Rosie and Etta carried their drinks from the bar of the Hotel Royale in Dublin’s O Connell Street into the plush dining room. Spotting an empty table Rosie flopped down. She winked at her friend. “We’ve still got it,” she tittered.” The old waiter guy is eyeballing us already.”
Thomas cast them a frown and drawing himself up strode across the room. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring down into the plump face of Rosie, “you cannot sit here.” Rosie moved back giving him an uninterrupted view of her cleavage. “Why not?”
“You have to wait to be seated,” Thomas said haughtily. Rosie looked him up and down. A bubbly laugh rose in her throat. “Well, good sir,” she said moving closer, if I had known a handsome man like you would have picked out a table and pulled out my chair for me I would have waited.” Stepping back hastily, Thomas snapped his fingers.
“Cream tea? Madam,” a waiter asked hiding a smile as Thomas strode towards the couple in the secluded alcove table.
“Just the ticket,” Rosie said, “High heels were never meant for the potholes of Dublin,” she murmured easing her feet out of her sandals.
Sitting at their usual central table sisters Emily and Ethel gasped as Rosie stretched out her bare legs and wriggled her toes. Ethel fanned herself with the leather bound menu and covertly watched the other woman. She guessed she was in her forties – about her own age. But with her chic hairdo and colourful sundress dress she looked years younger. Ethel surprised herself by feeling a stab of envy. In her pleated skirt and white blouse she felt faded and old.
She was jolted out of her reverie by Emily plucking at her. “Ethel. He’s kissing h…”
“Avert your eyes,” Ethel ordered a disparaging note in her voice. “I suppose nowadays it’s acceptable – even in here.”
She caught the sparkle of diamonds on raw silk as the couple moved apart reluctantly to allow the waiter to refill their champagne flutes. Coming together again they entwined their arms and drank out of each other’s glass.
Unbidden, the words “Love conquerors everything,” came to mind and for the second time Ethel felt jealousy stir in her. She wondered what Thomas, who had been with the hotel for many years made of all the changes.
She spotted him showing Frank Mac Neal, their local MP to his table. The politician caught her glance and gave her a slight nod. There was a time she thought… when I had hoped…. She tried the name out on her tongue. Mrs Ethel Mac Neal. She noticed that despite his ageing figure he still turned heads.
“Can I get you something while you’re waiting, sir,” Thomas asked the politician with practiced deference.
Frank rubbed his sweating palms on his knees. ” Yes, a table that is a bit more private would be nice,” he scowled.
Thomas felt an early stab of indigestion. “I’m sorry, sir …tourists…tour buses…” he said glaring in Rosie’s direction.” Waste of time giving waiters a few quid to see you right these days,” Frank grunted. He looked around him and found himself looked into the steely grey eyes of an elderly woman. He cursed under his breath. “Oh God, not one of the silver haired brigade that’s been shouting about the cuts.” he groaned. Ducking his head he drummed his manicured fingers on the table.
“It is him!” Eyes blazing, Mary peered over her glasses at the politician. “I have a good mind to go over… demand to know what he intends to do about the waiting lists and patients on hospital trolley’s,” she fumed. “I had to wait ‘til it was too late. Sorry missus – no money! That’s what they bloody told me,” she raged.
Self consciously she buttoned up her cardigan and involuntarily fingered her new short prickly hair growth. “If they have no money for a killer like cancer what do they have money for,” she muttered. Viciously spearing a strawberry she threw the politician another steely look. “No wonder they have no money paying useless buggers like him big wages!”
Daniel, her grandson could feel the sweat pooling under his tee shirt. Knowing his granny – a market trader all her life – the posh surrounding wouldn’t stop her, he thought.
“See you’re wearing your old faithful Molly Malone’s, he teased, hoping to get her mind off the politician.
Tucking her feet further under the chair Mary glanced at the two well heeled ladies at the nearby table. She was glad of the fancy table cloth that shrouded her well worn work boots. “They almost turned into Henry Street by themselves – thought they were goin’ back to work,” she chuckled.
Turning the linen table napkin over in her wrinkled hands she traced the lettering with a blue veined finger. “Hotel Royale,” she murmured. “You know, Daniel,” she said, “your Da and me have been selling at the fruit markets since he was old enough to put an apple or orange in a bag. He could count money before he went to school. Out in all weather – early mornin’ ‘til late night,” she sighed.
“I know granny. You were a hard worker,” Denial asserted smiling at her.
Mary’s eyes roamed the room taking in the opulence of the damask tablecloths, the plush chairs and the deep piled carpet. “When trade was slow I’d come and flog the fruit outside here,” she murmured. “I made a promise that one day – on a special day – I’d come in and order one of their cream teas.” She looked at her grandson with undisguised pride. “Well, that day has come. Imagine, you, the first O Connell ever to go to Trinity College!” Reaching across the heavily embossed white tablecloth she grasped his hand. “I’m proud of you, son. Prouder than you’ll ever know. But promise me one thing,” she said.
Daniel’s heart did a summersault. He glanced surreptitiously at the tables on either side of them. The two sisters were talking in low tones and the politician was watching the shoeless woman order another drink
Daniel heart plummeted. He wondered what she was going to say. Knowing granny it could be anything from not getting a girl pregnant to staying out of the gay night clubs and bars, he mused.
“Promise me you’ll not turn out like him and his lot,” she said jerking her thumb at Frank. “Bringing in water charges and takin’ the medicine and services from them that need them.”
Reaching over Daniel squeezed her hand. “I promise,” he smiled.
Mary paused. “Remember where you come from, son, and look out for old folk like your granny,”
Rosie slipped her sandals back on and watched Frank watching her. “More boardroom than bedroom,” she spluttered as she bit into a scone piled high with clotted cream and strawberry jam.
Frank snapped his eyes away and checked the time on his watch. He hoped Thomas wouldn’t forget their arrangement. As if on cue Thomas glided up to his table. “Your usual sir,” he said proffering a bottle of champagne. The politician hesitated. It wasn’t wise for him to be seen drinking expensive wine when plane loads of the country’s teenager’s were immigrating to Australia looking for work.
“Compliments of the management, sir,” Thomas said smoothly.
Taking a welcoming gulp, Frank focused on the diners at the table in the alcove. He’s a big lad, he mused, looking at the broad shouldered man with the long hair and neat goatee beard.” What kind of frilly blouse is he…Oh he’s wearing a kilt,” he smirked. Money’s obviously not their problem, he thought taking in the expensive white linen suit, silk shirt and fresh holiday tan of the kilt wearer’s companion. “I don’t think companion is quite the right word to describe their relationship,” he snorted in disgust.
Oblivious to the attention they were attracting Rocco smoothed down the stiff frills on his shirt and tenderly ran his fingers over the scars on the inside of Sasha’s, his partner’s wrist. “We’ve waited a long time for this day. I want to make it perfect for you – for both of us,” he said softly. “What about the Kilt? Nice touch?” His face wreathed in smiles he got up and did a little twirl. “Do you remember where I bought it?”
“Sasha dimpled. “Yeah, Edinburgh in Scotland; the weekend we were attending that medical conference.”
A shared secret smile passed between them.
Sasha preened. “Do you like the silk shirt? Touch of class, don’t you think?”
“It looks fabulous.”
“What about my white suit? It’s – not too OTT?”
“I love it!” Rocco gushed. “You look amazing.” The glow from the table candles caught the sparkle of diamonds as Sasha leaned towards him. “I had it especially made for our wedding. “It’s an exact replica of the suit, Joe Dolan, your favourite Irish show band singer wore – silk lining and all. Do you remember?”
Rocco smiled and stroked the inside of Sasha’s palm. “Yeah, I remember. It was at his sell-out concert I first proposed to you.” He breathed deeply. “It seems such a long time ago now. We didn’t know the mountains we’d have to climb or the oceans we’d have to cross to be together,” he said in a low voice.
“Or the battles that would rage inside ourselves and our families,” Sasha gulped gazing at his scarred wrists.
Rocco gripped his hand. “But we’re here today – together. Don’t cry. This is not a day for sadness,” he said wiping a teardrop that glistened on his partner’s face. “Oh, here comes that blasted waiter again,” he moaned, withdrawing his hand.
Thomas swept imperiously past their table and stopped at Frank Mac Neal’s.
“Your…guest has arrived, sir.”
“Well, where is she?”
“I took the liberty of putting her in the public bar, sir.”
A hush descended over the diners at the nearby tables
“The public bar!” Frank spluttered.
Thomas ran his finger round his stiff collar. “She’s…“dressed…inappropriately…for the dining room, sir,” he mumbled glancing in the directions of the sisters.
Frank’s face suffocated with colour. Oh God! This is going to be worse than I anticipated, he thought draining his glass.
“Allow me, sir,” Thomas advised as the politician’s hand reached out towards the half empty bottle of champagne. “I’ll place it on your…young lady’s table,” he said.
Mary gathered up her bag.”Drink in the bar. I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” she announced.
Daniel noticed that the shoeless woman had waved her drinks away and had pushed back from the table. The two prim looking sisters were already a step ahead of his granny. It reminded him of school when the chant of” fight, fight.” gathered a crowd ready for the punch up.
He wondered if his i phone had enough charge to get a good photograph. Passing through Reception he noticed the diners from the table in the alcove.
“Show this…this couple …these guests to the honeymoon suite,” the pink-faced receptionist was babbling.
. Daniel stopped. His breath quickened. Maybe there was a better story here than one about a randy politician having a dalliance with a woman of the streets, he thought. The first married gay couple booking into in the staid traditional Royale Hotel will be sure to make the local news, he mused. He clicked away as he watched the newlyweds kiss passionately in plain sight of Thomas’s outraged face. I’ll upload it to the local TV News Station. Good start to my multi-media studies,” he murmured pressing the ‘send’ button. “Now for that drink with granny and an eyeful of the politician’s date. Might even get two birds with one stone,” he chuckled checking how much charge was left on his phone.
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 