Chapter 62
62
Kilcroney was pathetically grateful there would be no investigation. He made promise after promise that the repair work would begin this very morning, that it would be even better than before and that a “brand-new Honda Civic” would be with Mum early the following week.
Back at Kearney’s, Brigit was cooking breakfast. “How did it go? All okay? Thank God.” She sagged with relief. “Jesus, this has been horrific.”
“I think it’s over now,” I said. “I mean, the stuff with the retreat.”
“And as long as Queenie gets through this, we’ll manage?”
“Of course .”
“Colm and I are heading off after breakfast. You want a lift to Dublin? Seeing as you’re without a car?”
“Brand-new Honda Civic coming soon. But a lift would be great.” I turned to Joey. “That okay? You don’t need me here any longer?”
“No. I guess not…”
“Call Colm and Lenehan there, would you?” Brigit was sliding rashers and sausages onto plates.
God almighty, it was fried things, lots of them. “Just toast for me,” I said quickly.
We all sat. The others began horsing into their disgusting breakfasts, then talking about them. We got chapter and verse on where the sausages hailed from, then a long story about the Dutchman who sold the eggs.
I tried to zone out and keep down my toast.
“Anna,” Brigit said. “Whatever happens tomorrow, Queenie’s recovery will take a while. Colm and I need to focus on that. So would you work for us?”
“Oh!” This was unexpected. “Doing what?”
“Two main things,” Brigit said. “One, keeping an eye on the mood of the town, seeing if it all quietens down. Dealing with any new quibbles that might come up.”
I’d be glad to do that, I realized. Leaving before seeing proof that there was no lingering rancor was making me anxious.
“Second part would be working with Lenehan on the Airbnb and barn hire. We’ve five yoga retreats in the next couple of months, plus a wedding coming up after Easter, and my head has never been less in the game.”
“I’ve no experience of yoga retreats or weddings.”
“You could do it in your sleep. You’re an organizer, Anna.”
“I might look like I’m twelve”—Lenehan flashed a smile—“but I’m all over it. Just, it’s too much for one person.”
“How would two days a week sound?” Brigit interjected. “Your current rate, plus accommodation. Not the Broderick, but one of the beautiful cottages on Shore Road. Nothing to stop you doing interviews or other work on your free days. Rachel and the rest can visit or you can be in Dublin four or five days out of every seven?”
This wasn’t a no-brainer. What if Joey got over his mistrust of Rose and they began swanking around town, a loving couple? Or what if I got too used to life here and could never hack it again in a big city?
But Brigit and Colm were in circumstances too awful to imagine and I could, in a small way, help. And like they said, it was only two days a week, I could still keep looking for a job in Dublin. As for Joey? Once again I silently repeated my mantra: I’ve survived Joey Armstrong in the past, I’ll survive him again.
“Okay, thank you. Yes. That would be lovely,” I said.
They were delighted.
“You won’t regret it,” Colm said. “From Easter on, the place gets busy. A million things to do. Great people come to stay.”
“You’ve already made friends,” Brigit reminded me. “Courtney, Ben, Vivian—”
“Steve?” Colm asked.
“The mad chef?”
Colm rolled his eyes. “He’s not mad, just massively overworked. It gets easier in June because Kilcroney hires a couple more people in the kitchen.”
“Wait now…” I remembered the nimble, mustachioed man who’d given me a basket of warm muffins. “Was he there the night of the fire?”
“That’s him!” Colm enthused. “He’s the best.”
“After the surgery tomorrow”—Brigit crossed her fingers and muttered an incantation—“we’ll have a better idea of how long we’d need you for. But look up the holiday homes on Shore Road on your phone there. They’re gorgeous.”
Six of them, set in a loose semicircle, looked like an old-fashioned village of whitewashed cottages.
“Only built two years ago,” Brigit said. “Everything works! And the view . Looking straight out to sea.”
The front door and window frames were painted a cheery red. Inside, slate tiles lined the floors of a large living room and kitchen. Upstairs in the eaves were two bedrooms, small and cozy.
“Wi-Fi?” I asked.
“ Excellent Wi-Fi,” Brigit said. “No one can understand why. Some sort of phenomenon.”
“Ree did a school project on it,” Lenehan said.
“Who owns them?” I didn’t want it to be Dan Kilcroney or Nicolas Burke.
“Various people, all locals—Ferne O’dowd, Rionna Breen, Mr and Mrs Barzani, Ziryan’s parents. Rionna Breen’s is the one to aim for, because interiors are her business. High thread-count sheets, mattresses that won’t trigger scoliosis…What do you say?”
“No scoliosis?” I managed to laugh. “How could I resist?”