Page 2 of Christmas Magic at Inishbeg Cove

‘Really?’ she asked, looking at the stranger sceptically. It felt a little too coincidental.

‘Look, I can give you a lift up the road and then I can come back later with my tractor and tow your car up to the cottage. How does that sound?’

She eyed him warily. She shouldn’t have mentioned Margo’s name. How did she know he wasn’t pretending to be related to her boss? She could get into his jeep and never be seen again.

‘Unless you’ve any better ideas?’ he continued, obviously noticing her reluctance.

‘Well, no…’ she conceded knowing she had no other options. ‘Right, okay… thank you, I guess.’

‘Don’t mention it. My name’s Conor.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Conor,’ she said offering him her hand. ‘I’m Faye.’

‘You’d better give me a hand moving this off the road,’ he said moving towards the bonnet. We can push it in to the side.’

She thought he was joking but when he rolled up his sleeves and began to push the car, she knew he was serious. She moved alongside him and did the same. Her trainers slipped and slid as they pushed. As she summoned all her strength to match his, she cursed herself once again for not having the guts to tell Margo that she didn’t bloody want her middle-of-nowhere holiday cottage. She could be at home in her comfortable apartment, with her feet up right now, watching the snow fall over Sandymount Strand instead of being stuck in this godforsaken place.

Eventually, when her fingers were throbbing from the cold, they finally had moved her car in off the road. Conor made his way over to his Land Rover. ‘Right, let’s go,’ he said blowing on his hands to warm them up.

‘I just need to get my case,’ she said, opening the boot of the Mercedes.

He climbed into his jeep and waited as she took out her wheely case and her laptop bag. She felt ridiculous as she dragged it through the snow and put it into the back seat.

‘Hop in,’ Conor said patting the passenger seat as she opened the door. She climbed up into it, wrinkling her nose as she took in the dirty jeep and smell of animals. He was clearly a farmer judging from the state of it. He started the engine and they set off.

‘So you work with Margo then?’ he asked as the Land Rover made easy work of ascending up the snow covered headland.

‘Yes, she’s my boss,’ Faye said cautiously, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.

‘She told us all about you!’ He winked and Faye felt herself start to blush. ‘She said you’re spending Christmas all on your own? That you’ve no one else coming to stay with you?’

‘Yes…’ she sighed, weary from experiencing the same reaction whenever she told people her plans for Christmas. She looked out the window where the landscape was like a picture postcard as the snow fell over the steel coloured sea.

He shook his head. ‘It’s not right being on your own for Christmas. I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind setting another place for you at our table if you want to join us?’ he continued.

‘Not everyone likes Christmas believe it or not. I’m perfectly happy on my own, thank you very much,’ she replied primly.

He exhaled heavily and his fingers clenched the steering wheel. ‘Well suit yourself then…’

2

Up on the exposed headland, the wind howled and snow swirled around her, as she made her way through the virgin snow towards Mistletoe Cottage. Conor had dropped her off outside and she had taken her suitcase and laptop bag from his Land Rover and trudged through the snow towards the front door. It was a two-story house with a thatched roof and with its plump coating of snow, reminded her of a gingerbread house. Margo had told her that the key was hanging inside the shed at the back of the house so she left her case at the door before making her way around the back to find the shed. Conor had explained that the cottage was part of Mistletoe Farm, which was the farm owned by the Flynn family and where Margo had grown up. Conor’s father had taken over the running of the farm when his father died, while his sister, Margo had moved to Dublin for work. Nowadays Margo used the cottage to stay in whenever she returned home to visit. Faye located the key exactly as Margo had explained and hurried back around the front, keen to get inside the cottage and warm up. She planned on lighting the stove and pouring herself a very generous glass of the red wine she had brought with her. She felt she had earned it after the events of the day.

She put the key in the door and after some effort, eventually managed to push it open as a pile of snow fell inside. She lugged her suitcase in behind her and wrestled the door closed against the howling wind. The first thing she saw was a freshly cut Christmas tree twinkling with fairy lights in the corner. ‘Oh for God’s sake’, she groaned. Was there no escaping it? She walked over and switched off the lights on the tree. Someone had lit the stove too and so at least the cottage was toasty. She noticed a handwritten note left beside a plate of freshly baked mince pies on the table. ‘Welcome to Mistletoe Cottage’, the note read. She placed it down again. Who on Earth had Margo got to do all of this? she wondered. It seemed the woman was determined to get her to embrace Christmas but Faye thought the traditional Christmas paraphernalia was ridiculous; there was absolutely no Christmas tat in her minimalist apartment with its views across Dublin bay. She couldn’t understand why people went to the effort of putting up a tree and decorating it, only to have to go and take it down a few short weeks later? At least she didn’t have to tear her hair out untangling fairy lights in January because she didn’t bother putting them up in the first place.

She took off her coat and hung it over the back of a chair. As she wandered around the open plan kitchen and living area, she noticed that Margo had decorated the cottage tastefully. Shiplap panelling painted in a rich shade of moss green ran half way up the walls. The small kitchen area had pale-blue timber, shaker-style cabinets and a circular mahogany antique dining table sat to one side. Margo had positioned an L-shaped sofa with brass legs to divide the kitchen area from the living area and a tan-leather armchair sat to one side of the stove. Fluffy cushions and woollen throws in bright colours were draped across the sofa. The whole effect was cosy and elegant and now that she was finally here, she was looking forward to curling up in front of the stove with her laptop. She saw a narrow staircase leading upstairs so she carried her case up and found two bedrooms. She entered the first room and found a steel bedframe clothed in plain white bedlinen. Exposed timber beams ran across the ceiling and patterned rugs covered the floorboards, giving the place a rustic feel. She unzipped her case and took out the bottle of wine she had brought with her. She returned downstairs where the room was lit by the soft amber glow of the stove. She could hear the wind picking up outside, a gale was howling around the four walls of the cottage. She was glad to be inside on a night like this. She rooted around in the drawers and eventually found a corkscrew. She opened the wine and as she listened to the soothing sound of it filling the glass, she felt herself start to relax. She took a sip savouring its heady aroma and instantly her shoulders began to soften as the wine worked its magic. She curled her feet up beneath her on the sofa, opened her laptop and began working through her emails, as she finally started to relax. She was using her phone to hotspot off for an internet connection but it was slow and nothing was loading as fast as it normally would at home. She forwarded an email to Margo and saw a reply from her boss land in her inbox just a few minutes later. She clicked onto the email and saw her boss’s reply was typed in block capitals:

‘I SAID NO WORKING!’

Faye smiled to herself and picked up the phone and dialled Margo’s number. ‘Well it looks like I’m not the only one checking my emails,’ she began triumphantly.

‘I’m not checking mine,’ Margo said with a hint of exasperation. ‘I just saw the notification come in on my phone. So I take it you’ve arrived in Inishbeg Cove then?’

‘Just about. I nearly didn’t make it. My car couldn’t make it up the hill in the snow. I met your nephew actually, he brought me up the headland when my car wouldn’t make it.’ She didn’t tell Margo that she had crashed into his jeep. That chestnut could wait until Faye was able to talk about it without burning with humiliation.

‘You met Conor?’ Faye could practically hear Margo smiling down the phone. ‘And what do you think of the cottage?’

‘It’s nice and homely. You really didn’t need to put up a tree though.’