by Maggie Finn
‘So let’s do it,’ he said, pushing himself up. He felt that muffled black quilt all around him again; maybe he was coming down with something.
‘Seriously? You want to do it?’ said Caroline, that girlish excitement in her smile again.
‘Of course,’ said Sean. ‘How else are we going to pay for the offices in Paris and Rio and Timbuktu?’
Caroline let out a whoop and threw her arms around him.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said.
‘Sure Sis,’ said Sean. He only wished he felt as excited as her.
Chapter Nine
Molly didn’t go to the pub much. For one thing, she got up before dawn, so late nights weren’t exactly her thing, and almost everyone she’d want to see came through the café at least once a day, so she kept up on all the gossip. But Molly had to admit this was nice, sitting in Connor’s bar, surrounded by all her friends: Raff playing the fiddle, Ryan on the Mandolin, most of the bar swaying and singing along to their slightly out-of-tune rendition of ‘The Black Velvet Band’.
With the singing and the clapping and the golden light bouncing off the walls, it was warm and inclusive. Given many of the village families had lived in Clover Cove for five generations or more and Molly was from Dublin, that made her an outsider, but she’d never felt that way in the Cove. She was Irish too, she supposed, but Dublin might as well have been on the moon for all that meant.
‘So you threw him out?’ said Tessa, leaning in her eyes wide. ‘The surfer? You actually kicked him out?’
Molly nodded. ‘And I might have shouted at him too.’
Kate took a sharp intake of breath.
‘And you say he’s good-looking?’
‘Totally gorgeous. In a wetsuit. Well, half out of it, actually.’
Her friends both groaned and Molly gave a rueful smile. It was good to have girlfriends to share her dating woes with – not that she’d spoken more than a dozen words to the surfer, let alone been on a date. Molly had been lucky: she had bonded with Tessa on her first day in the Cove when she had wandered into Tessa’s studio and admired her paintings. Tessa was an outsider too, being English and one of the few single woman in the village. Well, she had been single, thought Molly. Tess had recently begun seeing Danny Brennan, the local writer. Molly watched as her Tessa glanced over at Danny, who was standing in the group by the bar. I hope someone looks at me like that one day, she thought.
‘So do you think he’ll come back?’ asked Kate. ‘The surfer, I mean.’
Kate O’Riordan was a new friend, having only recently come across from glamorous New York. She too had found love in handsome Connor James, the pub’s landlord. Which of course made Molly the odd one out, the only single girl in the group. Not that she begrudged her friends their happiness, but sometimes Molly wondered if she had done something wrong in a previous life.
‘I doubt I’ll ever see him again,’ said Molly, almost to herself. ‘What if he’s the one?’
‘And him in a wetsuit…’ said Tessa.
Molly groaned and put her head in her hands. ‘And I don’t even know how to find him to apologize. He was just trying to help. Well, I think he was.’
‘Yes, what was he doing there so early?’ said Kate. ‘I mean, I know he’s a surfer, but you hadn’t opened yet, right?’
‘Oh no,’ gasped Molly. ‘You don’t think he…? Oh no!’
In all the chaos, she hadn’t really thought it through – and now she felt sick. Molly looked at her friends with wide eyes.
‘He said… ‘I just came to ask you something.’
‘I knew it!’ said Tessa, grasping Molly’s arm with excitement, ‘He was going to ask you out!’
Molly pressed both hands over her mouth. ‘Nooo… I’m such an eejit.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Tessa. ‘You are.’
‘Looks that way,’ said Kate. She took a thoughtful sip of her drink. ‘But if he regularly surfs in the Cove, he must be local.’
Tessa laughed and nodded toward the bar.
‘If he was local, he’d be here.’
Molly looked up, suddenly nervous. Not because she was worried about the surfer walking in, but because it looked as if the whole village was in tonight – and most of them were here for her. Well, in a roundabout way. The moment Molly had told Kate about Mr Bower and her looming financial woes, her friend had clicked into business mode, or ‘Project Save Molly’s Café’ as she had called it. One night over tea and Molly’s crumpets, the three girls had brainstormed, dreaming up all kinds of schemes from cookery courses to mobilising the local kids to sell Molly’s cupcakes door-to-door ‘like Girl Scouts do with cookies’.
But as they’d talked it through, it had become clear that the real problem wasn’t Molly’s Café, it was the fact not enough people were coming into Clover Cove. And that made it a shared problem that the village needed to tackle together.
Just then Molly noticed a hush fall over the bar and she saw tha Connor had risen to his feet. Anyone else would have clapped their hands or tapped a glass, but Connor James simply drew the eye. He was one of those people who just commanded attention. It was partly his brooding good looks, but mainly you just wanted to listen to what he had to say. Molly had, of course, noticed Connor when she had arrived in Clover Cove – you could barely miss him, it was like having Heathcliff in your midst – but he had seemed far too closed off and, if she was honest, a little intimidating. It wasn’t until Kate arrived that he suddenly seemed to open up. Lucky Kate.
‘Alright,’ said Connor, ‘So this is an informal village meeting to discuss what we can do moving forward.’
There were murmurs of agreement and Connor turned toward Danny Brennan, the newspaper reporter.
‘Danny, what’s the state of play with Ross Oil?’
‘Well, since I’m now a lowly freelancer at the Examiner,’ he said, standing up, ‘And since Kate is no longer an employee at Ross Oil, I don’t have a direct line to the Ross management, but the feeling on the ground is that Ross are still keen to use Clover Cove as a site of some kind. They don’t like, well…’
‘What?’
He looked over at Kate.
‘They don’t like – quote – “a load of hillbillies” getting the better of them.’
There was uproar and shouts of ‘down with the Yanks!’ followed by mutters of ‘Sorry Kate, not you.’
Connor silenced them with a meaningful look.
‘So what does that mean?’ he said.
Danny shrugged. ‘I spoke to a couple of contacts and the rumour in New York is that they’re “thinking laterally”. Maybe trying to find a way around the church, maybe changing the way they approach the problem.’
There was rumbling, which was to be expected. The village was still divided over whether Ross Oil coming to Clover Cove was a good thing; Molly herself had to admit she was torn. On a personal level she agreed that it would change the unique character of the village, but with her business owner hat on, she recognized that it would bring many new visitors to the area. Visitors with hungry appetites and cash to spend, which was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
‘Okay, okay,’ said Connor, calming them down again. ‘I don’t want to get into the debate over whether the Oil Project is a good thing. Right now, as far as we know, it’s not happening, so we need to look at ways we can bring more people to the village.’
‘So you can sell more beer, eh?’
‘Yes Mikey, obviously.’
‘Thought so.’
‘Okay, ideas?’
‘What about boats?’ said Raff.
‘Boats? Like fishing trips? You tried that, remember?’
‘No, I mean lots of boats, like the Dingle Regatta. They have thousands of people pouring in every year to watch the races and all that. It’s a big festival.’
Connor nodded.
‘Well, we do have a harbor. Do we have the capacity for thousands?’
‘They don’t need to stay, it could be a one-day thing,’ said Raf
f. ‘I once saw a skiff competition at Dunleary. The pubs were packed all weekend.’
‘Not a bad idea. When would we do it?’
‘Summer’s best for a festival,’ said Orla.
‘Better weather,’ said Raff, with an air of authority, ‘But good weather’s bad for sailing.’
‘How about a folk festival?’ said Tessa, ‘You know, like music?’
‘We’ve only the one venue,’ said Connor. ‘Although could we do it in the square?’
Molly watched and listened as they debated ideas, volunteering catering for various ventures as they arose. A theater, a soccer tournament, a movie festival. They were all good ideas, but they all suffered from the same dichotomy. They were a small village, so they wanted more people to come, but as they were a small village, their infrastructure would struggle to cope. More cars required more car parking, more bodies required more hotel rooms, bigger events – Mikey suggested Elton John ‘or that wee girl Dolly Parton’ – required a bigger venue, not to mention other practicalities such as more toilet facilities, road access, even insurance. With each objection, Molly could feel the energy leaving the room. And besides, virtually everything suggested was a long way off – a Christmas service, Easter egg hunt. Molly needed something that would bring in customers before the end of the month.
Finally, Ryan stood up.
‘Why don’t we talk about the elephant in the room?’ he said. ‘Isn’t the answer to all this to invite the Ross people back?’
‘Ryan,’ said Connor with a warning tone.
‘No, seriously, we wouldn’t need to come up with all these lame ideas if we just said yes to their project. And I dare say the church would suddenly change their mind if the whole village was united on it.’
‘But we are united, brother.’
Ryan shook his head.
‘You and Kate might be united. But even Kate thought the Ross Oil project was a great idea for the village a few weeks ago. Until her boyfriend dumped her.’
The bar exploded with noise; shouting, insults, Connor trying to take a swing at his brother, Raff and Mikey holding him back, Orla shouting that she wanted to go to Easter Island.
‘Quiet!’ The word was out of Molly’s mouth before she could stop it.
The room fell silent and all eyes turned toward her.
‘Can’t you all just be quiet?’ she said, unnecessarily. She swallowed, not enjoying the attention, but she had the floor and her mother had taught her that once you had people listening, you had to speak your mind.
‘Listen, Kate is my friend,’ she said, reluctantly standing. ‘Kate came here with the intention of digging up Clover Cove, turning it into a power station, but she fell in love with the place – and with all of you, not that you deserve it.’
They all gaped at her.
‘Molly, it’s okay,’ began Kate softly.
‘No Kate, it’s not. You gave up your career to do what you thought was right for the village. Now maybe Ryan doesn’t agree and I’m sure there’s others who’d go along with him, but don’t take it out on Kate. She’s a good woman and you should be ashamed of yourselves.’
‘I didn’t mean…’ said Ryan, but Connor raised a hand to silence him.
‘I came here two years ago,’ continued Molly, ‘And knew I straight away that I had found my home. But now I’m at the end of my rope. I’ve run out of money and if I don’t make my next mortgage payment, the bank is going to foreclose on the café. I want to stay, but to do that I need customers, more customers than the village can provide.’
She looked around at the bar.
‘And it’s not just me, is it? We’re all in the same boat, we all need more people coming through. The pub, the shop, Tessa’s studio, we all need visitors. But I need something to happen soon, or I’ll lose the café and I’ll lose my home. I know none of that’s your problem, but Clover Cove does need to do something and soon.’
There was a long silence.
‘No Molly, it is our problem,’ said Ryan finally. ‘Your café, I mean. If we can’t make food as good as yours work, we’re all doomed.’
There was polite laughter and murmurs of ‘hear, hear!’
‘And I’m sorry, Kate,’ he added. ‘I don’t mean to put you down – or Kate – but I just want to do something.’
‘It’s okay, I understand,’ said Kate, squeezing Ryan’s arm affectionately.
‘But listen guys,’ said Ryan, ‘I know a lot of you don’t want to hear it, but Ross Oil is the only solution.’
He held up both hands to head off the objections.
‘Even if we could arrange Raff’s Regatta…’
‘That’s a cracking name, actually!’ shouted Raff, jumping from his seat.
Ryan glared at him and the fisherman sat down.
‘Even if we could arrange some festival within the next three weeks, Molly might make her mortgage payment, but the bank’s not going to change their mind about supporting her business – or anyone else’s. The only thing that’s going to make them rethink is something big like Ross Oil coming here.’
‘Look, Brother,’ began Connor angrily, but Kate put a hand on his arm.
‘He’s right actually,’ she said, ‘Unless we can think of a way to permanently divert the tourists from Killarney and the Cliffs of Moher…’
‘Blow up the bypass?’ shouted Mikey.
‘…the only thing that will persuade the banks it’s worth investing in Clover Cove is something radical like a giant American corporation relocating to the village.’
Silence fell on the bar.
‘I’m sorry, Molly,’ said Connor, ‘I think we’ve let you down.’
‘No!’ shouted Raff, ‘We’re Irish, we don’t give up. We’ll fight!’
The room descended into uproar again. The same arguments going back and forth, with ever more outlandish ideas being suggested. Exhausted and shaken, Molly slipped out the side door. She stood in the square, looking up at the creamy half-moon casting thin shadows behind the church tower. It was beautiful, still. The hardest part of all this was that Molly loved the Cove, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. If at that moment a handsome prince had clip-clopped into the square on his white steed and declared undying love for her, Molly would have turned him down unless he was prepared to settle right here, in this magical little patch of Ireland.
She loved the café, she loved making cakes and bread and all the rest, but Molly knew it was the idea of leaving Clover Cove she hated. And the idea of Clover Cove changing. That too.
‘Mol?’
She turned to see Raff standing in the doorway.
‘Are you alright?’
She smiled.
‘Thanks Raff, I’m fine. Everyone’s trying their best in there, it’s just…well, Ryan’s probably right, isn’t he? It’s not just the café that’s in danger, it’s the whole village.’
The big fisherman walked over and put a brotherly arm around her shoulders.
‘Listen Molly, I’ve a few Euro stashed away; how much do you need exactly?’
She looked up at him.
‘Thousands, Raff.’
‘Ah. Well, perhaps I could do something with my boat. I mean, it’s mortgaged up the wazoo, but we could maybe refinance it long enough to get you out of trouble.’
Molly turned and gave him a squeeze.
‘Raff, you are the sweetest man, but even if you were a millionaire, I couldn’t take your money. My mam…’
‘Oh, she’s a fine woman,’ said Raff warmly.
‘…mam always taught me that I should stand on my own two feet. So if I stumble, then that’s something I’ll work out myself.’
Raff clasped her arm.
‘But you’re not alone, Molly Maguire.’
Molly grinned.
‘Oh that I know, you’ve all made that very clear.’ She could feel the tears filling her eyes. ‘It’s funny, but this has actually been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Sure, maybe I’ll lose the café
, but it’s shown me how much my friends care. Everyone in the village has been so amazing.’
Raff nodded, thinking.
‘Sure, and there must be something we can do.’
Molly flapped her arms uselessly at her sides.
‘But what, Raff?’
‘How about we keep it simple and have a fair?’
‘Raff…’
‘No, seriously, hear me out. Back when Con’s da ran the pub, we used to have a church fair in the square every year and it was a big old thing. I’d take people out on the boat, there’d be a puppet show for the kiddies, all that craic. The pumps always ran dry; Father Ray hated it.’
He smiled at the memory.
‘And Kate’s probably right, whatever we do, it won’t make Clover Cove the number one tourist destination in West Ireland, but it’s a start. We could have the café as the center of it all, drive everyone down to try your cakes – once they’ve tasted them, they’re bound to come back.’ He gave a heart-hearted shrug. ‘It might buy us all some time anyway.’
Molly looked at him, then nodded.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Yes what?’ frowned the fisherman.
‘Yes, let’s do it. But we’ll call it a “feast” instead of a “fair”.’
‘That’s the spirit!’
Molly nodded, her excitement growing.
‘Because you’re right Raff, we don’t really have anything to lose. Or I don’t, anyway. And we can’t just lay down and die.’
Raff grinned. ‘Your ma will be proud.’
He gave her another bear hug, then set off across the square toward the church with a purposeful stride.
‘Where are you going?’ she laughed.
‘Oh, I’m going to wake up Father Dec. See if he can remember where we put the bunting.’
Chapter Ten
Sean loved surfing, but even the most zen surfie would struggle to convince you that taking off a wetsuit was the best part of it. He yanked it down over his hips, peeling the neoprene away from his legs, hopping on one foot until it finally pulled free. And then, once it was off you had to do this… Eww. Sean grimaced as he thrust his hand into the empty leg of his suit, grabbing the cuff and pulling it right-way-out. It was like ramming your hand into a wet sausage; a sausage filled with sand. Still, he thought as he dumped the suit into a sandy tub he kept in the back of the van, it’s better than putting it on.
