Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ciara’s hand shook so much she had to put her cup back on the tray. ‘You were… you are…?’ She found it hard the get the words out.
Nuala nodded, holding her own cup with both hands. ‘Yes. I’m the nun who helped your grandmother when she gave birth to your father.’
‘Oh but…’ Ciara stammered.
‘I left the convent ten years later. I felt my faith wasn’t strong enough to remain there. And then I met John and fell in love. We took over my parents’ house in Cherrywood and lived there together until his death twenty years ago. I still live in the same house.’
‘Where is it?’ Ciara asked.
‘Opposite yours,’ Nuala said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been spying on you.’
Ciara smiled. ‘I’ve seen the curtain move there, so I did have the feeling we were being watched.’ She paused for a moment. ‘So you were there when my father was born?’
Nuala nodded. ‘I was. Such a beautiful, strong baby. Madge only got to hold him for a moment and then he was taken away to be adopted. She cried and cried, the poor craythur.’ Nuala sighed.
‘I was so sorry that she had to give her little baby away like that. But it was the only thing to do in those days. Our convent was small and we didn’t usually look after unmarried mothers, but we made an exception for Madge.
She had been head girl and top student at the school and was much liked by all the sisters.
In fact, we thought at one stage she might join the order, but she changed her mind.
I think a life in poverty and seclusion wasn’t for her. ’
‘Did Martha tell you what happened to her sister?’ Ciara asked, feeling her tears well up. She could nearly see Madge crying as her baby was taken away.
‘She did indeed,’ Nuala said. ‘I liked Madge very much. She was like a younger sister to me. So when I heard she had died in Australia, I was so sad.’
Ciara blinked her tears away and reached for her cup, feeling the need for a soothing drink. ‘So was I, even though I had never met her.’
‘It’s a huge loss not to have known your grandmother,’ Nuala remarked. ‘Nor your great-aunt Martha. She was a tower of strength in the village.’
‘I’m sure you were too,’ Ciara remarked. ‘And all your group of women who grew up in Cherrywood. It must have been such a special place when the village was more alive.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Nuala sipped her tea, looking at Ciara over the rim of her cup. ‘It will come alive again,’ she said with great conviction. ‘Once all the businesses are running again.’ She leaned forward, fixing Ciara with her eyes. ‘The bookshop is only the start.’
‘The start of what?’ Ciara asked.
‘The reawakening of the village. It’s part of the plan,’ Nuala declared, looking mysterious. ‘And that’s all I’m going to say about that, so don’t ask any more questions.’
‘All right,’ Ciara said, feeling she was up against a very determined woman, despite her advanced age. ‘I won’t. But if you’ll allow me to come and visit you, I’d love to find out more about Madge and Martha and their family.’
‘That would be very nice,’ Nuala said, looking pleased. ‘I like young people.’
‘And I like old people,’ Ciara said. ‘Because they have so much to say.’
‘We do,’ Nuala agreed. ‘And now I’m going to drink my tea and try some of the nice things on that tray.’ She sipped her tea and reached out for a scone that had been liberally laced with cream and jam.
While Nuala nibbled at her scone, Ciara looked around the room at the other guests enjoying the food and cups of tea.
She saw that her mother was deep in conversation with a group of people and realised that Maureen was busy networking.
Then her gaze drifted to the framed landscapes on the walls, the stained parquet floor, the period fireplace and the tall windows overlooking a somewhat scruffy garden where roses were just starting to bloom.
‘This must have been such a beautiful room once,’ she remarked.
‘A long time ago,’ Nuala agreed.
‘Olivia seems very nice. So kind of her to invite us.’
‘She throws these parties in the spring and summer because she’s lonely,’ Nuala said. ‘The house is a wreck, though. Don’t know why she keeps it. Possibly because nobody would buy it.’
‘It needs a lot of work,’ Ciara agreed. ‘Too much for anyone to want to take on, I can imagine.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Nuala agreed. ‘Rising damp, mould and a leaky roof, and that’s only the start. Once you got into it, the repairs would run into millions, I imagine. It was once quite a lovely place to visit.’
‘I’d say it was,’ Ciara said, trying to imagine what it would have been like a hundred years ago.
‘We didn’t come here at all in the old days,’ Nuala remarked. ‘Protestants and Catholics didn’t mix or even talk much to each other. It’s different now, thank goodness. We’re all friends these days.’
‘That’s a good thing,’ Ciara agreed.
‘Oh yes. But now you must mingle and spread the word about the bookshop,’ Nuala urged. ‘This is an opportunity not to be missed. Don’t mind me, I’m happy to sit here and look around. I might even have a little snooze,’ she added with a wink and a smile.
Charmed by the old lady’s amazing spirit, Ciara patted her hand and said goodbye before she got up and started to walk around the room, introducing herself to some of the women gathered around the buffet.
‘I’m Ciara Doyle,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve met my mother?’
‘Yes,’ one of the women said. ‘And she told us you’re going to open the bookshop and gave us flyers to hand around. We’re happy to hear the bookshop is going to be open again. But isn’t that going to be too much of a challenge in this remote place?’
‘Well, we’re going to have a go and see what happens,’ Ciara said.
‘Not much, I’m sure,’ another woman said, putting a flyer into her handbag. ‘But why not? If you can get the fancy folk down in Enniskerry to come, you’ll have a good chance.’
‘You might get one of them influencers to mention it on their Insta page, or whatever it’s called,’ a man standing nearby suggested.
‘Fat chance of that happening,’ the first woman said with a snort.
Frustrated, Ciara looked around for Maureen, but she seemed to have disappeared. Then someone clinked a fork against a teacup and everyone fell quiet, looking at Paul Murray, who was demanding attention.
‘I’m not going to sing,’ he started. ‘That piano over there hasn’t been tuned since the dawn of creation.
I am, however, going to announce something very important.
And that is the imminent reopening of the old bookshop we used to call the Book Nook.
It is now going to be called the Brian Boru Bookshop. A very noble name, I have to admit.’
There was a communal murmur at the mention of the shop. ‘Good luck with that,’ someone called. ‘Very brave of them, though.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Paul beamed. ‘We are all so happy. It’s going to be similar to what it was when good old Martha Fitzgerald ran it, only better and more modern. There is going to be a cosy reading corner and tea and coffee will be served, along with buns and cakes from the bakery in Enniskerry.’
‘What?’ Maureen, standing in the door that led to the garden, stared at Paul Murray. ‘That’s not… I mean, who told you we were going to do all of that?’
‘Oh,’ Paul said. ‘I just thought that would be so perfect. Not just a bookshop, but a little café and reading corner. Can’t you just see it in front of you?
And,’ he breezed on, ‘the timing is ideal. I will be launching my memoir, My Life in Song, at the same time. So how about a book launch in the shop to inaugurate it in style?’
Maureen frowned, looking cross. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. I had no plans whatsoever to host a book launch. We will open the shop in three weeks on the date written on the flyers. But the café part has to wait until we can get it organised.’
‘Oh, that’s not a problem,’ Paul said, still grinning. ‘We’ll just serve champagne at my launch. I think this a fantastic way to inaugurate the shop. Just think about it, Maureen. We can get the press and all other media to come along. Great publicity for your business, you know.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Maureen said. ‘I’ll let you know what we decide a little later on.’
‘Excellent,’ Paul said, rubbing his hands together. ‘And now let’s have more tea and scones, if there are any left. Then I can take you on a tour of the garden, Maureen.’
‘I’ve just been there,’ Maureen said. ‘And now I’m going to say goodbye and thank Olivia for inviting us to this nice tea party before we go home. I’ll leave the flyers in the hall and maybe you could give them to your friends, family and neighbours; that would be a huge help.’
Paul’s face fell. ‘You’re leaving already?’
‘Yes,’ Maureen replied. ‘We have much to do and the sooner we start the better.’
Paul walked to Maureen and took her hand. ‘In that case, I’ll say goodbye and good luck. We’ll all be keeping a close eye on the shop. Let me know if you need any help with anything. I’m actually a dab hand with the paintbrush.’ He looked at Maureen as if willing her to return his smile.
Maureen met his gaze for a moment, her mouth quivering. Then she couldn’t resist his charm, and her mouth broke into a grin. ‘Oh, okay, you win. I’ll give you a shout if we need help with the rest of the painting and decorating.’
‘Not if, but when,’ he corrected and shook her hand. ‘That’s a deal, then.’
Everyone around them started to laugh and at once the rather stiff and chilly atmosphere felt instantly warmer. Maureen and Ciara said goodbye to the hostess, who walked them to the door and thanked them for coming.
‘Your courage is impressive,’ Olivia said as they prepared to leave.
‘I’ll certainly see if I can spread the word about your shop once it’s up and running and hand out flyers in Enniskerry and even Wicklow town.
I know a lot of people in the area, especially the mothers at the pony club, who are usually a pain in the neck.
But I think if you’re going to stock books that interest them, you might have a good clientele among some of our lot. ’