‘Tequila-talk,’ said Clodagh, under her breath. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘I only live down the road in Monkstown and I was up with my trainer anyway,’ carried on Bridget. ‘And I want to have another little chat with that gorgeous teacher guy, Redmond. He said he had to be up early to come to a cake sale, so here I am. Anyway, my momager says it’s all about being with the people. Getting down to their level. Being approachable. Just like them. Without having to be like them.’
Clodagh rolled her eyes, but Mary, was delighted. ‘Another celebrity!’ she said. ‘It’ll be the best cake sale ever! We won’t need to sell the Copse now, eh Tabitha?’
‘So, where is he?’
‘Tea urn,’ I said, defeated by Bridget. This was how Clodagh must feel, I thought.
He felt the weight of our gaze and he looked up to find the four of us all staring at him. He managed a nod and carried on wrestling with a giant teapot.
‘Well, if it isn’t… yourself off the weather.’ Brian Crowley was looking delighted at the sight of Bridget as he made his way over to us. ‘Brian Crowley, board of governors…’ He dug out his phone. ‘May I?’ He was panting slightly like a dog on heat.
‘For fifty euro,’ said Bridget, looking unruffled.
Brian hesitated. ‘That’s a bit steep,’ he said.
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘They’ll love this, the lads at the golf club. The Connemara Cracker, they call you. Brings a little spice to our day, you know what I mean?’ He lunged at her face, phone aloft, going in for a killer kiss as Mary and I stood there, appalled. But Bridget moved her face the tiniest amount so his lips planted right on her cheek and she pulled away, smiling, hand out.
‘Fifty euro please.’
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large note. ‘And just a word of advice.’ She leaned into his ear, speaking quietly and slowly. ‘If you ever put your hand on my arse again, you will be very sorry you ever thought you could get a cheap thrill from me.’ Brian paled. ‘Make it another fifty euro and I won’t make a formal complaint to the Gardaí.’
With his porky hands, he pulled another large note out from his wallet and handed it over. Mary and I made eye contact, impressed. She was good. ‘Thank you,’ she said sweetly, and handed them straight to Mary. ‘For the general coffers. I’ll just pop over and say hello to Redmond,’ she said, slipping away and strutting to the tea table. We watched with fascinated horror.
Clodagh rolled her eyes at me. ‘Surely Red wouldn’t go for someone like Bridget,’ she said. ‘Surely he’s got more sense?’
I shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ I hoped not but what red blooded male wouldn’t.
‘I’m sure he’ll be happy about it,’ insisted Mary. ‘Lovely girl like Bridget O’Flaherty showing an interest. He’ll be very flattered.’
The three of us watched as Bridget chatted to him and then, next minute, she was behind the table and was standing very closely behind him as he showed her how to use the tea urn. She reached around him to grip the spout.
‘It’s like the scene from Ghost,’ said Clodagh, with a shudder.
‘Well, we should stop staring,’ said Mary. ‘And sell a few more cakes.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, we should.’ But I kept one eye on Bridget and Red, watching how she was pouring out tea for people, taking the money, flirting with everyone. Red glanced over at me and I looked away.
*
Finally, when everything was over, Mary was collecting all the various ice cream tubs full of coppers and change and we were sweeping and clearing up, Clodagh and Bridget were talking on the other side of the room, and Red joined me.
‘That seems to have been a success,’ he said. ‘In my limited experience of cake sales.’
‘They didn’t have then in California, then?’ I said.
‘No, they are peculiarly Irish,’ he replied. ‘They were into sponsored sports, basketball tournaments, baseball games.’ He smiled at me. ‘Not that I want to give Mary any more money-spinning ideas.’
‘What’s that?’ she said. ‘Did someone say money-spinning?’ She had five ice cream tubs balanced between her hands and her chin. ‘Have you come up with another way of raising money, Red?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I think you are doing brilliantly well without me.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, teasing him, ‘you could try your hand at some singing? A bit of Johnny Logan? Or do you have other Eurovision people you can take off?’
‘That’s it!’ said Red laughing. ‘Finally, someone has recognised my talent, finally you’ve seen me for who I really am. A man with the face and body of an ordinary person but with the heart of Johnny Logan.’ He turned to Mary. ‘Will you manage me Mary? Together we can be rich! Together, I can realise my full potential…’
‘Deal,’ said Mary. ‘Now, what about What’s Another Year? Give us a bit of that one…’
‘But I don’t have my white suit on,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to give it the full Johnny.’
‘What would Johnny do?’ I said.
‘He’d just get on with it,’ said Mary. ‘So…’
‘Get on with it.’ The three of us were laughing as Red took a broom and began cradling it like a microphone and began crooning into the handle. ‘I’ve been waiting for such a long time… Come on, sing it with me Mary…’ He put his arm around her shoulders and they sung together.
I’d never actually felt the need to cry at a Johnny Logan song before but I actually felt a lump in my throat, my eyes misty. God, maybe it was a sign of age when you began being moved by Johnny Logan and Eurovision.
‘I’ve been waiting such a long time, reaching out for you. But you’re not near.’
They paused, locking eyes, swaying together.
‘What’s another year?’
‘What?’ I said when they had finished. ‘Only two verses?’
‘I think that’s enough,’ said Red. ‘We might need to work on it.’ He was smiling but I could see that he had noticed me welling up. ‘What do you think Mary?’ he said, ‘do you think we have it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We don’t have it at all. But we can keep trying. Now, I meant to say about our film night tonight…’
But we’d been joined by Bridget, who tapped Red on the shoulder.
‘What was that?’ she said.
‘What was what?’
‘The singing?’
‘Johnny Logan,’ he said. ‘Did you know recognise it. I know we don’t actually do the great man any favours, do we Mary?’
She was laughing. ‘No one could, Red,’ she said. ‘Only Johnny is Johnny.’
‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’ said Bridget making the three of us jerk our heads to face her.
‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’ Mary couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
‘Yes,’ said Bridget. ‘Who’s Johnny Logan?’
‘Only Ireland’s greatest Eurovisioner…’ said Red and then turned to us. ‘Eurovisionist?’
We nodded. That sounded right.
‘Won it two times,’ explained Red. ‘The man can’t lose Eurovision. He’s our best hope to reclaim our crown.’
Bridget was looking at us as though we were mad. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell if you are joking or not.’
‘Joking about Johnny?’ said Red.
‘The very idea!’ said Mary.
‘Whatever,’ dismissed Bridget. ‘Listen Red,’ she said, all business-like. ‘Can I have a word?’ He nodded and she pulled him to one side, while Mary and I continued sweeping.
‘I was wondering,’ Bridget said, ‘if you were doing anything interesting this evening?’
‘I am actually.’ He sounded surprised at her question. ‘I’m going to the cinema with Mary,’ he said. ‘So…’
‘So what?’
‘So… no. Sorry Bridget.’ He called over to Mary. ‘We’re going to see an old French film. Aren’t we, Mary? Mary is educating me in the art of the French film. I’m a philistine, in her eyes.’
What was this? I wanted to go to see a French film with the two of them. It sounded lovely.