Chapter 26
Nothing had happened between her and Chris in Galway. Still, Grace was sure there’d been a shift in their platonic housemates’ relationship toward a deepening friendship, and maybe something more. She’d felt Chris’s eyes on her as she’d worked on the layout for the flyers at the cafe they’d called into for lunch and had been all fingers and thumbs, barely able to manage her sandwich. As she’d told Clara earlier, though, she’d never step on another woman’s toes, so if Chris couldn’t see the Silent Finn wasn’t right for him, friendship would have to do.
As they’d reached the outskirts of Emerald Bay, Grace suggested they call round to say hello to the Caseys. She was especially eager to give Alfie a hug.
‘I was planning on saying hi at some point. Now’s as good a time as any,’ Chris said, turning down the lane that would take them there. ‘I thought we should ask Clara to show us around her house, like. So we can see the damage first-hand, given we’re fundraising to have it repaired.’
Grace nodded. ‘Makes sense.’ She was excited to see Alfie and wished she’d thought to pick something up for him when they were in the city.
Turning her head to look out the window, she thought about how lush the hedgerows were this time of year and wondered if any ripe early blackberries could be found. She’d loved blackberrying with Clara and Ava in those lazy, hazy late days of summer. They used to pretend the purple stain around their mouths was lipstick, she recalled, smiling.
As if Chris had read her mind, he said, ‘I used to love raiding those hedgerows in summer for blackberries.’ Then, catching sight of Grace’s slack-jawed expression, he asked, ‘What?’
‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’
‘Well, there’s nothing else for it, then.’ Chris pulled over as soon as there was space to do so. ‘Come on.’
‘Are we going to do what I think we’re going to do?’ Grace’s eyes shone.
Chris nodded. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘The last one to find a blackberry is a smelly rat!’ Grace shot out of the car and began scouring the greenery, but despite her best efforts, Chris beat her to it, jubilantly holding up a plump berry.
‘I guess that makes you the smelly rat.’
‘Thanks a million.’
‘Although, I quite like how you smell.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, I’ve meant to ask you what your perfume’s called.’
Grace regained her composure. She wasn’t sure whether she should take this as a compliment or whether he wanted to know so he could buy Ulla a bottle. ‘Hermès Eau des Merveilles.’ She didn’t apologise for her appalling pronunciation.
Chris nodded. ‘I like it even if it is unpronounceable. It suits you.’
Grace mumbled a thank you.
‘Here, you have it.’ Chris thrust the berry at her, but Grace shook her head.
The light-heartedness of a moment ago had vanished thanks to the spectre of Ulla unwrapping a bottle of Hermès whatever in her mind. ‘No, you found it. You get to eat it. Those are the blackberrying rules.’
A flash of purple stood out amid the red unripe fruits, and she plucked it from the bush. ‘Besides, I found my own.’
It was too early to find more than a dozen berries ripe enough to eat, but still, their mouths were tinged with purple when they clambered back into the car. There was no point trying to rub it off. Grace knew from experience it would take a flannel and soap.
There were only two more bends to navigate, and when Chris flicked the indicator, she caught a glimpse of the sign on the gate of the neighbouring house – Dorrance Dreamscapes – before they turned up the Caseys’ driveway.
It had been a while since she’d been here, she realised, taking in the modest bungalow-style home she’d loved coming to play at when she was young. There’d been so much room to run around outside. Best of all, she and Clara could be as loud as they liked. That was the difference from growing up above a pub. Not that she would change a thing about her childhood.
She got out of the car and stretched. Over the hedge designed as a windbreak that separated the Casey and Dorrance properties, she could make out the slate roof and one, two, three, four chimneys! You could fit two of the Caseys’ house inside it.
Chris tracked her gaze. ‘It’s kind of big, but it’s homely inside. Mam makes sure of that.’
Grace wished she could see inside for herself, but before she could dwell on that further, a chestnut-and-white spaniel ruffed a greeting, tail wagging as she wandered over on arthritic legs to greet them.
‘Hello, Bailey.’ Grace ruffled the dog’s silky ears. ‘Long time no see, old girl.’
Chris joined in, and the dog was in seventh heaven with all the attention she was receiving. ‘Don’t tell Clara, but I pretended Bailey was my dog when I was a kid. I used to entice her to our garden with something pilfered from the fridge through the gap in the hedge.
Grace laughed. ‘I won’t tell. Come on.’
Mrs Casey was standing in the doorway waving at them.
‘It’s lovely to see you both,’ she said after hugging them. ‘Jim and I are after hearing all about your plans for this festival. Clara’s lucky to have friends like you looking out for her. You’re a pair of angels, so you are. Come in, come in.’
Alfie had appeared in the hallway to see who was there. He was playing dress-up, but Grace hadn’t a clue who he was supposed to be.
Chris came to the rescue. ‘Hello there, Captain America. Do you remember me?’
‘Course you do, Alfie. It’s Chris. He came to see you when you were in the hospital,’ his nana supplied.
Alfie nodded shyly then ran toward Grace. ‘Aunty Grace, I’ve got bulletproof armour on!’ He tapped the plastic shield covering his chest.
‘Just as well, Alfie. You never know what villains could be lurking about the place.’
‘Why have you both got purple mouths?’
Grace and Chris laughed then explained about the blackberries, shooting Mrs Casey an apologetic look when the little boy proceeded to plead with his nana to take him to find some.
‘Maybe later,’ Mrs Casey said, fobbing her grandson off in that universal way adults do children. ‘Jim’s in the living room. The tennis is about to start. I’m a sports widow, so I am, since he had the Sky installed. Poke your heads around the door and say hello, then you’ll find Clara in the garden, earning her keep doing a spot of weeding. I was about to take her out a glass of lemonade. Would you like one yourselves?’
‘Mm, lovely, thanks, Mrs Casey,’ Chris and Grace parroted one another.
‘Jill. You’re both too old and grown-up for this Mrs Casey business.’
Grace hated it when people she’d referred to as Mrs or Mr or as a glorified aunty or uncle suddenly insisted she use their first name. It never rolled off her tongue easily, and she always felt she was being cheeky.
They said hello to Mr Casey, who likewise instructed them to call him Jim as he got up from his recliner to shake Chris’s hand and squeeze Grace.
‘It’s a grand thing youse two are after doing for Clara. A grand thing.’ Jim Casey then launched into the spiel about insurance Clara had mentioned he was after giving her every chance he got, and Grace sympathised with her friend. Her dad would be exactly the same if she were in the same situation as Clara – which was highly unlikely, because she’d never own her own home at the rate her savings were going.
Grace and Chris finally managed to excuse themselves and go outside to find Clara on her knees, having a tug-o-war with a dandelion in the garden bed. She was pleased to let the weed win and get up to greet them both.
Mrs Casey appeared with the promised lemonade and a plate of shortbread Grace thought could rival her nan’s once she’d tasted it. Alfie, who’d downed a fizzy drink and several biscuits, burned off his sugar high by tearing around the garden, saving the world from invisible bad guys. It was so lovely to see him full of energy.
Clara was happy to abandon the gardening and drive to her place to show them the damage. So after finishing their drink and biscuits, they left a hyper Alfie annoying his granddad as he tried to watch his sport and drove the short distance to Clara’s.
Clara had sent Grace a few photographs showing the damage to her house, but she still wasn’t prepared to see the scope of it with her own eyes. Hearing Chris inhale sharply, she figured neither was he.
They picked their way over the sodden, smelly carpet. The house had been emptied of anything salvageable, with the remaining bigger items, like the sofa, headed for the tip. And despite the tarpaulin that had been temporarily placed over the gaping hole in the roof and now rustled in the breeze, birds had got in and left their calling cards on the wall, adding to the forlornness of the house. It was, as Clara had said, uninhabitable.
It was a sombre drive back to the Caseys’, with Clara confiding how upsetting she found it seeing her house like so. Grace could see why. Chris cracked a stupid knock-knock joke, but neither girl laughed.
‘We will get it fixed for you, Clara. I promise,’ Chris said as she got out of the car.
‘I appreciate everything you’re doing,’ Clara replied, waving them off. However, Grace had seen the glimmer of disbelief in her friend’s eyes.
It made her resolve stronger. Nothing and no one would stop this festival from happening.