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

by Ali McNamara

  Jackie simply nods as he climbs out into the shallow water. He bends over the boat and lifts out a subdued Fergus then carries him the last few feet to dry ground.

  ‘Fergus,’ I cry, ruffling his coat. I wrap my arms around the soaking wet dog, not caring that I’m now almost as wet as he is. Feeling Fergus wriggle in my grip, I let him go. He gives the most almighty shake, wetting me still further, then trots over to a nearby rock and cocks his leg as if nothing has happened.

  I look up and see a bedraggled Finn, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, wading towards me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask, rushing over to him.

  He nods weakly. Obviously the experience has taken more of a toll on him than Fergus.

  ‘Let’s get you back up to the house and get you warmed up,’ I tell him. I look for Jackie, but he’s already back in his boat.

  ‘Wait!’ I call, and Finn turns with me. ‘Won’t you come up to the house too, Jackie? Let me at least make you a cup of tea to say thank you?’

  But I know what he’s going to say even before he speaks. ‘Thank you, miss, but I won’t. Got to get back to my lake . . . ’ He looks up at The Welcome House as he begins pulling on his oars. ‘I see you found the house then? Or did it find you?’ he calls as he disappears into the evening mist that is now settling above the lake. ‘Take care of them two, won’t you?’ is the last thing I hear as he is completely engulfed in the soft white cloud. ‘And take care of that house . . . ’

  And then he’s gone.

  I turn back to Finn, who’s looking even paler than I had earlier.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, resting my hand on his back, ‘let’s get you into the warm. Come on, Fergus!’

  ‘Wait,’ Finn says, speaking for the first time since he left the water. He looks back at the lake. ‘Was that who I think it was?’

  I nod. ‘Yup.’

  ‘And he just rowed me and Fergus back to safety in his boat?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Finn nods slowly. ‘In that case, I think I might need something a bit stronger than a cup of tea when we get back to the house.’

  Thirty-Six

  Finn doesn’t have anything stronger, even though I find a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s in one of the cupboards. He insists that all he wants is a hot mug of tea, so that’s what I give him, along with a few biscuits left over from my lunch with Donal and Father Duffy.

  Fergus seems to have recovered better than the rest of us after his adventure. He tucks into a tin of corned beef that I find in one of the cupboards, and some of the leftover ham and cheese from lunch. Not an ideal meal for a dog, but Finn and I agree that the circumstances are a little unusual, and now Fergus is fast asleep by the fire that I’ve managed to make up in the sitting room to ensure that both he and Finn get warmed through.

  ‘So,’ Finn says when he’s drunk his tea, and a bit more colour has returned to his cheeks. Even though he’s now fully dressed, he still has a blanket – a dry one – wrapped around his shoulders as he huddles in an armchair by the fire. ‘What’s been going on?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I ask innocently from the armchair opposite.

  ‘Well, it’s not every day you see a . . . ’ He hesitates. ‘Let’s just call it a strange phenomenon perform a heroic rescue from a lake. Yet you seem to be taking it all in your stride. It’s almost as if that’s not the only strange thing that’s been happening to you lately.’

  I look at him. It would be so good to talk to someone about all this, but much as I long to confide in him, something is holding me back.

  Things feel different between us after what happened down at the lake. They feel comfortable again, the way they had been before. I’m still desperately upset with him for saying the things he said and for the way he’d made me feel, but even so, I really want to talk to him, even if it’s only as a friend . . .

  So I take a deep breath and tell Finn everything – about the books, and the cellar, and even the raven, and I’m not at all surprised when he reacts as I’d hoped he would: with patience, understanding and a healthy dose of curiosity.

  ‘So you reckon the raven that was in the house earlier is the same one that led you to the cellar?’

  ‘With everything else odd that’s going on, it wouldn’t surprise me. What have I found myself in the middle of, Finn? I came here to find a house for someone, and now I seem to be embroiled in a search for some ancient documents that may not even exist.’

  ‘You certainly like to mix it up, eh?’

  ‘Er, no. Usually I lead a quiet life, and then I come here to Ireland – a place I’m told is peaceful and relaxing – and suddenly I find myself caught up in a house with an invisible owner, a ghost who runs boat trips, a priest who thinks I’m some sort of divine prophecy, and a raven that might, according to Donal, be an ancient soothsayer!’

  ‘What about the extremely annoying yet loveable hotel manager?’ Finn asks, the glint I’ve been missing so much sparkling in his green eyes.

  ‘Yes, he too is yet another thorn in my side . . . ’

  ‘At least he’s made an impression – albeit a prickly one.’

  I look down into my now-empty mug, and the awkwardness I’d thought had long since left the room makes an unwelcome reappearance.

  ‘So . . . ’ Finn says, determined to dispel it before it has a chance to take hold. ‘What an afternoon, eh? I reckon I’m going to have to get one of those extendable leads for Fergus – no more roaming around for you, fella, when we’re on a walk.’

  Fergus looks up sleepily at Finn, then turns over on to his back and goes back to sleep with his legs in the air.

  ‘Aw, you can’t do that to him. Dogs need to be allowed to run free on occasion – so long as they’re kept under control and safe.’

  ‘You were pretty worried about him this afternoon,’ Finn says, glancing at me.

  ‘I had good reason – for a while there, I thought you were both going to drown!’

  ‘I don’t mean then. I’m talking about earlier, when we thought he’d got out on to the road. You turned very pale.’

  ‘Yes . . . well. You forget I found him running around near a road before, didn’t I?’

  ‘And you were angry with me on that occasion too.’ Finn’s eyes bury deep into mine in a way that makes me desperately want to look away, but I can’t. ‘What’s going on, Ren?’ he asks gently. ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ I try, managing to look away at last. ‘I like dogs, that’s all, and I think people should look after them properly.’

  ‘When we first met, I thought you didn’t like them. I thought you were scared.’

  ‘No, I’m not scared of dogs.’

  ‘What are you scared of then?’ Finn asks with that same penetrating look. ‘I know there’s something, Ren. Why don’t you just tell me?’

  ‘Should I put some more wood on that fire?’ I ask, looking at the flames still burning merrily in the grate. ‘It might go out.’

  ‘Ren, life’s too short to keep things bottled up,’ Finn presses on undaunted. ‘I should know, I nearly drowned this afternoon.’

  ‘You can talk, Mr Secretive! I’ve never known anyone so guarded about his past.’

  ‘Well maybe if you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you mine . . . Please, Ren, I’ve treated you badly, I know that. I want to make it up to you, I want to help.’

  I sigh. Maybe he’s right – life is too short. And if I was going to tell anyone, I knew Finn would be the person to understand.

  ‘You’ll think I’m silly.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘You might.’

  ‘For the love of God, Ren – tell me.’

  ‘Right . . . ’ I nod and I take a deep breath. ‘So . . . about six years ago I was engaged to a guy who turned out to be a bit of a tool.’

  ‘A common story.’

  ‘Obviously, we planned to get married, so I moved in with him. We moved in with him.’

  ‘We?’
/>   ‘Me and my dog, Harry.’ I have to pause for a moment. I haven’t said his name aloud in so long. ‘I’d had Harry since he was a puppy,’ I continue, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘A friend of my parents had a dog who had a litter of puppies – no one knew what sort of dogs they were, the mother was a crossbreed and they think the dad was too, so the litter was a right mix.’ I smile as I remember going to pick my puppy. ‘I didn’t choose Harry, he chose me. He rolled out of his bed, trotted straight over to me and climbed up on my lap, and then he sealed the deal by farting.’

  Finn laughs.

  ‘But from that moment we were friends forever. I lived on my own and worked mainly from home, so it was just the two of us.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Finn asks.

  ‘I was a journalist. I wrote for magazines, it’s what I trained to do at uni.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘I suppose I always have had an enquiring nature.’

  ‘Some might call it nosy . . . ’ Finn winks at me.

  ‘Anyway, Harry and I spent all our time together, and then I met Jonathan. I’d had boyfriends before, but nothing serious. Jonathan and I seemed to click, we were interested in the same things, had friends in common, you know the sort of thing?’

  Finn says nothing, waiting for me to continue. So I do.

  ‘Best of all, Harry seemed to get on with him. He was never jealous or caused any trouble between us, it seemed like the perfect match.’

  ‘But it obviously wasn’t.’

  ‘Like I said, we moved in together – to Jonathan’s flat in London. Harry and I were used to living near a city, but not in the centre of one. I didn’t really like it, it was noisy and there was no air, you know?’

  Finn nods.

  ‘But I loved Jonathan, and I was prepared to give it a go, and then one day . . . ’ I take a breath. ‘I had to go out of town to do some research for an article I was writing. I thought all would be fine: Harry and Jonathan got on, I’d left Harry with him many a time, I saw no problems.’

  ‘But there were?’ Finn prompts gently when I pause a bit too long this time.

  ‘Yes . . . ’ I say, as the thoughts and feelings that went hand in hand with that dreadful day begin to come rushing back to the surface from the place I kept them buried deep within me. ‘I was in the middle of interviewing someone when I got the call – we were talking about something completely banal: Internet shopping, I think? I ignored the phone vibrating in my pocket the first time, I didn’t want to seem unprofessional, and the second time it went too, but when it went for a third time, I knew I should pick it up.’

  ‘Had something happened to Jonathan?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, Jonathan was the one calling. It was Harry; he’d escaped from the house and got out on to the road. He was hit by a van and died immediately,’ I hear myself saying in practised form. ‘They said he wouldn’t have suffered.’

  But how did they know? I ask myself for the millionth time since it happened. Had the vet that pronounced him dead been hit by a car, died and then survived to tell the tale? No, I didn’t think so. No one knew if Harry had suffered, only Harry, and he was gone.

  ‘I’m not sure how they knew that,’ Finn says, reaching across the gap between the two armchairs and squeezing my hand. ‘But I hope he didn’t.’

  I smile at him. Finn understood. I knew he would.

  ‘I’ve a feeling that isn’t the end of your story,’ Finn says gently. He releases my hand, but doesn’t look like he wants to.

  ‘No, you’re right. It only gets worse.’

  ‘Worse than your dog dying?’

  ‘You tell me. Days later, I was still trying to get to the bottom of what happened – you know me; I wouldn’t let it rest until I had the full story. We hadn’t even got Harry’s ashes back yet, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to rest in peace until I was at peace with his death. It was some of the things Jonathan was telling me, they just didn’t add up, so I kept pushing and pushing until he broke down and told me the whole story.’

  I look at Finn. ‘Jonathan was having an affair. The day Harry got out on to the road, Jonathan had his bit on the side in our house – in our bed even – and of course Harry didn’t like it. He kept barking and scratching on the bedroom door. So Jonathan put him out in the back yard. Only the gate hadn’t been latched properly after he’d sneaked his bitch in, and that’s when Harry got out. So not only had my fiancé been having an affair behind my back, but he killed my dog in the process.’

  I begin to sob huge wet salty tears that roll down my face and drop into my lap. ‘Except Harry was more than my dog,’ I say, furiously wiping my face, ‘he was my best friend. He knew everything about me, and I knew everything about him. I still miss him, even now.’

  Finn doesn’t take hold of my hand this time. He gets up and perches on the arm of my chair, wrapping his arms tightly around me. ‘Let it out,’ he instructs. ‘Let it all go, Ren.’

  And as I feel myself shudder with each sob that I allow to come to the surface and then be swallowed up by the flames of the roaring fire, it doesn’t just feel like Finn is giving me a hug, it feels like the whole of The Welcome House is joining in too.

  Later, when my tears have dried, I find myself still cradled safely in Finn’s arms as we watch the flames flickering in the grate.

  ‘Better now?’ Finn asks, breaking our comfortable silence.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, easing myself from his hold so I can see him properly. ‘Much better, thank you.’

  ‘Ren, I understand so much more about you now you’ve told me all that.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I get why you’re a little mistrusting of people – I’m sure I would be too, if that had happened to me.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘To the casual observer, probably not; but to someone who wants to get to know you better, you definitely hold people at arm’s length. I think I understand why you’re uncomfortable around animals as well. Is it because you’re scared of committing to them too?’

  ‘No. I’m not scared of committing to them, I’m scared of loving them and them leaving me – it hurts too much.’ I look down at Fergus, snoring contently by the fire, completely unaware of the drama that’s been unfolding above him.

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘I know you do, Finn, that’s why I decided to tell you everything. I knew after I watched you risk your own life for your dog, you’d understand how I felt. But most people don’t. They don’t get how much an animal can touch you, here,’ I think about putting my hand on Finn’s chest, but I place it on my own instead. ‘How you need to mourn them when they’re gone, and how losing them can sometimes hurt more than losing a person. I loved Harry with all my heart – a lot more, I now realise, than I loved Jonathan. After it happened, I didn’t give a damn about never seeing him again, but not seeing Harry was almost too much to bear.’

  ‘Did you go off the rails a bit?’ Finn asks.

  ‘No. Quite the opposite, in fact. I became even more driven. I ditched my career as a journalist, I took some time out. Luckily, I had the money we’d saved for the wedding stashed in a bank account, so I withdrew it all and blew it on travelling.’

  ‘Was it a joint account?’ Finn asks, a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘It was! And I had a fabulous time spending all the money!’

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘But when I returned from travelling,’ I say more seriously, ‘I was stuck in limbo. I didn’t have a job, and I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to do. That was when I found my first house. I had some friends who wanted to move, so I offered to help out to give me something to do. And the rest, as they say, is history.’

  Finn takes hold of my hand again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says placing his other hand over the top of mine. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through all that pain, and I’m sorry that while you’ve been here in Ballykiltara I’ve only added to your pain, by making you think that all men are t
otal eejits.’

  I can’t help but smile.

  ‘I’m serious, what I did was unforgivable. I thought at the time it was for the best . . . for both of us. My feelings overwhelmed me. I panicked. I did the only thing I thought I could do – push you away. But after today, and seeing how much you care about me, and about Fergus, I’d do anything to make it up to you I’d . . . ’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘What?’ Finn asks, breaking from his impassioned speech.

  ‘Try making it up to me.’

  ‘How?’ Finn’s woeful expression lifts as he begins to see a chink of light.

  ‘That is up to you.’

  ‘You forgive me?’

  ‘That depends on what you do next. But I do know one thing. Now you know my story, Finn Cassidy, you definitely have to tell me yours . . . ’

  Thirty-Seven

  ‘But why are we meeting here?’ I ask Finn the next day as I arrive at the stables at our agreed time of 10 p.m. ‘The horses are all in bed.’

  Finn smiles. ‘Technically they’re bedded down for the night, all except two of them, that is.’

  Last night, after Finn had said he wanted to redeem himself, I’d tried to get him to tell me what he was planning. But all he would tell me was that he had ‘something in mind’ and I wasn’t to ask him questions about it as it was going to be a surprise. This of course was incredibly hard for me; once I knew he’d thought of something I wanted to know all about it immediately. But I bit my lip and tried to go with the flow for once. Even though I didn’t say anything, I was secretly pleased that Finn did want to make amends; his previous behaviour seemed totally out of character for him and I wanted to find out why. So when he’d asked me to meet him at the stables the following evening. I was surprised, intrigued and keen to know more.

  Finn now leads me across the stable yard towards Alfie’s stall, where I find Mac in the process of saddling Alfie up. ‘He’s all ready for you!’ He smiles at me and winks at Finn. ‘I’ll go and get Trixie ready.’