Cecelia Ahern - One Hundred Names

‘You’re very welcome, Miss Logan. I knew you would come,’ he said enthusiastically like a great big happy Buddha. He pointed a finger in her face in a ‘gotcha’ way. Kitty couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Alenka,’ he called to the woman at the table of cakes, ‘a cup of tea or coffee for our reporter.’

‘Coffee, please.’

‘Sit, sit!’ He practically took her by the shoulders and pushed her down in her chair. Kitty felt giddy. She looked at the journalist sitting beside her.

‘Are you Katherine Logan?’ the woman asked, eyes narrowing.

‘Yes,’ she cleared her throat. ‘And you are …?’

‘Sheila Reilly from the Northside People ,’ Jedrek introduced her. ‘And this is her photographer, Tom,’ he said grandly, pre-senting the photographer. The photographer pinked as they all turned to look at him with a sandwich stuffed in his face. He mumbled something and then waved.

‘Miss Reilly, you know our new arrival? She is a star reporter?’ Jedrek asked excitedly, eyes bright.

‘Er,’ Sheila looked at Kitty uncertainly. Kitty held her stare, kept her head up, confidently. ‘Yes …’ She mumbled something and turned her attention back to Jedrek.

‘Excellent!’ Jedrek clapped his hands. ‘Miss Logan, you must meet this man beside me. Achar Singh.’ A man of similar age to Jedrek, of Sikh religion, wearing a bright orange turban, nodded and smiled at Kitty.

Kitty was served a mug of coffee and a shortbread biscuit by a friendly Polish woman.

‘My wife, Alenka,’ Jedrek announced happily. ‘The best cook in Poland.’

The table was filled with food and by the number of chairs set up, they had had high expectations for the turnout. And though only three people had attended, their spirits seemed to be high. Kitty looked up from dunking the home-made biscuit into her coffee to find them all looking at her. She closed her mouth and aborted biting into her biscuit. The soggy end fell into her mug, splashing her chin. She wiped it. ‘Sorry. Aren’t we waiting for more people to arrive before we start?’

‘It actually already started,’ the reporter from Northside People said, rising from her seat. ‘And finished. I have to get back to the office, so if you’ll all please excuse me …’ The two men stood and extended their hands, and she moved along, wishing them the best of luck. ‘See you later, Tom,’ she said to her photographer, and he lifted his cup to her in farewell.

‘When will the article appear?’ Jedrek shouted.

‘Oh. Uh. I’ll have to speak with my editor first and I’ll be in touch,’ she said quickly and closed the door behind her. The two men looked at one another, downhearted, then turned their attention to Kitty.

‘Okay.’ She put her fresh coffee down on the chair beside her and took out her pen and paper. ‘So I didn’t receive your press release, I’m here on an entirely different matter, but I’m intrigued by what’s going on. Could you please fill me in?’

Jedrek, the spokesperson, was only too happy to jump in.

‘I am from Poland and my friend Achar is from India. We both came to Ireland in search of a better life and we found it. Sadly we lost our jobs when the company we worked for, SR Technics, moved out of Dublin. We were among over one thousand staff who lost jobs within one month. It has been very difficult for us to find more work.’

‘What kind of work did you do?’

‘SR Technics is an aircraft maintenance company which provides turbine engine hot section component repair services for blades and vanes on large commercial airline engines. Our plant was based in Dublin airport. The company lost major contracts, and that, together with the high cost of operating in Ireland, meant there was no future for them in Ireland. However, our future was in Ireland. Our children and families are happy here, our children are in school, our life is settled here. Achar’s son is a star on the under-fourteens’ hurling team, which is why they kindly allowed us to use the hall for this occasion.’

Achar looked proud. The club caretaker standing by the door with a set of keys in his hand looked bored.

‘Congratulations,’ Kitty said.

‘Thank you.’

‘So …’ Kitty tried to get to the point. ‘Have you some kind of statement to make about your situation …?’ She was interested and moved by their woes but inside she was crying, not another recession story, please, not another recession story.

They looked at each other and then back at her. ‘If you would like us to …’ Jedrek said uncertainly. ‘If you think it would help … but we are really just here to talk about our record attempt.’

‘Record attempt? You’re making music?’

‘No,’ Jedrek leaned in over the table, his eyes lighting up. ‘We are attempting to get into Guinness World Records by being the fastest two men in a one-hundred-metre pedalo dash, and we are looking for people’s support to come and join us and cheer us on. This country needs a positive story. We have been training every day – well, as much as possible as Achar is busy with his taxi – but we have been in training for nine months. The local yacht club donated a pedalo in support of our efforts and we would very much like to achieve this. We have held cake sales, garage sales, all kinds of community events, but sadly we could only raise four hundred and twenty-one euro and nine cent, not enough, so we will do it alone but we need people’s support.’

‘Why do you need the money?’

‘The cost of the adjudication service is between four thousand and five thousand per day, depending on the location. We would have to fly the adjudicator over from London. We have decided not to go through with this idea and so will attempt the record alone.’

‘But isn’t the adjudicator necessary?’

‘No. We can still attempt to make the record and send our evidence to them but they reserve the right not to get back to us.’

‘But we do know of an adjudicator who will be in Ireland this Thursday,’ Achar finally spoke. ‘A friend of ours who works in Cork tells us he knows of a record attempt where a judge will be present.’

‘Achar, we talked about this,’ Jedrek interrupted. ‘We cannot accost a judge for another attempt. It does not work that way.’

‘And I say we at least try , Jedrek.’

They stared at one another.

‘We will discuss this later,’ Jedrek said firmly, then turned his attention back to Kitty. ‘So. Will you write our story, Miss Logan?’

Kitty looked at Tom the photographer. He popped a cherry bakewell into his mouth and examined what else he could eat on the table. She wasn’t even sure if he’d listened to any of that.

‘Let me get this straight,’ Kitty said. ‘You are both unemployed airplane engineers who lost your jobs and as a result of being unable to find work you are attempting a world record at being the fastest two men in a one-hundred-metre pedalo dash?’ She looked from one to the other.

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Jedrek said sombrely.

Kitty started laughing.

‘I knew she would not take us seriously.’ Achar stood up, angrily.

‘No! Wait! I’m sorry for laughing. You misunderstood. I’m laughing because I’m happy, excited, relieved ,’ she grinned. ‘Of course I would love to write your story.’

‘You would?’ Achar asked, surprised.

‘And I think you should attempt your record bid this week, in Cork.’

‘I told you.’ Achar looked at Jedrek. Jedrek didn’t look convinced. ‘What is wrong, Jedrek? This is exactly what you were hoping for.’

He narrowed his eyes at Kitty. ‘Miss Logan says she did not receive our press release and that she was here for other matters. Before I agree to her writing our story, I would like to know what exactly brings her here.’