Chapter 21 #2
‘Here you go,’ Róisín interrupted them and handed them each a menu. ‘We have crab claws as a special tonight.’
‘That’s what I was hoping,’ Oisín said, looking pleased. ‘Two of those, and then fish and chips for us both,’ he announced. ‘Unless you want something else, Ciara?’
‘No, that sounds perfect,’ Ciara replied.
‘Great,’ Róisín said. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘I think I can risk a glass of Chablis,’ Oisín said. ‘Then I’ll go on to zero Guinness. How about you, Ciara?’
‘I’ll join you in both of those,’ Ciara said. ‘Riding pillion on a motorbike is scary enough without being drunk as well.’
‘I wouldn’t get on one of those for all the Guinness in Ireland,’ Róisín said, sticking her pen behind her ear. ‘Drunk or sober. Okay, is that all, or do you want any sides?’
‘No, we’re happy,’ Oisín said, smiling at Ciara. ‘I am, anyway.’
‘Me too,’ Ciara said, trying not to blush as Oisín’s green eyes twinkled while he looked admiringly at her.
He was so annoyingly attractive, and she found it hard not to be affected by his charm.
‘I just want to tell you,’ she said, in order to change the atmosphere that was becoming a little too flirty, ‘that I have decided to open the bookshop again. I want to continue the work Martha and her mother did.’
Oisín looked suddenly pleasantly surprised. ‘What about your job?’
‘I’ve just quit,’ Ciara said with a little shiver. ‘But my mother doesn’t know yet, so please don’t tell her.’
‘You quit?’ Oisín said, looking surprised. ‘Really? And you’re going to reopen the bookshop? That’s very good news for the village.’
‘The village is a little too quiet for me to rely on for any kind of business, but we hope to attract people from other areas if we manage to get the word out,’ Ciara explained.
‘We hope to open the shop by August and then we’ll see how it goes.
We’re going to have a reading corner as well and serve coffee and cakes. ’
Oisín nodded. ‘I see. Well, I had hoped you’d do something like that. And…’ He paused for a moment. ‘Well, maybe you could do what Martha did and let me display some of my work on the walls that are not taken up with bookshelves.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Ciara said. ‘A great way to decorate the shop. And we’ll put price tags on them and handle any sales.’
‘We?’ Oisín asked. ‘Do you have a partner I’m not aware of?’
‘My mother,’ Ciara explained. ‘She used to do marketing and stuff for a firm in Drogheda years ago and she’ll do all the bookkeeping and all the things I’m not so good at.’
‘Brilliant,’ Oisín said, beaming. ‘I’ll help out with some publicity and get a little bit of buzz going if you like.’
‘That would be a great help,’ Ciara said. ‘Actually, we’ve been invited to tea at the vicarage in a few weeks, so I’m thinking of going to tell anyone who’s there about our plan.’
‘Tea at the vicarage?’ Oisín said, looking shocked. ‘Don’t tell me she’s back doing that again.’
‘Who?’ Ciara asked. ‘Doing what again?’
‘That woman. Olivia Wilson,’ Oisín said, his voice scathing. ‘She was married to the last vicar of Cherrywood.’
‘The last vicar?’ Ciara asked. ‘When was he working there?’
‘About thirty years ago. Nice fellow, if a little dim. A bit of a turncoat, my late father used to say. Always agreed with whoever was speaking to him. You know, like that old song, “The Vicar of Bray”.’
‘Oh?’ Ciara tried to remember. ‘Sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it.’
‘It went like this,’ Oisín said and leaned forward to sing softly in Ciara’s ear.
‘In good King Charles’ golden time, when loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high churchman was I, and so I gained preferment.
To teach my flock, I never missed: Kings are by God appointed
And damned are those who dare resist or touch the Lord’s anointed.
And this be law, that I’ll maintain until my dying day, sir
That whatsoever king may reign, Still I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, sir.
When royal James possessed the crown, and popery came in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down, and read the Declaration.
The Church of Rome, I found, did fit full well my constitution
And I had been a Jesuit, but for the Revolution.’
Oisín drew breath and sat up, while Ciara laughed at both the lyrics and the way he had sung them. ‘Very witty,’ she said.
Oisín nodded. ‘Yes, and very apt, even though it was written in the eighteenth century. It was all about a vicar in England, really, and the Bray mentioned in the song was not the one up the coast in Wicklow. But you get the idea.’
Ciara nodded. ‘Yes. That hasn’t changed with time. There are still some of those around.’
‘Oh yes,’ Oisín said. ‘Anyway, the poor old vicar of Cherrywood is long gone, but his merry widow is still around.’
‘Giving tea parties in her old home,’ Ciara filled in.