The Hat Shop on the Corner Read online

  He smiled at her as he dropped the fuses into his pocket. ‘Thanks.’

  A few minutes later the light and guitar sounds and drumming resumed as Ellie tried to concentrate on finishing the hat. Deciding to call it a night half an hour later, she shut up shop.

  It was a lunchtime when she bumped into him next. She was queuing for a sandwich in O’Brien’s and he was coming out of it, holding a caffè latte and a sandwich in one hand.

  ‘Our saving grace.’ He smiled, recognizing her.

  ‘It’s Ellie actually,’ she informed him, hoping that he would somehow remember her name.

  ‘Like above the shop,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye, as she reddened. She was mortified.

  ‘And I’m Rory, by the way, Rory Dunne.’

  Introductions over and standing there in front of him she couldn’t help but notice that he was much taller than her and had a very slight dimple in his right cheek. Stop it, she told herself.

  ‘Just going to take a break, if you care to join me.’

  ‘I have to wait for my sandwich.’

  ‘Then I’ll wait too.’

  She cursed herself for ordering a messy tuna and onion on rye but it was too late to change her order and she would just have to eat it in front of him. She watched as the girl wrapped it and gave her change.

  ‘Well, we can head back to the bowels of the old hall and the wail of two untuned guitars played by a bunch of desperadoes without a musical note in their souls, or take a walk up to the park.’

  She laughed. ‘The park please.’

  They fell into step side by side, chatting easily as they crossed the busy road, and managed to find an empty park bench beside the lake to sit on.

  ‘Always love those ducks,’ grinned Rory. ‘Talk a lot of sense, so they do.’

  Ellie was amused, for she had come to the same conclusion long ago that the ducks in St Stephen’s Green knew far more about life and what matters than they quacked on.

  She asked him about his band as she tried to eat her tuna sandwich in some kind of gracious way.

  ‘I’m not in a band,’ he protested. ‘I’m their big bad manager.’

  He sounded interesting, she thought.

  ‘I used to sing till I was about fourteen but I literally woke up one morning and my voice was gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yep, I got height and hair and hormones overnight but my singing voice was kaput, truly awful and broken. There was my singing career down the tubes before it even got started. So I gathered myself together and since I could play a few notes on the old man’s guitar I reckoned I’d find another way into the music business – I didn’t realize Dublin was full to bursting with would-be Rory Gallaghers and Edges, so I gave that up too. Managing bands was the obvious and the last resort.’

  She watched as he ate his sliced beef and mustard sandwich, praying that the tuna sandwich on her lap wouldn’t fall all over the place as she discreetly tried to nibble it. ‘And do you like it?’

  ‘Some days the guys drive me crazy when they don’t turn up, or forget where they are meant to be. They can be like a load of big babies that need serious handling, but most of the time it’s great.

  ‘What about you?’ he quizzed, turning his gaze on her. ‘How long have you been working in the hat shop?’

  ‘The shop has been in the family for years. It was my mother’s but she passed away a while ago and for some mad reason I decided to stay on and run it.’

  ‘Good for you!’

  ‘I’m not sure it was the wisest of decisions but I do love it.’

  ‘We all have to take risks,’ he said, fixing her with his blue eyes. ‘That’s what makes life interesting.’

  Ellie swallowed hard, knowing that sitting here talking to an utter stranger over an al fresco lunch in the sunshine was risky.

  ‘I’d better get back,’ she apologized, standing up.

  ‘Why don’t you stay longer, chill out for the afternoon?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ she said, seriously tempted. ‘I’ve someone collecting a hat at two thirty.’

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll hang out here with the ducks for another hour, but if you’re free on Friday night the guys are doing a gig and you’re welcome to come along.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Across the street. It’ll probably be the last in good old McGonagle’s,’ he admitted as he tossed a crust of bread into the lake. ‘Would you like to come?’

  Walking back down Dawson Street a few minutes later with a smile plastered all over her face, Ellie could scarcely believe that she had accepted his invitation and was going to spend Friday night with Rory Dunne and Rothko.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellie pulled on a pair of figure-hugging denim jeans, her black leather boots and a black T-shirt, dabbing expensive perfume on her pulse points. She was nervous about meeting Rory. It had been an age since she’d gone on a date. He seemed self-assured and easy to talk to, and the fact that he was five foot ten and good-looking and reminded her of Ewan McGregor was even better. She’d washed her hair and was glad that she had made the effort to chase home to the flat after work on Friday night to change.

  Rory had said that he’d put her on the guest list and seeing the line of fans queuing along the street she walked past them and up to the door. They seemed a good-natured crowd out for a fun night, some wearing Rothko T-shirts. It reminded her of her student days when she had spent two years traipsing around after a guitar player called Steve, who had almost broken her heart. The last she’d heard of him he was married and working as a web designer in Cork.

  Inside it was crowded and dark and she hadn’t a clue where Rory might be. Hopefully he would find her, she thought as she surveyed the old dance hall. The patrons were for the most part male with long hair, cropped hair or dyed hair, dressed in leather and denim. A few females tottered around in killer heels, shaking their heads in time to the rhythm of the guitarist on stage as they greeted those around them. Ellie suddenly felt old and alone as she pushed towards the stage. She was mad not to be following her normal Friday night routine of drinks with Fergus and Mary-Claire and Kim.

  ‘Hey, Ellie!’ called Rory. ‘I was looking for you. I told the guy on the door to give me a shout when you arrived.’

  He was standing in front of her looking suitably dishevelled in a Rothko T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Ellie, surprised when he brushed his lips against hers, resisted the urge to kiss him back, blushing when she saw the answering grin on his face. He had got the picture – they liked each other.

  ‘Come on and I’ll get you a drink. The guys will be on in about twenty minutes. Jules is just the warm-up act.’

  She followed him to the bar and sat beside him as he ordered two chilled beers. The band playing weren’t bad and Rory filled her in about Rothko.

  ‘The band’s starting to get a few plays of this new album, get noticed. They’ve got a loyal fan base and they’re building on it,’ he boasted. ‘I’ll bring you to meet the guys backstage afterwards, OK?’

  Rory introduced her to two other couples standing near them and a fantastic-looking girl with long blond hair almost to her waist.

  ‘This is Jen. She’s Sean the lead singer’s lady.’

  Ellie was left chatting with Jen while Rory ran backstage to check all was under control with the band. He reappeared at her side and slipped his arm round her waist.

  Minutes later the crowd broke into a roar of welcome as the band strode on stage and plugged in their guitars. The sound reverberated round the hall as everyone went wild and surged forward.

  Down low in her stomach Ellie could feel the bass guitar’s notes resonate as Rothko launched into ‘Cloud Chasing’, the lead singer stepping forward, his dark hair swinging over his face as he began. The next hour and a half were great, the band different from others she’d seen. Ellie joined in with the surging mass around her, jumping up and down, heart pumping, sweating and calling for more until the band wound down and played t
heir last song, ‘Profusion’. She joined in the applause, for they were a great bunch of guys playing all their own songs.

  A final encore of ‘Dedicated’ nearly brought the house down and Ellie had to grab hold of Rory’s arm to avoid being pitched forward.

  ‘Pretty good,’ Rory announced proudly, as people congratulated him on the band’s performance.

  ‘They’re amazing! Thanks for giving me the chance to see them play.’

  ‘Always great to see a band when they are on the way up and just about to break through.’

  As the crowd began to disperse, he pulled her along the edge of the stage and in through the stage door. The bouncer stepped back out of their way. Ellie was suddenly a little nervous as Rory gave her a reassuring squeeze of his fingers.

  The backstage room was packed. Two of the band were drinking pints of beer while Sean and Ed, the lead guitarist, made do with spring water. Sean, stripped to the waist and with a towel flung over his shoulder, called Rory over immediately.

  ‘I spotted Declan in the audience, he said he wants to talk to you later.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry. You did great – he’ll have seen that tonight so it puts us in a way better position.’

  Over the next hour Ellie chatted with a selection of wives, girlfriends, proud parents and a wild red-haired grandmother who kept telling her what a wonderful boy young Sean had been. They were a nice bunch of guys. Ed and Cian and Sean and the drummer Bren had been so welcoming to her that when Rory suggested she join them all in the Thai restaurant on George’s Street for supper she agreed to go along. They got a table for twenty and Ellie tried to keep her composure when she was introduced to Declan O’Hagan, the guy from the record company, as Rory’s new girlfriend.

  She had a great laugh listening to stories of four skinny teenagers who drove their parents and neighbours crazy in the leafy suburbs of Rathfarnham playing loud music in the garage, and released their first single when they were still at school.

  ‘It was bloody awful,’ admitted Ed.

  ‘Your aunt Mary bought forty copies and gave them to all the cousins and friends that Christmas,’ Peggy Dockrell reminded him.

  ‘Tell Rory we’ll have to get Aunt Mary out on the road again!’ joked Bren.

  Afterwards they went on to the River Club and listened to a little jazz and soul till three o’clock, when she and Rory said their goodbyes and took a taxi to her apartment in Hatch Street. She fumbled in her bag for the key and hoped that Rory wouldn’t expect her to invite him in. It wasn’t that she didn’t fancy him, it was just that she didn’t want to rush things.

  ‘It’s OK, El. I understand. I’m just the stranger from the park!’ he joked, kissing the tip of her nose.

  ‘I don’t want you to be a stranger,’ she whispered. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Then let’s solve that one,’ he said.

  Unperturbed, he pulled her towards him. His kissing was slow and deep and Ellie began to feel her resolve melt.

  ‘Well, we’re not strangers any more,’ he teased, reaching to kiss her again.

  Ellie wound her hands around his neck, up through the back of his hair. It would be so easy just to turn the key, invite him in, but she knew she wasn’t ready yet to be that close to him.

  She pulled away, staring at his face, the stubble on his chin, his blue eyes.

  ‘You know you’re beautiful, Ellie, different from the other girls I meet.’ He traced her mouth slowly with his finger. ‘There’s no rush.’

  She held her breath, waiting.

  ‘I hope you will let me take you out again. Maybe next time on our own!’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she whispered, touching his face.

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ he promised, finally leaving.

  A second later, standing inside the heavy front door, Ellie was tempted to run back out and grab him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mo Brady was not a hat person, or a bag person, or a suit person or even a shoe person, but she was determined to do her level best to make the people of Dublin proud of their newly elected Lady Mayor. Looking at her own round face, square body and short, stumpy legs, she had to admit that she was built like an army tank rather than the city’s glamorous first citizen, the Lady Mayor of Dublin. But one thing she did have was a big heart and the chain of office round her neck was worn with a constant pride in the honour of being chosen to serve the citizens of the town she loved so well. At times it hung heavy, for not only did the chain bestow the responsibility of her office and the duty to represent every man, woman and child in the huge catchment area of one of Europe’s oldest cities but it also demanded that she dress and look the part, and attend more functions than she had ever dreamed humanly possible.

  She stood in front of the long gilt mirror of the Lord Mayor’s bedroom, accepting that her normal uniform of tracksuits, jeans, baggy T-shirts and fluffy woollen cardigans was a thing of the past. Her old wardrobe was banished to the back of her cupboard, for now she would have to stuff her wide feet and fallen arches into high heels, buy some designer suits and dresses and a good heavy coat that would withstand all weathers, and a hat or two.

  Mo still remembered standing outside the council’s huge chambers, knowing that the vote of every single council member was important if she had any hope of being elected. She was the only female candidate and knew that to win the support of some of the council’s old male stalwarts would be nigh impossible: they still held the view that women were meant to make huge pots of tea and hand round sandwiches instead of getting themselves involved in the rough and tumble of the city’s politics. She had looked round the table at the circle of impassive faces, trying to guess which way some of them would jump. The party faithful would support Tom Leary. She could tell they considered him the front runner for the post of Dublin’s new Lord Mayor, but she had the support of the smaller parties. Whether that was enough she couldn’t tell.

  She had held her breath, ready to go back inside to the fray as the votes were counted. Bill Byrne and Nuala Lawless, two other independent councillors, had whispered ‘Good Luck!’ as she took her seat and waited.

  Mo cursed under her breath as, turning, she almost tumbled over the mountain of boxes on the floor. She would have blamed somebody else, only she knew that she had single-handedly packed them all herself. She guessed moving house and office all at the same time was enough to drive anyone a little crazy.

  Joe and the kids had gone off to Morelli’s for a bit of sustenance while she tried to sort everything out.

  She sat down for a minute to take a breather, glad of the peace and quiet as she looked around the beautifully decorated Lord Mayor’s quarters. With three bedrooms and private sitting room and kitchen, it was a world apart from the small terraced council house where she had spent her whole married life. From the moment she had stepped under the Mansion House’s impressive glass-canopied entrance that bore the city coat of arms, through the blue door and into the hall with its portrait of Daniel O’Connell, Ireland’s famous liberator, and the oak bar with its portraits of all her predecessors, Mo had realized how privileged she was to have been chosen to serve for the next year as Lady Mayor of Dublin. She still hadn’t got used to the idea, that the city’s councillors had actually put her forward for the post and elected her. She had won, and it was an honour she had never even dreamed of.

  Joe and herself had been stunned by the news. After sitting up for hours night after night talking it over, they had made the momentous decision to move their family into the Mansion House on Dawson Street, right in the heart of the city.

  ‘I want this job to be more than just an office, Joe. I want to be a mayor for the whole of Dublin and to have you and the kids be part of it.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mo?’ asked her husband of twenty years, who ran a small electrical contracting business.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Mammy, are we really moving into the big Lord Mayor’s house?’ Lisa
had screamed, so excited her face got red as she twisted her long brown hair.

  ‘Do we have to change schools?’ demanded sixteen-year-old Jessie.

  ‘No, pet, you’ll all still be staying in your old schools. Promise.’

  ‘Can my friends still come and play in that big house?’ worried thirteen-year-old Paul.

  ‘Of course they can,’ she reassured him, swooping her son into her arms.

  That had been almost a month ago, a whirlwind month of playing politics, of filling in papers and permissions as she arranged for the Mansion House once more to become a family home, not just a place for official ceremonies and functions. The previous Lord Mayor, a retiring councillor, had handed over his chain of office at a ceremony in Dublin Castle and she had been sworn in as the city’s new Lady Mayor. I must be mad, thought Mo as she surveyed the mess all around her. It was crazy to leave my home and neighbourhood.

  The neighbourhood was where it had all started. She had never intended getting involved in local politics but had been dragged into it by default when a stolen car had driven into the estate at high speed and ploughed into a group of kids. They had made the simple mistake of playing rounders till after dusk on a summer’s evening instead of sitting at home watching TV. She could still see the children in the road, injured, scattered like pins in a bowling alley, after three young fellahs not much older than themselves and high on alcohol and drugs had lost control of the speeding vehicle. Guards and ambulances and medics and journalists had all appeared and the estate was suddenly filled with strangers issuing statements about the tragic event. Little Robbie Breen, only ten years old, had died that night on the road, and young Tara Kenny had ended up having part of her leg amputated. Sometimes on summer evenings she imagined she could still hear the screams of the kids of Carney Close, her own daughter Lisa so shocked that she refused to walk past the spot on her own for a year and still had nightmares of standing outside the Kennys’ house waiting for the ball to bounce as the sun went down. Her neighbour Mary Breen, overwhelmed with grief at her son’s death, had landed in St Pat’s with a breakdown two months after the trial. The journalists and Guards and do-gooders had by then all disappeared, leaving the people of the estate to fend for themselves once again.