Chapter 7
SEVEN
‘What the hell was that?’ I screech as I pull the door handle and jump out.
I almost slip on the ice; I grab the wing mirror and hold tight.
I’ve hit a wedding car – a vintage Rolls-Royce that has white ribbons tied around it.
I bury my head in my hands. This can’t be happening.
Just when I thought everything was going so well.
I jump back into the driver’s seat, turn the key in the engine.
Pushing down on the clutch, I pump my foot on the accelerator as the car roars and I try to move, forward but, forgetting the shift gear is still in reverse, I only succeed in crunching metal to metal again.
I’m now embedded further into the side of the vintage Rolls-Royce.
I press my foot down on the clutch again and yank the gear stick into first. It grinds out an ear piercing sound as I finally propel the car forward and free it from the bumper.
Physically shaking, I turn the key and kill the engine.
This is not how I wanted to introduce myself.
I need to report the accident right away.
I throw my Dictaphone into my work satchel, pull on my knitted hat and tuck my curls under.
Grabbing my MacBook, I tuck it under my arm and hop out.
Head down against the wintery elements, I march through the swirling snowflakes tumbling from the dark sky.
When I reach the magnificent towering red wooden door framed by a stone archway, I pull the weighty iron handles and step inside Castlemoon.
Inside, there’s the welcome sound of a crackling wood fire as logs burn brightly in an oversized grate and I shake the snow off myself.
The smell of the burning wood gives off a rich, earthy aroma.
The flooring under my feet is polished stone tiles that reflect the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above.
I turn around slowly in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle; it’s like a Christmas card.
A Christmas tree stands in the corner, covered in twinkling white lights.
A multitude of red wrapped boxes with gold bows are piled on top of one another underneath.
I take in the beauty of the entrance hall because what I’m seeing is beyond magnificent.
There’s a regal atmosphere but it somehow manages to have a warm, homely vibe.
Tilting my head, I take in the colossal gleaming ceilings with rows of exposed wooden beams. I admire the intricate plaster work, the glistening, enormous low hanging chandelier.
A dark maroon wallpaper with a white striped pattern covers one side of the wall – it’s all exposed brick on the others.
Flickering tea light candles are everywhere my eye can see, the light creating gentle shadows that flutter on surrounding surfaces.
In awe, I take a few steps backwards onto the concrete slabbed step by the doors.
I’m still taking in every inch when behind me, a door loudly slams shut. Startled, I spin around. Then out of nowhere, a red setter comes bounding out of a side doorway, barking madly, and leaps up on me.
‘What in the—!’ I get such a fright that I drop my MacBook and it hits the concrete.
‘Red! No! Down, boy!’ The thick voice of a man bellows from somewhere behind as I try to calm the dog down.
‘There now, good boy. It’s okay, it’s okay.
There’s a very good boy.’ Ignoring my MacBook sitting on the concrete step upside down, I bend, trying to calm the excited dog.
When he stops barking, I rub his soft, silky red fur gently.
‘Good boy, it’s okay. Hello, there.’ The dog calms quickly, panting madly, licks my face before he bounds back to whoever called him.
Scrambling on all fours, I grab my MacBook and flip it open praying it’s not damaged but it has a large crack, right down the middle of the screen. My heart plummets.
‘No! Oh, come on . . .’ I’m still on my knees as I tap it awake and I’m utterly relieved to my core to see it’s still working.
I hit a few random keys to ensure letters appear.
‘Oh, thank God!’ I shut my eyes tight. Then I see a pair of large green wellington boots approach from the side of my eye.
I’m so concerned about the damage that I don’t look up.
The large boots appear directly under my eye line now.
‘Well now, I think we have insurance details to swap, don’t you? I’m trusting you didn’t change your mind and that you weren’t backing away out the door without reporting that accident?’ the owner of the wellies says, and for some reason the tone of his voice jolts me.
‘Eh, sorry. No, I – sorry I . . .’ Shutting the MacBook, I lift my head to look at him.
But when I look up fully, I’m completely taken aback.
In fact, I feel a little winded, like someone just stood on my stomach and pressed all the air out of me.
This has never happened to me by a man’s physical appearance in my entire life.
He has literally taken my breath away. What is wrong with me?
I’m tired and hungry, that’s it! He’s bending down, looking at me, his mouth still moving as he points out to the car park but I can’t quite make out his words.
It’s like I’m submerged underwater, under a wave.
It’s an out-of-body experience that I’ve never experienced before.
‘Ho . . .’ I blink rapidly, my brain scrambles like mad as I snap out of it, getting up off my knees, dusting them off I stand up fully. I badly need to eat!
‘Ho?’ the man repeats, but then stops talking.
Now he’s staring at me too. The drawstring hood on his khaki wax jacket frames his striking face.
He has the darkest brown eyes with long spiky lashes that are insanely captivating.
A subtle shadow adorns his well-defined jawline.
He’s towering. His presence is magnetic.
‘H-huh?’ I can’t seem to speak, instead I busy myself still dusting the knees of my jeans.
The man is wearing dark trousers tucked into his Hunter wellingtons.
Still confused by my confusion, I try to look up again, but I’m unable to take my eyes off his olive skin, the jut of his jawline, the strong nose.
His posture conveying assurance and charisma.
He’s the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life.
‘H-huh?’ He repeats the word I’ve just said, his head moving from left to right as his jaw loosens.
‘W-well – I w-was . . .’ This is ridiculous. My mouth is so dry I have to stop talking to swallow. He bends over to pick up my MacBook and I realise my legs are trembling as shyness engulfs me. I take a step back and the red setter jumps up on me again barking loudly.
‘Red! Down, boy, now. Good boy, no exertion for you, remember!’ His lilting Irish accent is like music to my ears.
‘It’s alright, I love dogs.’ My words come without my brain releasing them.
‘Even this mad one of mine?’ he asks me, unsure. ‘He’s not long over a thorn removal in his back paw so he’s a bit fresh.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I manage. This is preposterous, I need to pull myself together. So he has some kind of wild magnetism and he’s just overwhelmed me, that’s all.
‘Red here is my best pal. I can always trust Red. But you? Well now that’s a different story.
’ He pulls his hood down and although I’m aware of the sarcasm in his voice I’m even more lost for words.
I try not to focus on his jet black, unruly hair as he runs his hand through the front of it.
He is so incredibly handsome, it’s utterly unnerving.
Rubbing my hands together to steady my nerves I tell myself: You’re sworn off love for life, remember?
‘Well, who are you anyway?’ is what I say instead. I’m aware it sounds abrupt and rude but it’s all I have right now.
‘Sorry? What?’ He cups his hand behind his ear.
‘I said who are you?’ I repeat way louder than necessary. I can’t seem to control this fluttering sensation in my stomach.
‘Who am I?’ He stands up tall, rolls those broad shoulders back, shaking his head at what I’m assuming is his reaction to my perceived rudeness.
‘I’m not having much luck this week that’s who I am.
’ A sudden sadness permeates his voice and his shoulders drop.
An immediate sense of unease comes over me for him.
‘I was just about to sell that car you mangled.’ Red moves to him, sits panting as he rubs the dog’s head.
‘It was an accident. I’m sorry . . .’ I watch him, absentmindedly twisting the Claddagh ring on my finger.
‘Not as sorry as I am.’ He shoves his hands deep into his wax jacket pockets, dragging the coat down lower, looking like the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on him.
‘Well, I’m from New York . . . city.’ I can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together as the dog barks at me again.
‘I’m not sure that’s a reasonable excuse?’ He slaps his thigh to get the dog’s attention.
I’m well aware of his sarcastic banter, which normally I would love, but I’m too shy and out of sorts to play back with this stranger. Of course, when I get into my room I’ll think of twenty clever comebacks. I’ll kick myself.
‘Red! Settle, boy. So, a hit and run, was that your plan?’ Is he still being tongue-in-cheek I wonder as he steps back, eyeballing me now.
‘I was not . . .’ I feel myself revert into my timidness and my head bows low. I just want to get to my room. I need to get away from him.
‘So, you weren’t backing out the door without reporting the crash?’
‘No, I-I . . .’ My cheeks burn red and all words desert me. I’m that dolphin swimming away from danger.
‘A change of heart perhaps? Protecting your wallet? Well, I’ve an empty wallet I need to protect too.
’ He claps his hand against his green boots now and the dog stops barking but settles by my side, panting heavily.
Now I can’t tell if he’s joking or serious.
‘Don’t try to pull one over on me, I’m not in the mood. ’ He snaps those words at me.
But something in me shifts.
I feel it start in the tips of my toes and gallop to the top of my head.
I look around.
It’s like I can hear my mom in one ear and Jill in the other.
I see all those younger women in work, less qualified, pass me by for promotion while I sat back and said nothing.
I see Salma asking me to grab her a matcha.
Those mean girls in school who teased me mercilessly about my red hair.
I remember my promise to myself, just a few days ago, that no person was going to get the better of me anymore.
Images of all the self-help books on my bedside locker float behind my eyes.
I think of all the work I’ve been doing on myself to be stronger.
All my life, I’ve been this dolphin swimming with the tide of non-confrontation.
Well not anymore. This man – whoever the hell he is – has just brought back my crippling shyness.
But at the same time, he has somehow unleashed the confidence inside me that I’ve been waiting to get out.
Standing in front of him, I feel different all of a sudden.
Powerful, somehow. I am about to stand up for myself.
Bat back. Maybe it’s being in a new country.
Maybe it’s Ireland. Maybe it’s Castlemoon.
Maybe it’s my roots. Maybe it’s the strong stone walls and the thoughts of what it must have taken to build this castle and live in such a place generations ago.
Life was tough. Now I feel tough. Now I feel seen.
Now I feel confident. Now I’m about to let go!