Second Hand Jane Read online

  Jess had never figured out exactly where she fitted into their friendship equation, not just because she was the polar opposite of Nora and Brianna in her taste for all things vintage. Her idea of a great day’s shopping was not trawling the High Street for the latest fashions with them but rather rummaging through an Oxfam store or hitting a car boot sale. She definitely had her own sense of style, too, with her love of vintage designer clothes, and had gone through many phases in the fashion stakes. At Uni, she had fallen in love with the 1950s floral frock, eventually moving on to the Boho look of the early 1970s. She was currently enthralled by all things 80s, although she drew the line at horrendously oversized shoulder pads. Looks wise, she was out on a limb, too, with her green eyes and unruly crop of auburn curls that simply refused to do what they were told, no matter how many times she singed them between the hair-straighteners.

  She was neither quiet nor what you could call outspoken and the three girls often had a laugh that they were like Bananarama, the female trio from the 80s, before launching into an off-key version of “Venus.” Jess, however, was the only one who actually looked the part with the side bow in her hair and pinafore smock dress. What she did know, though, was that leaving London and arriving in Dublin back in 2001 was the best choice she ever made. The Celtic Tiger had been roaring and Dublin was rocking when she met the girls and the three of them had just clicked. This was surprising given their inauspicious start:

  Jess had booked in for a haircut with Miss Brianna—as the salon’s receptionist had referred to her—the morning of her job interview at the Marriott, the Marriott being an established Dublin guesthouse near St Stephens Green where she’d wound up working for slave wages during her first year in Dublin while she tried to establish a name for herself as a freelance journalist.

  Brianna, who never was a very good hairdresser and for whom half of Dublin’s female population breathed a sigh of relief when they heard she’d hung up her scissors in favour of being a stay-at-home mammy, had managed to brutalise her fringe—and that’s when Nora had walked into the salon for a lunchtime shampoo and blow-wave.

  Flopping down in the seat next to Jess’s, Nora called out a hello to Brianna, who was hopping nervously from foot to foot. She was gripping a mirror, waiting to show her already unhappy client the concave she’d attempted and which she had now decided was not such a good idea on hair that was as thick and curly as this girl’s was. Nora took in Brianna’s latest victim’s mortified expression as she frantically tried to stretch her shorn bangs down over her eyebrows and shook her head in commiseration.

  “My God, she’s done a job on you. You’re not going to be able to do much with that, now are you?”

  Distracted, Jess turned her attention to the blonde woman seated next to her, surprised that one so petite and dainty had such a big gob and feeling a stab of envy—a proper fringe! “Fringe envy”—now that was a new one, she’d thought. Still, the woman had only stated the obvious and so she’d blinked back the tears that were threatening and confided, “I know. I look terrible and I have a job interview this afternoon.”

  “I’m really sorry but you did say you wanted quite a bit taken off and well, your hair is curly and it all just bounced up a lot higher than I’d expected,” Brianna interjected with her bottom lip wobbling ominously.

  Jess almost felt sorry for the pretty stylist with the big doe-like eyes.

  “Too late for that, Brianna. They’ll think your woman here’s escaped from the funny farm looking like that and, where on earth did you buy that dress? My Gran had one just like it,” the blondie butted in again.

  Jess ignored the comment about her dress as she studied her fringe in the mirror. Blondie was right, she concluded; it did give her face a rather simplistic quality. She couldn’t help but omit a little laugh at how ludicrous she looked and then that little laugh had turned into a rip-roaring snort, which proved to be contagious and soon all three women were falling about laughing.

  Thus, a decade later, the Celtic Tiger may have rolled over and died a long and painful death but the three women still just clicked and Jess had long since grown her fringe out.

  Despite her butchered locks, though, she had gone on to get the job at the Marriott and her big break had come the day she’d organised a conference room for Nigel, the head reporter from the Dublin Express.

  Nigel was going to be interviewing Shane Moriarty from the latest boy band to dance their way onto the Irish charts in it. Shane, who was milking his new-found fame and fortune, had demanded all sorts of both legal and illegal treats be placed in the room if the reporter wanted him to dish the dirt. Jess, along with her contact (a fat man with crew cut and gold chains around his non-existent neck who loitered outside the Mary Street McDonald’s behind the Jervis Centre—she was by no means a regular customer, just a good observer and lover of the Big Mac), had managed to acquiesce to his every demand. This was to Nigel’s surprise and relief because it meant he got a coup in his candid interview with pop star Shane, who was extremely relaxed by the time he arrived revealing that, yes, he did have an illegitimate love-child being raised in the wilds of Connemara.

  To show his appreciation for getting his scoop, Nigel agreed to return the favour by sliding the sample piece Jess had written of her take on life in Dublin under Niall Fitzpatrick’s—his editor—nose. Considering how the Irish had for years been heading for pastures greener, Niall had been tickled by the idea of the tables turning and by condensing an Antipodean’s impressions of boom-time Ireland into a weekly column. This was ideal because she was still free to write the novel she planned to get around to writing one day but now she had her bread-and-butter job.

  “My column is called ‘Jessica Baré does Dublin,’ Mum,” she’d breathed excitedly down the transatlantic connection the day Niall had sent through her contract.

  “It sounds like those old porno movies—you remember? Debbie Does Dallas. But well done, dear, and be sure they accent the e,” her mother had congratulated her down the phone.

  Jess decided not to ask how she happened to know the title of old pornos and why on earth she would think her daughter would be familiar with them.

  It had started out as very much a Carrie Bradshaw/Sex and the City styled column and had evolved from there. Just like her fictitious New York counterpart, her column had been a hit, too, but even more surprisingly, despite the boom times being a distant memory, it still was a hit. She could only assume that her loyal following of downtrodden Dubliners liked to read about the happenings in her hapless life as surely it could only serve to make them feel better about their own! Thinking about her hapless life brought her back to the here and now as the train continued to judder along. Maybe she would tag along with Nora next time she suggested hitting the hotspots of Dublin. Mind you, the last time she’d shaken her groove thung until the wee hours, it had taken her days to recover—so much for being twenty-four, she thought with a rueful sigh.

  ***

  The train sailed into Bray Station at five minutes past two o’clock and she spied the girls waiting on the platform. Harry’s hand was held firmly by Brianna, the buggy parked beside her with a backpack sitting in it. All three waved out when they saw her disembark.

  Nora, Jess noticed as she leaned in for a quick hug, looked as if she meant business in her obviously expensive all-weather parka, cargo pants, and hiking boots whereas Brianna was a bit more casual in her sweatshirt, old jeans, and sneakers.

  “Oh goody, you’re wearing the elephant suit!” Brianna grinned, kissing her friend hello on the cheek and causing Harry to erupt into giggles and make trumpeting noises.

  Nora frowned and shook her head. “I’ll never know why when you finally did go and buy yourself something new, you chose that.”

  Jess pulled off Harry’s woolly hat, causing him to squeal and, handing it back, she told him to pipe down before stating, “Because me and the elephant suit are a match made in heaven. It is the most comfy outfit I have ever owned. Besides,
I’ll have you know I got wolf whistled at this morning while”—she did a twirl—“wearing this, my Penney special, and I had those pink fluffy slippers Mum sent me on, too.”

  “You never did?” Brianna’s eyes widened.

  “I did.”

  “You go, girl!”

  “Were you walking past St Vincent’s then?” Nora sniggered, referring to the Fairview-based psychiatric hospital.

  Jess hit her playfully on the arm. “Don’t be so awful, action woman! Come on—you look like you’re about to climb Everest, so we better get a move on before we get crushed in the melee.” She was referring to the handful of passengers getting on and off the train and the other two laughed.

  The foursome wound their way down to the promenade, which would take them to the start of the cliff walk. The tide was out, Jess noticed, looking at the crab hole-pocked sand as she listened to her friends chatter on about their weeks that had been. Harry trudged alongside her, looking mutinous and muttering about wanting his lemonade and crisps now. It was a good job Brianna had had the foresight to bring the buggy, Jess thought. He might like to think of himself as a big boy of five these days but his little legs still got tired and there was no way he would manage the two hour’s walk ahead of them. The big girls would struggle enough without having to take it in turns to piggyback him as well!

  ***

  An hour later, the trio paused to draw breath and survey the scene splayed out before them. Craggy green and brown cliffs stretched down to a churning sea, its recalcitrant colour meshing with the sky. Occasionally, a marauding gull would provide a splash of white against the vista. The sense of nature’s power was overwhelming up here, Jess thought, inhaling deeply and trying to harness a bit of it.

  “Even on a day like this, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it? We could be the only people in the entire world.” Brianna sighed happily before plopping Harry into his buggy. “You’ve done so well walking all this way, sweetheart. I think you deserve a bit of a nibble. What do you think?”

  Harry’s hand was already outstretched in anticipation of sustenance and as Brianna handed him his lunch box, a couple sailed round the corner on mountain bikes, nearly mowing them all down.

  “Oi, watch it!” she called out, receiving no more than an apologetic wave as the cyclists disappeared down the hillside.

  Jess laughed. “Well, almost the only people left in the world, aye Brie? And you’re right; it is gorgeous. It reminds me of home.” She felt a strong pang.

  Brianna patted her on the shoulder. “Did you know that your accent always get broader when you feel homesick? It must be hard sometimes being so far away from your family.”

  “Yeah, it is sometimes but then Mum phones me and I get over it pretty quickly.”

  “What’s the male-to-female ratio like in New Zealand?” Nora butted in, producing a fancy looking silver foil wrapped bar from the depths of her rucksack.

  “I don’t know but I bet my Mum could tell you. She knows the stats for most countries—I’ll ask her next time she phones.” She frowned, watching her friend hoe into the unappetising-looking snack. “Nora, you’re not doing the Boston Marathon. What’s with the bar?”

  “Protein bar.” Crumbs spewed forth. “Low in fat and packed full of protein.”

  Brianna held out a bag of chocolate chip cookies and Jess helped herself to one.

  Nora suddenly looked coy. “I’ve got another date with Ewan next Thursday and I want to fit into that little black dress of mine—you know, the one with the halter neck you two helped me pick?”

  The two friends nodded and exchanged a glance; it was a gorgeous dress. If Nora was pulling out all the stops on a second date for this Ewan, then they needed to find out more.

  “So I’m Dukaning myself.” Nora finished the bar and looked longingly at the bag of chocolate chippies.

  “You’re what?” Jess and Brianna chorused.

  “It’s this four-stage French diet that’s all the go at the moment. You start off by eating nothing but protein and then slowly reintroduce vegies and other stuff. Kate Middleton’s done it. I’m on day three, so girls, it might be advisable to let me bring up the rear because you don’t want to be downwind of me at the moment. All that protein can be a little bit constipating.”

  Her face was so serious that Jess had to laugh before adding, “Say no more! And if your friend Kate’s done it, then it must be the biz.” Her reply was very much tongue-in-cheek. “Personally, I think all those diets are a waste of time because losing weight is all down to exercise and portion size.”

  “Says the girl who hasn’t seen the inside of a gym since the 1990s and who can put away two whole Big Mac burgers and a large fries in one sitting.”

  “Once! I did that the one time! And you know I had the hangover from hell. I needed stodge fast and loads of it.”

  “So what’s he like then, this Ewan? He must have something about him if you’re seeing him again.” Brianna butted in, successfully heading off any further dietary discussion.

  “Well, put it this way, girls: I knew right from the off I was looking at a pretty good candidate to father my babies—yep, a top quality sperm donor.”

  The other two women nearly choked on their chocolate chips and Nora smirked. If there was a reality TV show called The Shock Factor, she’d have a starring role on it.

  “You can be so crass, Nora Brennan, but speaking of sperm, you just reminded me—Mum told me my sister is thinking of having another baby.”

  “What would that be then?”

  “Number five. I think she’s mad, though she and Brian have a pretty good babysitter to help ease the stress of it all.”

  “Who’s that then?”

  “My Mum.”

  “Oh right, good old Mum. Well, if Mr Good Quality Sperm doesn’t work out, I could always ask your sister to be a surrogate.”

  “Ooh, now that really is gross.”

  “All the celebrities are at it.”

  “Not with my sister they aren’t,” Jess muttered darkly.

  “Anyway, back to my possible donor. How are you placed next Thursday night? Because he has a friend…”

  “I will not go down the blind date route, Nora.”

  “At least it might get you a root!” This was a phrase Nora had picked up on her year-long Australian overseas adventure a decade or so ago.

  “Give it a rest, you two! Little ears are burning.” Brianna set off at a brisk pace, sending Harry’s cheesy-corn snacks flying. “Come on, shift it; there’s a glass of wine waiting for us in Greystones.”

  Nora and Jess did as they were told.

  ***

  By the time they reached the little harbour town of Greystones, the weather had closed in and a steady drizzle was descending. The Beach House Pub was a welcome sight looming over the little horseshoe-shaped bay and they hurried inside to where a welcoming fire was roaring.

  Once they were settled with their drinks in front of them, Nora picked up the threads of their earlier conversation. “Ewan said his friend is a big fan of your column and he’s really keen to meet you.” She frowned. “He said he loves your eclectic style, whatever that means.”

  “You’re making him sound like the male version of Kathy Bates in Misery—‘I’m your biggest fan,’” Jess mimicked, trying to smooth down curls she just knew had frizzed in the damp air.

  “I love the series you’re doing at the moment on all the different culinary schools in Dublin. This week’s one on Croatian food was really funny—I giggled out loud trying to picture you flipping pancakes. What were they called again?” Brianna loyally read her friend’s column every week and always gave her biased feedback.

  “Yeah, it was a sight and I had to scrape more than one off the floor. Cooking is not my forte, Brie, that’s for sure but Marija, our teacher, felt sorry for me and let me eat hers. Mmm, they were scrummy—Palacinke Sa Sirom or pancakes with cottage cheese.” Jess was enjoying her once weekly forays into foreign cuisine, as was her waistline. Th
e walk today would have done her some good, she thought, determined not to think about how many calories her glass of wine contained.

  “When are you going to do one on good old Irish tucker? Because you can’t beat my Gran’s stew with a hunk of soda bread to mop it all up with—yum! It’s the best.” Brianna’s eyes glazed over at the very thought of a bowl of it.

  “I’ve only got a couple more weeks to run with the cooking school theme and no offence to Granny Dierdre, but I’m booked in on a Cajun course and then I’m looking at a Portuguese class. After that, I need to come up with something completely different. Niall’s giving me the hard word—he wants something that will really hold the reader’s attention, so put your thinking caps on, girls.”

  “Well, if you go on this blind date Nora’s jacked up, you could write about that. I for one would be most interested in finding out how you get on and I think you should go, by the way.” Brianna opened Harry’s bag of Prawn Cocktail flavoured crisps and handed them to him. “Because if you don’t go, you’ll never know, will you?”

  “Know what?” Jess frowned.

  “Whether or not he’s the one, of course!”

  “Humph. Or he could be this Ewan of Nora’s ugly, desperate mate.”

  “Ewan assured me there is absolutely nothing wrong with him. They went to school together and he’s done really well for himself, dealing in property, apparently.” Nora leaned toward her. “Come on, Jess. Brianna’s right: if you don’t come along, you will never know and you might be letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip you by. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “He could be a serial killer.”

  “Well, now that would make for riveting reading,” Nora replied and Brianna sniggered.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Look, I’ll lay it on the line for you.” Nora leaned forward earnestly. “I am actually rather keen on Ewan and he asked me on behalf of this old school chum of his—whom, like I said loves your column and your weirdo style—to set up a double date for this Thursday. Please, please don’t make me let them down.”