was a woman in her sixties. She used to sit in the evenings in her poky little office and knit and crochet,
probably to pass the time. I got chatting to her one day and admired some of the stuff that she’d made. One thing led to another and she ended up lending me a sewing machine. Once Georgie
left, I spent all my spare time in my room, altering my weekend bargains and having the time of my life.
During the day I did two jobs, one as a waitress in a restaurant called Galliano’s, which was an upmarket caff with delusions of grandeur. Then I worked as a barmaid in the Frog and
Nightgown in Crouch End. I’ve never understood the names that the English give their pubs. Anyway, I loathed both jobs with a passion. I hid it well, though, and earned a small fortune in
tips. I think it was that summer that decided me, one way or the other, that earning my living would have to be somehow centred on clothes. I missed the range of markets when I came back to Dublin
and almost got to resent Helly’s wedding for pulling me back home before I was ready.
Anyway, the afternoon that Claire and I spent together was a typical one for early September. The weather is often better than in the summer. Or what’s supposed to be summer in Ireland. We
were lounging on the patio in hazy sunshine and she opened a bottle of wine. Claire had persuaded Georgie’s dad to upgrade our flat. She’d even stayed in Dublin most of that summer to
supervise the work. That was the start of Claire’s passion for design and she was really good at it. She’d showered our landlord with plans and schemes and costings that surprised and
impressed even us. She impressed him, too, and he offered her a job on the spot. He had lots of renovation projects going on all over Dublin. The man was loaded. He just couldn’t seem to get
it wrong, old man White. Everything he touched turned to gold. I remember how Claire had jumped at his offer, even though she’d seemed to be hell-bent earlier in the year on coming to London
with Georgie and me. But whatever Georgie’s dad lured her with had been too good, and so she stayed put, apart from the occasional long weekend with us, sneaking into our room in the hostel
and sleeping on the floor. And of course, there was Paul, who stayed in Dublin that summer as well, another reason to stay close to home.
I remember thinking that maybe things weren’t going too well between them and that Claire had stayed for the summer to put things right. Maybe she was trying to keep on fixing things. As
you do. At least, that’s what I believed at the time. There was no way I’d have asked her, though. We had an unspoken agreement that what happened between her and Paul was private, off
limits. It would have made my life too difficult, had I been in the middle, as the sister and the friend. And, even though Paul and I had always shared most things, I would never have pried into
his relationship with Claire, for the same reason. I think he understood that well enough.
But it meant that I missed him in a way I wasn’t prepared to admit, not then. I remember thinking how much easier it would have been if he had fallen in love with somebody I could like
that wasn’t already my friend. My own problems with Ray complicated things even more. It was very hard watching the progress of the perfect relationship while I was often so unhappy with my
own.
One practical benefit, though, for all of us in her staying in Dublin that summer was that we had a patio and a deck and a built-in barbecue long before other people like to think that they were
invented.
‘Well?’ she was saying, as she tested the varnish on her well-manicured toenails. ‘What do you make of Frank, then? Seriously, now. There’s no Georgie here to be
smart-arsed.’
I sipped while I pretended to consider my reply. ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘Well, Nora likes him and they suit each other, right? He’s got the steady job, working in the family
business and the
probably to pass the time. I got chatting to her one day and admired some of the stuff that she’d made. One thing led to another and she ended up lending me a sewing machine. Once Georgie
left, I spent all my spare time in my room, altering my weekend bargains and having the time of my life.
During the day I did two jobs, one as a waitress in a restaurant called Galliano’s, which was an upmarket caff with delusions of grandeur. Then I worked as a barmaid in the Frog and
Nightgown in Crouch End. I’ve never understood the names that the English give their pubs. Anyway, I loathed both jobs with a passion. I hid it well, though, and earned a small fortune in
tips. I think it was that summer that decided me, one way or the other, that earning my living would have to be somehow centred on clothes. I missed the range of markets when I came back to Dublin
and almost got to resent Helly’s wedding for pulling me back home before I was ready.
Anyway, the afternoon that Claire and I spent together was a typical one for early September. The weather is often better than in the summer. Or what’s supposed to be summer in Ireland. We
were lounging on the patio in hazy sunshine and she opened a bottle of wine. Claire had persuaded Georgie’s dad to upgrade our flat. She’d even stayed in Dublin most of that summer to
supervise the work. That was the start of Claire’s passion for design and she was really good at it. She’d showered our landlord with plans and schemes and costings that surprised and
impressed even us. She impressed him, too, and he offered her a job on the spot. He had lots of renovation projects going on all over Dublin. The man was loaded. He just couldn’t seem to get
it wrong, old man White. Everything he touched turned to gold. I remember how Claire had jumped at his offer, even though she’d seemed to be hell-bent earlier in the year on coming to London
with Georgie and me. But whatever Georgie’s dad lured her with had been too good, and so she stayed put, apart from the occasional long weekend with us, sneaking into our room in the hostel
and sleeping on the floor. And of course, there was Paul, who stayed in Dublin that summer as well, another reason to stay close to home.
I remember thinking that maybe things weren’t going too well between them and that Claire had stayed for the summer to put things right. Maybe she was trying to keep on fixing things. As
you do. At least, that’s what I believed at the time. There was no way I’d have asked her, though. We had an unspoken agreement that what happened between her and Paul was private, off
limits. It would have made my life too difficult, had I been in the middle, as the sister and the friend. And, even though Paul and I had always shared most things, I would never have pried into
his relationship with Claire, for the same reason. I think he understood that well enough.
But it meant that I missed him in a way I wasn’t prepared to admit, not then. I remember thinking how much easier it would have been if he had fallen in love with somebody I could like
that wasn’t already my friend. My own problems with Ray complicated things even more. It was very hard watching the progress of the perfect relationship while I was often so unhappy with my
own.
One practical benefit, though, for all of us in her staying in Dublin that summer was that we had a patio and a deck and a built-in barbecue long before other people like to think that they were
invented.
‘Well?’ she was saying, as she tested the varnish on her well-manicured toenails. ‘What do you make of Frank, then? Seriously, now. There’s no Georgie here to be
smart-arsed.’
I sipped while I pretended to consider my reply. ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘Well, Nora likes him and they suit each other, right? He’s got the steady job, working in the family
business and the
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