The Summer of Serendipity: The magical feel good perfect holiday read

by Ali McNamara

  ‘Hey,’ Finn says, standing back to let me in. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘Come through,’ he waves me in with a strangely formal gesture. ‘I’ve prepared some lunch for us in the kitchen.’

  ‘Lovely.’ I pat Fergus, and then follow Finn through to the kitchen, where he has laid on quite the lunchtime spread. On the kitchen table, on top of a red gingham cloth, there’s a chunky loaf of homemade bread on a breadboard, various meats, cheeses, salad and some fruit in a bowl.

  ‘You didn’t need to go to all this trouble,’ I say, looking at the table. ‘I’m not even that hungry.’ Well, only for you, I feel like saying, but I hold my tongue. Finn seems on edge, nervous even. Not like himself at all.

  ‘Neither am I,’ he says, focusing on rearranging one of the kitchen chairs that’s already perfectly aligned with the table.

  I move towards him, assuming he isn’t hungry for the same reason I am. But instead of stepping forward to meet me, Finn dodges further around the table.

  ‘OK, what’s up?’ I ask. ‘You’re being all . . . weird.’

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ Finn asks.

  ‘No, I’d like to find out why you’re being so odd with me.’

  Finn swallows hard. ‘OK . . . about last night,’ he begins without looking at me, and I notice Fergus retreat to his bed in the corner of the room.

  ‘I know, it was a bit awkward being caught like that. But if we’re careful, no one need see us again.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Finn says, looking at me now. ‘No one can see us again.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said—’

  ‘No, Ren, you’re not listening. What happened last night can’t and won’t be happening ever again.’

  I stare at him for a moment. ‘You’re not just talking about us being seen, are you?’ I say quietly. My heart, which had been so light and carefree a few moments ago, suddenly feels incredibly heavy in my chest.

  Finn shakes his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Ren, I can’t take the risk. Fraternising with hotel guests is simply not tolerated. If Dermot or Darcy found out, I could lose my job.’

  ‘What if I moved out of the hotel? Found a B&B somewhere – would that make a difference?’

  ‘I can’t ask you to do that, Ren.’

  ‘You could if you wanted to,’ I reply, seeing exactly where this is going. ‘If you were that bothered about me, you would.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Finn says, moving towards me. ‘You know I care, it’s—’

  ‘Oh really?’ I interrupt, backing away angrily. ‘You care about me that much you have to make up a bunch of lies to get rid of me?’

  ‘They’re not lies. I’m telling the truth . . . about the hotel.’

  Finn does seem genuinely upset, but my usual empathy is blinded by my anger at yet another man letting me down. ‘If it is the truth, then why would you encourage Kiki and Eddie to be together, hmm? I never noticed you chastising Eddie for fraternising with hotel guests!’

  ‘Eddie’s different.’

  ‘Why is he?’

  ‘He’s not the manager, for one thing.’ Finn swallows hard and looks down at the tiled kitchen floor. Even he seems to realise this is a feeble excuse.

  ‘Is that the best you can do? Couldn’t you at least show me a bit of respect, Finn, and tell me the truth instead of making up silly excuses that insult my intelligence.’

  ‘I’m not making up excuses. The Stag has rules about fraternising with guests – that’s the truth. Do you want me to march across to the hotel right now and bring you back the staff manual to prove it?’

  Finn is obviously annoyed now, and as I stare at him I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. I bite hard on it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says in a gentler voice. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’

  I nod, accepting his apology, for this anyway. ‘What if, just for one moment, I believe you are telling me the truth?’ I ask, now I’ve steadied myself again, ‘and you’re not allowed to fraternise with guests—’

  Finn opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand to stop him speaking.

  ‘—If that is true, what happened to the Finn that doesn’t give a toss about rules? The Finn who won’t wear a suit and tie when everyone else does, the Finn that shoots off to the stables to see the horses when he’s supposed to be working? There are rules about those things too, Finn, yet you break them quite happily on a daily basis.’

  Finn’s head drops, and I see his mouth open as if he’s going to speak, but nothing comes out so he closes it again.

  ‘You see, that’s where I have a problem with all this,’ I continue when he doesn’t. ‘You’re quite happy to break the rules when it suits you. But you’re not happy to break them for me.’

  With my heavy heart pounding so hard I think it might burst out of my chest and bounce out of the door in front of me, I turn away from him. Without saying another word, I leave the kitchen, leave the house, and leave the hope that was Finn Cassidy well and truly behind me.

  Thirty-One

  I reach the bottom of the path that leads from the cottage, and I look both ways. From here I could either go back to the hotel, or in the direction of the stables.

  Given the state I’m in, I really don’t want to go back to the hotel. Plus, if Finn should decide to come after me, surely that’s the way he would choose.

  So I run towards the stables; animals have always soothed me in my times of trouble in the past, perhaps the horses will today.

  I berate myself as I run: ‘Why would Finn even think to come after you, stupid?’ I tell myself between breaths. ‘He’s not interested, is he? The sooner you get used to that, the better.’

  By the time I reach the stables, my heart is pounding. Partly from the running, something I never do unless I have to, and partly from the pain that’s coursing through it. I walk as calmly as I can into the stable yard; there doesn’t seem to be anyone about so I approach one of the stalls. Alfie, the black pony I’d patted a few days ago, hangs his head over the gate.

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you,’ I tell him, reaching out to stroke his nose. ‘Will this do?’

  Alfie seems quite happy with the compromise, and he nuzzles into my hand as I stroke it rhythmically along the white flash that runs down the centre of his nose.

  ‘Why do I do it, eh, Alfie?’ I ask him. ‘Why do I even bother opening up my heart, only for it to get trampled on every time?’

  Alfie doesn’t seem to have an answer for me, but as I’d hoped, simply being this close to an animal, especially one as magnificent as Alfie, is having a soothing effect on me.

  ‘People always let you down,’ I continue. ‘I should stick with animals. You know where you are with them.’

  ‘You’ll be giving this horse a severe case of depression if you carry on like that!’

  I jump at the sound of a voice, and then jump again as a head pops up behind Alfie.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Mac,’ I say with relief as he pats Alfie and pulls a cover over his back.

  ‘Did you think we had a talking horse here then?’ Mac grins. ‘I’d be fair minted if I had.’

  ‘No . . . I didn’t see you, that’s all.’ I look down at the ground in embarrassment. Mac must have heard everything I said to Alfie.

  ‘I like to keep my hand in,’ Mac says, holding up a grooming brush. He hobbles to the front of the stall, and retrieves his stick. ‘And Alfie here has always been one of my favourites.’

  He reaches into his pocket and holds out his hand so Alfie can nuzzle a treat from it. Then he opens the stable door and lets himself out.

  ‘Now what are you doing here today, young lady, pouring out your woes to my horses?’

  I shrug. ‘Oh, nothing. I fancied a walk, and I find the horses very soothing.’

  ‘They are that,’ Mac agrees, patting Alfie. ‘Now who is it that’s let a fine lady such as yourself down, eh? Shall I go and sort him out for you?’ Mac pretends to shadow box,
balancing precariously on his good leg.

  I have to smile.

  ‘There now, that’s better,’ he says, putting his stick back down on the ground. ‘A face as pretty as yours should always be smiling. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m just going into my office to make one.’

  I’m touched by his kindness. ‘Yes please, that would be lovely.’

  We walk across the stable yard towards Mac’s office. It’s situated the other side of the tack room, which smells all leathery and warm as we walk past it. The office is a messy, yet cosy room with an old-fashioned feel about it. There’s a large wooden desk covered in papers, with mugs holding pencils and pens scattered haphazardly across the top. On one wall there’s a large cork board with papers and leaflets pinned to it; the other three walls are covered in framed photos, both old black-and-white prints and colour.

  Mac gestures to an antique wooden swivel chair. While I go over and sit down on it, Mac busies himself at a filing cabinet on which his tea-making equipment resides.

  ‘I need to go and refill this kettle,’ he says, opening the lid and taking a look inside. ‘We get through a lot of tea here. Be right back.’

  While Mac is gone, I study the photos on the walls. Practically all of them are horse-related: horses in their stalls, horses being ridden, people standing next to horses . . . I’m scanning from one to the next when I spot someone familiar.

  I get up to take a closer look. Sure enough, it’s a much younger-looking Finn, standing proudly next to a racehorse that looks like it’s just finished a race. Finn is holding the horse’s bridle with one hand, and in the other he clutches a large silver cup.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve spotted the young Mr Cassidy,’ Mac says, coming back into the room, his kettle now full. He plugs the kettle in and turns to me. ‘That was a proud day, so it was.’

  ‘Does Finn own the horse in the photo?’ I ask, still staring at it.

  ‘He did back then. Celtic Cassidy was a fine horse, so she was. Finn won plenty with her.’

  ‘Was he in some sort of syndicate?’ I knew owning a racehorse was an expensive pastime, and I didn’t think Finn would have had that sort of money to spare.

  ‘Nope, he owned her outright. Doted on that horse, he did, until she had to be put down.’

  ‘Oh no, why?’

  ‘She fell and damaged her hip very badly. The vet said it was the kindest thing to do.’

  ‘Finn must have been devastated.’

  ‘Sure was,’ Mac says, turning back to the boiling kettle. He pops a couple of teabags in a brown china teapot then pours boiling water over them. ‘I reckon losing that horse was the straw that broke the camel’s back.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The thing that finally pushed him over the edge.’

  I look blankly at Mac.

  ‘Oh, you don’t know? There was me thinking he’d have told you, with you two being’ – he entwines two fingers – ‘like that.’

  ‘I can assure you we are definitely not like that,’ I tell him, mimicking his fingers. ‘Much more like this.’ I hold my hands a long way apart. ‘Why would you even think that?’

  ‘News spreads fast in that hotel,’ he says knowingly. ‘And the first place it spreads to is here.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Mac decides the tea has stewed long enough and begins pouring it into two mugs. ‘Milk, sugar?’ he asks.

  ‘A little milk and two sugars, please,’ I say. ‘And nothing has happened.’

  Mac lifts the two mugs from the filing cabinet and passes me one. Then he sits down in the chair behind the desk and takes a sip from his own mug. ‘If nothing has happened, why were you pouring your heart out to Alfie?’

  I sigh. ‘Finn’s not interested in me, that’s why. I thought he was, but he’s not. End of.’ I take a drink from my mug, and the hot sweet tea feels soothing as it warms my throat.

  ‘I highly doubt that,’ Mac says. ‘I could tell he liked you the first time I saw you two together.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t now. He told me so just . . . ’ I check my watch, ‘twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘What did he say exactly?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Mac silently raises his eyebrows, and takes another sip from his mug.

  ‘OK, he said he couldn’t risk anyone finding out about us because of his job. Apparently, hotel management are not allowed to fraternise with hotel guests.’

  ‘Sounds fair.’

  ‘Fair! How is it fair to lead someone on, only to let them down?’

  ‘No, that’s not fair at all,’ Mac says calmly. ‘But maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe his feelings for you got the better of him, and he allowed himself to slip.’

  I think about this.

  ‘Finn is a bit of an enigma around these parts. No one knows too much about him. He keeps himself to himself, and builds a wall around his private life so no one can get in.’

  That sounded familiar . . .

  ‘He’s a grand manager for the hotel, everyone respects him and his decisions, but no one ever knows what’s going on in here.’ Mac puts his hand to his chest. ‘That’s the bit he protects the most.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Things that happened to him in the past. He doesn’t want them to affect what he’s doing now.’

  ‘What sort of things? You mentioned before about some sort of breakdown?’

  ‘I didn’t quite say that. It’s not really for me to say, is it? It should be Finn who tells you, if he wants to.’

  I drink some more of my tea. Finn never told me too much before, when I thought he was interested in me, so he’s hardly likely to tell me anything now. And why should I care either way, after what happened this morning?

  ‘So, let’s talk about something else,’ Mac says. ‘How’s your search for the owner of The Welcome House coming along?’

  ‘You were right about that, Mac. They really don’t want to be found. I’ve decided to give up on it.’

  ‘Oh, you surprise me. I thought you had more tenacity than that.’

  ‘But you said yourself, people have tried and failed for years to discover who’s looking after the place. Why should I be any different?’

  ‘Because you are, Ren. You are different.’

  I look at him across the desk. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Father Duffy,’ I say lightly.

  Mac places his empty mug firmly down on the desk in front of him. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Father Duffy is a fine priest and an even finer judge of character. What else has he been saying to you?’

  I tell Mac what Father Duffy told me this morning, toning down the ‘red-haired crusader’ part.

  ‘He might be right, you know,’ Mac says, not seeming in the slightest bit surprised by talk of magic and monks.

  ‘Right about there being more illuminated pages, or right about me being the one to find them?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Remember when you told me about your boat trip to Rafferty Island? I said to you at the time: if you’ve taken a boat trip with Jackie, there must be a reason for it.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Here’s your reason.’

  ‘To find some old manuscripts?’

  ‘It may be as simple as that, or there may be a much wider picture you’re not seeing yet.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Life moves in mysterious ways, Ren. No doubt Father Duffy would say God, but I’m not quite the believer he is, not when it comes to one all-seeing, all-knowing being. I’m a horses man and I like to hedge my bets a little.’

  I smile at him. ‘So you think I should investigate these missing pages?’

  ‘I think you should not only do that, but that you should keep looking for this mystery owner too.’

  ‘Really? But I thought you were against me finding him?’

  ‘Or her,’ Mac corrects me. ‘No, I’m not against it. I was only warning
you that no one had ever been successful. But maybe you, Ren, will succeed where they failed. In fact, I’d bet on it.’

  Thirty-Two

  I leave the stables feeling like a different person to the one that arrived there a short while ago.

  I’d been right about the horses soothing me, but what I hadn’t counted on was what a difference Mac’s words would make.

  I’ve decided that I will investigate these missing pages. Father Duffy’s talk of Celtic connections to Northumberland has stirred up memories of my grandfather. He was a fount of knowledge when it came to Celtic history, and as a child I’d sit spellbound as he told how our family had descended from the Celts, and how we should always be proud of that. He’d actually lived on Holy Island, and when I was little I used to love biking across the causeway at low tide to visit him. Even as an adult, driving over in the car, Holy Island – or Lindisfarne, to give it its proper name – made a deep impression on me. It felt an incredibly peaceful place, especially when all tourists would depart ahead of high tide, anxious not to get cut off by the sea as it surged across the only route on and off the island. My grandfather would have been fascinated by the legend of The Welcome House and those lost illuminated pages, so I felt as if I owed it to him to be of any assistance I could in bringing that secret history to light.

  Maybe Father Duffy and Mac were right: maybe I have come here for a reason. I’d thought originally it was to find a house for Ryan Dempsey, but maybe there were other, more compelling reasons. I’ve felt a strange sense of affinity and familiarity with this place and its history ever since my arrival. At first I couldn’t explain those feelings, but the more I think about it, the more I’ve come to realise it’s probably because it reminds me of home.

  As I approach the hotel, I debate whether to go inside but decide against it; I can’t face bumping into Finn at the moment. Instead, I head straight for the car park, climb into our little hire car and set off in the direction of The Welcome House.

  No time like the present.

  I don’t want to draw any undue attention by parking my car outside the house, so I head for the same dirt track where I’d parked a few nights ago.