Chapter 4 #2
Liz giggled. ‘Oh yeah, that’s so true. Nothing has been done to improve things for fifty years or so.
We were born here, Oisín and I, and then we left when we finished school.
He went to study fine art in Dublin and I spent several years in Spain learning all sorts of arts and crafts.
We came back a few years ago and found that nothing had moved on while we were away.
We kept the tower when our parents died and decided to live here in the summertime.
I might move away soon, though, but Oisín wants to stay.
He likes the quiet here, he says.’ Liz drew breath and smiled.
‘There I go, blathering on about me again.’
‘I enjoyed talking to you,’ Ciara said. ‘But what was that about a tower?’
‘It’s called O’Toole’s Castle,’ Liz explained. ‘It’s one of those mediaeval towers that were built around here in the twelfth century or so.’
‘And you live in it?’ Ciara asked, fascinated.
‘Just in the summer,’ Liz replied. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you want to be on your way.’
‘I do but I’ll be back very soon. I’d like to know more about Martha and this bookshop. Did you know her well?’ Ciara asked, hoping Liz would know more.
‘Not really,’ Liz replied. ‘She kept herself to herself, if you know what I mean.’
‘But you must have been in the shop when you were growing up,’ Ciara remarked.
‘Oh yes, we both did. It was a lovely little shop and it had all the children’s books from way back.
I still have some of those books our parents bought for us.
All the classics like Roald Dahl and C.S.
Lewis, and then Anne of Green Gables and so on.
I think they are all classics because Martha wanted kids to read good stories instead of rubbish.
And she was very particular about the quality of the books she sold. ’
‘So you must have had quite a close contact with her,’ Ciara suggested, anxious to find out as much as she could.
‘I only remember her the way she was when I was a little girl, not when she was very old,’ Liz said.
‘So you didn’t meet her at all when you came back from Spain?’ Ciara asked.
‘Not to talk to. The bookshop had closed down by the time I came back and she was quite poorly, and then she went into a nursing home a year or so before she passed away.’ Liz looked at Ciara with sad eyes.
‘It makes me feel bad to think about her. I should have called in to see if I could help with anything. But I was a little scared of her, to be honest. She always looked so stern when she walked down the street.’
‘Maybe she wasn’t feeling well,’ Ciara suggested. ‘But tell me, what was the village like when you were a little girl?’
‘Much livelier than it is now,’ Liz replied. ‘There were more shops and even a pub. Now you have to drive to Enniskerry or even Wicklow town for groceries and stuff, or even further away. It’s a bit of a chore, to be honest.’
‘I can imagine,’ Ciara said and opened the door to the back seat so Brian could get in. ‘Before I go, could you answer one more question?’
‘Of course,’ Liz said. ‘Ask me anything.’
‘Do you have any idea who has been here to clean the flat above the shop?’ Ciara asked. ‘It’s all so spotless, so it must have been done recently.’
‘Yes, I do know,’ Liz said. ‘I saw the van here last week. The van from the cleaning firm, I mean. They were called Nifty Cleaners. Funny name, so it stuck in my mind. I think they’re based in Bray. They were here all day, actually.’
‘I see. Thanks,’ Ciara said as Brian scrambled into the car. ‘I’ll be back next weekend. I think I might use this place as a holiday flat for the moment. The area is so nice and Brian would love the walks up the mountains.’
‘I might come with you on those walks,’ Liz offered. ‘If I’m not working. If you don’t mind,’ she added, looking nervous.
‘Of course not. It would be nice to have company. Brian likes you already.’ Ciara went around the car and got into the driver’s seat. ‘Maybe we should exchange phone numbers?’ she suggested.
‘Oh, I don’t have my phone with me,’ Liz said. ‘There’s practically no signal here anyway. But write down your number and I’ll put it into my phone when I’m at the shop.’
‘Okay.’ Ciara rooted around in her bag for a piece of paper and a pen. Then she found an old Dunnes Stores receipt and a pencil from IKEA at the bottom of the bag, scribbled her number on that and handed it to Liz. ‘There you go.’
‘Great. Thanks,’ Liz said and put the piece of paper in the pocket of her jeans. ‘I’ll text you when I can.’
Ciara nodded and started the engine. ‘See you soon then, Liz.’
‘Bye, Ciara,’ Liz replied, waving. ‘Safe home.’
Ciara drove down the main street while she thought about what had happened that afternoon.
How she had discovered the old, abandoned bookshop and then that nice flat above it, all cleaned up by some kind of invisible fairy.
And then meeting Liz, who seemed nice but a little nervous, as if she was constantly looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
But most of all, Ciara was amazed that she actually owned that whole building.
It hadn’t really sunk in until now, when she had been there and seen it in real life.
But who had organised all the cleaning and tidying?
As it was Sunday, Ciara couldn’t call the cleaning firm, but she would look it up and contact them first thing tomorrow morning.
She looked back up at the building, overwhelmed that it, and her connection to this Martha, had been kept a secret from her.
She didn’t know if she could live here – or do what she assumed Martha must have wanted her to, and reopen the shop.
But she could at least come back and find out more about Martha, the bookshop and Cherrywood.
She could have some repairs done before putting it on the market and take her time to do it, while she did her research.
Life suddenly seemed a lot more interesting than before.