Chapter 10
The village of Sandycove comprised one long main street which curved up to a church, passing three pubs and four cafés and many lovely-looking small shops, boutiques, a butcher’s and two bakeries.
Flowers from hanging baskets dangled from every lamp post, which was such a quaint touch.
There was a lovely old second-hand bookstore with teetering shelves, and a craft shop which sold mugs and paintings, and one boutique called Nell’s was certainly glamorous enough for Granny Annie and Mom.
Delivery drivers parked on the kerb, blocking traffic on this Saturday lunchtime, and pedestrians walked randomly across the road, too busy to wait at the crossing.
I was at leisure, I could do anything. Except…
I wasn’t quite sure exactly what to do with myself.
In that jet-laggy kind of way, I still felt half-awake, but worse was the feeling that I was unmoored.
Even on a Saturday in Boston, I had things to do, back-to-back gym sessions and then a sauna and a steam.
And I always had admin to sort out, bills to be paid, and then perhaps a trip to see a film.
And Sunday, I usually worked, getting ahead on the week.
I loved my job, not just when things were going well, but the way it gave my day its shape and structure and purpose.
Without it, I felt gangly, as though my limbs were too long and didn’t fit in anywhere.
As I walked back through the village, I lingered in the bookshop and then at the window of Nell’s.
Not a single navy blazer in sight; there were linen dresses or cotton trousers and shorts and flip-flops.
There was a lovely basket bag, something I never needed for my Boston life, but for some reason felt inextricably drawn to, imagining me in another lifetime, popping into bakeries and buying that soda bread and slipping it into my basket.
I caught sight of my reflection in the glass, my hair had dried with a frizzy halo, my face paler than I thought it was, my eyes had dark circles.
Normally, I was plastered with warpaint, but here I had nothing to hide behind.
Once the jet lag ebbed away, I would look and feel better.
Not that there was anyone I needed to impress here in Sandycove and, if there was, I could always go and buy make-up and straighteners.
But for now, there was part of me that liked being not quite who I was, as though I was in disguise.
Caitlin had long been my go-to vacation buddy and the last time we’d taken a trip was a weekend to the beach, where we ate crab in this little shack and sunbathed and drank pitchers of some lethal local drink.
We spent the whole time either talking or laughing and I had just assumed the rest of our lives would be like this and that we would be taking vacations together forever.
There was a small, triangular paved space just outside Harbour Bar, sharing the area with a café, where people were sitting with their coffees, wrapped in big coats and with wet hair from the sea.
The sea! I’d forgotten about it and now the thought of seeking it out gave me renewed purpose.
I walked the few minutes from the village to the beach which I’d been to before on my previous mini-trip to Sandycove, and it was exactly the same as I remembered it: a golden half-moon sheltered on either side by a tuft of land and a stone jetty, from which divers launched themselves into the sea.
Slipping off my loafers and jacket, rolling up my jeans, I walked straight into the sea.
Having been hardened by our swims in the Atlantic at Granny Annie’s beach house, it wasn’t cold-cold, but I felt at least anchored, my foot sinking into the sandy bed, the clear water pooling around my legs, tiny fish shoaling at my ankles.
The world slowing down a little. What would happen if I rejected Milhouse’s list of rules?
Were they really a deal-breaker? But what if it was healthy for him to set out his needs and desires like this?
Sometimes I wondered if I had lost sight of what was normal.
Perhaps being upfront about expectations was normal.
It certainly seemed practical and perhaps reduce the likelihood of surprises down the line.
I’d had enough of surprises. With Milhouse and his rules, I knew where I stood.
I just didn’t know if I agreed with him.
Back in the village, I went for a coffee.
The small café was just across from the pub, sharing the green triangle where the post-swim crowd were sitting, their faces red, feet in flip-flops, rolled damp towels beside them.
There was nothing to stop me from taking a cab to the airport and getting on the next flight to Boston.
This was enough of a vacation, wasn’t it?
I was out of my comfort zone, I’d eaten Irish food, waded in the Irish Sea, and slept in an Irish bed.
I took out my phone, ready to search for a flight.
‘Coffee or tea? Hot chocolate?’ A man around my age stood at my table, wrapped in a striped linen apron.
He was completely bald, and his nose was speckled with freckles.
‘What about an iced lemonade, made by Lucy’s fair hands this morning…
?’ He nodded over to a woman behind the counter who was banging at the coffee machine.
‘She’s only new…’ He raised his voice, calling to her. ‘Aren’t you, Luce? You’re only new.’
She looked up. ‘Yes, and hopefully temporary. I’m not cut out for café work.’
The man turned back to me. ‘She finds coffee-making a trial. Now, would you like a bad coffee made by Lucy or a good one made by me?’
The woman was laughing. ‘Mine are not bad. It’s just that I haven’t dedicated my whole life to coffee. I have better things to do.’
‘Like staying inside?’
‘No. I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, you are, and you’re brilliant, you really are, Luce.’
She looked at me. ‘He’s on the sarcastic side.’
‘I’m not!’ he insisted. ‘We’re all so proud of you!’ He turned back to me. ‘Now, we can get you whatever you like.’
‘If the coffee machine submits to me,’ said Lucy. She was about my age, short hair pushed to one side and wearing shorts, sandals and an old T-shirt. But she also had on an absolutely beautiful cardigan, which could only be hand-knitted, in a beautiful deep pink with red buttons.
‘You have to speak endearments to it in Italian,’ the man told her. ‘Things like, ti amo, and bellissima, that kind of thing.’
‘I’m not big into terms of endearment,’ she said. ‘Not Italian ones, anyway. We all know about you and what happened at the Trevi Fountain last year.’
The man shrugged and grinned at me.
‘What did happen at the Trevi Fountain?’ I asked.
‘I fell in love at first sight. His name was Paolo and just as we made eye contact, I understood in a flash it wasn’t me he was after, it was my wallet. He stole my heart and all my cards. I never saw it or him again.’ His smile suggested he had managed to overcome this tragedy. ‘So coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee,’ I said confidently. ‘Made by Luce.’
They both laughed.
‘On it!’ said the woman.
‘I’m Jules,’ said the man, ‘and this is Lucy.’
‘Kerry-Anne.’
He smiled at me. ‘Welcome to Sandycove. And over there is Henry, Lucy’s brother and my best friend.
’ I looked over at a man at the other table, who was typing away at a laptop, in deep concentration.
‘Henry, come and introduce yourself to Kerry-Anne. Stop working for a second. Writing another speech, are you?’
The man looked up at Jules. ‘What’s that?
’ And then his eyes landed on me. ‘Hello,’ he said.
He was tall and thin, with dark hair, his eyebrows were thick, his eyes brown, but there was something sweet about him, as though he didn’t take life too seriously.
There was a small black dog at his feet, who lifted his head.
‘Henry Campbell,’ he said, reaching over and shaking my hand.
‘Kerry-Anne Daly. And who is this little guy?’ I pointed to the dog.
‘Oh, that’s Patch,’ said Henry. ‘He’s my shadow. Or I’m his.’ Patch looked up at him with adoring eyes, his tail wagging. ‘Are these two bothering you?’ Henry went on, motioning to Jules and Lucy.
‘No… but the verdict is out on my coffee,’ I said. ‘I might accuse them of bothering me if it’s not very good.’
‘If it’s not good, we’ll make you another one and a slice of freshly baked apple streusel cake, made by Henry and Lucy’s grandmother. Mary makes the best whiskey-soaked fruit cake in Ireland.’
‘I even moved back in with her and Mam for her cakes.’ Lucy had joined us and placed a cup of frothy and perfectly acceptable-looking coffee in front of me.
‘Luce, go and get Kerry-Anne a slice of apple streusel,’ said Jules. ‘On the house.’ As Lucy went off, he turned back to me. ‘God, I love being the boss…’
‘It’s only for a month while Mam is away,’ called out Lucy from behind the counter. ‘The power is going to your head.’
‘I love it, though,’ said Jules. ‘It’s like being president of the United States, my finger on the button, the world in my hands… Talking of which, where are you from?’
‘Can’t you tell?’ said Henry. ‘Boston, am I right?’
I nodded. ‘Exactly. But I didn’t think I had a strong accent. You should hear my brother.’
‘Strong enough.’ He smiled again at me and sat back behind his laptop. ‘So what brings you to Sandycove?’
‘It was all very spur of the moment. I’m not sure how it happened. I arrived last night. I feel like I might have come on vacation by mistake.’
He laughed. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Jules to him. ‘You’re the one who sailed across the Atlantic. On a tiny boat. All on your own.’ He turned to me. ‘Claimed it was a holiday. Took him weeks.’
Lucy returned and placed a slice of sponge cake in front of me. ‘I put extra cream on the side.’ She looked at me expectantly. ‘How’s the coffee?’
I picked the cup up and sipped it. ‘Delicious. Better than my coffee at home.’ I sounded surprised and she laughed.
‘It’s the water.’ She looked delighted. ‘When I was in the States, couldn’t get a decent cup.’
‘I love your cardigan,’ I said.
‘So do I!’ She pulled it down a little, as though admiring it. ‘Brand new on today. Our grandmother is a genius, isn’t she, Henry?’
He nodded. ‘Completely. We’ve been kitted out by her since we were born.’
‘Gran has knitted for films and everything. She’s amazing,’ went on Lucy. ‘She made all the jumpers for The Annals of Inishfallen. Did you see it? Film was crap, but the jumpers were magnificent. Everyone said so. Cate Blanchett has ordered one. Liam Neeson has one of her waistcoats.’
Each stitch was so neat and perfect, and yet there was something which set it apart from the mass-produced, factory-made garments, there was a quality to it, a nubbly, handmade resonance – I couldn’t think of a better word – that made it just stand out.
‘Does she sell them?’
‘No, but her friend Finnuala is trying to persuade her.’ Lucy smiled at me. ‘So, you’re on holiday by mistake…’
‘Kind of.’
‘We need to help you have a better holiday so when you go home, you can tell people you were here on purpose. What would you like to do?’
‘Oh, I’m fine… I’m going to go back soon. Even tonight… if I can get a flight.’
There was a gasp from them all.
‘You can’t go back tonight. You’ve only just arrived,’ said Lucy.
‘Are we that bad?’ asked Jules.
‘Obviously,’ mused Henry, who was smiling at me. ‘I think you need to give us another chance.’
‘I only came away as a break,’ I insisted, ‘and I’ve had one now.’
‘You can’t come to Ireland for twenty-four hours,’ said Henry.
‘Well… technically you can,’ I said. ‘It’s whether you want to, that’s the question.’ I was trying to give the impression that I was a free spirit and that if I returned early to Boston it wasn’t because I was scared of empty space around me.
He smiled, seeming amused. ‘Do you want to?’
‘Why don’t you come out with us?’ asked Lucy. ‘We can show you around.’
‘Do you sail?’ asked Jules. ‘Because these two are obsessed with it. Me, I help and pull ropes and let Henry boss me about.’
‘Henry is obsessed with it,’ said Lucy. ‘I used to be.’
‘But you will be again,’ said Henry, giving her a look. ‘There are only a few days to the regatta. You just need to get on with it. Face your fears.’
Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘He’s pushy, isn’t he?’
‘I have a brother too,’ I said. ‘I get it.’
‘Just because he gives seminars to businesses about how to lead better lives, he thinks he’s knows it all. All these talks about against the odds, or finding reserves when running on empty, transcending adversity… that kind of thing.’
Henry laughed. ‘Is it that predictable?’
‘Well, what is the title of your most recent one?’ asked Lucy.
‘Life beyond the desk, embracing adventure.’ Henry paused. ‘So far, so predictable.’
‘I’ve sat in many of those team-building, so-called inspiring talks in my time,’ I said.
‘Some are more inspiring than others.’ I glanced at Henry.
There was something so nonchalant about him, so cooly relaxed, that I imagined his would be different from the ones given by the slightly hyper adventurers I’d sat through, who had all survived the wilderness eating hyenas or crawling out of ice caves or drinking their own urine to keep alive.
‘It’s not my proper job,’ Henry said.
‘He took over our uncle Eddie’s boatyard when he retired last year,’ said Lucy. ‘And now he’s ditched the suits and is dressed as though he’s on holiday.’
Henry laughed. ‘That’s how it feels. And I have one of Gran’s jumpers.’ He rubbed the sleeve of his navy sweater. ‘An Irish holiday involves knitwear.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, noticing the handmade quality of it, the neat, tiny stitches.
It looked so simple but there was something about it which made it seem so much more than a jumper, just like the ones in that film, The Annals of Inishfallen.
It was the first time I had really noticed how much better and nicer hand-knits were than those machine-made, mass-produced ones.
‘Would your grandmother sell me a jumper?’ It would be perfect to keep me warm through the cold Boston winter, or maybe Granny Annie would like something, a little present from Ireland.
‘She would,’ said Lucy. ‘You could come and have a look later, if you like? She has a few that she knitted for the film which weren’t used. Too bright, they said. What time suits you? We could feed you, if you are at a loose end?’
I didn’t really want to impose on them, but they wouldn’t let me say no. It turned into a bit of a game, with me saying I couldn’t possibly, and then both Lucy and Henry and even Jules insisting I definitely could. In the end, it seemed easier just to say yes.
‘I’ll pick you up at the hotel,’ said Lucy. ‘And we can walk up together.’ She grinned at me as though she’d decided we were going to be friends and that was that.