Mary-Rose’s eyes lit up, delighted to be able to do something, and having Birdie distracted by her makeover would also give Kitty an opportunity to speak to Eva.
‘Anyway, you never know, this whole experience might inspire another proposal,’ Kitty joked.
Mary-Rose’s face darkened. ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that.’
Kitty picked up on her mood. ‘Are he and Aoife serious?’
Mary-Rose swallowed. ‘Yeah, I think so, I don’t know, we haven’t really spoken about … her.’
There was a silence.
‘What about your friend?’ Mary-Rose asked, nodding at Steve.
‘What about him?’ Kitty immediately felt uncomfortable, irritated, even. Did Mary-Rose have a crush on Steve? That couldn’t be allowed, surely? Mary-Rose was at least ten years younger than he, better-looking, youthful … she couldn’t possibly be interested in Steve.
‘Does he have a girlfriend?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Kitty said over-enthusiastically. ‘For quite a while now. They’re crazy about each other,’ she said, not knowing if this was true exactly but feeling ill inside at the thought of Mary-Rose with Steve. What on earth was wrong with her?
‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ Mary-Rose said, crestfallen, and Kitty was secretly relieved. ‘I really thought you two would be perfect together.’
This surprised Kitty so much that she didn’t know what to say. It went unnoticed, though, as Mary-Rose approached Birdie and asked the birthday girl if she was ready for her makeover. There was a girly whoop and Regina even moved away from Archie to watch it take place.
Kitty got lost in her head imagining the possibilities of her and Steve together, picturing them together, how it could be, even recalling the one clumsy drunken time they’d shared a bed in college, and Kitty’s heart began thumping and her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t possibly …
‘Well, I escaped that little lecture, thanks for the introduction,’ Steve said slipping in beside her. ‘If I ever need to know anything more about butterflies be sure to shoot me,’ he whispered conspiratorially, close to her ear. Shivers ran through her body at the closeness of his breath. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked then. ‘Your face is all red.’
Kitty’s mouth opened and shut like a codfish until the bus suddenly swerved and got everybody’s attention. The rendition of a Polish song ended swiftly from the back.
‘Left! I said left!’ Edward raised his voice. ‘Are you trying to kill us?’
‘No, just you, college boy,’ Molly growled.
‘Everything okay there?’ Eva asked as Mary-Rose wiped the long line of lipstick that had run along Birdie’s cheek as the bus swerved.
‘Yep, fine thanks. Head Smurf here has got it all figured out,’ Edward said.
Kitty caught Birdie once again smiling with glee as her nurse and her grandson battled for power.
Kitty was torn when it came to their arrival in Cork. The only way they could stay on schedule was by splitting up. While Ambrose and Eugene went to the butterfly symposium at Cork University, Achar and Jedrek went to Cork English Market where the Irish food board, Bord Bia, had arranged a corporate adjudicator from Guinness World Records to recognise the largest number of people dressed as eggs ever to gather in the same place. This was part of a scheme to promote the local organic egg farmers. Kitty knew that she needed to be at both events, and that Steve needed to be too, and so she quickly hopped off the bus on a mission to push her way through the people dressed as eggs, their faces popping out of holes in the egg costumes, their legs in gold spandex leggings, to find the adjudicator. Jedrek and Achar were searching just as anxiously.
‘Do you see him?’ Achar asked, his head darting around.
‘What does he look like?’ Sam asked.
When an egg became unbalanced and bumped against Mary-Rose, Sam immediately reached out to steady and protect her.
‘Not like that anyway, I hope,’ Jedrek said, and they laughed.
Birdie linked Edward’s arm and looked around with delight, and despite Molly’s declaration of not being able to get far enough away from the college boy, she stayed close. They all decided to split up in search of the judge, unsure if the egg record attempt had officially been logged yet.
‘Look, Jedrek,’ Achar said, surveying the scene. ‘This is what we need.’
Local media, crowd support and an official adjudicator, it was all Achar had dreamed of for their event.
‘Yes, Achar, but there is no water,’ Jedrek poured cold water over Achar’s dreams.
‘I found him!’ Eva called, and Kitty followed Eva’s voice to a bewildered-looking black-suited man who was surrounded by Kitty’s odd bunch of people.
Jedrek and Achar pushed through the crowd, looking like they’d found the Holy Grail when their eyes fell upon the adjudicator. Jedrek walked towards him, hand extended the entire way. The adjudicator looked at Kitty’s gang, who had circled him, back to Jedrek’s hand as if this was some kind of joke, then finally he shook his hand, sensing the seriousness.
‘Mr Adjudicator,’ Jedrek addressed him as though he were royalty, holding his hands up and looking him up and down as though greatness were in this very market. ‘We have travelled a long way to see you today, myself and my friends.’
The judge looked at the group.
‘Well, hello,’ he said unsurely. ‘I’m James.’
‘James!’ Jedrek announced as if that was fascinating. ‘My name is Jedrek Vysotski and this is my friend Achar Singh. This, James, is Kitty Logan, the great journalistic reporter who we are blessed with writing our story.’ Kitty nodded enthusiastically and James said another awkward hello.
‘James,’ a man behind him interrupted, ‘we’re about to get things started here.’
‘Okay, just a minute,’ James said pleasantly, turning back to Jedrek, intrigued.
‘We, Achar and I, are going to make the great record attempt to be the fastest two men in a pedalo for a distance of one hundred metres. The current record is one minute fifty-eight point six two seconds and Achar and I can do it in one minute fifty. This is going to happen, James. In Cork. And we would like to invite you to be our adjudicator.’
This time an egg interrupted. ‘We’re ready now, James.’
‘Okay, just a second,’ he said, a little panicked.
‘We will not let you down, James,’ Achar pushed.
Jedrek placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Let the man speak.’
‘Thank you,’ James said, sweat breaking out on his brow. ‘I’m afraid I can’t come to your event, as delightful as it sounds.’ He spoke in an English accent. ‘But according to the rules you must have registered your details with Guinness World Records already.’
‘Yes we have, we have,’ Jedrek said enthusiastically.
‘And what did they say?’
‘They told us the cost of adjudication and we could not possibly afford that,’ Achar said immediately, to Jedrek’s annoyance. ‘That is why we have sought you out here. We have come to you, to save you having to come to us,’ he said as if they were doing James a big favour.
‘I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,’ he began.
‘They’ve been training for months,’ Archie interrupted. ‘Surely you could just turn up and watch them.’ Archie’s tactics weren’t as gentle as the others’ and it sounded a little threatening.
Eva sensed this and joined in. ‘We’ll be at Kinsale Pier tomorrow, at 2 p.m., all you have to do is come and watch them, witness it for yourself and then they can do the rest of the work. What do you think?’
‘I have a flight back to London in the morning …’
‘Change it,’ Sam said.
‘I’ll cover the cost of your flight,’ Kitty butted in. ‘They really deserve to be seen by you,’ she urged.
‘They’ve a jolly good spirit,’ Regina added from somewhere outside of the circle. ‘We believe they can do it.’
‘I’ll pay your fe
e,’ Birdie said suddenly, and everybody looked at her in shock.
‘No, no,’ Achar and Jedrek protested. ‘It is too much. We cannot allow you to pay.’
‘After today I can pay whatever I want,’ Birdie smiled mischievously, then looked at the adjudicator. ‘Name your price and I will pay you,’ she said, chin high.
‘It’s not about the fee,’ he said starting to break out in a sweat. ‘It’s about the protocol. Your record attempt must be cleared in advance so that I can have the certificate ready to present to you—’
‘You can send us the certificate when it’s ready,’ Achar interrupted. ‘You don’t have to give it to us tomorrow.’
Suddenly everybody started talking at him, trying in their own way to convince him, but he couldn’t possibly make out everybody’s pleas and instead they all bled into one. He held his hands up in defence.
‘I’m very sorry, I can’t,’ he apologised sincerely. ‘But I wish you the best of luck with your attempt tomorrow.’
There was a silence, an awkward one, and it was obvious he felt awful.
‘Kinsale Pier, 2 p.m. tomorrow,’ Kitty said firmly. ‘Please come.’
And he was finally dragged away to the small stage where he prepared to present the certificate for most people dressed as eggs in one area. As everybody gathered to face the podium, Kitty and her crew pushed in the opposite direction, making their way back to the bus, their spirits crushed.
Across the city, Kitty and Steve arrived just in time, breathless, sweating and dizzy, to hear Ambrose’s name announced in a lecture theatre to speak about her much-anticipated report. Five hundred applauded. But there was no sign of her. People looked around, the speaker looked behind him, confused.
Kitty saw Eugene stand up from the front row and make his way backstage. He returned and climbed onto the stage and had a word in the speaker’s ear.
Kitty’s heart fell. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered, and to her surprise felt tears welling in her eyes.
Steve, the man who hated personal contact, put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we’ll be a further two minutes, if you wouldn’t mind bearing with me.’
People relaxed a little and fell into conversation with each other. Five minutes passed and the speaker was looking uncomfortable.
‘Should I go back there?’ Kitty asked Steve, worriedly. Just as she stood to make her way towards the stage, the speaker looked behind him and nodded.
‘And I believe we are ready to go now. So once again, speaking on one of our most beautiful butterflies, the Peacock, known to most of you as Inachis io, our treasured member of Butterfly Conservation, Ambrose Nolan.’ There was polite applause.
Ambrose, her hair down in front of her face, head down, made her way to the podium.
She stood up and cleared her throat, which reverberated around the room loudly through the microphone.
‘My apologies for the delay. My partner told me to tell you I was very much like the Aglais urticae, most commonly known as the Small Tortoiseshell, which is fast, vigilant, but extremely wary and difficult to approach closely.’
Everyone laughed at the inside butterfly joke, and the atmosphere became much more relaxed. Ambrose looked up, saw Kitty, and took a deep breath. And then she began to talk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ambrose and Eugene were on a high, and despite the failed adjudicator kidnap, spirits were buoyant on the bus as they listened to Eugene’s proud retelling of how Ambrose had entranced them all with her discoveries, and Steve was able to show his photographs on the camera, which Ambrose swiftly put an end to. When Eugene had told the story enough times, they turned to Birdie’s impending win.
Birdie hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she was from a small town. Nadd was in the foothills of the Boggeragh Mountains and had a population of just over one hundred and seventy people. It consisted of two pubs, one which doubled as a guesthouse, the other which tripled as a shop and betting office, and also a church and a school. On the outskirts of the village a housing scheme to encourage and attract young families into the area had begun and stopped halfway, leaving pastel-coloured summer houses standing unfinished with smashed windows.
‘Ooh, there it is, Birdie,’ Mary-Rose sang as they passed the bookies and added more hairspray to Birdie’s perfect hair-do, much to Edward’s disgust as another coughing fit took him over.
Molly took delight in seeing this.
It was decided that everybody would wait in the guesthouse garden to give Birdie privacy while she went inside the bookies, but Kitty was honoured to be asked to go inside with her. Birdie linked arms with Edward, while Kitty and Steve waited in the background, Steve subtly taking photos.
The bookies, attached to the pub, was a small room that resembled a living room. On the right-hand side of the O’Hara pub was a newsagent shop, on the left was the bookies. Inside, two men were sitting on stools and watching a small television in the corner of the room. They were wearing tweed caps and suit jackets, and smelled like they hadn’t washed for a few weeks. Behind the protected glass was a man in his thirties. He looked up and when Birdie laid eyes on him she took an audible intake of breath. Kitty assumed she knew him and waited for a flicker of recognition to pass his face but it never came and Birdie composed herself.
‘My name is Bridget Murphy,’ she said, a slight shake in her voice, which definitely had more of a hint of her Cork accent than before.
The two old men looked away from the television screen to stare at her. Edward put his hand supportively around his grandmother’s body.
‘Sixty-seven years ago I placed a bet with Josie O’Hara and I’m here to collect my winnings,’ she said.
Kitty almost felt emotional hearing Birdie say those words. How often had Birdie said them to herself, as a teenager desperate to leave the town but equally desperate to prove she could come back, as a young mother, as she hit middle age, and then in her old age? How often had she thought of this moment, and now it was here?
The young man stood from his stool behind the counter. ‘Have you got the slip?’
She retrieved a plastic sleeve from her handbag and with shaking fingers slid it under the counter. Kitty wasn’t sure if the shake was from nerves or old age, but she hadn’t noticed it before. The young man studied the slip, looked back up at her, at Molly and Edward by her side, then back down at the slip again. He smiled, then he laughed.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he said. ‘Sixty-seven years ago!’
Molly and Kitty grinned but Edward’s voice showed concern.
‘You’ll give her the money?’ he asked.
Birdie’s not receiving the money had never entered Kitty’s mind. It had always been a question of how much they would give her with the changes in currency in all of those years. Her original bet surely no longer followed the ordinary rules.
‘A bet’s a bet,’ the man said, his smile large on his face. ‘You know, Josie was my great-grandfather,’ he sounded excited. ‘He died when I was young but I’ll never forget his … hold on.’ His smile quickly faded and he brought the old slip closer to his face. ‘One hundred to one?’ he read the odds, shocked.
Birdie nodded. ‘That’s what Josie gave me.’
‘I’ll have to … I’m not sure I can … I don’t have the authority to … hold on just a minute, please.’
He took the slip and disappeared out the door, leaving them standing there. One of the old men was staring at them.
‘Are you Thomas’s girl?’ he asked.
Birdie turned and examined him. ‘I am.’
‘Jaysus, Sean, would you look at that, Thomas’s girl.’
‘Ha?’ the old man shouted.
‘She’s Thomas’s girl,’ the man shouted.
The old man fixed his eye on Molly. He immediately distrusted her with her blue hair. ‘Is she now?’
‘Not her, the other one.’ He waved his crooked finger. ‘You’re the sic
k girl,’ he said.
Birdie’s cheeks flushed and Kitty could see that still the stigma lived on.
‘And who are you?’ Molly asked, protectively.
‘Paddy Healy. Una and Paddy’s son.’
Birdie’s eyes narrowed as she thought about it, her mind casting back all those years to a time lost or forgotten, deliberately and some naturally. Suddenly her eyes stopped moving from left to right and lit up. ‘From down the road?’
‘Aye.’
‘Rachel’s baby brother.’
‘That’s me.’
Kitty took in his appearance and found it hard to imagine this old man as a baby brother to anyone.
‘Rachel and I were in school together, the times that I was in school.’
He softened. ‘She passed away some ten years ago.’
Birdie’s smile quickly faded. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
The door behind them opened and they heard a loud voice coming from their side of the glass.
‘We’re not giving you the money,’ the voice announced. The source was an old lady in her eighties but time had not been as kind to her as it had been to Birdie. She was badly hunched over a cane, and her hair was almost woollen-looking it was so thick and dry. Dog hairs covered her smock and her swollen legs and ankles had been stuffed into a new pair of Ecco shoes.
‘Excuse me?’ Molly replied, her tone harsh as she stood up to the old woman half her height.
Birdie looked the old woman up and down. ‘Mary O’Hara.’
The woman sniffed. ‘Fitzgerald. So you’re still alive then.’ She looked Birdie up and down in turn.
‘Alive and well,’ Birdie said, straightening up. ‘I assume it is your decision not to give me the money.’
Josie’s great-grandson looked at them apologetically.
‘I’m the authority around here and I say so.’
‘It was a valid bet,’ Birdie said firmly. ‘Your father, at least, was a man of his word.’
‘And you, it turned out, were not.’ She sniffed again and it was clear there was a lot more going on here than a bet made over sixty years ago.
‘I hope this isn’t personal, Mary. That was a long time ago.’