It was almost lunchtime when they arrived in Ballybrack and they rambled along the narrow streets, each lost in their own thoughts, until they came to the old parochial hall that housed a craft market each weekend. The hall itself was almost dilapidated, but the locals and the craft workers had worked hard to paint over the worrying cracks with a leafy motif, which ran along whitewashed walls.
Over the constant hum of shoppers and sellers Elizabeth caught the soft melody of piano music drifting from one end and creating an ambience that carpeted over the individual sounds that might otherwise have been harsh in the overhanging emptiness of the high ceilings and bare floors. There was an unmistakable lingering dint of must and mothballs undercutting the heavy overbearing aromas of scented oils and waxed candles on the stalls. Perhaps, it was just as well; although Elizabeth was not keen on artificial fragrance, they might be better than a hundred-year-old damp. At the centre of a medley of brightly coloured stalls, there was a pop-up coffee shop with a wide selection of craft coffees and delicious pastries. They mooched about the stalls for a while, admiring a selection of crafts from silver jewellery to farmhouse jams. Lucy picked up some conserves and pickles, which she thought might give a little exotic flavour to their breaks at the surgery. Then she purchased a few bottles of locally brewed beer for Dan, who she supposed would enjoy something a little different after his long hike. It was a thank you for taking Niall under his wing for the day.
At the very end of the hall, on a slightly raised area, what was probably the speaker’s corner or a pulpit many years earlier, a few canvases stood on easels. More hung against the bubbling plaster of the whitewashed walls.
‘Shall we have a look first and then have coffee?’ Lucy asked, although she looked as if she could do with sitting sooner rather than later.
‘Of course, then if we see something we like, we can have a little think before we make an offer,’ Elizabeth said, although from here everything seemed too modern. None of it would sit easily in her staid and somewhat jaundiced faded house. They moved through the canvases with ease. Elizabeth was right; they were all very avant-garde. Almost self-consciously contemporary in their aspect and colours, a ferocity about them that spoke more of anger than of anything that Elizabeth would admire in a piece of art.
‘Nothing here for me, I’m afraid.’ She smiled at a girl who stood to the side, chewing gum and occasionally twisting one of the many hoop earrings that adorned her ears, nose and upper lip. ‘Although, it’s all very… energetic,’ she settled on before they moved off towards the coffee shop.
The coffee shop served home-made cakes and a pretty decent Italian coffee; it was a pleasant surprise. The seating area spread out from a little stall that emitted a fresh aroma of ground coffee and heavy chocolate. Garden chairs with soft padded cushions around neat wooden tables wound away from the stall and towards a rather bruised and dull-looking grand piano. They had only chosen their table when Elizabeth spotted one of the village children taking up a seat at it and gently unfolding a soft rendition of ‘Clair de Lune’。 It suited her mood perfectly and brought tears to her eyes easily, being surrounded by such beauty and yet, having this overwhelming feeling of impending loss.
‘That’s heaven,’ Lucy said as she sank back in her chair and allowed the music to wash over her. She was right, Elizabeth agreed. The trip and wandering about the market had hardly been wearing; it was the news of Jo’s diagnosis that had worn them out, but sitting here, the chairs were surprisingly comfortable, and listening to the soft piano music felt almost soothing.
‘She’s from Ballycove,’ Elizabeth murmured. ‘Young Zoe Huang.’ She remembered the day her family had moved into the old bookshop. Everyone in the village had expected a Chinese takeaway, but it turned out Mr Huang bought and sold pianos. ‘Her family have the piano shop. They do a brisk trade in buying old German pianos, doing them up and selling them on.’
‘German pianos?’
‘Apparently, they moved here from Berlin. Her mother is German. She played in the Berlin Philharmonic, but then I suppose, kids and all sorts of things, they arrived over here with the Celtic tiger and they managed to survive the downturn, so…’ Elizabeth waved across at Zoe. ‘She’s a lovely kid.’
‘She’s probably around Niall’s age.’ Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, leant back in her chair as the music drew to a harmonious close. They sat for a while, enjoying the diversion of looking about them. Zoe popped over for a little chat and explained that the local chamber of commerce had offered her a Saturday job if she came in and played the piano for a few hours each week. Elizabeth figured she was making more than some of the stallholders, especially that awful art exhibition.