The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  He shrugged. ‘Either way, I don’t want to be the third wheel.’

  ‘How can you say that? You know you’re not. I love you and Mam loves you too for that matter. She’d be heartbroken if she were privy to this conversation.’

  Kevin licked his bottom lip. ‘Bronagh, I’ve said my piece. It’s how I feel. I won’t change my mind and there’s something else.’

  ‘What?’ Jaysus Christ what more could there possibly be?

  ‘I gave notice at work today. I’m moving back to Donegal. There’s a job opening for me there. I miss my family and there’s no chance of you ever moving there with me. So, you see, it’s easier to part ways now.’ He shrugged again.

  Fury at the way things had spiralled out of her control ripped through her and she stood up spitting out, ‘Well go then. Good riddance,’ before she walked away from him quickly, not wanting him to see the tears that were blinding her. She needed to get home to her mam.

  Chapter 38

  Present

  The door to the guesthouse opened five minutes before Bronagh was due to head home and, looking up from where she’d been tidying her day’s work away, she registered one of two things. An enormous box and a familiar face. She watched as the unexpected guest who was doing his best to balance the box with one hand and his case in the other beamed at her. She blinked rapidly because she’d already decided she must be seeing things. Surely she’d conjured him up because it couldn’t be, but when she heard the apparition speak in a Liverpudlian brogue with a dash of Irish, she knew this dapper vision was real.

  ‘Hello, Bronagh, I couldn’t wait until September to try the carrot cake. It’s far too far away, so here I am.’

  Bronagh, mouth agape, put down the papers she’d been about to clip into a folder and got to her feet, her brain shuffling to arrange a coherent sentence. ‘Leonard? What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve brought my annual visit to my fair city forward.’

  ‘But I never saw your booking.’ Bronagh was still agog, not registering what he was telling her.

  ‘Will you let me put this down, woman?’ He moved toward her, the box beginning to wobble precariously in his tenuous grasp.

  ‘Of course. Here.’ She hastily swept aside the folder, stapler and diary to make room on her desk and Leonard heaved a sigh of relief, placing the box safely down.

  ‘That’s better. Who’d have thought there’d be so much weight in it?’ He doffed his hat at her, then taking it off kept it in his hand by his side as he smiled appreciatively. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Bronagh. It’s lovely to see you again.’

  Bronagh’s gaze flitted from him to the box and back again. Her mind was buzzing and she wasn’t making sense of what he was saying. He’d come all this way to try the carrot cake? The man was mad.

  He read her expression. ‘I’m not mad. I wanted to surprise you and I can tell I’ve succeeded.’ He looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

  ‘You have.’

  ‘A good surprise, I hope.’

  ‘It depends on whether it’s a carrot cake you’ve got in that box there.’

  ‘But of course it is, and there’s been a change of plan. I know I said I’d take you to Cherry on Top and treat you to a slice along with a cup of coffee but we’ve plenty of time over the next fortnight to do that. Besides, a whole cake has got to be better than a wedge and I thought your mum would appreciate trying a piece for herself.’

  Bronagh’s heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. Fancy him thinking of her mam, like that. She realised he’d said he was here for a fortnight. ‘But where are you staying, and what about Bessie? I’ve not seen any booking for you here.’ She opened her reservation folder and scanned the day’s bookings. His name was definitely not there. She’d hate to disappoint him if he’d come over on a whim because they had a full house tonight.

  ‘Well you won’t find me registered under my name because that would’ve given away the surprise. I think you’ll find my usual room has been booked under the name of Harry Bradshaw. He’s looking after Bessie for me and she’ll be spoiled rotten if I know Harry.’

  ‘And who’s Harry Bradshaw when he’s at home?’

  ‘My bowls partner.’

  ‘Aha.’ She’d grown fond of Bessie even though she’d never met Leonard’s dog. She was pleased she was being well looked after. And does your sister know you’ve come to see her or is she in for a surprise too?’

  ‘It’s not my sister I’ve come to see.’

  Bronagh flushed, feeling giddy as Leonard held his gaze steady with hers. He looked so handsome in his gentlemanly suit and tie.

  Aisling broke the spell. ‘Mr Walsh,’ she clapped her hands delightedly. ‘How wonderful to see you again. I didn’t know you were coming! Bronagh, I never saw the booking? You should have told me one of my favourite guests was coming.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have seen the booking because he used an alias. And if I’d known, I would have told you. He’s brought cake.’

  ‘An alias?’ Aisling was puzzled as to what was going on. She did like the sound of cake though.

  Leonard stepped in, not offering an explanation as he said, ‘I hear congratulations are in order, Aisling.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a married woman, so I am. To Quinn from Quinn’s bistro on Baggot Street.’

  ‘I know the place. He’s a fine chef your husband. I’ve dined there many a time and enjoyed the hearty fare. It’s food served just as it should be. In fact, I’ve a booking there tonight for two.’

  ‘Oh, are you taking your sister? I’ll be sure to tell Quinn to keep an eye out for you to say hello.’

  ‘No, not my sister. I’m hoping Bronagh will agree to joining me.’

  Bronagh went puce as Aisling’s raised-eyebrow gaze settled on her. O’Mara’s receptionist had some explaining to do.

  ‘We’ve been writing to one another, haven’t we, Leonard,’ she offered up.

  ‘We have and the high spot of my week those letters from you have become too, Bronagh. It began when she sent me a Christmas card this Christmas just been. It was a lovely surprise and I sent Bronagh a card in return and the letters just fell in to place from there,’ Leonard explained to Aisling.

  Bronagh frowned. Hang on a minute. That wasn’t right. ‘No, Leonard, it was you sent me the Christmas card first.’

  They both turned their bewildered expressions on Aisling who had a sheepish air about her as she looked everywhere but at them.

  ‘It was you sent the card,’ Leonard said and then he chortled and shook his head. ‘Well, I never. I suppose I should say thank you.’

  ‘It’s a guesthouse you’re after running not the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival,’ Bronagh muttered but she couldn’t be mad. Look what had happened since.

  ‘Will I still be allowed a piece of cake?’ Aisling asked, looking from one to the other.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Bronagh said.

  ‘You didn’t say whether you were free to join me tonight for dinner, Bronagh,’ Leonard said, looking at her with hopeful expectancy.

  She ignored Aisling mouthing ‘say yes’ as she pondered what she could organise for her mam’s tea if she wasn’t going to be home. Then, she pulled herself up sharply. She’d not make the same mistake twice. Mam would be fine. She was perfectly capable of doing herself something simple. Sure, there was nothing wrong with egg on toast now and again. ‘I’d like that very much, Leonard,’ she said sensing she’d just said yes to more than dinner. She’d said yes to a different, and brighter future than the one she’d thought lay in store for her. There was plenty of time to ponder what might be on the road ahead for her and Leonard Walsh, though. For now, it was time for a slice of carrot cake.

  Book 8, The Guesthouse on the Green Series

  The O’Mara’s in LaLa Land

  Release date: 30 August 2020

  Pre-Order here: https://books2read.com/u/bW12e1

  Hi! I hope you enjoyed The Guesthouse on the Green stories and that they mad
e you smile, or even better laugh out loud. If you did then leaving a short review on Amazon to say so would be wonderful and so appreciated. You can keep up to date with my book news via my newsletter (I promise not to bombard you!): http://tiny.cc/0r27az As a thank you receive an O’Mara women’s Character Profile

  Read on for an excerpt from The Promise

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  From the Amazon bestseller a British backpacker and a dying woman’s last words lead you on an unforgettable journey in this World War ll love story ...

  Isabel and Constance are not just from different generations they’re polar opposites. One’s a lost soul unsure where she fits in the world while the other’s cantankerous and living in a care home. Their paths might never have crossed were it not for a pivotal moment and a promise made that changed the direction of Isabel’s, life and brought her to the Isle of Wight. Together she and Constance form a tight bond based on a mutual need for friendship.

  In keeping her promise though, will the opening up of Constance’s old wounds break those bonds? Or, will Isabel finally find a place to call home?

  The Promise

  By Michelle Vernal

  The Beginning

  Isabel’s heart felt as though it would jump right out of her T-shirt as she crouched down beside the mangled car—later she would realise it was down to adrenalin. Now though she leaned in through the window and managed to cradle the elderly woman’s head with her left hand leaving her right hand free to stroke the sparse floss of hair. She was careful to avoid the gaping wound from where the blood ran free. The woman’s breath was faint and jagged, while Isabel’s came in short puffs. She felt as though she’d fallen into a nightmare.

  Less than a minute ago she’d been staring out the passenger window of the two-berth Jucy van she was sharing with her friend and travelling companion, Helena. Her mind absorbing and trying to imprint the beauty of the backdrop the Southern Alps provided against the rushing waters of the turquoise river they were crossing.

  New Zealand had lived up to its hype, she’d been thinking, spotting the now familiar sight of a hawk soaring low in search of something to eat. It was amazing how much diverse scenery could be packaged up inside such a small country. In just four weeks, they’d seen volcanos, boiling mud geysers, rainforests, a glacier, fjords, mountains, rivers, and beaches to die for but the highlight for Isabel had been the sperm whale in Kaikoura. It had risen out of the water as though to say hello as she leaned over the railing of the whale watch boat, she’d been blown away by its size and grace. That moment was one she would never forget.

  Yes, she was so pleased that she hadn’t flown straight home from Australia when her work visa was up like so many of her fellow Brits. They were missing out by not coming here she’d mused as the hawk swooped.

  She’d met Helena who hailed from Freyburg in Germany through the pub where she was working in Melbourne’s hot spot of St Kilda. It had been while clearing tables and tallying up tips that the two girls had hatched the plan to spend a month traversing New Zealand before heading back to their respective countries. What a trip it had been, she’d thought rubbing her temples which were tender after last night’s efforts at Pog Mahone’s in Queenstown. Helena might have looked like butter wouldn’t melt with her big brown eyes and sensible short haircut but she was naughty, and they’d had a right laugh together. They’d not had a moment's snippiness either, which was quite amazing given their close living quarters.

  Imagine Dragons was playing on the stereo and Isabel's fingers had been tapping out the beat to “Radioactive” on her thighs. It was hard to imagine that in just over a fortnight she’d be back home in Southampton. Mind you it would be nice to have Mum fussing over her. She couldn’t wait to have a hug and catch up on all the news properly. There was something about Skype that made her mum behave like a giggly teenager. It was the way she twiddled with her hair and her eyes kept flitting to her image in the corner. Her dad said she’d never been any different—a show-off in front of a camera who was born before her time. In the age of the selfie, she’d have been up there with the Kardashian clan.

  Ahead, the road was a black twisty snake beneath the bright blue South Island sky. There was such a sense of freedom doing a roadie she’d thought, as Helena handled the camper around the corner with the expertise of someone who’d been driving it for the best part of the last month. She was thinking that one day she’d like to do a trip like this down Route 66 in the States, and that was when Isabel spied the car. It was still too far away to register what had happened, but she understood instantly that it was not good.

  As Helena slowed and they drew closer, she saw the little hatchback had folded itself around a telegraph pole. The crumpled bonnet was still steaming like an alien ship that had crash landed.

  ‘Shit!’ It had obviously just happened, and Isabel wasn’t sure if she’d sworn out loud or if it had been Helena.

  Her friend braked and veered the camper over to the grass verge.

  Isabel’s hand hovered over the handle in readiness for the van to stop. ‘You ring 111 and get help. I’ll see what I can do.’ She jumped down from the camper van a beat later, racing over to the car hoping for the best but petrified of what she might find.

  Now, here she was, willing this poor old woman to be all right. She should not die like this; it would not be fair! To have lived this long and to die in the arms of a stranger on the side of an open road in the middle of nowhere was not how it should end. Isabel was no doctor, but it was obvious the woman was too old to survive the shock let alone her injuries. She watched as the woman’s eyes, weighted down by crepe paper lids, fluttered before drifting and locking on hers. That her irises were the same piercing blue as the sky Isabel had been admiring only moments ago, she vaguely acknowledged as she continued to whisper her soothing platitudes.

  The woman was trying to summon the strength to speak, a herculean task given the twisted groaning metal wedged against her chest from the impact.

  ‘Shush now, you’ll be fine. Help’s on its way.’

  ‘Wanted to go back to Wight—Tell Constance I’m sorry. Was wrong—should never have left—too late, too late. Tell her for me—’

  Her voice held the traces of an accent, almost forgotten it had lived elsewhere so long, but it was one which Isabel recognised as being from her part of the world. The woman’s eyes fought to hold on to hers. She knew that she would not let go until she answered her and so she found herself nodding. ‘I will; I’ll tell Constance.’

  ‘Promise.’ The lips formed the words, but the breath behind them was faint.

  ‘I promise.’

  A smile flickered then the light behind those bright blue eyes clouded over, and then she was gone.

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