The Secrets of Primrose Square Read online

  Jayne was a lovely neighbour, even though she was probably about a hundred years old. She was warm and friendly and seemed to ‘get’ when you needed to be on your own, unlike most other people. She never talked down to Melissa, or put on a sad voice and embarrassed her by asking, ‘So, tell me, how are things at home?’ like everyone else did.

  She was almost like a granny to Melissa, yet she’d always treated her like a grown adult and Melissa loved her for it. Everyone on Primrose Square adored Jayne – she’d been there ever since she first got married back in the Dark Ages and was their oldest resident by a mile. Jayne had lived on her own after her husband Tom had died, but all the other residents made a point of keeping a special eye out for her.

  It took ages, but eventually Melissa heard a slow, creaking noise from the other side of the hall door, as a light from inside was switched on.

  ‘Oh, Melissa, love, it’s you,’ said Jayne, her face breaking into a big smile. ‘What a lovely surprise. Come on in out of the rain, pet, you’ll get your death. And you’ve brought Magic home to me too,’ she added, as the cat leapt out of Melissa’s arms and raced into the warmth inside. ‘God only knows what that little monkey has been up to.’

  ‘Sorry, Jayne, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Melissa said, shaking the worst of the rain off her jacket and stepping inside. Jayne’s house was so homely, it was always toasty warm inside and spotlessly clean, even though it was cluttered with old lady china and books and vinyl records piled high. There was a permanent smell of baking wafting from the kitchen – it smelt of cinnamon and ginger tonight, which only made Melissa’s hungry tummy grumble even more. She almost felt guilty for wishing she could just spend the night here, where she’d be safe and minded and maybe even fed.

  ‘You didn’t interrupt a thing,’ said Jayne cheerfully. ‘I was just messing about on the new laptop computer I got. Skyping, if you don’t mind. It’s all the go, I believe. I’m in the middle of a call right now – and it’s not costing me a penny. Isn’t that fantastic? And I’m on Facebook now too and I don’t know myself. I’ll have to send you a friend request one of these days, love.’

  ‘Well . . . I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Melissa, slightly surprised that someone as ancient as Jayne knew all about Skype and Facebook. ‘I really have to get going anyway.’ She was half way down the stone steps again, reluctantly heading back out to the bitter cold, when Jayne stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Just one second, pet,’ Jayne said, catching her arm and looking at her a bit suspiciously. ‘What are you doing outside so late and on a wet night like this anyway? With no umbrella or anything?’

  ‘Oh, nothing at all,’ Melissa stammered. ‘I just heard Magic squealing and thought she might need to get inside, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t see your mum’s car,’ said Jayne, stepping outside into the rain and peering up and down a line of parked cars. ‘Where is Susan anyway, on an awful night like this?’

  ‘Oh . . . just, you know, out . . .’ Melissa’s voice trailed off lamely.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been on your own all evening?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Melissa began to lie, from force of habit mainly, but Jayne’s worried eyes quickly saw through her.

  ‘You don’t ever need to put on a brave face with me, pet, you know that,’ she said, looking at Melissa keenly. ‘This is me you’re talking to. You can trust me, I won’t say a word. I only want you to be safe, that’s all.’

  ‘Mum’s . . . not here,’ Melissa said in a wobbly little voice, hanging her head, glad to have that much off her chest.

  ‘And do you know where she’s gone?’

  Silence. Just a little headshake from Melissa, that’s as much as she could trust herself to do without crying.

  ‘Right. Stay there, love. I’ll grab my car keys and we’ll go and find her.’

  ‘But you’re in the middle of a Skype call . . . ’

  ‘Never mind about that,’ said Jayne firmly. ‘You’re far more important to me than some aul’ phone call. I think we both know exactly where we can find your mother, so let’s go and bring her back home, will we? And don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t breathe a word to anyone else. This can stay our little secret, just between us.’

  Jayne

  19 PRIMROSE SQUARE

  ‘Hello, Tom, love, it’s me. Yet again,’ Jayne said, pummeling at the bread dough she was making, as she chatted away to an empty kitchen.

  ‘The thing is I really need someone to bounce this off or else I might lose my reason. Supposing you’d huge news to give your family and you didn’t know how? I’ve tried my best to keep what’s going on a secret for as long as I could, but it just doesn’t feel right to keep this to myself any more. Jason needs to be told and told soon – it’s the very least I can do for our only child. Fair is fair, and after all, this could end up changing his life just as much as mine.

  ‘So I’ve just emailed him (I know . . . me, Tom, on the emails . . . Can you believe it? You were always on at me to get a computer and now there’s no stopping me!) And I’ve invited him over later on this evening for a nice early dinner. The plan is, I’ll do a few nice pork chops for Jason – his favourite – and if he brings Irene with him, then I suppose I’ll just have to throw a head of lettuce at her till she gets over this whole 5:2 nonsense, or whatever fad diet she’s on right now. Then I’ll wait till the pair of them have eaten, because you know how Jason’s always in miles better form with a big feed in him.

  ‘Now, I know it might sound a bit rude of me, love,’ she went on, spooning the dough onto her work surface and sprinkling it with flour, ‘but the thing is, I’m secretly hoping they won’t be able to get a babysitter, so Jason can’t bring Irene with him in the first place. Granted, the woman has her good points and you were always at pains to remind me what a great wife she is to him and such a good mother to the twins too, but Mother of Divine, she really would try the patience of a saint.

  ‘Do you remember the time Irene came around here not long after your funeral, and told me she could get the house professionally valued for free?

  ‘“The estate agency I work for would only be delighted to look after it all for you,” she said to me, brazen as you like. Then she spent the whole night going on about her own mother in a nursing home and how she’d initially dreaded it, yet blossomed the minute she got in. “Oh, they’ve taught Mummy to do flower arranging like a professional now and she’s even learned to bake at the home,” the little madam said to me, right here in my own kitchen, with you, sitting right there in your urn as a witness, Tom.

  ‘“You really should consider it, you know,” she said to me, smug as anything, with a big fake smile on her face. “None of us is getting any younger. And living on your own can’t be easy, particularly since Tom passed away. We’re the only family you have and we worry about you so much.”

  ‘Well, only good manners prevented me from giving Irene a good smack across that smug, pinched little face. I told her that I was going absolutely nowhere and that the only way I’d leave my home would be feet first in my coffin. “And as for flower arranging and baking,” I said, “I’ll have you know my Madeira sponge was third runner-up in the Primrose Square Bake Off this year.”

  ‘Then she started harping on about number twenty-four on the square, the house down the road that’s had all the building work going on for ages. “My company will be letting it out very soon,” she says to me, not taking the hint to shut up. “We’re confident we can get at least two grand a month for it, and you know I’d only be delighted to do the same thing for you, Jayne. I pride myself on being able to rent anything – you want to see some of the tiny little shoeboxes that we charge premium rates for! You could let out this place, move in with us and we’d split the rental income between us. You’d never be on your own again – now wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

  ‘As if, Tom! As if I could ever bring myself to leave Primrose Square! With all the hap
py memories you and I made here? Remember how it nearly bankrupted us when we first bought it as newlyweds all those years ago? We’d hardly a bean to our name, and everyone said that a Victorian three-storey, with such big rooms and lovely high ceilings in a spot so close to town, was way out of our league.

  ‘But we still did it, didn’t we? You knew I’d fallen in love with Primrose Square; the way our bedroom looks right over it and how beautiful it is in springtime, when the cherry blossoms come out and the local kids have all manner of fun in the playground. God be good to you, Tom, you were always so determined that our own kids would grow up in a nice, safe area just like this, with lovely neighbours around us to play with.

  ‘Granted, we were only ever blessed with the one child, who seemed happier spending most of his childhood cooped up in front of the telly rather than out on the square kicking a football around with his pals, but that wasn’t our fault now, was it? Jason’s long since moved out and you’re not around any more, Tom, but I still keep the house exactly as it was when you were alive. Almost as if you could walk in through the front door any second, plonk down in the nice comfy, battered old armchair you loved so much and say, “What’s for dinner, love?” Sure I’ve all your stuff piled up here from decades back, your old books and your vinyl record collection, which to this day I can’t bring myself to take to the charity shop.

  ‘Tom, you of all people know how my neighbours have been like a second family to me, especially since you passed away and I got so lonely. They were the ones who got me through the dark days when my whole world seemed to shrink without you and hell would freeze over before I’d ever leave them.

  ‘You know how much I love every single neighbour here, and how I’d do anything for them. Sure, only last night, didn’t that scrap of a thing from next door, Melissa Hayes, come knocking on my door, far too late at night for a young one like her to be out and about. No sign of the mother, of course, and I know that family have had more than their share of troubles, but honestly, how could anyone leave a young girl like that home alone in this day and age?

  ‘Melissa is like another grandchild to me, you know that, so I did what anyone would do for one of their own – I jumped into the car and took Melissa off to bring her mother home. I was in the middle of a Skype call at the time with – well, you already know all about that, don’t you, Tom? Suffice to say that I abandoned the call I was on, grabbed my car keys and away we went.

  ‘Poor little Melissa, your heart would go out to her. I know she was only small when you passed over, love, but do you remember what a bright, bubbly, affectionate little thing she always used to be? “You’re not my real granny,” she used to say whenever she’d give me a hug, “but you’re like my pretend-y granny.”

  ‘And I know if you were here, Tom, you’d be the first to tell me to mind my own beeswax, but honestly, leaving a young one on her own just isn’t right. Susan Hayes should think herself very lucky it was me who found her last night and got her safely home, not some social worker who’d only have given her a hard time. The poor woman needs support right now and not an earbashing from social services. Still, though, she has responsibilities and a young daughter who needs her mammy.

  ‘Course, it didn’t take us long to find Susan. She was standing in full view right across the street from that kid’s house, Josh what’s-his-name, the one who everyone said was responsible for what happened. She was soaked through to the skin, shivering and blue with the cold, but I think she was glad it was me who’d found her and not anyone else. She got into the car for me easily enough, then just sat in silence the whole way home, twirling her hair around her fingers and staring out the window. Not a peep out of her. Didn’t even thank me when we pulled up back at Primrose Square, not that I was looking for thanks.

  ‘I’m worried, though, Tom. Susan Hayes has been through hell and back, and no one would blame her for acting out a bit. But it’s poor Melissa I’m thinking of. Not even thirteen years of age and with her dad off on duty, there’s only Susan to look after her. Of course I’ll keep a special eye out for the little pet, but it just breaks my heart to think that’s about all I can do.

  ‘So anyway, back to Jason,’ Jayne chatted away to the urn above her telly, as she continued pounding away on the dough she’d been kneading. ‘God knows how he’ll take my little bit of news, but I’m hoping he’ll go easy on me. Say a prayer for me, will you, love? Put in a good word for me with the Man above. If I can get through this, I’ll get through anything.

  ‘Actually, now that I think of it, a nice Madeira sponge, wouldn’t that be the very thing to put the lad in good humour? After all, as you always used to say, Tom, there’s no trouble on this earth that can’t be sweetened by my Madeira sponge, now is there?’

  Nancy

  FLAT 6B, SECOND FLOOR, CRAMPTON BUILDINGS

  Please let this be the one, Nancy thought, hauling herself up yet another flight of stairs on yet another day, her heart hammering from the mad dash she’d had to make to get to the appointment on time.

  Haven’t I been through enough already? Please Jesus/Buddha/Santa – anyone up there who’s listening to me - please, please, please just let this be The One.

  *

  ‘So over here we have the living area,’ the letting agent said brightly with an authoritative sweep of her arm, indicating little more than an armchair and a tiny coffee table. And that was it.

  ‘As you can see, the entire flat is lovely and cosy,’ she chattered away to Nancy, with a big cheesy grin plastered across her face. ‘Compact. Ideal for the single tenant, really. Absolutely perfect for a busy lady like you.’

  Then, dropping her voice down low, she added, ‘And just between ourselves, Ms Thompson, there’s huge demand for flats at this price level, so in your shoes, I’d save myself a lot of time and bother and just sign on the dotted line. I’ve got three other prospective tenants all lined up to see this place directly after you and I know it’ll be snapped up by the end of the day.

  ‘But the good news is that I’ve taken a bit of a liking to you,’ she added, with a patronising little smile. ‘And I know that relocating to a new city can’t be easy – particularly a city like Dublin, where property is at such a premium. So I’m just giving you a little heads up, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you.’ Nancy smiled politely, spinning around on her heel, so she could really take in the tininess of the place. ‘But can I just ask – where exactly did you say the living room was?’

  Because she was seeing everything else except an actual living room in front of her. She noticed the drab, grey carpet that must have been standard issue on rental properties – she’d already seen its match in dozens of other Dublin flats to date. And the tiny Velux window overhead, which you’d need to stand on a stepladder to reach. The fact that it was almost noon, and yet so gloomy in the flat, you’d need to switch on lights to see properly.

  And don’t, she thought, even get me started on the smell. Oh dear God, the smell. Damp, mixed with fresh paint in a clear attempt by a desperate landlord to try and disguise it. Nancy had been flat-hunting in Dublin so aggressively by now, she’d have known that giveaway stench a mile off. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the flat was situated directly beside an alleyway full of dumpsters, which wasn’t exactly helping, pong-wise.

  ‘No, no, no, lovey, I think you meant to say the living area,’ said the letting agent, who was called Irene and who was bone-thin, over-bright and quite comfortable with calling Nancy ‘lovey’, even though they’d met exactly seven minutes ago. ‘You’re standing right in the middle of it, my darling. Fabulous, isn’t it? Such a wonderful energy flow. Can’t you just see yourself living here?’

  ‘You mean this is it?’ Nancy asked her, dumfounded. ‘A chair and a coffee table?’

  She badly wanted to add: ‘Which you want nineteen hundred euro a month for?’ but politeness prevailed. Plus the fact that her brand new job was due to start the following day, and she was officially homeles
s.

  I bypassed ‘desperate’ about ten viewings ago, she thought, and now I’m officially in a state of panic. It was either settle for this kip, or else fork out a ridiculous amount of cash that she didn’t have for yet another night in an exorbitantly priced ‘budget’ hotel. Yet again.

  ‘Isn’t it just to die for?’ Irene said cheerily, with a big toothy grin. ‘Oh, and yet another added bonus,’ she enthused, ‘look how handy the living area is for access to the kitchen!’

  ‘The kitchen?’ Nancy said a bit more hopefully, looking around and wondering if she’d somehow missed a room on the way in. ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘You’re already standing in it, my love.’ Irene smiled back benignly.

  ‘But I haven’t budged an inch.’

  ‘You see?’ Irene practically beamed. ‘Look how conveniently close it is to the living area! Can you think of anything handier? Who wants doors and hallways anyway in this day and age? Who needs ’em, eh? That’s one of the main features I love about this flat: the fabulous, paired-back, Scandinavian minimalism. Stunning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hang on a second, Irene,’ Nancy asked, as her heart sank in utter disbelief. ‘By “kitchen”, do you mean that tiny microwave oven?’

  ‘Well . . . yes, actually,’ she said brightly.

  ‘So just to be clear, the kitchen is actually a microwave perched on a windowsill approximately three inches from the sofa.’

  ‘That’s right!’

  ‘The sofa, which you also describe as the living area.’

  ‘Well, it’s actually less of a kitchen, more of a food preparation area really,’ Irene chattered away, undeterred by her client’s total lack of enthusiasm. ‘But just think,’ she added, ‘could a set-up like this be more ideal for a busy professional like yourself? Think of all the eating out you’ll be doing in the evenings! The whole of Dublin will be like one giant restaurant for you. So why would you want the bother and hassle of a kitchen? More trouble than it’s worth, if you ask me. A microwave and a kettle, that’s as much as any hardworking, professional tenant needs, I always find. Perfect for you!’