Ms Positivity Personified – or better still, meet up with her friend face to face.
Moving back to her desk, she was just about to reach for her phone, when it rang.
‘Christian!’ she said, into the receiver. ‘Thank God! I’m having a horrible day, and I need someone lovely to talk to!’
‘I’m afraid this won’t be a lovey-dovey call, sweetheart. I need to ask you a favour.’
‘What might that be?’
‘Can you come and take over in the shop for an hour or so? Something’s come up that I need to take care of, and I can’t man the till.’
‘Isn’t Lisa there to do that?’
‘Business was slack, so I gave her the afternoon off.’
‘Sure I’ll do it. I’d be delighted to have an excuse to skive off. But you do know that my wine savvy doesn’t extend much beyond The Bluffer’s Guide.’
‘No worries. You’ll be lucky to shift a bottle of house plonk the way things are going today.’
‘So. What’s come up?’
‘Julian’s broken his pelvis, and won’t be able to do the tasting tour.’ Julian was Christian’s partner, who ran the Dublin branch of the business.
‘Oh, shit! How did that happen?’
‘He was in a prang with an SUV.’
‘Oh, how horrible! Poor Julian. I’ve always said those things should be banned. I’m going to write to the Minister for Transport.’
‘Atta girl!’
‘How long’ll he be out of commission?’
‘Fucking forever. There’s no way he’ll be accompanying our oenophile friends to France next month.’
‘Oh, Christian – what a bummer.’
‘I’m going to have to spend the afternoon confirming reservations. If enough people haven’t confirmed, we can refund those who have already paid, and cancel.’
‘But isn’t that wine-tasting tour one of your biggest earners?’
‘Sadly, yes. And we’re going to lose a lot of goodwill as well as money.’
‘Hey – hang on. What’s there to stop you going instead of Julian?’
‘Have you forgotten what else is happening at the end of next month, Dervla?’
‘What?’
‘Nemia’s on two weeks’ leave.’
‘Oh, Christ. I had forgotten.’
‘I’m kicking myself now that I didn’t take Josephine up on her offer.’
Josephine – Christian’s sister – had volunteered to come over from Australia to help out while Nemia was away, but Christian had assured her that it wasn’t necessary, that they’d be bound to find someone to cover. However, their efforts to find a replacement carer had been unsuccessful. The local girl who stood in for Nemia on her weekends off was employed elsewhere during the week, and so far only one person had responded to the ad they’d put up in the local shop. Christian and Dervla had agreed that it would not be appropriate to have a twenty-something youth in a Radiohead T-shirt looking after his mother, and had decided to do the caring themselves, with Christian taking time off work and allowing his assistant Lisa to run the shop.
‘Look – don’t worry about it, Christian,’ Dervla told him. ‘We’ll work something out. I’ll do some homework on the internet – we can always get professionals in for a couple of weeks. Or…’ She allowed a silence to fall.
Christian picked up on his cue. ‘I know what you’re going to say, love. You’re going to say that we could put Mum in a home.’
‘Christian – it’s just for two weeks!’
‘I couldn’t do it to her, Dervla. I just couldn’t.’
‘They say some of them are really nice now—’
‘Dervla. This is my mother we’re talking about.’
‘Oh, Christian, please let’s not row about this. Please let’s just have a look.’
On the other end of the phone, she heard him sigh. ‘OK. Have a look online and if we can’t find someone to move in we’ll pay a couple of them a visit.’
‘I’ll do that. What time do you want me down there?’
‘Around four o’clock?’
‘Four o’clock’s fine. I might head into Lissamore afterwards and persuade Fleur to go for a drink.’
‘Or a walk. It’s a beautiful day.’
‘Good idea. A walk, then a drink. I’ll see you at four, love.’
‘Thanks, Dervla.’
Dervla felt a little shaky as she put the phone down. Maybe she should ask Nemia if she could postpone her holiday? But she had booked a fortnight in Malta with a crowd of girlfriends, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask. And as for cancelling the wine-tasting tour? That would be disastrous. Christian was right: aside from the monetary loss, it would mean that people might decide to take their custom elsewhere. Bacchante Wines had a loyal clientele, many of whom looked on the annual French tour as a kind of pilgrimage. They’d be deeply disappointed if it were cancelled. And, anyway, what if—
Aiiee! Here she was, painting a worst-case scenario. Positive, positive – be positive! Emulate Fleur! They’d be bound to find somebody to take care of Daphne. Dervla took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Accessing her internet browser, she typed ‘professional care workers for elderly’ into the Google search bar.
The first few sites she visited extolled the virtues of their care givers, but were coy about their rates. There were, instead, lots of references to ‘dignity’, ‘individuals’, and ‘community’. Finally Dervla found an agency that boasted a tariff page. Sweet Jesus! Twenty-four/seven care started at €1250 per week (dementia and Alzheimer’s sufferers extra: to be negotiated on assessment). Nemia – at €650 – cost just under half that. Oh – this was barking. There had to be a cheaper alternative.
Maybe a home would be cheaper? If so, then surely Christian couldn’t object to his mother spending just two weeks in residential care. Rather than trawl through the internet, Dervla decided that the Golden Pages might be easier to pinpoint the likely-looking ones. She reached for the directory, and went to Nursing Homes.
There were hundreds listed. Some could have been holiday resorts, to go by the descriptions, with ‘Cuisine of High Standard’, ‘En Suite Luxury’, ‘Dedicated Activities Coordinators’, ‘Breathtaking Views’, ‘Hair Salons’, ‘Bespoke Furniture’, ‘Ayurvedic Massage’, ‘Hydrotherapy Pools’ and ‘Sun Lounges’. Dervla wouldn’t mind
