Page 20 of Secrets in the Snow
‘It sounds like someone had a good weekend,’ she says in her magnificent Italian accent that I’d often like to bottle up and keep. ‘It’s so good to see you smiling again, Ro. You’ve had a rough few weeks.’
I wipe my hands on my apron and carefully bring Mickey his Americano which he takes with two sugars and a Danish pastry every Monday at the same time. The smell of freshly brewed coffee always fills my senses and I have to say Ienjoy this part of the job almost as much as I love to sort through the trinkets and items of clothing that arrive almost on a daily basis.
‘We had a surprisingly fun day yesterday,’ I tell her, unable to hide my beaming smile. ‘We had a—’
‘Sorry,cara, just a second.’
Camille doesn’t get the chance to hear about my weekend or how unexpectedly pleasant it turned out to be as she’s distracted by an inquisitive customer who wants to try on a gold fringed flapper-style dress from the window display.
‘It’s a real beauty,’ says Camille, in full sales pitch mode now as she talks with her hands to emphasize her point. With her bubbly, enthusiastic approach and around the clock European charm, I often believe she could sell snow to Eskimos. ‘I picked it up at a market near the Louvre in Paris just last season. It’s what I call a “head turner” or what the French callun tourneur de tête.’
My heart sinks as I watch the lady take the dress to the changing room, taking my dream with her. I’ve had my eye on that dress since it came in last week, and I curse myself for putting it in the window, or for not buying it before now. The only thing that stopped me of course is that the social scene in Ballybray wouldn’t really lend itself to such attire, but I couldn’t help but dream about wearing it one day and I even sneakily tried it on when I’d the place to myself just before Mabel died. It fitted like a glove. As Mabel wouldhave said, I looked ‘like the best version of myself’ in it, but it just wasn’t meant to be.
‘There’s nothing like a woman in the right dress,’ she used to say to me when she told me of how she almost made Peter Murphy’s head spin when she turned up unexpectedly one night in New York wearing the most amazing red dress. He proposed to her on the spot and they never looked back. It was the most romantic story I’ve ever heard, and I had her recount it over and over again, as I knew she needed to tell it as much as I loved to hear it.
Thinking of Mabel and her whole journey through life from New York to Ballybray, and now watching how life in our little village trundles on in its usual Monday morning rhythm with ladies shopping and regulars calling for coffee makes me feel guilty for a moment for being in such chirpy form without her.
Shouldn’t the whole world stop in her honour? Don’t they know that nothing around here is ever going to be the same again?
But everything, to an extent, is very much the same.
Postman Mickey tells me, just as he always does, about his busy morning and about his nemesis Dipper Donnelly, the dog in the posh house by the lake who growls at him so much that his glasses fell off with fear again this morning, and of how he danced around the garden to avoid the attack. It’s the same story as last Monday, and will be the same next week too.
There’s a comfort in familiarity and routine, in the repetitive patterns of village life. And once again I’m reminded of how I found my tribe here, and of how far I’ve come.
Ben went to school without a whimper this morning, which was the opposite of what I’d expected to happen. He was itching to tell his friends about the sledging fun he’d had at Warren’s Wood and how Aidan bought him a whole twelve-inch pizza all for himself, and a strawberry milkshake in Cleary’s Bar afterwards. He was also eager to tell his teacher of how his new friend Aidan had a real helicopter in New York City and that he promised Ben he would take him for a spin in it if we ever get to go there.
I’d tried to quash this promise to save his ultimate disappointment knowing I couldn’t afford a night away locally never mind a trip to New York, but Ben was having none of it and was already picturing himself skipping up 42nd Street and climbing the Statue of Liberty.
‘So … who is he?’ asks Camille as I stare into space moments later, leaning on the worktop at the coffee corner. Mickey still sits by the window procrastinating as usual, and the lady who tried on the gold dress leaves with her new purchase wrapped in one of our stylish deep purple paper Truly Vintage bags.
‘I’ve no idea who or what you’re talking about,’ I say to Camille, standing up straight now and fixing my green jersey maxi dress.
‘Come on, Roisin!’ she sings. ‘You know how much I livein hope that someday you’ll tell me of a dashing hero who has come to Ballybray to sweep you off your feet! Just make it up! Tell me something to knock my socks off!’
I raise an eyebrow. Camille knows that the last thing on my mind these days is ever to do with a man of any sort. She raises an eyebrow back in my direction.
‘Ben and I had a very unexpectedly pleasant weekend after a horrendous week, and I’m just so glad to feel a bit stronger and more positive,’ I explain. ‘Mabel left me a lovely video message by surprise and it changed my mood completely. It was so nice and comforting to hear her voice again; sad in a way of course, but also quite lovely.’
Camille leans on the counter, thirsty for more.
‘Ah, that’s so sweet of her!’ she says, twisting her dark brown curls in her fingers as she speaks. ‘I would say I’m surprised, but I’m not. So what did she say? What sort of mischief is that rascal up to now?’
I don’t get the chance to answer her as I jump up a little too quickly from my wooden seat in the little coffee corner as the bell sounds and Aidan Murphy unexpectedly walks in through the door.
‘Aidan?’ I say, unable to hide the surprise in my voice at his unannounced visit, but the two oversized bags he is carrying explains why he is here.
The bags contain the clothes Mabel was referring to in her message, of course – the clothes she wanted to pass onto the shop and the promise of a keepsake for both of us, as she said, lies within them.
My tender heart leaps at the thought of going through her most personal belongings, and I’m not sure if I’m prepared to deal with this so soon, and by the look on Aidan’s tired face in front of me, I’m not sure if he is either.
11.
‘Good morning Roisin,’ says Aidan, and I catch Camille swoon a little at the sight of him. ‘I was just passing, so I thought I’d drop these in. You don’t have to go through them now of course, but I found them in Mabel’s wardrobe and I’m thinking it’s another job done before I leave for New York.’
I swallow hard and stare at the bags in Aidan’s hands with mixed emotions.
As nervous as I am about seeing her belongings, I know Mabel will be smiling down on me right now, knowing that behind all the sentimentality involved today, there’s nothing more I love than a new delivery to the shop. She used to compare me to a magpie, as I am always thinking of how everything can be reused instead of just sent to the scrapheap. She’d encourage me and admire my taste for being able to spot the eternal beauty in a special dress, a hat, or a pair of shoes that could be brought back to life.
