Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
L unchtime in downtown Derryloughlin was a funny thing.
On sunny days like today Rory enjoyed leaving the shop for her lunchbreak, and taking her sandwich and apple to the small park overlooked by the pastel-coloured pub and village shops.
Usually she would find a friend to chat with, would find something of a refresh for her soul, something that reminded her why she loved living in this little dot on the western edge of Eire.
But today she’d wanted to stay. To find out just what it was that had made Aidan’s face light up when she introduced Mary as the author of the local history book. And while she didn’t want to be snoopy, she couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about.
She swallowed the last of her egg sandwich, then wondered at the wisdom of eating egg and have potential egg-breath when he might talk to her again. “You’re being ridiculous” she muttered to herself.
It felt odd, this push and pull towards him.
She didn’t want to be that girl , trying to impress a boy.
And she certainly hadn’t done so, not yesterday.
But neither could she deny the fact she now wanted to make up for it, that she was curious about this man and why he was here.
Hence the desire to know what he and Mary were speaking about so earnestly, after Mary had encouraged her to take her break.
What was his interest in local history? She winced, recalling her earlier comment about blow-ins who claimed ancestry when their ancestors hadn’t lived here for a century or more.
What was it that made people cling to the past?
Was it dissatisfaction with the present?
Trying to make sense of the future? Or were people intrigued by a simpler time, and hoped that learning about the past might help them make sense of who they were today?
The bell on the church tower tolled the half hour, a reminder that she’d need to return soon.
If she and her siblings wanted to explore the past then they only needed to look in the church building, where the gold-plated plaques of long dead ancestors lined the walls and filled the graves.
The Fairalls and Griffins might no longer have as much social clout as they once did, but there was still a healthy amount of respect, such as when the locals had turned up in their droves for her father’s funeral a few years ago.
She had been surprised by the number of shops that had dressed their windows in black.
They weren’t nobility or very rich, after all.
But Mam said later it had felt like an embrace from the entire village, something that had helped her carry on in the dark days that followed.
A cloud glided across the sun, making her shiver. She needed to return.
She passed across the bridge over the rock-strewn river below. The recent rain made the cascades louder than usual. She drew nearer the bookstore when a familiar figure hailed her.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Rory Fairall.”
She paused, hand lifted to cover the sun’s glare. “Ah, Declan O’Curran.” She turned her cheek, accepted his kiss. Fiona’s old schoolmate had long had a soft spot for her, which Rory put down to her charming personality that contrasted to Fiona’s at-times spiky one.
“And how might you be?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“Can’t complain. Now, how is that family of yours?”
By this she knew he really wanted to know about Fiona. “Fiona’s still in Dublin.”
His chin dipped, his lips pressed together.
“I was sorry to hear about Sinead.”
He shrugged. “These things happen.”
“And how is the business going?”
Declan ran the most successful building company in this part of the county. He shared a little, then his phone rang and he made his excuses.
She hurried back to the bookshop, later than she would like. Was Aidan still here? She paused, checked her shirt for crumbs and stains, then entered to find Mary behind the counter. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Ah, never mind. You can take over from me here.”
“Of course.” She moved behind the register, straightening the stack of Quirkes and Connolly Bookshop-stamped paper bags on the far wall. “Did you sell some books to the Australian?” she asked, fishing.
“Aidan Quinn is his name, as I’m sure you know quite well.” Mary shot her a look. “He told me he was staying at the castle.”
She offered an apologetic smile. “I didn’t realise he was so curious about the local history.”
As if she’d said a magic word Mary’s eyes sparkled. “It’s so unusual to have a young man interested in such things. We had quite a good chat, and it turns out his great grandfather used to live nearby.”
Her stomach sank. “Really?” And here she’d been mouthing off about visitors with their long-lost relatives returning to claim Irish heritage…
“I sent him to have a look at the graves, but told him the best person to talk to about this was your mother, or even you. I’m surprised that he hasn’t spoken to you about it already.”
Her smile held a touch of grimace. One guess why that was.
“Anyway,” Mary continued, “I’ve invited him tonight to the Story Circle. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Uh, sure.” The Story Circle was Mary’s brain-child, a way of gathering those with a passion for storytelling or local history to continue a beloved tradition.
Often held in a local pub, they also sometimes gathered around the large wooden table here in the bookshop, a safe place to come and feed on a feast of literary greatness or local lore.
“It’s good he can spend time with those who know about the history. ”
“Are you not coming?”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” she confessed.
“Oh, come on. We’re meeting at O’Shea’s, and you know you enjoy their dessert menu.”
“And you know I can’t admit to that,” Rory teased. Even though the chef at O’Shea’s had a way with apple crumble she wished the hotel chef knew.
Mary’s chuckle died. “But I didn’t want to steal Aidan from you at the hotel.”
“It’s fine. Steal away.”
“He’s gone back there now, but said he’d return for dinner.”
“Okay.” Why Mary thought Rory needed to know all this she didn’t know.
The next two hours passed oh so slowly. Part of her wished she could be so direct as to demand to know what Aidan had talked about.
Part of her wished she could return home and speak to him herself.
Perhaps apologise for making that dumb comment before.
Because towns like hers, hotels like the Castle Griffin, needed tourists to visit, regardless of their motivations.
And now she thought about it, it did sound a little judgemental of her.
She certainly wouldn’t like it if people judged Irish folk for leaving the motherland and sailing across the seas in hopes of a brighter future, even though that’s what millions of her compatriots had done over the past two hundred years.
So the fact some people still closely identified with their heritage should be celebrated, not just tolerated.
By the time she pulled up in the family carpark at the hotel she was determined to make things right. How arrogant she must’ve seemed.
The scent of a vanilla candle met her as she went inside the family’s door and up the stairs, found her mother, kissed her cheek. “How have things been here today?”
“Very quiet. How was your day?”
“Much the same.”
Mam nodded. “Are you here for dinner tonight?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure.” She often had a meal with her mother and sister, but the lure of Story Time was strong.
“It looks like we’ll get some more rain soon,” Mam said.
“When do we not?”
“I don’t think that young Australian man realised just how quickly the weather can change. I heard him earlier when I was downstairs telling Aisling that he was going to visit the old castle.”
Was that part of his quest to learn more about the history? Part of her itched to follow him, to find out. Another part knew that was a bad idea. She bit her lip.
“What’s that look for, Rory?”
She wrinkled her nose, then told her mother something of the ups and downs of the past twenty-four hours.
“Oh Rory, you didn’t.”
She winced. “I know. It was wrong. But I was just thinking about some of those tourists we’ve had come here in the past who seem to think we’re all backward and quaint, simply because they live in a city and their ancestors lived here once so they then have the nerve to call themselves Irish.”
“I don’t think Aidan is like that at all. He seemed most respectful, from what I overheard him say to Ash.”
Obviously she was now going to have to talk to her sister to find out exactly what had been said. She kissed her mother’s cheek and said she had to go downstairs.
Down in the reception area she found her sister playing solitaire on the computer. “No university work yet?”
“There no doubt will be plenty, once we get past the first week.”
Right. She might be only three years a graduate herself, but she’d forgotten when classes started.
And given her sister had organised her classes so she needed to stay in Cork three days a week, it was hard to keep up sometimes.
But still, she seemed to be enjoying her degree in social sciences.
She hoped her sister would have more clarity about what to do with her life than Rory had experienced.
This trying her hand at different things and hoping for the best was challenging.
“So, good day?”
Her sister reiterated what her mother had said. “But I did have a little chat with your Aidan.”
“He’s not my Aidan,” she scoffed.
Her sister eyed her. “He was asking about you.”
Her heart flickered. “He was?”
“Mm. But seeing he’s not your Aidan then I guess you wouldn’t care to know what he said.”
Oh, that smirk on her sister’s face was one hundred percent enough to not make her want to ask. But then, maybe she wouldn’t have to ask. Not if she found him herself.
“I’m going for a walk.” She clicked her fingers and Rover came running.
“He’s gone to the old castle, if you want to see him.”
Her cheeks heated. “I don’t.”