One Hundred Names

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kitty and Archie sat in the Brick Alley Café in Temple Bar in silence. He held a cup of tea in his hand, she a mug of coffee, and they sat half-turned in their stools, facing one another so that they could see the rest of the café behind them. The mousy woman arrived a little after 8 a.m., on cue as usual, stayed for twenty minutes, drank a pot of tea and ate a fruit scone with butter and jam, as she always did, and then she paid and left. Kitty was the first to hop off her stool. Archie was a little more hesitant.

‘Come on,’ she said, and he grudgingly stood as if a child scorned by his mother. ‘Hurry.’ She rushed him along out of the café and on to the street while he shuffled his feet behind her. ‘We’ll lose her.’

By the time they got outside with all of Archie’s faffing around there was no sign of the woman either end of the street. ‘Ah, Archie, we’ve lost her. You did this on purpose. I should have made you approach her inside.’

‘You can’t make me do anything,’ he said firmly. ‘And we haven’t lost her.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned left, walking without purpose up the road, as if he had all the time in the world.

‘But she’s not here. What do you mean, we haven’t lost her? Why are you walking like that? Archie, believe me, I have enough going on in my life right now without having been dragged here to be fooled.’ She continued her rant while he walked and eventually she fell into a silence and just walked with him, thinking of all the things she could have done that morning that would have been far more beneficial. When they took a sharp right and another right on to the quays they saw her crossing the Halfpenny Bridge.

‘There she is!’ Kitty exclaimed, grabbing his arm excitedly.

Archie didn’t seem at all surprised.

‘You’ve followed her before,’ she accused him, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t respond.

‘How many times?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘Where does she go?’

‘See for yourself.’

They crossed the bridge over the River Liffey and arrived on Bachelor’s Quay. The woman disappeared inside a church. Archie promptly stopped.

‘This is as far as I go.’

‘Let’s go in.’

‘No. I’ll wait here.’

‘Why? We’ll see what she does in there.’

‘What do you think she does? It’s a church. I’ll stay here, thank you very much.’

‘She could go to confession, she could meet somebody in there, pass a briefcase or two, she could sing or cry or strip naked and cartwheel across the altar, for all we know.’

He looked at her intrigued. ‘The way your mind works.’

‘I’m more interested in yours. If you hear prayers like you say you can, maybe there are more people in there that you could help.’

‘Are you doubting me?’

‘I am now, yes,’ she replied truthfully.

He thought about it and then went inside the church.

Kitty watched Archie’s face as he entered. The church was quiet, with a dozen or so people scattered across the pews. It was silent but for the occasional cough and sniffle, which, when started, seemed to flow like a tidal wave through the small gathering and then silence again. Archie closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, seeming pained. He finally looked around, studying each person. His eyes rested on the mousy woman. She was lighting a candle, then she moved to a pew and kneeled. Archie slowly made his way down the left-hand side and self-consciously shuffled into a row to sit behind her. Kitty stayed where she was at the back. She did this for a few reasons – she wanted to give Archie space, she wasn’t entirely comfortable in churches but mostly because, on the rare chance that Archie did possess the ability to hear people’s prayers, she didn’t want him to hear hers. Kitty hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t believe in God. She had been christened Catholic but, like most Catholics she knew, didn’t practise her religion. Church services for her were confined to weddings and funerals. She didn’t pray either, not in the sense of getting down on her knees by her bedside each night in a ritual, but occasionally when she felt lost she prayed for whatever crisis she was in to pass quickly and never gave any thought as to whom exactly she was sending these thoughts to. She understood that Archie believed he could hear people’s prayers, that after spending time thinking nobody was hearing his prayers for his daughter he had to somehow manifest the idea that somebody somewhere, if not a god, might have heard him and now he was that person. Perhaps this was to help him believe his prayers weren’t wasted, but that whoever heard them was powerless, just as he was, to act on them. Or perhaps he was simply bonkers. Kitty tried to think of anything but her prayers as she stood down the back of the church, but it was difficult. She had much on her mind, much to worry about. It was so quiet, so peaceful, that the silence was like a wave on a shoreline, pulling her into her mind.

She was worrying about Pete, about Richie, about thinking Steve had been ignoring her instead of the fact he had been defending her honour and how that made her feel, about her story presentation on Friday and then, if approved, having a mere weekend to write it, about having to find a new place to live by a fortnight’s time, about the upcoming job interview, about possibly being involved in the theft of a nursing home bus. But mostly what occupied her mind was how she was ever going to figure out how to apologise to Colin Maguire. At least she was confident on one thing. She had found the way to write Constance’s story and, with or without Pete’s permission, she was going to write it.

After fifteen minutes the mousy woman stood and exited the church. She didn’t glance at Kitty, showing no recollection whatsoever that they had been in the same café three mornings. Archie stood up and left too, passing Kitty and walking towards the bright light of outside existence. They both squinted in the sun.

‘Where does she go now?’ Kitty asked.

‘Don’t know, I never lasted this long.’ He sighed. He seemed weary.

‘How was that for you?’ she asked gently.

‘It’s one thing being in a crowd or on the bus – you hear the occasional thing that someone’s praying for, like people not wanting to be late, praying for good results in school or college, praying for something to happen at work or a mortgage or loan to be approved – but in there…’ he blew air out of his mouth ‘… it’s pretty hardcore.’

‘What did you hear?’

He looked at her uncertainly. ‘It’s kind of… private, isn’t it?’

‘I have to know this stuff,’ Kitty said simply. ‘Otherwise how can I write about it? And it’s not like you have some priestly confidentiality clause that says you can’t tell anyone.’

‘Still,’ Archie shrugged. ‘I’d rather not. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. People don’t usually pray when they’re happy. And if they do, they don’t go in there at nine in the morning on a weekday to do it.’

They stopped walking on the Liffey boardwalk, a promenade hanging over the river, a south-facing set-up for al fresco lunch and coffee. The mousy woman went to the coffee kiosk next to O’Connell Bridge and started setting up for her shift.

‘What do you think I should do?’ Archie asked.

‘I think you should help who you can. I think it will help you. And I think you should start with her.’

They watched her.

‘People are going to think I’m crazy when this comes out.’

‘Won’t it be better than what you say they think of you now?’

He pondered that, then watched for a gap in the traffic and hurried across the road to the kiosk.

‘I just think you should give her another chance,’ Gaby was saying to Kitty over her second espresso in the Merrion Hotel in Merrion Square.

Kitty had called her the previous night to arrange a meeting, Gaby had chosen the venue and so far had done all the talking, and Kitty was hoping Gaby planned on picking up the tab too for what seemed like the most expensive coffee she’d ever drunk. They were sitting outside in the garden, meetings going on all around them, and Gaby had one eye and ear on everybody else’s conversations and the other on her and Kitty’s. She lit up another cigarette. Gaby appeared to be under the illusion that Kitty had the intention of dropping Eva from her story and had launched into a tirade of Eva’s career history, starting with celebrity clients and magazines she had been featured in, and while that was partly correct, as Kitty was reluctant to waste more of her precious time on Eva after being fobbed off with the My Little Pony present response, this wasn’t actually something she had yet shared with either Eva or Gaby. However, they weren’t foolish women. Kitty had turned down an opportunity to meet Eva twice over the past few days, unsure that she was ever going to get anything from Eva about herself as a person as opposed to her business. Kitty simply didn’t have enough time to spend with such a closed book.

‘She’s been mentioned in Vogue on their “Who’s hot” list and was in Cosmopolitan’s “Young and Happening” slot. She really is incredible.’ She shut her eyes and squeezed her entire body to emphasise the word, then opened her eyes and took another puff of her cigarette.

‘She’s a closed book, Gaby. Each time I ask her a question she either refuses to answer or she brings it back to work. I know that she is a hard worker and that she is passionate about her company ethos but I have to have more to run with than that. The other people that I’m interviewing are more…’ she tried to think of a polite way of saying it but realised it was Gaby she was speaking to and politeness counted for nothing ‘… substantial. They intrigue me. I want to find out more and when I dig a little deeper, I discover more. Eva isn’t willing to open up to me and I don’t want to force her into talking about anything she doesn’t want to talk about. That’s not the kind of journalist I am.’

Gaby raised one eyebrow, thinking otherwise.

‘At least, I’m not any more.’ Kitty raised her chin haughtily.

‘She’s difficult to get to know, I realise that. The problem with Eva is that she is…’ Gaby paused for dramatic effect, which worked as Kitty hung on every word ‘… creative.’ She said it like it was a bad word. Then she lowered her voice so that nobody could hear the dirty secret to come. ‘She’s one of these types who thinks that their art speaks for themselves.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly. I deal with this crap all the time with my writers. They think their work is their voice, they don’t understand that they have to give it one. They don’t realise that it’s people like me and you who help them sell their bloody art. Do you know how long it took me to get Eva to start that “Dedicated” blog? They think that stuff is in the way of whatever it is they think they’re channelling. Think about it, if James Joyce were alive today, don’t you think his tweets could make his stuff more accessible?’

Kitty really hoped nobody was listening to their conversation.

‘Anyway,’ she waved her hand dismissively, ‘Eva is an interesting person, she’s got a great heart, you just need to spend a lot of time with her to really open her up and when you see inside, well then, you’ll understand it all.’

‘You know something about her?’

‘I know more than most, which isn’t saying a lot, but I’ve seen in there once or twice. She went out with my brother for three years. He was an idiot but she was adorable. We’ve been close ever since. I vowed to help her out and I won’t let her down.’

Kitty had wanted to talk to Gaby about something that had nothing to do with Eva Wu at all, but while they were there and talking about her she was interested in new insights on the girl she couldn’t quite find a story on.

‘It would help if I could at least talk to her clients, hear how she’s helped them, learn what she’s done for them. She’s so secretive about it all.’

‘Not so much secretive as protective of her clients. She insists on discretion. She sees what she does as more than giving a gift and she’s right really. What she does is very special.’

Kitty shook her head, confused.

‘I know. It will all make sense when you’re in Cork.’

‘How did you know I was going to Cork?’

‘To the wedding? I just assumed.’

‘The wedding, on Friday.’ Kitty gasped. ‘Of course.’ With all the excitement of Birdie’s impending road trip she had forgotten about the wedding where Eva was due to present the Webb family with their gifts. ‘How does Eva usually travel?’ Kitty asked.

‘She drives, why?’

‘Ask her if she’d like to catch a bus with me on Thursday to Cork. There’s something I have to do there that I think she’ll like.’

‘Sure,’ Gaby said, looking over Kitty’s shoulder towards her next appointment arriving. ‘Here’s Jools Scott. The writer. Great on a page but can’t put two words together in person. If I manage to get him one interview I’ll be doing well,’ she said out of the side of her mouth, and then waved at him happily.

‘Before you move on, there’s something I have to ask you. I’m sure everyone asks you this but I wonder if you could do me a huge favour.’ Kitty got to the real reason she’d asked for the meeting. She placed Richie’s USB down on the table before her and fixed Gaby with her sweetest smile.

To Kitty’s great relief Gaby took care of the bill with her publisher’s credit card, her final bribe to Kitty to write a positive piece on Eva. Feeling that she owed Eva for letting her down twice, Kitty called Nigel at George Webb’s office.

‘Molloy Kelly Solicitors.’

‘It’s Kitty Logan. I’m outside your office. Eva Wu is incredibly protective of her clients and won’t tell me a thing. If you want the piece to be as favourable as possible then I need you to start talking.’

He was quiet, then: ‘Fine.’

Five minutes later he was outside with her in another of his dapper suits. When he saw her bike his lips curled at the edges. ‘How twee. Walk with me, Judy Bloom, I don’t want anybody to see me with you in those last season’s pumps.’

Kitty smiled and they walked to the famine memorial and leaned out overlooking the rather murky Liffey.

‘Let’s get straight to the point. I’m gay.’ He looked at Kitty but she wasn’t in the mood for smart comments. ‘I’m from a small parish in Donegal where everybody knows everybody’s business. As soon as I could talk I knew that I was gay and in my family that kind of thing is completely unacceptable. My father is a dairy farmer, like his father before him, like his father before him. I’m the only boy in the family and it was expected that I would go into the family business. It wasn’t a life that appealed to me. My parents are fanatically Catholic. Hell, for them, is a very real place. Sex before marriage would have my sisters kicked out of the house, if my parents ever knew the truth. They live in a world of religious rules and they do not break them. They can’t see beyond them; it’s all they’ve ever known. Homosexuality,’ he laughed bitterly, ‘you can imagine what they thought of that. If my father couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to be a dairy farmer for the rest of my life, he certainly wouldn’t understand the fact that I just happen to love men. When I told him I didn’t want to be involved in the family business he didn’t speak to me for almost a year. Imagine how he felt when I told him I was gay. But I’d no choice but to tell him. I’d met someone, he was a huge part of my life, it felt like I was living a lie not being able to talk about him or my life in Dublin, or not being able to bring him to family occasions. I finally told them and, well, my mother could deal with it as long as we never discussed it again and she prayed every day for me to be healed, but my father refused to be in the same house as me. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, he wouldn’t speak to me.’

‘It must have been very difficult.’

‘It was.’

He was silent.

‘He was like that for five years. We didn’t speak a word for five years. Well, I tried but… but then it was his sixtieth birthday and I suppose having that come up and me not being there didn’t feel right. I wanted to get him something, a gift that he would be able to look at in his own time to understand what I was trying to tell him. So I hired Eva.’

‘How did you hear about her?’

‘She’d helped out another friend of mine,’ he smiled. ‘But that’s another story for another day. She stayed with us in Donegal for a week, because that’s what she insists on doing. It was the most awkward time for her but she was fantastic, she fit right in.’

Kitty had noticed that was what Eva seemed to do best.

‘My mother was convinced that she was my girlfriend, that I’d been “healed”, and she couldn’t have made Eva feel any more welcome.’

‘What about your father?’

‘He managed to sleep in the house when I was there, which was progress, but he made sure to be gone at meal times and throughout the day. My sisters bought him a motorbike – it had been his lifetime ambition to have one – but I wanted him to have a present that meant something more to me, to him. I thought, there’s no way in the world this girl can find the gift that can do everything I want it to.’

‘And did she?’

To her surprise Nigel shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t everything I wanted. It was far more. She made a photo album. She found photographs of his grandfather and his father working the farm, photos of him and his father working the farm, and then photos of him and me from the day I was born to the day I left the house. Photos of us together on the farm, of him pushing me on the tyre swing that he’d made for me, photos I’d never seen before. Dad had had to cut down one of the oak trees on the land. He’d been devastated about it because it was one of the trees we’d all played on as children, that he and his father had played on. It was the one with the tyre swing. But because of the heavy snow that year, it had suffocated the roots and the tree couldn’t survive. Eva had taken the chopped wood from that tree and used it to form the back and cover of the photo album. On the front she’d carved his name and birthday message from me. She charged me sixty-five euro for the carpentry and forty euro for the printing of the photos and stationery. That was the cost of the gift.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Mother said she heard him crying while he was looking through it when she’d gone to bed. He didn’t say anything to me for weeks and then out of the blue one day he called me.’

‘What did he say?’

Nigel laughed. ‘He started telling me about a problem he was having on the farm. Something about one of the cows in heat. I was just so surprised to hear his voice on the end of the phone, I could barely take in what he was saying. There was no mention of the five years we hadn’t spoken, it was like he’d picked up where we’d left off.’

‘So Eva is incredibly thoughtful.’

‘She’s more than that. She understood how my father thought, what exactly it was that upset him or disappointed him, what would move him, what would shake his belief. She lived with us and asked us questions and listened to our stories and she came up with a solution. My father is a sensitive man, but he’s a closed man, he would never show or discuss emotions, yet she found a gift that touched his heart.’

Kitty thought about that. ‘Okay.’

‘You get it?’

‘I got it.’

‘Good. Now don’t disturb me at work again,’ he said cheekily, and left her alone on Custom House Quay.