Dorothy excelled at her studies and graduated first in her class. She went on to Radcliffe and again excelled academically, but did not engage socially. Neither her father nor anyone else turned up for her graduation ceremony four years later. When he died in Florida a few years ago, just months into his retirement, she sent a cheque to cover the cost of the cremation expenses, but did not attend his funeral service. Dorothy remembered the look of surprise on Juliet’s face when she recounted this particular detail but what Juliet, and others, failed to understand was that Dorothy’s father simply disliked fuss of any kind. So, what purpose would have been served by a showy funeral?
Anna Heller looked at her husband’s sleeping face. She wished he would wake up, so that he could see the scenery and hear Conor’s entertaining commentary. He had been up most of the night working she conceded. Perhaps this trip had been a really bad idea after all. Her sister Julie had advised her to just call it a day with Elliot. She said he was boorish, selfish and obsessed with his work, but Julie had it all wrong, and anyway there was one big problem: Anna loved him.
Elliot had been married to a wealthy New York socialite for seven years when Anna came to work for him as his PA. They had an affair within weeks of meeting. Looking back, Anna had to admit that the affair had not been torrid, as they called it in novels: he had a distracted affair, she thought grimly. One day, a few weeks into the relationship, Elliot announced that he was leaving his wife. Anna was stunned: she had never expected the handsome Elliot Heller ever to be really hers. In one of their frank exchanges, Julie had told her the only reason he had married Anna was because she was such a good PA, whereas his first wife had done nothing to help Elliot’s precious business. Anna knew otherwise: Elliot had married her because he loved her. While she had to admit that he had never actually said those words as such, she believed deep down that he really did love her.
Elliot’s mother, now dead, had been harsh and unloving. Elliot had gone straight from living at home with her to living with his first wife, who had never understood him, he claimed. Anna lavished love and affection on Elliot; she adored him, organised his life. Elliot almost never concerned himself with the minutiae of daily living, how his suits managed to get dry-cleaned, who cooked dinner for the important clients he entertained at home. Anna took care of everything, including the arrangements for this particular vacation, which had also been her idea from start to finish. The booking, made at the last minute, was therefore non-refundable. Elliot had reluctantly agreed to come, as the prospect of losing money – any money ever – was abhorrent to him. Besides, he told her the night before they left New York, he was thinking about expanding the business, and maybe Ireland was a location worth investigating.
Anna, who was the youngest of three sisters, had grown up in a loving family in Kansas. Her parents were the kind of people who believed in God and America, and were still in love after forty years of marriage. Her father did everything he could to please his wife and she in turn supported him in every way possible. Anna’s two older sisters, Julie and Claire, were both married to wonderful guys and they all lived in the same neighbourhood. Her brothers-in-law Matt and Steve regularly played tennis together and, between the pair of them, they took care of all the household maintenance jobs that her father was physically unable to manage anymore. Her sisters brought their kids around to Grandma’s for barbecues at weekends and the whole clan seemed to genuinely like and enjoy each other’s company.
She thought back to the disastrous weekend she brought Elliot home to meet the family for the first time. It was shortly after she and Elliot returned from their three-day honeymoon on Long Island. The disaster began to unfold when they missed their flight from JFK to Kansas because Elliot was delayed at a meeting; as a result, the big homecoming party that her mother and sisters had spent the entire day preparing was wasted. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Anna’s young nieces and nephews had spent hours making an enormous banner declaring ‘Welcome Uncle Eliot’, which they hauled into the airport Arrivals hall the following morning. When Elliot saw it, his first words to eight-year-old Katie, who was holding the banner aloft, were ‘My name is misspelled. There are two ls in Elliot.’
A mortified Anna caught her two older sisters’ horrified expressions. They just needed to understand, she said by way of apology, that Elliot had never had any dealings with children, and had no nephews and nieces of his own. That was why he was always a bit awkward around kids. He really had no idea how to deal with them, the poor man. The rest of the weekend was horrendous. Elliot refused to take part in a pre-arranged tennis match, and spent most of the time on the phone because, he explained, it was a particularly busy time for the business. He then compounded his unpopularity by suggesting that Anna’s parents sell their house and invest the proceeds in some mineral exploration company in Mongolia in which he was involved. Anna would never forget the expression on Julie’s face when Elliot added that the house probably wasn’t worth much, as it was so old-fashioned, but the site it was built on was probably reasonably valuable, even considering that this was Kansas and not New York.
Later that same weekend, Elliot recounted to Anna that he had overheard Julie and Steve joking about how short he was. Elliot wasn’t short, Anna said. He was five-foot four in his shoes and anyway that sort of thing didn’t matter when you loved someone, she reassured him. She tried to talk him around to seeing all the positive aspects of her family, but he hated them and they really, really didn’t like him. Elliot was quintessentially New York and her family were not. That was the root of the problem, as she saw it.
Dylan Holbrook played his hand-held computer game as the coach made its way south. He could not believe how early these people had wanted to get up that morning. He had spent most of the night on the hotel’s computer emailing his friends and the guys in the band about the situation he found himself in; he had only been asleep for about an hour when he got the wake-up call from the hotel reception desk. Still, he thought, I can sleep on the coach. I mean it’s not like I’m missing anything, what with that old guy driving and talking about some dead king or whatever, and field after field of green. Dylan wished with all his heart that instead of being stuck in this Godforsaken hole, he could be in California with the band. He didn’t trust them not to get signed to some big label in his absence, and leave him out of the frame. His mother had prevented him bringing his guitar with him on the trip; as a result, he was now falling behind with his practice. The band, which included four guys he had met at a club a few months ago, was called The Screaming Cadavers; they played Goth metal, a blend of doom/death and aggressive heavy metal, he had explained to his totally disinterested mother.
Jeez, Dylan thought as he gazed bleary-eyed out the window of the coach, what do people do all day in this country? His mother had spent the night at the hotel bar, trying to chat up some man, as ever. He had noticed her eyeing up the old Texan guy, Bert, the minute the group had assembled at Shannon Airport. She was on the lookout for husband number five and had read a magazine article about tours being full of wealthy widowers and divorcees, so here they were in Ireland. He knew Corlene had blown a lot of cash on this trip. When he’d questioned whether it was a smart thing to do she just snapped, ‘you’ve gotta speculate to accumulate’.
Dylan knew that no matter how much he hated the idea of a tour like this he had no option but to oblige and come with her. Aside from all that, she was kind of desperate these days. He didn’t know the exact details, but he guessed that she had somehow overestimated the proceeds of her most recent divorce settlement. The judge had called her a fortune hunter in court and had awarded her a tiny fraction of what she was expecting. Later that night she had announced to Dylan that there would be no more divorce for her. ‘No way,’ she had declared, ‘it’s death or nothing now.’ He tried hard to suppress his sense of frustration with his mother. He badly wanted to cut her loose, focus on his fledgling music career but without him to rein her in, even a little, the mess
she could get herself into was unthinkable
Bert was really enjoying himself. Ireland was such a magnificent country and, from the little bit of it that he had seen, it felt as if the Irish had got things the right way around. From what he had seen thus far, there were no billboards blocking out views of the countryside, no graffiti, and no litter. People seemed really friendly. The lady on the hotel reception desk had been so kind when he asked her for a plug adaptor for his laptop charger. Bert had recently watched a TV show about tracing your ancestors and, although he had no Irish blood, this was a country he really liked the look of. It was one of the reasons he had chosen it for his next project – a project the details of which were known only to himself and three other people on the planet.
Bert’s parents were part German, part English, and Bert had been forced to grow up quickly when his father died suddenly at the age of forty. He trained as a plumber, and went on to build up a large construction business. He had met Abilene on a construction site one day when she defiantly approached a bunch of block layers, one of whom had shouted ‘Hey Baby how about we go somewhere quiet and get to know each other?’ Bert had watched mesmerised as this gorgeous girl walked up to the guy, calmly removed the can of Coke from his hand and poured the entire contents all over his head.
As the remaining drops trickled down his nose, she addressed the now humiliated offender: ‘Sorry, but I never date outside my species,’ before confidently striding down the street as if nothing had happened. Bert knew that someone who could handle herself as well as that was the very one for him, and so he pursued her relentlessly. Eventually, his courteous manner and courteous ways managed to break through Miss Abilene Tallarico’s tough exterior and she agreed to become Mrs Abilene Cooper.
They had enjoyed forty-one years of happy marriage and had five children, all of whom still lived in Texas. Abeline had died two years ago and her loss was something Bert felt deeply. After retirement from his very successful construction company, he had time to indulge his love of travel. It was because of the many diverse places he had been in recent years that he became involved in the project. Ireland wasn’t the most obvious place to choose as his next project location, but life experience had shown him that the obvious choice was often the wrong choice. He had built his business up from nothing and believed in himself and his instincts.
‘Cooeee! Bert!’
As he crossed the street of a charming little town where the tour had stopped for a break, on his way to buy a newspaper, he heard someone calling out his name loud and clear. Turning around, he found himself facing the woman who was travelling with the weird-looking boy wearing the make-up. As she kissed him on both cheeks she gushed: ‘Well, I know we aren’t in France, but I just love these European customs don’t you? Such passionate people, not like us buttoned-up Americans eh? I was going to take a little stroll around, but I don’t have anyone to accompany me, and when you’re a stranger, especially a single woman, well, you can’t be too careful, can you?’
Bert was nonplussed. The woman seemed a little unhinged and was enveloped in what appeared to be a cloud of alcohol fumes and perfume. He quickly tried to regain his composure.
‘Well Miss Holbrook ...?’ he raised his eyebrows. ‘Corlene,’ the woman replied, in an accent that Bert couldn’t quite place, definitely southern, but hard to tell exactly where. ‘Please, call me Corlene. I’m so glad to meet you properly’
‘Likewise, Miss Corlene’ Bert managed to reply.
‘Perhaps you would like to accompany me?’ she asked, frantically batting her eyelashes.
Bert thought quickly. ‘Well Miss Corlene, what a kind invitation and normally I’d enjoy a walk but just right now I have some urgent errands to run, so maybe another time?’
Having made sure there was no danger of falling into the clutches of the dreadful Corlene, he dived into the nearby Spar shop.
Chapter 5
‘OK folks,’ Conor voice came over the speaker system on the coach, ‘This is the famous Blarney Castle. You have a few hours to spend here at your own pace. I’ll park the coach here and you can just walk across the road there and make your way up to the castle. Even if the steps all the way up to the stone are a bit too much for you, go and have a walk around the grounds. If you’re going to kiss the stone and get the gift of the gab, make sure to hold onto any parts of yourself not naturally attached shall we say? I have had enough of trying to reinstate glasses, hats, teeth, hair and so on that fell off when our visitors were leaning back. Don’t worry about falling to your death though, they never drop anyone on a Tuesday, it’s the caretakers day off.’
Conor’s jokes and good humour were catching. The group were all smiling and laughing as they left the coach.
‘I’ll see you all back here at four OK?’ Conor said ‘and then we’ll head straight to the hotel.’
The group dispersed, mostly in the direction of the castle. Ellen was taking her time walking. Even though she was physically fit, she was aware of the importance of keeping herself safe, not wishing to be a burden on anyone. She always got where she needed to go, but these days it just took a little bit longer.
‘Hey there Ellen,’ Bert said, as he walked alongside her, ‘I know what it’s like to get stuck with someone on one of these trips when you want to be alone, so if you would rather that, just say so, and I’ll make myself scarce. But, if not, mind if I tag along with you?’
Ellen looked into his face. He had kind eyes and a mischievous grin.
‘Sure,’ she said, ‘but I must warn you I’m kind of slow. I don’t think I’ll try to make it to the top of the castle, but I’d be happy for you to join me in a stroll around the grounds if you’d like.’
‘I would be honoured Ma’am.’
As they walked through the gardens, they fell into easy conversation. Bert told Ellen all about Abilene, and said that while they had a great marriage, he was now grateful for the opportunity to travel alone. Ellen told him about her long teaching career and her family in Boston. He seemed surprised that she had never married. Ellen looked at Bert, fixing him with a piercing stare.
‘Well not yet I haven’t, but you never know.’
Bert was lost for words. He had sought out Ellen precisely because she seemed non-predatory, unlike the busty Corlene, and, with sudden fear in his voice, he stammered, ‘w...w...well, Ellen, that’s sure true. And I am certain there are lots of great guys out there who would be only too delighted to meet someone as em…great as em…’
Ellen’s peals of laughter stopped him in his tracks.
‘Bert! I was only pulling your leg. I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in a man at this stage of my life. But it was worth saying it just to see your face. You have nothing to worry about with me, Mr Cooper. However, just between you and me, I think one particular lady on our trip might have some plans in your direction.’
Bert’s southern chivalry wouldn’t allow him to admit to having noticed such a thing himself. How astute Ellen is, he thought.
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘my Grandma always told the girls to go for the older guys. Her motto was, “better be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave”. Maybe I’m the one who’ll strike gold on this trip,’ he added with a chuckle.
‘That’s the thing Bert, I think gold is exactly what Miss Corlene is expecting to strike too,’ Ellen replied wryly.
Weak sunshine struggled against an overcast sky, causing Bert and Ellen to smile at all the Irish people around them who insisted on removing as many of their clothes as possible the moment the sun appeared at all. Ellen and Bert, although from different parts of the United States, were nonetheless used to temperatures of ninety degrees plus, and the sight of the Irish sunbathing in a “cool” sixty degrees fascinated and amused them.
‘At this temperature in Corpus Christi they’d be wearing their coats,’ Bert joked.
Ellen and Bert found a seat under a tree and licked the mysteriously named ‘99’ ice cream cones they had bought from
a nearby van.
‘It sure is a lovely country,’ he continued, ‘nice people, beautiful scenery, and great food. It’s hard to believe it’s the same place we heard about in the news for so long, with the bombings and the killings and what not. I never took too much notice of it to be honest, never imagined for a second I would ever get to come here, but now listening to Conor telling us all those stories, it seems so hard to reconcile the two images of Ireland. How long did the fighting go on did he say? Since the 1960s?’
‘Eight hundred years,’ Ellen replied slowly ‘the English occupied and subjugated Ireland for eight hundred years and the peace that is being enjoyed now is the work of so many thousands of Irish men and women who made it their life’s work – and of course many also sacrificed their lives – to free this beautiful island.’
Bert glanced at Ellen. Hmm, he thought. I’m, certainly not dealing with some harmless little old lady enjoying a bus trip. Clearly, there was a lot more to Ellen O’Donovan than met the eye.
‘What brought you here Miss Ellen?’ ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got a week,’ Bert replied with a smile.
Dylan walked around the village of Blarney despondently. Three hours to kill. All the stores sold lame crap with shamrocks and sheep plastered all over them. Stuff he wouldn’t be seen dead with. Even the one music shop only sold stupid CDs of old-timers playing violins and accordions. No one listened to proper music in this dump he thought, wondering bleakly how he was going to survive a whole week here. His mom still hadn’t given up on that guy from Texas who looked like about a hundred years old. Seriously, she is so embarrassing.
All his life Dylan had wished he could have a normal mother who baked cakes and went to PTA meetings, but no such luck. Corlene should never have had kids; she had even admitted to him that he had been a mistake and that if she didn’t have him hanging out of her, costing her money, she would be living the high life by now. Mind you, she only said stuff like that when she was drunk. Most of the time she just ignored him, and at least his new look meant that she had stopped using him as bait to lure guys. It was a giant pain to get made up and everything every day, the temporary tattoos looked real but took ages to get right, but it did scare people off which was exactly what he wanted.
The Tour Page 4
