A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series)

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “What happened then?” Marianne asked the two women. Joan was arranging little pieces of brack on plastic plates. She stopped what she was doing and wiped her hands on a tea towel.

  “It was awful, the most terrible row. Oonagh had no idea about the other two. Padar never mentioned he was seeing Erin,” Joan said.

  “But to be fair to him, why would he? Oonagh had left him for someone else, a fly-by-night in off a fancy yacht. Her head was easily turned, what was he supposed to do?” Sinead said.

  “Oonagh always did love a bit of glamour.” Marianne defended her friend.

  Joan shrugged. “Well anyway, Oonagh left cursing the pair of them and took herself back to Dublin, not to be seen here again for nearly twenty years after that.”

  Marianne took the cake Joan offered her, “And Erin and Padar?”

  “History repeated itself. They had a whirlwind affair, got engaged, and then within, what was it now ...about six months in, she met another fella here for the summer, and took off with him.”

  “Crikey.” Marianne was agog.

  “Padar vowed never to get involved with another woman. He’d had enough and kept himself to himself, until Oonagh reappeared. Their mother had died, though Erin never showed up, even for the funeral. Oonagh and Padar reconciled their differences and married.” Joan popped a large piece of buttered brack in her mouth.

  “They were so well-suited, didn’t you think, Marianne?” Sinead asked.

  “Oh completely, a real love story I would have said,” Marianne agreed.

  “You know baby Bridget was IVF? They were desperate to have a family. It was so unfair for things to end the way they did, they had so little time together,” Sinead said sadly. Marianne’s eyes filled with tears, she missed Oonagh every single day. She coughed, hardly able to swallow the cake.

  “And now Erin’s back, I wonder what that’s all about?” Sinead asked of no-one in particular.

  “Who knows?” said Joan, hauling the little ones out of the ball pool to eat. “Maybe she needs a change of scene. There’s been loads of people made redundant. Dublin’s an expensive city with no job.”

  “What did she do there?” Marianne asked, feeding Joey cake from her plate.

  “Not sure,” said Joan. “I heard she had a very good job, something to with the government or the Garda or something.”

  “Really?” said Sinead, incredulous, “I heard she was a retired pole dancer and ran a high class brothel in Ballsbridge.”

  Marianne and Joan burst out laughing.

  “You’ve been listening to that fecking Sean Grogan again,” grinned Joan. “You couldn’t believe his version of the ten commandments.”

  Ryan was stomping sand off his boots when Marianne returned with Bridget and Joey. Monty bringing up the rear. He swept as many of them as he could into his arms, rubbing his wet, salty face in their hair making them giggle. He had spent most of the day out on the boat with Dermot, supervising Shay and the building team from the water, working on pilings for the slipway for the new lifeboat. Marianne left him grappling with hoods and gloves while she lit the fire. The glorious autumn day had suddenly turned damp and cold.

  “Well, what about all the latest excitement,” he called from the hall, “have you heard?”

  “Do you mean Oonagh’s long-lost sister?” she called back, drawing the curtains against the encroaching night. Ryan brought them all in to cosy up on the rug. The children were sleepy.

  “Yeah, Dermot told me all about her. Met her at Joyce MacReady’s by all accounts. Her car broke down, and he gave her a lift.” Ryan said, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh.” Marianne was disappointed Ryan already knew about Erin. Even ex-journalists like the idea of a scoop.

  “Took Padar completely by surprise, he was moved to tears at the sight of her. She told Dermot she had been planning to arrive unexpectedly for Halloween. It was a special time for them apparently,” he said.

  Marianne was further disappointed, “Oh, you know they were an item then?”

  “Back in the day. I think it’s nice she’s come to check on her brother-in-law, make sure he’s coping and stuff.” Ryan threw a couple of lumps of peat on the fire.

  Marianne remained unimpressed. “Is that what she’s doing here?”

  “So Dermot says. Bit of a looker too according to him, but Dermot’s taste in women has always been dodgy.” Ryan gave her a grin.

  Marianne threw a cushion at him. “Typical man, if she’s a bit of a looker that’s alright then.”

  Ryan laughed and threw the cushion back.

  “Aw, come on Marianne. Padar’s been brokenhearted since Oonagh died. It’s a good thing Erin has come to visit, see how he’s doing,” he said.

  “He should be brokenhearted, I’m brokenhearted. Whatever-her-name-is turning up out of the blue is not going to change that, let me tell you!” She pushed past into the conservatory and the decanter.

  “And there’s Bridget, don’t forget.” Ryan smiled at the bundle on the floor in front of the fire. “She’s Erin’s niece and blood’s thicker than water, after all.” Ouch, Ryan wished he had not said that.

  “Do want a drink or would you like it pouring over your head?” Marianne called back.

  “Given half a chance you might even become friends, you never know,” Ryan said brightly, hoping to lift things a little.

  “I don’t think so.” Marianne returned with their drinks. She sipped hers delicately. “I believe she’s a retired pole dancer,” she said, hoping to shock.

  “Oh no, really?” he exclaimed. “I was hoping she hadn’t retired, we could do with a change from the Finnegan Twins over in Maguire’s from time to time.” And, taking his drink, disappeared quickly before it was tipped over his head.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Trick Or Treat?

  The excitement leading up to Halloween was building. Lots of regulars who had drifted away from the pub since Oonagh’s death emailed, texted or telephoned Padar to say they were delighted he was having a hooley and they would be there.

  It was early on October thirty-first. Marianne, having fixed a date for a meeting of the board to get things moving on Oonagh’s Project, put her files away, switched off her laptop and donned chef’s whites to organise Maguire’s kitchen ahead of the arrival of, hopefully, hungry hoards. Padar had seconded a couple of cousins to help and with entire families invited, no-one had to miss out because they had to stay home babysitting.

  Resourceful as ever, Sinead set up a crèche in one of the ante rooms off the main bar so sleepy heads could rest undisturbed and others, who wanted to play with GameBoys and the like, could do so in peace. Miss MacReady volunteered to read ghost stories to the older children, and with everyone else kicking up their heels to the legendary Finnegan Twins in the bar, it was going to be a proper, old-fashioned Halloween Hooley, except for the proviso that it would be happening in the middle of the day.

  Taking a detour to pick up sheaves of black paper, Marianne was surprised when she arrived at Maguire’s to find most of the windows already blacked out. The door to the kitchen opened and Erin Brennan appeared. A coloured bandana covered her hair; she was in paint-spattered overalls and there was a smudge on her nose. Marianne recognised the bandana, it was Oonagh’s.

  “Hiya,” she said, and set the paint down on a stepladder in the corner to continue her work.

  “I thought we were going to use this?” Marianne said, waving the paper at her.

  “Oh, I didn’t know, so just grabbed what was handiest.” Erin continued working.

  “That’ll take ages to get off,” Marianne told her.

  Erin shrugged. “It’ll take as long as it takes, I suppose,” and carried on blacking out the panes of glass.

  Miss MacReady arrived with a large sack containing every kind of candle and holder she could lay her hands on.

  “Good work, Erin,” she said, setting candles in holders on tables and tea lights in every nook and cranny she could find. Marianne slam
med down the pile of paper on a nearby table.

  “Oh, there you are Marianne; need a hand in the kitchen when I’ve finished this?” Miss MacReady called across the room.

  “No thanks, Padar will muck in if I need anything,” Marianne said. “Where is he?” she cast about.

  “He’s gone to the ferry to pick up a few boxes of pumpkins. Sure, we only had a couple in the kitchen,” Erin told her.

  “I’m making pumpkin and parsnip soup. I won’t need loads,” Marianne said sharply.

  “I thought we could do with them scooped out and lit up all over the place, you know - get the atmosphere right,” Erin said, slapping the paint on with abandonment.

  “Who’s going to scoop them out? It’s a very time-consuming job,” Marianne replied tersely. Erin gave one of her now familiar shrugs.

  Marianne stomped into the kitchen, surveying the clutter in dismay. Erin’s influence was already in evidence. She sighed. She and Padar had a well-practised routine; they ran Maguire’s efficiently and effectively. She did not know how long Erin was staying or what she seemed to think her role was while she was here, but Marianne was unimpressed thus far. She would have to make her feelings known, but not yet. Ryan had asked her to be patient and accept that Erin was Padar’s sister-in-law and Bridget’s aunt and they needed time together.

  Marianne cleared a space and started to wipe down for prep. The kitchen door swung open and Padar staggered in bearing aloft three boxes of pumpkins; he promptly dumped them on her newly cleaned surface.

  “Padar!” she shouted.

  “Sorry,” Padar replied, realising what he had done.

  “Padar!” called Erin from the bar.

  “Sorry,” Padar said again to Marianne, leaving her alone with the unwanted pumpkins.

  Twelve noon, October thirty-first, and there was standing room only in Maguire’s. Purveyors of Fine Wines and Ales and Quality Provisions, as the sign outside emphatically stated. People had arrived by car, truck, quad bike and tractor, with still more making the trip by boat, chugging purposefully across the little stretch of water between the mainland and the island. Suddenly there was any amount of vampires, zombies, witches and warlocks piling into the pub.

  Bridget wanted to be a fairy princess, and Joey, who really only wanted to be Joey, gave in to an eye patch and a terrifyingly realistic cutlass to appease her. Ryan transformed himself into a classic Count Dracula complete with purple-lined cape courtesy of Miss MacReady, and Marianne was going as Morticia from The Addams Family, again with Miss MacReady coming to the rescue producing a waist-length black wig, featuring the trademark white streak. Marianne was sure she had seen her wearing it on more than one occasion but kept her counsel. Miss MacReady was insistent all this paraphernalia had been unearthed from a childhood dressing-up box.

  Marianne complemented the wig, with a full-length backless number she had bought for formal business events and certainly had no call to wear on the island. Ryan went straight into character attempting to bite her every time she passed him as she did her make-up, fixed her hair, sought out her shoes. As she slid on long black gloves, he leapt out from behind the bathroom door and, wrapping his cloak around her started to gnaw at her neck. She beat him back with her single-stemmed, plastic lily.

  He held her close, spitting onto her chin. “Sorry,” he said, whipping out the false fangs, “but I really fancy you in that get-up, you look amazing.” She smiled up at him as he crushed her in an embrace, breasts pressed against his chest. He placed a hand on her bottom pulling her to him, so she could feel he was turned on.

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, enjoying him against her, “Count you are naughty, I shall see you in your coffin later, you bad boy,” she teased in her best Transylvanian accent, smoothing his hair back, as he dropped a kiss on her throat. Monty rolling around on the floor dissolved the moment. He was growling gently, fighting with the ruffled collar and unicorn horn Bridget was making him wear. Marianne released herself from the Count and Monty from his costume.

  “I know, why don’t you come as a West Highland Terrier?” she told him. He wagged his tail in relief; he was sure he could give that a go.

  Miss MacReady was seated on a red velvet throne, wearing a gold lame evening gown and a huge witches’ hat decorated with glittering stars. She was reading from a large tome, and carried a sparkling wand that played the Harry Potter theme tune every time she waved it. Children of all ages were enthralled.

  Sean Grogan was on his stool at the bar, grumbling like mad. Padar was the happiest he had been in an age, rushing out and greeting his patrons dressed as a sort of Shrek, with a battered crown on his head to add gravitas. Even Father Gregory had entered into the spirit of things with a ripped and bloodied T-shirt and a couple of bolts in his neck.

  As the team behind the bar went into overdrive, pulling pints and pouring drinks, a little queue was forming to the right of the bar leading into the snug. En route to see how things were shaping up in the kitchen, Marianne stopped to see what ghoulish attraction was creating so much male attention.

  It was Erin Brennan, busy serving Love Potion Number Nine the sign said, a smouldering cauldron of a cocktail she was pouring into phials and selling at five euro a pop.

  “Guaranteed to make you strong as a bull,” she laughed, looking at Dermot under her lashes as she handed him a shot.

  “What’s in it?” he asked.

  “It’s a secret recipe, handed down by the Queen of the White Witches,” she told him darkly. She looked up and spotted Marianne.

  “Hiya,” she said, “Nice rigout.”

  Marianne’s heart sank. She and Erin were dressed identically - long streaky wig, masses of black eyeliner and stick-on shiny red talons. Erin’s dress was more frontless than backless though, displaying her cleavage to full advantage.

  “What’s that?” Marianne asked sharply.

  “Just a shot of vodka with purple food colouring and dry ice - makes it look spooky - want to try one?” Erin replied.

  “No thanks, I’ve work to do,” Marianne said, heading to the kitchen.

  Dermot was lingering but Erin had a queue of zombies to attend to, and she knew how demanding zombies can be, especially when a decent love potion is on special offer.

  As soon as the Finnegan Twins started up with the instantly recognisable introduction to Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ the place was hopping and patrons of every shape, size and infirmity were interpreting the video’s dance routines enthusiastically.

  ‘Werewolves of London’ followed, the whole place howling like mad at the chorus and with ‘The Monster Mash’ next on the set list, Halloween had well and truly begun.

  During the break, while venison casserole and large plates of delicious sticky skinned sausages with jacket potatoes were being served, Dermot found Marianne doling out apple and oat crumble in the kitchen.

  “I thought you might be tuning up, getting ready to join the rest of the Finnegan family on stage?” she joked.

  “We’re probably related somewhere down the line, sure everyone is around these parts but they’re far more talented than I ever was. Need a hand here?” he smiled through fangs and werewolf facial hair.

  “Can you dollop ice cream on each of these, school-dinner style please,” she said, without looking up. Dermot took zealously to the job, flinging ice cream into bowls with abandonment.

  “Yum, what is that?” he asked, licking his fingers.

  “My home-made yoghurt ice-cream,” she said, “good isn’t it?”

  Dermot, finally catching her eye, moved swiftly across the room to hold the scoop before her lips.

  “Try some,” he tempted.

  Marianne looked up into his grey-green eyes, twinkling playfully back. He was flirting outrageously, but she liked Dermot, he was too nice to be dangerous.

  “I know what it tastes like, I made it!” she laughed, pushing him away.

  “Go on, just a little taste,” he teased, making a growling noise.

 
“I don’t take sweeties from werewolves, you never know what might happen,” she said sternly, “now stop it!”

  “Please,” he said in a sweet voice. The ice-cream was beginning to melt; it would slide off the scoop onto the floor any second. “Go on, just for Dermot, just for your little werewolf.”

  Marianne leaned forward to lick the scoop. The werewolf grabbed her and with a huge roar, buried his face in her neck. Marianne nearly jumped out of her skin. She screamed, trying to release herself, but Dermot would not let go, turning his savaging into a lingering kiss. The door swung open and Ryan came in backwards carrying armfuls of dirty dishes. He turned just as the werewolf sprang away from his quarry.

  “Hey you guys,” he said cheerily, then pulling a face at Marianne, “you look a bit flustered, you okay?”

  She swallowed, “Yep, nearly done, just need these desserts out there and that’s the whole lot fed.”

  “Good.” He dumped the dishes. “I’d like a dance with my lovely Morticia then, it’s no fun being a blood-sucking vampire with no-one to suck. I haven’t had a pint all night.”

  The door swung open again.

  “I wondered where all the best looking monsters were hiding,” Erin said, flashing looks at Ryan and Dermot. “Not having a blood-curdling orgy without me I hope?”

  Marianne blushed. The men looked at each other; clearly enjoying the image Erin’s comment had conjured up. Marianne untied her apron and took Ryan’s hand.

  “Come on, I’ve done enough in here, let’s go and have some fun,” she said. “No attacking any innocent young virgins now,” she wagged a finger at Dermot as she left, “stick to your own kind.” She glanced at Erin, pulling the Count and his flapping cloak behind her.

  The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash. Everyone joined in the games: apples in a barrel, carrot on a string and a riotous version of spin the bottle, where instead of being kissed, the hapless victims were savagely plastered with large, blood-red gorges. The one with the most wounds won. The teenagers particularly enjoyed this.

  It was late afternoon when the Finnegan Twins announced their last number, ‘Time Warp’ from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and everyone shuffled into position to give the festivities literally a final fling.