Cecelia Ahern - One Hundred Names

Mary-Rose brought her mother into Dublin city once a week for afternoon tea. It was something she insisted on doing despite her mother’s health, and this week she’d chosen Powerscourt Townhouse. Powerscourt Townhouse was a speciality shopping centre in a Georgian house off Grafton Street. It had once been the party home to Richard Wingfield, Third Viscount Powerscourt, and his wife, Lady Amelia, and was a popular place to eat and shop. The courtyard had been covered over and a large ground-floor restaurant sat in the centre overlooked by the balconies of each side of the building. A piano played softly beside them. As if Kitty hadn’t had enough awkward moments with sick people she now faced a meal with Mary-Rose and a woman whose speech was near impossible to understand due to the paralysis of one side of her face. Mary-Rose, as she had done in the hospital, acted as their mediator.

As Kitty was in the middle of explaining to Mary-Rose’s mother what exactly she was doing with her daughter a loud male voice interrupted everyone’s conversations.

‘Oh, no,’ Mary-Rose said, looking up at the main staircase into the courtyard shopping area and seeing Sam standing there with a microphone in hand.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could please have your attention …’ He tapped the microphone. There was an immediate hush. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, I appreciate you’re all trying to have an enjoyable break, but there’s somebody I need to say something special to.’

Again that twitter of excitement began to build among the crowd.

‘Margaret Posslewaite, are you here?’

Mary-Rose groaned.

‘Maggie, are you here?’ he asked again.

Mary-Rose’s mother nudged her and Mary-Rose’s hand shot up in the air at the same time as her other hand went to cover her face.

‘There she is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Maggie. There’s something I have to ask you in front of all these people.’

There it was, the gasp from some, the whoop of excitement from others, the cheer from some, the cynical eye roll of a few. Sam nodded to the piano player, who began to play ‘Moon River’. ‘Remember this song, Maggie? It was the first song we danced to on our first date.’

The crowd oohed.

He slowly made his way down the steps singing the first line of the song.

‘Oh Jesus,’ Mary-Rose said. Her mother laughed.

‘Ever since our first dance on our first date, I knew I wanted to be with you. Ever since you wowed me with your merengue and cha-cha when we met at the YMCA dance class.’

Mary-Rose snorted and covered her face, trying not to laugh.

‘But it was the salsa,’ he made a little move with his hips and the crowd cheered, ‘that made me realise I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.’

People whooped.

‘Margaret,’ he came closer, stole a rose from a nearby table and swooped down to his knee beside her to thunderous applause, ‘my huckleberry friend. Will you marry me?’ Only Kitty was close enough to hear the snort from Mary-Rose as she tried to contain her hysterical laughter while her face was fighting hard to stay calm.

‘Yes,’ she said, but the crowd were too busy cheering to hear. Somebody shushed and that was sent around the shopping centre.

She and Sam were almost nose to nose.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Sam said into the microphone and then pushed it close to her lips. She gave him a warning look. He gave her a cheesy smile.

‘Yes,’ she said into the microphone and the whole of Powerscourt Townhouse erupted.

They hugged and the manager brought over the menus and told them drinks were on the house.

‘That was a good one,’ Mary-Rose chuckled, her pretty face lighting up. ‘Okay, you got me there, Sam. That was possibly one of your best. Your huckleberry friend?’

He shrugged and laughed. ‘I had to impress the mother-in-law. Hi, Judy.’ He gave Mary-Rose’s mother a kiss on the forehead. Judy said something intelligible to Kitty and Sam laughed, understanding her perfectly.

A young woman, whom Kitty had assumed was a member of staff standing by and watching it all, made her way over to the table.

‘Am I allowed to join you now?’ she asked, a big grin on her face. ‘Is it safe?’

‘Of course,’ Sam said, lighting up. ‘Guys, this is Aoife. I hope you don’t mind her joining us today.’

Mary-Rose looked slightly confused but covered it up quickly. ‘Yes, I mean no, I mean, no I don’t mind.’

‘Aoife, this is Kitty, a friend of Mary-Rose’s. In fact you and me need to have words later, I have a few stories to share.’ He winked and Kitty laughed. ‘Aoife, this is my best friend and wife-to-be, Margaret Posslewaite, also known as Mary-Rose.’

‘Congratulations,’ Aoife laughed, leaning over and giving Mary-Rose a half-hug and kiss.

Mary-Rose seemed uncomfortable by the closeness.

‘Aoife and I met a few weeks ago at work. I thought now would be a nice time for you to meet,’ Sam said, a little embarrassed.

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Mary-Rose said, still trying to gather herself together.

‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ Aoife said, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to please.

‘Well, I …’ Mary-Rose was at a loss for words.

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about the baths we took together,’ Sam jumped in, and Aoife laughed.

‘What have you not done together?’ Aoife laughed. She meant it innocently but it carried more weight with Mary-Rose, who immediately looked awkward, which Sam picked up on and who then also looked awkward. But Aoife didn’t notice. Eager to impress her boyfriend’s friend she continued, ‘Speaking of baths, have you ever tried to wash Scotty? He’s impossible!’ Aoife launched into a story about how she and Sam had tried to clean Sam’s dog, but Kitty wasn’t listening to the story. Instead she caught the quick glance between mother and daughter, her mother reaching for her daughter’s hand beneath the table.

Name Number Seven: Mary-Rose Godfrey

Story Title: The Proposee

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

After meeting with Mary-Rose, Kitty made her way to St Margaret’s Nursing Home to meet Birdie again. She enjoyed spending time with Birdie, loved her simple stories of years gone by, her elegance, her gentleness, her openness to everything around her. Kitty had spent more time with Birdie than with the other people on her list, but, listening back over the tapes, Kitty realised that there was one question that needed to be asked. The day was still bright and sunny despite coming into a chillier evening at six o’clock. Many of the nursing home inhabitants were outside sitting in the shade, which was where Kitty found Birdie, looking as elegant as usual, her feet resting on a pillow on a garden chair, her face lifted up to the heat, her eyes closed.

‘Hello, birthday girl,’ Kitty said gently, not wanting to surprise her.

Birdie’s eyes opened and she smiled. ‘Well, hello, Kitty. It’s lovely to see you again.’ She took her feet down from the chair. ‘It’s not quite my birthday yet,’ she said. ‘Not that I’ll be celebrating it. Eighty-five years old, can you believe it?’ She shook her head, unimpressed.

‘You don’t look a day over eighty,’ Kitty said, and Birdie laughed. ‘You are celebrating it somewhere, though, aren’t you?’ Kitty probed, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery. It had been playing on Kitty’s mind for the past few days: where on earth was an eighty-five-year-old woman planning on spending her birthday if it wasn’t with her family, and she was intent on not telling them where she was going?

‘Well, no, I’m not exactly celebrating it.’ She removed an invisible piece of fluff from her skirt. ‘Isn’t it a smashing day?’