Chapter 4
FOUR
Ciara stood in the room she had just entered, looking around with delight.
She had expected dust, cobwebs and mould, but was met with a smell of beeswax and polish.
It was sparsely furnished, with a bright rug on the wooden floor, a red velvet Chesterfield sofa in front of a wood-burning stove and a round mahogany table with four chairs by the large window through which she could glimpse a garden at the back.
She walked up to the window to take a closer look and saw an overgrown lawn surrounded by a ragged hedge and what had once been a flowerbed, now choked with weeds.
A large oak in one corner spread its branches over part of the garden as if to protect it, and there was an old shed, the door of which hung crookedly from a broken hinge.
Not exactly an enchanted garden. But then, in the distance, she spotted a wood with trees that were covered in pink blossoms. ‘Oh,’ she whispered in awe, ‘that’s the cherry trees that give the village its name. How lovely.’
Brian, who had followed her up the stairs, rubbed his head against Ciara’s back and she turned to look at him.
‘Do you like this place?’ she asked. ‘I do anyway.’ It was amazing how at home she felt up here, above the old bookshop that had fallen into disrepair.
Downstairs was decrepitude and a feeling of neglect, as if whoever had run the shop had given up a long time ago.
But up here, there was a calm and tranquillity, a sharp contrast to the chaos below.
Then it dawned on Ciara, as she looked around, that the flat had been newly cleaned by someone – but who?
The floor was swept clean and even polished; there was no dust anywhere and the windows had been washed recently.
There was a hint of lavender in the air, which, added to the beeswax and polish, was very pleasant.
She walked to a door beside the sofa and opened it, discovering a room with an iron bedhead painted white that had a slatted base but no mattress.
There was a mahogany bedside table with a lamp that had a pleated silk shade and a pine chest of drawers.
The room, like the living room, overlooked the garden and the window had a blind but no curtains.
It was also spotlessly clean with no trace of dust or damp spots.
‘This is enchanting,’ Ciara said to herself. It feels so welcoming, she thought, as if I was meant to come here…
The rest of the upstairs flat was just as inviting, with another, smaller bedroom, an old-fashioned bathroom that had a roll-top bath, a Victorian-style basin with ornate taps and a black-and-white-tiled floor.
The kitchen was very outdated with an old gas cooker, a cracked white ceramic sink and a wooden draining board.
It was as clean as the other rooms but in urgent need of an upgrade, which could be expensive.
So, Ciara thought, I own an old house with an abandoned bookshop downstairs and a very nice flat upstairs.
I suppose the money I inherited was intended to do up the shop and refurbish the flat.
Did this Martha Fitzgerald think I would just drop my whole life and pick up where she left off?
How could I possibly do that? This village is so remote and full of wrecked houses.
I can’t move here, leave everything behind and try to eke out a living in that old shop.
It’s not possible. Who was Martha anyway and how did she know me?
That was still a mystery she had to resolve.
Ronan didn’t know much about the old woman, he had said.
And he had only seen her once. The solicitor who had drawn up the will was dead and so was Martha.
Ciara had a feeling that she would find the answer to the riddle right here, in this strange village that seemed almost abandoned.
But she had to get home – to her job, to her life after the weekend.
She was glad she had taken the trouble to drive up here, and now she knew what she had inherited.
The only thing she had to decide was how to get rid of it.
One of the options might be to repair the bits of the house that were most urgent and then sell it to someone with more of an adventurous spirit than she had. This could be the best way forward.
Ciara walked slowly back into the living room and looked out the window.
The view of the overgrown garden and the cherry trees in the distance against the backdrop of the mountains was lovely.
But those trees would not always be in bloom and the heather on the mountainside would turn brown in the winter.
Even then, however, it would be quite beautiful in a different way.
She sighed and opened the window just to breathe in the fresh air. The window opened with some difficulty but then when it was wide open, Ciara leaned out and breathed in the heavenly scent of flowers, which, with the birdsong and humming of bees, felt soothing to both her body and mind.
Brian came to sit beside her while she leaned her elbows on the windowsill and closed her eyes, trying to imagine what life would be like here.
She was more of a city person than a country girl and had never imagined herself living in a place like this.
But wouldn’t it be nice to live here, she thought.
Then I could go for long walks up some mountain path and let Brian run free.
She patted him on the head. ‘You’d love to come here, wouldn’t you, old boy? ’
Brian looked up at her and wagged his tail, letting out a tiny whine as if he agreed.
‘But it’s just a silly dream,’ she said out loud. ‘And now we’d better get back home. I don’t like driving in the dark.’
They made their way down the steep stairs and then Ciara noticed that there was a door at the back of the lobby that must lead to the garden.
Great, a back door, she thought, happy not to have to go through the dusty old bookshop.
She opened the door with some difficulty as it was stiff and the lock broken.
But they were finally standing in the back garden and then had to wade through the thistles and other weeds to go around the house to the front of the building where Ciara had parked the car.
She had just opened the door to let Brian into the back seat when someone appeared behind her and a soft voice said, ‘Hello?’
Ciara gave a start and turned around to discover a slim young woman with long fair hair streaked with green and purple, dressed in jeans and a tie-dyed top standing behind her.
‘Hello,’ Ciara replied. ‘Nice to meet someone at last.’
The young woman nodded. ‘I know what you mean. It’s a bit quiet here today. They’re all at the spring festival in Enniskerry.’
‘Oh, that must be the market I saw,’ Ciara said.
‘That’s right.’ The young woman held out her hand and smiled shyly. ‘My name’s Liz. You must be that girl old Martha was always talking about. The girl she wanted to give her house to, I mean.’
‘Really?’ Ciara shook Liz’s thin hand that was cold despite the warm weather.
‘Hi, Liz. I’m Ciara. And yes, I’m the girl Martha left the house to.
But the thing is…’ She stopped, wondering if she should reveal that she had no idea who Martha had been.
‘Well, it’s a long story,’ she finally said.
‘Things are a little up in the air at the moment, you see.’
Liz nodded. ‘Of course. Must be a little overwhelming at first. And this village is not exactly fashionable, if you see what I mean. Not like most villages in Wicklow. But we like it. My brother Oisín and I, that is. He’s an artist, and I work at the craft shop in Enniskerry.
’ She paused and looked at Brian. ‘Hey, that’s a big dog you have there.
Gorgeous, though. I love Irish wolfhounds. What’s his name?’
‘Brian Boru,’ Ciara replied.
‘What a perfect name.’ Liz smiled at the dog and he waddled over to be stroked. ‘Hi there, Brian Boru. I’m Liz. You’re very beautiful, do you know that?’
Brian looked adoringly at Liz and wagged his tail.
‘He knows, but he loves hearing it,’ Ciara said.
‘Like all men,’ Liz said. ‘Oisín is like that. He’s very good looking and he knows it big time but he never gets tired of hearing it.
’ She suddenly laughed and then studied Ciara for a moment.
‘You look like Cleopatra with that hairdo. A bit bigger than the real Cleopatra would have been, though.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth.
‘Oops, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
But I have no filter, Oisín keeps telling me.
I just say whatever comes into my head. He always tells me to try to think before I speak but I can’t seem to manage that. ’
Ciara smiled. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m not offended. I like the idea of looking like a bigger version of Cleopatra. And I also like people with no filter. They’re my favourite.’
Liz beamed, seeming at once more at ease. ‘You’re fabulous. I hope you’ll come and live here. This village is a little sad and lonely, you know. Full of people who look at you sideways.’
‘Judgemental you mean?’ Ciara asked.
‘Sort of. Well, they’re mostly middle-aged and older,’ Liz said. ‘A different generation from us, so they’re not ready to accept new ways, or people who are different. They like to pretend we’re still living in the nineteen sixties.’
Ciara looked around and suddenly knew what Liz meant. The village felt as if time had stood still. ‘A time warp,’ she said.