you in her message earlier today – that you might need some time out?’
‘Touché!’ he says, staring across at the house he grew up in. ‘On that note, I think I’ve hung around here for long enough so I’d better get packing. Goodnight, Roisin. It’s been a nice day, all in all. Thank you.’
10.
‘You’re in a good mood!’
Until Camille points it out to me, I have absolutely no idea that I’m singing along with the radio at the top of my voice to Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Everywhere’ as I prepare a coffee for our local postman Mickey.
As well as sorting and displaying the most magnificent previously loved clothing in Truly Vintage, I also get to choose my own retro playlists, and prepare coffee and treats in a little corner by the window we call The Nook, which is only ten square feet in space, but is a little slice of heaven. The Nook hosts a coffee machine, a compact wooden trolley with all the trimmings, and just two square old school desks with dinky painted wooden chairs for those who want to shop but also stop and watch the world go by.
It has proven a popular spot for a morning visit from some of the locals who aren’t shopping but who just fancy a window seat and some company, and Mickey the postman is one of our very welcome regulars.
‘Did I see young Aidan Murphy knocking around the village?’ he asks me as I make up an Americano for him. ‘I thought he’d be long gone back to his millionaire lifestyle across the sea by now.’
It makes me smile at how the older generation still refer to Aidan as ‘young’ even though he’s definitely kicking the ass of forty, but it’s sweet at the same time.
‘I think he’s going back in the next day or so,’ I tell Mickey, fetching his favourite Danish pastry. ‘I don’t think Ballybray is big enough for someone like him, is it?’
Mickey rolls his eyes.
‘It was good enough for him for long enough,’ says Mickey, flicking open the newspaper in front of him. ‘Mind you, I don’t envy him being married into that family. I heard it’s not all as rosy out there as it might seem on the surface!’
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, and I go back to my singing which doesn’t seem to faze Mickey, but Camille knows I’m in higher spirits than I really should be this morning, considering all the trauma of the week before.
‘It sounds like someone had a good weekend,’ she says in her magnificent Italian accent that I’d often like to bottle up and keep. ‘It’s so good to see you smiling again, Ro. You’ve had a rough few weeks.’
I wipe my hands on my apron and carefully bring Mickey his Americano which he takes with two sugars and a Danish pastry every Monday at the same time. The smell of freshly brewed coffee always fills my senses and I have to say I enjoy this part of the job almost as much as I love to sort through the trinkets and items of clothing that arrive almost on a daily basis.
‘We had a surprisingly fun day yesterday,’ I tell her, unable to hide my beaming smile. ‘We had a—’
‘Sorry, cara, just a second.’
Camille doesn’t get the chance to hear about my weekend or how unexpectedly pleasant it turned out to be as she’s distracted by an inquisitive customer who wants to try on a gold fringed flapper-style dress from the window display.
‘It’s a real beauty,’ says Camille, in full sales pitch mode now as she talks with her hands to emphasize her point. With her bubbly, enthusiastic approach and around the clock European charm, I often believe she could sell snow to Eskimos. ‘I picked it up at a market near the Louvre in Paris just last season. It’s what I call a “head turner” or what the French call un tourneur de tête.’
My heart sinks as I watch the lady take the dress to the changing room, taking my dream with her. I’ve had my eye on that dress since it came in last week, and I curse myself for putting it in the window, or for not buying it before now. The only thing that stopped me of course is that the social scene in Ballybray wouldn’t really lend itself to such attire, but I couldn’t help but dream about wearing it one day and I even sneakily tried it on when I’d