Maggie Ryan rose early and after a quick shower and a glass of fresh orange juice took the Luas tram into town. She was meeting her sister Kitty for breakfast so that they could get an early start on ‘Wedding Outfit Shopping’.
Poor Kitty, they had trawled the boutiques on the Southside, the Northside, in Wicklow and in Gorey to no avail. The right mother-of-the-bride outfit was proving elusive and even a lovely day’s shopping down in McElhinneys’ famous wedding store where Kitty had tried on at least twenty outfits, none of which she liked, had failed.
‘I’m the mother of the bride,’ she complained. ‘I have to look right on Orla’s big day.’ Maggie had been more fortunate and had bought a sleeveless terracotta silk dress with a scoop neckline and a matching wrap that would be perfect for Orla’s wedding in September.
Over a pot of tea and toast and rashers and sausages she had to be firm with Kitty. ‘We are not racing all over the place today and no detouring to handbags or shoes, Kitty. Today the focus is on the outfit. Once you get that the rest will follow. We’ll try Brown Thomas first, then Richard Alan’s again and Arnotts and Clerys!’
‘Orla told me the designer floor in Arnotts is great,’ said Kitty, ‘and that her friend Jennifer’s mother got her outfit in Pamela Scott’s.’
Thanks be to heaven town was quiet early in the morning, thought Maggie as they went from dressing room to dressing room in all the big stores. Her duty was to pass her sister outfit after outfit and help with zips and buttons and then give a candid comment on each outfit.
‘Makes your hips look big!’
‘Wrong colour. It drains you.’
‘Shows your tummy . . .’
Kitty was smaller and slightly slimmer than her but had a pear-shaped figure. Along the way Kitty updated her on the invitations that were being printed, the choir that Orla had engaged, the outrageous cost of bridal and church flowers. Maggie listened intently, conscious that some day she would with any luck be organizing a wedding for one of her own girls.
Crossing over the Halfpenny Bridge they found the outfit – at last – on the designer floor in Arnotts: a jade-green dress with an exquisite little matching jacket in the same colour but with a fine band of cream piped around the hem and front and collar. It fitted perfectly.
‘It’s gorgeous!’ said Kitty, turning in every direction as they studied it from every angle.
‘Is this it?’ asked Maggie excitedly. She truly didn’t think her sister would find anything that suited her better or made her look so good anywhere else.
‘I think it is,’ said Kitty, her brown eyes shining, ‘but I’d like Orla to see it too.’
The grey-haired shop assistant was kindness itself and put the outfit away for Orla to come and see it with her mother tomorrow.
‘Maggie, thank you so much for all your help and patience. Come on, I’ll buy you a celebration lunch,’ promised Kitty. They found a table in the window in Fallon and Byrne.
Maggie told Kitty all about Grace’s birthday dinner and how wonderful it would be if something happened between Grace and their new neighbour.
‘They’re just made for each other,’ she said, delighted with herself, ‘but a mother as you know can only do so much!’
‘Tell me about it!’ Kitty said, recalling all the ups and downs with Orla and Liam’s relationship before they had finally got engaged. ‘What about coming into town again next week to have a look at some shoes?’ coaxed her sister as they ate salmon and spinach quiche and a green tossed salad.
As they said goodbye after lunch Maggie found herself agreeing to join forces with Kitty on another shopping expedition but hoped that accessory shopping would be a bit easier all round.
On Grafton Street there was a young rock guitarist with an amp and electric guitar entertaining the crowds. Believing talent should be encouraged, she dropped a euro in his box, before running into Clarendon Street Church to say her usual prayers for Leo and the family and to light a candle for poor old Oscar Lynch.
The last time she’d gone to see her elderly neighbour he had just moved from the hospital to Oak Park, an expensive nursing home in Blackrock. He’d been tetchy and unsettled, anxious to come home but far too frail to manage living on his own. Browsing in the bookshop on St Stephen’s Green she’d bought him one of those big Sudoku number puzzle books before getting back on the tram and leaving town.
She almost fell in the door of number 23, so relieved was she to be home. She kicked off the torture of her shoes and shoved on her cosy slippers as she left the clutter of bags at the bottom of the stairs and made straight for the kitchen for a cup of reviving coffee and a biscuit.
She was just about to switch on the kettle when she realized that Irina had fallen asleep on the comfy two-seater couch near the patio door. The Polish girl’s face was pale and she looked exhausted. God knows what time she had got up for work this morning. She killed herself working, thought Maggie, and seemed to go from job to job. She’d let her sleep undisturbed and silently made her own mug of coffee and went off and put her own feet up in the sitting room with a copy of the Irish Times.
An hour later she returned to the kitchen. ‘Are you all right, Irina?’ she asked softly, not wanting to frighten the young woman.
‘Oh, Mrs Ryan, I am so sorry. I must have sat down for a minute after I finished doing the vacuum cleaning and gone to sleep.’
‘It’s all right, Irina, we all get tired,’ Maggie reassured her, ‘Maybe you had a late night last night?’
‘No, but I woke up early this morning. It is noisy in the house, and I have to get up by six a.m. if I want to get the bus at six thirty.’
‘Did you have a proper breakfast?’
‘A coffee and a doughnut in the newsagent’s after we open up and do all the newspapers and serve the early morning customers. It gets very busy and I restock the shelves before I get the bus and come here.’
‘Irina! Is it any wonder you’re exhausted!’
‘I was going to make a hot drink when I must have fallen asleep. You are angry with me?’
‘No, not at all,’ soothed Maggie, ‘I’m just concerned. You get up so early and work so hard and don’t seem to have proper time to eat and rest.’
‘I have to work to make money to pay my rent and to save,’ exclaimed Irina tearfully. ‘I work as hard as I can but things in Ireland are expensive.’
‘I know,’ said Maggie gently, sitting down beside her. ‘But you must remember to take care of yourself. Have you eaten?’
‘A slice of toast and coffee would be fine, thank you, Mrs Ryan.’
‘No,’ insisted Maggie, ‘I’ll cook you something.’
Taking some eggs from the fridge and onions and tomatoes and a little bit of ham she cooked up a filling fluffy omelette as Irina set the table, telling her how in Poland they often added a dash of paprika and potato to the omelette.
‘Would you think of moving nearer your work?’ suggested Maggie.
‘I would if I could afford to,’ said Irina seriously. ‘But the rents are so high we must share with a lot of people to pay the landlord. It is difficult. At home in Poland it is so much cheaper to rent than here.’
‘What if it was possible . . .?’ said Maggie, an idea fermenting in her mind as she thought of poor old Oscar and his predicament. Perhaps with a little matching she might be able to help solve two people’s problems and they could help each other . . . ‘What if there was a job coming up where there was accommodation in return for doing some housework, a bit of cleaning and cooking, and just keeping somebody company. Do you think you might be interested?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Irina, looking at her dubiously.
‘I have a friend who at present and probably for the foreseeable future is in need of extra help in his home. He’s elderly and lives on his own in a large house, which is perhaps too much for him to manage,’ confided Maggie. ‘I’m not sure he would be interested in such an arrangement but I promise I will talk to him about it, see what he thinks.’
‘Where does your friend live?’ she questioned.
‘Close by,’ said Maggie, hoping that Oscar Lynch might be open to her idea.
‘Oh, I would definitely be interested, Mrs Ryan,’ repeated Irina again and again as they sat down to eat.
Maggie was glad to see that despite her slim frame Irina had a healthy appetite.
Oscar was in his blazer and pressed grey trousers when she called to Oak Park convalescent home two days later. He looked exhausted, his grey hair neatly combed, his face thin and pale. It was only three weeks since he’d moved to the home after his surgery and he’d point blank refused the offer of a long-term bed there.
‘I’m not a geriatric,’ he’d complained indignantly. ‘Not yet.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ she soothed, fussing over him.
‘It’s just that I’m finding it hard to walk and impossible to bend down,’ he complained. ‘It’s a bit of a setback as the doctor and the physiotherapist said I need at least an extra month here. The blasted hip is healing up but it’s just taking longer than I planned.’
Maggie tried to hide her smile at seeing him so grumpy and gave him the lovely fresh fruit and little cakes she’d brought plus the big book of Sudoku puzzles she’d got for him. ‘It’ll help pass the time,’ she said, girding herself to broach the subject of how he was going to manage when he finally came home.
‘Oscar, you really are going to need to get someone in to help you when you move back to Pleasant Square,’ she said firmly.
‘I have thought about it,’ he admitted as he lowered himself haltingly on to the chair beside his bed, Maggie automatically reaching to help him. ‘I’ve always been independent, looked after myself and Elizabeth, but now with this hip it is going to be a bit trickier than I had imagined.’
‘Perhaps you should have someone to live in?’ she suggested.
‘A carer!’ he argued tetchily. ‘I’m not one of those demented old men that needs a minder.’
‘I didn’t mean that, I just meant maybe someone could stay in the house while you’re recuperating and help out with cleaning and cooking and doing messages and just keeping an eye on things,’ she said slowly, watching his reaction from out of the corner of her eye.
‘I don’t know where you would find someone like that! How would you trust them not to rob you or take advantage of you?’
‘Well, Oscar you’d have to trust them,’ insisted Maggie, ‘and I think I might know exactly the right person. She’s looking for somewhere to rent that is reasonable and is willing to work and help out in return.’ She could see she had sparked his interest. ‘Irina is a charming, hard-working young woman,’ she said. ‘She came to Ireland from Poland over a year ago and has been working for me since then. She is totally reliable and trustworthy and the two of you would be helping each other out.’
‘Where would this person stay?’
‘Well, you have three spare bedrooms.’
‘I don’t want anyone else living on top of me,’ he protested. ‘Besides, Elizabeth would never approve of a strange woman sharing the house with me.’
‘What about the basement?’ suggested Maggie.
‘The surgery! All my dental equipment is still there.’
‘Well, I’m sure it could be moved,’ she persisted. ‘Now that you’re retired, you’ll hardly have need of it again.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Maggie. It’s like an old museum down there.’
‘Sarah and Evie love living in our basement,’ she said encouragingly. ‘We all have a bit of privacy and yet company and support and help are only a few steps away.’
‘I can see how it might work,’ he ventured. ‘It’s just trying to organize it and move the chair and the equipment and all my stuff and then having to clean it up and paint it.’
‘Listen, Oscar, Grace is bound to know a few people in her line of business who would do it. I’ll ask her.’
‘Then we will see,’ agreed Oscar, running his long fingers over his forehead.
‘Would you like me to arrange for you to meet Irina? I could bring her to visit you.’
‘As long as she knows this is only a temporary arrangement. Once I’m on my feet properly again and back to full strength I might not need her.’
‘Don’t worry, Irina will understand,’ she reassured him.