Page 53 of A Very Irish Christmas
Eventually, I sit up straight, and grab my phone from the bedside cabinet. We talked to Nanna Nora about a lot of things in those video interviews, and one of the conversations was about loss – because at her age, she’d experienced a fair deal of it.
I find the clip, and remember the morning it was taken. It was a beautiful spring day, and she was sitting outside in her beloved garden, surrounded by her flowers and her pots of tomatoes.
‘Loss is part of life, Cassie,’ she says, her crinkled face looking right at the camera. ‘Nothing is permanent, all of it is on borrowed time. Everything passes, everything changes – love and pain and people. It’s just the way of the world, and nothing we do can prevent that. But some losses… well, some losses are terrible hard. Some losses steal a part of your soul, so, and you never feel the same again. You go on, and you find happiness, and you do your best with life. But a piece is always missing, and you never quite heal…’
She drifts off a little, staring into the distance, a glaze of tears on her blue eyes. She’s clearly in another place entirely.
‘Is that how it was for you after Granddad died?’ I ask, off camera. I don’t really remember him – I was only four when he passed.
She looks back at me, almost seeming shocked to see me there. She gives me a sweet smile, and says: ‘Of course, yes. Your granddad.’
I close down the phone, and lie back in the darkness. That must be how Ryan feels – like there is a piece missing from his soul. Like he’ll never heal.
I sigh, and roll over yet again. I slip into sleep gradually, my dreams wild and random, full of people from my past who I haven’t even thought about in years. A girl called Courtney who was my lab partner at high school; Ted’s cousin from Boston; Mrs Gregory, who lived next door to us when I was a kid. They all pop up, weirdly vivid, as though simply saying hello and reminding me that they once existed in my life. Maybe it was because of what Nanna Nora said – that everything is change.
It’s not the most restful night’s sleep I’ve had since I arrived here, and I abandon my newly adopted ritual of tea in the morning for good old-fashioned coffee. It’s going to be a caffeine kind of day, I think, glancing out of the window.
It isn’t snowing, although more is forecast for later, and the skies are clear and blue. Having been in England during their rainy season – in other words most of the year – I’m delighted. Everything will be much easier without rain and mud, and look so much better as well.
I decide to walk up the hill to Bancroft Manor, which takes a good twenty minutes or so. Everything’s set up and ready to go, and I need the time to clear my head, sip my go-cup of coffee, and be alone. I need the thinking time, rather than making conversation in a car while my head is spinning.
By the time I get there, I feel calmer. I’ve had a message from June, along the lines of ‘You go, girl’, and I’ve also had one from my dad asking me to bring some of Eileen’s soda bread home with me. Life goes on back in New York, I know, but these days it all feels very distant.
The house is a hive of activity by the time I get there, and I suspect that Eejit was wise to stay behind. Too much chaos for him – but Jasper will undoubtedly relish it.
Outside on the driveway, I see a selection of cars parked in front of the grand façade of the manor. They include Charles’s green Jag, but also a red Porsche, a silver Aston Martin straight from a James Bond movie and an old-fashioned Rolls-Royce complete with its famous hood mascot, the shining Spirit of Ecstasy. It looks like a classic car rally out here, which is exactly what we’d been aiming for. Charles called in a few favours from his friends and family, and I see that pictures are already being taken.
Sarah – willowy and gorgeous despite having had four kids – is dressed to kill in a sleek black gown that must have come from the Dressing Room. Her hair is done in an exquisite up-do, and she’s wearing a necklace that is dripping with what may or may not be diamonds. She’s leaning against the Rolls-Royce, pretending to sip a glass of Champagne, looking every inch the elegant lady as Ryan works around her, giving her direction and snapping away.
As soon as he says he has what he needs, she exclaims: ‘Thank the baby Jesus for that! These shoes are fecking killing me!’
She gulps down the whole glass of Champagne in one go, then belches. Class comes in many forms.
I’d recommended filling the glasses with fizzy apple juice, but that seems to have been predictably ignored – I suspect everyone will be drunk as skunks by the end of the day.
‘Look sharp,’ someone shouts. ‘The boss is here!’
It takes me a few moments to realise they’re talking about me, and I give a cheery wave.
Ryan notices me walking towards him, and calls me over to look at his shots.
‘They’re perfect,’ I say, as he scoots through them. ‘Who knew that Sarah was actually a supermodel?’
‘You did, apparently. You should see her fella, Paddy, now – dressed up in his penguin suit, handsome as you like, no clue from the outside that he’s a mechanic and usually in greasy overalls!’
‘Well, that’s the idea, I guess. How are you? I haven’t seen much of you.’
He nods, and gives me one of his feral grins. The ones that go straight to my guts.
‘I know. That’ll be because I’ve been avoiding you.’
‘Ah. I see. And now you’re not?’
‘Don’t think it’ll be possible today, and besides, I decided it was time to catch myself on. I have a present for you, also.’
‘Oooh. I like presents!’
He gives me a pitying look, and adds: ‘Don’t get too excited, there. It’s not a pony.’
