Breakfast at Darcy's (8 page)

‘I think it was a rabbit.’ Niall peers into the bush where the creature has just disappeared.

‘Living out here?’ I exclaim, immediately thinking of the cute, fluffy little bunnies you see in pet shops. ‘Poor things.’

Dermot snorts. ‘Actually they
can
manage to look after themselves outside of a hutch! That’s unless a fox decides it wants rabbit stew for dinner. Anyway I
don’t think that was a rabbit, it was too big and too fast; it was probably a hare.’

I eye Dermot for a moment, but decide not to respond. I need him on side right now, because for all his brusqueness he’s turning
out to be worth his weight in gold for practical information as we walk around the island.

‘Right then,’ Dermot demands, as we stop at some derelict buildings that Niall informs us were once islanders’ cottages. ‘Where
do you think you’ll live while you’re here, Darcy?’

‘Er … ’

‘If you intend on rebuilding one of these cottages, it won’t be that hard to set you up a power and water supply for one person.
In fact, it’s quite simple. You—’

‘Wait.’ I stop him. I look at Niall. ‘Niall wasn’t quite telling you the truth when he told you that I need to equip the island
for only me to come and live here.’

I turn back to Dermot.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘He wasn’t?’

‘No, but he wasn’t exactly lying, either,’ I add hurriedly when Dermot glares at Niall. Dermot is such a huge chap, and
I hope he isn’t a violent one too. ‘And you really have been so helpful this morning, Dermot, that it seems only fair I tell
you the
real
reason we’re all here today.’

Dermot glances nervously around him, as though half a dozen cameras are suddenly going to spring up out of the undergrowth.
Happy for the moment that Ant and Dec aren’t about to leap from behind a rock clasping microphones and informing him he’s
going out live on ITV1, he turns his full attention to me while I try to explain to him as quickly as I can the truth about
why I’m really here.

When I’m finished, Dermot eyes me suspiciously.

‘She’s telling the truth, Dermot,’ Niall says, hurrying forward to back me up. ‘I’m her solicitor.’

I smile at Niall. So he’s
my
solicitor as well, now?

Dermot, happy for the time being that he’s not the butt of some national practical joke, eyes the two of us warily. ‘That
makes a bit more sense to me now. You don’t look like the type of woman that chooses to come and live somewhere like this
of her own accord.’

I’m not sure whether to be pleased or offended by his comment.

‘What makes you say that?’

Dermot stares pointedly at my UGG boots, which I have to say after our walk around the island are now looking quite the worse
for wear. Even though we’d stuck mainly to the paths, it had been a lot muddier than I’d anticipated and now, instead of the
lovely caramel colour they started out this morning, they resemble more of a dirty chocolate with extra grass stain detailing
that doesn’t usually come as standard on UGGs.

Thank goodness I hadn’t worn one of my best pairs!

‘Yes, well, perhaps I did underestimate how wet it might be underfoot, but that doesn’t affect whether I go ahead and eventually
come and live here.’

So just what sort of shoes
do
you wear here, then, if UGGs aren’t any good? Oh – I saw some nice designer wellies on Net-a-Porter the other day. But I couldn’t
wear them every day for a whole year …

‘So why
have
you brought me here today?’ Dermot asks, interrupting my shoe dilemma. He’s beginning to look irritated now, and is standing
with his arms folded across his incredibly wide chest.

Quickly I debate whether to try a technique I’ve seen Roxi put to good use many a time with men. It had worked on Niall in
the pub, but Niall is a bit different to Dermot.

‘Niall suggested your many skills and vast knowledge of the building trade would mean you are just the right person to help
me make a final decision on whether I definitely want to come here or not.’ I smile up at him in what I hope is a coy manner.
‘With all your technical expertise, you’re obviously a man of many talents, Dermot.’ Again, just like with Niall I stop at
fluttering my eyelashes. Roxi seems able to get away with it, but she’s Roxi.

A pair of astute dark eyes watch me for a few seconds before their owner decides to reply. ‘Flattery, Miss McCall, will get
you precisely nowhere with me. However, you have correctly recognised that yes, I do have a certain amount of expertise in
this field. Now I suggest you start by telling me
exactly
what it is you propose to do here on this island,
if
you choose to stay, and then I can begin to get a better idea of the project as a whole, and start to advise you appropriately.’

Dermot and I discuss my aunt’s requests. He wants to know things like how I’d like to run water and power supplies to the
island, and how I’d like to house people once they’re over here. And he asks the all-important question: just how much money
I’ve got to spend on the project.

Isn’t that what you’re here for, to help me answer all these sorts of things?
I think as I try to give intelligent-sounding responses to his questions. It soon becomes apparent to Dermot that he’s pretty
much wasting his time when he’s in the middle of explaining to Niall and me in great detail how simple the process of getting
water to any future dwellings on the island would be. His mistake is in beginning his explanation by using the word ‘physics’,
which like maths is a no-go area for me, and my mind quickly begins to wander.

‘ … So it all works by gravity,’ Dermot explains. ‘Rainwater collects up in a lake in the mountains over there, then runs
down off the side through in-cuts that the original islanders would have made. ‘Can you see it, Darcy?’

I look up to where he’s pointing, and in the distance see a thin trickle of water twisting and turning down the hill. ‘Oh,
yes.’

‘So what you would do is simply intercept the water at the lake before it runs down the hill using pipes of reducing sizes
to aid the gravity flow, and make the pressure of the water strong enough for everyday use.’

I think I’m supposed to be impressed by Dermot’s explanation.

‘We can actually have things like running water and heat, then, if we rebuild these old cottages that were here before?’

Dermot stares at me for a moment, then addresses his next
remark to Niall. ‘Haven’t I just stood here and explained all that to the two of you?’

‘Yes, yes you have, Dermot, and if I may say so, very thoroughly and in
great
detail.’ Niall gives me a little nudge with his elbow.

‘Sorry, Dermot,’ I apologise. ‘I don’t think I’m really cut out for the technical side of things, as you so rightly pointed
out a few minutes ago.’

Dermot nods in agreement. ‘Yes, indeed. Look, perhaps you’d best just go and pay your last respects before it’s time to head
back.’ He gestures to the backpack on my shoulders, which contains the urn. ‘Will you be all right on your own, or do you
want one of us to come with you?’

‘That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine, thanks. You stay here with Niall; he’ll be much better at answering your questions
than me.’

Because of the weather, we’ve stayed mostly inland on our walking tour of the island, but now as I leave Niall and Dermot
and walk further out towards the headland I see that, inexplicably, Conor was right. The sun has now escaped from its cloudy
prison and shines brightly down onto the grass and rocks around me, warming not only the colours of the landscape, but my
feelings towards it too. Breathing in the fresh sea air, which I have to admit does make quite a nice change from the heavy
pollution of the city, I pick up a narrow coastal path that weaves its way along the edge of Glentara Island.

Now what was it Conor had said the locals called it? Ah yes, just Tara
.

After a while, I pause briefly to take a look out over the clear unobscured view that the sun is now allowing me. From this
side of the island I can no longer see the mainland, or any other land for that matter. Only a vast, never-ending sea constantly
rolling its huge waves in towards Tara’s giant craggy rock faces, which then in turn buffet them right back out to sea again,
like a rhythmical game of wet tennis. The crowd is made up of a flock of noisy gulls who hover above, waiting for a stray
ball, or more likely fish, to be thrown up out of the waves.

I turn around to take another look at the island behind me. We’ve managed to explore enough of it this morning even for me
to recognise that although the island may seem lonely and abandoned at first sight, it’s exceptionally beautiful too. But
to live here for a whole year … now that is another thing entirely. I know from what Niall’s explained to me that Molly’s
provided a generous budget to set the island up with decent housing and basic amenities; I haven’t exactly got to camp in
a tent and cook over an open fire while I’m here, and even if I don’t last a whole year on the island I’m not obliged to pay
any of that initial money back to the estate. But I’m so used to living in a city where there are people and mobile phones
and the internet. In London, everything is right on your doorstep when you want it. What will I do when I want to pop out
for a manicure, or a Krispy Kreme doughnut?

I shake my head. No, this is not the time for that now. I’ve got more important things to attend to. Turning back to face
out to sea again, I shrug my Nike rucksack loose from my shoulders and carefully unzip the main compartment. Then gently I
remove the little wooden casket that I have been carrying with me since we left the mainland.

When Niall said he had my aunt’s ashes in his office with him, I’d imagined a huge black urn sitting on his desk like you
see in the movies. But when he’d presented it to me today, it was just a plain wooden box. Apparently it was my aunt’s request;
she wanted something that would simply biodegrade back into the natural habitat, and the wood that was used to make the box
had to be from a sustainable forest.

‘You certainly knew just what you wanted, Aunt Molly,’ I say out loud, the words barely out of my mouth before they’re whisked
away by the wind and immediately carried out to sea. ‘And not just about this, either.’

‘That she certainly did,’ I hear a voice reply. The shock of which almost makes me follow my words down the cliff and into
the sea below.

‘Whoa, steady there,’ the voice says again, and I feel a strong hand on my arm pulling me away from the cliff edge.

Spinning around, I see a pair of cornflower-blue eyes, set deep within a weather-beaten face, gazing back steadily into my
own wide eyes.

‘Thanks,’ I free myself from his grip and stand back to face him properly. ‘So, you knew my aunt?’

Now the man has moved a little further away from me, I notice that unlike me he is dressed in faded neutral clothes that blend
well with the colours of the land. This is in complete contrast with my attempt at island chic – True Religion skinny jeans,
a white DKNY hoody, silver Nike puffa jacket and my now mud-stained UGG boots.

‘Yes, I knew her. A fine lady, so she was. I had no idea what had happened until I got her letter the other day.’

‘Letter?’ I’m intrigued by this. ‘What letter?’

The man rummages inside the pocket of his tweedy jacket and pulls out two crumpled sheets of paper. ‘A Mr Niall
Kearney sent it to me.’ He squints at the top of the first page. ‘No glasses on me,’ he explains. ‘It says she requested I
be sent this letter when she passed on.’ He pauses to cross himself. ‘Unfortunately I didn’t receive it until I got all my
other mail and provisions last week. I get everything late over here, see? Otherwise I’d have made the effort to come across
to pay my last respects.’

‘Of course,’ I nod, wondering what else my aunt had said in the letter. She seemed to have been very organised before she
died.

‘I’m guessing you must be Darcy.’

‘Yes, that’s right, and you must be Eamon.’ I feel a bit awkward standing there as he appears to inspect me. Maybe the silver
jacket was a bit much. But it hadn’t seemed like it in the shop. I’d bought it to go skiing – well, technically I wasn’t actually
going skiing this year, but you never know: I might get offered the chance.

‘That’s me, Eamon Murphy.’ He moves his battered old walking stick to his left hand and holds out his right for me to shake.
‘I look after Tara. Your aunt said in her letter you’d probably be over for a visit.’

‘Did she?’ I ask, shaking his rough, bony hand.

My aunt seemed to have been able to predict an awful lot. I wonder how much Eamon knows about everything else, though? Niall
mentioned she’d employed this Eamon for a number of years to take care of the island, but it seems now they may have been
more like friends.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Eamon asks, nodding at the wooden box still clasped tightly in my hands.

‘It is, yes.’

‘Do you mind if I stay? Pay my last respects to Molly now, since I wasn’t at the funeral?’

‘Of course, Eamon, please do.’

Eamon steps back a few paces, removes his cap and smooths down his white hair.

Rather clumsily, I turn and look back out to sea. I hold out the box in front of me, trying desperately to think of what to
say. But I’ve never done anything like this before, and having Eamon looking over my shoulder really isn’t helping much either.

I turn back to him. ‘Do you have anything you’d like to say, Eamon? It’s just I’m not really very good at this sort of thing.’

‘Neither am I,’ he says, shuffling back closer to the cliff edge.

‘Don’t you know some sort of Irish send-off, perhaps – like a blessing?’

Eamon thinks for a moment. ‘I know some traditional toasts, but you really need a bottle of the “little green man” for those
to work.’

‘Little green man?’

‘That’d be a bottle of Jameson’s whiskey to you. You know, they’re drinking toasts.’

‘Oh, I see. Are any of them appropriate?’