The Ballroom Café (11 page)

It was then that the palaver with the jewellery began. There was a drawer full of the stuff, sparkling necklaces mostly, which Rob Kading could ill afford but which his wife said she could not live without. When she pulled back the drawer and opened the velvet casings, the stones twinkled, enticing the little girl to come closer. Sometimes, if she was in a good mood, Agnes let her daughter choose for her, but more often than not, she tired of the child staring and told her to leave the room. Through the keyhole, Deborah kept watch as her mother tried out several necklaces, craning her neck, twisting from side to side in front of the mirror before deciding on one.

Flicking pieces of fluff from the satin, she stepped into her slingbacks before making her way downstairs, where her husband was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, ready to let out a low whistle of appreciation.

Now, Debs liked hanging out with Rob. As the leaves fell from the trees, they had a leaf-raking and diner routine every Saturday.

‘Gather them in to a heap, little one, and help Daddy.’

She knew she made the job slower. When the pile of leaves was high enough, Rob always gave the first kick, spreading the crinkly colours across the driveway. She threw bunches at him and he shouted and pleaded to her to stop, until she had him on the ground, covered and squealing for mercy. Later, he would send her inside to pour his coffee and heat a hot chocolate for herself. When she came back out on the porch, the leaves had been cleared up and he reached for his newspaper, which she knew signalled quiet time.

She sat on a small chair with a hard cushion and watched the neighbours go about their Saturday duties: washing cars, going to the mall, tending to gardens and repairs, and even sweeping up the autumn leaves. She watched her father methodically reading every page and she waited for the moment he would scan the front and back pages and say, ‘I’ll get to them later.’

It was the start of their time, when she would sit on his lap and they would chat before wandering to Ed’s Diner for dinner: a burger and fries for her and a large coffee and a cigarette for him. It was the only time of the week he seemed happy.

They sat in their usual spot beside the window, which overlooked the stacked flowerbeds. They shared a donut, he dunking his piece in the last of his coffee.

They fitted in well together.

‘We are doing all right, baby face?’ he said.

She grinned and tucked into her half of a vanilla-iced donut.

‘Your mom wouldn’t like us eating so many donuts. She always said no additives, no preservatives: just good fresh food.’

Debbie did not answer, but watched a boy across the road wash his father’s estate car, spraying the neighbour’s cat when he thought nobody was looking.

‘Do you miss Mommy?’

Rob Kading seemed surprised at the enquiry.

‘She is a gorgeous woman. I love every funny bit of her.’ Rob stopped, afraid of burdening his young daughter further. He put on a bright smile and dunked his donut.

‘Did you always love her?’

‘Yes, I did, even when she was throwing half the room at me. I loved her from that first day I saw her. She was walking along Broadway. She was so beautiful; women looked on with envy and men walking out with their wives sneaked backward glances. When she asked me a question, I was so shocked I nearly forgot to answer.’

‘What did she ask?’

‘I don’t know exactly, but I remember the sparkle in her eyes, her golden hair in a neat bun. She was lovely, and when we started to talk, it turned out she was from Ohio.’

Debbie began to fiddle with her napkin.

‘She loves you, sweetheart. She prayed for a daughter and then you came along. She loved dressing you up and taking you for walks when you were a baby. From when you were three, you went to the hairdresser with her every Saturday morning.’

‘I remember it; Edna gave me boiled sweets.’

‘Remember the good times, darling; that’s what I do. It’s what Mommy would want as well.’

She nodded and asked if they could go, running ahead to the machine for a gobstopper.

That woman is bad news, but she will have to leave if the health inspector closes down the café. R.

Ella ignored the note, pretending she had not seen it, but slipped a note of her own beside it.

You say one thing and I will make sure everybody knows what a lying, cheating bitch you really are. E.

Enraged, Roberta marched into the kitchen and propped a further note by Ella’s teapot.

You are no saint either, Ella O’Callaghan. If you had looked after your husband, he would have been happy at Roscarbury. R.

Ella bided her time, until her sister was sitting at the kitchen table the next morning, fiddling with the spoon beside her mug. She placed a long, handwritten note in front of her.

Dear Roberta,

It may not have come to your notice, but we don’t have any money. The bank is insisting we repay the loan granted for the costly necessary repair of the back roof. If we cannot meet our obligations, then we will have to sell Roscarbury Hall.

I trust you realise the seriousness of the situation: even through your sherry-soaked ether, you must know this is a crisis. The only way out I can see is to attempt to bring some money into the house, something you stopped doing a long time ago. Even if you could forego one of your numerous bottles of sherry a week, it would help.

The Ballroom Café stays open and long may it remain that way, because without it, we would both be out on the streets. Debbie Kading is a very important part of the popularity of the café and I will not have you insult her.

You might as well know, she is moving in today. I am warning you, I will not have rudeness or bad manners towards our guest and my friend.

As for the other matter mentioned in your communication, can I remind you of your own role in all of this? I hope the flush of shame and guilt is coursing through you, as it should be.

Your sister,

Ella.

Roberta folded the note in four and slowly pinched it to shreds, until there was a heap of paper beside her mug of tea. Ignoring the paper mound, she moved to her cupboard and took down a small crystal glass.

She poured a sherry from the hip flask in her handbag, before taking a long and extravagant sip. Smiling at the loud sighing of her sister, Roberta topped up her glass. Exasperated, Ella bustled out of the kitchen to answer a knock on the front door.

Debbie had only one pull-along case.

‘Debbie, welcome. Do you mind if I show you the room later? Muriel Hearty rang and said there was going to be a huge crowd this morning. The Women’s Guild has decided to meet at the café.’

‘Did you bake extra?’

‘I did, and I also found time to tell my sister to behave herself, so you need not worry on that score. When we close up shop tonight, we must have a Baileys to celebrate your moving in. Come on upstairs; there is work to be done.’

‘I’d like that, but I think we’d better set some extra tables; otherwise Muriel will create a fuss.’

‘She will create a fuss anyway, but let’s hope it is not about that,’ Ella said, as she spooned the coffee into the machine. ‘Any developments on the other thing?’ Ella said, her voice slow and vague, as if she had more important things to think about.

Debbie knew what she was doing: tiptoeing for fear of causing upset. ‘A guy from a government department rang me and said the Minister has asked the nuns to account for themselves. A judge is to look into it.’

Ella stopped, the coffee scoop in mid-air. ‘And it took you until now to tell me.’

Debbie began to stutter. ‘I suppose it’s a step forward.’

Ella grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘Have patience.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve wasted this precious time.’

Ella squeezed Debbie’s hand tighter, loosening her grip when she saw her wince with pain. ‘That is mad talk. How do you think they put damask curtains and swags on the wide windows of the convent? Only with the blood money they took from desperate women and couples.’

‘Whoa, what a load of fighting talk,’ Iris said, striding in to the café, her face expectant. ‘Tell me what I have missed, every detail.’

Ella snorted loudly. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be digging out the old rills?’

‘Now you’re beginning to sound like your sister.’

Debbie smiled as Ella pulled a sour face, her eyes narrowing and her chin disappearing into her long, once graceful neck.

‘Come on, less talk and more work,’ she said, as she carried a tray full of sugar bowls to the far end of the room.

Iris began to fiddle with the cappuccino maker.

‘Iris, let Debbie do it; we don’t want the Women’s Guild to be swimming in steam,’ Ella snapped.

‘All right, hang on to your hair’, she said and sneaked a chocolate-chip cookie into her pocket when she thought nobody was looking.

Iris was making her way down the stairs when Ella called after her, ‘You should try the shortbread as well: very tasty and all butter.’

The ladies of the Women’s Guild pulled up in two mini buses. Ella went downstairs to greet them, as Muriel and her band hurried up the avenue. They alighted in a gaggle of chat, but one woman pushed herself forward.

‘Ella, Ella O’Callaghan; you have not changed a bit.’

The woman, with a large bosom, hair dyed mahogany brown, dangling earrings to her shoulders and lipstick that leaked from her lips, grabbed Ella in a tight bear hug.

‘You have no idea who I am, have you?’

‘I am awfully sorry, I am afraid I don’t.’

‘Wendy, Wendy Marsham.’

‘Wendy?’

‘Remember when you and Michael were on your honeymoon, you met Barry and me at the seafront in Bray. We got married the same day.’

Indifferent to the confusion in Ella, Wendy turned to the crowd.

‘She pledged to keep up contact, but of course we only did if for a year; then it drifted. You never did write to me in Australia, Ella O’Callaghan. No matter, we have so much to catch up on. I had to move back when my Barry died. You want to be near family, don’t you? I had nobody over there,’ she said, grabbing Ella by the arm.

Ella allowed herself to be walked across the small lawn.

‘It is so nice to see you, Wendy, and you look so well.’

‘You always were kind, Ella; I look like a cow with too-bright hair and loud make-up, but I don’t care. Who is going to be interested in me now anyway? Barry died last year.’

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

‘We had a good life and a happy one, which is more than can be said for a lot of couples still hanging in there together. How about you? Where is your handsome soldier?’

Ella stopped in the hall and looked at Wendy. The woman, wrinkly fat curling under her chin, was sweeping her eyes up to the stairs. ‘This is a great place, Ella.’

‘Michael died a long time ago, Wendy.’

‘Oh my dear, I did not know. I am so sorry.’

Ella gripped her elbow and steered her to the stairs. ‘We are two widows: who would have thought?’

‘I don’t like the sound of widow: too lonely. Can’t we be two old birds who have seen a bit of life instead?’

‘Too much of life, you mean,’ Ella snorted.

Debbie swung around as the group began to fill the room, the chatter loud and friendly. Muriel, out of breath by the time she got to the top of the stairs, had to bash a china cup with a spoon to be heard.

‘Ladies, you are now in the famous Ballroom Café, mentioned on radio this very week. Take a seat and I will get around to each table in the course of the next hour. Proprietor Ella O’Callaghan will answer any questions you may have about the café.’

Wendy leaned over to Ella. ‘Some day, somebody will oust Muriel and there will be a lot less earache.’

‘And probably less fun too. What would we have to complain about then? She keeps us on our toes, if nothing else,’ Ella said, as she moved away between the tables, taking the orders down in an old notebook.

‘If you are into spiteful gossip and faux concern,’ Wendy called after her, before settling in with a group from Gorey.

Ella had not a moment to think; she stood at the coffee machine, dispatching cup after cup and sending out pots of tea. Debbie, her face red with the rush, walked among the tables with large platters of cake, doling out slices with big tongs. When they ran out, Ella raced downstairs and cut some more, slicing thin so there was more to go around. Iris shouted up the stairs that some more guests had taken over the outside tables and could somebody come down to take their orders. Ella heard her, but in the rush promptly forgot until a well-dressed gentleman stuck his head in the café door.

‘I can see you are swamped. We were hoping for coffee and any cake you have.’

Ella recognised him, but did not let on. ‘I am sorry. Give me two minutes,’ she said, instructing Debbie to take the order.

When Debbie came back up the stairs, she was smiling. ‘The man down there said to pass on his regards.’

‘Fergus Brown?’

‘He didn’t give his name; I guess he figured you would know,’ Debbie said, her smile growing broader. She detected a certain flustering in Ella and thought it made her look vulnerable and pretty.

‘The tables near the windows need to be cleared,’ Ella said, her voice stiff.

They worked solidly for two hours, Ella staying behind the partition, washing up, Debbie waiting on the tables. At one stage Wendy Marsham swept behind, but Ella ushered her back to the counter.

‘I don’t want you getting your nice outfit dirty,’ she said.