‘That’s it, I have ya, everything is okay,’ Dan says oh so gently then looks back over his shoulder at me with a wry smile and without even planning to I smile back and mouth,‘See you later.’Dan smiles, nods as I finally move away from the wall and walk around the dancefloor.
Calm down, calm down. What is wrong with you? You are here for the biggest job opportunity of your career, not to get distracted by a man. Focus.
So, I do. I try my best to focus on my work. The Heart Ballroom is simply too big, I decide. The wedding, though magnificent, loses some of its intimacy. A divider in the centre is what is needed. It would still leave a huge dancefloor, even though halved, and will easily fit close to one hundred guests. I’m not sure how to write about it, though I need to be true to my readers.
‘Care ta dance with me, pretty lady?’ A young guy no older than fifteen stands in front of me.
‘Not tonight, but thank you.’ I smile, highly amused but flattered. He shrugs, not caring, and moves on. My eyes follow him and that’s when I see a stressed looking Mary behind a long trestle table at the back of the room, laying out knives and forks.I head straight for her.
‘Let me help you?’ I pull my satchel from across my body.
‘I thought you’d never ask! Lay these out for me, lovey?’ Mary hands me a huge pile of disposable white napkins.
‘Mary, why do you not have linen napkins you can re-use over and over? They are a much cheaper option in the long run. You guys should think about saving on small but vital costs like that,’ I tell her as Mary arches her hand on her hip.
‘We need someone around here who thinks like you do! I keep saying it! Be back with the grub in a jiffy.’ Mary limps away as I stash my satchel and camera under the table and roll up the sleeves on my sweater. Taking up a fork and knife, I wrap a napkin around them. Speedily I work away, all those early mornings working in the bakery in New York coming in handy.
‘See you later?’Why did I say that to him? What on earth was I thinking?’ I replay the exchange in my head with a roll of my eyes. As if on autopilot, I wrap napkin after napkin, all the time thinking what I just saw with Séamus. That kindness, empathy and compassion from Dan Delaney will be etched in my memory for life. In fact, I can think of more than a few examples: how he sat talking with Mrs Geraghty, did her Christmas shopping for her, helped her to the car, even just insisting Mary sit down and making her a cup of tea. It’s those little things that make a man. When I finish the job, I look up across the room, tapping my foot to the music. Dan is sitting with his arm wrapped tightly around Séamus, who is now sobbing quietly, but his eyes are firmly focused on me.
THIRTEEN
A cacophony of wonderful sounds delights my ears the following evening as I enter the Heartwell Bar and Lounge, shaking snow off myself. After a late night, where I’d helped Mary and watched Dan take care of Séamus all night to give his wife a break and let her enjoy her daughter’s wedding, not surprisingly I slept like a log. I’d been expecting jet lag but it never appeared. This morning, after a sinful thick ham and cheese omelette and a large mug of tea, I left Castlemoon. I spent the most wonderful quiet day with my earbuds in, listening to Irish music, while strolling around the grounds and then, in the afternoon, into Heartwell village. I took lots of pictures to add to the mood board I’m creating for my article on my Pinterest. I put in a lengthy spell in Heartwell’s library talking to Clare, the librarian, who happily filled me in on the disastrous blind date she had brought to Aisling and Aaron’s wedding to get back at Jack, her ex-boyfriend.
‘He thinks I won’t move on, well he’s sorely mistaken! Now Damien, my blind date, is notthe one. He kept calling me “honey pie” and he grinded his teeth through Aaron’s entire speech, plus he’s a teetotal vegan and I can’t be doing with that. Where’s the craic with a teetotal vegan? It’d be like going to a theme park and only sitting on the benches – plenty to see, but missing outon the rides. Speaking of rides, he is sexy and I could see Jack looking over.’ She had to lower her voice as she was setting up for a story time session for a group of children who were piling inside in their woollen hats and mittens, reading themThe Grinch Who Stole Christmas.
I’d been more than amused at Clare’s lack of inhibitions and the way in which she freely spilled her life story, despite never having met me before. Also she was dressed as Santa’s Little Helper, in a candy cane onesie and a Christmas pudding hat. I loved this part of the community. The openness. It really was like one big family, something I craved so often as an only child. Armed with a pile of local history books about Castlemoon and the family that originally built the castle, I’d settled down with my MacBook in the Teapot Café. Betsy, the owner, had heard all about me and dropped me over a slice of her homemade Christmas cake and coffee. I’d got down to work writing my piece on Aisling and Aaron before Betsy sat down opposite me and proceeded to fill me in on the goings-on in the holiday apartment above the café the night before.
‘I met them when they arrived last week.’ She’d swept crumbs off the table into her cupped hand. ‘I was icing Aisling and Aaron’s wedding cake. An English couple, looked boring enough but by all accounts they had strangers coming and going all night, according to Peadar. He was power hosing the benches in the square in the middle of the night.’ Betsy had disappeared to serve a customer and I’d just opened my library book on the history of the Castlemoon family, still enjoying my cake, when my phone rang.
The tense call from Frederick Macken had been the only fly in the ointment of an otherwise perfect Christmassy day in the utterly delectable Heartwell village.
‘Did you photograph that book yet?’ he’d barked at me.
‘No.’ I’d turned away from the couple at the table beside mefeeling conspicuous.
‘Hurry up. Tick-tock, tick-tock!’
‘Sorry, Frederick, I need to tell you something .?.?.’ I had cast my eye around the Teapot Café and to Betsy who was busy serving another customer, wrapping up tea cakes to take away behind the flashing Christmas garland that surrounded the counter top. Then I’d lied. ‘I can’t find that book,’ I’d told him.
‘Are you stupid?’ His reply stopped me in me tracks. The last of my Christmas cake fell off my fork into my clotted cream.
‘No .?.?.’ My timidness had come thundering back.
Frederick had taken a few moments before he spoke.
‘Find the book by tonight or I will send Salma across to find it. Getting promoted isn’t a given, use your time there wisely. Use your brain, Maggie, the publishing business is dog eat dog as you have seen over the years.’ The line went dead.
More than a little upset, I had tried to pay my bill but Betsy had refused to take my money. Instead of going back to the castle, which was my original plan, I headed straight across the road to the pub to buy a stiff drink and try and talk to some more locals.
A traditional Irish music session is now in full swing in the pub. People are packed into every snug and alcove like tinned sardines. Novelty flashing Christmas jumpers blind me. A turf fire blazes warmly in the centre, paper chains are looped across the room and the Christmas tree is stuffed, with piles and piles of mismatching wrapped gifts underneath, spreading out on the floor. Bodhráns and tin whistles blend together in beautiful, melodic harmony. It’s an undeniable Christmas vibe, and so quintessentially Irish.
How amazing is this atmosphere? I think, automatically tapping my feet to the noisy beat of the heavy bodhrán. Welcoming the heat, I can hardly feel my fingers from the short trip across the village square. It’s all so vastly different toNew York. The thought of New York brings me right back to Frederick. What am I going to do? If I don’t photograph the book tonight, I have no doubt in my mind that Salma will land here tomorrow night and do it anyway! I will lose the article and the promotion. I have no choice, I’ll look for the registration book at reception when I get back and photograph one page but that’s it, I am not doing anything else. I will email my report to him with one photo and tell him it’s a brand new book or something then I’m done. That is not the reason I am here. Less than content with my decision, I squeeze my way through the packed bar.
‘Excuse me? Pardon me? If I might just squeeze past you? Thank you so much,’ I say as the crowd opens up to let me through and although I’m completely alone I have never felt less lonely in my entire life. Spotting a free stool at the very end of the curved bar I move towards it. Unravelling my scarf, I plonk down wearily onto the worn red cushion where the stuffing is escaping. I’ve never been in a bar this busy. Removing my coat, I drape it over the stool as I eye up the bartender. I can’t get Frederick’s rude remark from my mind, nor can I shake the unease of what he’s asking me to do. A drink will help me relax, I hope. A woman with a tie-dye bandana in her hair, multiple piercings and a tea towel slung over her shoulder is flat out behind the bar. She’s tapping up pints of Guinness lined up on a tray under the bar and taking new orders from shouty, thirsty punters every time she looks up. I’m too shy to shout, so I just sit back and wait and watch.
‘That’s how you pour a perfect pint of the black stuff, lass. A Guinness has to be left to settle, it lives and breathes you know,’ a very old man with a ginger beard and tin whistle in his hand tells me, as he lifts one of the creamy pints. He takes a long drink and, with the white of the Guinness stuck to his beard, he makes his way back to the band area.
‘What can I get ye?’ Finally, the bartender wipes her hands onthe tea towel in front of me then swipes it across the wet bar top.
