Page 53 of The Secret Bookshop in Ireland

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Ciara said, as she looked around. ‘And it’s a grand evening. But what is it that has you looking so perturbed?’

TWENTY-SIX

‘What’s the matter?’ Ciara asked.

‘I read Martha’s letter to you again and realised that she never actually said that Jarlath O’Toole was the father of Madge’s child. It was hinted at but never confirmed. In fact, I have a feeling that Madge never told her sister who the father was.’

‘Oh.’ Ciara thought for a moment. ‘I see. You might be right. Martha never said in so many words that Jarlath was Madge’s lover. So it could have been someone else.’

‘I’m glad we didn’t say anything to Oisín and Liz,’ Maureen remarked. ‘He must have been talking about another girl that was involved with Jarlath.’

‘Or it really was him, but Madge didn’t want anyone to know,’ Ciara cut in.

‘We don’t know that either,’ Maureen argued. ‘It could have been anyone.’

‘I don’t think it really matters,’ Ciara said after a moment’s reflection. ‘Not to me anyway. I’m glad I found out that Madge was my grandmother. She seems to have been such a strong woman. But that’s enough for me.’

‘Me too,’ Maureen declared. ‘So now we can move on and get the bookshop ready to launch. I’ve already contacted my friend at Revenue and got ourselves a VAT number and registered the company in your name. I hope you don’t mind me doing it without asking you first.’

‘Of course not,’ Ciara said, smiling at her mother. ‘I’m happy not to have to deal with all the paperwork.’

‘I’ve also spoken to a print firm so we can make flyers to hand out at the tea party in a few weeks. The one at the vicarage, I mean.’

‘I’d forgotten about that,’ Ciara said. ‘Good idea, Ma. We’ll put some images together. And you know what? I’ve thought of a name for the bookshop. We can call it the Brian Boru Bookshop and have an Irish wolfhound as our logo. What do you think?’

Maureen nodded. ‘Excellent idea. Very catchy and intriguing. Better than the old name, I think.’

‘Yes, the Book Nook was a bit old-fashioned.’ Ciara got up. ‘I’d better go and get that dinner I promised you before they close. I’ll unload the van when I get back.’

‘Thank you,’ Maureen said, leaning back. ‘I’ll just sit here for a bit and enjoy the birdsong. It’s so peaceful here when the workmen have left.’

‘Okay. See you later. Brian, you stay here and keep Ma company,’ she said to the dog, who lifted his head and then lay back again, his eyes closed. Ciara laughed. ‘He knows he’s come home,’ she said. ‘Bye for now.’

‘Bye,’ Maureen mumbled, looking as if she was about to nod off. Ciara left, feeling for the first time content at being settled at last and knowing she didn’t have to go anywhere if she didn’t want to.Strange, she thought as she drove down the road,Cherrywood really feels like home now. Maybe this is where I was meant to be all along.

Two weeks later, they were getting ready to go to the tea party at the vicarage. The bookshop was nearly ready to open, all the paperwork done, the shop painted and a large supply of books ordered. There were only a few things to get done before they could open, like a new stove in the reading corner and the garden furniture to be put in place. They had, with Oisín’s help, designed the flyers and also ordered a new sign to put up above the shop window. Ciara had calculated that they could open at the end of the following month. She hadn’t heard from Ronan since that fateful day at Powerscourt, but she had tried to put her feelings for him out of her mind and concentrate on the shop and her new home. No use getting upset about a relationship that was doomed from the start, she told herself.

‘How do I look?’ Maureen asked, coming into Ciara’s room.

Ciara smiled at her mother, who looked so youthful and slim in her jacket and skirt, her greying dark hair perfect, her make-up discreet. ‘You look lovely, Ma. I’m so proud of you.’

‘And I’m just as proud of my darling daughter,’ Maureen said fondly. ‘So let’s go and spread the word about our new adventure.’

‘You’re such a trooper,’ Ciara said, smiling at her mother, still so feisty and energetic.

‘What other option do we have in life?’ Maureen asked as she led the way down the stairs when they had settled Brian on his cushion in the living room. ‘We can’t give up when the chips are down. Not that they are right now, but I’ve been there. I found Martha’s letter very moving. She seems to have been a very strong woman, someone who was good at counting her blessings. So we should honour her memory and do her proud.’

‘Yes, Ma,’ Ciara said as they stepped into the sunlit street. ‘We should.’ She linked arms with Maureen and they walked up the village street towards the vicarage, each in their own thoughts but united in their goal. And now they would face thepeople in this village that seemed so quiet but hid so many different life stories behind the crumbling façades.

Olivia Wilson looked like the epitome of the well-groomed member of the horsey set. Dressed in a tailored blue dress, shoes with sturdy heels, her dark red hair in a tight knot, she was like a polished version of Queen Elizabeth in younger days. Seconds after they rang the bell, she flung open the front door and looked at them for a moment before she spoke. ‘Hello,’ she said and smiled politely. ‘You must be Ciara and Maureen Doyle.’

‘We are,’ Maureen agreed, staring at the woman before them.

‘Wonderful.’ Olivia stepped back. ‘I’m Olivia. You’re very welcome. But please come in. Everyone is already here.’

‘Thank you,’ Maureen said as they stepped into a hall with dark wood panelling and a tiled floor. The room smelled musty, as if the house had only been opened recently after the cold winter.

‘You’d better hurry into the drawing room if you want sausage rolls or cucumber sandwiches. Nobody seems to have seen food for a week,’ Olivia said in an exaggerated Anglo-Irish accent. ‘Follow me,’ she continued and proceeded to march across the hall to an open door in the far wall through which could be heard a murmur of many voices.