‘No, I’m very pleased to help. And by the way, I’ll come with you. I actually like going to the stores,’ John offered. He was indeed captivated by Orla’s conversations with the butcher, the cheesemaker and all the feeling and prodding of vegetables in the greengrocer’s. Soon it was all packed and paid for.
Orla was very grateful. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll ask one of the O’Haras for a lift back now, so off you go and enjoy your day.’
‘I was going to have yet another coffee,’ John admitted. ‘I see a place over there. Why don’t you put the shopping in the car and we’ll go to the café for ten minutes.’
They chatted easily. Orla told him how she had nearly gone to New York to see Uncle Walter and Chicky, but then of course there had been the accident. Poor Uncle Walter had been killed.
Orla said she had done a course in Dublin and then she and her friend Brigid had gone to London to work. It had been good fun for a while but then her friend had got engaged to and married a madman and anyway, she had been feeling restless and longed for the seas and cliffs of Stoneybridge. There would have been no work for her without Chicky. There was something healing about this place. It helped to take the ache out of her heart.
‘I think I see what you mean about this place being healing,’ John said. ‘I’ve only been here a short time, and I can feel it getting to me.’
‘It must be very different from the life you’re used to,’ she was sympathetic.
‘Very,’ he said, without elaborating on the life he was used to.
‘I suppose you couldn’t sit and have a cup of coffee in a place like this out where you live . . .’
He looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked eventually.
‘John, of course we know that you are Corry Salinas. We knew the moment we saw you, Chicky and I.’
‘But you didn’t say.’ He was stunned.
‘You came here as John. You wanted to be a private person. Why should we say anything?’
‘And the others, the guests? Do they know?’
‘Yes. The Swedish guy copped you the first night, and the English couple, Henry and Nicola, asked Chicky discreetly if you were here incognito.’
‘It’s true what I said. I was on my way to a business meeting in Germany, and I did come here on the spur of the moment.’
‘Sure. And call yourself whatever you want to, John, it’s your life, your holiday.’
‘But if everyone knows . . .?’ he said doubtfully.
‘Honestly, they’ll respect your wanting to be an ordinary person. They’re mainly concentrating on their own lives anyway.’
‘It would make life easier, certainly, if they know already. It’s just that I was hoping to leave that world behind, at least for a while, just spend some time without all that baggage.’
‘It must be desperate having to explain everything and be asked if you know Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt.’
‘It’s not that so much as they have such high expectations of me. They think I actually am the guys I play in the movies. I always feel I disappoint them.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. Everyone here thinks you’re full of charm. Me too. I’ve sort of gone off men myself personally, but you’d put a spark back into the eye.’
‘You mock me. I’m an old, old man,’ he laughed.
‘Oh, I do not mock you, believe me. But I suppose I wish you got more fun out of it: being world famous, successful, everyone loving you. If I had done all you’ve done, I’d be delighted with myself and go round beaming at everyone.’
‘It’s only role-playing,’ he said. ‘That’s my day job. I don’t want to have to do it in real life as well.’
Orla considered this seriously. ‘But you can be yourself with family, can’t you?’ she asked.
‘I don’t have any family, apart from one daughter. I called her in California the other night.’
‘Did you tell her about Stone House? Will she come and bring her family here one day?’
‘She doesn’t have a family. She’s a teacher.’
‘I’m sure she’s very proud of you. Do you go to her school and talk to the kids?’
‘No. Lord, no. I’d never do that.’
‘Wouldn’t they love to meet a film star?’ Orla said, surprised.
‘Oh, Maria Rosa wouldn’t want that,’ he said.
‘I bet she would. Did you ask her?’
‘No. I don’t want to push myself and my kind of life on her.’
‘Lord, aren’t you the most marvellous father. Why didn’t I get parents like you?’
Corry was back in listening mode, where he was always at ease.
‘Are they difficult?’ he asked, full of sympathy.
‘Well yes, to be honest. They want me to be different, I suppose. They think it’s a bit fast to have my own place to live. They think I’m wasting myself washing dishes for Chicky – that’s how they put it. They want me to marry one of the God-awful O’Haras and have a big vulgar house with pillars in front of it and three bathrooms.’
‘Is that what they say?’
‘They don’t need to say it, it’s there in the air like a great mushroom cloud.’
‘Maybe they just wish the best for you and don’t know how to put it.’
‘Oh no, my mother always knows how to put it, usually in four different ways all saying the same thing – which is that I am wasting my life.’
‘And leaving what you call the God-awful O’Haras aside, do you have anybody you do like?’ He was gentle, not intrusive; interested.
‘No. As I told you, I’ve sort of closed down a bit on men.’
‘That’s a pity. Some of them are very good people.’ He had a wonderful smile, slightly ironic, full of conspiratorial fun.
‘I don’t want to take the risk. I’m sure you know that yourself.’
‘I do know. I’ve been married twice and involved with a lot more women. I don’t really understand them but I didn’t ever give up on them!’
‘It’s different for you, John, you have the whole world to choose from.’
‘You look to me like a girl who would have a fairly wide choice, Orla.’
‘No. I can’t get my head around it. At best it’s a kind of compromise. At worst it’s a nightmare.’
‘Were you never in love?’
‘Truthfully, no. Were you?’
‘With Monica, my first wife, yes, I am sure I was. Maybe it was because we were young and it was all so new and exciting and we had Maria Rosa. But I think it was love . . .’
‘Then you had more than I had.’
‘Do you set out to avoid it, the love thing?’
‘No, but I do set out not to be made a fool of and not to compromise. I’ve seen too much of that. My mother and father have very little to talk about, supposing they ever had . . . My aunt Mary is married to a man who is about a hundred because he owns a big property, but he really doesn’t know what day it is. Chicky did marry for love, but then her fellow was wiped off the face of the earth in a car crash. Not much of a recommendation for love, any of this!’
‘Maybe you have a suit of armour up before they get a chance to know you,’ he suggested.
‘Maybe. I don’t want to be a ball-breaker or anything. That’s just the way it seems to turn out.’
‘No, I didn’t mean to suggest that . . .’
‘And I suppose the real irritation is my parents. They are much too interested in my life. It’s getting harder and harder not to show them how annoying it is.’
‘Oh, parents always get it wrong, Orla. It goes with the territory.’ John sounded rueful.
‘You seem to have it sorted though with your daughter.’
‘No way. I want so much for her. I want her to have the best but I know I’m not delivering it. I get it so wrong.’
‘And what kind of parents did you have?’
‘None. I have no idea who my father was, and my mother never came back to find me.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Orla reac
hed out and laid her hand on his. ‘I’m such a clown. I didn’t know. Forgive me.’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. I’m just telling you why I’m so hung up and holding on to family,’ John said. ‘I never knew any one thing about my mother except that she spoke Italian and left me wrapped up at the door of an orphanage nearly sixty years ago. The hours, weeks and years I’ve wondered about her, and hoped she was all right and tried to work out why she gave me away.’ Orla’s hand was still on his. She squeezed it from solidarity.
‘I bet she was thinking of you all the time, too. I bet she was. And look what you did with your life! She would have been so proud.’
‘Would she? OK, I got to be famous but, as you say, I don’t get enough joy from it, enough fun. She might have liked me to have a good time and been happier, less restless.’
‘Let’s do a deal,’ Orla suggested. ‘I will have more of an open mind about men. I won’t assume they are all screaming bores. I’ll do that American thing of assuming that strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet!’
‘I don’t think it’s just American,’ John said defensively.
‘Possibly not. Anyway, I won’t vomit at the thought of going out with one of Brigid O’Hara’s awful brothers or uncles. I’ll give them a chance. Does that sound reasonable?’
‘Very much so.’ He smiled at her intensity.
‘You, on the other hand, are going to enjoy being who you are. People love to meet a celebrity, John. It does them good. We live dull lives. It’s just great to meet a movie star. Be generous enough to understand that.’
‘I promise I will. I didn’t think of it like that.’
‘Oh, and about your daughter; maybe you should tell her the kind of things you’ve told me about love. I’d love a father who could speak like that.’
‘I never have before,’ he said.
‘No, but you could start now and maybe tell her that you would love to see her and meet her friends, if it wouldn’t embarrass her or them. I bet she’d be pleased.’
‘I guess I’m afraid she’ll reject me.’
‘I’m going to face men who might reject me. This is meant to be a deal, isn’t it?’
‘Right. And will you cut your parents some slack too? They may be driving you nuts but they do want what’s best for you.’
‘Yes, I’ll try. I will probably be canonised in my own lifetime, but I’ll try!’ she laughed. They shook hands on the deal and began to drive back to Stone House.
On the way they passed Stoneybridge Golf Club. A few hardy golfer souls were out on the course. Outside the door was parked a violent pink van.
‘Oh Lord, Frank’s at the hot whiskeys already,’ Orla sighed.
John braked suddenly.
‘I’d love a hot whiskey myself,’ he said.
‘You can’t, you’re not a member of the Club. Anyway, you’ve only just had your breakfast.’
But John had parked the car and was striding to the main door.
Alarmed now, Orla ran after him.
Alone at the bar, on a high stool, peering at a newspaper with a magnifying glass, sat a tousled old man. He looked up when the door opened with a crash. A total stranger came through, a man in his fifties in an expensive leather jacket.
‘Well, if it isn’t Frank Hanratty, as I live and breathe,’ the stranger said.
‘Um . . . Yes?’ Frank was rarely approached by people who did know him, and scarcely ever by people who didn’t.
‘Well, how are you keeping, Frank, my old friend?’
Frank peered at him. ‘You’re Corry Salinas,’ he said eventually in disbelief.
‘Of course I am. Who else would I be?’
‘But how do you know me?’
‘We were only talking about you in the pub yesterday. I know you are a great film buff, and now today I find you in here.’
‘But how did you know I was in here?’ Poor Frank was bewildered.
‘Isn’t that your van outside?’ John said, as if it was as simple as that.
Frank nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, sure enough. ‘And will you have a hot whiskey, er, Corry?’ Frank offered.
‘I’m no good at morning drinking. I’d love a cup of coffee, however. And do you know my friend Orla?’
They sat and talked about movies, and the boy who served them brought their coffees to a table.
‘I can’t believe you came in here to see me.’ Frank was happier than he had ever been.
John and Orla exchanged glances.
The bargain had been made.
Henry and Nicola
When Henry had qualified as a doctor his parents had hoped that he would go on and specialise, perhaps in surgery. His mother and father, both doctors, regretted that they hadn’t studied further. Look at the worlds it could have opened up, they would say wistfully.
But Henry was adamant. He was going to be a GP.
There wasn’t any room for him in his parents’ practice but he would find a small community where he and Nicola would soon know everyone. They would have children and be part of the place.
Henry had met Nicola during the first week at medical school. Although they were so very young, they both knew in a matter of weeks that this was it. The two sets of parents begged them to wait, let the romance run a bit before getting married. Four years later, they said they would wait no longer.
It was a small, cheerful wedding in Nicola’s home town. The guests all said that in a complicated world full of confusion and misunderstandings, Henry and Nicola stood out like two rocks in a stormy sea.
They prepared themselves well for careers in general practice with six-month postings in a maternity hospital, a heart clinic and a children’s facility. Soon they felt ready to hang up their names outside a door, and while they were looking for the perfect place to settle, they also decided to try for a child. It was time.
It was hard to find the perfect place to live, but even harder to conceive a child. They couldn’t understand it. They were doctors, after all; they knew about timing and fertility chances. A medical examination showed no apparent problem. They were encouraged to keep trying, which they were certainly doing anyway. After a year they tried IVF, and that didn’t work either.
They endured the well-meaning and irritating comments of their parents who were hoping to be grandparents, and of friends offering babysitting services.
It would happen or it would not happen. Henry and Nicola could weather anything. They even survived a tragedy which unfolded in front of them during a stint in an A&E department. A crazed young man high on drugs brought in his battered girlfriend and, in full view of everyone, shot her dead and then killed himself.
On the surface, they coped very well: Henry and Nicola were much praised for the way they handled the situation and protected the other patients from trauma. But inside it had been a very serious shock, and there remained a memory of the morning when, at a distance of five feet, they had watched two lives end. They were trained to deal with life and death but this was too raw, too cruel, too insane. It took its toll. They slowed down in their efforts to find the perfect place to live and to practise. Compared to the violence they had seen close up, it didn’t seem so important any more.
One day, Nicola saw an advertisement for a ship’s doctor with a cruise company that sailed the Mediterranean. They laughed at it together. What a life: deck tennis, cocktails with the Captain and dealing with a little indigestion or sunburn, which would be the most likely problems. What a picnic it would be. And something seemed to click with both of them. They had worked hard always; there was never time for foreign holidays. Maybe this was what they needed.
A little sun, a rest, a change. Anything that might blot out the memory of that day and their pointless sense of regret that they had not been able to second-guess a drug addict and his intentions.
They applied and went to the interview.
The shipping line said it could only employ one doctor but that they could travel together, if the oth
er one would be able to busy herself or himself doing something else on board.
Nicola offered to teach bridge and run the ship’s library.
‘Or you could be the doctor,’ Henry said, ‘and I will do something else.’
‘They would only want you to dance with the old ladies. I think you’re safer in a white coat in a surgery,’ Nicola laughed.
And they signed up.
They were a very popular couple on the ship, and they took to the life easily. Cruise passengers were mainly eager and innocent; their health problems were mostly connected with old age. They needed reassurance and encouragement. Henry was very good in both areas.
Nicola went from strength to strength in her little world. She even started classes in technology, teaching passengers how to work their mobile phones, Skype and basic computing skills.
They saw places they would never have visited otherwise. What other way would they have been able to visit the souks and marketplaces in Tangiers, the casinos in Monte Carlo, the ruins of Pompeii and Ephesus? They stood by the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem and swam in the blue seas around Crete.
It was only intended to be a six-month posting but when the company offered to renew the contract, it was very hard to say no. This was the first time they had ever been totally relaxed; they had time to talk to each other, to share experiences. There was a lightness of spirit they hadn’t known before. The terrible events of the shooting in the A&E department were beginning to become less sharp.
And the winter-cruise schedule they were offered would be in the Caribbean. How else would they ever see places this far away? What an opportunity! They signed on again.
As they walked through the old plantations in Jamaica, or sat among the exotic flowers in Barbados, they congratulated themselves on the good fortune they had happened upon. Sometimes they talked about going back to ‘real’ medicine and the business of having a family by adoption. But this was not a regular conversation. They were just so lucky to have this time out.
And it wasn’t as if it was all leisure. They did what they were asked to do. They looked after the people on board. Henry saved a boy’s life by spotting a burst appendix and having him airlifted to a hospital. Nicola did a Heimlich manoeuvre and saved an elderly woman from choking. Henry confirmed that a sixteen-year-old girl was pregnant and helped her break the news to her parents. Nicola sat for hour after hour with a depressed woman who had considered coming on this cruise to end her life. The woman wrote to the chairman of the shipping line saying that she had never had such caring attention in her life and that she felt much better now.