Page 20 of A Very Irish Christmas
Georgina– Charles’s daughter, I recall. She’s somewhere in her late teens, I’d say, with a lean build, long legs, and shining blonde hair that shimmers over her shoulders like a golden curtain. Her naturally wholesome good looks are a bit at odds with the Ramones T-shirt she’s wearing, peeking out from beneath a shaggy, hole-ridden cardigan.
‘Right. I’m Cassie. And could you either stub out that cigarette or close the doors, ideally both? I’m freezing.’
I wonder if I’m being rude, but decide I’m really not. I might not know much about the etiquette of the English upper classes, but I do know that it’s impolite to sneak into someone’s room, open their windows and blow smoke at them while they sleep.
‘Aye aye, Captain!’ she replies, giving me a little salute before she flicks the cigarette into a large pottery jug.
She strolls into my room and closes the doors behind her, standing at the end of my bed and biting her lip as she assesses me. She passes me my robe, then sits at the foot of the mattress. She curls her long legs up beneath her, and gives me a killer smile. I can imagine it gets her out of a lot of trouble, that smile – or possibly into it.
‘I’m sorry I possibly freaked you out a bit there,’ she says. ‘My room is actually next door, and this used to be my mother’s domain. I’ve been climbing between the two balconies for years. You weren’t awake, even at this very civilised hour, so I just… opened the doors to give you a bit of a nudge. It’s quite rude, really, I know – but as soon as Dad told me you were here, I was bursting to meet you! I’ve been home for weeks and I think I’m almostdeadfrom boredom.’
I’m taken aback by so much of that small speech that I simply stare at her as I process it. Charles mentioned his ex-wife… but this was her room? Maybe they were sleeping separately before they divorced. Maybe that’s normal here, when you have so many rooms. Or maybe it was all super-amicable and this is where she sleeps when she visits? Maybe – in fact definitely – it’s not my business. I’m also slightly alarmed at the thought of Georgie clambering between rooms on frosty mornings, and wondering what time she considers a ‘civilised hour’.
I go with the last one, check my phone, and do a double-take when I see that it’s after ten a.m. I never sleep in this late, even when I’m on vacation. I slip on my robe and look around for my case. Everything feels strange and unfamiliar, and my body is aching in some weird places. Probably from the journey, or falling over outside Whimsy, or stumbling through the darkness with a shotgun at my back. I’m spoiled for choice.
‘Will there be more coffee downstairs?’ I ask, concentrating on the important stuff.
‘Yes! There’s always coffee. And once you’re up and about, Roberts will get the fire sorted in here, and then you won’t need so many covers, and maybe tonight you won’t have nightmares about being buried alive…’
‘Are you a mind reader?’
‘I could be, couldn’t I? Or it might be that a few seconds before you woke up, you were shouting “Help, I’m buried alive!” Would you like to come and get some breakfast with me? And would you like me to drive you around for the day – I could be your chauffeur, and take you to the village, and show you all the best places?’
Her blue eyes are shining with excitement, and her hands are so animated they’re flying around and clapping together mid-air. I notice her fingernails are painted black and chewed right down to the skin, and wonder why a girl who looks so perfect has so many bad habits.
‘Please, please, please?’ she asks, trying on a little-girl expression that makes me laugh out loud.
‘How old are you anyway? Have you actually passed your driving test?’
‘Of course I have – I wouldn’t be offering to drive you around if I hadn’t, would I?’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
‘Okay, fair point – I don’t suppose I’ve exactly shown myself up as Sergeant Sensible so far. But I assure you, I can drive – I’ll even show you my licence if you like. And I’m seventeen.’
‘Right. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, in school or something?’
She fidgets around, twisting her hair around her fingers, chewing her lip again before she answers: ‘Um, well, probably – but I’m dyslexic, and also a total nightmare, so I kept getting kicked out of them. The local schools, boarding school, all ofthem. I… uh, well, I don’t like being told what to do, you see, and that’s kind of a big deal at school.’
‘Yeah. I remember that part. I didn’t mind it – it was easier than deciding what to do by myself. I’m trying to change that.’
As I speak, I unzip my suitcase and start to unpack. I can feel her sharp eyes on me, and eventually she says: ‘Is that why you’re here? Have you run away to England to try and grow a backbone?’
‘I’m starting to see why you kept getting kicked out of places.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. I’m frightfully inappropriate, I know. Granny’s been horrified at me for years, but now she finds my lack of filter amusing – probably because of the Alzheimer’s, and the fact that she’s losing her own filter these days. We can be awful together now. Would you like me to help you unpack?’
‘No, thank you,’ I say firmly. ‘In fact, I need to get dressed now, so maybe you could scram?’
‘Scram! I love how that sounds in your accent! See you downstairs? You’ve missed cooked breakfast in the kitchen, but second breakfast will still be out in the Blue Room. We’re like hobbits, we always have second breakfast. Byeee!’
As soon as she leaves – thankfully by the door and not by the window – the room feels empty. She’s an absolute force of nature, and truth be told I already kind of adore her. As the least perfect member of my own family, I’ve developed a healthy appreciation for people with flaws. Beneath the chatter and the bravado, I suspect there’s a sensitive soul who finds the world a difficult place.
I look around the room, now swathed in sunlight pouring through the windows. Dust motes dance in the air, fluttering in the vast space between floor and ceiling. The Persian rug beneath my feet is a little threadbare, and I see no signs of recent habitation other than a few abandoned items of women’s clothing hanging in a huge closet.
By the time I’ve finished my morning necessities, I feel much better. I lie on the bed for a few minutes and message June, as promised, keeping her up to date on everything that’s happened. I send a much smaller message to my dad:
Here and settled. I’ve drunk tea, and been to a pub. Love you, say hi to Mom and sis for me – more later xoxo
