Carol’s eyes fluttered over to the wardrobe where the dry-cleaning bag containing her costume was hanging from the handle. She’d been counting down the hours until she could put it on, not that she hadn’t had a lovely day in Dublin’s fair city. The sounds and scents as she’d ventured down familiar pavements, her arm linked companionably through Sarah’s, had transported her back to her younger years. She’d felt the glow of youth settle over her and had been startled to look up at Sarah and see a woman of fifty with lines of disapproval etched into her face. How had the time passed so quickly that she had a daughter who was half a century?
The atmosphere on the fairy-light strewn streets was festive, and the sense of anticipation for the big night ahead was palpable. On Grafton Street, buskers had strummed guitars or crooned songs and, unable to resist the aroma of chestnuts roasting over a street vendor’s brazier, she’d even treated herself to a bag of the delicious nuts to share with Sarah. They were the taste of winter she’d told her daughter, enjoying the warmth of the paper bag she held in her hands and hoping they didn’t give her indigestion. So many things did these days.
Sarah had organised the trip and she’d picked their accommodation. She’d done well on both counts. O’Mara’s, the Guesthouse on the Green, was directly opposite St Stephen’s Green where she could recall feeding the ducks on long ago, lazy Sunday afternoons. It was also located a mere ten-minute walk, not that she’d be walking of course, from Coco’s Cabaret Club where she was due on stage later tonight. O’Mara’s was a definite step up from the flea infested pit she’d stayed in the last time she’d performed at Coco’s. This time around she’d told Sarah she wouldn’t be sharing a room either because at her age she was entitled to her own space. The days when hardship and discomfort were of no consequence so long as she got to do what she loved were long gone. Although Carol still loved to perform. She’d been basking in applause since she was eighteen and her talent for song and dance and well, other things, had been her ticket to a new and glamorous life in America. She’d started at the bottom of the ladder and worked her way up, rung by rung, until finally Broadway had beckoned and she’d never looked back until now.
Getting up from the dressing table, Carol retrieved her costume and pulled the protective plastic sleeve off it. It was a little early to be getting changed but she knew from past experience there wouldn’t be space to swing a cat in the box-sized dressing room out the back of Coco’s. No, it was better she got ready here and put her coat on over the top of her costume to wear to the club. Besides she’d promised to give Maureen a sneak preview before she left. She’d thoroughly enjoyed their chat. There were some people in life one just gelled with and she’d felt like that with Maureen. The poor woman was in an awful quandary as to how to tell her children she’d struck up a friendship that might be more than just a friendship with a man she’d met at a yacht club dinner before Christmas.
Carol’s advice had been simple and straight to the point. ‘Bite the bullet and be done with it just as I’m going to tonight. You don’t need your children’s approval in life, Maureen. If they choose not to give it so be it. You’ve your own life to be living and you need to grab it as hard as you can right by the balls, my dear!’
Carol was about to undo her robe when a sudden clattering beneath her window startled her. Surely, she was too old to be a target for a peeping Tom? She retrieved her glasses from the bedside table feeling her false lashes tickling the lenses as she put them on and, checking her robe was securely tied, she moved across to the window of the ground floor room. The element of surprise was key and she wrenched the drapes open, although if it had been a peeping Tom skulking about, he’d have disappeared in the time it took for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
She peered out into the courtyard and spotted the culprit. A bushy tailed creature was trotting stealthily away from the rubbish bin, the lid of which was still spinning on the ground. A fox! She hadn’t seen one in years and she watched fascinated as he reached the brick wall, unaware she was holding her breath as she wondered what he’d do. He turned, bold as brass, his pointy ears twitching and looked straight at her. She could see he had something in his mouth. Was it half a sausage? Yes, she decided, it was, and quite possibly the remnants of her own breakfast. She’d ordered the full Irish and had been unable to finish it all. The cook, Mrs Flaherty had bristled at the sight of a half-eaten meal although her feathers had been smoothed when Carol had gushed as to how delicious it was but that the plate had been almost as big as she was! No wonder the little red fox looked so pleased with himself. She fancied he’d stopped to look back in order to thank her and she watched as, with a flick of his tail, he disappeared underneath the brick wall and into the gardens she knew lay beyond.
She drew the curtains once more and donned her costume. Slipping into the shoes that reminded her a little of the ruby slippers Judy Garland had worn when she played Dorothy, made her think of Maureen once more and she picked up the phone to tell her she was ready.
She had time for one final appraisal while she waited for her new friend
