by Colman Rushe
She’d taken the wind out of his sails. He gripped the edge of the dining-room table. At least she couldn’t see his face. She stood behind his chair, leaning over his shoulder as she refilled his teacup. They were alone; the other residents had departed. He blinked as he realised she was still speaking.
“… showed up on the doorstep, casual as you like. Announced they wanted to buy this place, lock, stock and barrel. Name my price, and they could include an apartment in the deal if I wanted.”
She placed the teapot on its brass stand on the serving table.
“That must have caught you on the hop,” he said.
“Totally out of the blue, wasn’t it? I knew they were planning to build a hotel on the next street over. But apparently they need parking spaces, and so this house will be demolished.”
Don’t just sit there. Say something.
“What’ll you do now?”
“As I said, I’ll be retiring. And about time too. There’s no future in the lodging-house business in Llandudno. If it wasn’t for regulars like yourself, I’d have drawn the blinds years ago. How long have you been coming here now, Mr Molloy?”
He screwed up his eyes.
“Since 1956. Thirty years.”
“Don’t I know it? The first two weeks of August – the single room. Mr Molloy’s room. That’s what my dearly departed mother-in-law used to call it.”
“How long have you been keeping a lodging-house here?”
Her palms rested on the back of a chair.
“Since 1937. It’s past time I was kicking my heels.”
“I suppose it is.”
“What about you?”
He frowned.
“How do you mean, like?”
“Retirement. You must think about it.”
He sighed.
“Aye. Sure, it comes to us all, I suppose.”
Mrs Morgan’s news had wrested the rug from under his feet. He’d experienced the same sensation in Ireland thirty years ago. Immediately after his mother’s burial, his brother fidgeted and told him he was soon to marry. His stoney-faced fiancée stood sentry at his shoulder. Seamus knew he would not go home again.
As summer neared, he dithered. Where would he go when the building site closed for two weeks? Llandudno is lovely and quiet, a workmate said. He recommended the boarding house of the widowed Mrs Emily Morgan and her elderly mother-in-law. Seamus relished the relaxed ambience of the Victorian seaside resort with its curved promenade and boardwalk pier. He hiked in the Snowdonia National Park with its rugged, beautiful uplands, crystal-clear mountain pools and tumbling waterfalls. As he left, Mrs Morgan offered to “pencil him in” for a fortnight the following summer. That was thirty years ago.
As the years passed, he chose less strenuous walking routes. At night, he frequented the cinema or theatre. Mrs Morgan always seemed pleased to see him.
What would he do? Find another lodging house? But it wouldn’t be the same. Not without Mrs Morgan. And he’d be 65 next year and would have to retire anyway. He preferred not to think about it. But Mrs Morgan had shocked him out of his complacency.
After dinner, he scanned the cinema listings. Karate Kid Part 2, Police Academy 3 or Down and Out in Beverly Hills. Christ on a bike! Never mind. At least, he had the residents’ lounge to himself. He thumbed the remote and leaned back into the cushioned armchair. The door creaked open.
“There you are, Mr Molloy. Do you mind if I join you for a minute?”
“Not at all.”
He caught a whiff of perfume as she sat on an adjacent couch.
“Would it disturb you if I asked you for a favour?”
“No. You’re grand. Fire away.”
She leaned forward.
“Well. As I told you, I have the option of taking an apartment. I wondered whether you would come along to view it and give me your opinion.”
When he hesitated, she continued.
“I thought I’d ask. You’re a builder. You’d see things I wouldn’t.”
“If you think it’ll help, I’ll be glad to go with you and give it the once over, but I’m not really a builder.”
She exhaled and flopped back on the couch.
“Oh, tidy! I’ll ring the girl in the morning. Is there any day or time that suits you?”
“Ah, no. You go ahead, and I’ll fall into line.”
As they crossed the street towards the apartment building, he glanced at the reflection of himself and Mrs Morgan in the plate-glass, double doors. His trainers were scuffed and his shirt hung loosely over his tatty Farah trousers. He instinctively straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. He tucked in the shirt.
“Go on through,” said the girl showing them around.
They stepped inside and were met by the pungent, fruity aroma of fresh paint.
“This is the apartment I had in mind. It’s ideal for a couple. Of course, if you’d both prefer a smaller space, we can easily arrange that.”
Mrs Morgan cast an amused glance at Seamus
“Thank you. Seamus and I will certainly give it some thought.”
“If you want to change the colour scheme, I’m sure we can get the painters to redo the walls.”
She removed a document from her clipboard and handed it to Seamus.
“This sets out the specifications. I’ll leave you both to it. Ring me if you need me to clarify anything.”
Seamus closed the door, sliding his palm along the grain of the wood.
“Solid oak.”
“Did you notice she talked to me about the colours but thought the man should deal with specifications?”
“I’m saying nothing.”
He tested the kitchen tap. It slurped, gurgled and then gushed a strong rope of clear water into the sink.
“That’s good. Weak water pressure can’t be fixed.”
“You see? I’d never think of things like that.”
“Wait till you see my consultancy fee.”
She laughed.
“You’re a tonic, Mr Molloy.”
“Oh! I’m Mr Molloy now, am I? I was Seamus when you were talking to the saleswoman.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you call me Emily, I’ll call you Seamus. How does that sound?”
“Ok. But not in front of the residents.”
“You do make me laugh, Seamus.”
The lift hissed to a close behind them. Seamus turned towards the main door. Emily tugged at his sleeve and pointed to a smaller exit door.
“Let’s have a look at the rear of the building.”
“Maybe we’d be better off going out the front door. Then we can walk around to the back.”
She frowned.
“What’s to be gained by going the long way around?”
“It’s nothing really.”
“Now I’m interested. Tell me.”
“It’s a pisheog. An Irish superstition. The first time you visit your new home, you should enter and leave by the same door. For luck.”
“Do you believe that?”
He paused.
“It’s not a matter of believing. It’s just something that was handed down. The way I look at it is, why take the chance?”
She nodded.
“The front entrance, it is.”
He held open the door and followed her onto the street.
* * *
In the tea shop, the late-afternoon light glinted on the silvery teapot as he filled the two china cups. She took a sip of tea and saucered her cup.
“Well then, Seamus. What do you think? About the apartment, I mean.”
“Well. Everything looks grand to me.”
“And do you think that apartment is suitable for someone like me?”
He hesitated.
“I’d value your opinion” she said.
“Well. The only question I’d ask is whether you need a place that large.”
“I thought it would suit me. I didn’t fancy moving to a small place. Also, I’d have the option of taking in a lodger.”
He frowned.
“Are you serious?”
A mischievous smile lit up her face.
“Not really, Seamus. But the companionship might be nice, don’t you think?”
Was she teasing him? Probably. He liked her, and not just because of the way she called him Seamus. He was flattered that she sought and valued his opinion and advice. She was an attractive, independent woman who was sensitive to the feelings of others. And he was attracted to her, he realised with a start.
“What about you, Seamus? You mentioned retirement. Will you stay in Manchester? Or return to Ireland?”
His face clouded.
“There’s nothing for me in Ireland anymore. I’ll probably remain in Manchester. I bought a small flat many years ago, but it’s up three flights of stairs, so it isn’t ideal, even though I’m still fit and agile, as I’m sure you were going to point out.”
She laughed.
“Would you consider moving here to Llandudno to retire? You do come back every year.”
“No. I mean, I’ve never given it any thought.”
“Well, you should consider all the options. Finding a suitable property here might be less expensive than in Manchester.”
She studied his face as she slid her empty teacup towards him.
“I’m sorry, Seamus. Pardon my mindless nattering.”
She watched him as he poured.
“If I go ahead with the apartment, do you have any more quaint Irish superstitions to ensure I have good luck?”
His face softened.
“Let me think. There’s one pisheog my mother swore by. When you move house, you should buy a new broom. It’s believed the old broom will bring all the bad luck from the old house to the new one.”
“Maybe that’s what my life needs. A new broom. Your life too, don’t you think?”
“Maybe I prefer to sweep things under the car
* * *
“You’re in the risk-averse category, Mr Molloy. You’ve worked for your money. Now, let your money work for you”.
He wasn’t impressed when the girl in the bank offered investment advice. Baloney, he thought. Sales guff! But he listened out of courtesy. Now, years later, he had savings and a pension fund. He could move to a nice apartment and live his remaining years in comfort. But Emily had inserted urgency into his thinking. Living in Llandudno seemed such an obvious option. He wondered why it hadn’t crossed his mind before. And she was here, a friendly face. He liked her. He could see himself with her walking the promenade, meeting for afternoon tea…
Get a grip! The woman was just being kind, making idle conversation. And yet…what if she was sending him a signal that she was interested? Interested in what? A relationship? He wasn’t good at relationships. He’d had a few, but they fizzled out. The women lost patience with him.
Was Mrs Morgan…Emily…his final opportunity to avoid being alone for the rest of his life. What should he do? Nothing? The risk-averse option. Let it slide?
But what if he just talks to her? See if she’s interested. What does he have to lose? Nothing. Apart from his dignity…
Tap Tap.
The door? He swung his legs off the bed, crossed the room and cracked open the door.
“Mrs Morg…Emily.”
He opened the door a little wider. She smiled.
“Sorry, Seamus. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“It’s grand. What can I do for you?”
“Seeing as tomorrow is your last night, I thought we should mark the occasion. Thirty years, isn’t it? I wondered if you’d like to go out for a bite to eat?”
“I’d be delighted.”
Her face lit up.
“Good. I’ll book something. Any preferences?”
“I’m happy to let you choose.”
“Tidy!”
* * *
She folded her serviette and placed it on the table.
“Why don’t we take a stroll along the promenade?” she said.
“Sounds great.”
As she slipped a light gabardine trench coat over her red and white floral print dress, she caught his gaze and smiled. He was glad he had made an effort with his appearance. Polished shoes, best trousers and the new sports coat he’d purchased that afternoon.
As dusk deepened along the promenade, the distant lights brightened. Their reflections shimmered on the dark water. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.
“I’ll miss this,” he said.
“What will you miss?”
“Llandudno. I felt welcome in your guest house.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I’m not sure my mother-in-law, God rest her, made you welcome at the start.”
“I sometimes thought she secretly had plans for us.”
She laughed.
“You noticed? She used to refer to you as my Mr Molloy, for goodness’ sake, and told me I was mooney-eyed when you were here.”
They strolled on in comfortable silence.
“I’ve done it,” she said.
He glanced at her.
“I’ve taken the apartment.”
A smile creased his face.
“Congratulations. How does it feel to have made the decision?”
She stopped and, still holding his arm, looked up into his face.
“Good. It feels as if a load has been lifted off my shoulders.”
She released his arm but did not move away.
“And you, Seamus?”
He shuffled his feet.
“How do you mean?”
She held his gaze.
“What are you going to do?”
“I…I’ve been weighing the options, like.”
“And what options are under your careful consideration?”
Was that a hint of impatience in her voice?
“Seamus. Am I making you uncomfortable? You know, talking about alternatives might help you decide. And will lift a burden off your mind.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the darkening sea. When he spoke, there was a hint of a tremor in his voice.
“Emily, I’m still not sure if you were serious when you made the suggestion. I’d never given any thought to retiring to Llandudno. But now it seems like a logical move.”
“And?”
He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well…I even thought about buying a smaller apartment in that same building.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
He cleared his throat.
“Well. I know the property now. And it’s a good location. A good investment…”
“But why that building? There are less pricey places to live in Llandudno.”
Was she trying to put him off?
“Would you prefer if I didn’t buy an apartment in the same building as yours? The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”
“Would you be uncomfortable having me nearby?
“Good God! No. That’s not what I meant. It would be nice to see a friendly face.”
“I’m not sure I want to be anybody’s friendly face.”
He tugged at his earlobe. Did he say something wrong?
“Emily, I…I don’t understand what you’re saying. Would you prefer not to have me as a neighbour?”
“Yes.”
His jaw dropped.
“I…I’m sorry. I obviously got the wrong end of the stick.”
She took both of his hands in hers.
“Seamus. It’s time for us to speak plainly. When I first brought up the possibility of you moving here, it was because I thought it would be nice to get to know you better. I admit that I’ve often wondered whether we’d get on.”
She paused and, for a moment, he thought she was going to cry. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head.
“Wait, Seamus. I need to finish. Since you arrived on this trip, I’ve convinced myself we could have a life together. When I said I’d prefer not to have you as a neighbour, what I meant was I wanted you to move in with me. To live together. As a couple.”
He tried to speak but she raised a finger to touch his lips.
“Here’s what will happen if you buy an apartment here. We might meet now and again for a cup of tea or maybe even go to a show on the pier. You’ll drift along. Nothing will happen between us. That’s not what I want. We deserve more.”
He was silent.
“I’m not trying to sweep you off your feet. You should return to Manchester tomorrow and gather your thoughts. But it would be better if you don’t come back unless we’re going to have a full life together. You have to decide what you want, Seamus.”
* * *
He snapped awake. His curtains glowed in the sunlight. He’d missed breakfast. Would she think he was avoiding her? Damn! He’d lain awake in the small hours wrestling with his dilemma and slipped into a deep sleep, still undecided,.
With a start, he realised that he’d made a decision. If he went back to Manchester to think about what he wanted, distance and separation would dull his resolve. No. She deserved an answer before he caught the afternoon train.
She’d be busy for another hour checking out guests. He packed his bag. He decided to nip down to the shop for something to read on the train. When he got back, he’d talk to Emily.
He entered the antiquated newsagent’s shop and stooped in front of the book rack.
“Excuse me, sir.”
The shop assistant sprinkled water from a bottle on to the worn, wooden floorboards. Seamus stared as the young man swept the water-speckled floor with a long-handled, straw broom.
“Where’d you get the twig?”
The boy arched an eyebrow.
“Twig, sir?”
“I mean the broom. You don’t see them anymore.”
The boy shrugged.
“They’re better for the floorboards. The hardware shop a few doors down will have them in stock. They’re in demand for sweeping the boardwalk on the pier.”
Ten minutes later, Seamus waved cheerily to the shop assistant as he strode past the shop with a sprightly, jaunty air. Under his arm, he carried a new, long-handled, straw broom.
Colman Rushe lived and raised a family in Ireland before relocating with his wife to the south of Spain. He now devotes his time to writing and making music. He has written two suspense novels, a family history and a memoir. He self-published all four as ebooks and as paperbacks. They are listed for sale on Amazon.com and other outlets.
Photo by Neal E. Johnson on Unsplash
