Page 33 of A Very Irish Christmas
THREE WEEKS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
‘May peace and plenty be the first to lift the latch to your door
and happiness be your guest today and evermore’
Irish blessing
THIRTEEN
BANCROFT MANOR
I’m woken up the next morning by the not-so-subtle sound of a child, stage whispering: ‘She’s not dead, see? Her foot just moved – she’s just asleep, you eejit!’
I risk opening one eye, and see two little boys and one girl standing at the bottom of my bed. All three of them have red hair and blue eyes, and the ruddy cheeks of kids who have been out in the snow. They stare at me intently, shoving each other around, and all jump back in shock when I suddenly sit up straight. A real Frankenstein moment.
We eyeball each other for a second, and then the girl steps forward. She’s clearly the bravest of the bunch, with long, messy plaits that drape over each shoulder.
‘Sorry we woke you up,’ she announces, her Irish accent there but subtle. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, swiping sleep from my eyes. ‘All three of you accidentally opened a closed door and came into my room, did you?’
‘We did, yeah,’ she answers, her tone defiant despite the fact that she can’t be more than ten. I try not to smile – this is the kind of girl who lives with eternally scraped knees and doesn’t take crap from anybody. ‘Kind of. We’re here with Nanny. She’sdoing the cleaning, and she told us to make ourselves scarce and keep out of trouble. This room is usually empty, and we jump on the bed.’
She sounds deeply aggrieved that I have deprived them of their fun, and I say: ‘Right. Well, I’m sorry about that. Who’s your nanny?’
‘Mary Catherine, of course,’ she answers, as though I’m the stupidest person on the face of the planet. ‘Are you the American lady who fell on her arse in the puddle?’
I’m slightly taken aback at her use of the word ‘arse’, and see the boys’ eyes widen in surprise. She’s clearly out to impress. Also, exciting that my fame has spread – Cassie O’Hara, the incredible falling woman.
‘Yep, that would be me. So what’s your name?’
‘I’m Molly. These are my brothers, Daniel and Patrick. My daddy’s called Patrick too, but everyone calls him Paddy. He does the gardens, and mends the cars. Our mam is Sarah and she runs the tea rooms.’
I’m reminded again of how useful everyone here seems to be, and how busy their lives are. I wish I had a practical skill to offer, like being a high-flying nail technician or having a knack for repairing clocks.
‘Are you going to get up?’ Molly asks, frowning.
‘I am, yes. And you’re going to leave while I get dressed, and then you’re not going to come back in and jump on my bed, are you?’
I put some steel into my voice, and see her battle with the urge to argue. She’s quite a handful, this red-haired sprite, but eventually she concedes.
They’re just turning to leave when a middle-aged woman rushes into the room, a feather duster in her hand and an actual real-life baby strapped to her chest in a papoose. He’s all tufty red hair and pale skin, pudgy arms sticking out at right angles.
‘There you are!’ she says, sounding flustered. ‘You wee horrors, I’m just after telling Allegra how well-behaved you’ve been, and then you disappear off and start causing mayhem!’
Her eyes fly to me, and she says: ‘I’m so sorry – no manners, rascals all! I blame the parents!’
‘I’ll tell Mam you said that,’ Molly pipes up, earning herself a stern look.
‘You be sure and do that, so. And I’ll have plenty to tell her as well, won’t I?’
All three of them look suitably chastened by this threat, and I’m guessing that their mam is not to be messed with.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, reassuring her – she looks like she has enough to deal with. Her hair is a faded red, much like my dad’s, and she is clearly harassed. ‘Not a problem. I’m Cassie.’
‘Oh, I know that already – talk of the village, you are! I’m Mary Catherine, and this here is Connor. Another little monster to add to the clan.’
I climb out of bed, throw a robe on over my pyjamas, and go over to peer at the baby. He opens his eyes and stares at me in that unapologetic way that babies do. I smile, because he is adorable, and reach out to chuck his chin. He chortles at me, and I am smitten – totally in love. Forget Ted, forget Ryan, forget Prince Charming – Connor is surely the man for me.
