The Hat Shop on the Corner (3 page)

As she locked up, the cat suddenly pushed out past her.

‘Going on the prowl!’ she joked, watching it slink along the pavement and disappear into the darkness.

She decided to walk home along by the Shelbourne Hotel and up around the edge of the Green, the fresh night air filling her lungs.

At home, the flat seemed strangely silent. There were a few messages on the answering machine from her friends Kim and Fergus, checking that she was OK, and more letters of condolence from old family friends. Ellie would deal with them later. First she was dying for a mug of tea and some nice buttery toast: the work had made her starving.

Curling up on the sofa in the sitting room, she finally got a chance to study the documents that Neil Harrington had delivered to the shop earlier on. She was careful not to smudge them with her buttery fingers but even a very quick perusal seemed to indicate that he and his clients were offering a good price for the property that Madeleine Matthews had been wise enough to buy outright. It was a tempting offer and she could understand her mother’s readiness to negotiate with them. The small business she had started was now worth quite a large sum.

Ellie was too tired tonight to read the minutiae of the contract but she promised herself that tomorrow she would read it properly, for the proposed sale of the business would ensure a far greater inheritance from her mother’s estate than she had ever imagined.

All night she tossed and turned, her sleep disturbed both by the exciting prospect of having a large sum of money at her disposal and by guilt about selling the hat shop, the business her mother had worked so hard to build up. Her mind was in utter turmoil as she imagined the shop finally closed down.

‘Oh, it’s a miracle. I am so pleased! I can’t believe it!’ confessed Maureen Cassidy the next day as she tried on the dusky pink chapeau with the slight upturn and the silk peony roses with their paler pink and cream petals lolling against the crown. ‘Oh, I do love the way you’ve used the cream ribbon and petals to show off the pink!’

‘It’s a beautiful hat, Mum,’ complimented Lucy, the bride-to-be. ‘It’s exactly what you wanted and the shape suits your face perfectly. The colour is just right for your outfit.’

Relieved at seeing such a satisfied customer, Ellie began to relax.

‘You saved the day, Miss Matthews. Thank you. I know your mother would be very proud of you, very proud,’ gushed her client, taking out her credit card as Ellie gently placed the hat in a pale blue hatbox, easing a light layer of tissue over it for protection.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said, smiling.

‘My other daughter, Jenny, is getting married early next year,’ confided Maureen Cassidy, ‘and of course there will have to be something totally different for that wedding!’

‘Another new hat,’ joked Lucy, throwing her eyes to heaven.

Ellie was about to say that completing this commission had been a one-off and that the shop was likely to be sold in a few months’ time, but instead found herself biting her tongue and saying nothing.

‘I see the little black cat is back,’ murmured Mrs Cassidy.

‘The cat?’

‘Yes, your mother always used to say that cat brought her luck. Used to come and go as it pleased.’

‘Mum, you are so superstitious,’ joked her daughter.

Ellie said nothing as she stared at the cat, which had somehow manoeuvred itself into a snug corner near the window.

‘I am eternally grateful to you, Ellie dear, and I see you have the same wonderful talent as your mother!’

Ellie blushed as the Cassidys said their goodbyes. She wished Lucy well with the wedding, and was filled with a strange sense of satisfaction and yearning as she watched mother and daughter walk away arm in arm, the pale blue hatbox swinging between them.

She was about to put the latch on the door and close up when her best friend, Fergus, appeared.

‘I called to the apartment and when there was no reply I guessed you might be here,’ he said, hugging her to his skinny frame. ‘You OK, El?’

‘Yeah, just a bit emotional. I’ve been clearing up and cleaning out. Sold a hat to one of my mother’s customers for her daughter’s wedding on Saturday.’

‘Hey, that’s great!’

‘Yeah, I suppose, but it made me think of Mum.’

‘You poor old thing,’ he said, holding her close. Ellie was comforted by his warm embrace and thoughtfulness. Fergus Delaney and herself had been close ever since they met up at Irish college when they were both thirteen years old. Over the years Fergus had always been a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board for mad ideas and the best friend a girl could have. The fact that Fergus didn’t fancy her in the slightest, and had told her when he was nineteen that he suspected he liked only men, made her love him even more. With his roaring red hair and pale skin and freckles, Fergus was one of those Celtic men who stood out from the crowd and was always loyal and true to his friends. Madeleine had adored him and insisted on trying to feed him up whenever he called to the apartment.

Over the past few weeks he had been a huge support, visiting her mother in the hospital, helping with the funeral arrangements, checking in on her constantly and holding her hand when she felt scared and sad, telling her she was not alone.

‘What about lunch?’

‘I was about to take a break,’ she admitted, yawning, ‘though I have a load of paperwork I have to read thoroughly.’

‘I’ve had no breakfast yet.’ He gave her one of those pleading looks that are irresistible. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Let’s go eat then.’

They got a table in the corner of Ryan’s Café, where Fergus opted for the all-day breakfast, loading his plate with rashers and sausages and pudding and a big helping of chips and beans.

‘I don’t know where you put all that.’

It wasn’t fair, thought Ellie, for Fergus seemed to burn food like a fire, stoking up energy. She chose the cheesy pasta and a side salad.

‘So what’s this about paperwork?’ he asked, munching.

‘You won’t believe it, but Mum was talking to the developers about selling the shop,’ she confided. ‘Their solicitor called yesterday with copies of the contracts that had been drawn up.’

‘And what do you make of it?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s a bit of a shock. I always imagined the shop and my mother going on for ever. You know she was really opposed to the big shopping scheme they are planning, and I guess that’s why it was such a surprise that she was even negotiating with them. I’d have thought she’d have sent them packing.’

‘Given the circumstances,’ prompted Fergus gently, ‘Madeleine was probably thinking of you.’

‘I know. It means she realized all along that she was dying, that there was no way she was going to get better.’

‘And she knew you were settled and happy in your job and the money from the sale would be a real inheritance. Dublin property prices have gone through the roof and a shop just off Grafton Street should fetch a fortune.’

‘Fergus, she was thinking of me. She always did. But still, Mum adored the shop and . . . well . . .’

‘You shouldn’t sign or do anything with that contract until you get someone to read it.’

‘You could read it!’ she cajoled.

He threw his eyes upwards. ‘Come off it, Ellie, we’re both shite at figures and legalese. Someone else, promise!’

‘I promise.’

‘You do want to sell it?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so. It’s just all happening so fast. Losing the shop will be like losing another part of Mum. Part of what I’ve grown up with, what I am.’

‘Then don’t do anything hasty. Take your time. Don’t let the big boys bully you into something you’re not sure about.’

Ellie took a deep breath. How was it that Fergus was so wise and always gave such good advice?

‘Are you going to eat the rest of that pasta?’ he enquired, staring at her plate.

‘I’ve had enough,’ she said, passing the dish over to him.

‘You know, it’s a great little shop in a wonderful location,’ he mused, spearing a piece of creamy penne, ‘and you don’t have to sell if you don’t want to. Think about it.’

Fergus had walked her back to the shop and then taken off on a mission to meet up with the new graphic designer who was coming on board the small advertising agency where he worked.

Ellie let herself in and sat behind the counter watching the street outside. The distant sounds of traffic and the rumble of the city were strangely comforting as she tried to pretend nothing had changed in the small millinery shop, and that her mother might appear in the doorway any minute.

She sat there for hours, remembering her mother, always charming and bright, making magic as she worked, singing softly under her breath, as Ellie played dolls with the polished wooden hat blocks and learned in time the essentials of hat-making.

             

Over the weekend Ellie decided to trawl through her mother’s old bank statements, cashbooks and accounts for the shop. Reading Madeleine Matthews’s perfect writing with its odd fancy curl invoked a strange mixture of emotions: sadness and a certain pride in her mother’s achievements. She remembered the large clientele and all the commissions her mother had worked on over the years. There had been the sparkling production of
Pygmalion
at the Abbey Theatre and a very stylish
Importance of Being Earnest
at the Gate Theatre. Her mother had created headwear for a huge number of stage productions over the years. Then of course there were all the fashion shows: Madeleine Matthews had worked with so many designers on hats and headpieces for their collections. But the mainstay had been her loyal clientele of stylish women of all ages in search of the perfect hat for a special occasion.

Going over the old cashbooks and accounts revealed the delicate balance of their financial affairs in a confusing array of debits and credits. Her concentration was suddenly disturbed by the mad ringing of the doorbell as Fergus and Kim dropped in to see how she was.

‘Ellie, it’s the weekend. Why don’t we all go for a drink in Hartigan’s?’ coaxed Kim, glancing at the array of papers and books spread all over the table and couch.

‘I can’t,’ she moaned, ‘I’ve got to try and read all this stuff from the shop.’

‘Do it another night! It’s Saturday,’ begged Fergus.

Ellie refused. Besides, she wasn’t exactly in the humour for a glass of wine or a pint in a noisy pub. She’d far prefer to stay home and try to get to grips with the finances of the business before she made any decision.

‘Leave her alone, Fergus,’ argued Kim protectively. ‘Just because we want to go drinking doesn’t mean Ellie has to. OK?’

Fergus looked instantly apologetic. ‘Do you want us to get you anything?’ he offered. ‘A takeaway, a pizza, chips on the way home?’

‘You have eaten?’ questioned Kim, her blue eyes serious.

‘I was going to make myself a sandwich later.’

‘You have to look after yourself,’ she scolded. ‘You’ve been under a lot of stress. I’ll make you something before we leave.’

‘You two sit there and I’ll do it,’ insisted Fergus, disappearing off to the galley kitchen, banging around and talking to himself, as he made toasted cheese sandwiches and coffee.

‘There’s so much to go over,’ confided Ellie to her oldest friend. ‘Tax returns, accounts, though everything seems up to date.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ offered Kim.

For a second she hesitated. Kim and herself had started school on the same day and despite being total opposites – one tall and fair and sporty, and one small, dark and arty – had become instant best friends. In senior school when a crowd of thirteen-year-old girls had begun to tease Ellie unmercifully, it was Kim who had told the bullies to leave her alone. In turn, when Kim had admitted she hated French and was bound to fail it in her Leaving Certificate exams, it was Ellie who insisted for the following four months that all their conversations were held in French.

‘
Non
,
non
,
non
!’ Despite Kim’s protests it had worked. Following a degree in commerce, Kim, who was a whiz with figures, now worked in Davy’s stockbrokers. She was a numbers expert but it wasn’t fair to ask her, when she was all dressed up in her flirty red skirt and black boots, to give up her Saturday night to pore over account books.

‘Maybe next week, some night after work, if you’ve got the time you could run over everything with me?’

‘Sure,’ promised Kim.

Ellie hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she devoured Fergus’s tasty grilled cheese sandwiches layered with onion and Worcestershire sauce.

‘Bit of energy for the night,’ he teased.

‘Listen, thanks, you two,’ said Ellie, half tempted to abandon the work and join them. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘See you next week,’ they both promised and she listened to them tramp down the wooden staircase of the tall Georgian house, slamming the door as they left.

Tucked up in bed later that night with a calculator and pen and paper, she thought about Fergus’s assessment of her. Perhaps she was a little crazy, totting up figures like a lunatic instead of being out with her friends. She pushed the thought away as she studied the blue ledger. Her mother’s business seemed to have gone up and down like the proverbial roller coaster for a number of years. Some months were busy and others deadly quiet. Times when Madeleine had large sums of money on deposit in the bank and other days when they were almost broke. Yet her proud mother had never alluded to a shortage of money. Never said a word. Why had her mother hidden so much from her, especially during those precarious patches? Ellie frowned, wondering how she had persisted in her childhood assumption that everything would always be all right, that her elegant, capable mother could resolve any problem.