by Fox Brison
“No, just something other than that shirt you’re wearing. I know what you’ve had for dinner for the past three days.” I snapped back twice as acerbically. The kitchen door opened, and the other player in our little kitchen sink drama entered, Isabella. She was carrying my one year old nephew, Aiden. I sighed. Giving up the cottage for Brianna and moving in with Dad had seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, Isabella and Thomas decided to have an extension built at the same time and were also staying.
Lord give me strength.
“What are ye arguing about?” she asked, taking the cup of tea I’d just poured for myself out of my hand. “Ohh, I needed that.”
So, did I but hey, don’t mind me. I resisted verbalising my sarcasm. Another row wouldn’t do my blood pressure any good.
“Your sister’s ashamed of me. Apparently my attire isn’t up to scratch.” Da had a cheeky glint in his eye and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ya feckin eejit ya,” I scoffed.
“Elisha.” Isabella gasped in outrage. “That’s your Father you’re speaking to.”
“Don’t remind me,” I laughed, and my dad smiled. Even though we didn’t always see eye to eye I respected him. It couldn’t have been easy raising two girls on his own and he didn’t do a bad job, one of us turned out okay.
Which one he thought that was generally varied on his mood of the day.
“I better be off I don’t want to be late. Do you need any messages, Daddy?”
“I’m running short on tobacco.”
“I bought you two pouches on Thursday!”
“I know that, but what if the weather changes and we can’t get out?” I shook my head. Dad was a doomsday prepper. Yes we occasionally got snow in the winter, but not so much that we’d be cut off for a month…
We’d be lucky if we were cut off for a couple of hours!
I had already stocked up on whiskey, coal and the freezer was full – of black pudding, bacon and sausages. I didn’t have the time to argue, and simply said, “Right I’ll see you later so.” I snatched my gilet from the back of the chair and whipped up the car keys.
“Will she be stopping for dinner?” he asked as I was half way out of the door. Damn it! I was almost there and now I was going to be late. I didn’t factor in the Irish goodbye, which could last from anywhere between ten minutes to three hours.
“No, we’ll eat at the cottage. I thought after the journey she might like to relax and settle in. I’ll invite her up tomorrow.” Or when hell freezes over.
“What does she like? I’ve a nice joint of beef in the freezer,” Dad persisted. He actually had five nice joints in the freezer.
Aarrgh! I looked down at the lone piece of jewellery I wore, my grandfather’s wrist watch. Definitely feckin late now! “I haven’t the foggiest idea, Dad, I’ve never met the woman. She could be a vegan for all I know! I have to go.” I managed to get one foot across the threshold.
“She’d better not be a vagitarian,” Isabella sneered and was itching for me to respond.
I wouldn’t scratch that itch and thankfully the reference went over my Dad’s head because all he said was, “Perfect, we can put her out to pasture with the sheep, sure.” He cackled and I prayed to God Brianna McAteer wasn’t the type of person to easily take offence.
If so, it was going to be a long six months.
Chapter 7
Elisha
Luckily I made good time and arrived at Knock International Airport with a few minutes to spare. Lack of traffic was one of the advantages to moving back home, that and I only hit one set of traffic lights on the forty kilometre journey; in Dublin it was a minor miracle to travel forty metres without encountering a red light.
The airport had come a long way since it was first built to accommodate pilgrims to the Knock shrine, and now operated flights to destinations as far flung as Malaga and Milan. Standing in the arrivals hall (hall was a misnomer if ever there was one because it was basically one end of the main building) I waited patiently for Brianna to emerge. People began to filter through, hugs and kisses given to excited family members collecting them, and that’s when I suddenly panicked. Shite, did I pick up my wallet? Scrounging the car parking fee from Brianna wouldn’t be the best start to our working relationship, she’ll think I’m a right dope… Frantically patting myself down, I sighed in relief when I felt the familiar bulge in my back pocket. Panic over, the anticipation ratcheted up a notch or ten.
Anticipation?
Yeah, I was fooling no one. Sweating palms, shallow breathing… all the physical symptoms indicated anxiety. I rubbed my hands down the sides of my jeans and instantly regretted not making more of an effort; whenever we FaceTimed, Brianna McAteer was never less than immaculate. She owned an effortless beauty, from her lightly applied and flawless make up, to the tailored tops and perfectly coiffured honeyed blonde hair which hung in cascading waves over her shoulder.
I have to confess I even checked out her Facebook page where one image in particular caught my attention. Posted a few weeks ago, Brianna stood on a pier with her face fixed over the water in silent contemplation. It was taken on an overcast day but her grey eyes, brimming with emotion, gave the picture the radiance of a summery afternoon.
Hmm. Perhaps I’ve studied that snap a little too closely!
The trickle coming through arrivals turned into a torrent and I craned my neck to scan the sea of people in case I missed her. I needn’t have worried because I spotted her straight away. To be fair it would have been impossible not to notice her, Brianna McAteer was the sort of woman who stood out in a crowd.
The thought caught me a little unawares and did little to settle my stomach.
Willowy and ethereal, her high cheekbones were painted with a smattering of sun kisses as well as a trace of blush, and my dreams of an elven princess jumped up and smacked me on the nose. She was taller than I imagined, at least five foot ten (the same as myself) and she too was wearing jeans which was a relief, although her pristine white fitted cotton shirt, red jumper wrapped round her waist and camel overcoat gave a touch of class my own effort lacked. The tortoise shell sunglasses perched on top of her head finished off the outfit perfectly. I fiddled with my own glasses and waited for a few seconds before approaching her.
Patently I wasn’t quite as eye catching because Brianna failed to see me standing not more than a few feet away.
However, just as I was about to call her name she caught my eye, smiled, and turned her luggage trolley in my direction. A violin case was perched precariously on top of two large cases, and this she held onto tightly with one hand, whilst vainly attempting to steer and push with the other. Stopping, she gave an adorably frustrated huff, re-arranged her bags, and happy her violin was secure, continued. The few moments that took gave me time to think.
Now the panic really began to set in.
I couldn’t decide on how I should greet her. A hug? Or should I go with a nice firm and formal handshake? Wait, she looked like the kind of woman who favoured the continental two air kisses approach. Shite! It’s not that feckin’ difficult, Elisha! My eyes widened because she’d crept up and was now right in front of me. “Brianna, hi.” I performed a weird amalgamation of all three greetings, which involved an attempted kiss and one armed hug, followed by me gripping her hand like I was Jay Z and she was one of my bro’s. Perfect.
Not.
Following my contortions I expected her to dash to the departures gate at the other end of the building - if she was quick she could still make the return flight to London – but she didn’t notice my rather odd salutation; perhaps she thinks it’s an Irish thing?
Either that or she was traumatised.
“Elisha, it’s great to meet you finally. In the flesh, if you know what I mean,” she said genially.
In the flesh? So my mind went elsewhere for a nano-second and I blushed, cursing my Celtic complexion. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Elisha, you’re an accomplished thirty-three year-old woman, not a teenager exper
iencing her first crush! Will you cop on to yourself. “Absolutely, there’s nothing like flesh on flesh.” You did not just say that. Talk about subliminal messages! “I mean face to face,” I instantly amended, “there’s nothing like meeting face to face.” I was dying inside. Things were going from bad to worse and at this rate I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rachel McTavers called to tell me the grant had been rescinded because her charity didn’t invest in creepy gobshites. “I have a car,” I blurted out. Safe topic. Well done. You sound like a moron, but better that than a sex starved psycho.
“That’s a relief because I don’t think I could walk far in these.” Lifting her foot she gave it a little wiggle. Safe topic? I stared entranced, first at her slim ankle showing beneath her jeans, and then at the sharp pointy heels. How she walked anywhere in those shoes beggared belief. My heart rate increased exponentially. Reality was a million times better than the image on my computer screen for sure. It was as if Aphrodite had plucked my dream woman from my subconscious ramblings and plonked her down in front of me with a ‘taa daa’ and the Greek version of jazz hands.
“We’re about forty minutes away, so if you need the toilet or want to grab a drink before we leave, now’s the time. Or if you’re hungry there’s a Supermac’s ten minutes down the road.”
“Supermac’s?” she asked, a little lilt on the end of the mac accompanied by another smile.
“It’s the Irish McDonalds.” I clarified “Have you ever seen the film 'Coming to America' with Eddie Murphy?”
“Oh my God, please tell me they have the ‘Big Mick’.” She laughed rambunctiously quoting a famous line from the film, but added an Irish twist.
I sniggered. “That was their second choice. It’s actually the Mighty Mac.” Her gentle banter relaxed me and I stopped acting like a total eejit; the swift change from embarrassing awkwardness on my part to completely comfortable in her company was pretty astonishing.
“I’ll have to try one whilst I’m here, but I’ll be okay till I get to the cottage as long as there’s a cup of tea when we get there.”
“Sacrilege!” I put my hand to my heart. She may as well just have confessed that she drowned kittens. “This is Ireland, of course we’ve a cup of tay waiting.” She laughed again, this time at my histrionics. It was a sound I could definitely get used to, not so much infectious as irresistible. “I stocked the fridge with the essentials milk, butter, cheese and ham, basically enough to keep you going for the night. I thought I’d take you shopping tomorrow.”
“This may turn out to be the best job I never applied for,” she smirked happily.
“Don’t you mean ever applied for?” I corrected.
“No.” She chuckled at my bemusement but didn’t elaborate and I didn’t question her further. However, it definitely piqued my curiosity.
“I’ll pay for the parking then fetch the car and bring it down to the doors.” I put the ticket in the machine and inserted my two euros.
“No that’s okay. Stansted was manic and the flight was chocka, so I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air.” She smiled brightly. “I’m very much looking forward to getting stuck in and working with you on this project, Elisha.”
The apprehension I experienced before meeting Brianna McAteer was a distant memory; it was one of those rare instances where an immediate connection was formed. I had no doubt that we were going to make not only an excellent team but become great friends in the process.
Chapter 8
Brianna
If I had one word to describe Elisha Callery, I would have to choose captivating. Her hair was shorter than when we last spoke on the phone and the colour was breath-taking. Her permanently rosy cheeks gave her a fresh glow, but it was her eyes (changing from ice blue to gunmetal grey depending on the light and her mood) which captured my attention. Imbued with depth and magnetism, they drove me to the point of distraction.
Organising a project of this magnitude demanded determination, not to mention a shed load of confidence, and I grasped early on in our dialogue that Elisha held both these qualities in abundance, so it was surprising when she came across as a touch shy in person. It was endearing.
“Here let me take that for you.” She gently manoeuvred me out of the way before her muscular frame comfortably guided my trolley towards the exit, whilst I followed along hugging my violin to my chest.
Perhaps Elisha wasn’t the only one suffering from a sudden case of anthrophobia.
“Oh, I saw the shrine when I got off the plane!” I excitedly grabbed her forearm. Feeling her muscles contract and twitch underneath my fingers caused a spark (like static electricity on steroids) to run right through my body. What the fuck? Self-consciously, I snatched my hand back and cleared my throat, quickly adding, “I tried to take a selfie, but the ground crew wouldn’t let me.” I hoped she didn’t notice my gauche reaction instigated by merely touching her arm, I was uncomfortable enough.
“Shrine?” She furrowed her brows.
“Yes, the Knock shrine. You know! The little statue next to where the plane parks up.”
She began to laugh. “That isn’t the shrine.”
“It’s not?” I was mortified. What must she think of me? And as for the baggage handler who stopped me from taking a photo with it… I detested looking stupid, and yes, I know most people do, but I really hated it. I also loathed being the butt of a joke. I guess I was two for two because the ground crew were probably pissing their pants. And as for Elisha? I checked her surreptitiously and sighed in relief. She was still smiling, but it didn’t have that mocking air.
“No, the shrine’s a large complex about fifteen minutes further on from here. If you’re interested we could go and take a look.” She didn’t appear overly enthused.
“That’s okay, I’m not that fussed.” Embarrassed? Oh hell yes. Desperate to see a shrine where a couple of farmers, probably on their way back from the pub, spotted the Virgin Mary? Meh.
We stepped outside the terminal building, and I instantly regretted not taking Elisha up on her offer of getting the car when a gust of wind almost buffeted me half way back to Stansted. Instinctively I reached for her arm. Again. It was like I’d come down with a case of tactile Tourette’s, something I’d never experienced in the past. Then again, I’d never been subjected to a sensation quite like the one I felt when I first touched Elisha. It felt... good. No, scratch that. It felt amazing. This time when the neurons in my body sparked into life I didn’t remove my hand, instead I tightened it. It was, surprisingly, neither inappropriate nor awkward, which was a definite turn up for the books because I despised Leo touching me in any way, shape, or form when we walked together, whether it be putting his arm around my shoulders, or even simply holding hands. I laughed sardonically to myself. But I guess we never had the pleasure of taking a February stroll around Knock International Airport car park before.
During what can only be described as a force ten gale.
“The wind’s got up a bit,” Elisha noted casually.
A bit? She could very well turn out to be the Queen of the Understatement. “It’s bloody freezing too,” I chattered, stating the obvious.
“That north wind would take the face off you, so it would. That’s one of the things you’ll have to get used to over here, Brianna. The weather’s awful changeable and very localised. You could be working in one field and the sun would split the stones, yet move to the field beyond and be bombarded by hailstones.”
I listened intently as we walked arm in arm, the soft lyrical burr of Elisha’s tones (not harsh like the Dublin and Donegal accents I’d grown up hearing) warming my cockles far more effectively than an electric blanket on a frosty January morning. I lowered my glasses as protection from the bright sun and to stop tendrils of my hair from rudely flapping into my eyes. Unfortunately, my mouth had no such protection and I spat several stray locks out of it. Nice, Bri, very ladylike. You sought classy, you attained a cat hocking up a giant hairball.
“This is us.” Elis
ha pressed a button on her key fob and the lights flashed on a small red Hyundai hatchback. “I’ve sorted out the insurance so that you can use this car while you’re here. I hope that’s okay?” she asked whilst easily flinging my bags into the spacious boot. Her shoulders tensed, but that was the only sign the cases weighed approximately the same as a baby rhino. I was envious because I’d sweated and grunted like an eastern European weightlifter when I dragged them off the conveyor belt and onto my trolley.
“More than, but Heavenly Homes have already said they’d pay for a rental.”
“Oh I know, but I’m driving my Dad’s van at the moment, so this would just be gathering dust in the garage.” We climbed in and as the engine turned over, the heaters began blowing out cold air; I gave a little shiver, a sensation that I intuited was going to be common place during this contract.
***
We’d been on the road for less than ten minutes when I almost suffered whiplash as I spun to read a road sign we’d whizzed by. It was difficult to make out clearly because the town names were written in both English and Gaelic. “Cathair na Mart?” I mangled the pronunciation. “Is that Westport?”
“It is,” Elisha confirmed.
“That’s near Croagh Patrick, right?” I aimed for neutrality but struggled because talk about spooky. I’ve barely stepped foot on Irish soil and have already been given a sign!
“That’s right. It’s about sixty kilometres from here, maybe an hour or so from the site. Why? Have you heard of it?”
Why? Because fate is bitch slapping me, that’s why. “When I was researching the area it came up,” I explained. “The town and quay looked quaint.”
“It’s lovely,” she agreed. “How about we take a drive down once you’re settled?” Elisha sounded far more excited by this prospect than a guided tour of the Knock Shrine!
“That would be great!” I accepted her kind invitation way too enthusiastically.
