Page 11 of A Very Irish Christmas
I realise that I am still standing way too close to him, his hands on my waist, and I shuffle away, embarrassed. My sneakers are completely water-logged, and my feet squelch as I move.
‘Come on, come on, let’s be having you,’ the woman says, putting her arms around my shoulders and guiding me firmly away. I don’t have the energy to argue, and the thought of going back into my freezing cold cottage isn’t exactly tempting. She pulls me towards the bakery next door, leads us down a small side passage and then inside.
The warmth of the place is wonderful after the day I’ve had. Travelling on trains, sitting on cold platforms, waiting at stations, falling in muddy puddles, the relentless rain – it’s all taken a toll. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be warm, and the soft kiss of heat from the log burner nearly has me in tears. I’ve avoided crying throughout this whole ordeal, but now I feel safe, the random act of kindness of the older lady is almost enough to push me over the edge.
She ushers me towards the fire, cooing gentle words, settling me on a large armchair. I sit and wait for my body to stop shaking, and within seconds she is back, with a towel and a blanket.
‘Ryan, make yourself useful. She’s brutal cold, get her some magic potion, will you? And make sure the kids go back to their mammy, all right?’
I rub my hair with the towel, and then hold my hands up to the heat. It is possibly the best feeling I have ever had in my entire life.
‘Now then,’ says the woman, settling opposite me in a matching chair, ‘I’m Eileen. And who would you be?’
‘I’d… uh… be Cassie,’ I reply, looking at her closely for the first time. ‘Cassie O’Hara.’
‘O’Hara, is it? You don’t sound Irish, but you look it for sure. And why are you here, Cassie O’Hara?’
‘That’s a long story,’ I reply, staring around me for the first time. The room is small, with the same beamed ceilings as the cottage next door, but this is clean and cosy, every surface covered in knickknacks and ornaments. A big knitting basket sits on the floor beside Eileen, and a bookcase is overflowing with paperbacks – a mix of crime and romance.
‘Well, I have the time,’ says Eileen, grinning at me. ‘And you need to dry off anyway.’
‘Oh, I know – my pants are soaking wet!’
At this exact moment Ryan reappears, and his eyebrows quirk upwards at my comment.
‘Get your mind straight, Ryan Connolly, you big lug – she’s American, isn’t she? She means her trousers.’
He laughs, and passes me a glass of what my nose soon identifies as whiskey. I look up at Ryan, really seeing him for the first time and almost wishing I hadn’t. The man is gorgeous. Over six foot, built broad and beefy, with thick, wild dark hair. His eyes are a sparkling shade of bright blue, his jaw is strong, and his mouth – good Lord, those lips are just luscious. I find myself staring at them for way too long, and blush when I realisewhat I’m doing. I’m a pale-skinned redhead, and I don’t blush by halves.
‘Linda at the train station says hello,’ I mumble, suddenly understanding why she’d also gone red when she mentioned his name. This is the kind of man that conjures up sinful thoughts in a woman’s mind.
‘And thank you,’ I add. ‘For the dog thing, and for this. Both of you, you’re very kind. I’ll just warm up and then I’ll… well, I don’t know. I have clean clothes next door, though.’
‘In Whimsy? You’re staying in Whimsy?’ asks Eileen, frowning. She is somewhere in her late seventies or early eighties, I’d say, with the same sprightly energy that Nanna Nora had. Her hair is grey and curly, a lion’s mane that comes to rest on her shoulders. The face itself shows its age, with wrinkles and creases and majestic laughter lines around her blue eyes, but somehow she still seems young. Maybe it’s the magic potion.
I nod, and she shares a look with Ryan. I have no idea what it means, but they’re clearly surprised.
‘Ryan, go off and fetch Cassie’s suitcase from next door, there’s a good lad.’
‘Yes, Mammy,’ he says sarcastically, giving her a salute before he leaves.
‘Is Ryan your son?’ I ask. There’s no obvious resemblance but the ages and relationship seem right.
‘Not in blood, no – he was just being a cheeky pup. I’ve known Ryan since he was a baby, and was best friends with his actual mother, may she rest in peace. She was originally from Dublin like me, moved away to a different part of Ireland when she met his dad. It’s a good job I’m here, he often needs a slap around the back of the head, that one.’
As I take all of this in, I realise that for the first time since I landed in London, I don’t feel like everyone around me is speaking a foreign language. I’ve struggled with all the regionalaccents, but this one – this one is like coming home for me. Against all odds, I actually smile.
‘You sound just like my Nanna Nora,’ I say, sipping my excellent whiskey.
‘Ah. A fine woman, I’m sure. Would she be the O’Hara?’
‘Kind of. She married an O’Hara. She was originally a Murphy. From County Cork, maybe? She didn’t talk about it much, which is weird, because she talked about everything else all the time. She moved to the States in the early fifties.’
‘Ah, Cork – same as Ryan, so! Well, it was tough times during the war in Ireland, and maybe she wanted a fresh start, eh, Cassie? I take it from the past tense that she’s no longer with us.’
‘No. She died earlier this year. She was… well, we were very close. I’m using the money she left me to have this adventure.’
I sound weary as I say the words, because I am – I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Eileen leans over and pats my now-thawed hand, and says: ‘Not the best of starts, was it? You must forgive that dog Eejit, now. Nobody even knows who he belongs to. He appears and disappears at will, and Ryan is the only one he’s listening to. He must recognise a kindred spirit!’
