‘Trespass upon?’ she teased. ‘That sounds far too much like legal terminology.’
‘Or ancient terminology. They’re stories passed down.’ His face lightened. ‘We’re great ones for storytelling. My da had a wealth of old stories. They’re great tales of woe and suffering. You’ve heard of changelings stealing human children and replacing them with their own in retaliation against those who trespass on Sidhe land. We tease Fergus that he’s a changeling because of his computer skills and lack of interest in cooking.’
‘I’m not sure I buy that one. He looks just like Adrienne,’ said Hannah, amused.
‘Ha, but we tease her that she’s a descendent of Morrígan.’
‘I can see that. She’s pretty queen-like.’
Conor grinned. ‘So you’re another falling under her spell.’
For some reason Hannah felt the need to defend herself. She wasn’t the sort of person to be easily influenced or swayed by an argument, and she prided herself on always being able to see both sides of the story.
‘That’s very cynical for someone who’s been talking about fairies and folklore. She’s very inspirational and this is all new to me. There are lots of things she talks about that I’ve never considered before. She’s very passionate and that’s interesting.’
‘Hmm, she certainly is,’ he said with a wry smile.
‘Aren’t you proud of her?’
‘Of course I’m proud of her. She’s incredible.’ Conor straightened suddenly as if he’d received a sharp prod in the ribs. ‘What she’s achieved is brilliant. Killorgally is renowned the world over. She’s created a real legacy. I can’t complain. I’ve fame and fortune as a result.’
‘But…’ pressed Hannah.
Conor wrinkled his nose, patting the steering wheel before he finally spoke. ‘Being a Byrne comes with a price. Ma’s put her heart and soul into the place, but…’ He left the words hanging in the small space in the front of the car.
‘There’s nothing left for anyone else?’ Hannah understood that. Her own parents had forgone building a secure future for their daughters in favour of adrenaline highs.
He shot her a sharp look but didn’t say anything.
‘It must be hard sharing your mother with everyone else all the time.’
He shrugged. ‘Occasionally. You tend to get used to the media attention and step around the fan girls at her feet.’
‘I can imagine.’ His indifferent response suggested he didn’t want to talk about himself. ‘Families, eh? I told you about my parents. I’ve often wondered why me and my sister weren’t enough for them. Why they had to go on adventures all the time and leave us.’
She could see a parallel. Adrienne might be there, geographically, but her time was compromised. There were so many demands upon it and she could see how Conor might feel that her work came first.
‘First World problems, eh?’ Conor patted the steering wheel again.
Hannah felt he was being a little hard on himself and she laid a hand on his arm, stopping the irritated movement of his hand. ‘No, we can’t help how we feel, but we can choose how we react.’
It was a mantra that she stuck by. Her reactions were logical and sensible, weighing up both sides; it was what made her so good at her job. Some people came into law because they felt a burning need to balance justice and pursued that at all costs. She wanted to tread the path between, finding solutions that suited both sides – or at least provided the right outcome according to the law.
‘We choose how we react?’
‘Yes. You can choose to be pissed off and angry at things, but if you do that the only person who’s upset is you, or you can choose to move on and ignore those things. Focus on the positives.’
‘You make it sound easy.’
‘Ha!’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I didn’t say it was easy or that I was able to do it. It was something I read once and it… well I think about it a lot. I’ve got a colleague at work who spills the coffee grounds all over the counter every single morning. It pisses me off big time. I’m not sure I choose to be pissed off but I can’t help myself, and I’ve definitely not got it nailed when I think about my parents.’
‘Hmm.’ For the rest of the journey, Conor said very little.
When they pulled into Dingle harbour, parking in one of the side streets, Conor led the way to the hire shop on the quay.
‘Conor Byrne. What’s the craic? Got fed up with the telly business, did you now?’
‘Sure, you know yourself,’ Conor agreed as the grizzled man behind the counter inspected him with slow care.
