Breakfast at Darcy's (5 page)

As I stare at the image of the island on my computer screen, my mobile phone rings in my bag that’s hanging on the back of
my chair.

‘Darcy McCall,’ I say vaguely, having fished it out.

‘Darcy?’ An Irish accent comes wafting back down the line. ‘Is that you?’

I take a quick glance at the screen –
Niall
.

‘Hello, Niall. What can I do for you?’

‘I’m guessing, since I’ve not heard from you, Darcy, that you’ve still not made up your mind?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Have you given it much thought?’

Have I given it much thought? I haven’t
stopped
thinking about it. In fact, I’ve spent so much time on my laptop at home trying to find out information on living on islands
over the past few days that if you read my internet history you’d probably think I was
Lost
’s number-one super-fan.

‘Of course I have, Niall, but it’s a big decision you’re asking me to make.’

‘I quite understand that, Darcy. The thing is, a package was delivered to the office today. I say it’s a package, maybe you’d
call it more of a box … ’

‘Niall, I’m at work,’ I lower my voice as one of the junior feature writers approaches my desk, sees I’m on the phone and
gestures she’ll pop back in a bit.

‘Sorry. You see, the thing is it’s your aunt’s ashes.’

‘My what?’ I whisper into the phone.

‘As part of the will, your aunt requests you’re to be the person that scatters her ashes in her final resting place.’

‘Me?’ I ask in surprise. ‘So where … No, wait, you don’t need to tell me.’ I rest my elbow on the desk and drop my head into
my hand, ‘The island – yes?’

‘You guess correctly. But it would be a wonderful opportunity for you to visit the island, Darcy. To see for yourself what
it’s like before you make your decision. The weather is incredibly mild over here for late January; I’m sure the boat would
get across safely.’

I sigh and brush my hand against my computer, causing my coveted Mulberry bag to disappear once more, and the photo of the
island reappear on the monitor in front of me. You can only tell so much from a digital image. How can I consider spending
a year somewhere I can barely remember having visited before?

‘All right; I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm just to have a little visit.’

‘Fantastic, how about this weekend?’ Niall replies a bit too quickly.

‘Why this weekend?’ I’m somewhat taken aback by Niall’s keenness. ‘What’s the rush?’

‘For one, we don’t really want your aunt sitting around in our office for too long. Some of the girls are finding her presence
a little … off-putting, shall we say? And two … ’ he hesitates.

‘And two?’ I prompt.

‘It’s just, I’m not sure how much thinking you’ve done about your decision, Darcy. And what thought you’ve given to where
you’d live on the island once you got over there. If, of
course, that’s what you choose to do,’ Niall adds hurriedly. ‘Only—’

‘Only what, Niall?’ I’m sensing something else is going on here.

‘My parents have been getting some renovation work done on their house recently – quite a lot of renovation work, actually,
and it’s just been completed. I happened to be talking to the chappie in charge about your dilemma – I mean, I didn’t mention
the will, of course, just that you were thinking of investing in an island, and how you might go about putting that kind of
project together. Darcy, you wouldn’t believe all the practical stuff you’ve got to think about if you go through with this,
such as housing, fuel, water supplies … ’

If
I go through with all this, I think, while Niall is still reeling off the island’s shopping list
. I haven’t even made up my mind yet. It should be easy. I go to this island and live there for a year, in the process fulfilling
my aunt Molly’s last wish and making it up to her for all the years we spent apart. And then if that wasn’t enough, at the
end of my year I get a bonus prize for all my efforts – simple. But it isn’t that simple. I don’t want to go and live on some
cold, windy island with a bunch of strangers. I want to stay here in London in my warm and cosy flat with Roxi. With all the
things we’re used to, like shops and TV and the internet and … well, after Roxi it’s the shops I’ll miss most, if I’m honest.

‘And the thing is,’ Niall continues, while I’m still trying to come to terms with the sudden thought of not shopping for a
year, ‘if you do come over this weekend, I know that Dermot can come to the island with us to visit – he’s already told me
he’s free. He’d be able to advise you just what would be
involved in setting it all up. I’m sure it would help you in making your decision. The will did stipulate that you only have
the one month to decide, remember?’

How could I forget? Niall had kindly gone through all the terms and conditions with me, after my initial shock had died down
that evening in the pub.

‘So, Darcy, what do you say?’ Niall prods from the other end of the line.

I roll my eyes. Across the sea Niall might be, but he may as well be here in person dressed as a pirate, poking me on with
a sword, towards the end of a gangplank.

Sophie approaches my desk, carrying some hairstyle magazines. Perching herself on the corner, she picks the old magazine up
off the floor and shakes her head as she looks at the pin-encrusted front cover.

‘Can you just hold on a moment, Niall,’ I pull the phone away from my ear. ‘What’s up?’ I ask her.

‘I just wanted to know if you were coming out for a drink tonight. We’re all going to that new wine bar that’s opened up down
the road. Apparently they’re doing two cocktails for the price of one before seven – bargain. You’ve got to dress up, though;
Samantha’s got us on a guest list for a private party that’s happening later on, something to do with someone in her family.’

Ooh, I wonder if it’s her uncle, the one that co-owns
Goddess
? I never need an excuse to dress up, but I can do without having Samantha to thank for it. ‘Sure, sounds good,’ I nod. ‘We
meeting there?’

‘Yep.’ Sophie drops the magazine on my desk. ‘Very funny, I don’t think.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Can’t they think of anything
better than that?’

‘Obviously not,’ I gesture at the phone in my hand.

Sophie nods and gathers her hair magazines into her arms again. ‘I see
someone
’s finding it amusing that you’re going to have hundreds of needles stuck into you in the name of journalism. I’ll leave you
to your phone call; I’ve got to go find me a decent haircut!’ She hops down off my desk and wanders back across the office.

‘So sorry about that, Niall,’ I say speaking into the phone again while I make sure I drop the voodooed magazine into my waste-paper
bin this time. ‘One of my colleagues had an issue that just couldn’t wait.’

‘Not a problem,’ Niall replies. ‘Look, you’ll at least come and scatter the ashes this weekend, won’t you, Darcy? It’s what
your aunt wanted. Then you can take a look around the island while you’re here. What harm can it do?’

He’s right; I’ll just be scattering some ashes. I at least owe that to Aunt Molly, don’t I? It doesn’t mean I’m committing
myself to anything.

‘All right then,’ I sigh into the phone, ‘you win, Niall, I’ll come over this weekend. You’ll arrange everything with this
building chap?’

‘Dermot – sure I will. You won’t regret this, Darcy, I just know you won’t.’

Maybe, I think as Niall excitedly begins filling me in on all the details I’ll need on how to get there. But really, is visiting
a remote Irish island in mid-January going to sway my decision towards wanting to live there? The only way this trip is going
to persuade me is if it’s able to jog my brain into releasing some of those lost memories of my aunt that are still insisting
on remaining hidden away in that locked box I keep inside my head.

When I get back to my flat that night and pick up the post, scattered all over our doormat, I can tell immediately what most
of the envelopes are without even opening them – bills. I toss them back on the table by the door with all the others that
are starting to form quite a nice little white and brown pile, and head into the flat to see if Roxi’s home. But the silence
that hits me on entering should be the first clue that tells me she isn’t – that, and the fact that the flat is still looking
reasonably tidy, just as I’d left it this morning. If Roxi was here, the latest copy of
OK!
or
Heat
would have been abandoned on the settee, and MTV would have been blaring out from the television. Satellite TV was a luxury
I could live without; I’d rather spend my hard-earned wages on new shoes or a bag, but Roxi had had this boyfriend for a while
who had somehow rigged us up a system where we got it free, and I’d probably thought it best at the time not to ask too many
questions. That’s the thing with my flatmate, she meets so many
people in the pub where she works I never quite know just who she’s bringing back here to hang out. But I never have to worry
about Roxi; she always manages to fall on her feet. She’s like that.

So in blissful silence for a change, I begin getting ready to go out, and as I remove from my wardrobe my brand-new Stella
McCartney dress sheathed in its own protective jacket, I savour the anticipation of finally wrapping myself in this gorgeous
creation. Since I saw it in Selfridges just before Christ mas, I’ve been absolutely desperate to have a chance to wear it.
It’s a short cream and oyster-pink shift dress covered from top to bottom in the most amazing sequin detailing. My first casual
glance at the price tag had almost resulted in me passing out. But to my credit, I’d stood in the fitting room for at least
a minute after I’d tried it on thinking about whether I should perhaps wait and see if it would be reduced in the post-Christmas
sales. But what if they’d sold it before then? What if this was the only one? I couldn’t possibly let something as perfect
as this slip through my fingers. I just had to have it.

I’m turning to and fro in front of our only full-length mirror (we had to block out half a window so we could squeeze it into
the bedroom, but who needs real daylight anyway?) and as I see my reflection I know my credit card and I made the right decision.
I think I look pretty good this evening.

And yes, perhaps I hadn’t really needed the matching shoes at the time, but when the very helpful assistant brought them over
and said it was the last pair they had in my size, I knew this outfit was just meant to be.

The Atlantis bar (it seems I can’t get away from islands for a second, these days) has been decorated with an underwater theme.
Its deep midnight-blue walls are covered in a fine layer of Perspex that actually has running water cascading down behind
it. The constant sound of running water is quite relaxing – until you start to need a pee. Then it just becomes torture, and
I find myself visiting the ladies far more frequently than I’m used to on a night out. What little seating there is is again
made of Perspex, but this time, instead of water trickling down inside each seat base, there’s a variety of underwater objects
like coral, seaweed and rocks. They remind me of those dodgy toilet seats you can buy with things like barbed wire and sea
shells embedded in them.

But the best thing about the bar is that it’s filled with lots of people who work in the same industry I do, and that always
pleases me. You never know who you might meet somewhere like this, and more importantly, you never know what they might let
slip about a job opportunity somewhere a little bit more interesting than
Goddess
.

‘So when do we get into this private party, Soph?’ I ask, gulping down the last inch of another two-for-one cocktail.

‘When Samantha gets here, I guess.’ Sophie sips on a long green straw in the shape of an octopus.

‘Where is she? Happy hour is nearly over now.’ I glance at my watch.
Has it stopped working? That isn’t the right time, is it?
I give my wrist a shake.

‘There’s good news and bad news on that front,’ Sophie looks across the crowded bar as the bouncers stand aside to let a small
group of people in through the door.

‘What do you mean, good news and bad news?’ I’m still
concerned about my watch. Stupid eBay, the seller had a hundred per cent good feedback, too. Why do I always get the dodgy
designer goods?

‘Good news in that Samantha’s just arrived. And bad in that … ’ Sophie pauses long enough for me to look up to see what’s
causing her hesitation.

‘She’s wearing my dress!’ I gasp.

As Samantha saunters towards us, her minions in tow, she is indeed wearing the exact same dress, and even worse, the same
shoes as me.

And looking a hundred times more fabulous in them than I do
, I growl to myself.

‘Oh dear, Darcy,’ she laughs, an image of perfection looking down at me from her marble pedestal. ‘We should have had a little
tête-à-tête before we left the office tonight. This will never do.’

I can feel my face flaming, even though I’m desperately trying to remain cool. ‘They say great minds think alike, Samantha.
Perhaps the same can be said for great style icons too?’

Samantha’s mouth does its best to impersonate someone that’s smiling. ‘Indeed. Did you get yours in the sale?’ she enquires,
her eyes panning up and down my body like she’s Xraying me for a discount tag. ‘I’m told it was heavily reduced after Christmas.’

My mouth does something similar. On the outside it looks as if I’m smiling, but internally I’m baring my teeth at her like
a rabid dog defending its territory. ‘No, actually, I bought it full price in December. I just haven’t had the occasion to
wear it yet.’

Samantha opens her mouth to reply, but she is distracted by a man waving a clipboard and making his way over towards her.

‘Samantha, darling,’ he says, kissing her on both cheeks as he reaches us. ‘Is this your little gang? We need to get them
all through to the other room as soon as.’

‘Certainly, Henry.’ Samantha takes a quick glance around her. ‘Yes, we’re all here, I think. Shall we go, then?’