Chapter 28
Grace shot off her seat, forgetting all about her sore calf as she cut a path toward Chris. She was eager to reassure him he hadn’t just walked into some backwater pub where the locals strummed banjos and didn’t welcome outsiders. But someone had beaten her to it. Mrs Rae, his former piano teacher, had launched herself on him, nearly losing her fox fur. Chris stumbled backwards under the weight of the box as she tried to get at him. Then Grace hung back as Father Seamus’s multi-tasking housekeeper, church organist and music teacher exclaimed over how she’d not known he was back and how big and handsome he’d got since she last saw him. He managed to set the box aside and return her hug.
It tickled Grace to see he’d pinkened at the sudden fuss, and she was grateful to Mrs Rae for breaking the ice.
‘You’re looking well, Mrs Rae, and I see Freddy’s still going strong,’ he said, attempting to hold her at arm’s length as he kept a wary eye on the glass eye watching him reproachfully.
Grace felt a bubble of laughter well up. The awful foxy fur had a name!
Mrs Rae, who was determinedly clinging to him like he was her son returned home from battle, began explaining how she gave Freddy a good brushing once a week, which was why he was in such good condition. She’d barely drawn breath before drilling him on his life in London, not waiting for a reply before berating him for not dropping her a line to let her know how he was getting on, because four months was a long time when you got to her time of life.
Time of life indeed, Grace snorted silently. The woman was fit as a fiddle.
‘I’m not much of a letter writer, Mrs Rae, and I sent you a card for Easter telling you what I was up to.’ He caught Grace’s eye and smiled over the top of his retired teacher’s head.
Grace smiled back, liking the fact he didn’t brush the woman off, because it was apparent how fond Mrs Rae was of him, although she was beginning to wonder if she was going to get a look in. At last, though, telling him he was a good boy and giving him a fond pat on the cheek, the lure of the tipple Father Seamus was signalling he’d got in for her called her back to the bar.
Chris picked the box up once more, and a waterfall of words tumbled forth from Grace’s mouth in her eagerness to tell him everything that had happened since she’d arrived at the pub and to distract from the curious stares.
‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve spoken to Isla Mullins, and she is now our official Event Council Coordinator. She wanted a badge, but I talked her out of it, because we need every penny we can get for Clara and the school. Oh, and all the businesswomen of Emerald Bay are eager to spread the word and help out however they can. Father Seamus will spread the word at Mass, too.’
Chris laughed. ‘Grace, would you take a breath? And can you tell me where to put this? It weighs a ton.’
‘Oh, sorry!’ Grace felt an eejit for burbling on. ‘Follow me.’
The odd greeting was called out and a shout of, ‘Long time no see, Chris, me lad. I heard you’re doing well over in London,’ as they made their way through the crowded pub toward her sisters, Freya and the lads. All the while, she could feel her father’s eyes on her back like red laser dots. Chris, of course, couldn’t wave back, given his arms were full, and he was obviously pleased to offload the box when Grace said, ‘Just pop that down on the floor out the way there.’
He did as she said and flexed his arms. Grace was grateful for the warm welcome from her sisters and Ryan. James and Freya waited to be introduced, and Shannon did the honours; Chris shook both their hands warmly, not giving any indication that he was the least bit uncomfortable being the first Dorrance inside the Shamrock in, well, forever. Grace fancied she could almost feel the locals holding their breath, waiting to see how Liam would react, but James, bless him, was oblivious as he told Chris about the veterinary practice he’d bought and the renovation he and Shannon were in the midst of.
It was Imogen who finally pointed out the elephant in the room. ‘Chris, when you arrived just now, it reminded me of those old Western films where the cowboy walks into the saloon and everything stops. All you need is a Stetson and a set of chaps.’ It was just loud enough to reach the ears of the inquisitive few tables around them. It saw throats being cleared and conversations striking up again.
Shannon was laughing. ‘Nan loves a good Western. The old black-and-white films always have her bouncing up and down on the sofa, shouting “Gee up!” at the television when the posse’s after riding into town.’
Grace and Imogen joined in with her laughter.
Chris grinned. ‘I’m not used to such an attentive audience.’
Grace was pleased he didn’t seem to be self-conscious, but then why should he be? He’d every right to call in for a pint.
‘Shannon said you play in a band?’ Freya piped up.
‘I do. The Shamrockers.’
Grace tuned out as he told Freya and the others what music they played as she stole a wary glance toward the bar. Hannah was pretending to exaggeratedly slit her throat – eyes rolling back in her head, the lot – before pointing over at her. Grace assumed that was her way of saying Dad would murder her later. Either way, she summoned a middle-finger response, which saw Nan glower over at her. As for their father, the only sign he was aware of Chris being in the pub were the two high spots of colour on his cheeks. Otherwise, it was business as usual. It was a relief there was to be no scene, and she realised Chris was the only one at the table without a drink.
‘Chris, what are you having?’ she jumped in when there was a lull in the conversation.
‘A pint of Harp will do it. But you sit down and rest that leg of yours. I’ll fetch a round in. What’s everybody else having?’
Orders were relayed, and James pushed his seat back. ‘I’ll give you a hand with those drinks.’
Given Chris’s arrival had hardly been pistols at dawn and the Kelly girls and their other halves had all made the Dorrance lad welcome, nobody batted an eye as Chris and James headed for the bar. Still and all, Grace kept a close watch, observing her mam and Hannah all but tripping over each other in their haste to get to Chris before Liam did.
As they picked their way back, hands full, Hannah trailing after them, using the remaining drinks she carried as an excuse to check in and see what was happening, Grace noticed Eileen Carroll standing at the end of the bar. She had the bell used for ringing in last orders in her hand. Grace’s eyebrows furrowed; she recalled Eileen having alluded to her interrupting their meeting earlier. She’d said something was upsetting the women of Emerald Bay, and once she’d sat down, curiosity saw her swivel round in her seat to face the bar, eager to hear what the fastest knitter in the west had to say.
The sudden pealing of the bell saw several punters startle.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Eileen? It’s nowhere near closing!’ a voice shouted out.
‘That’s enough out of you, Enda Dunne. I’ve an announcement to make.’ Eileen stood her ground, waiting until she was satisfied she had everyone’s attention. If her bell ringing hadn’t done it, what she said next certainly did.
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a thief amongst us.’
Chris Dorrance’s appearance at the Shamrock was old news as a whirlpool of voices all clamouring to know what Eileen was on about saw her ring that bell once more.
‘Does she think she’s in the Notre Dame bell tower?’ Hannah muttered, the empty glasses she’d cleared from their table in hand as she started heading back toward the bar.
Eileen’s vigorous bell ringing also saw Kitty Kelly march over and remove it from her, her voice firm as she told her the bell had been in the family for years and she’d not have Eileen Carroll being so heavy-handed with it, thanks very much. She followed it with a bellow: ‘Would youse all cork it and let the woman speak!’
Only once the bell had been restored to its home on the bar and silence had settled over the pub did she say, ‘Right now, Eileen, what’s it you want to say?’
‘Thank you, Kitty.’ Eileen’s chest swelled, and she had an almost evangelical air as she played to the crowd. ‘I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill shoplifter or garden gnome-thief either. Oh no, it’s a knicker thief we’re after sheltering in our little village!’
An outraged roar of ‘A knicker thief?’ erupted that no bell would silence.
Shannon spurted her mouthful of ale across the table and began violently coughing. James thwacked her on the back and was half out of his seat, ready to fetch her a glass of water whilst Grace and Imogen eyeballed one another in horror. They were only too aware who the culprit was.
Napoleon.
‘Is there something you want to tell us, Shannon,’ Eileen called out as the din began to die down.
Heads turned toward Shannon, who was still spluttering but slowly getting herself back under control.
Grace closed her eyes, wincing as the prospect of a witch hunt for poor Napoleon, complete with flaming torches and the womenfolk of Emerald Bay baying for blood, played out like a scene from a film in her mind. Her muscles clenched as she prayed her sister wasn’t about to do the honourable thing and own up to her cat’s misdemeanours. Shannon had always been far too honest for her own good and had never grasped that there were times when a little white lie was called for. This wasn’t about Shannon, though. It was about Napoleon. A poor, defenceless Persian.
‘Not at all, Eileen,’ Shannon squeaked. ‘My beer went down the wrong way, is all. It was the shock of it all. I mean, who’d have thought? A knicker thief here in Emerald Bay.’
All right, all right, don’t overdo it, Shan, Grace thought.
Eileen and everyone else appeared satisfied with this explanation, and the attention was back on the owner of the Knitter’s Nook as she cleared her throat before continuing. ‘I have been a victim of this crime. So, ladies – and possibly gents; we’ve yet to ascertain whether our thief discriminates – I want you to know you’re not alone. Please raise your hands if you’ve noticed any missing undergarments.’
A dozen hands went up, and Clare Sheedy’s voice rang out indignantly as she cried, ‘I wondered where my best Marks and Spencer’s pair went. I was after accusing our Kate of pinching them when she was home from Dublin last weekend.’
The sisters exchanged glances, because Napoleon, it would seem, had been a busier boy than they’d realised.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Clare, and I don’t have to tell you it’s an apology you’ll need to be offering to your Kate,’ Eileen intoned.
Grace knew she and her sisters would have been in bits if they weren’t inadvertently involved. Oh, how she wished she was recording these proceedings for Ava, who’d find them hilarious, but she didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention to their table. Behind the bar, she saw her mam, dad and Hannah were all but whistling and looking at the ceiling, while Kitty Kelly was studying the floor as though she’d find the answers to Emerald Bay’s knicker thief in the timbers’ tongue and groove.
‘And those that know me know I’m not one to rest on my laurels, so I want youse to know I’m after having a word with Sergeant Badger. Sadly, he can’t be here with us tonight as he’s a darts tournament over in Kilticaneel. However, he asked me to relay that we’re all to be extra vigilant of our smalls and to let him know as soon as we notice ourselves short another pair.’
Villager eyed villager with suspicion, trying to come to grips with the knowledge that they were harbouring a thief as Eileen, satisfied she’d successfully got her message across, returned to her table.
‘Shannon, what are you going to do?’ Grace hissed. ‘I mean, you’ll have to say something, because what if they point the finger at someone?’
‘What’s going on?’ Chris leaned into the conversation with a frown.
‘It’s Shannon’s Persian cat, Napoleon. He’s the thief,’ Grace whispered, acutely aware of the heat emanating from Chris’s leg where it was pressing against hers under the table.
‘But how does he get out?’ Shannon queried. ‘He only goes as far as the beer garden, and one of us is always with him. I don’t understand it.’ Her doe eyes, filled with fear, were even more Bambi-like than usual.
‘What?’ Chris was bewildered.
‘Don’t judge him, Chris. He’s a lovely boy,’ Shannon began, but Imogen interjected.
‘With terrible wind.’
Shannon pulled a face. ‘So do you when you eat pickled onions.’
‘Shut up, Shan.’
Ryan grinned. ‘Note to self: don’t let Imo at the pickled-onion jar.’ He received a sharp elbow from Imogen.
Shannon carried on in a hushed voice, explaining to Chris how Napoleon had graduated from stealing socks and underpants about the place to going further afield and dragging home foreign pairs of knickers. ‘He’s very particular, mind; they’re always clean, like.’
‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ Chris said, eyes twinkling.
Grace nudged his knee with hers. ‘Don’t you dare laugh, Christopher Dorrance. This is serious business.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, but there’s no place like Emerald Bay.’
He was bang on the money there, Grace thought, seeing him bite his trembling bottom lip.
‘You’re a vet, James. What should we do?’ Imogen demanded.
‘Shush, keep your voice down. The walls have ears,’ Shannon hissed, glaring. ‘Yes, James, you’re the vet. We should never have let things go this far.’
James shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There was nothing about how to handle cats with a predilection for thieving in my training, and I’ve never struck this before with any other animals. I guess we google it.’ He did just that and, holding his phone up, quietly read out the hits. ‘OK, so klepto kitties are quite common, apparently. Who knew?’
‘Get on with it,’ Shannon bossed.
‘Sorry, OK, so, it can be an instinctual thing, you know – hunter-gatherer. The cat thinks they’re bringing a kill home to their kittens. Or sometimes it’s done for attention.’
‘Well, he’s certainly got our attention now,’ Grace muttered.
Imogen snorted. ‘Ridiculous theory. That cat gets more attention than any of us.’
‘And he’s never fathered kittens,’ Shannon added. ‘What we need to do is find out how he’s getting out in the first place. That will put a stop to his thieving.’
‘What’s all this “we” business?’ Imogen said. ‘He’s your cat.’
Grace supposed her feline allergy had her less sympathetic to poor Napoleon’s cause.
Shannon ignored her sister, and two little lines appeared between her brows. ‘He must be sneaking out once we’re all asleep. I think we’re going to have to take turns keeping watch.’
‘That “we” again.’
‘Shut up, Imo. It doesn’t apply to you, obviously. I’ll do tonight.’
‘I’ll keep you company,’ James said, and the couple exchanged a lingering, loved-up look.
Grace felt catching Napoleon doing his moonlight flit would be easier said than done.
‘I’ve a head torch I could race home and get for you if you need it, Shan,’ Freya offered.
They all looked at the blue-haired girl incredulously.
‘Why do you have a head torch?’ Grace was the first to ask.
‘I went caving once.’
‘Oh.’ Grace digested this then asked, ‘But why would Shannon need one?’
Freya shrugged. ‘It’s the closest thing to night-vision goggles I’ve got.’
The laughter around the table relieved the tension. Even Shannon saw the funny side of it all, and as she wiped her eyes, they slid to the box on the floor near her feet. ‘What’s in that box you lugged in, Chris?’ she asked.
‘Flyers advertising Emerald Grooves. Grace whipped them up this afternoon. Ava’s done a brilliant job of getting the website and ticketing portal up and running, so we can spread the word now.’
‘We had them printed in Galway this afternoon.’
‘So that’s where you were,’ Shannon said.
Grace nodded. ‘We’re going to make a formal announcement about the festival and what it’s fundraising for tonight and distribute the flyers to the businesses who agree to pass them out for us.’ She’d used the word ‘formal’ because she was sure word had already spread about what the young Kelly girl and the Dorrance boy were up to.
She dug out her phone, the tip of her tongue poking out her mouth as she swiped and clicked. ‘I’ve just sent youse all an invitation to like the Facebook page I’ve set up. And I’m all over Insta and TikTok.’ Well, she would be when she could catch her breath. ‘So you know the drill – like, share, etc.’ Grace felt her feet had barely touched the ground since arriving home.
‘Count me in for a stack to pass out,’ Freya said, busying herself on her phone as the others were doing to help spread the word.
‘I just hope Eileen and her thief haven’t stolen our thunder,’ Grace said, turning her attention to Chris.
‘Only one way to find out. Shall we?’ He got up and held his hand out to her as though he were asking her to dance.
Grace placed her hand in his and felt the warmth of his fingers close over it as he helped her to her feet. For a moment, Grace felt as if they were the only two people in the room. They fit together and made a good team. If only he could see that, she thought as he dropped her hand and, bending to pick up the cardboard box, asked, ‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’