Chapter 21
The following morning, I had just finished breakfast when Maureen beckoned me to follow her, and led me through reception and into the library, a lovely room at the side of the hotel, the walls lined with books.
‘This can be your new HQ.’ She beamed at me. ‘I’ve changed round the library area and found a lovely desk and chair. Consider it your new realm.’
There was a desk with an anglepoise lamp, a large notepad and a pot filled with pens and sharply pointed pencils.
‘I always think one needs a HQ. At home, I have my MHQ, Maureen’s HQ, because I’m writing my memoirs.
But you need somewhere to focus, and this can be yours.
’ She waved a hand in the direction of the books on the shelves.
‘We have every single Maeve Binchy book ever published. Local author, you see. And a third edition of Ulysses. Another local author. Not Ulysses himself. But James Joyce. Actually, I’m not sure if Ulysses was a person or something entirely different.
I’m more of a Maeve woman myself. Anyway, suffice to say, I hope this perch is to your satisfaction. ’
If I was going to work on this non-vacation, then it was better to have somewhere to focus. This was a very sweet set-up and it was more practical than from my bed in my room. ‘It’s lovely. And thank you for going to all this trouble. But I mean, I’m only helping out…’
Maureen seemed very pleased. ‘My mam was a member of the old knitting circle,’ she said, ‘and so anything I can do to honour those women makes me happy. And I do believe it was when Sandycove was at its best. Firebrands such as Mrs DeCourcey showed no fear and she empowered and engaged every woman in this parish. Now, sit yourself down and try the desk on for size.’
I was about to ask her about Mrs DeCourcey, but Maureen was already rushing back to the breakfast room.
I set to work, making notes, emailing from my laptop, and finessing the business plan based on the proposed grants Barry from the council had suggested.
We needed a marketing plan and images for the website, which Lucy had already been working on and had sent me a preview.
Perhaps some locals would model the sweaters.
Eddie had a handsome ruggedness and a twinkle in his eye, and there was Sheila with her long red hair.
And I thought of Henry, and his tall, rangy form, and his angular face and dark hair and strong eyebrows.
There was a knock on the door and Lucy poked her head around. ‘Found you! They said you were in here.’ She walked in and sat across from me. ‘What did you think of the website? I mean, it’s just a start, but I think I could have something done in the next day or so.’
It was lovely, very modern and stylish, lots of clean space, easy to navigate. ‘I really like it. When I’m back in Boston, I can keep an eye on this and do anything to assist.’
‘We’ll have you plagued with us asking for help,’ she said. ‘You’ll never be able to get on with your life and forget those mad ones in Sandycove.’ She smiled at me. ‘So, how’s your work going back in Boston?’
‘My assistant, Tara, is running things. She took up the slack over the last year. Now I really need to refocus and re-energise.’
‘But you’ve been grieving.’ Lucy smiled at me kindly.
‘Well, a little.’
‘You lost your best friend.’
She was right, I had been grieving. I thought it was a state reserved for the inner circle of someone’s life, their nearest and dearest, the family.
But then I was Caitlin’s nearest and dearest. I was her inner circle, I was closer to her than anyone else.
Why had I been so resistant to thinking that I was allowed to grieve my best friend?
It was as though I didn’t value myself enough.
In fact, the last year had been like walking around with a rain cloud over my head, everything was done through a mist of drizzle, every conversation, every interaction, every trip to the office or the gym, it had taken a superhuman effort to act as though I was coping. And I hadn’t been, at all.
‘I have talked more to you about Caitlin than I have to anyone,’ I said to Lucy. ‘It’s so strange.’
‘It’s being away from home. Perspective.’
‘The worst thing is that Caitlin is the one person who’d make me feel okay about it,’ I went on. ‘And she’s not here. She’d make me laugh.’
‘Well, you’ve got me now,’ said Lucy, firmly.
‘I’ll make you feel better.’ She smiled at me.
‘After my accident, I was in shock for about six or seven months. Didn’t go out, barely ate.
Lost weight. Would go for walks when it was dark.
Developed an online shopping habit. The highlight of my day was the postman arriving.
Books. Clothes. Socks. A special heated rug that draped around my shoulders.
A massage gun. Wine. Did you know you could order wine online?
And I became quite the expert on daytime television, mainly antique shows and house selling.
If everything else fails, I could become an antique dealer.
But it’s time to find the old Lucy. Or, rather, the new old Lucy.
’ She smiled. ‘And you need to find the new old Kerry-Anne. By the way, I’m meeting my friend Ellie in the morning, would you like to come? ’
‘In the sea?’
‘I know it’s cold, but it’s good for you.
And I need to get back in the water, just to know I won’t drown.
Will you come? Ellie is lovely. We could go before breakfast?
I used to swim every morning, but since the accident, I became a bit of a hermit.
I ignored all their calls and texts. Told Mum to say I wasn’t available but I would call them when I was.
I feel quite embarrassed about it. I wouldn’t even see my best friends. ’
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘But I’ll have to buy a swimsuit.’
‘Good.’ She smiled at me. ‘You know I’m using your holiday as a way of getting me out of my comfort zone, don’t you? You’re my excuse to do things, as though I’m helping you, but you’re really helping me.’
‘We’re helping each other,’ I said. ‘It’s the best way.’
And we were, I thought, and even though I was changed and a little scared and battle-hardened, I could still feel the old me, as though she was still in there somewhere.
When I’d said goodbye to Lucy, I allowed myself to think of Caitlin. ‘I’m still here, Caitlin,’ I said. ‘I’m not completely gone.’
And then I knew what she’d say in response. ‘Of course you’re not. You’re stronger than you think.’
There was another knock on the door. Henry poked his head around.
‘I’ve found your lair.’ He stepped inside, Patch at his heels.
‘Mr Campbell, I’ve been expecting you,’ I said, in my best Bond villain voice, as he sat down across from me. Patch jumped up onto his lap.
‘I thought you were meant to be on holiday,’ he said. ‘Not commanding an empire or overseeing your vast enterprises.’
‘I like working, so sue me. I know I need to get better at being on vacation, but I’m actually enjoying myself.’
‘One day, you might learn how to relax and do things like read a book under a sun umbrella and go on those pedalo boat things.’
‘Is that how you like to spend your vacations?’ I asked him.
‘No…’ He laughed. ‘I like sailing, really. So I think I’m like you, I bring my work on holiday.’
‘I haven’t come on vacation by accident, I’ve come on work by accident.
It’s kind of all snowballing. By the way, if I was to organise a photographer, how would you like to model one of your grandmother’s sweaters for the website?
I thought I could ask some locals to pose at the harbour. It will need to be done tomorrow.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t know if I’m a natural model. Patch is, aren’t you?’ He gave Patch a ruffle. ‘Far be it from me to prevent Patch from having a career. And it’s a good cause.’
‘It’s business,’ I insisted. ‘Not a cause.’
‘Yes, but it’s really a cause in the guise of a business,’ he said. ‘Supporting women-led business…’
He was right, of course, but this new business was so different to how I normally worked.
The high-level pitches, huge investments, percentages, profits and projections weren’t necessary.
This was something rooted in the community and, what was more, I was having fun.
I’d forgotten how much working on a brand-new business excited me.
‘How did last night go?’ he said, casually.
‘Charlie’s party? It was… well, I didn’t stay long. Just one drink.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I think I was invited not for my company…’
‘What for then?’
‘I have the impression Charlie thinks I’m a millionaire and wants me to invest in him. Although I don’t know why he thinks that.’
Henry gave a short laugh. ‘And what on earth does he want you to invest in?’
‘His T-shirt printing business. But I feel a bit sorry for him. His father just belittles him and he seems lonely.’
Henry shrugged. ‘He has friends. Milo Duffy for one.’
‘What happened? Why don’t you like him?’
‘He’s arrogant,’ said Henry. ‘Doesn’t take responsibility for his actions.
But…’ He sighed. ‘Look, we’re all trying to move on.
And I promise you, Charlie is grand, honestly.
He’s well cushioned by the Richmond money.
Anyway, enough about him, I wondered if you would like to come out sailing tomorrow evening?
In an attempt for you to have a bit of a holiday.
Lucy’s going out again on Maeve and I thought you might like to come out with me? ’
I nodded. ‘I’d love to.’
He smiled back. ‘What about some lunch? I was just about to go to the café for a sandwich. Would you like to join me?’
Patch wagged his tail and barked at Henry.
‘Sorry, Patch. I mean, would you like to join us?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘By the way,’ he said, as the three of us walked to the village in search of food, ‘I like the shorts.’
I turned, feeling oddly pleased. ‘I’m trying something new.’
‘Well, they suit you.’
‘Really?’ I realised I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually complimented me.
Caitlin was always my cheerleader, and I was hers.
Milhouse wasn’t into clothes and never noticed what I wore, even when I bought a tight silver dress to wear to his parents’ wedding anniversary.
I sent a picture to Caitlin who said she’d never seen me look better and Milhouse said not a word.
In the end, I had to prompt him. ‘The dress, Mil? Any thoughts?’ And he looked me up and down.
‘It’s kinda loud,’ he said. ‘Good news if you fall off a cliff, the helicopter is more likely to find you.’ And I remember wishing he’d fall off a cliff.
But Henry was one of those guys who noticed things.
‘Yes, really. You look like you’re on holiday.’
‘I feel like I’m on holiday. I think my freckles are coming out from the sun.’ I poked my nose in his general direction.
‘They suit you,’ he said.
‘I used to hate them.’
‘In Irish, freckles are called little sun kisses,’ he said. ‘Which is exactly what they are.’
‘I love that,’ I said, rubbing my nose.
He was smiling at me. ‘You should always have freckles.’
‘Maybe I will,’ I said, again feeling proud and pleased of these things which had been the bane of my teenage years. These little sun kisses were part of who I was and perhaps they weren’t as bad as I had always thought.