A Part of Me and You: An empowering and incredibly moving novel that will make you laugh and cry
any good?’ I suggest, but then we both giggle as she points at her hair which is a few shades lighter than yellow. She shrugs.
‘I’d look like Big Bird,’ she says. ‘I should’ve packed a different wig for my trip instead of trying to pretend I’m a sexy blonde. I’ve never been blonde in my life! In fact I’ve dyed my hair so many times down the years I don’t even remember what my natural colour is now.’
I nod nervously when she tells me it’s a wig, and go back to my stool and my magazine by the till, my out-of-practice social skills tripping me up at the idea of discussing anything other than my safe topics with this stranger.
Thankfully though, she isn’t bothered by my non-answer but I turn up the background music in the shop just in case, and try and focus on the reality TV stars who now look up at me from my magazine.
My eyes dart across to her every now and then though as she browses. She is holding a favourite of mine, a royal blue wrap-over jersey dress that skims the knee and I want to tell her that it would suit her very well, but I’m afraid of her indulging me with her own sad story. I need positive thinking today. I daren’t open the flood gates and talk about Lily and I know that is exactly what would happen.
‘Can I try this on?’ asks the lady. ‘I need something to wear that isn’t shorts and a t-shirt or a floaty skirt that you could spit through. What on earth was I thinking? That’s what I get for coming here in a hurry.’
I point her to the changing rooms and just as I’d predicted, the dress fits her like a glove and brightens up her pale face no end.
‘It suits you. It really does.’
‘I suppose it does,’ she says, admiring her reflection in the mirror. ‘How much is it?’
‘Sixty euro,’ I tell her. ‘But I can do it for fifty-five?’
She is just about to reply when Terence arrives at the door, pushing it open with his backside like he always does, his hands laden with cardboard boxes full of delights that I can’t wait to get my hands on.
‘Sorry Shelley! Better late than never, love,’ he says. ‘I got stuck at the hospital yesterday. Did you get my text?’
I glance back at my customer but instead of responding to the price, she has disappeared back into the changing room so I focus on Terence and the delivery while I wait for her return.
‘I didn’t get your text, but not to worry,’ I say to him. ‘I thought you’d traded me in for the big game today.’
Terence sets the box of goodies on the floor and wipes his hands, damp from the drizzle outside, on his trusty black jacket.
‘I’m going to try and catch some of the second half from my armchair at home,’ he tells me, handing over the delivery receipt and pointing out where I need to sign. ‘You’re my last delivery. I always save the best to last.’
I look up and he gives me a wink and a knowing smile.
‘I’m doing okay,’ I say to him, wincing as I write the date on his copy of the receipt. ‘Just don’t talk to me too much about it. Talk about the football match. Or the weather. Horrible weather for July, isn’t it? Where on earth is our summer?’
The lady with the blonde wig is out of the changing rooms now and without looking my way, she hangs the dress back where she got it, gives a casual wave in my direction and slips off out through the door. Strange. I was sure she was going to take it.
‘Awful weather altogether,’ says Terence. ‘I have a bet on that Galway will do the business, but I think that’s my heart more than my head talking. What do you think?’
‘Eh?’
I look past him out on to the street where I see her scuttle away in the light drizzle, her handbag her only shelter from the rain.
‘The match?’ says Terence.
‘Oh yeah. The match. Let’s hope we can do it,’ I mumble back at him.
‘Look after yourself today, missy,’ he tells me and since he knows me so well by now he leaves it at that. I walk him to the door, unable to resist a peep outside into the damp, drizzly day. I see the woman with the wig shuffling past a few diehard fans in Galway football jerseys out for their half-time smoke before she makes her way down the road past Brannigan’s.
I see tourists every day, all year round here in this town but there’s something about her that has caught me, in a good way and I wish I had engaged with her more. I wish I had the courage to talk to people, especially other women, properly. You know, make friends again. Socialise. But I always get stuck. I get too afraid of opening up to people who would rather not hear of my troubles. Everyone has troubles of their own, I suppose, and who would want to hear about mine?
Juliette
‘I forgot my purse,’ I say to Rosie who has made herself at home on the sofa in the cottage that will be our home for the next seven days. ‘How on earth could I do that? I got to the shop and tried on the most gorgeous dress then realised I didn’t have my purse with me. Have you seen it anywhere?’
‘The wi-fi here is so bad,’ says Rosie, totally ignoring what I just said. ‘I’m going to go off my head with boredom here. Where is this place anyhow? Bally-go-backwards or somewhere? I can’t even find it on Google Maps.’
She is snapchatting or doing whatever it is that teenagers do on their phones, recording and sharing their every move, and her nonchalance to reality and the fact that I cannot find my purse is making me irritable.
‘Rosie, have you seen my purse anywhere?’ I ask more directly. ‘I went to that nice vintage shop on the corner to buy something warm and it’s not in my handbag. Rosie?’
She swings her long legs off the sofa and grunts as she walks to the sideboard in the living area and hands me my purse from inside her own handbag.
‘Are you losing your memory or something?’ she asks me. ‘Like, duh! You gave it to me in that pub earlier to pay for the drinks and told me to keep it safe ‘til we got to this place. You always forget stuff and then act like it’s my fault! I don’t want to be here! I am so bored already!’
I take the purse from her and put it in my bag, bewildered at what has just happened. I don’t know what has shaken me more – the fact that I genuinely don’t remember giving her the purse or the way she just spoke to me. Rosie never speaks to me like that, ever. We have never raised our voices to each other and I certainly don’t want it to start happening now.
‘Rosie, this is a beautiful place and I know it’s raining and the wi-fi might not be what you are used to, but I want this to be special for us. We haven’t had a holiday together in such a long time.’
‘What are you on about? We went to Salou last year. And why do we even have to go on holiday in the first place? What’s the big rush to go on holiday?’
‘Yes, you, me and Dan went to Salou last year,’ I reply. ‘I mean just you and me. I have so much planned for us over the next few days and I really want us both to enjoy it. Please don’t ruin it before it begins.’
She slumps down on the sofa and puts her nose into her phone, giggling at whatever her latest message is which stings me to the core. She is ignoring me and I don’t like it one bit.
‘Rosie?’ I say to her. ‘Rosie, will you listen to me? I’ve gone to a lot of effort to bring us here. I’ve made a—’
‘Don’t tell me, Mum, you’ve made more plans that you won’t see through,’ she mutters. At least she was half-listening but again, her words hurt. I’m really not used to this.
‘I’m