I'm Still Standing Page 11

  Colm wipes a bandaged hand down his face. ‘She’d have shot him with both barrels.’

  ‘Exactly. And she’d be right. And what are you doing? Only rolling over like a docile dog.’

  Colm raises his voice a notch. ‘Times are different now, Christy; no one can fight the system and win. I’m done. I’ve not got the fight in me. If I could save this place, believe me I would. I have memories in every crack and crevice of it. I’ve got three months to pay back the loan with interest or I’ll have to sell up,’ he explains. ‘Right now, it’s costing me every day I stay open.’

  I lean against the counter and try to take in everything he’s saying. I can see that he’s losing money because the interest on his loan is so high. But we’ve quadrupled the footfall here in a matter of a few weeks, and every day that’s getting stronger. Once we get people over the threshold, they love the place. True, we are nowhere near as busy as the other pubs and bars in town, but that’s because we haven’t even touched the surface in terms of passing trade and tourists. We could definitely make that happen: just some good advertising, live music and gigs, some social media… completely fixable.

  ‘I could help you, Colm,’ I tell him. ‘I can work longer shifts, try out some ideas, drum up some business. Redecorate the interior.’ I look round me. The tables are old, marked and chipped from years of use. The painted walls are stained yellow with smoke and there’s a red flock velvet border that’s curling up in more places than it’s stuck to the wall.

  Colm scratches his neck and looks around as if he’s studying the place for the first time, scrutinising it. ‘That’s part of its charm, though. We’re not a high-street chain or some kind of theme bar; this is a traditional Irish pub, warts and all.’

  ‘She’s not saying to change it completely, Colm, she’s suggesting a bit of a freshen-up, that’s all. A lick of paint, that kind of thing.’ Christy winks over at me while Colm processes the idea.

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ Colm says. ‘Painters, decorators, materials, equipment. It all adds up, and cash is tight.’

  Before I even think it through, the words are out of my mouth. ‘I’ll do it for you. I’ll get whatever I can at the market and keep your costs as low as possible. I think it could look absolutely amazing, and who knows, we could have this place packed to the rafters again!’

  Colm strokes his chin and doesn’t look convinced.

  ‘We haven’t even got enough punters to balance the books. I think the days of people queuing for a pint at Rosie Munroe’s are well and truly finished.’

  ‘Don’t say that. We’re already getting more people through the doors. And you’re paying me to be here anyway, so I may as well multitask. After all, it’s my job on the line if this place gets any quieter.’

  Colm still isn’t convinced. ‘It’s very nice of you, Evelyn, but I need to let go of this place. I’m tired. Burnt out, as they say. I need some rest, so maybe in a way it’s a blessing in disguise.’

  I understand. I can see it in his body: he’s worn out.

  Christy walks over to the mantelpiece cluttered up with old antiques – clocks and horses and brass figurines along with sepia prints of suited men and wavy-haired women sitting in a row at the bar counter, their eyes laughing as they raise a toast to the camera. He studies the collection and pulls out a framed shot from the back, wiping the dust from the glass pane with his sleeve.

  ‘Here it is.’ He walks back over to us holding the frame in front of him. ‘Rosie Munroe’s at its peak.’

  I study the picture. It’s hard to believe this is the same place. The exterior is whitewashed, with an old-style hand-painted sign in red and black. There are seats outside, with plenty of people sitting at them – men and women side by side. Steel kegs are stacked up by the open double doors, always a sure sign of a successful business. In the middle of the doorway is a tall, strong-looking woman standing with her hands on her hips, a wide, welcoming smile on her face – Rosie Munroe.

  ‘It’s too late,’ says Colm. ‘I’m going to have to sell. I can’t run it any more and I don’t know anyone who will take it on, even just on a lease. Believe me, if I did, I’d sign it over in a heartbeat.’

  Somebody to take it on? I thought his only option was to pay the loan off or sell the pub. But lease it?

  ‘What do you mean exactly, Colm?’ I ask.

  ‘If I thought there was somebody experienced out there who could turn the place around and generate enough profit to get us out of this mess, they could have it. I could draw up a lease agreement this minute. But that’s never going to happen – who’s mad enough to take on a failing business? So I’m going to cut my losses, shut the door for good and just hand it over to the bank now. At least that way I’ll spare myself the stress.’

  My mind leaps forward to possibilities. I still have some savings – maybe even enough to pay a lease. Could I do this? Is it what I’ve been waiting for? There are a thousand reasons to hold my tongue and just back away. I can hear my mother’s voice in my ear – daft idea… inexperienced… money pit… pubs closing their doors every day of the week… long hours… zero holidays… But just as I told Ruby, if I make this choice and it turns out to be a mistake, however it goes, I’ll learn from it. And I’ll know I did it for my own reasons.

  I want to stay here, of that I am certain. I want to save Rosie Munroe’s and maybe, just maybe, I could make a go of it. Put my own stamp on it. Develop the ideas needed to restore it to its former glory. I know I’ve not got any real experience, but who does? No landlady I ever heard of went to publican university. Rosie Munroe certainly didn’t, and look at all she achieved! I arrived here in Dublin without a clue as to how my life was going to go, and so far, it’s working out better than I ever hoped. I’m happier here and now than I have been in years. So why not? Even if I end up failing… well at least I will have tried, I gave it a go, I’ll have no regrets. After all, it should be a hell of a lot easier walking away from this if it fails than it was walking away from my marriage. And I survived that.

  I need to ask myself something: what is it I want to do? Really want to do? I could take the first teaching job the recruitment agent offers me, a respectable post that pays the bills. But if there is something I have learnt so far, it’s that the safe option isn’t always the right option. I did that before, I did it with St Mary’s and I did it with my marriage; I did it for my parents and I did it for James, and in the end, I couldn’t keep it up. I couldn’t paint the happy smile on my face and pretend that I was fulfilled and committed. And that’s what’s brought me here, to the riskiest choices in my life. Splitting with James, jacking in my job and serving behind this bar feels right, feels like a fit.

  I came to Dublin to figure out what I wanted, and I’ve found it. And now that it’s under threat, am I just going to let it go? Let it slip away?

  I know the answer to that.

  Rosie didn’t just shrug her shoulders and give up when faced with a challenge. She didn’t take no for an answer. And it really takes that kind of heart-racing courage and fighting spirit to achieve anything. If she couldn’t find a way, she made a way.

  I’ve done safe, I’ve done easy, I’ve tried to live small. Now I’m ready to go hard or go home.

  Fighting for Rosie Munroe’s is kind of like fighting for myself, for the space to pursue something meaningful, to take a risk and believe that with vision and hard work and the right people around me, I can make it happen.

  There’s only one answer to this.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Me,’ I say aloud.

  ‘Pardon?’ Both men shoot me a look.

  ‘I’ll take on the lease. I’ll take on Rosie Munroe’s.’

  Colm sighs a sympathetic smile and clasps his hands together. ‘That’s awful nice of you, Evelyn, but I don’t want you saddled with a redundant business. This isn’t like teaching. This is hard graft twenty-four seven. At its best it’s full of drunkards and at its worst it’s dead, quiet as a mausoleum, a
nd that’s when the hours are long and lonely and the overheads suffocate you. I appreciate your offer, but I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t let you do it to yourself.’

  I take a deep breath. My entire body is battling itself. The left side of my brain is telling me this is not a sound investment. The right side wants more – to tear down the cobwebs and throw open the doors and fill the place with light and music and laughter… And what about those extra rooms? A dance hall? A roof garden? My stomach has folded in on itself at the enormity of the decision and the prospect of failure, but my heart is bursting with the possibility – no, the certainty that it won’t be anything less than a roaring success.

  I look around the bar at the clusters of tables, at the time-worn stone walls and the great big turf fireplace, the old high stools and the polished hardwood floor that has been walked across by the good and the great for the last half-century. The real-life theatre of human life in all its rawness: sadness and celebration, passions and friendships, songs and music.

  I have an idea. I raise my finger to them. ‘Don’t do anything until I get back.’ Then I rush out through the double doors into the street.

  I don’t even wait for Danny to finish his song. I run to his side and curl my hand around his ear, explaining my chance – our chance. Then I step back and watch his face as he processes what I just told him.

  ‘And you think I could help?’ he asks, a half-smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘You know the area, you know the city. You know about musicians and where to find them and how to book them and what they need to set up. And I think that’s really what Rosie’s USP is all about.’

  ‘USP?’

  ‘Unique selling point. Rosie’s was a famous music venue; if we can bring that back to life, then we’re on our way.’

  Danny stands, squinting up at the old building. ‘Have you ever done anything like this before?’

  I shake my head. ‘That’s why I figure I should do it now.’

  ‘You are a bit crazy, you know. Or are you all like this down the country?’

  ‘Not as crazy as you are, standing out here on the street day after day with that amazing voice of yours. We could do it; between us we have everything we need.’

  ‘Us?’ He rubs his face with his hands.

  ‘You and me, together as a team. If we don’t do it, the pub will shut forever. Simple as that. And if we shy away from this, we’re probably going to shy away from everything. This is one of those chances to feel the fear but do it anyway. All the financial risk is mine, but I know I need you to make it work. I think we’d be a great team, Danny.’

  He looks at me, that same half-smile still on his face. ‘Really? How could you know that?’

  ‘Right, I’ll tell you how. I hear you singing your heart out on the street every day, come rain or shine, so I know that you are really hard-working. You read people really well. Remember those little schoolchildren reaching for the stars? You can change their mood, lift their spirits in an instant. You never sing a note out of tune or without giving every performance your absolute all, so I know that getting things right is important to you. You ran straight in to help me when the brawl broke out, so I know you’re kind and chivalrous, and I know that you already know your way around the bar because you’ve helped Colm when he’s been stuck. And if I get another fat lip, I know who I’d like to fix me up.’ I point to my top lip. ‘See how well it healed? That’s down to you.’

  Danny hooks his hand around the back of his neck and throws his head back. ‘You completely believe in this, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Completely.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘A complete refurb of the pub and the stage area at the back. Then a grand opening where you book us the best up-and-coming band in Dublin and we pack out the house. After that, the sky is the limit.’

  ‘We’ll have to do a research date. Get some inspiration, see what’s already out there, check out the competition.’

  ‘Yes!’ I want to jump up and down on the spot. I knew I could convince him. ‘You’re on. Anywhere, any time. So you’re with me?’ I ask him.

  ‘Let’s do it. Proposal accepted.’ And we shake on the deal.

  Then I wrap my arms around his neck and whisper, ‘Thank you, you won’t regret this, I promise.’

  At the end of my shift, Colm signs the lease over to me and I scribble my name on the dotted line.

  ‘You’re now officially the new licensee of Rosie Munroe’s and the first female landlady since the great woman herself. I wish you every success, Evelyn.’ And he hands me the keys.

  This is getting real.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Danny’s picking me up outside my house at eight so we can check out some other music venues and see what we are up against in terms of competition. The ink isn’t even dry on the contract and yet I’m getting ready to go on a market research date.

  Which gives me all of twenty minutes to get ready.

  I pull out my suitcase to find something suitable to wear – I just wear jeans and a T-shirt to the pub, so that won’t do. I didn’t bring much with me to Dublin, and looking at the small folded pile that is now my entire wardrobe, I realise James may have had a point – pretty much everything I own looks like it belongs on a Conservative politician at least twenty years my senior… who is in mourning. The only thing I have that’s not black is a slinky, silky cobalt-blue dress Tara gave me for my birthday last year. I guess I kind of brought it as a personal dare, a challenge to myself, like keeping clothes three sizes too small in your wardrobe with a half-baked intention of fitting into them again one day.

  I need to get a move on, no overthinking. But isn’t this dress a bit tight? A bit short? These heels a bit high?

  I hold it up. Actually, I think it might be just the thing.

  I blow-dry my hair so it’s got a bit of shine and movement. Next: make-up. I’ve been watching Ruby apply hers, and that winged flick she does with her kohl eyeliner is incredible, so I give the smoky look a go, just enough to accent the colour of my eyes. Then a dusting of blush and a slick of lipstick. Okay, I think that should do it.

  I tug at my dress; there’s no time to change now. I wriggle in it until it hangs just right, then turn to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I watch the look of fear dissolve from my face and a smile relax across my lips. Wow. I smile at what I see, because it’s been far too long since I last looked like this. I’m not saying I’m gorgeous by any means, but I do look decent. I look like someone happy and hopeful and confident, and like I may just belong in this city after all.

  For a moment it is as if I’m looking at a different person, or someone familiar but changed… I’m seeing myself through different eyes. I practise saying my name, as if I’m trying on a new identity. I thrust out my hand to shake that of an imaginary stranger. Yes, I am Evelyn Dooley. That’s right, I’m the landlady of Rosie Munroe’s. Yes, I am bouncing from one day to the next. But yes, I am pretty proud of myself actually, thank you for asking.

  I imagine it’s Danny in front of me. I try to picture what he sees, what he thinks. How long has it been since someone found me attractive?

  Tara slips her head around the door. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. I smooth my dress down, in an effort to make it longer. ‘Sorry, it’s too much. I should change.’

  ‘Are you crazy? You look incredible. But where are you going to at this time?’

  ‘Oh Tara, I’ve got so much to tell you. Today has been crazy. But I need to run now. I’ve got a date.’

  Tara’s eyes widen. ‘A date? Evelyn Dooley, you sly thing! Tell me everything in the morning.’

  I hear someone climbing the steps outside the house, and before he even has a chance to ring the bell, I’ve opened the door and am standing right in front of him, my bag over my shoulder, ready to go.

  A date! A proper date with an actual live, incredibly attractive man, face to face, at night, in re
al time. No big group to fall back on, no mutual friends to defuse the pressure, no safety net. Just him and me and a vision to make this dream a reality.

  Am I crazy?

  Probably.

  But I’m too excited to care.

  We walk the yellow-lit streets, through a dark archway and along a stone-walled alley where, under a lone flickering blue sign we knock on the side door of what looks like a shut-down warehouse. Within seconds, a long-haired guy in a leather waistcoat greets Danny with affection and leads us down a tight stairwell, the walls covered in graffiti and droplets of condensation.

  The door to the basement opens and I’m overwhelmed by the scene. It’s dark and dingy but jammed with a completely different crowd to that of Rosie Munroe’s. This place has a real mix of beautiful, energetic people dancing and clapping and beating out the drumbeat with their fingers and their feet. They are a wild, raw, rhythmic tribe with piercings and tattoos and asymmetric hair and an air of effortless, bohemian, nihilistic chic. I relax. This is the kind of place you can just blend in; people don’t come to catwalk or people-watch – you can be yourself here. Besides, the music is so good, everyone is beyond caring about anything else. I pull my hair down and shake it out; I can feel the vibrations of the bass in the soles of my feet.

  The bar is like an old Western saloon bar. I love the look of the brandy-coloured lighting, the dark wood and leather booths, the candles burning in old wax-covered bottles – heaven. Danny looks over his shoulder to ensure I’m all right, his fingers finding his way to mine and threading through. ‘So you don’t get lost.’ He winks.

  We take two stools at the low counter curving along the side of the room. All the bar staff seem to know Danny; they clap him on the back and smile their hellos.

  ‘What do you think?’

  I nod. ‘I like it. It’s certainly busy. Do you think we could do something like this on our side of the river?’