The Summer Guest Read online

  Mum is like a black cloud all the time at the moment. Dad is all pale and looks like he needs about ten shots of Botox. They’re barely speaking to each other. Either that or when I walk into the room they jump and act all weird.

  They think I don’t notice all the mad eyes they’re giving one another – but I’m not thick. I would ask what the hell is going on, but I figure there’s no point. If they can’t be cool and let me in, then that’s fine by me. I don’t want to know anyway.

  Roll on the end of these exams. Then I can hang out with Elton more and stay out of Mum’s way. The constant sighing is head-wrecking.

  GTG,

  Amélie

  Chapter 10

  Kathleen paid the brunch bill and strolled out into the sunshine. The entire situation was surreal. This day last week, she was sweltering in the dense summer heat of Orlando. Now she was back to her roots and ready to embark on a summer of fun.

  Jackson had insisted that a trip back to Ireland would work out for the best. He’d been so sure she’d benefit from revisiting her childhood haunts. ‘You’ll have the time of your life,’ he said.

  ‘But I don’t know if I can do it without you,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you can. You have a knack of endearing yourself to others. You get under people’s skin,’ he said, tapping her nose and smiling. ‘I bet you’ll meet people on the plane over, never mind during the holiday. You’re a charmer, darling. I’m not worried about you.’

  Now she slung her bag over her shoulder and inhaled deeply. Lexie was like her fairy goddaughter. She couldn’t have wished to meet a nicer girl.

  She’d go and look in the window of the local letting agency to get an idea of the going rate for rents, just so she knew what to expect this evening. Budget wasn’t really an issue, but she wanted to be certain Lexie and Sam were fairly paid.

  Next stop, though, was the ticket office for the train. She’d heard about the electric rail system called the DART and was excited about using it. When she’d been a girl, the train was a real treat, only used if they were going on a day trip to somewhere like the zoo in Dublin. But this system seemed to have revolutionised inner-city travel, along with the LUAS trams.

  The old station house looked exactly the same, as Kathleen approached. The pale granite frontage glittered in the sunlight as she walked through the Gothic-style wooden door that had been there when she was a child. However, the modern ticket-dispensing machines looked like unfriendly aliens, hovering menacingly at the side of the platform.

  ‘Hello, love.’ A man in a navy uniform, complete with cap, had addressed her.

  ‘Hello,’ Kathleen said. ‘It’s years since I’ve been here. Would you mind explaining how I go about printing a ticket, please?’

  ‘No bother. Follow me,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘It’s quiet enough at this time of the day. You’re right to find your feet outside peak times. Some people get fiercely cranky if there’s a hold-up in the queue.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Kathleen said. ‘I guess they’re in a hurry to get to work.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt they are,’ the man agreed. ‘But, as I always say, patience is a virtue. I’ve two teenagers at home and, believe me, they can blow things out of proportion. Take this morning. My daughter needed two euro to pay for something in school. Had her hand out to me like this,’ he said, thrusting his upturned palm towards Kathleen. ‘“Do you think I’m going to spit the money out of my mouth?” I asked her. Well, she glared at me and stood tapping her foot! The Bank of Dad, that’s me.’

  Kathleen laughed as he rolled his eyes. Together they made their way to the ticket machine and he took her through the necessary steps. ‘How long are you staying in Ireland?’ he asked, as they posted cash in and waited for the change.

  ‘A couple of months,’ she said.

  ‘Well, it was worth learning how to get your ticket so.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ she agreed. ‘Thank you so much. I’m Kathleen by the way.’

  ‘Fanta,’ he said, offering his hand.

  ‘Pardon?’ Kathleen knew some Gaelic names sounded rather unusual, but she’d only ever heard of fizzy orange being called Fanta.

  He pulled off his peaked cap, pointed to his hair and winked.

  ‘No!’ Kathleen said, laughing.

  ‘Yup. Since the day I sprouted this mop of orange hair, I’ve been known far and wide as Fanta. On our wedding day my wife thought the priest had lost his marbles when he asked if she’d take Bernard’s hand in marriage. She only knew me as Fanta.’

  ‘Well, thank you for helping me and I might see you later.’

  ‘Enjoy Howth, Kathleen. If you’re looking for a bite to eat, try Fishy Dishy. They have the best mussels in white wine I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘I will, thank you, Fanta.’ Kathleen smiled. She’d missed the slightly left-of-centre Irish sense of humour. The train pulled into the station and they moved forwards as it came to a halt and the doors opened.

  ‘Grab yourself a nice window seat over the other side of the carriage and you’ll enjoy the trip all the more.’ Fanta waved her on to the train. ‘There are plenty of changes around here, but the sea and the sky are still as lovely as ever.’

  Kathleen took his advice and settled into her seat. She’d forgotten how the track snaked through tunnels around the mountains, so close to the sea she almost felt they might slide in. The colours were even more magnificent than she remembered. The sunlight bounced off the rippling navy water and the grey beaches curved in neat semi-circles; walkers with lolloping dogs added to the spectacle. The cliff-tops were coated with a thick, acid-green fuzzy grass carpet. The jagged rockfaces teemed with furiously busy snow-coloured seagulls scrambling for space on the crevices.

  Although the train stopped at the various stations along the way, it never paused for long. Kathleen was almost disappointed when they pulled up at Howth. As she walked towards the village, she noted she wasn’t the only tourist. A small group of Asians were snapping with cameras and speaking animatedly. Their language fascinated her. None of it sounded remotely like English.

  Feeling a little naughty, she tagged along behind them, hoping they might lead her to an interesting sight. She wasn’t disappointed. Moments later they were standing in front of a beautiful old castle. At first Kathleen hung back, thinking the group mightn’t welcome her.

  ‘You too?’ asked a very smiley lady.

  Kathleen attempted to protest, waving her hands and making uncharacteristic bowing movements. ‘No! Thank you!’ she stuttered.

  ‘Please, lady,’ said her new friend, gesturing for her to follow. Mortified, Kathleen shuffled over to the group. A man Kathleen reckoned was around her own age appeared at the castle’s front door and made a quick welcome speech. The group huddled and made chirpy noises as their shiny dark heads bobbed up and down approvingly.

  ‘Are you in charge?’ the man asked, gazing over their heads to Kathleen.

  ‘Eh, no,’ she said. ‘I’m embarrassed to say I just tagged along. But I stick out like a sore thumb, so I’m scuppered now.’

  ‘Not to worry. Why don’t you continue to tag along and I’ll pretend I don’t notice?’ he said kindly. ‘We don’t open to the public that often, so you did the right thing in taking your chances.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ she checked.

  ‘Not a bit. You can keep me company as your penance for skulking.’

  More sweeping arm movements and gesturing encouraged the group forward. Kathleen fell into step with the man, who was shunting from side to side as he walked.

  ‘The same family have lived here for donkey’s years,’ he said. ‘I’m a general dogsbody, but some of the family do cookery classes for pre-booked groups. That’s why these people are here.’

  ‘Oh, Jeez, I’ll have to leave in that case,’ Kathleen said. ‘I’m so sorry for butting in. I’m just back from America for a holiday and I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘Let me run it
by the girls. I’m certain they’ll be delighted to include you. What’s your name?’

  ‘It’s Kathleen, Kathleen Williams.’

  ‘Just a second. I’m Rodger, by the way, Let’s pretend we’re old pals, okay?’ he said.

  Before she could protest, Rodger had hurried over to two women and whispered something. They looked at Kathleen and smiled. One waved and called, ‘Hello there. You’re most welcome. Any friend of Rodger’s is a friend of ours.’

  ‘Thank you kindly,’ Kathleen said.

  Rodger gave her a quick nod and ambled away. The group filtered into the kitchen oohing and aahing as their cameras clicked and flashed.

  ‘My goodness, we’re being papped!’ the woman said, and giggled.

  ‘It’s not often you see proper cameras these days,’ Kathleen said. ‘It’s all phones now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Too true,’ said the other woman, as she crossed the room to introduce herself.

  Kathleen looked around the gorgeous old-style kitchen in awe. It was beautifully decorated in muted stone and cream tones. The large Aga that dominated the room was put to immediate use as the demonstration began.

  Over the next hour Kathleen and the others learned how to bake old-fashioned brown soda bread, apple cake and rich fruity brack.

  ‘We’ll make a big pot of tea and you can all sit outside,’ said Rodger, when he reappeared.

  Kathleen leaned against a fence, drinking her tea and observing.

  ‘Did you enjoy that then?’ Rodger had joined her.

  ‘It was wonderful. I bake all the time at home, but it’s marvellous to see the traditional way of making brown bread. I can’t wait to try it.’

  ‘Are you staying in a hotel?’ Rodger asked, and took a bite of brack.

  ‘At the moment I am, but I’m planning on renting somewhere.’ Kathleen told him all about number three Cashel Square and how kind Sam and Lexie were.

  ‘They sound like decent people. I’m glad there are still some welcoming folk around. Ireland has the name for being friendly and I’d hate for that to be ruined.’

  ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘It always gets my goat when people who don’t know Ireland assume it’s a land of boozers and leprechauns.’

  ‘Is that a general assumption in your experience?’

  ‘For some folk,’ Kathleen admitted. ‘I’ve always fallen between the cracks so to speak. When I was growing up I was known as “the Irish girl”. As the years went by I guess I became more American, but to this day I’m continually asked where I’m from.’

  ‘You have a distinct American twang, but you still have a lot of Irish in you!’

  ‘Aw, you are sweet!’ Kathleen said. ‘I use plenty of Americanisms, I say trash instead of rubbish, trunk instead of car boot and I’ve heard myself saying awesome on more than one occasion!’

  Rodger laughed, wincing. ‘That hurt,’ he said. ‘I need a hip replacement but I’m resisting.’

  ‘Why?’ Kathleen asked, astonished.

  ‘I’m not a fan of hospitals if the truth be told.’

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine anyone who is,’ she said. ‘But surely it’d be better to go through a bit more pain and come out the other end feeling … awesome?’ She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  ‘Awesome sounds a far cry from where I am at the moment,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been so stubborn about it but my doctor has told me I’ve to come to him when I’m ready.’

  ‘Really? That doesn’t sound like he’s taking much of an interest in you. It’s hardly professional either, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘If I’m honest, it’s more a case of him washing his hands of me until I do what he wants,’ Rodger said.

  ‘That’s awful.’ Kathleen tutted.

  ‘I’ve been a naughty boy,’ Rodger confessed. ‘I had the operation scheduled and bottled it. The surgeon and his team were waiting and I let them down.’

  ‘Ah. That’s a different story, I guess. When was that?’

  ‘Four months ago,’ Rodger said.

  There was a short silence between them.

  ‘It’s not such a terrible operation, you know,’ Kathleen said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I had my left one done three years ago and the right one last year. I had an epidural and they gave me the coolest headphones. I listened to Vivaldi while they sawed me up. I felt like one of those glamorous magician’s assistants.’

  Rodger stared at her in astonishment. ‘You don’t limp or look remotely as if you’re in pain.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He sighed. ‘You must think I’m a melodramatic old fool refusing to make myself better.’

  ‘I don’t think anything of the sort,’ she said honestly. ‘I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the thought of surgery, but my husband Jackson was very black-and-white about it. There was no discussion and no option. I was frog-marched – well, frog-hobbled – right in there.’

  Rodger looked instantly glum. ‘My late wife Claudia would’ve been like your Jackson. The morning I was meant to be in having the operation I ended up at her graveside. I was almost waiting for a wagging finger to come down from the sky.’

  ‘That was tough for you,’ Kathleen said, her head tilted to the side.

  ‘My two daughters are furious with me,’ Rodger went on. ‘I know they’ve written me off in a way. They were so intent on telling me what an idiot I was for refusing surgery that they overlooked the fact I was genuinely rigid with fear.’

  ‘Poor you.’

  ‘I can see their point,’ he said gruffly, trying to make light of it. ‘They’re grieving for their mother and busy supporting their young families in these austere times. The last thing they need is some silly old fool being needlessly difficult and refusing to help himself.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t think that way,’ Kathleen said quietly.

  The group all began to stand up. More bowing ensued and they gravitated back into the house via the side door.

  Kathleen and Rodger fell into step with them. By the time they’d walked back through the main hall and down the front steps, Rodger was clearly in agony. Kathleen held out her hand to him. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Rodger. I hope you feel better soon.’

  ‘I will,’ he said decisively. ‘I’m going to contact my doctor as soon as I leave here and reschedule that surgery.’

  ‘Good for you!’ she said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re more American than you think. Irish people don’t express emotions quite like you just did.’

  ‘Really?’ Kathleen was mildly surprised. ‘Can I take your number? I could give you a call and see how you’re doing. Only if you’d like.’

  ‘Now you’re being totally American,’ he told her. ‘“Can I take your number?” I love it! I feel like a teenager! Yes, of course you can have my number.’ He rooted his mobile phone from his pocket. ‘How about I send you a text and then you’ll have my details?’

  ‘Actually, I need to get an Irish phone. I’ve only got my American cell right now, so call out your number and I’ll save it. As soon as I get a local phone I’ll text.’

  ‘Are all Americans so forward with the gentlemen?’ Rodger asked.

  Kathleen blushed furiously. ‘Oh, gosh, I was just being sociable. I thought we could be friends, that’s all. I hope you didn’t think I was trying to pick you up.’

  He burst out laughing. ‘You look horrified at the thought!’ he said. Then he took her hand and shook it. ‘I’m just teasing you. I know you’re a married woman and I understand perfectly that you’re just being friendly. I’m always putting my foot in it and I’ve just done it again. Don’t mind me.’

  Kathleen felt relieved. She took his number and waved goodbye.

  Twenty minutes later she relaxed on the train and thought of Jackson. He’d get such a laugh out of Rodger insinuating she might be trying to pick him up.

  She’d met Jackson at a cousin’s wedding. Kathleen was her bridesmaid
and felt she might die of shame. The dresses were probably the height of fashion back in the seventies, but the thought of those canary yellow and brown patterned kaftans with gold braiding still made her feel nauseous. ‘You can’t be serious!’ she’d said to her cousin, Maeve. ‘We’ll be like psychedelic picnic tables!’

  ‘It’s called fashion, Kathleen. Don’t be so uptight. You’ll be the envy of every girl and the desire of every man there.’

  It appeared Maeve had had her finger on the pulse that day. All the guests oohed and aahed over the dresses, pronouncing them groovy, cool and far out. The only person who had seemed to share Kathleen’s view was a friend of the groom.

  Kathleen was perched in a corner, close to the bar, wishing she was anywhere else when he approached. ‘If you’re attempting to hide, you’re wearing the wrong dress,’ he teased.

  ‘Oh, don’t I know it,’ Kathleen said. ‘It’s not my wedding, and I’m honoured to be a bridesmaid, but no matter what people say, I feel like a pair of hideous curtains on legs.’

  He guffawed. ‘You’ve got it down with that description, I’ve gotta hand it to you,’ he said. ‘My girlfriend insisted I wear this purple and orange tie and I think it’s revolting.’

  Kathleen remembered how her heart had sunk when Jackson had mentioned his girlfriend. She’d chatted to him for a few minutes longer, laughing and joking … He had been the first man to make her feel beautiful.

  A tall, confident bottle blonde had strutted in their direction. Her bell-bottomed jumpsuit and sky-high platforms had made Kathleen’s dress look dull. ‘Jackson?’ she shrilled. ‘I’ve been looking for you. I’ve asked the DJ to play “American Pie”. Come dance with me,’ she said. ‘Sorry to break up the party,’ she said to Kathleen.

  She hadn’t spoken to Jackson again until the end of the night. Just as she was getting into her parents’ car he had rushed over and tapped her on the arm. ‘Can I call you? I’d love to take you on a date.’

  ‘You have a girlfriend,’ she answered, slamming the car door and nearly taking his nose off.

  She had thought of him quite a lot in the weeks that followed, but he was out of bounds. No matter how much she liked him, he was another gal’s guy. When he turned up at her front door one Friday night, Kathleen thought she might expire. ‘Jackson! What are you doing here?’ she asked.