression that he was offering her some anonymous female acquaintance – which of course will come back to bite him on the behind if Christine actually ends up taking the job.