Welcome to Heartwell Village.
‘Heartwell.’ The name trips so easily off my tongue. It sounds so romantic. I can’t wait to explore the village for my article. In the distance, I can see the warm orange glow of street lights. I drive with some newfound confidence towards them until I reach the bottom of the large village square. Dotted all around the square are tall Victorian style cast iron lighting poles that throw out the most romantic soft light. They give an elegant, almost ethereal look to the village.
Taking my foot off the accelerator a little more, I drive carefully on. The first shop I see is a bookshop with tiny square windows and red fairy lights around the green door. It’s idyllic, with snow decorated panes. I lean to see the wooden sign,Heartwell’sCosy Reads.
Swiftly, I take one hand off the wheel to rub condensation from my window and look across at the Heartwell Lounge and Bar. It too is lit up, but with even more twinkling outdoor fairy lights, both green and red. Smoke billows from the chimney in the thatched roof. Happy people wearing Christmas jumpers are gathered under heat lamps under a low covering outside, drinking and chatting despite the falling snow. Music echoes from inside in a rhythmic beat that makes me automatically drum my fingers on the steering wheel.
Surely an open fire and a roof made of hay can’t be safe, I think before I squint my eyes to read ‘Established in 1924’over the door and I laugh – obviously it is. Slowly I move on, before stopping at a pedestrian crossing just up from the pub. A young couple holding hands cross and wave at me and I wave back, feeling all kinds of warm emotions washing over me. If I waved at a stranger in New York in the dark of night they would think I was nuts, I muse. I shake my head, indicate and pull into the side of the square. I kill the engine. Leaning across again, I pick up my old, trusty Dictaphone off the passenger seat – a present from my mom for my eighteenth birthday. I take in everythingmy eye can see as I click down on the red record button.
‘On first sight, Heartwell village is like something from a cosy Christmas Hallmark movie. The perfect village square is illuminated by twelve iron Victorian style lampposts with sprinkling snow cascading through their soft orange light. The village has a large green area and a bandstand in the centre, and a towering Christmas tree, draped in slow blinking white lights.’ I gaze out my driver’s window. ‘A book shop, a pub.’ Leaning across to gaze out the passenger’s side, I rub the window with the palm of my hand. ‘The Teapot Café, Murphy’s Organic Market, Heartwell Post Office, Heartwell Library and .?.?.’ I sit upright and squint my eyes to the large red brick building at the top of the square, ‘Oh, and how adorable, a town hall at the top of the square! Heartwell Hall.’ Saving my conversation, I drop the Dictaphone back on the seat beside me.
A strange feeling comes over me, like good things are going to happen here. I feel it in my bones. Turning the engine, I pass another couple walking arm in arm around the bandstand – they too wave at me. A busker strums on an acoustic guitar as I leave the lit-up square. I keep my eyes firmly on the twisty road. Up, up, up the cliff I go towards the illuminated Castlemoon, but my breath is no longer shallow. My nerve is holding. I approach the ancient sandstone castle that looks down protectively over all of Heartwell village. I appear to be the only car now on the road and it’s becoming an incredibly peaceful drive. Or have I just grown in confidence navigating these twisting Irish roads? I turn the car left, up a tree-lined avenue, until my Sat Nav says, ‘You Have Arrived At Your Destination.’
‘Castlemoon .?.?. at last we meet.’ My mouth erupts in a huge grin, as I expend a sigh of utter relief. Feeling super proud of myself is a sensation I don’t have very often and I really like it. As I crunch up the gravel driveway, the front wheels of the car spin slightly on the ice. Carefully, I pull into the car park area in frontof the castle. A lush wedding is clearly in full swing inside the huge Venetian windows. I kill the engine, unclick my seat belt and pick up my Dictaphone. Reaching up, I flick on the overhead light and begin to speak.
‘I’ve arrived at Castlemoon in County Galway. It’s six o’ clock in the evening and already dark but the moonlight cascades brightly above this spectacular old sandstone building. The castle perches high on the cliff’s edge and looks down over the cosy village of Heartwell, almost protectively. Tonight it looks like every fairytale castle I’ve ever seen. It towers at the top of the tree lined avenue where a small opening gives the first breathtaking views of this eighteenth-century castle. Seated on twenty-five acres of parkland, the exterior is drenched in original features and heritage colours. The castle comprises two reception rooms, the Sweet Orange Room and the Heart Ballroom with sixteen guest bedrooms. I cannot wait to get inside. Now, pour a cup of coffee, and settle back. You’ve already said yes to one big question. The second question is, reader? Are you ready to fall in love all over again? Well follow me .?.?.’ I stop recording, put the Dictaphone back on the seat. Amid the fluttering snowfall, through those stunning windows, I see the beaming bride and groom. They both hold the handle of a knife as they cut into a colossal white, tiered cake, surrounded by the happy faces of friends and family.
I turn the key in the ignition. Grinding the gears into reverse, I try and navigate into an awkward car park space. I look into my outer wing mirror, checking the space. It’s so tight. I check my own wing mirror, turning the wheel, but as I do, the front wheels spin under me again on the ice and this time the car slides sideways. I try to spin the wheel back to control it but I can’t. It’s sliding to the left. I hear a loud bang, followed by a crunching noise.
Then, the car shudders and the engine dies.
SEVEN
‘What the hell was that?’ I screech as I pull the door handle and jump out. I almost slip on the ice; I grab the wing mirror and hold tight. I’ve hit a wedding car – a vintage Rolls-Royce that has white ribbons tied around it. I bury my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. Just when I thought everything was going so well. I jump back into the driver’s seat, turn the key in the engine. Pushing down on the clutch, I pump my foot on the accelerator as the car roars and I try to move, forward but, forgetting the shift gear is still in reverse, I only succeed in crunching metal to metal again. I’m now embedded further into the side of the vintage Rolls-Royce. I press my foot down on the clutch again and yank the gear stick into first. It grinds out an ear piercing sound as I finally propel the car forward and free it from the bumper. Physically shaking, I turn the key and kill the engine.
This is not how I wanted to introduce myself. I need to report the accident right away. I throw my Dictaphone into my work satchel, pull on my knitted hat and tuck my curls under. Grabbing my MacBook, I tuck it under my arm and hop out. Head down against the wintery elements, I march through the swirling snowflakes tumbling from the dark sky. When I reach the magnificent towering red wooden door framed by astone archway, I pull the weighty iron handles and step inside Castlemoon.
Inside, there’s the welcome sound of a crackling wood fire as logs burn brightly in an oversized grate and I shake the snow off myself. The smell of the burning wood gives off a rich, earthy aroma. The flooring under my feet is polished stone tiles that reflect the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above.
I turn around slowly in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle; it’s like a Christmas card. A Christmas tree stands in the corner, covered in twinkling white lights. A multitude of red wrapped boxes with gold bows are piled on top of one another underneath. I take in the beauty of the entrance hall because what I’m seeing is beyond magnificent. There’s a regal atmosphere but it somehow manages to have a warm, homely vibe. Tilting my head, I take in the colossal gleaming ceilings with rows of exposed wooden beams. I admire the intricate plaster work, the glistening, enormous low hanging chandelier. A dark maroon wallpaper with a white striped pattern covers one side of the wall – it’s all exposed brick on the others. Flickering tea light candles are everywhere my eye can see, the light creating gentle shadows that flutter on surrounding surfaces. In awe, I take a few steps backwards onto the concrete slabbed step by the doors.
I’m still taking in every inch when behind me, a door loudly slams shut. Startled, I spin around. Then out of nowhere, a red setter comes bounding out of a side doorway, barking madly, and leaps up on me.
‘What in the—!’ I get such a fright that I drop my MacBook and it hits the concrete.
‘Red! No! Down, boy!’ The thick voice of a man bellows from somewhere behind as I try to calm the dog down.
‘There now, good boy. It’s okay, it’s okay. There’s a very good boy.’ Ignoring my MacBook sitting on the concrete step upsidedown, I bend, trying to calm the excited dog. When he stops barking, I rub his soft, silky red fur gently. ‘Good boy, it’s okay. Hello, there.’ The dog calms quickly, panting madly, licks my face before he bounds back to whoever called him. Scrambling on all fours, I grab my MacBook and flip it open praying it’s not damaged but it has a large crack, right down the middle of the screen. My heart plummets.
‘No! Oh, come on .?.?.’ I’m still on my knees as I tap it awake and I’m utterly relieved to my core to see it’s still working. I hit a few random keys to ensure letters appear. ‘Oh, thank God!’ I shut my eyes tight. Then I see a pair of large green wellington boots approach from the side of my eye. I’m so concerned about the damage that I don’t look up. The large boots appear directly under my eye line now.
‘Well now, I think we have insurance details to swap, don’t you? I’m trusting you didn’t change your mind and that you weren’t backing away out the door without reporting that accident?’ the owner of the wellies says, and for some reason the tone of his voice jolts me.
‘Eh, sorry. No, I – sorry I .?.?.’ Shutting the MacBook, I lift my head to look at him. But when I look up fully, I’m completely taken aback. In fact, I feel a little winded, like someone just stood on my stomach and pressed all the air out of me. This has never happened to me by a man’s physical appearance in my entire life. He has literally taken my breath away. What is wrong with me? I’m tired and hungry, that’s it! He’s bending down, looking at me, his mouth still moving as he points out to the car park but I can’t quite make out his words. It’s like I’m submerged underwater, under a wave. It’s an out-of-body experience that I’ve never experienced before.
‘Ho .?.?.’ I blink rapidly, my brain scrambles like mad as I snap out of it, getting up off my knees, dusting them off I stand up fully. I badly need to eat!
‘Ho?’ the man repeats, but then stops talking. Now he’s staring at me too. The drawstring hood on his khaki wax jacket frames his striking face. He has the darkest brown eyes with long spiky lashes that are insanely captivating. A subtle shadow adorns his well-defined jawline. He’s towering. His presence is magnetic.
‘H-huh?’ I can’t seem to speak, instead I busy myself still dusting the knees of my jeans. The man is wearing dark trousers tucked into his Hunter wellingtons. Still confused by my confusion, I try to look up again, but I’m unable to take my eyes off his olive skin, the jut of his jawline, the strong nose. His posture conveying assurance and charisma. He’s the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life.
‘H-huh?’ He repeats the word I’ve just said, his head moving from left to right as his jaw loosens.
‘W-well – I w-was .?.?.’ This is ridiculous. My mouth is so dry I have to stop talking to swallow. He bends over to pick up my MacBook and I realise my legs are trembling as shyness engulfs me. I take a step back and the red setter jumps up on me again barking loudly.
‘Red! Down, boy, now. Good boy, no exertion for you, remember!’ His lilting Irish accent is like music to my ears.
‘It’s alright, I love dogs.’ My words come without my brain releasing them.
