Breakfast at Darcy's (14 page)

To my surprise, Conor shakes his head. ‘It’s a kind offer, Darcy, but no thank you.’

I’m somewhat taken aback after his speech earlier, but at least he didn’t pick the cute little brown one I’ve got my eye on.

‘Right, well, I’d like to take the little brown one off your hands, please Mary,’ and I try and call it over by patting my
legs.

But both the brown and the sandy puppies come tumbling towards me, falling over themselves and each other in the process.

‘Darcy, what are you going to do now?’ Conor asks, grinning down at them scrabbling about on top of me. ‘You can’t just take
one and leave the other brother behind, now can you?’

I look down at the little dogs clambering up on my lap.

‘Why not take both of them?’ he suggests. ‘They’ll have plenty of space to roam on the island. Plus, they’re like the old
you and the new you, aren’t they? With your hair – one’s got blonde hair, and the other’s brown!’

I pick up both puppies from my lap and cuddle them, one
under each arm, and as they both try to lick my ears from each side I begin to experience that unconditional love Conor was
talking about before.

Why on earth didn’t he want to experience that with his own puppy?

Paddy cuddles the other puppy protectively to his chest. He looks reproachfully at me, and suddenly I feel guilty at just
sweeping in here and buying these puppies off Mary like they’re clothes on a bargain rail no one wants.

‘When your hotel closes down, Mary, what will all your staff do?’ I ask her.

‘Most of them have already left and got jobs elsewhere. It’s only really me and Paddy left now. I’ll go and help my sister
with her business when this place is sold … ’ Her voice trails off, and I realise she doesn’t want to say too much in front
of Paddy.

I take a deep breath. ‘Thing is, I don’t know that much about looking after dogs,’ I announce to the room in general. ‘Shame
there’s no one coming to the island that does.’

Paddy’s stroking of his puppy quickens as he watches me hopefully out of the corner of his eye.

‘Paddy, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in coming over to Tara, would you, and bringing the last remaining puppy with
you? You’d be doing me a big favour showing me how to look after the dogs properly.’

Paddy can’t pack his bags quick enough.

‘Calm down, Dermot, I’ll explain everything in just a moment,’ I say as we return to the island and I try with difficulty
to climb out of the boat at the same time as holding two wriggling dogs.
‘Look, can you just take these two for a minute?’ I pass Dermot my two puppies, while Conor helps me out of the boat. The
puppies look even tinier against Dermot’s great hulk of a body, as he holds them warily against his chest while they try and
lick at his ears and nibble the buttons on his shirt.

‘This is Paddy,’ I explain, as Paddy climbs without aid from the boat carrying a third puppy. ‘Paddy, this is Dermot, he’s
been in charge of all the renovations here on the island. And Niall, who’s – well, he’s like my right-hand man, and Roxi,
who’s my best friend.’

‘Pleased to meet ya all,’ Paddy says, doffing his baseball cap at them to reveal his mop of black hair.

While I quickly explain the whole story to them, Conor begins unpacking the boat with all the puppies’ equipment that Paddy
and I had gone out and bought at a local pet shop. Even if I don’t have a proper bed to sleep in tonight, my puppies aren’t
going to go without.

And as we all head up the path towards the cottages with Dermot muttering something about Tara becoming an island for waifs
and strays, the thought of such a thing only makes me smile all the more as I cuddle my new four-legged friends even closer
to me and walk side by side with my slightly larger, but equally special two-legged ones.

This isn’t usually how I choose to spend my Thursday evenings, sitting on a cold floor in front of an open fire with four
strange men. Even though Roxi, I’m sure, wouldn’t have minded being the only female on the island, I’m glad she’s here to
keep me company on my first night on Tara.

We’re gathered together in my site office, on the few mattresses and camp beds left behind by the workmen before they escaped
to their real homes on the mainland. Everyone’s rallied round and brought over their bedding so we can make the room as comfortable
as possible, with a fire burning cheerfully in the grate. It’s been quite cosy spending time just the six of us, chatting,
with the puppies scurrying around our feet. The puppies love it here – I don’t think they’ve ever had so much freedom in their
short lives, and earlier we’d all taken it in turns to go chasing after them when they’d tried to stray a bit too far. Even
Dermot, who, once we’d explained the whole story about Paddy and then the puppies, surprisingly
took it all in his stride and accepted the newcomers immediately.

And I’ve finally come across the perfect names for my two puppies. When we’d got back, and while I’d been getting changed
into something a bit warmer and more practical,Dermot and Conor had knocked up a temporary barbecue between them in an open
area in front of all the cottages, so that even though one of the few things we did actually have right now was the ability
to cook in our kitchens, we’d spent our first evening on the island in the great outdoors eating, drinking and chatting until
it got too dark and cold for us to be out there any longer.

‘What are you going to call these little fellows, Darcy?’ Niall had asked when we’d been outdoors finishing off the last of
the barbecued food.

I’d thought long and hard about it since I’d got them earlier today. I’d waited so long to own a dog of my own, that I didn’t
want to waste this opportunity by christening them something boring like Patch or Roly.

‘Westwood and Louboutin,’ I announce proudly.

There’s a mixture of stunned silence and raucous laughter – from Dermot.

‘What?’ I ask them, slightly put out that my highly original choice of names hasn’t been greeted with awe and adulation.

‘You can’t call your dogs after fashion designers, Darcy,’ Niall says sensitively. ‘Think about the kind of dogs they’re going
to grow into. It won’t really suit them, will it?’

I look to Roxi for support.

‘Niall’s right, honey. It would be like putting Dermot over there in an Armani suit and expecting him to feel comfortable.
It’s just not fair, and a little cruel.’

Dermot stops laughing now.

‘What shall I call them then?’ I ask disappointedly. ‘I liked those names.’

‘What about shortening them?’ Conor suggests. ‘Louboutin to Louis and Westwood to … ’

‘Woody!’ Roxi shouts in excitement. ‘Like in
Toy Story
.’

I think about this for a moment. ‘Yes,’ I say nodding, ‘I like it, it suits the two of them. Louis and Woody it is, then.
Thanks Conor, thanks Roxi.’

‘Congratulations,’ Dermot says, rolling his eyes. ‘You’ve gone from naming your dogs after two international fashion designers
to calling them after a Disney character and an
X-Factor
judge.’

‘Well it takes one to know one, Mr Cowell,’ I say, raising my eyebrows at him.

So now we’re all sitting on the floor, lit only by flickering candlelight and the flames from the fire. We could use power
from the generator to light the house properly, but Dermot says we should save power whenever we can. We’re sipping at my
Cath Kidston mugs of coffee or hot chocolate laced with tots of whiskey from a bottle that has appeared from Dermot’s bag.
If I could just forget that I’m going to have to sleep on one of these same mattresses on this same cold, hard floor tonight,
I might even feel the tiniest bit content at what I’ve achieved at the end of my first day here on Tara, which is certainly
not an emotion I expected to feel.

While we listen to Paddy tell us a funny story about some American tourists they had staying at the hotel once, there’s a
knock at the front door of the cottage.

Paddy stops talking while everyone looks wildly at each other for an explanation.

‘Isn’t anyone going to get that?’ Conor asks, jumping to his feet.

‘But who is it?’ I look up at him in alarm. ‘We’re all sitting here inside this cottage.’

Conor grins. ‘Unless this island is suddenly haunted by a headless horseman, and by the look on all your faces that’s what
you think is on the other side of that door right now, my guess is it’s Eamon.’

Of course. I’d forgotten about Eamon
.

There’s a collective sigh of relief from around the room as everyone visibly relaxes.

Conor goes to the front door and quickly I follow him.

‘Darcy,’ Eamon nods as he sees me. He holds up a lantern with an oil-burning flame inside. The flickering light only intensifies
the colour of his deep blue eyes.

‘Eamon, won’t you come in and join us?’ I ask, as Louis wakes up and joins us in the hallway. I scoop him up in my arms.

‘I won’t, Darcy, no. I just wanted to make sure you’d all settled in all right today, and if there was anything I could do.’

‘We’ve had a few hiccups, but I think everything’s going to be OK now.’ I glance at Conor.

He smiles reassuringly. ‘Everything’s going to be just grand, Darcy.’

Woody appears, joining his brother.

‘Aren’t you fine-lookin’ wee fellows,’ Eamon bends down and scoops Woody up in his empty hand. ‘And you’ve two of them, Darcy.’

‘Yes, I just got them today.’

‘Would there be some Irish wolfhound in there somewhere?’ Eamon asks, holding Woody up in front of his face.

‘Their mother was part Irish wolfhound, according to her owner. So they’re a bit of a mix.’

‘I thought so,’ Eamon nods knowingly as he puts Woody gently down on the ground outside. Woody quickly squats down to relieve
himself, narrowly missing Eamon’s boot. ‘I used to have dogs myself sometime ago,’ Eamon says, not seeming in the least bothered
by Woody’s near miss. His sharp eyes look intently into mine for a moment, as though he’s searching for something.

‘Did you?’ I say, putting Louis down outside too, away from Eamon. He tries to chase a leaf blowing along the grass. In the
patchy light a cloud-covered moon is casting over Tara tonight, he stumbles over a twig that happens to be in his path and
rolls over in a ball before picking himself back up again and continuing on his way. I turn my attention back to Eamon. ‘Are
you sure you won’t come in, Eamon?’ I ask him again. ‘There’s a drop of whiskey doing the rounds in among the mugs of coffee.’

‘No. Away and enjoy yourself. I’ll be seeing you around in the next few days though, I’m sure, when the rest of your people
arrive.’

‘Yes, they’ll be here soon.’

Hopefully after their furniture …

‘And what will they do when they get here?’ Eamon asks. ‘Are they just here on a long holiday?’

‘No, they’re here to set up homes, to live and work here properly. You know, like farming, growing their own crops,
that sort of thing. They’re going to be as self-sufficient as possible.’

Eamon pulls a strange face. ‘Did you say grow their own crops and farm?’

I nod.

‘I see.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ I ask, watching Conor as he lights up a torch to go after the puppies who have started to wander
a bit too far away from the cottage.

‘Nothing, if crops actually grew here.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, turning my attention back to Eamon.

‘What I said. Why do you think this island’s community died out in the past? People just couldn’t, or didn’t want to, survive
on what the land here could provide.’

‘I … I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve seen the island, Darcy,’ Eamon gestures with his hand out into the darkness. ‘It’s mostly hills and rocks. Yes, there’s
a lot of grass and greenery, but underneath that the soil is mostly peat. It’s ideal for burning on your fire – you’ll never
get cold while you’re here on Tara – but there’s not many a crop that’ll grow on it. Peat and rocks are hardly the perfect
combination for sowing seeds and keeping animals on, are they?’

‘But people must have done it in the past!’ My mind is registering exactly what Eamon is saying, but my mouth is still protesting.
‘How did they survive back then?’

‘Potatoes and seal blubber mainly,’ Eamon says, matter-of-factly. ‘With the occasional fish if they were lucky.’

‘But … ’

‘What’s up?’ Conor asks as he returns, placing the puppies down firmly inside the cottage again. ‘What’s this about seal blubber,
Eamon? One of your little beauty secrets?’

Eamon doesn’t smile. ‘Just telling Darcy here a few home truths about the realities of living on Tara.’

‘Apparently we can’t grow crops or keep animals.’

‘I didn’t say you couldn’t keep
any
animals, just that you need certain breeds that are hardy enough to withstand the terrain and the weather conditions.’

‘Why can’t we grow things?’ Conor asks.

‘It’s the soil, apparently,’ I say in a dismal voice.

‘And the weather conditions too,’ Eamon adds. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried. You don’t think I enjoy buying all my fruit and veg
from the greengrocer’s in the town, do you?’

‘I just assumed you weren’t green-fingered, Eamon,’ Conor jokes. Then he sees my face. ‘I had no idea, Darcy, I’m sorry.’

‘But it’s what we’ve promised them!’ I shake my head in desperation. ‘Come here to Tara and live the good life – you know,
like the old seventies TV show?’ I look up at Eamon.

He looks blankly at me.

‘Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ I turn to Conor. ‘What are we going to do now?’

Conor shakes his head, his face for once not showing its usual convivial expression. ‘I think we’d best go and discuss it
with the others,’ he says. ‘Thanks for dropping by, Eamon.’

‘Sorry if I’ve caused you bother,’ Eamon says, his face full of concern. ‘It wasn’t my intention, so it wasn’t.’

‘No, I know, Eamon.’ I try and smile at him. ‘Please don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll sort something out.’

As Conor and I return to the others in the sitting room, we realise that the cottage is so small they’ve already heard a lot
of what Eamon has told us.