Upside Down Inside Out (6 page)

suffering from some tropical disease or pretending to be Elizabeth Taylor.

Even her height was average. If she was tiny, petite, that would be a talking point. She could be feisty, aggressive to make up for her lack of height. Or if she was tall, like her friend Lainey, she could be authoritative, confident. But what could you do with average height? Just stand around and wait for the short and tall people to let you get a word in?

Her build? Average. Well, perhaps a bit more than average, more curves than fashionable straight lines, but she could hardly work in a delicatessen and not eat, could she?

Average. Average. Average. Ordinary. Ordinary. Ordinary.

And she didn’t want to be just ordinary. She’d actively fought against it when she first started art school. She’d felt so self-conscious, the country girl from Dunshaughlin lost in a sea of Dublin city cool. She’d studied the trendsetters, trying their looks out for herself. She’d been a Goth for a few months, teasing her hair until she was in danger of picking up television signals. Then she’d tried the torn clothes and lace look, until the chill November wind had sent her rushing for a warm jumper. She’d tried ripped jeans. New jeans. Dyed hair. Permed hair. Big earrings. No earrings. No make-up. Lots of makeup.

Ambrose and Sheila had put up with her erratic appearance at first. Then one Saturday after the shop had closed Ambrose called her in and laid down the line. She was scaring off his regulars, he said. The black lipstick had been the final straw. She had to choose - the wild looks or the job. Mindful that she was now an art student and supposedly at the cutting edge of society, she had half-heartedly protested that if the boring, rigid conformists of Ireland’s narrow-minded society couldn’t face up to the vibrancy of … Ambrose had listened patiently for a minute or two, then stopped her flow with a hand held up. ‘Eva, please, do you want this job?’ She hadn’t just wanted the job, she’d needed it desperately. She’d been studying part-time as it was, supporting herself with the delicatessen work and the few pounds she got singing in a cover band once or twice a month. But that wasn’t reliable. She’d thought about her tiny bank balance and the drudge of going out looking for work again. And she’d thought about how much she enjoyed working in the shop. It didn’t feel like work to spend hours surrounded by fresh smelling herbs and good cheeses and exotic oils and breads. And she certainly ate better than any of her fellow students. ‘The job, please, Ambrose,’ she’d said quietly. The following Monday she’d arrived into work looking like a different woman. Her face was free of

make-up except for a warm red lipstick. Her long dark hair was tied back in a sensible plait. Her white shirt and dark skirt were stylish and simple. And that was pretty much how she’d looked since. Ordinary. She looked like an ordinary shop assistant. Because Dermot was right, she was an ordinary shop assistant.

She’d had such high hopes once. To be a great painter, or even to make a career out of singing. But what had happened to those dreams? She just didn’t know any more.

She walked back to the living room and put her glass down on the coffee table with a bang. That was enough introspection. Enough tripping down memory lane. Stumbling down it, more like it. She needed to do something. She spied her computer in a corner of the living room. Perfect. That’s what she’d do, pick up some emails. Distract herself with the flickering screen.

A few clicks and several minutes later she watched as three new emails arrived. One was from her mother and father in Dunshaughlin. They were still learning their way around the computer Eva and her sister had given them for Christmas. Eva clicked on the envelope to open their message and almost jumped as the type fairly leapt out at her.

Hello Eva. How are you? Everything’s grand here. Love Mammy and Da

Eva smiled, despite her mood. They’d obviously reached the Adjusting Font Size section of their instruction manual. Last month they’d learnt how to send an attachment. The week before they’d discovered you could jazz emails up with borders and decorations and Eva had been bombarded with everything from balloons to ivy. No messages, just the borders. At least she’d got a message of sorts this time. She sent back a quick reply in normal font size, without borders or attachments:

Aren’t you both clever! All well here too. Love Eva xxx

She clicked on the second message - a corny joke forwarded on by Dermot. She deleted it with some force. The third was a chatty, newsy email from Lainey. She was really looking forward to her trip to Brisbane, to set up a new office for the event management company she worked for, she’d written. Lainey’s career was moving ahead in leaps and bounds by the sound of things. Eva read on to the end of the message.

Are those wedding bells still pealing???? (I’ve found THE perfect shade of pink taffeta, by the way.) Keep me informed At All Times please. Love L. xxxx

Wedding bells? No, not exactly. Bells were tolling, but not with good news, that was for sure. She tapped out a quick message.

Lainey, put the pink taffeta back on the shelf. I’m back on the shelf. The wedding is off. New York holiday is off. Dermot is COMPLETELY off. Now what do I do with two weeks holiday? Answers on a postcard please. Have gone swimming in a sea of gin, will write again soon. Love Evie xxx

As Eva pressed Send, she realised that she and Dermot hadn’t actually agreed that the holiday to New York was off. Somehow it had gone without saying. Call it a mad hunch, she thought. She’d have to go into the travel agent at lunchtime the next day and cancel her ticket. Thank God she’d insisted on paying her own way. What would she do now with her time off? What could she do? Stay in Dublin? Hide in her room? Postpone her holidays and send poor Meg back to County Clare? Perhaps another gin and tonic would help her make up her mind. She was just pouring it when the phone rang, making her jump. She’d barely had time to say hello when the voice

broke in. ‘Evie, I just got your email. What do you mean the wedding is off?’ ‘Lainey? What time is it over there?’ ‘The crack of dawn. I’m up early, checking my emails before I go for a run. What on earth’s happened with Dermot? Or are you too far gone in the Sea of Gin to tell me?’ ‘Have you got time to hear?’ ‘Of course I have. Tell me everything.’ Eva did so with great relish, buoyed by Lainey’s roars of laughter as she described the mobile phone going into the pint of Guinness. Then she became serious again. She decided she didn’t want to talk about Dermot any more. She didn’t even want to think about Dermot any more. ‘Lainey, let’s forget him. The real problem is my holiday. What am I going to do now?’ ‘Well, I’d have thought it was perfectly obvious.’ ‘What’s perfectly obvious?’ ‘Come here instead.’ ‘Come here? Come where?’ ‘Here. To Melbourne. To Australia.’ ‘To Australia?’ ‘Yes. Glorious beaches, cafes, restaurants, food, wine, sightseeing, incomprehensible accents, TV Soaps, Irish theme pubs. You’ll love it. It’s perfect, can’t you see? If you got here as quick as you could, we could have some time together before I go to Brisbane, then you’d have the whole apartment to yourself for a week or so.’

‘Lainey ‘ ‘And I’d ring you from Brisbane every single night and try and get back as quickly as I could to see you. I mean it, Evie. Come to Melbourne instead. Seize the day. Nil bastardo desperandum or whatever it was Robin Williams said in that film. It makes sense, don’t you ‘ ‘Lainey, stop. I can’t.’ ‘Why can’t you? Seriously. Why can’t you?’ ‘It’s so far away.’ ‘It is not. That’s just a fallacy. Honestly, you’ll hardly notice the plane trip. And loads of airlines fly to Australia. You’ll have no trouble changing your flight.’ ‘I’d need a visa, wouldn’t I?’ ‘You’d get one easy-peasy. Lickety-split. It’s all electronic these days.’ ‘It costs a fortune.’ ‘No, it doesn’t. Compared to New York, Australia is cheap.’ Eva ran out of excuses. Could she go there instead? Her mind raced. Did it make sense? She had a strange excited feeling all of a sudden. ‘Evie? Are you still there or have you nodded off into your gin?’ ‘Sshh, I’m thinking about it.’

‘There’s nothing to think about. Just do as you’re told.’ ‘Lainey, I’ll call you back.’

‘When?’

‘Soon. I promise.’

Eva hung up the phone and started pacing around the house, feeling the bubble of excitement rise again. She walked into the kitchen and looked at the pinboard, her eyes drawn to the photos of Lainey stuck on it. Her friend’s bright-eyed, open face smiled at her. Challenging her to come.

Could she go to Australia instead? It wasn’t ideal, not by any means. Not with Lainey going away from Melbourne. And it was a long way to travel for just two weeks’ holiday. It would cost more, too - but she did have some extra savings. And if she went into the travel agent first thing tomorrow morning, begged a favour, asked for help with the visa and booked the earliest flight possible to Australia, she and Lainey would have a few days, maybe more, together in Melbourne before Lainey went to Brisbane.

And it would do her good to spend some time in Melbourne on her own, Eva thought. She’d always enjoyed being in a new place, looking around, exploring. Not that she’d done much of it recently, apart from a day trip to Belfast last year to do some shopping, and a couple of weekends in London staying with friends.

Ambrose had asked her to use her holiday to make a decision about the shop too. Could she try and make up her mind in Melbourne rather than New York? Lainey was always talking about the wonderful

food in Melbourne, all the delicatessens and markets and cafes. And the art galleries as well. Perhaps seeing them all might help her decide what she really wanted to do with her life?

Should she sleep on it? Make a rational decision in the morning, when Dermot-anger and gin had gone from her system? She thought about it for a second. No, she couldn’t wait. Not another minute. She pulled her address book out of her bag. With shaking fingers, she dialled Lainey’s work number.

‘Lainey Byrne speaking.’

‘Lainey, it’s me again.’ She took a breath. ‘Would you be able to pick me up from Melbourne airport? Next week sometime?’

Lainey’s shriek down the phone was all the answer Eva needed.

One week later …

Joseph walked into the warmly lit Italian restaurant in Kentish Town, carrying his backpack. His mother, Kate, was seated at a side table, reading the menu. She was looking well again, Joseph thought as he crossed the room toward her. The strain of her illness had nearly disappeared from her face. Her newly short hair was expertly cut, and she still had that how should he put it? - individual approach to clothing. Tonight she was wearing something with an I Asian influence, a jacket in a rich red brocade with an embroidered collar and long flowing sleeves. She looked up as he approached and gave him a big smile. ‘Joseph, it’s so good to see you. Will I order you a glass of wine? Or a beer?’ ‘It’s great to see you too. I’ll have a beer, please.’ Kate gave the waitress the order, then turned back ( to him. ‘So you’re all packed and ready to go?’

‘By the skin of my teeth,’ he said, moving the backpack out of the way. ‘How are you, Kate?’

‘Is that a normal “how are you?” or a “how are you?’”

He smiled at that. She’d told him previously that some of her friends had reacted strangely to the news that she was being treated for cancer. They’d started speaking to her in new low voices, their faces a constant study of concern. ‘How are you, Kate?’

‘You’re still getting that?’

‘No, not so bad any more. Now they’ve realised the treatment has worked and I’m not going anywhere just yet. I quite miss the attention, actually.’

‘Do you?’

‘No.’ She smiled at him again. ‘And how are you, Joseph? And that’s a normal “how are you”.’

‘I’m fine.’

She took in every detail of his face. ‘You don’t look it. You look exhausted. What’s happening at work, has it settled down at all?’

‘Settled down? Got busier, I think. I’ve taken on two new designers to handle the updates of the office chair designs, I didn’t have the time to do them myself. The auditor is due in a fortnight, so there’s been a lot of preparation for that as well.’

‘You’re still drowning in meetings, are you?’

‘No, just staying afloat.’

‘And the Canada project?’

‘I still haven’t decided. I’ll look through the offer

again while I’m in Australia.’

‘And tell me, have you managed to stay off the cigarettes?’

‘I have. It’s been nearly six months now. I look back now and remember them sometimes and I think, Yes, they were the good old days. Those happy times …’

She didn’t smile. ‘Anything new in the pipeline? Any new projects?’

He paused for a moment before answering. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘Are you all right, Joseph?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘Deliriously.’

She looked doubtful. ‘Am I allowed to ask if you are having any sort of social life?’

‘Of course you can ask.’

There was a pause.

‘Well?’

‘You expect me to answer as well?’

She just shook her head and laughed. ‘Let’s order, Joseph, will we?’

They were just finishing their coffee when Kate switched the topic of conversation.

‘You are still staying on in Australia after the conference, aren’t you? You haven’t changed your mind?’

He nodded, puzzled by her tone of voice.

‘How long will you be there, have you decided that? Or where you’ll be going, after Sydney? Have you made any plans to travel around?’

‘Are you working undercover for the Australian Tourist Board?’

She gave a soft laugh. ‘No, Joseph, that’s not why I asked.’ She paused. ‘I need to talk to you about something before you leave. Something important.’

He was immediately on edge. ‘Is it the cancer again?’

‘No, it’s not about me.’ She reached into her bag, withdrew a photograph and handed it over to him. It

was a colour print of an elderly man, smiling into the camera. Tall, tanned, with greying hair, dark eyes. ‘Do you recognise him?’ Kate asked.

Joseph looked closely. ‘It’s Lewis?’

She nodded.

Joseph thought of the other photos he’d seen of his father. They’d all been taken more than thirty years before, when Kate and Lewis looked like cast members from the hippy musical Hair. Joseph himself had looked more like a little Josephine, with a shock of curly dark hair. ‘This looks very recent.’