Chapter 6
SIX
Sixteen hours later, my confidence is well and truly shattered. Petrified, I screech again as a huge black and white Guinness truck comes swinging around the tight bend on the impossibly narrow road.
‘I can’t do this, I can’t do this . . . I thought driving in New York traffic was scary!
’ I scream at myself in my little car, driving on the opposite side of the road than I am used to.
The wipers are sloshing the heavy snowfall from the windscreen as I chug along through the vast, open countryside and jagged coastline of County Galway.
I’d made it out of Dublin okay on the main roads, even singing along to Christmas FM, but as I passed through Galway city and out towards Connemara, the uneven mountains rose ahead of me.
Sweeping brown and green colours of rugged earth.
The roads became narrower, darker, more uneven, bumpy and winding as I began to lose my nerve and slammed off the radio a few kilometres back.
‘Yes, you can do this!’ I shout out again, ‘just keep driving. You can’t turn back now!
’ But I want to. Every part of my being wants to be in my mom’s kitchen in Scarsdale drinking hot chocolate.
I grip the steering wheel like it’s a lifeline, my knuckles white as the falling snow as I focus on the road.
But the air is clearer than I could ever have imagined.
As I’d stepped out of the airport, I had stopped to breathe in the sharp, crisp Irish breeze.
I’m completely in awe of the landscape, not a skyscraper in sight as I stare out ahead.
Flat land for as far as my eye can see. Despite my terror, I do feel the welcome space of my surroundings.
I’m still gripping the wheel when another colossal truck approaches me at speed, a huge bus on its tail.
‘Oh, help me, Mom! I am turning back! I want to go home!’ I pray as I press down on the horn in the centre of the steering wheel and the truck flashes its array of orange and white lights at me.
Quickly, I go down the gears and stop the car with a jolt.
The truck driver slows to a crawl. Peadar’s Power Hosing is written in block letters on the side of the truck, then it stops and the window rolls down.
I see a bald head with a cigarette dangling from the right side of the man’s mouth.
‘We rarely beep our horns in these parts. What ails ya? Yid get the double decker bus behind past me! All ya need to do is to hug the brambles,’ he bellows at me but with a surprisingly friendly tone.
‘H-huh? Hug the brambles? What does that mean?’ I stare up at him, wild eyed and trembling. I know I’m close to tears. I should have let Salma do this job, it’s too much for me. I feel my breathing become more erratic.
‘Hey, relax in there, you’re grand. That’s your side of the road, next to the brambles – the bushes. Stay tight and you’ll be safe and sound, plenty of room, trust me,’ he says kindly down to me.
‘Okay, thank you.’ I sniff repeatedly, the mini breaths helping.
‘Now take it easy, no more honking of the horn, it scares the sheep.’ He talks without removing the cigarette, a plume of smoke rising as he pulls and then puffs it out.
‘Hug the brambles,’ I repeat, my head stuck out my open window. I clutch the steering wheel even tighter and force a nervous smile. ‘But won’t that scratch the car?’
‘You’re driving in a rural area, feck all you can do about it. Now I hope ya have a licence for tha’?’ He throws down to me again.
‘For this car, yes, um, somewhere. It’s in the envelope, hold on please.’ I pull my head back inside and twist around to retrieve my soft brown leather work satchel from the back seat.
‘Not for the car, for that winning smile.’ He guffaws, a great big belly laugh, and I’m amazed that the row of cars lined up behind aren’t honking at him to move. He revs the truck loudly. ‘Merry Christmas, agus slán abhaile!’
‘Quite the charmer,’ I mutter, pulling up the window. I struggle to get the car into first gear, pressing down harder on the clutch as it jerks forward and I drive on.
‘Hug the brambles, hug the brambles, hug the brambles.’ I use it as my mantra as I slowly pass the truck and the bus and it begins to work.
I calm a little, hugging the brambles like a pro and feeling the road open up.
My Sat Nav talks again, instructing me to continue straight for three kilometres.
‘You got it,’ I tell the Sat Nav, as my phone beeps and it reads the message out automatically.
‘Hey, Magpie, how is the Emerald Isle? Ben asked me on a date to the Acquired Finance Christmas Ball! I’ll send pics! Baby Eliza’s are looking good! Love ya!’
‘Oh! Enjoy, you guys,’ I say, my eyes still glued to the road.
I’m genuinely so happy for both Eliza and Ben.
Good things to good people. ‘Okay, you got this. It’s a small road, that’s all.
You’re in Ireland!’ My nose is only inches from the windscreen as a blanket of snow continues to fall.
‘Just relax, like Peadar Power Hose told you to.’
No other vehicles approaching now as I allow my eyes to dart speedily as the moon emerges from behind a cloud, illuminating the area. I take in the vast open fields and the patches of green grass where the snow has melted.
The riot of grey stone-built walls dividing the sweeping landscape that seem to multiply out.
Down, down as far as my eye can see. Sheep graze, cows meander and horses with rugs on neigh loudly and gallop freely through the paddocks.
I haven’t been outside of New York since I was thirteen so all this wide countryside is kind of blowing my mind.
It feels so big yet so small. The very opposite to New York.
These wide-open spaces are actually beginning to calm me down.
My seat belt strains as I continue to lean close to the windscreen. ‘Oh. My. God,’ I whisper. My hands loosen on the wheel as I stare up ahead.
There it is.
Perched high up on a clifftop.
Castlemoon.
The castle is truly spectacular in the early glow of the silvery moon that streams in and out from behind the dark clouds.
Castlemoon rises into full view in the distance.
The brightest stars twinkle and glimmer in the night sky above it.
It’s like something from a century long ago, all lit up for Christmas, a fairytale castle. It’s the most beautiful sight.
‘I made it,’ I whisper. I can actually feel my blood pumping through my veins as I press my foot down harder on the accelerator and drive a little faster up the steep winding road.
I honestly didn’t think I had it in me! If mom or Jill said it was too much, I may well have chickened out.
But I didn’t, and right now I couldn’t be prouder of myself!
The Sat Nav directs me up another ridiculously narrow hill and I take my foot off the pedal a little, cautiously navigating the pitch black roads.
Brambles sway as I pass. Flicking the wipers on again, I flush the fresh snowfall from the windscreen.
As I turn around a sharp bend, I see a light up ahead.
Then, my headlights beam onto a huge rugged stone that reads:
Welcome to Heartwell Village.
‘Heartwell.’ The name trips so easily off my tongue.
It sounds so romantic. I can’t wait to explore the village for my article.
In the distance, I can see the warm orange glow of street lights.
I drive with some newfound confidence towards them until I reach the bottom of the large village square.
Dotted all around the square are tall Victorian style cast iron lighting poles that throw out the most romantic soft light.
They give an elegant, almost ethereal look to the village.
Taking my foot off the accelerator a little more, I drive carefully on. The first shop I see is a bookshop with tiny square windows and red fairy lights around the green door. It’s idyllic, with snow decorated panes. I lean to see the wooden sign, Heartwell’s Cosy Reads.
Swiftly, I take one hand off the wheel to rub condensation from my window and look across at the Heartwell Lounge and Bar.
It too is lit up, but with even more twinkling outdoor fairy lights, both green and red.
Smoke billows from the chimney in the thatched roof.
Happy people wearing Christmas jumpers are gathered under heat lamps under a low covering outside, drinking and chatting despite the falling snow.
Music echoes from inside in a rhythmic beat that makes me automatically drum my fingers on the steering wheel.
Surely an open fire and a roof made of hay can’t be safe, I think before I squint my eyes to read ‘Established in 1924’ over the door and I laugh – obviously it is.
Slowly I move on, before stopping at a pedestrian crossing just up from the pub.
A young couple holding hands cross and wave at me and I wave back, feeling all kinds of warm emotions washing over me.
If I waved at a stranger in New York in the dark of night they would think I was nuts, I muse.
I shake my head, indicate and pull into the side of the square.
I kill the engine. Leaning across again, I pick up my old, trusty Dictaphone off the passenger seat – a present from my mom for my eighteenth birthday.
I take in everything my eye can see as I click down on the red record button.
‘On first sight, Heartwell village is like something from a cosy Christmas Hallmark movie. The perfect village square is illuminated by twelve iron Victorian style lampposts with sprinkling snow cascading through their soft orange light. The village has a large green area and a bandstand in the centre, and a towering Christmas tree, draped in slow blinking white lights.’ I gaze out my driver’s window.
‘A book shop, a pub.’ Leaning across to gaze out the passenger’s side, I rub the window with the palm of my hand.
‘The Teapot Café, Murphy’s Organic Market, Heartwell Post Office, Heartwell Library and .
. .’ I sit upright and squint my eyes to the large red brick building at the top of the square, ‘Oh, and how adorable, a town hall at the top of the square! Heartwell Hall.’ Saving my conversation, I drop the Dictaphone back on the seat beside me.
A strange feeling comes over me, like good things are going to happen here.
I feel it in my bones. Turning the engine, I pass another couple walking arm in arm around the bandstand – they too wave at me.
A busker strums on an acoustic guitar as I leave the lit-up square.
I keep my eyes firmly on the twisty road.
Up, up, up the cliff I go towards the illuminated Castlemoon, but my breath is no longer shallow.
My nerve is holding. I approach the ancient sandstone castle that looks down protectively over all of Heartwell village.
I appear to be the only car now on the road and it’s becoming an incredibly peaceful drive.
Or have I just grown in confidence navigating these twisting Irish roads?
I turn the car left, up a tree-lined avenue, until my Sat Nav says, ‘You Have Arrived At Your Destination.’
‘Castlemoon . . . at last we meet.’ My mouth erupts in a huge grin, as I expend a sigh of utter relief.
Feeling super proud of myself is a sensation I don’t have very often and I really like it.
As I crunch up the gravel driveway, the front wheels of the car spin slightly on the ice.
Carefully, I pull into the car park area in front of the castle.
A lush wedding is clearly in full swing inside the huge Venetian windows.
I kill the engine, unclick my seat belt and pick up my Dictaphone.
Reaching up, I flick on the overhead light and begin to speak.
‘I’ve arrived at Castlemoon in County Galway.
It’s six o’ clock in the evening and already dark but the moonlight cascades brightly above this spectacular old sandstone building.
The castle perches high on the cliff’s edge and looks down over the cosy village of Heartwell, almost protectively.
Tonight it looks like every fairytale castle I’ve ever seen.
It towers at the top of the tree lined avenue where a small opening gives the first breathtaking views of this eighteenth-century castle.
Seated on twenty-five acres of parkland, the exterior is drenched in original features and heritage colours.
The castle comprises two reception rooms, the Sweet Orange Room and the Heart Ballroom with sixteen guest bedrooms. I cannot wait to get inside.
Now, pour a cup of coffee, and settle back.
You’ve already said yes to one big question.
The second question is, reader? Are you ready to fall in love all over again?
Well follow me . . .’ I stop recording, put the Dictaphone back on the seat.
Amid the fluttering snowfall, through those stunning windows, I see the beaming bride and groom.
They both hold the handle of a knife as they cut into a colossal white, tiered cake, surrounded by the happy faces of friends and family.
I turn the key in the ignition. Grinding the gears into reverse, I try and navigate into an awkward car park space.
I look into my outer wing mirror, checking the space.
It’s so tight. I check my own wing mirror, turning the wheel, but as I do, the front wheels spin under me again on the ice and this time the car slides sideways.
I try to spin the wheel back to control it but I can’t.
It’s sliding to the left. I hear a loud bang, followed by a crunching noise.
Then, the car shudders and the engine dies.