Breakfast at Darcy's (28 page)

‘Siobhan does reiki?’ I exclaim. I know a little about reiki; one of the girls in my office had several sessions after she’d
slipped a disc in her back, and she’d sworn by it. Said it was the best thing she’d ever had done. It was non-invasive and
incredibly relaxing at the same time. It was also one of the things that Jemima, my ex-editor, had been on about me experiencing
and writing up in my column before I left the magazine. One of the more pleasant ones, along with turning me into a human
pin cushion.

Orla nods. ‘I thought you knew.’

Considering this is such a small community, there seems to be an awful lot going on I’m unaware of.

I shake my head. ‘No, I had no idea; she looks so normal.’

Orla throws back her head and laughs. ‘Darcy, do you think because we take part in a bit of holistic therapy we should all
be going round wearing open-toed sandals and chanting mantras?’

‘No, not at all,’ I reply, feeling my cheeks begin to burn. ‘But it just seems odd that I didn’t know you were into all this
stuff. I mean, there’s only a few of us here, and yet here’s you with your t’ai chi, Caitlin and her crystals and now Siobhan
and her reiki. It’s as if Tara is some sort of magnet to a more spiritual way of life.’

Orla nods. ‘Maybe she is,’ she says, gazing around her at Tara’s landscape. ‘There are many powerful vibes coming from this
ancient soil and these rocks. That’s why I come up here to do my t’ai chi.’

Then before I’ve got time to question her, another thought occurs to me. ‘Orla, you don’t happen to
teach
t’ai chi, do you?’

‘I did have a couple of classes at Daniel’s practice when we were back in Waterford.’ She smiles. ‘My husband thought I was
mad at the time, offering t’ai chi at a doctor’s surgery. But it was so popular we had a waiting list for the class.’

I smile now, too. ‘Then I might just have the perfect job for you and Siobhan here on Tara – and I think you’ll find it a
bit more enjoyable than changing a few beds.’

‘Come on, Darcy, get up there and give us a song!’

‘No way!’ I call, picking up some empty glasses and returning them to Roxi at the bar. ‘The only time you’ll hear me singing
might be at closing time, when Roxi needs to empty the pub.’

‘Who’s going to, then?’ Seamus calls. ‘What sort of an opening night is this for an Irish pub, if we haven’t had any music,
or even a sing-song?’

It’s our opening night at our new pub on Tara: The Temple Bar
.
We’ve stuck with the Dublin theme and named our pub after the famous area of Dublin that contains many pubs and drinking
taverns. So far, tonight has been a great success; the drinks are flowing freely and everyone is enjoying themselves. Even
Eamon has made a rare appearance at one of our gatherings to investigate the new hostelry, or more likely what it’s serving
up.

The pub, although small, has a proper wooden bar with two
pumps and some optics mounted behind it on the wall. Alongside those, hang shelves filled with glasses and bottles containing
beers and spirits. There are a few tall bar stools and some tables and chairs in the area in front of the bar for our customers,
and we’ve borrowed some of the Guinness memorabilia from Kathleen and Aiden’s house to complete the pub effect.

We’ve got eight guests staying on the island with us just now, who I’m relieved aren’t on Tara solely for the peace and quiet,
because tonight the atmosphere in the pub is more akin to the real Temple Bar in central Dublin on a Friday night.

Roxi, as I suspected she would be, is in her element as The Temple Bar’s new landlady, and she’s being ably assisted in her
bar duties in busier times by Ryan and Paddy. Apparently Ryan worked as a barman in the real Temple Bar when he was at university
in Dublin, and Paddy says he’s seen the inside of more Irish bars than a Guinness delivery man, so between the three of them
we should be more than capable of handling my slightly boisterous crowd this evening.

Standing back, looking at everyone enjoying themselves I feel a great sense of achievement. I didn’t for one moment expect
to feel like this while I was here. I just expected to spend the year trying to get through each day one by one, crossing
them off on my
Vogue
calendar. I realise now that I haven’t even got around to hanging that calendar up. There have been more important things
on my mind.

‘Seems to be going OK,’ Dermot says, standing next to me with a pint of Guinness in his hand and surveying the room in front
of him, as I am.

‘It’s going more than OK, Dermot, and you know it.
Another success to add to your ever-growing list of achievements.’

Dermot turns towards me. ‘It’s not only down to me, Darcy.’

‘No, Roxi is doing a fantastic job of running the bar, too, as I knew she would.’

Dermot smiles. ‘I’m actually talking about you. You’ve got to take some credit for all this.’

‘Have I?’

‘Darcy,’ Dermot says, shaking his head. ‘It’s
you
that’s pulling all these people together, can’t you see that? You’ve taken a bunch of complete strangers and slowly turned
them into a tight-knit little community. Just look at them all gathered here tonight.’

I look again at everyone mixing together; young and old, male and female, all from very different backgrounds, yet all happy
in each other’s company.

Dermot carries on: ‘If I’d had my way, we’d have had a very different set of people here on Tara, and you know it. Yes, they
might have got the jobs done a lot quicker and with less aggro, but they’d have been a hell of a lot more boring to live with
after the work was done.’

I smile at Dermot. Was this his way of saying I was right about something, for once? If this was what a few pints did to him,
I’d have to make sure Roxi set up a tab for him and gave him his own stool and silver tankard to hang over the bar. I’m about
to thank him when I feel an arm drape around my shoulder.

‘
With or with or without you … Oh, oh … ’
Conor croons into my ear. ‘ …
I can’t live, with or without you!
There, will that do for some Irish music?’ He grins lopsidedly at me
.

‘Conor, that’s U2,’ I look at him wryly. ‘I don’t think that’s quite what Seamus has in mind, do you?’

Conor sways a little from side to side.

Blimey, how much alcohol has everyone put away in this bar tonight? I have some serious catching up to do!

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Dermot says, starting to edge away. ‘I can see you’ve got your hands full.’

‘Dermot, you really don’t have to—’ I begin.

‘Yes, Darcy, I really
do
.’ Dermot states clearly, walking over to where Caitlin is sitting at a table with Orla and Daniel.

‘What’s up with him?’ Conor asks, beginning to nuzzle my neck. ‘Has he been inhaling his glue gun again?’

‘Stop it,Conor,’I say, turning my attention away from Dermot and back to him. ‘Not here, OK?’ I manage to push him away from
my neck and drape his arm back around my shoulders again.

Conor, happy with this arrangement, relaxes. ‘So, my beautiful island princess, what can this handsome Irish prince do for
you
, tonight?’

‘Apparently we need music for this party to be successful,’ I tell him matter-of-factly. ‘So you can start by telling me how
we’re to provide that without us all taking a turn with my iPod.’

‘Hmm … that’s not
quite
what I had in mind,’ Conor says, his brow furrowed like one of those mimes who exaggerate their gestures. Then in the same
vein he lifts one finger in the air and then kisses the end of my nose. ‘Leave it with me, my princess in peril,’ he says,
tapping the side his nose with his finger now. Your knight in shining armour has a plan.’

I knew Mary’s room sets would come in handy one day. But I would never have guessed it would be Angry Seamus that
would benefit from them this time. Conor, with help from Aiden and Daniel, go over to Daniel’s house and collect all the musical
instruments they have in Daniel and Orla’s cottage. Arriving back at the pub with them, it’s none other than Seamus (no longer
angry once he starts producing music) who pounces on them and begins to play a series of traditional Irish tunes first on
the tin whistle, and then on the fiddle.

‘Who would have thought it?’ I remark to Eamon as I sit next to him, clapping along to Seamus’s tunes. There are even a few
people trying to have a dance in the tiny bar, while Paddy struggles to keep time with Seamus on the bodhrán drum. ‘All along
that Angry Seamus was capable of bringing so much joy to the human race. I’ll have to stop calling him “Angry” if he carries
on like this.’

Eamon smiles into his glass of whiskey before draining the last few drops of it dry. ‘Nothing surprises me any more, Darcy,’
he says, putting his empty glass back down on the table. ‘And especially not when people come here to Tara.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You’ll realise soon enough,’ he says mysteriously. ‘It’s already happening.’

‘What is?’

Eamon yawns now, and stretches. ‘Now it really is way past my bedtime. So I’m going to leave you young wans to it and say
goodnight.’

‘Eamon, you can’t go yet, the party’s just getting started. Can’t I persuade you to stay with another tot of whiskey?’ I ask,
holding up his glass. ‘It’s on the house.’

Eamon smiles again. ‘Ah, it’s a kind offer. But you’ll never make a profit like that, Darcy. No, you go and attend to your
other island folk. I think there are others that need your guiding light right now.’

Eamon glances in the direction of the bar, and I see a forlorn Caitlin gazing in Dermot’s direction.

‘Oh, I see.’ I wink at Eamon. ‘I’m on it.’

What can I do to help that situation along?

‘Kathleen,’ I ask, interrupting her vigorous jig to Seamus’s latest tune. I gently steer her away from the impromptu dance
floor for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you know any more formal Irish dances, do you? Ones that involve couples?’

Kathleen happily spends the next hour teaching us all some traditional Irish dances. Most of us, that is; I haven’t counted
on Dermot’s absolute stubbornness when it comes to placing his size twelve boots on a dance floor.

‘No,’ he says firmly, when I try to persuade him to partner Caitlin.

‘But why not?’ I ask, realising I haven’t figured on this slight technical hitch in my plan.

‘Because I don’t do dancing.’

‘But Caitlin needs a partner.’

‘Then let one of the other men partner her.’

I sigh. ‘Oh, Dermot, just for once stop being so damned awkward.’

‘Why?’

‘Just
because
, that’s why.’

But as hard as I try, Dermot will simply not set foot on the dance floor.

Stepping away from the dancing for a while, I stand at the side of the bar, thoughtfully sipping at my drink.

Roxi comes whizzing over to me from the dancing. ‘I
thought Irish dancing was just that Michael Parkinson bloke, but this is
wicked
!’ she pants, thirstily grabbing hold of her drink.

‘Rox, you mean Michael
Flatley
not Michael
Parkinson
! And aren’t you supposed to be serving behind the bar, not dancing the night away with the punters?’

‘It’s called customer relations, Darce, don’t you know anything?’ Roxi grins at me, ‘This is the best fun I’ve had in ages,
and I don’t just mean the dancing. The pub was a brilliant idea. I love it – thank you!’ She leans forward and gives me a
big hug.

‘And?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows as she releases me from her embrace.

‘What?’ She looks back at me innocently blinking her bright blue eyelashes. ‘Oh
that
.’

‘Yes, that. So when are you bringing my winnings over?’

‘Are you really sure you want to start that habit up again, Darce? Think of your figure.’ She looks me up and down teasingly.
‘A moment on the lips … ’

‘Just bring the chocolate over to my cottage, Roxi,’ I say in desperation. I really don’t need winding up any more tonight,
after Dermot. A nice smooth block of chocolate would go down just perfectly right now.

‘Ooh, Mrs Snappy, who’s been swimming in your lagoon that shouldn’t? You see, this is what happens when you try and wheel
and deal in banned substances. You can’t take the consequences.’

‘Roxi,’ I say, placing my hands on my hips, ‘I’m talking about a few bars of chocolate. It’s hardly an illegal drugs ring.’

‘You’d think it was, from the look of desperation on your face right now.’

‘It’s not just the chocolate.’ I glance over at Dermot, sitting sullenly sipping at his pint of Guinness in the corner.

‘Why, what’s up, honey?’

I tell her about Dermot, Caitlin and the dancing.

‘That’s because you’re going about it the wrong way,’ Roxi says knowingly. ‘Blokes like our Mr Cowell there don’t like being
pushed into something head on; they need to be gently cajoled into it so they don’t know what they’re actually doing until
they’re already doing it.’

‘Like what, for instance?’ I ask, my brow furrowed in concentration. How did Roxi always know so much about men?

‘Giving a nice gentle dinner party.’

‘But you know I can’t cook! We tried to have that breakfast meeting at mine the other morning, and I burnt all the sausages.
Conor had to scramble a load of eggs to save the day.’

‘Or even save your bacon!’ Roxi jokes with a flourish of her hands.

‘Roxi!’

Roxi shushes me with her hand. ‘All right, keep your ponytail in. Actually, Darce, I’ve been meaning to have words with you
about that hair of yours, you’ve been wearing it in that same style every day since you got here.’

I reach protectively for my hair. ‘I have not! I do vary it a bit. Besides, it’s always windy here, I have to keep it tied
back.’

Roxi purses her lips. ‘What, indoors as well? You don’t see my hair tied up with a bit of elastic, do you?’

I look at Roxi’s mane of black hair clipped up on one side with a bright orange flower. ‘No, but … Look, we’re not supposed
to be talking hairdressing now, we’re supposed to be talking dinner parties. Just how do you propose me of all people
is going to cook an appetising and glamorous meal here, on a remote island in the middle of the sea?’