‘Like travel sickness?’ I ask.
‘And morning sickness,’ Moya explains, winking at me.
I furrow my brow. ‘But she’s not…’
Moya taps her finger on her nose.
Right, well, I don’t believe that. I can’t. Out of all the things I heard tonight, Kayla being pregnant is by far the least believable to me. And that’s saying something.
As the light of the caravan casts a glow across the path, I see a fox standing still and facing me. Its eyes appear to be questioning if I’m ready to face what lies ahead. I take a deep breath and try to muster up my courage. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other and try to move in the right direction. I cast my gaze one last time upon the fox before it vanishes into the shadows of the trees, a refuge of seclusion and security, far away from harm and danger, wishing that I could do the same.
CHAPTER 36
THE LAST DAY
James stands against the guest house’s facade, his weathered leather boots crossed in front of him. I arrive with my rucksack slung over my shoulder and stride up to him.
‘Did you get your work sent in on time?’he asks.
‘I did! Thank you. Sent it first thing this morning, bright and early.’ Friday is finally here, and the past few days have flown by as I worked on the finishing touches of my illustrations. Despite any other opinion, I’m super-pleased with them; they’re the best effort I can offer. I’m proud of them. I’m proud of myself.
I hold my hands up in the air. ‘If Lenka likes it great, if she doesn’t, then I’ll figure something else out.’
He nudges me playfully with his elbow. ‘That’s the spirit. So, what time is your flight?’ His voice is gentle, like sunlight trickling through the trees.
I sigh. ‘Later this evening, so we’ve got some time to make the most of our last few hours in Innisfree,’ I say, trying to sound more casual than I really feel.
‘Pity you can’t stay on a few days longer. It would be nice for you to be at the auction in person,’ he says.
‘I wish I could, but I’ve already booked my ticket – everything’s ready to go.’
‘I understand,’ he replies. ‘Rest assured, most people will be tuning in online from all over the world, so you won’t be the only ones following remotely. And, as ever, I’ll be here on the other end of the phone during the whole thing, so any issues at all, just give me a call.’
‘It’s been great being here with you all – feels like home now.’
We share a look, but with our business completed, the time has come for me to move on. Together we walk to the O’Connor & Sons offices. We’ve come a long way in the weeks since I arrived in the village, and I can’t help but feel indebted to him for all his support and friendship. But I refrain from telling James the full story of why Kayla and I must be back in London as soon as possible.
She’s still poorly, but when I mentioned Moya’s prophecy, she shot me a sceptical look.
‘Well, she gave me this bracelet for you – apparently it helps with nausea and motion sickness, so maybe worth a try?’
Kayla’s drawn to shiny objects like a moth to a flame so she instantly loved the gemstones. She asked me to thank Moya for her but to spare her any more superstitious diagnoses.
Thinking back on it now, it was silly of me to put any stock into the tarot readings; I rub my face, feeling more and more like I’m losing my mind.
I need my head checked. I need to focus on the present.
I need to catch up with Ash. Spend quality time together, in person, instead of just exchanging quick emails and brief texts; virtual communication isn’t the same, and things between us have become strangely distant over the time I’ve been here. He’s clearly in a mood with me for being away so long, although we discussed it beforehand. Meanwhile, his lack of interest in anything besides the auction and the eventual sale is beginning to bother me. We’re at an impasse, and neither of us appear to be winning.
James and I reach the office, and we step through the door together. I’m hit with the familiar musty scent of old paper and leather-bound books, and Jonathan O’Connor greets me, his silver hair complementing the lines on his weathered face, a testament to the years he’s devoted to this establishment.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he says with an unusual lightness and informality. ‘A good day for you today, Ms Clarke! Everything looks in order!’
My lips curl into a small smile; I appreciate the familiarity and warmth.
James leaves us to it, and Jonathan swiftly ushers me into his office, where walls adorned with generations of O’Connor family portraits watch over us. He gently lowers himself into his worn leather chair behind the massive desk, its mahogany surface showcasing endless paperwork and abandoned cups of cold tea.
We chat through the legalities and next steps. Amidst the signing and dating of all the documents required, he hesitates for a moment before letting out a long sigh. ‘Ah, and I suppose it’s time I broke the news to you. After all these years and generations, O’Connor & Sons has come to an end.’
