Chapter Two #2
“Thank you, Frank,” Anushka says, taking her position in front of the fireplace.
Nush is tiny, barely reaching my shoulder when we’re side by side, but whereas I tend to shrink when it comes to public speaking, she always makes herself seem ten feet taller.
Gemma says it’s just good posture, but I swear it’s some kind of magic trick.
“And thank you all for coming tonight. I’m here this week like I’m here every week.
To discuss Glenmill and their reign of terror in our home. ”
“I see she’s going for the dramatic angle today,” Gemma says, and I bite back a smile.
“They come with their promises,” Nush continues, speaking like she’s giving a rousing speech at the end of an action movie and not addressing a handful of people drinking in a pub.
“They come with their elegant words and their expensive suits, and they take over villages like ours until there’s nothing and no one left.
Until we are mere shells of who we once were.
We’ve already seen what they can do to our land, but now we’re witnessing first-hand what they can do to our people. I mean, just look at Katie.”
I stiffen as every head in the pub turns my way. Oh my God.
“Innocent, darling Katie—”
Oh my God . “Nush—”
“—whose only crime is living near that hellhole they call a building site.”
“Make her stop talking,” I mumble to Gemma, who gives a slow shake of her head.
“I will not be doing that.”
“Every morning she’s woken by an issue that we will all have to contend with soon. And it’s that issue I want to talk about tonight. Traffic .”
“Hah! Called it.” Gemma twists back to the bar and reaches out a hand to Adam, who returns her ten-euro note with a scowl.
“Double or nothing she asks us to start chaining ourselves to trees,” he says, and Gemma scoffs.
“Deal.”
“We have one road coming in and out of this village,” Nush continues.
“One. What’s it going to be like when we’re suddenly adding another five hundred people to our population?
We don’t have footpaths. We don’t even have traffic lights.
It’s a recipe for disaster, and I’m thinking in particular of the dangers for the younger members of our community.
” She places a hand over her heart. “As a mother—”
“You’re not a mother,” Frank interrupts.
“I have a son.”
“You have a cat. Gemma has a son.”
“You can have him if you want him,” Gemma calls. “I’m more than happy to trade.”
Nush ignores her. “Cats are expensive, Frank. Chester ate a piece of rope the other day, and I paid a hundred euros for the vet to tell me he’ll just have to poop it out. A hundred euros.”
“You shouldn’t have given him the rope then.”
“I didn’t give him the rope! He found the rope!”
“Can we keep this meeting moving?” Adam calls, not even looking up as he wipes down the toastie machine. “Please?”
“I’m just further proving my point,” Nush continues.
“A hundred euros for rope poop. Think how much it will cost to fix a broken leg or an operation should Chester be knocked down. Should any of us be knocked down. You, Danny,” she says, pointing to Danny O’Meara who has the misfortune of sitting closest to her.
“You could be knocked down. Do you want that?”
Danny pauses with his Guinness halfway to his mouth. “No?”
“No,” Nush echoes. “He does not. Which is why we need to consider the traffic that will be brought into the area as a result of the hotel. Taxis coming and going at all hours of the day. Tour buses parking where they should not be parking. Rich people in Land Rovers doing God knows what. Who is going to take care of the roads with the increased wear on them? Because the council certainly doesn’t answer my emails. And I—”
Nush breaks off, her gaze shooting to the ceiling as a collective gasp ripples throughout the pub. Before any of us can so much as blink, the lights above us flicker before shutting off, bathing the lounge in instant darkness.
Blackout.
“See!” Nush exclaims, yelling to be heard over the ensuing groans. Adam curses behind me as Gemma raises her wine glass in a mock toast. “This is the second time this month. Coincidence?”
More than likely, but I’ve got to give it to her for trying to lay the blame on Glenmill.
The power cuts have been happening my whole life. Electricity is generally unreliable out here, and when outages happen, they tend to focus on getting the bigger towns back up and running first. I hate to say it, but we’re almost used to them at this stage.
“You can stay here as long as you like,” Adam calls over the annoyed grumbling. “So long as no one tells the insurance people. Honor code, folks.”
Phone screens light up, casting small white glows around the room as a few people start to rise, muttering about houses and families and not again .
Nush gives up trying to regain their attention and rings the bell to end the meeting.
Sometimes, these things only last a few seconds, but other times they can go on for hours, and no one wants to take the risk.
“Katie?” Adam calls over, as he lights a handful of candles for the tables. “Could you grab some torches from the shed? Keys in the office,” he adds, and I raise a hand in acknowledgment as I slip away, grabbing the key ring and some loose change from his desk, before heading out the back door.
It’s pitch-black outside, but the sky is clear and full of stars, and I pause to gaze out at the lake as it shimmers silently. The forest that brackets the other side is dark and still and might be eerie if I didn’t know it like the back of my hand.
Once the summer hits, the patio where I’m standing will be full of people enjoying the sun, but right now it’s empty bar the weathered picnic bench pushed to the side and the old wishing well right in front of me.
The latter has been here for so long, most people don’t even notice it anymore, but I think if Kelly’s is my favorite place in the world, then the well is my favorite place in Kelly’s.
It’s a bit of a tradition for me to come here. Though maybe addiction is a better word for it. Because just like how a few of our regulars always seem to relax after their first sip of the day, something in my chest eases every time I make a wish.
And after the day I’ve had, that’s exactly what I need right now.
I walk slowly around it, running my hands over the stones until I feel the faint etching on the far side, the initials of two love-drunk kids who’d grow up to have me.
Ennisbawn wasn’t always so tiny. It was a pretty sizeable market town back in the day, with dances and auctions and fairs.
We still hold most of them, though they’ve shrunk in size and importance over the years.
But they’re an excuse to bring people together and for me to put up decorations and for Adam to roll his eyes at said decorations, and so we still host some, if only to get everyone together on a random Tuesday night.
My parents met at the matchmaking festival.
It’s one of our oldest traditions, stretching back as far as the late seventeen hundreds when bachelor farmers would descend on the village, seeking a wife among the young women who holidayed with their families by the lake.
Legend goes you would drop a coin down the well and wish for your true love.
Granny likes to spin a romantic tale about my parents doing just that, but now that I’m older, I know that, while they did fall in love, it probably wasn’t the well weaving its magic that drew them together.
More than likely, it was the fact that Kelly’s was the kind of place that would have turned a blind eye to two seventeen-year-olds looking to buy a beer back then and they signed up to be matched with nothing more than a good night in mind.
But it’s nice to pretend.
To believe in a little bit of magic.
I trace over the familiar letters, saying a silent hello before reaching for one of the coins in my pocket and dropping it inside.
I wait for the gentle plop of water that always serves as an acknowledgment and, when it comes, I take a breath, inhaling the damp smell of stone and water and earth, along with the metallic taste of God knows how many coins myself and others have dropped in over the years.
I’m so caught up in my little ritual that I don’t pay any attention to the sudden pinpricks at the back of my neck, that innate sense of being watched.
I’ve completely let my guard down and the faint rustle of clothing a moment later is the only warning I get that I’m not alone, but before I can do anything about it, a man’s voice murmurs behind me, far too close for comfort:
“What did you wish for?”