7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Maeve
Inever used to be a morning person – too many late nights and working all hours of the day and night does a number on you – but in the past two weeks, I’ve woken up well before my alarm’s gone off, ready to face the day.
Today’s no different.
I blink slowly and stretch my arms over my head.
I slide further down the bed and turn my head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows to the east, admiring the sunrise for a bit, blinking rapidly to clear away the sleep in my eyes.
Whoever built the cottage was a smart man, making sure that you wake up with a view of fields as well as the ocean farther away.
Mist and the grey-bluish colours make for the kind of beautiful scene that can’t be captured, but that doesn’t stop me from reaching for my mobile lying next to me and taking one.
Even if it’s unable to show the sheer beauty of the landscape surrounding me, it gives me a thrilling, childlike excitement to know that I caught it at the best time of day.
The wee hours of the morning, when the darkness of the night slowly fades away, and the shadows give way to the light that chases away nightmares, melancholy, and your sorrows.
Perhaps it’s a cliché, but a new day always signifies a chance to start fresh.
Whatever happened yesterday is now in the past, and you’re given the chance to seize the new day with a different perspective.
And if you’re lucky enough to have more good days than bad ones?
That just gives you an even better start.
I might not have had many of the latter, but Aidan’s words from yesterday made me think long and hard about what I want to achieve by coming to Cloonmara. I’m not done thinking, but maybe it’s time to try harder to relax. To let the days pass without having a plan in mind all the time.
I glance down at my mobile when my alarm sounds and switch it off.
I yawn and kick off the covers, my feet getting tangled up in my flimsy, white nightgown, and then lean up on my elbows. My eyes linger on the last of the sunrise, my time of self-indulgence coming to an end for today.
Before I get too philosophical, I need coffee, and even though I probably shouldn’t, one of Roísin’s cinnamon buns.
Once I’m up, I groan and pull up the last half of the nightgown to examine the spot where the dull ache stems from, but when I catch sight of the black and bluish print on my right butt cheek, I can’t help but chuckle at the whole bull-chasing debacle.
Well, I didn’t exactly chase Harry, but from the look of the massive bruise and the now-healed cuts on my hands, I did get some battle scars.
I’m not in the mood to think more about Murdoch and his pet bull, so I push the thoughts of him away.
I pad across the floor and can’t help rubbing my feet on the plush carpet as I head into the ensuite bathroom.
I sigh in pleasure at the sight of the luxury I’m faced with each time I enter the room, because never have I ever stayed at a house with such understated elegance and homeyness at the same time.
Eliza and her professor husband, Hugo, have the best taste.
I glance with longing at the huge bathtub cut into the floor that holds the same view as my bedroom.
It really is outstanding. There’s no other word for it.
I’ve been looking at it with hearts in my eyes for the past six weeks, yearning to treat myself to the experience of taking a bath in it, only I haven’t felt I’ve had the time or the right mindset to indulge.
But that kind of thinking ends today.
“Soon,” I murmur softly, vowing to treat myself to a decadent bath this weekend when I won’t be on duty for the first time since coming here.
Satisfied with my decision, I pull the nightgown off, hang it on the wooden peg behind the door, and walk to the farthest end of the bathroom where glass panes separate the shower big enough for two from the rest of the bathroom.
It even has two shower heads. Each day is a little bit of a luxury for me, and I doubt I’ll ever tire of it, even if the glass is a bit of a pain to wipe down.
For the millionth time since arriving at Rose Hill, I wonder why Eliza and Hugo so rarely come here.
If it belonged to me, I’d spend every holiday and long weekend here.
I open the glass door and turn on the shower head. As the water turns warm and I step underneath it, a soft moan slips through my lips, and I sigh when the jets beat down on my neck.
Right now, I’m more content than I’ve been for weeks.
Dublin seems like a lifetime ago, but the moment my fingers touch the scar tissue on my tummy, I wince, and my peace disappears.
Unwanted memories of terror push and prod just below my conscience, and I squeeze my eyes shut as my memory pushes flashes of images of that fateful day to the forefront, threatening to take over.
“Ugh. Don’t go there, Maeve Gallagher.”
I start counting.
One, two, three, four….
When I’ve reached ten, I start over again.
And again.
I keep counting until the flashes and sounds fade away.
I grab my shampoo from the built-in shelf and lather up, giving the soothing task my full attention.
I keep my eyes fixed on the cream-coloured tiles on the wall.
The tension ebbs away the longer I massage my scalp, then I rinse the shampoo out of my locks.
I start all over again with the conditioner.
All the steam has covered the glass, leaving me in a cocoon, and grateful that my heartrate has returned to normal once I’ve finished, I turn off the shower and grab the towel to dry off.
My mind is blank with a practice that I’ve had to work really hard at to master.
I wrap my hair in a towel and walk out of the bathroom.
Despite all that’s happened, I’m comfortable in my own skin, and I don’t feel compelled to cover my nudity.
Not anymore, and not ever again. I glance out my bedroom window.
A sting of regret hits me when the sound of rain outside reaches me in the quiet house.
I had hoped the sunny weather from the past week would continue today, but it looks like I’m out of luck.
“Sweater weather it is, then.”
Briskly, I open the drawers to select the most comfortable and sensible outfit I can find.
My stomach rumbles, and I quickly put on a lilac set of underwear and a long-sleeved grey merino wool shirt before I head back into the bathroom to dry my hair.
Once I’ve finished, relishing in the normalcy of everyday tasks even though it always feels like it takes hours to tame my hair, I sit down on the small bench at the head of my bed to pull on a pair of socks and my faithful black jeans.
I grab a dark-brown fleece vest from the white, built-in closet, and no sooner have I left the bedroom than I scramble back and aim straight for the small table next to my bed.
I reach for the simple gold locket Nellie and Jack gave me for my sixteenth birthday, shake my hair to the side to bare my neck, and put it on.
“Can’t forget this.”
When I hear the soft clasp fall into place, a tremor of relief shakes me. It disappears as quickly as it arrived.
Now, I’m ready to face the day.
Even old bulls and their even older, stubborn owners won’t faze me now, should I be unlucky enough to run into them.
The moment I think about the bull debacle, an intense pair of silver-grey eyes enters my mind, and I put my now cold hands on my heated cheeks.
Since I met Aidan out mending the alpaca fences yesterday, he’s been in my thoughts more times than I care to admit.
I still can’t believe I gave him my phone number, but what’s almost worse is the many times I’ve considered texting him since then.
The warmth and pent-up need that flares inside me when he’s close is one I’ve only started to recognise from the books I read, and I’m not sure how much that says about me.
Am I so lonely that even the attention of a new friend sets off a fire inside me?
“Ugh. Pull it together, Maeve.”
I shake my head at my silly thoughts and push the delicious farmer to the far recesses of my mind. Instead of lusting after a man, a single father, at that, I’d better unpack one of my boxes and find my faithful toy. It’s all I need to keep me satisfied, especially after my break-up with Colin.
I wrinkle my nose, unwilling to head down that road, and instead, I walk downstairs to make that cup of coffee I’m in desperate need of.
It only takes me ten minutes to reach the heart of the village, Roísin’s bakery, Buns & Beans, and I can’t stop smiling each time I walk inside and hear the cheerful sound of the bell ringing above the door.
It’s just so very Irish and traditional.
Comforting and welcoming.
I love it.
The scents of flour, cinnamon, cardamom, and chocolate tease my nostrils and make my mouth water.
I get the feeling that I’ve taken a step back in time when I walk inside.
The bakery aisle is narrow, giving way to a larger room at the back with a few tables and chairs where customers can have a chat while enjoying a cup of coffee or tea.