Conor tips his head forward again and opens his eyes. ‘No, I meant being with such gorgeous company, out in the fresh air
in this glorious weather.’
I laugh.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘You certainly have the gift of the gab, Mr Conor Fitzgerald. Did your parents take you to kiss the Blarney stone when you
were young, by any chance?’
Conor pretends to look shocked. ‘What are you saying, Miss McCall, that you’re immune to my Irish charm?’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just that you don’t have to lay it on quite as thick with me, that’s all.’
‘Like the more subtle approach, do you?’ Conor sits up properly again. ‘Perhaps Mr Did You Know I Built this Cottage with
My Own Hairy Hands O’Connell down there is more to your liking? Actually I don’t think Dermot is that subtle. His idea of
chatting up a woman is probably hitting her over the head with his all-in-one power tool and dragging her back to see his
recently refurbished cave,’ Conor grimaces.
I burst out laughing, and immediately put my hand to my mouth. ‘Oh, Conor, stop, that’s not fair, Dermot’s very clever with
his tools and you know it. He’s done such a lot on this island already.’
‘Yes, like annoy the hell out of you.’
‘That’s just his way. He can’t help it.’
And just why am I defending Dermot?
‘Perhaps.’ Conor considers this. ‘He certainly seems to push your buttons.’
‘Dermot and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, it’s true.’
In fact, come to think of it, I’ve probably had more cross words with him in the
short time we’ve known each other than with anyone in my whole life
. ‘But I think there might be more to Dermot than what we first see.’ I think again about the photo in his cottage. I haven’t
told anyone about it, not even Roxi. I wonder if I should mention it to Conor now?
‘Oh, yeah?’ Conor asks, raising an eyebrow.
I decide against it. ‘We’ll find a way of getting along, though; there aren’t many people I ever come to blows with.’
‘You don’t like confrontation, do you, Darcy?’ Conor asks as his blue eyes penetrate mine in search of an answer.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you don’t like disagreements or problems. You like everyone to just swim along happily together all the time.’
‘Maybe, but why
would
I like people arguing? It would be an odd person that did. I just want people to be happy.’
Conor’s eyes narrow as he considers this. ‘But what about you, what do
you
really want out of life?’
‘Don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘Same as everyone else, I guess. Good health, more money, the usual.’
‘I notice you didn’t mention love in that list?’
It’s my turn to stare hard at Conor now. Has he been talking to Roxi about my love life? ‘No, that’s true, I didn’t,’ I reply,
without enlightening him further about my failings in the relationship department.
Conor grins. ‘Ooh, you’re as deep as that sea out there, aren’t you, and just as mysterious. I bet there’s a man or two that
have wrecked their boat in your treacherous waves.’
I drag my eyes away from Conor’s. I don’t know what it is about his eyes, but they’re hypnotic. If this line of conversation
continues, heaven knows what he’ll have me telling him.
‘Anyway,’ I say, keen to steer the subject away from my love life – or severe lack of one – ‘why are we talking about this?
Why don’t you try out some more of your Blarney on me and see if it works this time?’
‘I might just do that,’ Conor says, relaxing back against the wall and crossing his legs again. ‘You’ll just have to wait
and see, Miss Darcy.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘You know what we were saying before about kissing the Blarney stone? Even though
it’s an old yarn put on for the tourists, they make a lot of money out of it, enough to keep Blarney Castle running as a result.
Perhaps you should try something like that here?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you need something more than just the island and a few cottages to attract people. Perhaps you need a
thing
, too.’
‘A thing?’
‘Like a theme, something for people to hook into.’ Conor closes his eyes and settle downs in the sun again. ‘Might be worth
thinking about.’
‘But I wouldn’t want to commercialise Tara.’ I look down at him lying in the sun’s golden glow. ‘It’s too unspoiled.’
‘No, I don’t mean theme as in theme park,’ Conor holds his hand above his eyes, shielding them from the bright sun.‘I mean
theme as in something different, that no one else can offer.’
‘Like what? We’re stuck in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, it’s not exactly Las Vegas.’
‘And thank the Lord for that small mercy. Been there, done that. No, you’re thinking inside the box, Darcy, stuck in the little
world you’re used to inhabiting. Think outside of it for a while.’
Conor closes his eyes again and returns to basking in the sun’s warm rays while I sit quietly next to him, mulling over what
he’s just said.
‘You’ve gone awfully quiet,’ Conor says after a while.
‘I’m just thinking.’
Conor opens his eyes and sits up properly again. ‘Don’t stress yourself over what I said. It was only a suggestion.’
‘But I think you could be right. Why
will
people want to come here? Yes, it’s quiet and peaceful – if you like that sort of thing. And the scenery is stunning. But
it’s so remote, and you know how dodgy the weather can be, it’s hardly a tropical island we’re asking them to take their holiday
on. It’s a cold, windswept Irish island.’
Conor looks at me for a moment, then reaches forward and runs his thumb gently between my eyebrows. ‘There,’ he says, rhythmically
stroking my forehead. ‘That’s ironed out that furrowed brow again. Stop fretting, Darcy. Relax, it will all sort itself out
in the end.’ He removes his hand and this time, with no puppies in mortal peril to prevent him from carrying out his will,
he leans forward and places the gentlest kiss upon my lips.
‘Feeling any better now?’ he enquires, a lopsided grin appearing on his handsome face.
‘Just a bit,’ I whisper back. ‘But perhaps you should try it once more, to make sure I don’t start stressing out all over
again.’
Conor leans in towards me. ‘Anything to oblige.’
And unsurprisingly, for the next few minutes I not only forget what I was worrying about before, but any worries I have full
stop about Tara, and even the fact that I’m actually on an island at all, as Conor works his own very individual magic upon
me.
It’s amazing what can change in a few weeks.
We’ve been on Tara nearly a month now, and in that time we’ve almost finished renovating five new cottages. These, added to
the seven empty ones vacated by our departing TV wannabes, has left us with a dozen holiday homes waiting to be filled. We’ve
been blessed with some of the mildest spring weather I can remember for a long time in the UK, let alone on a remote Irish
island in the Atlantic Ocean. And most importantly of all, everyone is now beginning to pull together like a team, instead
of fighting about who is doing what job.
The only thing that hasn’t changed in a month is my puppies’ ability to listen to anything I tell them, and Dermot’s annoying
attitude.
I’m on my way over to Caitlin’s small shop right now – small only in size, that is. Caitlin has managed to turn her tiny extra
cottage into an Aladdin’s Cave of treasures. She stocks things that we just can’t manage without until Conor takes the boat
over to the mainland for our regular orders of supplies – treasures like milk, toilet rolls and chocolate.
As I enter, a tiny bell rings above my head. ‘Morning, Darcy,’ Caitlin says, appearing from the back room. Dermot has cleverly
knocked a doorway through from her adjoining cottage. ‘How are you today?’
I adore Caitlin’s dress sense. She insists she doesn’t buy anything from the high street, and that everything she wears –
incredibly – comes from charity shops or jumble sales. But somehow she always manages to look fabulously stylish in a boho-chic
Sienna Miller meets Kate Moss way. Today she’s wearing jeans, as all of us seem to wear most days on the island now (except
Roxi, who still insists on her tight skirts, skinny jeans or leggings – always with heels, of course), but as usual Caitlin’s
teamed it inventively with a long colourful denim waistcoat, a white cotton smock top and a large pendant with a purple gemstone
in the centre.
‘I’m good thanks, Caitlin! I was wondering if you had any chocolate left?’
Caitlin looks at me in surprise. ‘Again, Darcy?’ she asks. ‘That must be the third bar this week. And they were the large
size.’
I blush awkwardly. ‘I’m just a bit stressed, that’s all. Chocolate’s my thing, helps me cope.’
Caitlin smiles. ‘I’ll just check out back for you. I think there might still be an odd bar in one of the boxes, if you’re
lucky.’
While Caitlin disappears back through the door again I glance around the little shop. It really is amazing what she manages
to pack in here. Dermot has completely lined three walls of the largest front room of the cottage from ceiling to floor with
shelves, and on these shelves is packed everything, from tins of beans to deodorants, and jars of honey to boxes of matches.
As I stare at the brightly coloured packaging, a brief memory comes flitting back to me of watching TV with my aunt Molly
in her sitting room in the house in Kerry. It then begins to pad itself out with more detail, until it’s a full-blown image
in my mind.
It’s Sunday night, and we’re watching
Open All Hours
. That’s exactly what Caitlin’s shop reminds me of – Arkwright’s shop from the show. The island’s shop is a bit smaller than
the TV one, but it’s stocked in just the same jam-packed, bursting-atthe-seams way.
I think about my aunt again, and remember how we often used to sit together during the winter evenings when I was staying
with her and watch lots of comedy shows, and how she used to laugh. Molly had a wonderful laugh – so animated and vibrant
– and a wonderful sense of humour, too. I’d forgotten that about her …
The bell rings behind me again, and Roxi bursts in through the door wearing a denim jumpsuit and red high heels. ‘Look!’ she
instructs me, thrusting her hand under my face.
‘Just what am I supposed to be
look
ing at?’ I ask, examining her outstretched hand.
‘The state of my nails, Darce, they’re
ruined
! I was trying to be helpful by sanding some wood down for Dermot in one of the cottages, and look what I get for my efforts!
So I told him it was an emergency, went back to my cottage to get my nail varnish remover and guess what?’
‘What?’ I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.
‘It’s completely empty. I used the last of it the other day, I
wasn’t expecting to repaint them again so soon, you see, so I was going to ask Conor to pick some up when he went over to
the mainland to get our next order.’
‘You’re in luck, Darcy,’ Caitlin says, reappearing waving a 500g bar of Cadburys Dairy Milk. ‘One left. Oh, hello Roxi,’ she
says, smiling at her, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Nail crisis, Caitlin,’ Roxi says, waving her hand under Caitlin’s nose now. ‘Do you have any remover?’
‘Sorry Roxi, I only keep the basic supplies here. You know, day-to-day necessities.’
Roxi eyes Caitlin suspiciously, simply not understanding why Caitlin doesn’t class repainting your nails as a basic necessity
in life.
‘Don’t worry, Rox,’ I assure her. ‘I’ve got some back in my cottage you can borrow; I’ve hardly used it since I got here.’
I glance down at my nails. Eek, they’re a sight, I really must give myself a manicure sometime soon.
‘You’re a lifesaver, Darce. So, what are you in here for?’ Roxi asks, looking round the shop.
‘Chocolate,’ Caitlin says, just as I say, ‘Tea.’
Roxi’s eyes open wide. ‘Oh yeah, which is it then?’
‘I came in for some tea originally, and then thought I’d treat myself to a small bar of chocolate while I was here. But unfortunately
it seems this is all Caitlin has.’ I turn my back on Roxi and try to mouth ‘Please don’t say anything’ to Caitlin across the
counter without Roxi noticing, but I should have known better.
‘Are you on the chocolate again, Darcy?’ It’s as though Roxi’s asking a reformed alcoholic if they’ve opened a bottle of whiskey.
Slowly I turn back around to face her with a fixed smile planted firmly on my face. ‘I might just have had the occasional
small
bar.’
‘
Caitlin
?’ Roxi challenges, hands on hips.
I swing back around and look pleadingly at Caitlin.
‘Well, this is the only bar I have in the shop right now,’ Caitlin says, holding up the chocolate with an innocent smile.
‘Hmm,’ Roxi looks between the two of us suspiciously.
‘Why can’t you have too much chocolate, Darcy?’ Caitlin asks. ‘Are you diabetic?’
‘No, nothing like that. I’m prone to getting a little bit addicted to it, that’s all. Roxi’s just worrying over nothing.’
‘Pah,’ Roxi puffs. ‘Have you ever seen that episode of
The Vicar of Dibley
when Dawn French wallows in chocolate bars on her settee when the chap she fancies leaves her?’
Caitlin grins. ‘Yes, I loved that show.’
‘Well, that was Darcy one Christmas when she broke up with her boyfriend. She eats it when she’s worried, upset or stressed
– and when I say eat, I mean
eat
! She makes Paddy’s portions look like Cheryl Cole’s.’
‘OK, OK! I’m not
that
bad!’ I plead, holding up my hand. ‘So I
might
have had the odd bar lately. But it’s not a crime; I’ve got a few things on my mind.’
‘Like what, Darcy?’ Caitlin asks with concern. ‘Aren’t things going well with the new cottages?’
‘They are, but if we don’t get anyone to fill them when they’re complete, then what’s the point?’ I look from one to the other
of them. ‘Just between the three of us, I’m not having much luck getting any bookings so far. The only way I’ve been able
to advertise them is with an agency that does
holiday lets, which would be fine if I was able to keep in touch with them easily by phone or email, but I had to make a special
trip over to the mainland just to sort it all out with them. How am I supposed to know if we’ve got any bookings until we
get some mail? You know how long that can take to get here.’ I sigh. ‘What I could really do with is a website and some proper
online advertising of my own. But it’s impossible from here, and I can’t keep jumping in the boat every five minutes and asking
Conor to sail me over to an internet café.’