Chapter 11 #2
This. This was why he didn’t want to hang around the hotel today. Have people poke fun at him all day and remind him of his failures? No thanks. “Yes ma’am.”
“I put a tracker in her phone,” she warned him.
“What?” He glanced at Rory. “Has she?”
She laughed. “Let’s go.”
“I want her back by ten o’clock,” Aisling called.
“Does she mean in the morning?”
“I’m pretty sure she means the evening. But it’s okay. Come on.”
She directed him back into Derryloughlin, and he parked outside the bakery, where she ordered two coffees and two Irish breakfast rolls to go. Once served, they drove to a viewing spot five minutes away which overlooked the beach.
“What’s in an Irish breakfast roll?” he asked, as she handed one to him.
“Well, I’ll admit it’s not especially authentic, but it does the job. It’s a baguette packed with bacon, sausage, egg, a hash brown, black pudding and white pudding.”
He stared at it. “Dare I ask what’s in white pudding?”
“No.” She laughed.
Okay, so it couldn’t be that bad then. “Let me guess: if black pudding contains animal blood then white pudding doesn’t.”
“Correct! It generally has oatmeal or barley and breadcrumbs and some kind of fat.”
“Sounds like a heart attack ready to happen.”
“But if you only live once, you might as well live, right?” She took a big bite of her roll.
He chuckled, and followed suit. And yes, while there was a lot of roll and flavours to get his mouth around, it was interesting. And filling. Even if he was happy to say “I might only live once, but once was enough, I think.”
She chuckled, and wrapped the other half of her roll in a napkin. “It is a lot, isn’t it? I’m going to keep the rest for lunch.”
“Oh. I hoped to take you somewhere for lunch.”
“You did?”
“Well, you’re my tour guide, so it’s only fair that I pay you by supplying the rest of the meals.”
“Fine. Be like that then.”
His heart warmed. He liked this fun and bantery side of her. It reminded him of the ease with which he and his sister often carried on. Except he’d never felt this sense of anticipation with another woman before.
“Now, are you ready for the next exciting instalment of our magical mystery tour?”
“For sure and for certain,” he gently teased.
She snorted. “You will not be saying that again to me if you know what’s good for you. Not if you don’t want a tour of the backside of the village rubbish tip.”
“Fine. Be like that then.”
She chuckled, and directed him back up the road, and through several back streets of Derryloughlin, until they came to a scene he recalled. She stopped, and opened the door, and he joined her in getting out.
He stared at the little cottage, the thatched roof just like the picture Mary had shown him three days ago.
The second stop on this spontaneous tour of Rory’s hidden gems of West Ireland had been unexpected, but heart-searing.
For this cottage, humble as it was, was also a reminder that there was a chasm between them.
The elephant in the room that they were both doing their best to ignore. “It’s so little.”
“A little cottage.”
“Do…do you think we could go inside?”
“If we knock on the door I’m sure we’ll find out.”
“Would you come with me?”
“Sure.” She grinned. “And for certain.”
He laughed, relaxing. So she hadn’t been too offended before.
She led the way, opening the picket gate that led to a garden path, with flowers planted either side.
“I feel like you’re leading me up the garden path,” he murmured.
“I feel like if you’re going to make jokes like that all day it will be a very long day. Or perhaps a very quick one.”
In that case that would be the last dumb joke he made.
They paused at the door, and he looked at her, hesitant.
“Go on. You should do the honours,” she encouraged.
Fine, then. He knocked, and they waited. Was it a home lived in by a family? An older couple? Or rented out as something like an Airbnb? He really hoped it wasn’t the latter.
The thick wooden door swung open, and he smiled. “G’day, my name is Aidan.” It never hurt to ladle on the Aussie vibes.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you Australian?”
He nodded. “My family came from around here, and I’ve come all this way in the hopes that I might see this place because I believe they once lived here.”
“Really? What were their names?”
“The Quinns. I believe it was James and Orla Quinn in the mid 1600s.”
“Is this house that old?” The woman offered a small smile. “We’ve only lived here a few years, and it was renovated just before we moved in. So I’m afraid there would be little that would be original. But you’re welcome to come inside.” She opened the door wider.
“Thank you so much.” He glanced at Rory. “Will you come in too?”
“Is this your girlfriend?”
“Oh no. Just a friend.” She held out a hand. “Rory.”
“Bernie. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Well, come in, come in.” She waved a hand at the open plan room, which had thick walls and a huge fireplace that took up one side. “I'll put the kettle on,” she said, then bustled over to the adjoining kitchen area.
“You don’t have to.”
“Oh, but it would not be very hospitable of me to not offer you both a cup of tea, now would it?”
He glanced at Rory who nodded slightly. “Well, in that case, thank you.”
“You can see the stairs are quite narrow, obviously not built with the likes of you in mind.”
“They didn’t have Weetbix back in the day.”
“Weetabix, did you say?” Bernie asked.
“Weetbix. It’s pretty similar, but different. But never mind.” He moved to a window, the foot-deep sill showing just how solid the walls were. “I can’t get over the thickness of the walls here.”
“It gets cold, and there was none of that fancy heating back then. Would you like to see upstairs?”
“Um, maybe just up the stairs. Is it okay if I take some pictures for my grandmother at home?”
“Of course, dear.”
He did, and took a couple more upstairs. But Bernie was right. Most of the original features had been renovated or updated long ago. And trying to find a sense of history in this place felt a little like chasing a wild goose.
Outside was a stone barn which may have been original. And certainly none of the trees looked old enough to have survived three hundred years. He took some pictures anyway, thankful he could at least show something of the Quinn heritage to his grandmother.
They stopped and enjoyed a cup of tea and what Bernie called spiced Barmbrack fruit cake, which was pretty similar to the boiled fruit cake his grandmother had often made at home.
“It’s really good,” he said, having polished off a slice.
“When I’m feeling naughty I top it with whipped cream and blackberry jam.”
“That does sound naughty,” Rory said.
“Ah, but we all need a little bit of spice in life, don’t we?”
He smothered his laughter with a sip of tea and nearly choked. He would not look at Rory, certain she would find the comment equally funny.
She coughed, and his gaze flew to hers, and sure enough the amusement there made his chest hurt to hold in the laughter.
“Bernie, thank you so much for your hospitality,” Rory said.
“Truly the finest I’ve come across in my stay so far,” he added.
This earned him another look from Rory, and he realised how it might be taken. “Apart from with you,” he mumbled.
They exited, and then Rory paused. “Would you like me to get a picture of you out the front?”
“That’d be great.” Gran would get a kick out of that at least.
She took a photo of him, then one of him and Bernie, with his phone then handed it back to him.
“Shall I get one of the two of you?” Bernie asked.
“If you don’t mind. And if Rory doesn’t,” he added, looking at her.
She nodded, and he gave Bernie his phone. Rory moved in closer, and he tucked his arm around her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she murmured, as Bernie requested for them to “say cheese.”
“Having a photo with the prettiest woman in Ireland.”
“Hmm. You obviously don’t need to visit the Blarney stone as you’re talking enough blarney as it is.”
He chuckled, just as Bernie took the photo. “Oh, and that’s a grand picture of the two of you. You both look so happy.”
The photo certainly showed that. There was a joy and an ease displayed between them in the way Rory smiled at the camera, her head slightly tilted toward him, and he was laughing, eyes crinkled.
His heart thudded. If he didn’t know better he’d think they were a couple.
After thanking Bernie again, they headed back to the car. He glanced across to where Rory sat, sunglasses on, ready for the next part of their adventure. “Thank you for that. It meant more than I can say.”
She smiled. “See? Not something you’ll find in a tourist guide.”
“For sure.”
“And for certain,” she added.
And they both laughed.