Chestnut Street (49 page)

Louis was tired. Back in New York this would have been a normal day—he could have got his business done, find what he was looking for. But this crazy country seemed to have closed down for two whole weeks. It was no way to run an economy. He was here to do a job that should have been simple on the face of it, but every complication under the sun had turned up. His client would never understand these delays. Perhaps the place might return to some kind of normal working function in two days’ time. He sure hoped so. He had rented a service apartment for himself for his time in Dublin. It was clean and efficient but without any soul. No way to come back to the city of his birth. But, anyway, coming back as a sort of hired gun, a spy, wasn’t great either.

Louis went into the neat little kitchen. There was nothing to eat. He didn’t fancy going to a big noisy place. On his way back here he had passed a fish-and-chip place. Maybe he could get a takeaway. It was only half a block away. Gianni’s—that’s what it was called.

Gianni’s father asked how business was. Gianni lied, as always.

“Very good, Papa. Many, many people,” he said.

“I don’t think so, Gianni.”

“Why do you not think so, Papa?”

The old man moved between chair and bed and never came downstairs anymore.

“Because if there were many, many people, you would have had your shoes mended, my son.”

“We have enough business, Papa. We live, we live well.”

“You can’t be free, get married, have a life of your own!”

“I don’t
want
to get married and have a life of my own. I like to live here with you.”

“Well, go downstairs and serve all these customers, then.”

“I will, Papa.”

Gianni ran down to his café, which had been empty before, but now there were four people looking around in some confusion.

“I’m very sorry—I was up with my father. He’s old and he fusses a bit. Now, who was first?”

None of them seemed in any hurry; they were polite people. Not like the drunks who often came in, but then it wasn’t closing time yet.

“Well, then sit down, won’t you, and I’ll take your orders.”

“Can you eat here?” the big woman with the funny knitted hat asked.

“Indeed, but perhaps it’s not very festive for New Year’s Eve?” Gianni looked around his drab little premises without much pleasure.

“I’m happy to eat here,” said the woman with the knitted hat.

“Me too,” said the well-dressed young man in the well-cut coat. Gianni would have loved a coat like that and some new shoes. Someday, perhaps.

“And I would like to sit down as well. Too much festivity out there.” The woman in the dark coat with the scarlet scarf was attractive. She didn’t look like someone who would be eating alone in a greasy-spoon place on New Year’s Eve. Then neither
did the rich American businessman. He was entirely too classy for this place.

But he had a license only for a takeaway. Not a proper restaurant, with people sitting down. The little table was just for people waiting to collect their packages from the fryer.

But Gianni didn’t turn away good money. He ran around assembling tomato sauce and vinegar and paper napkins, and then got four plates from the back of the shop.

They had settled at the table as if they had always intended to have supper here.

“Please,” Gianni warned. “Please, if other people come in and want to sit down, will you tell them you are my friends? There are some people who might want to come in here and not go home, if you understand?”

They looked as if they understood.

“So you just say you are friends of Gianni? Okay?”

They seemed to get that too.

As he went to fry the fish Gianni heard them introducing themselves to one another. They all actually seemed pleased to meet three strangers and sit down at the plastic-topped table. Weren’t people extraordinary.

They had no small talk, the people at the table; they plunged straight into what they felt about the year that was just about to end in under two hours.

Martin said that he was lonely because his great friend Geoff had gone to his parents’ instead of eating roast pheasant with Martin. He had been so looking forward to the evening, when they would make their plans for the next year.

“Well, at least he went to his parents’,” Cissy said. “My husband ran away with one of my pupils. Now that’s way worse than your scene.”

Cissy stopped speaking, as if amazed at herself. Normally she froze anyone out who asked about the situation, and here she was, blurting it all out to complete strangers.

“That’s very bad, certainly,” Martin agreed. “At least Geoff is coming back the day after tomorrow. Would you take your husband back if he came and asked you?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I’d like to think not but you are never sure what you might do if the time was right.”

They looked expectantly at the other two, waiting for something to be divulged.

Josie had taken off her knitted hat.

She spoke seriously.

“My sister and I run this vegetable shop, and we were there till seven o’clock tonight with last-minute shoppers. Well, I was there. My sister was at the hairdresser’s. She’s having a big party at our house tonight and my face won’t fit—well, any of me won’t fit. So I said I was going out with friends.” She looked very sad.

Louis, the man with the American accent, patted her on the hand. “And in a way you
are
going out with friends. We are all having dinner with you.”

If Louis had mentioned nothing about his own situation, the others didn’t seem to notice it.

The cod and chips were served and Gianni was pleased to see them all brightening up. From time to time customers came in. Occasionally they looked at the little table of diners.

“I didn’t know you were going upmarket, Gianni,” one of them said.

“These are my friends,” Gianni said proudly.

“Ciao ciao,”
Louis said cheerfully, and they all said it. Gianni was so pleased he brought them all a plastic mug of vermouth each. It tasted like a horrific cough medicine but they all struggled with it.

“I could really do with a glass of decent wine now,” Louis said. “But of course I have nothing in that apartment I rented.”

Martin said that he had plenty of wine at his home but it was a long way away.

Josie said that she had no access to anything either.

They didn’t want to break away from the comfortable intimacy of their little table but they couldn’t face another glass of the medicinal vermouth.

Cissy said, “I only live round the corner, on Chestnut Street—come back to my place.”

And that was how it all began.

Ten years ago tonight.

They all trooped up to Cissy’s flat.

She got out the white wine and Christmas cake and they talked like old friends. They sorted out one another’s problems. Martin should not try to force Geoff to come out if it would break the parents’ hearts. If you loved someone you wanted their happiness. Cissy should start separation and get an immediate order against Frank for the savings that he stole. This was not the time for decency and rising above it. Cissy needed the money. She must go on a luxurious long holiday. They agreed that Josie must hire a business manager to assess the contribution of each sister. Louis unbent enough to tell them that he had fought with his family many years back and had gone to the U.S.A., where he had done well in one kind of thing after another. He worked hard, he made money, but it wasn’t actually the life he had wanted. They suggested he get in touch with his Irish family. Louis said that Hell would have to freeze over before he would even consider doing that. Then it was midnight and they all raised a glass, and said it was a pity to have to go home.

When they said the word
home
, they each said it with varying degrees of scorn. For Martin, home was a house without Geoff; for Josie it was a cold bed-and-breakfast place; for Louis it was a service apartment without a soul. And if they all left, then Cissy would be left in a home that was no longer a home without Frank.

“Why don’t you all stay here?” Cissy said.

She and Josie would share the bedroom, the men could sleep in the sitting room. It was all so much better than the places they had left. Nobody had to be asked twice. Next morning Cissy
made everyone an omelet and the good mood of the night before was still there.

No addresses were exchanged. No plans were made, but they agreed that if chance were to bring them in this direction next New Year’s Eve, they might resume the friends-of-Gianni role.

The new year had begun well for them. Something they had never expected.

A year went by and none of them had done what they had half agreed to do. Cissy had not started proceedings against her wandering husband.

Martin still hoped that Geoff would come out to his parents and take Martin home with him.

Josie had done nothing about the unfair workload between her and Rosemary. She now worked eleven hours a day.

Louis had finished his work in Dublin without contacting his family. He had gone back to the stress-filled job in New York.

New Year’s Eve was approaching and, just like last year, Cissy assured her family and colleagues at work that she was going to be with friends; Josie told her sister that she was going out with friends and, as before, Rosemary showed no interest. This year it didn’t matter because her fellow’s wife wasn’t going skiing so there would be no party. Martin wished he could have been more generous about Geoff going to yet another desperate attempt from his parents to marry him off. But he knew that he sounded resentful and sulky and that Geoff was growing away from him. Louis felt like he had missed out on something in life. He had told many people in New York that he was going to Dublin for New Year’s Eve and, as far as he could see, nobody cared.

Louis was the first in the door of Gianni’s. He had brought a couple of bottles of wine, which he handed over the counter.

“From the friends of Gianni,” he said.

“Are the other people coming?” Gianni asked.

“I sincerely hope so, Gianni; otherwise you and I will have to drink these together.”

The door opened and Josie came in; Cissy and Martin arrived minutes later. The year since they had last met had disappeared; it was like a family reunion. And this time, they had brought nightwear and clean clothes, and the men had brought extra rugs.

It was better than before, and this time they learned that Louis was some kind of investigative spy. He checked people out for big companies, made sure their CVs were accurate. He was good at his job but it was beginning to get to him the number of times he had exposed eager young people trying to get on. He had brought their dreams crashing down.

Josie said that Rosemary was now worse than ever, as her fellow was being kept on a much tighter leash than before.

They were disappointed that the others hadn’t changed their lives as had been hoped, but they were all defensive about themselves.

This year they felt that they knew one another well enough to give their full names and addresses.

And so it went on, year after year. Including the year when Gianni had a black armband on because his father had died during the year. They had all cried with Gianni, even though they had never met the old man. Gianni said if only he could have his life over again he would have taken his papa back to Italy while he still had the strength to enjoy it.

And Frank had tried to come back but Cissy had said no way. Cissy was now the vice principal, and she was going on occasional outings with a new man. She wasn’t forty yet, she had got courage from her New Year’s Eve friends, she didn’t think her life was over.

Josie had been afraid to face them all after ten years of promising to deal with Rosemary. So now she had actually done something. She had also moved out of her sister’s house and left the whole building to her in exchange for running the vegetable shop solo. She had a little flat upstairs and a hardworking assistant.
She had joined a bridge club and next year she was going to lose eighteen pounds’ weight.

Louis said he had been so touched by Gianni’s devotion to his father that he had made contact with his family. They had all forgotten whatever the hard feelings were, and though he remembered, he thought it more politic to forget it all also.

They brought their overnight bags back to Cissy’s place and saw in the New Year cheerfully. For the tenth time together.

“Imagine that we only see one another one night a year,” Josie said.

She looked different these days, no more silly knitted hats and much more confidence in her manner.

“There’s nothing in the rules to say we couldn’t meet more often,” Louis said.

Louis was going to be spending much more time in Ireland anyway and would welcome the congenial company of a friend of ten years’ standing.

MAEVE BINCHY
was the author of numerous bestselling books, including, most recently,
A Week in Winter, Minding Frankie, Heart and Soul
and
Whitethorn Woods
, in addition to
Night of Rain and Stars, Quentins, Scarlet Feather, Circle of Friends
and
Tara Road
, which was an Oprah’s Book Club selection. She wrote for
Gourmet; O, The Oprah Magazine; Modern Maturity
and
Good Housekeeping
, among other publications. She died in July 2012 at the age of seventy-two.

Reading Group Guide

ABOUT THIS READING GROUP GUIDE

The questions, discussion topics, and reading list that follow are intended to enhance your reading group’s discussion of
Chestnut Street
, stories from beloved, bestselling author Maeve Binchy.

ABOUT THE BOOK

While she was writing columns for
The Irish Times
and her best-selling novels, Maeve Binchy also had in mind to write a book that revolved around one street with many characters coming and going. Every once in a while, she would write and would then put the pages in a drawer. “For the future,” she would say. The future is now.