One Hundred Names (22 page)

When Kitty Logan finally left, Ambrose felt exhausted. She hadn’t had that much contact with anybody, apart from Eugene, of course, for a very long time, and she felt drained, tired from trying to cover her face, hide her emotions, work hard at appearing normal, sounding sane, all of the things that she was by herself in the comfort of her own home but which she struggled with when she came into contact with anyone who wasn’t inside her trusted circle. Those people consisted of Eugene; Harriet, the cleaner; and Sara, the young lady who worked in the museum. She rarely spoke to any of them, only when she absolutely had to, and it was only with Eugene that she could truly be herself because he
was
only Eugene, and what did he care? He had seen her all her life. The irony was that with everybody else she let her hair down and he was the only person for whom she could truly tie her hair back and look him in the eye.

She made her way to her bedroom and retrieved the magazine she had been reading that morning. Summertime, apart from the butterflies and her business, wasn’t her favourite time of year. Summer meant revelation, magazines were covered with photos of celebrities and pretty women on beaches in their bikinis, the museum was filled with pretty women who never questioned being able to tie their hair back and wander without self-consciousness through the rooms or down the street. Ambrose liked the winter when she could layer up and disappear. She hadn’t travelled much in her life but if she had her way she would book a holiday to somewhere cold, only she couldn’t leave the business or her butterflies in the summertime.

She carefully cut out a photograph of a soapstar she didn’t recognise who had been snapped on the beach in a tiny bikini after apparently shedding all the weight after having her baby a mere six weeks ago. She stuck the photo on the wall, making sure it wasn’t blocking any of the others she needed to see and she proceeded to sit on the end of her bed and examine it for fifteen minutes. She looked at her eyes, her nose, her lips, her long neck, the arch of her back, her pert bottom, the way her thighs were firm and tanned, the way her toes were perfectly painted and wore little shoes of sand. She got lost in the photograph; for moments Ambrose was that girl, she was on that beach, she was getting out of the water, feeling eyes on her and feeling the heat on her body, feeling the sea water tricking down her body but knowing that she looked great, feeling light and happy and relaxed as she made her way to her sunbed to sip a cocktail. Ambrose lived it so vividly in her head.

Kitty Logan had asked her why she collected butterflies, why the fascination? Ambrose hadn’t lied, but hadn’t answered her truthfully as her response was incomplete. Why did she love butterflies? Because they were simply beautiful. And she wasn’t.

It was the same reason she had always loved the story of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ when she was a child, and despite the fact she was twenty-three when the Disney film was released, she went to see it in the cinema time and time again, watching it every day when it was out on video, knowing every word, every look, every single gesture each character made. Her daddy had been bewildered by her childish fascination with a cartoon, but he had misunderstood her love for it. It wasn’t for the romance, it wasn’t because she wanted to see a beast become handsome again, she watched it because, like the Beast capturing Belle, she knew what it was like to recognise beauty, to be so fascinated by it and to feel so alive when around it that she wanted to trap it and keep it locked up inside for her to see and celebrate every day.

‘Who on earth is texting you?’ Sally asked as they drove home from Kildare. It was the first thing she had said in a while and Kitty guessed she was slowly being forgiven.

‘Why?’ Kitty frowned.

‘Because you’ve had that stupid smile on your face since you started that little textersation.’

‘Textersation? No, that is not a word.’

‘Stop trying to change the subject, who is it?’

‘It’s no one, it’s just Pete.’ She said it way too nonchalantly.

Sally’s eyes widened. ‘Pete, the prince of doom duty editor whom you despise Pete?’

‘I never said I despised him.’

‘Oh. My. God.’

‘What?’

‘Oh dear. You know what’s happening, don’t you?’ Sally jested.

‘Shut up, no, it’s not. Be quiet, okay?’ Kitty attempted to place her hand over Sally’s mouth to stop the words coming out. Sally giggled and the car swerved so Kitty took her hand away immediately.

‘Okay, fine, I won’t say it, but you know you know it,’ she said in a singsong voice.

‘He’s just seeing if I’m okay,’ Kitty said, closing her phone and putting it away in her bag, and as soon as she did that she regretted it because she wanted to see if he’d responded to her rather witty and well-planned last text.

They settled into silence again and drove towards the darkening night, the sky red in the distance.

‘Red sky at night,’ Kitty said, ‘shepherd’s delight.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Sally said. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. It’s supposed to be torrential rain tomorrow.’

They fell into silence again and Kitty’s mind drifted from Pete and on to her story. She thought of all the people she had met so far: Birdie Murphy, Eva Wu, Mary-Rose Godfrey, Archie Hamilton and Ambrose Nolan. She tried to find the link between them all but just couldn’t see any. She twisted their life stories around in her head, tried to compare and contrast each and every little thing she knew about them, and while similarities could be found, there was no real link, no real story, but each was so strong in its own rights. She needed to start with a fresh mind and listen to their stories – perhaps constantly trying to find a link was stopping her story from flowing. She reached for her bag and Sally teased her about going for her phone but Kitty had already forgotten about that. She took out her notepad and pen and Sally realised she was in the zone and left her alone.

She thought of Ambrose, of the framed butterflies and the pictures on her wall.

Name Number Two: Ambrose Nolan

Story Title: Kalology – The Study of Beauty

Kitty slept in Sally’s house that night.

When they returned from Straffan to Kitty’s flat, that day’s newspaper article was rewarded with horse manure trailing up each step to her door on which it had been used to write the words ‘Dirty Sell-Out Whore’. Even after so much abuse, Kitty still managed to feel hurt. She contemplated taking a photograph of the door and sending it to Richie along with a note of thanks, but decided against it as it would probably be tomorrow’s news. The one thing she could be thankful for was that the attacks were never inside her home and never on her physically.

Kitty grabbed a change of clothes, in fact enough to last her a week, and then she turned on her heel to escape to Sally’s car.

Zhi, the landlord, blocked her path.

‘I’m sorry, Zhi, I’m in a massive rush. Can you please just—’ She stepped to the right to pass him but he blocked her, so she stepped to the left and he blocked her again. She gave up and sighed. ‘I’ll arrange for this to be cleaned as soon as I can.’

‘It is not good enough. Last week paint, toilet paper and shit, last night firework, today more shit. It is not good for my business.’

‘I know, I know. I really don’t think it will happen for much longer. They’ll eventually get tired and stop it.’

He wasn’t having any of it. ‘The end of month I get new tenant. You out. You find other place to—’

‘No no no no no,’ Kitty interrupted, hands together and desperately pleading. ‘Please, please don’t say that. This is just a blip. I have been a good tenant, haven’t I?’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘I won’t tell anyone about the PERC.’

His face darkened. ‘You threaten me?’

‘No! I said I
won’t
tell anyone about the PERC. I
won’t
.’

‘Then why you it bring up? End of month you out,’ he said, and stormed back down the stairs.

While Kitty was still on the stairs contemplating how much worse her life could get and where on earth she was going to find a place to live on a much lower income, Zhi reappeared with an item of clothing on a hanger, wrapped in plastic.

‘And your friend,’ he added, coming back up the stairs. ‘He no pay for his suit jacket. He supposed to pay this morning. You pay. Ten euro.’

‘No, no, he’s
not
my friend. I’m not paying for that.’

‘He your friend. I see you all kissy kissy. You pay. Ten euro. You pay.’

‘No way. It’s not mine. No way.’

He started to back away.

‘Okay, let’s make a deal. I’ll pay for his jacket if you let me stay in the flat.’

He thought about it. ‘You pay for jacket and I think about it.’

Kitty tried to fight her smile. ‘Perfect.’ She rooted in her bag for the money and handed it over. He gave her the jacket. ‘So I can stay?’

‘No,’ he barked. ‘I say I think about it and I think about it and answer is no.’ On that note he stormed back down the stairs leaving Kitty open-mouthed.

After leaving Sally’s responsible Rathgar home, with responsible furniture, her responsible husband with a responsible car and job, who’d talked to her over a responsible breakfast about his responsible golf trip away the previous weekend, Kitty left the responsible child-minder with Sally’s eighteen-month-old and walked with Sally into the city. At 7.30 a.m. it was already warm, with a light breeze in the air. Though there was no need for a coat, Sally was wearing a thick sweater, had a raincoat hooked over her arm and was holding the largest umbrella Kitty had ever seen.

‘Are you planning on providing housing for the homeless?’ Kitty asked, eyeing up the umbrella.

‘It’s Douglas’s golf umbrella.’

‘I see that. Do you also hire it out for marquee events?’

Sally ignored her.

‘It’s warm today.’ Kitty took off her cardigan.

Sally looked up at the clear blue sky. ‘Supposed to have torrential rain today.’

‘Not likely, though, is it?’

Sally smiled a knowing secret smile as if she alone held the country’s weather secrets in her head. ‘So what are you doing today?’

‘I’m having breakfast with an ex-convict, brunch with a personal shopper, an afternoon with a hairdresser to the sick, an evening at a nursing home and then a date tonight with manure and a bucket of bleach.’

‘Well, you can’t say your life isn’t boring.’

‘No, it’s definitely not that. And somewhere along the way I need to find a new place to live.’

‘You know you’re very welcome to stay with us for as long as you like,’ Sally offered.

‘I know that, and thank you, but I can’t. I need to sort myself out.’ Kitty tried to hide her worry. She wasn’t going to be able to afford anywhere by herself, she would have to revert to sharing accommodation, and just when she thought she was moving forward in life with a larger salary and a shared rent, she found herself with little money to survive on alone. She wasn’t sure if her job at
Etcetera
was in jeopardy, but assumed that it was despite the fact that Pete had been surprisingly kind and supportive the past two days, if not a little cosier than usual. She knew that the magazine was under pressure from advertisers not to print her stories. If she didn’t publish stories, she didn’t get paid, it was as simple as that, and she didn’t think there were many other publications queuing up for her freelance services.

Sally’s cheeks were flushed, she puffed a little and then rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. Kitty tried not to smile. Before they parted ways, Sally reached into her pocket, retrieved a business card and handed it to Kitty.

‘Daniel Meara. That name’s familiar,’ Kitty said, reading it.

‘He works at Ashford Private College.’ The college where Kitty and Sally had met five years previously. ‘He recently got in touch with me asking if I’d be interested teaching some night classes. I told him I couldn’t but that I’d send some people to him who were equally qualified.’

Kitty looked at the card and swallowed. It was as close to a handout as she could get and she didn’t like it, but knew that Sally, with her breezy attitude, was trying to make it sound like anything other than that.

‘I don’t have experience in teaching,’ Kitty said, still examining the card.

‘Doesn’t matter, you have experience in television. That’s all they need: someone who has first-hand experience and can tell them exactly what goes on behind the scenes. Besides, who cares? Let them be the judge of your teaching skills. It’s good money.’

Kitty nodded.

‘Just call him, give it a go, see if it’s for you. It might not be but you know, it’s worth a try.’

Kitty nodded again and finally looked up from the card. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to do this yourself?’

‘I can barely cope as it is,’ Sally smiled. ‘With work all day, and the occasional weekend shift at the station, I’m not seeing Finn enough already. Not to mention Douglas. You go for it.’

‘Thanks.’ Kitty hugged her friend.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sally hugged her tight in return, ‘we all have our blips. Remember when we first met?’

Kitty recalled Sally had just learned that Doug had had an affair, she was piecing her marriage back together, trying to do something new for herself in television and every day was a struggle for her.

‘See, we all go through it, now it’s your turn. It’s only fair.’ Sally kissed her on the forehead and they parted.

Kitty made her way to the Brick Alley Café in Temple Bar, excited to hear the remainder of Archie’s story, and found him sitting at the same counter on the same stool, half-turned so that he could keep an eye on the room and eat at the same time.

‘I suppose you expect me to pay for that again today,’ she said, sitting beside him.

He smiled.

‘Fruit and water?’ the waitress from the previous morning asked.

‘Yes, please,’ Kitty replied, surprised she remembered her order.

‘They’re a dying breed,’ Archie said, chewing the rind of his bacon. ‘Not enough places like this. They know what you want and they leave you alone. A winning combination.’