Scarlet Feather (44 page)

‘I know her. She’s good, isn’t she?’

‘Gorgeous,’ said one of them.

‘Some guys get all the luck,’ said the other.

‘Do you think she might make it, big time?’ Tom asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He wanted so very much for this to be a success for her; he wanted that much more than the base wish that she be a spectacular failure and give up the dream.

‘Aw, she’s not in this seriously, she’s only doing it for fun,’ said one of the men.

‘She’s a friend of Joe Feather, he got her the gig,’ said the other.

‘I think she’s hoping to do it as a career,’ Tom said.

They shook their heads.

‘No way,’ said one.

‘She’s far too old,’ said the other.

‘She’s twenty-five,’ Tom said.

‘Exactly,’ said the man, and looked back at the catwalk where the girls were coming out now in nightdresses. Marcella could not have looked more naked if she had stood in front of them without a stitch of clothing on. The wispy garment that hit and missed her artistically just pointed up all the beautiful parts of her, as if she had been coloured in with dayglo pen.

He left her a note saying that she was marvellous, the show was a winner and he was so proud of her. Then he drove the van to the canal and sat and watched two swans for about ten minutes as they sailed up and down and arched their long, beautiful necks. He didn’t realise that he was crying until he went to start the van again, and felt his tears splash on his hand. He must be going totally mad. At the premises he found that two envelopes had been delivered by hand. Geraldine had sent a letter to Cathy; it was short and factual. She wanted to make another investment in the company, and believed Cathy to be short-sighted and not looking after the good of the investors by refusing it. However, if that was her intent, she enclosed some details on renting equipment, china and cutlery. It would be expensive, but at least there would be no initial outlay.

Cathy rang her aunt and left a thank-you message on her machine. ‘Tom and I both think that’s a great idea. If we only have to rent it for a few months it will all make sense. Thanks again, Ger. You’re great.’

The other was from Joe Feather to Tom. He had heard by devious means that they had had a break-in and he wished to offer his condolences and some cash in hand. This was not a time to be filling in forms and
VAT
returns. Take this thousand now, and of course he’d pay the bill for the catering for the press reception in the handy folding money too. Tom rang his brother and left a thank-you message on his machine.

‘Cathy and I want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts, we will take that thousand pounds joyfully and lodge it as a further investment, but alas, everything else has to be done straight up, and right through the books. If you knew our accountant you’d realise we are more afraid of him than anyone on earth. Thanks again though, Joe, you’re great. Oh, and I went to the rehearsal this morning, show looks really good.’

‘Does the show look really good?’ Cathy asked.

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Well, everything else you said to him was lies, you’re not afraid of James Byrne, it’s just we don’t want hot money floating around.’

‘It was okay, the show,’ Tom said slowly. ‘That’s what it was.’

‘But presumably you found a better word to describe it to Marcella?’ Cathy laughed.

‘I did, a few,’ he grinned ruefully.

‘Listen, how in the name of God are we going to do that reception with no equipment?’

‘We start renting,’ Cathy said, phoning the company. ‘This will be our first real do inside Haywards. We don’t want to borrow a plate or a glass from them; we gotta show them.’

‘Did you really think it was good?’ Marcella asked when she got home.

They had been having drinks, Joe and his partners, about finer points, and Mr Newton had joined them.

‘Was that Mr Newton himself?’ Tom asked, regretting his sneer the moment he had said it.

Marcella however had noticed nothing amiss. ‘Yes, he’s as nice as anything, and very easy going to talk to. When you consider all the kinds of people he has handled in his career! He’s just very normal and ordinary, it’s like talking to anyone.’

‘Imagine,’ Tom said.

‘I know, and he was very praising of everything about the show. Joe was thrilled.’

‘Good, great.’

‘It’s all kind of unbelievable to think that it’s all going to happen on this very Friday,’ Marcella said.

He looked at her, mute with the fear that those two business associates of Joe might be right, that Marcella was far too old even to think about beginning a modelling career. ‘And there’s a real possibility that Mr Newton might get you a contract?’ he asked her.

‘Well, I don’t want to be too hopeful, but it looks like it. Still, he’s only seen two rehearsals today, and apparently it all depends on how you do on the night… People can be fine in front of a handful of people and yet go to pieces in front of an audience.’

‘You didn’t go to pieces today, and there were lots of people there.’ He was begging her to have confidence in herself.

‘But there’ll be three hundred and more on the night,’ Marcella said, hugging herself. ‘Still, I think I can do it, all those younger ones there in the group give me great confidence… It’s been great working with them.’

‘Are they younger than you, then?’ Tom asked, wide-eyed.

‘Oh, Tom, will you shut up. Of course they are, some of them are at least eight or nine years younger than me, stop playing the fool.’

I didn’t see that they were, you looked so much the best… But would Mr Newton not be looking for them, then, or are they too young?’ he asked.

Marcella frowned. ‘You know, I thought that too, that maybe he’d go for the younger ones for his books, but he said to Joe that he thought I’d be suited for a lot of stuff he has on hand.’ Marcella hugged herself. ‘It’s all so wonderful, Tom, really, I can hardly take it all in.’

The letters, faxes and e-mails were coming in thick and fast from Chicago. Each one was headed simply
Wedding
.

‘Nobody ever got married in the world before Marian Scarlet,’ Cathy grumbled, looking at the latest message.

‘So what are you complaining about? They want fancy, we give them fancy.’ Tom was determined to be cheerful.

‘No, wait till you hear.’

‘Honestly, Cathy, it’s just because she’s your sister you’re making all this fuss. That church hall where they’ve never had a wedding in their life, where you didn’t want to have it, will become
the
place, believe me, Ricky’s going to take pictures of it…’

‘But you haven’t heard…’

‘The priest is delighted, and I think that we’ll make a fortune out of it for us and for him too,’ Tom said hastily. Cathy watched helplessly. ‘My father’s men have it all painted up already, the priest has got the parishioners to plant window boxes. It’s going to look—’ He broke off at the sight of her face. ‘What is it?’ Tom asked.

‘They want a traditional Irish wedding, Tom, they want us to serve corned beef and cabbage.’

‘What for, in the name of God?’

‘That’s what they think is traditional Irish food.’

‘But Marian was brought up in St Jarlath’s Crescent, she
can’t
think that.’ Tom was aghast.

‘She’s been a long time in Illinois,’ Cathy shrugged.

‘We are
not
going to serve them corned beef and cabbage,’ Tom said.

‘I know.’

‘So who’s going to tell her?’ he asked menacingly.

‘You have the better turn of phrase,’ Cathy said.

‘She’s your bloody sister,’ Tom answered.

‘It’s a question of what else we can persuade them is typically Irish.’

‘But there are a thousand things, for God’s sake. Wicklow lamb, Irish salmon, loads of lobster, mussels, we could have a centrepiece of Irish shellfish. I would have thought they’d have liked huge ribs of Irish beef. Isn’t Chicago the sort of home of the stockyards and everything? They’d be used to big steer on their plates.’

‘They don’t want what they’re used to. They want Irish dancers, shillelaghs, colleens saying top of the mornin’ to them.’

‘They don’t?’ Tom was aghast.

Cathy waved the letter at him again. ‘Well it sounds very like it from this… All Harry’s relations are so looking forward to the whole Irish experience, steeping themselves in another culture, experiencing the simple, unspoiled peasant cuisine.’

Tom put his head in his hands. ‘Come on, Cathy, let’s think what we’ll offer them. Imagine, we once thought this was going to be an easy number.’

‘There’s no such thing as an easy number in this game,’ Cathy said, with such a sigh that he looked up suddenly.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned at the expression on her face.

‘Of course I’m not. We can’t go on fooling ourselves. There’s no way we can do this wedding.’ She was bent double now, her head in her hands, her whole body shaking with tears. ‘We can’t possibly go ahead, it’s ludicrous, we were mad to take it on…’ she sobbed.

‘Cathy, Cathy…’ He got up from the chair in the front room and came to kneel down beside where she was hugging her knees and making no attempt to hide the tears or the fact that she had dropped her guard so completely.

‘We’ll think of something,’ he said.

‘But what is there left to think of,’ she wept. ‘Marian’s gone mad, we should never have listened to one word she said, we should have told her we were done over and we couldn’t cope, why do we have to keep on pretending and say that everything’s all right when it’s not.’

‘Because that’s the only way we stay in business.’ He was very gentle and stroked her head soothingly.

‘No, we don’t have to pretend, we’re finished, aren’t we, we’re never going to get back up and running…’ She stood up suddenly, and looked at him, red-eyed and distraught. ‘Can’t you see we’re only fooling ourselves, every step we take we’re only sinking in further, it just makes it more difficult for us to get out, deeper and deeper in debt…’

Tom had stood up and now he pulled her to him in a big bear-hug.

‘Now this is not going to go on, it’s not, you have to help me. When I hear you saying all this, I half-believe you, do you hear?’

She cried in his arms as he stroked her hair over and over. It was a luxury not having to hold back, to keep a permanently false grin on her face in front of June and Con and anyone else who came in and out.

Her shoulders shook and he held her until the sobs died down. She mumbled something he couldn’t hear into his sweater.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said it’s over, Tom, we have to be strong and face it.’

‘There’s nothing strong about letting your sister down on the biggest day of her life.’

‘Tell her to get some other leprechaun outfit.’

‘There isn’t one, we’re the only leprechaun outfit in town.’ He looked down at her face. It had worked a little. There was a half smile.

‘You never thought of quitting?’

‘No, not ever.’

‘Right then.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘Right then, if we’re not quitting, then we’ll have to redefine.’

‘What, come up with something traditionally Irish that Scarlet Feather can actually live with?’ He looked at her. She was better. They were back in business.

Their computer had escaped the vandalism by the sheer good luck of having been out for repair at the time. Cathy sat down in front of it.

‘We’ll send an e-mail, you come up with the creative, persuasive bit and I’ll do the dear long-lost sister part.’

‘We must make her think she’s getting it just right,’ Tom said thoughtfully.

‘Whatever made us think that a catering business had anything to do with producing food?’ Cathy laughed.

‘It’s only for the trade, Mam,’ Joe Feather said to his mother for the twentieth time.

‘But there was a thing in the paper saying it was for everyone.’ ‘Everyone in the rag trade, Mam, believe me I’d invite you if there was anything there you’d like to see.’ He spoke the truth. His mother would not like to see her future daughter-in-law, of whom she already disapproved mightily, dressed in next to nothing. Nor would she like to see her son Tom’s face as this was going on. Joe had seen him at the rehearsal, and had realised how hard he was taking the whole thing, and yet trying to face up to it as well. Which wasn’t really necessary at all. Marcella hadn’t a chance in hell of making it on the modelling circuit. Beautiful-looking woman, but wooden on stage and built so that you only saw her body, not the garments she was modelling. She wouldn’t last five minutes in the big world out there. Surely Tom didn’t take any of this business about finding work across the water seriously. Surely.

Cathy came back from the cash and carry and Tom helped her unpack the van.

‘Just one message – Simon and Maud don’t love you any more.’

‘Simon and Maud? What have I done now?’

‘It’s what you’ve not done. They want to come and polish your treasures again.’

‘But we don’t
have
any treasures,’ Cathy wailed.

‘We never did, technically,’ Tom said ruefully.

‘They’ll tell
everyone
, it’s worse than having it on the nine o’clock news on television. They can’t come here, they’ll have Muttie and Lizzie up to high doh, the folks in Chicago will cancel, everyone would cancel if they knew what we were working out of.’ She felt guilty about the twins, but she knew that she had total right on her side.

But Tom wouldn’t let her get away with it. ‘They think you’ve gone off them, they want to know what they’ve done.’

‘Shit,’ said Cathy. ‘We don’t need this now.’

Tom said nothing. He continued unpacking.

‘All right, you win, to be fair they’ve enough to cope with, they don’t need it either. I’ll take them out somewhere.’

‘I left their number there on the desk,’ he said. ‘Poor little devils, I’d say life is no bed of roses up in The Beeches.’

She went to the telephone.

The twins’ father answered the phone. Cathy couldn’t remember whether she called him Kenneth or Mr Mitchell.

‘My name is Cathy Scarlet. I would like to speak to Maud Mitchell or Simon Mitchell, please.’

‘Oh, yes indeed, um… er… we
have
met, if I’m not mistaken,’ the voice said.