Second Hand Jane (4 page)

“I’m really
sorry but you did say you wanted quite a bit taken off and well,
your hair is curly and it all just bounced up a lot higher than I’d
expected,” Brianna interjected with her bottom lip wobbling
ominously.

Jess almost
felt sorry for the pretty stylist with the big doe-like eyes.

“Too late for
that, Brianna. They’ll think your woman here’s escaped from the
funny farm looking like that and, where on earth did you buy that
dress? My Gran had one just like it,” the blondie butted in
again.

Jess ignored
the comment about her dress as she studied her fringe in the
mirror. Blondie was right, she concluded; it did give her face a
rather simplistic quality. She couldn’t help but omit a little
laugh at how ludicrous she looked and then that little laugh had
turned into a rip-roaring snort, which proved to be contagious and
soon all three women were falling about laughing.

Thus, a decade
later, the Celtic Tiger may have rolled over and died a long and
painful death but the three women still just clicked and Jess had
long since grown her fringe out.

Despite her butchered locks, though, she
had gone on to get the job at the Marriott and her big break had
come the day she’d organised a conference room for Nigel, the head
reporter from the
Dublin Express
.

Nigel was going
to be interviewing Shane Moriarty from the latest boy band to dance
their way onto the Irish charts in it. Shane, who was milking his
new-found fame and fortune, had demanded all sorts of both legal
and illegal treats be placed in the room if the reporter wanted him
to dish the dirt. Jess, along with her contact (a fat man with crew
cut and gold chains around his non-existent neck who loitered
outside the Mary Street McDonald’s behind the Jervis Centre—she was
by no means a regular customer, just a good observer and lover of
the Big Mac), had managed to acquiesce to his every demand. This
was to Nigel’s surprise and relief because it meant he got a coup
in his candid interview with pop star Shane, who was extremely
relaxed by the time he arrived revealing that, yes, he did have an
illegitimate love-child being raised in the wilds of Connemara.

To show his
appreciation for getting his scoop, Nigel agreed to return the
favour by sliding the sample piece Jess had written of her take on
life in Dublin under Niall Fitzpatrick’s—his editor—nose.
Considering how the Irish had for years been heading for pastures
greener, Niall had been tickled by the idea of the tables turning
and by condensing an Antipodean’s impressions of boom-time Ireland
into a weekly column. This was ideal because she was still free to
write the novel she planned to get around to writing one day but
now she had her bread-and-butter job.

“My column is
called ‘Jessica Baré does Dublin,’ Mum,” she’d breathed excitedly
down the transatlantic connection the day Niall had sent through
her contract.

“
It sounds like those old porno movies—you
remember?
Debbie Does Dallas.
But well done, dear, and be sure they accent the
e
,” her mother had congratulated her down
the phone.

Jess decided
not to ask how she happened to know the title of old pornos and why
on earth she would think her daughter would be familiar with
them.

It had started
out as very much a Carrie Bradshaw/Sex and the City styled column
and had evolved from there. Just like her fictitious New York
counterpart, her column had been a hit, too, but even more
surprisingly, despite the boom times being a distant memory, it
still was a hit. She could only assume that her loyal following of
downtrodden Dubliners liked to read about the happenings in her
hapless life as surely it could only serve to make them feel better
about their own! Thinking about her hapless life brought her back
to the here and now as the train continued to judder along. Maybe
she would tag along with Nora next time she suggested hitting the
hotspots of Dublin. Mind you, the last time she’d shaken her groove
thung until the wee hours, it had taken her days to recover—so much
for being twenty-four, she thought with a rueful sigh.

***

The train
sailed into Bray Station at five minutes past two o’clock and she
spied the girls waiting on the platform. Harry’s hand was held
firmly by Brianna, the buggy parked beside her with a backpack
sitting in it. All three waved out when they saw her disembark.

Nora, Jess
noticed as she leaned in for a quick hug, looked as if she meant
business in her obviously expensive all-weather parka, cargo pants,
and hiking boots whereas Brianna was a bit more casual in her
sweatshirt, old jeans, and sneakers.

“Oh goody,
you’re wearing the elephant suit!” Brianna grinned, kissing her
friend hello on the cheek and causing Harry to erupt into giggles
and make trumpeting noises.

Nora frowned
and shook her head. “I’ll never know why when you finally did go
and buy yourself something new, you chose that.”

Jess pulled off Harry’s woolly hat,
causing him to squeal and, handing it back, she told him to pipe
down before stating, “Because me and the elephant suit are a match
made in heaven. It is the most comfy outfit I have ever owned.
Besides, I’ll have you know I got wolf whistled at this morning
while”—she did a twirl—“wearing this, my Penney special,
and
I had those pink fluffy
slippers Mum sent me on, too.”

“You never
did?” Brianna’s eyes widened.

“I did.”

“You go,
girl!”

“Were you
walking past St Vincent’s then?” Nora sniggered, referring to the
Fairview-based psychiatric hospital.

Jess hit her
playfully on the arm. “Don’t be so awful, action woman! Come on—you
look like you’re about to climb Everest, so we better get a move on
before we get crushed in the melee.” She was referring to the
handful of passengers getting on and off the train and the other
two laughed.

The foursome
wound their way down to the promenade, which would take them to the
start of the cliff walk. The tide was out, Jess noticed, looking at
the crab hole-pocked sand as she listened to her friends chatter on
about their weeks that had been. Harry trudged alongside her,
looking mutinous and muttering about wanting his lemonade and
crisps now. It was a good job Brianna had had the foresight to
bring the buggy, Jess thought. He might like to think of himself as
a big boy of five these days but his little legs still got tired
and there was no way he would manage the two hour’s walk ahead of
them. The big girls would struggle enough without having to take it
in turns to piggyback him as well!

***

An hour later,
the trio paused to draw breath and survey the scene splayed out
before them. Craggy green and brown cliffs stretched down to a
churning sea, its recalcitrant colour meshing with the sky.
Occasionally, a marauding gull would provide a splash of white
against the vista. The sense of nature’s power was overwhelming up
here, Jess thought, inhaling deeply and trying to harness a bit of
it.

“Even on a day
like this, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it? We could be the only people in
the entire world.” Brianna sighed happily before plopping Harry
into his buggy. “You’ve done so well walking all this way,
sweetheart. I think you deserve a bit of a nibble. What do you
think?”

Harry’s hand
was already outstretched in anticipation of sustenance and as
Brianna handed him his lunch box, a couple sailed round the corner
on mountain bikes, nearly mowing them all down.

“Oi, watch it!”
she called out, receiving no more than an apologetic wave as the
cyclists disappeared down the hillside.

Jess laughed.
“Well, almost the only people left in the world, aye Brie? And
you’re right; it is gorgeous. It reminds me of home.” She felt a
strong pang.

Brianna patted
her on the shoulder. “Did you know that your accent always get
broader when you feel homesick? It must be hard sometimes being so
far away from your family.”

“Yeah, it is
sometimes but then Mum phones me and I get over it pretty
quickly.”

“What’s the
male-to-female ratio like in New Zealand?” Nora butted in,
producing a fancy looking silver foil wrapped bar from the depths
of her rucksack.

“I don’t know
but I bet my Mum could tell you. She knows the stats for most
countries—I’ll ask her next time she phones.” She frowned, watching
her friend hoe into the unappetising-looking snack. “Nora, you’re
not doing the Boston Marathon. What’s with the bar?”

“Protein bar.”
Crumbs spewed forth. “Low in fat and packed full of protein.”

Brianna held
out a bag of chocolate chip cookies and Jess helped herself to
one.

Nora suddenly
looked coy. “I’ve got another date with Ewan next Thursday and I
want to fit into that little black dress of mine—you know, the one
with the halter neck you two helped me pick?”

The two friends
nodded and exchanged a glance; it was a gorgeous dress. If Nora was
pulling out all the stops on a second date for this Ewan, then they
needed to find out more.

“So I’m
Dukaning myself.” Nora finished the bar and looked longingly at the
bag of chocolate chippies.

“You’re what?”
Jess and Brianna chorused.

“It’s this
four-stage French diet that’s all the go at the moment. You start
off by eating nothing but protein and then slowly reintroduce
vegies and other stuff. Kate Middleton’s done it. I’m on day three,
so girls, it might be advisable to let me bring up the rear because
you don’t want to be downwind of me at the moment. All that protein
can be a little bit constipating.”

Her face was so
serious that Jess had to laugh before adding, “Say no more! And if
your friend Kate’s done it, then it must be the biz.” Her reply was
very much tongue-in-cheek. “Personally, I think all those diets are
a waste of time because losing weight is all down to exercise and
portion size.”

“
Says the girl who hasn’t seen the inside
of a gym since the 1990s and who can put away two whole Big Mac
burgers
and
a large
fries in one sitting.”

“Once! I did
that the one time! And you know I had the hangover from hell. I
needed stodge fast and loads of it.”

“So what’s he
like then, this Ewan? He must have something about him if you’re
seeing him again.” Brianna butted in, successfully heading off any
further dietary discussion.

“Well, put it
this way, girls: I knew right from the off I was looking at a
pretty good candidate to father my babies—yep, a top quality sperm
donor.”

The other two women nearly choked on their
chocolate chips and Nora smirked. If there was a reality TV show
called
The
Shock Factor,
she’d have
a starring role on it.

“You can be so
crass, Nora Brennan, but speaking of sperm, you just reminded
me—Mum told me my sister is thinking of having another baby.”

“What would
that be then?”

“Number five. I
think she’s mad, though she and Brian have a pretty good babysitter
to help ease the stress of it all.”

“Who’s that
then?”

“My Mum.”

“Oh right, good
old Mum. Well, if Mr Good Quality Sperm doesn’t work out, I could
always ask your sister to be a surrogate.”

“
Ooh, now that really
is
gross.”

“All the
celebrities are at it.”

“Not with my
sister they aren’t,” Jess muttered darkly.

“Anyway, back
to my possible donor. How are you placed next Thursday night?
Because he has a friend…”

“I will not go
down the blind date route, Nora.”

“At least it
might get you a root!” This was a phrase Nora had picked up on her
year-long Australian overseas adventure a decade or so ago.

“Give it a
rest, you two! Little ears are burning.” Brianna set off at a brisk
pace, sending Harry’s cheesy-corn snacks flying. “Come on, shift
it; there’s a glass of wine waiting for us in Greystones.”

Nora and Jess
did as they were told.

***

By the time
they reached the little harbour town of Greystones, the weather had
closed in and a steady drizzle was descending. The Beach House Pub
was a welcome sight looming over the little horseshoe-shaped bay
and they hurried inside to where a welcoming fire was roaring.

Once they were
settled with their drinks in front of them, Nora picked up the
threads of their earlier conversation. “Ewan said his friend is a
big fan of your column and he’s really keen to meet you.” She
frowned. “He said he loves your eclectic style, whatever that
means.”

“
You’re making him sound like the male
version of Kathy Bates in
Misery
—‘I’m your biggest fan,’” Jess mimicked, trying to smooth
down curls she just knew had frizzed in the damp air.

“I love the
series you’re doing at the moment on all the different culinary
schools in Dublin. This week’s one on Croatian food was really
funny—I giggled out loud trying to picture you flipping pancakes.
What were they called again?” Brianna loyally read her friend’s
column every week and always gave her biased feedback.

“Yeah, it was a
sight and I had to scrape more than one off the floor. Cooking is
not my forte, Brie, that’s for sure but Marija, our teacher, felt
sorry for me and let me eat hers. Mmm, they were scrummy—Palacinke
Sa Sirom or pancakes with cottage cheese.” Jess was enjoying her
once weekly forays into foreign cuisine, as was her waistline. The
walk today would have done her some good, she thought, determined
not to think about how many calories her glass of wine
contained.