by Maggie Finn
But it wasn’t just Nic. Eliza was burnt out, exhausted. She had been doing the same job for seven years and while it had many things she still enjoyed – the collaboration with authors, the creativity of building brands and careers – she increasingly felt as if she was spinning around the same track, passing the same landmarks, ticking the same boxes. She was stuck, that was how it felt. Just like yesterday with one foot in that rabbit hole; and Eliza didn’t feel she had the strength to pull herself free.
But how could anyone be having gloomy thoughts on a day like today, thought Eliza with a grin. She pushed her hands into her pockets and ambled across the square, skirting the puddles and turning to watch the seagulls squawking at each other from a nearby rooftop. You had to count your blessings, that’s what Eliza’s Dad had always said. And here in Clover Cove she felt blessed. She didn’t know anyone, she was thousands of miles from her family and friends, but it felt good. She felt as she were a flower unfurling and turning her face to the sun.
On the far side of the square, at right angles to the post office and hairdressers, there was another little line of shops. She turned in that direction, keen to take a look at the bookstore Danny Brennan had mentioned, maybe even meet the owner who ‘knew everything about books’. The store was easy to spot because there was a carved wooden model of an open book above the door. Original, thought Eliza, with a wry smile. ‘The Font Bookshop’, read the sign, but the windows were so dirty, Eliza couldn’t see whether there was a window display – or even if it was open. ‘Here goes nothing’, she muttered, a bell tinkling as she pushed through the door. Halfway through the door, anyway: Eliza immediately found her way blocked by a waist-high pile of cardboard boxes filled with books. In fact, there were books everywhere, in open boxes to her left and right, stacked like standing stones, each one leaning against the next. The bookshelves running along every wall were crammed with books and yet more books jammed into every possible space – face-in, spine out, end-on-end, wherever they would go. And right in the center was a wooden desk with an old-fashioned grey steel manual till; that was all Eliza could see because the rest of it was swamped by yet more teetering piles of books.
‘Is that you, Danny?’ called a voice, coming from somewhere behind the desk.
‘No, erm, it’s me. Eliza Carlisle,’ she replied, stepping around the crates and inside the shop. ‘I’m just a customer.’
Suddenly a head appeared above the till. A woman with blonde curly hair and thick-framed spectacles perched on the end of her nose.
‘Here, catch a hold of this,’ she said, flicking a length of bright red Christmas tinsel towards Eliza. Not knowing what else to do, Eliza caught it.
‘Now can you hook it onto the nail just behind you, over by the door?’ asked the woman, now balancing precariously on top of the desk, holding the other end of the tinsel.
‘This one here?’ said Eliza dubiously.
‘Aye, that’s the fella. Soon have the decorations finished. One of my favorite parts of the season this, with all the lights and the streamers and such. Don’t you just love Christmas?’
The woman jumped down, clapping the dust from her hands before thrusting one towards Eliza.
‘Moira McCallum,’ she beamed, ‘Welcome to Font Books – Eliza was it? You’ll be the other American then? I heard about the rumpus in the square from Noah.’
Eliza winced. ‘It wasn’t the best way to arrive. But Noah’s been very kind.’
‘Has he now?’ said Moira with a smirk.
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ said Eliza quickly. ‘Professionally, I mean.’
‘Right you are. See, I’ve known Noah Moyes since we were knee-high. I love him like a brother, but he’s not one given to passionate outbursts.’ She peered at Eliza over the top of her spectacles. ‘Not most of the time anyway. I got the feeling he’s sweet on someone.’
Eliza felt mildly uncomfortable under the girl’s gaze and tried to deflect her with a question. ‘You said “the other American?” There are two of us?’
‘Not met Kate O’Riordan yet?’ said the redhead. ‘She’s courting Connor James, the landlord of the hotel across the square. She was with Ross Oil. Not anymore, though – all very dramatic.’
This was all delivered as if it was common knowledge that anyone should know.
‘Um, I haven’t been to the pub yet,’ said Eliza, ‘Do they do food?’
‘Not a drinker then?’
Eliza pointed a thumb at herself.
‘Californian. We only drink wheat grass.’
Moira laughed. ‘Don’t think that’ll catch on here. But then I said the same thing about Cappuccinos, so what do I know?’
‘So is the Ross Oil thing not happening then? I read about it before I came.’
‘Who can say?’ sighed Moira, turning to sort through yet another box of books. ‘All I can tell you is that no one has offered us a million euro for this place. If they did we’d snap their hand off. Well, if it was up to me I would.’
‘You want to leave?’ asked Eliza, surprised.
‘Not so much that, more that… well, you’re the first customer we’ve had in three days.’
‘Ah. That’s a real shame.’
‘So it is. But now you’re here, are you looking for something in particular?’
Eliza looked around and laughed.
‘Could you find it if I did?’
‘It may look a little messy, but there’s a system. Of a sort…’
Moira gave a sheepish shrug. ‘Not many people come in looking for specific books, that’s true, but I want to be ready when they do.’ She tilted her head, as if considering the clutter for the first time. ‘Is it too much?’
Eliza smiled. ‘It’s a little… overwhelming.’
Moira nodded, looking around. ‘Fair point. I suppose I’ve let it slide a bit. My main work is out there, you see.’ She pointed towards the door.
‘In the square?’
‘No, the county. I run the local mobile library. I have a little blue van I drive out to the more remote villages, lending them books, running book groups. If I didn’t go, I doubt anyone would read anything this side of Galway. Ah, but I love it, getting out there and helping folks.’
‘Wow, that’s…’
‘Dumb? Thankless?’
‘I was going to say amazing, actually. I work in publishing – over in the States – and I’ve never heard of such a thing, not in the city anyway.’
‘Ach, it can be a grind dragging out to places like Bathshea and Peadown Bridge, especially if there’s snow, but when you see some farmer’s face when you hand over the new Lee Child? That’s grand.’
She put her hands on her hips and blew a lock of hair away from her face.
‘Truth is, I’d rather be out there full-time, but someone’s got to run this place too. And you’re right: it could do with a tidy.’
Eliza picked up a book from a nearby box: a copy of I Capture The Castle. ‘Wow, this is a first edition,’ she said, ‘Don’t often see them with the light blue dust-jacket in such good condition. You know, if you need a little help sorting the books…’
The words were coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. Wasn’t she supposed to be relaxing? When Eliza looked up, Moira was regarding her with interest.
‘You know about books?’
‘A little, I guess.’
Moira picked up a book from the nearest pile. ‘Georgette Heyer – first book?’
‘Well, my knowledge is more about the business of publishing; sales, distribution, that sort of thing…’
‘Ah so, shame that it is,’ said Moira, putting the book down.
‘The Black Moth, 1921,’ said Eliza.
Moira looked at her appreciatively. ‘Nice. Well how about this…’ She pulled a hard back from a box. ‘The Hunger Games, what’s the name of the place Katniss lives?’
‘You mean District 11?’
‘Wow, okay: Bertie Wooster’s newt-loving friend?’
‘Gussie Fink-Nottle.’
‘The name of the ship captained by Ahab?’
‘Pequod. That’s easy.’
‘Easy, huh? Well this for the prize: name the sexiest leading man in literature.’
Eliza laughed. ‘That’s impossible!’
‘Is it though?’
She thought for a moment. Heathcliff? Too obvious. Sergeant Troy? Too flawed.
‘Rupert Campbell-Black,’ she said impulsively.
‘Good enough. Here you go.’
Moira pulled a hand from her pocket and handed Eliza a bunch of keys.
‘What are these for?’ she said, taken aback.
‘The shop, of course. I’ve got to drive up to Ballymanor to deliver a box of bodice-rippers to the ladies’ knitting circle.’
‘But… you want me to look after the shop?’ she held the keys out, shaking her head. ‘I’m just here on vacation.’
‘Then you’re getting a taste of the real Ireland, aren’t you?’ said Moira, weaving around the boxes and heading for the door. ‘It’s like one of those immersive art projects.’
‘But…’ stuttered Eliza, still not sure if Moira was serious. ‘I don’t have a clue what to do!’
‘As you say, have a bit of a tidy,’ said Moira, the bell pinging as she opened the door. ‘Put up some more decorations if you fancy it: there’s a box of baubles behind the desk. And don’t worry, you’re not likely to have anyone come in.’
‘Well, what if they do?’
Moira smiled.
‘Charge them slightly less than you think they want to pay. That way we both come out happy.’
‘Moira, I can’t…’
She flipped her hair to one side, tying it up.
‘Did you have a pressing appointment?’
‘Well, no, but…’
‘Then I’ll see you in an hour. Maybe two.’
When Moira was gone, Eliza stood there staring at the door. She had her own bookstore. And she began to laugh.
Chapter Seven
Ham Farm looked beautiful in the soft morning light. Bumping the patrol car along a pitted track between fields of wheat, Noah scared up a quartet of crows that flapped, complaining into a nearby oak. Noah remembered reading that the human eye could distinguish more shades of green than any other color – something to do with our hunter-gatherer ancestors needing to see in the forest – but there were surely more shades of green in Ireland than anywhere else and if that were true, Garvey’s farm had most of them, framed against a royal blue sky scuffed with white. Smiling to himself, Noah turned through a stand of trees and immediately caught the smell of woodsmoke through his open window. Almost immediately, the car was surrounded by barking dogs.
I’m in the right place then, thought Noah, as he rolled through into the next field. A dozen caravans and trailers were arranged in a loose horseshoe shape across the field, but Noah knew exactly where to head: the beautiful red and gold vardo, the traditional Romany wagon pulled by a horse. Sumptuously decorated with red and gold paint, it was instantly recognizable the focal point of this little community: Queenie’s palace.
Noah waited in the car – it was a sign of respect, plus he didn’t want his uniform trousers being shredded by mongrels. After a few minutes, a burly man with a beard opened the door of the pretty wagon and, meeting Noah’s eye, simply nodded. It appeared his audience with the Queen was approved. The man gave a sharp whistle and the yapping dogs immediately turned and ran back into the woods.
Noah put on his cap and buttoned his tunic, walking to the foot of the caravan’s stairs.
‘So it’s yourself, Guard Moyes,’ called a woman’s voice from inside. Smoky, but with a hint of amusement. ‘Do we have business?’
‘That’s for you to say Ma’am,’ replied Noah, ‘I’d just like to ask a few questions if I may.’
There was a pause while the bearded man glared at Noah from the top of the steps.
‘Come on in,’ called the voice finally. ‘I’ve just boiled the kettle.’
Noah climbed the steps, brushing past the burly man who reluctantly moved away. Removing his cap, Noah ducked under a fringed curtain and stepped inside. His eyes opened wide. While it was certainly a thing of beauty, the grand exterior of the caravan gave no hint of the treasures within. The interior was like a Victorian sitting room in miniature, rich with velvet and polished wood, everything intricately painted, lavished with gold scrolls and tiny cherubs. There was even a full fireplace and mantle with glazed tiles to match the sleek upholstery.
‘Please Guard,’ said Queenie, gesturing to a bench filled with plump silk cushions. ‘Sit and tell me what’s on your mind.’
Noah sat and watched as the woman busied herself with the tea. She perfectly fit into this grand setting. Lean and elegant, she wore a flowing bottle-green gown picked out with tiny yellow butterflies, her thick black hair held away from her long neck by a maroon scarf, bangles softly jangling as her hands moved. Noah thanked her as she handed him a delicate bone china cup and saucer and poured him a cup of tea, fragrant with scents of flowers and cinnamon.
Queenie sipped her own and regarded Noah with a slightly raised eyebrow. Noah had the unsettling feeling that the woman already knew everything he was about to say.
‘There have been a number of break-ins in the area, Queenie,’ he began, quickly holding up a hand. ‘Now I do not believe the Hares had anything to do with it, but…’
‘There are many who will,’ said Queenie, finishing his sentence. She nodded. ‘We’re used to prejudice, Guard. Even in these enlightened times, people still look at traveling folk as if they are pirates or bandits, ready to steal their cattle or their children. We’re the boogeyman, aren’t we? “If you don’t eat your greens, the gypsies will come.”’
She smiled. ‘Of course, the European Union’s Charter of Fundamental Rights has made it an offence to discriminate on the grounds of race, color, ethnic origin or belief. And I’d expect you are keen to uphold those laws, aren’t you Guard?’
‘That I am,’ said Noah, suppressing his own smile. ‘In fact I’m very keen that no crime of any kind is committed in Kiln County before the Christmas procession up to the chapel.’
‘The procession? Why then?’
Noah set his cup down.
‘Because without the Hares, Queenie, the procession just won’t be the same. In fact, Christmas just won’t be the same without you around – you know that as well as I do, you’re part of the festive tradition. But you also know that people get jumpy when you camp here.’
Queenie shrugged.
‘Sure, and I can’t do anything about that.’
‘Actually, I think you can. First of all, you can make sure that your people are on their best behavior.’
‘They always are.’
‘Of course, but especially so up until Christmas – dogs on a lead, five miles an hour under the speed limit, please and thank you in the shops, all that.’
‘A charm offensive you mean?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And what else?’
Noah smiled.
‘No one has their ear to the ground as much as you, Queenie. The Hares are out and about, they see things.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Someone is breaking into houses, so my best guess is it’s someone over from Galway, maybe even the North. Somebody must have seen something.’
Queenie barked out a harsh laugh.
‘You want us to do your work for you, is that it Guard? The Hares working for the po-lice?’ She drew out the last word, filling it with distain. Noah wasn’t offended: the travelers were outsiders, they handled their own problems and had a natural distrust of the authorities. It wasn’t personal.
‘Look, I know you have principles and rules to abide by and I respect that. But there’s only one of me – and at this time of year, I’m stretched thin enough. If we can catch the real burglars, then it works for me and it works for you too.’
Queenie l
ooked skeptical.
‘Well, at least think it over?’
She shrugged. ‘Sure, I can do that.’
Nodding, Noah finished his tea and went to stand, but Queenie laid a gentle hand on his knee.
‘Not so fast, Noah Moyes. There’s more business we have yet.’
She took Noah’s right hand and turned it palm-up.
‘Let’s see what’s in the stars for you,’ she said, peering down at the lines criss-crossing his skin, tracing them with a polished nail.
‘Ah so, a long life-line you have,’ she murmured. ‘But there’s an island here.’ She pointed between Noah’s thumb and forefinger. ‘That means an illness or an accident.’
Noah looked at her in alarm, but Queenie smiled. ‘Relax, that’s the early part, your younger self. Did you spend any time in hospital as a boy?’
Noah thought. ‘I had my appendix out?’
Queenie simply nodded and looked down again. ‘Hmm…’ She mused, turning his hand back and forth, squinting closer.
‘Your head line’s very close to your heart at the end here,’ she said, pointing.
‘Is that good?’
‘Sure, means you’re good with people – that’s obvious. But you’d be better if you relied more on friends. Trust, Guard. That’s what you struggle with.’
She flashed him a grin and Noah squirmed.
‘But this heart line…’ Queenie shook her head and tutted.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘It ends between the Mount of Jupiter and Saturn, d’you see?’ All Noah could see was a swirl of lines and creases.
‘That’s bad is it?’
‘Oh no, just the opposite. It indicates true love is coming.’
She examined his face. ‘What age are you, Guard?’ she asked, then before he could answer smiled. ‘Right about now, your fate line is crossing your heart line.’
