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Tessa Delaney nibbled her toast. She was mouse-like in the dainty way in which she was holding the triangle, savouring each small mouthful with its miserly scraping of marmalade. She’d opted for O’Mara’s Continental breakfast this morning and had enjoyed a bowl of cereal with a dollop of yogurt, a treat given she was on holiday, before sliding her bread under the grill. One slice would suffice; anymore would be greedy, she’d told herself, tempting as it was. The marmalade, she was guessing, was homemade and it was delicious. It had taken all her willpower not to slather it on.
She knew the cook, Mrs Flaherty as she’d introduced herself when she’d approached her yesterday morning, had been perturbed by her previous day’s breakfast order. It was why she’d opted for Continental today. Yesterday she’d asked for one egg to be served over easy on a slice of wholegrain toast, nothing strange in that. It was the omission of all the cook’s lovingly fried trimmings, the bacon, sausage, and white pudding that had disconcerted the older woman. Tessa knew this because she recognised something in her as she stood with her arms clasped around her generous middle, a frown embedded on her forehead.
Mrs Flaherty was a feeder just like Tessa’s mum. Her way of showing she cared had always been to pile her husband and daughter’s plates sky high. Tessa had learned a long time ago to be firm, to not give in to the wounded look like the one plastered to Mrs Flaherty’s face as she’d asked, The white pudding’s really rather good you know. I source only the best sweetbreads and are you sure I can’t offer you a rasher on the side?
Now, as she finished the last bite of her toast, she sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. A quick glance across to where it had come from near the entrance to the kitchen revealed it was Mrs Flaherty. She was waving her arms about as though in the throes of an energetic aerobics class. By the looks of it, she was engaging in a heated, one-sided conversation with Aisling, the establishment’s manageress. Tessa couldn’t hear what was being said in its entirety, their voices drowned by the clatter of knives and forks and general chatter from the other dining room occupants. She did, however, catch snippets of the words, fecking and fox, more than once. A strange conversation but it did explain the crash she’d heard outside her window in the middle of the night as she’d tried to get used to being in yet another strange bed. The culprit was obviously a fox getting into the bins on the hunt for scraps.
She didn’t ponder the conversation further because her mind was otherwise occupied and her eyes swung to the clock on the wall near the dining room entrance. She did the maths, it was only nine hours until the ten-year school reunion of the pupils of St Mary’s Secondary School in Blackrock. Nine short hours until she’d see Rowan Duffy, the bully who’d made her life, for what was ultimately only a short while in the grand scheme of things but at the time had seen interminable, almost unbearable. The wounds Rowan and her two awful friends had so carelessly inflicted hadn’t been physical but Tessa still bore the scars of the taunts they’d tossed her way throughout her thirteenth year. She’d been unable to shake Rowan the ringleader—her nemesis had been with her ever since. The teenage spectre had clung on and become the whispering voice of self-doubt.
At the thought of what lay ahead that evening, her stomach turned over, a churning cocktail of nerves, excitement, and anticipation. She’d been waiting thirteen long years for tonight to roll around. It was thirteen years since she’d left Dublin and she’d been approaching the end of her thirteenth year at the time—half her lifetime ago. What was it about the number thirteen? It was supposed to be unlucky. Certainly, that year had been like the Queen famously once said, annus horribilis, but then one day, like a lighthouse beacon on a stormy night, her parents had offered her a way out.
The news that the family was to emigrate to New Zealand saw her set about reinventing herself. Once it had sunk in, she’d put her hand over her plate much to her mother’s bewilderment, when she tried to ply her with a second helping. She’d gone without the lashings of butter she was partial to on her toast and cakes were off limits.
Her parents fretted and worried at first over her losing weight, putting it down to the impending move and unhappiness over leaving her friends. There’d been no time however in the flurry of packing their lives up to delve too deeply and in the end, they’d left Tessa alone. Her weight loss it was decided was due to the stress of moving and hormones. ‘Sure,’ she’d overheard her mother say to her father, ‘aren’t teenage girls supposed to be a mystery?’ Through sheer bloody mindedness she’d arrived in New Zealand twenty pounds lighter and had never looked back until now.
She poured milk from the jug into her cup of tea, stirring it as she looked around the basement dining room. It was an elegant but functional space; in bygone days this would have been the servants’ domain, she figured. The tables were laid with white cloths and set with silver cutlery. On the walls were various black and white prints of Dublin through the years. Her eyes settled on a shot of Grafton Street; judging by the street fashion it was taken in the twenties. A different world altogether she thought, sipping from her cup.
She turned her attention to her fellow guests, an eclectic bunch. There was an older couple each engrossed and apparently thoroughly enjoying the food in front of them. They’d be sure to get brownie points from Mrs Flaherty, she mused. A young couple were coaxing a small child who was vehemently shaking his head, into having another bite of his toast. If they weren’t careful, they’d have a full-scale tantrum on their hands she thought, recognising the warning signs from her many nights spent babysitting. It had helped pay her way through university.
Her gaze fixed on the man she’d noticed at breakfast the previous morning. She’d seen him again when she dropped her key in at reception before heading out for a day’s tripping down memory lane. It had amused her to see the receptionist, Bronagh, batting her lashes at him and talking in a girly voice. She was old enough to be his mother, but each to their own, she’d thought. One thing Tessa made sure she never did was sit in judgment of others.
She watched as he simultaneously sipped his tea and checked his Blackberry. A man who could multitask, now there was a sight to behold! He was clean-shaven, dressed for business not sight-seeing, and there was a shine on his shoes that would make any mother proud. She liked a man who took pride in his appearance, especially given how hard she worked to maintain her own. He looked to be around thirty at a guess and given the intensity of his frown she wondered what he had planned for the day. Was he brokering a make-or-break deal, or perhaps applying for a job in a career he’d been climbing the ladder toward since leaving school?
What would he think if he knew what her reasons were for coming back to Dublin after all this time? It was, after all, a long way to come for a high school reunion, especially given she’d only attended the school for a year. He’d think her strange, a little obsessed perhaps. She wondered if he’d read Stephen King’s Carrie, because she knew the story would spring to mind. Her motives for coming back to Dublin weren’t vengeful though. Oh, she couldn’t deny it was going to be satisfying to see the look of shock on Rowan and the rest of her motley crew’s faces when they saw how she’d turned out. She’d show them she’d succeeded despite them. Although, sometimes she wondered if her drive to be the best version of herself in every aspect of her life was because of them.
It was something she’d played out in her mind over and over again these last few months since she’d booked her plane ticket. She’d left Ten Tonne Tessie behind in Dublin when she and her parents left all those years ago. These days she was Tessa Delaney, Ms, by the way— that she was single was nobody’s business but her own. A svelte Investment Consultant for a leading Auckland finance company with a personal assistant and an office overlooking the city and out to sea. She could see as far as the extinct volcano, Rangitoto Island, on a clear day.
Her home was a restored villa with a red pohutukawa tree in the garden with a slash of blue ocean visible from her living room window. She’d grown used to watching the sea with its ever-changing moods and would find it hard not to have it in her line of sight. The villa had two spare bedrooms; it seemed she’d also inherited her mother’s penchant for houses that were too big for their small family.
She’d kept in touch with her old school pal, Saoirse, over the years. They’d updated one another with the way their lives were panning out in the form of letters winging their way back and forth two, three times a year. Tessa would have liked to have come over for her friend’s wedding but she’d been angling for promotion at the time and couldn’t ask for time off. Saoirse would mention too from time to time that she’d love to bring her family out for a holiday in New Zealand, but financially, with young children and an enormous mortgage, it wasn’t on the cards.
She told Tessa things from time to time. Like how she wished she’d been made of sterner stuff and had been able to stand up for her friend back when they were at St Mary’s. Tessa told her she wasn’t to blame, it wasn’t up to Saoirse to sort her problems out. She should have had the sense to talk to her mother about what was happening to her. Hindsight was a wonderful thing and the choices her sensible adult self would make were very different to her frightened childhood self.
Saoirse would tell her things in her letters too, like how the only skill Rowan had learned during her schooling was how to light a cigarette on a windy day—a talent fine honed down the back of the school field. She’d been expelled at sixteen for one misdemeanour too many. Saoirse would mention how she’d seen her from afar on a trip to Dublin and how it seemed she had an ongoing penchant for wearing her skirts too short. The last she’d heard of her, she was working in a café. Tessa had felt just the teensiest bit gleeful as she’d read that it wasn’t even one of the posh new cafés springing up about the city but a right old greasy spoon.
It was also Saoirse who’d mentioned the reunion. She’d written that the ten-year reunion of St Mary’s class of 1989 was being held in the school hall this October and how she had no intention of going. For one thing, she lived in Galway these days and for another, there was nobody she was particularly interested in reuniting with! Tessa hadn’t even been at the school in 1989 but it didn’t matter. She knew as she sat reading and re-reading her friend’s letter that she would be going. She’d talk Saoirse into going with her too because this was it, this was her chance for closure where Rowan and her two ugly stepsisters were concerned. It was her opportunity to confront her past and in doing so quieten that inner voice that still, even now governed how she felt others perceived her.
There were two Tessas—the outwardly confident version she’d perfected the moment she’d begun her new life in Herne Bay, Auckland and the Tessa who lived on inside her. The fearful, frightened Tessa who wasn’t worthy of being loved.
Tessa blinked, she hadn’t realised the man had looked up, bemused no doubt by the intensity of her stare. He was smiling at her and she glanced away, embarrassed at being caught out, feeling the pull to the past as she stepped back into 1987.
TESSA BURST THROUGH the front door of the large, too large for the three of them, detached house overlooking the sea where they lived in a leafy Blackrock Street. Mummy had always wanted a detached house, no matter that two of the four bedrooms remained empty and two bathrooms meant two bathrooms that needed to be cleaned each week—Tessa’s loathed pocket-money job.
She’d slammed the door shut behind her not caring if she got told off and, resting her back against it, she willed her heart to stop racing. It was only then when she could feel the solid timber separating her from the outside world did she feel safe to let the tears that had threatened all the way home spill over.
‘We’re in the kitchen, Tessa darling.’ Her mother’s voice tinkled down the hall with no hint of reproach over her heavy handedness with the front door. Tessa swiped at her cheeks. She wouldn’t let her see she was upset. It wouldn’t do any good telling her what was going on. She’d only get a name for herself as a tattle-tale at school which would give Rowan and her gang of two more ammunition. She had thought about confiding in Sister Evangelista when she’d asked her if everything was alright last week. Tessa’s overly bright eyes and flushed cheeks hadn’t escaped her kindly, eagle eyes, but sure, what could the nun do? She sniffed knowing there was nothing for it but to keep ignoring them in the hope they’d get bored and leave her be.
It was only a ten-minute walk from the school gates to her front door but it was a journey that could be fraught with as much danger as navigating the Serengeti Plains on foot. They’d been learning about Africa in class that morning and as she’d stared down at the picture in the book Sister Mary Leo had passed around with its glossy photographs, Tessa had felt a kinsman ship with the beleaguered impala. Rowan, Teresa, and Vicky reminded her of the pack of wild dogs their teeth bared, caught on film as they hunted the poor creature.
She could avoid Rowan and the other two at lunchtime by taking herself off to the library with her friend, Saoirse, who was, if anything, even more timid than she was but Saoirse wasn’t fat. There wasn’t much of anything that stood out about Saoirse, she blended in with the crowd so they left her alone. It was as the clock on the classroom wall ticked its way ever closer to the final bell that the panic would begin to set in. Tessa would find herself unable to concentrate on her lesson as her heart beat a little faster, her breath sticking in her throat as the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach amped up. It was the worry, she knew this, whether the day would be a good day. She’d cross her fingers, the skin around her nails red from being nibbled at, under the desk and promise extra Hail Marys if today could please be a good day.
A good day was when she managed to race out the school gates and put a decent distance between herself and the trio lying in wait. Today she thought, her head still resting against the front door, hadn’t been a good day. Sister Geraldine had continued to drone on, obviously enthralled with the particular period in history she was informing her students of, and Tessa had felt like screaming. She’d wanted to stand up and yell at the nun, ‘I don’t give a flying feck about the Battle of the Boyne. I care about those ganky cows who’ll all be waiting for me at the gate if you don’t shut up and let me go home!’
Of course, she hadn’t said a word. She’d sat at her desk clenching her fists so that the ragged ends of her nails dug into her palms. The seconds had ticked over into minutes and around her, her classmates had begun to fidget in their eagerness to be excused for the day. Still, Sister Geraldine waffled on. Tessa’s gaze had flicked anxiously between the clock and the door until at last Sister Geraldine reached the part where King James II of England fled to France never to be seen in Ireland again. It was at this point Sister Geraldine gave the signal that they were allowed to slam their history books shut. There was a collective thudding as the heavy tomes were closed, followed by a mass scraping of chairs as the girls pushed past one another eager for the off.
As Tessa slid her bag’s straps over her shoulders, she’d felt a small surge of hope. It was nearly ten past; surely they’d have tired of waiting for her and headed home by now. She’d walk extra slow so as to be sure to give them a head start. A few beats later her heart sank as she stepped outside and saw them milling about by the entrance. They’d elbowed each other as she came into sight. Their skirts were worn short enough for the nuns to frown upon and make noises about telling their mothers to unpick the hems, but long enough for them to be generally left alone. School ties had been loosened and socks were puddled around ankles. Tessa knew too that as soon as the bell had rung, their bags would have been hastily opened to retrieve stacks of multi-coloured jelly bracelets stashed at the bottom. These were then layered up their wrists in a school girl homage to Madonna for the walk home.
Tessa had looked straight ahead pretending she couldn’t see them as she passed through the gates and out onto the street. If she pretended hard enough, surely they’d vanish. She made a silent phffing noise as she imagined them disappearing like a puff of smoke. She didn’t even wince when Rowan called out in a voice designed to carry.
‘Ooh lookout, girls, there she goes, Ten Tonne Tessie. Can you feel the ground shaking, Terry?’
Tessa had heard the snapping of gum and giggling.
‘Fi, fi, fo fum, by gum, Tessa’s got a big bum.’
‘I can hear her thighs rubbing together from here!’
Titters and more gum popping.
Onwards she’d trudged, her eyes trained to the ground in front of her. One foot being placed in front of the other. Plodding, solid steps, befitting the solid, plodding lump she was. Her eyes burned and she blinked furiously, she would not let them know she heard them or that she cared what they thought. She pulled on her imaginary coat of armour and fended the taunts off like they were arrows—they were useless against her iron defence shield as they pinged off her and hit the ground.
It hadn’t protected her from the pebble that hit her squarely in the back. ‘Oi, we’re talking to you, fat girl.’
‘Tessa, is that you, love?’
Her mother’s voice brought her back and she swiped her nose before calling, ‘Yes, I’m coming, Mum.’
She pushed herself away from the door and, dumping her bag at the foot of the stairs to take up to her room later, she padded down the hall to the kitchen. It was her favourite room in the house. It looked out on the garden and to the sea and there were always comforting smells emanating from it. Her nose twitched at the aroma of something sugary and soft with a hint of spice and her tummy rumbled in anticipation. ‘Hello,’ she said, a flash of fear passing through her at the sight of Dad sitting at the table. He was in his suit which meant he’d been to work but he didn’t usually get home until five o’clock. What was going on? She felt that familiar quickening of her heart and the sick feeling in her stomach. Nora Heatherington’s father had been laid off last week and Nora said her parents had been doing a lot of shouting and whispering but not much proper talking ever since. She was reassured a little by his smile. He did not look like a man who’d received bad news. Mum, she noticed was wearing her new top, the one with the sparkles along the neckline that she’d helped her choose. Surely, she wouldn’t be wearing a pretty sparkly top if something awful had happened.
‘Hello, Tessa love, come on, sit down,’ her mum said, patting her place at the table. ‘I’ll butter you a nice slice of brack.’
She sat down quickly.
In the middle of the table was the source of the aroma that had beckoned her in; a plate stacked with slices of fresh fruity, brack. Her mum smeared thick butter on the piece she’d put on a plate for Tessa and slid it across the table to where she sat. Tessa’s gaze swung anxiously from one parent to the other.
‘You’re probably wondering why Daddy’s home?’
She hated it when Mum called Dad, Daddy. She wasn’t a baby but now wasn’t the time to protest and she nodded because her mouth was too full to speak. She’d shovelled in as much of the loaf as she could fit, hoping it would quell the unsettled feeling that had descended the moment she stepped into the kitchen—homemade brack fixed most things especially when it had extra raisins in it.
‘Well, Daddy and I, we’ve got some news. We think it’s very exciting and we hope you do too.’
She was all ears.
‘A grand opportunity’s come our way. Daddy—’
Tessa wondered if they’d rehearsed this, whatever this was, as her dad cleared his throat and Mum picked up the knife to butter a second slice of loaf for Tessa.
‘What it is, Tess,’ her father continued. ‘I’ve been offered a job in New Zealand. Auckland to be precise. It seems they need civil engineers there.’
Tessa’s mouth fell open despite its contents—New Zealand! ‘Are you taking it?’
‘Tessa, finish your mouthful first.’ Her mother frowned across the table ever mindful of manners.
She did so knowing she’d get the hiccups from eating too fast. ‘Sorry,’ she said after swallowing, feeling the loaf sitting solid like a lump of coal in her throat. ‘But, New Zealand? Mum, Dad that’s the other side of the world.’
They didn’t seem fazed by her shock. If anything their eyes flickered with amusement. ‘We know where it is.’ They smiled at each other and Tessa wanted to throw the piece of loaf her mother had now put on her plate at them. They weren’t making any sense. You didn’t just decide to move to New Zealand. It wasn’t Cork or Galway or even the UK for that matter. It was about as far away from Ireland, her home, as you could go. And why hadn’t they discussed any of this with her?
‘It probably seems like a bolt from the blue to you, love.’
She nodded so furiously she felt at risk of dislocating her neck.
‘It is rather sudden we know, but the opportunity for Daddy to put in for a transfer arose and we’d only ever heard wonderful things about New Zealand. We didn’t want to say anything until it was definite in case it all fell through.’
It was definite, her mum had just said it was definite.
‘And, Tessa, I’m always after telling you that to be successful in life you need to embrace opportunities and be open to change.’
It was true, she was always saying stupid stuff like that. She meant it to be encouraging and inspiring but mostly when she said it, it was annoying. Tessa’s lips formed a mutinous line that caused her mum to babble on.
‘Take my old school friend, Naomi, for example. She moved to New Zealand years ago when she got married—he was from there, her husband. She still sends me a Christmas card and her life in—’ she looked to her husband for help.
‘Christchurch,’ Dad obliged.
‘Christchurch sounds marvellous. In summer it's an endless round of picnics and barbecues. They live outdoors in New Zealand.’
What was her mother saying? They’d sleep under the stars? She wasn’t selling her on the idea if that was the case. Tessa did not like camping. Her one and only experience had been with the Brownies. The heavens had opened and they’d all had to take cover. It had been the stuff of nightmares with Brown Owl trying to jolly them all along as they huddled together shivering.
‘Then there’s the Joyce family. You won't remember them, they lived a few doors down from us when you were a baby. They moved, all seven of them, to the capital.’
This time it was Tessa who piped up, breaking a piece of brack off with her fingers, the word tripping automatically from her tongue. ‘Wellington,’ she said, popping the morsel in her mouth. She’d learned a little about New Zealand in her geography lessons at school. She’d also learned it was a country that sat on the Ring of Fire. It had volcanos; most of them were extinct but you never knew and it was prone to earthquakes.
Mum took this as an encouraging sign. ‘Yes, Wellington, and the last time I heard they were living in a great big house, overlooking the sea.’
A great big house seemed to matter a great big deal to her mother, Tessa thought. ‘Our house is big and it overlooks the sea.’ She knew her tone was belligerent.
This time her mother didn’t tell her to finish her mouthful before speaking. Her eyes flitted nervously across the table to her husband. She wasn’t giving them the response they’d been hoping for. He came to her rescue.
‘Ah, but in Auckland where we’re going, its warmer, almost tropical, and you’ll be able to swim all summer long without catching hypothermia. You can eat watermelon every day too if you like.’
This Tessa knew had been tossed in because she’d developed a fondness for slices of the sweet fruit when it had been served up for breakfast on their all-inclusive holiday to Florida when she was nine.
Mum flashed him a grateful look but Tessa was only half listening now as her mind tried to wrap itself around this bombshell news. The word definite reverberated in her ears. Further evidence of their seriousness was in the nervous darting glances Mum kept shooting at Dad. She could tell too that they were holding hands under the table—moral support. They didn’t think she knew they did this. It made her feel pitted against the odds, two against one. ‘You said it’s definite.’ Her voice was flat.
It was their turn to nod and she was pleased to see they had the grace to look a little shame-faced at having made such a momentous decision without consulting her. Two against one, she thought once more. ‘When? When will we go?’
‘Just short of three months. I know it seems sudden, but this way we can have a good long holiday and settle in properly before you begin your new school. It will be their summer holidays so you won't start until the February. Imagine, Tessa you’ll be sunbathing and swimming while everyone here will be in their winter woollies sniffing with coughs and colds. And, sure it's not as though you’ve been at St Mary’s for years. You’ll settled into your new school no bother.’
How would she know? Tessa pushed her chair back and ran from the room. She couldn’t comprehend it and she couldn’t take another second of their anxious expressions willing her to jump for joy at what they’d just laid on her. She heard her mum get up to follow her and Dad’s voice saying, ‘Leave her, Sheelagh. She needs some time by herself to get used to the idea. We knew it’d come as a shock to her.’
She took the stairs two at a time and threw herself down on her bed. She lay there staring at the ceiling and the boys from Duran Duran stared down at her from the poster she’d sellotaped above her bed. ‘Can you believe it, John?’ she whispered. John Taylor was her favourite band member, he had the most soulful of brown eyes and always looked like he understood when she confided in him. ‘New Zealand. They want to drag me all the way to New Zealand. They’ve gone mad, the pair of them.’ It was times like this Tessa hated being an only child. If she had an ally, things wouldn’t seem so bad. Two against two.
She folded her arms across her chest and it was then it dawned on her. Her eyes widened because she herself had just said—it was the other side of the world. There would be no Rowan Duffy in Auckland. No Vicky, no Teresa. On the other side of the world, she wouldn’t be Ten Tonne Tessie, she’d be Tessa Delaney, newly arrived from Ireland. She could be exotic, like Audrey from Paris, who’d spent the first term this year at St Mary’s. All the girls had wanted to be friends with her simply because she was different—in a good way, not a fat way. The more she mulled it over the more she warmed to the idea. She was being given a clean slate. She could start over and suddenly, moving to the Southern Hemisphere seemed no bad thing at all.