Page 49 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Bill had a feeling that his mother was probably right. An aroma of spicy curry was seeping through the seat cushions and as Bill’s stomach heaved, he wondered what the hell Biddu had packed in the hamper, which now lay simmering above the engine of Bessie the bus. God forbid that his Delhi belly return and disgrace him before they’d even got on the motorway. He stared miserably out at the countryside which stretched ahead like a huge quilt of brown and green squares, stitched together with hedgerows, reminding him of the faded old eiderdown on his mother’s bed.

The old woman would forever taunt him.

As Bill thought of the long journey ahead and they sped through Cumbria to make their way south into Wales, to Holyhead to catch the ferry to Dublin, Bill felt miserable. He knew that he’d never been a good traveller and would probably be sick all the way.

‘Slide along, old son,’ Harry called out. ‘Alf said there was plenty of room at the back.’ He grabbed a seat and plonked himself down.

‘If you like white-knuckle rides,’ Bill grumbled.

‘I’ve got something here that will ease the journey and steady your nerves.’ Harry held up a canvas bag. ‘And as I’m off duty, I thought we’d get stuck into a few beers and start the holiday as we mean to go on.’ He reached into the bag and produced two cans. ‘Got a couple of bottles of the hard stuff too, if you fancy a shot.’ Harry grinned and fastened his seat-belt.

‘Is someone handing out drinks?’ Audrey swivelled round and, seeing Harry about to open a can, she clapped her hands together. ‘What a splendid idea.’

The Babes rummaged in their bags and produced an assorted collection of home-made liqueurs and plastic beakers. Bottles of all shapes and sizes, containing sloe gin, damson vodka, blackberry brandy and nettle wine, soon exchanged hands.

‘Anyone fancy a sing-song?’ Audrey said as she knocked back a damson vodka.

At the front of the bus, Alf spread out his map book. He looked up as Willie cranked through the gears, slowing down to turn off the main road and onto the motorway.

‘Stick with my instructions,’ Alf said. ‘I’ll tell thee where to go; it’s a long way and these lasses will no doubt want plenty of comfort breaks.’ He cocked his head and looked in Willie’s rear-view mirror. ‘As will the Nolan sisters on the back seat.’

Harry and Bill held a beer in each hand and whisky chasers in the other. Bill, who’d relaxed considerably in the miles covered from Marland to the motorway, took alternate swigs of his drinks. His face beamed as he joined Harry and the Babes in a rousing rendition of “I’m In the Mood for Dancing”.

‘I hope young Hattie knows what she’s in for,’ Willie said as he thrust into top gear and perilously changed lanes.

‘Aye, no doubt she does,’ Alf replied as the coach rocked and the occupants cheered.

20

Across the sea in Ireland, Boomerville Manor was up and running. Earlier that morning, Jo had opened the doors to the public and already interested locals were arriving for coffee and snacks. Smartly attired in a formal suit, James was supervising the staff and there was an air of excitement as he issued instructions in readiness for hotel guests, who would arrive during the course of the afternoon.

In the kitchen, Connor was taking deliveries of fresh produce as his team began to prep food for the day ahead. Rock music played in the background as the commis chefs, with rolled up sleeves, worked in time to the pulsating beat. Housekeeping staff worked their way through each bedroom, applying the finishing touches with baskets of fresh fruit and bowls of carefully arranged flowers. Pillows were plumped and curtains hung neatly as welcome cards were placed alongside county magazines and folders of local information.

Jo was in the garden with Declan and Finbar. With two days to go before the public would descend on the manor for the day, she was concerned that all her preparations were on schedule. With her clipboard gripped tightly, she stared at her list and made copious notes.

‘We’re on top of it all,’ Finbar assured Jo as they watched a truck arrive with portable loos, which were unloaded and placed behind the stage area. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about.’

Jo admired Finbar’s optimism but she had her doubts; there was still so much to be done.

She watched Declan, in overalls and wellingtons, stride across the grass to issue instructions to his sons. Jo couldn’t tell the twins apart. Tall and strong, they wore identical checked shirts, scruffy jeans and their hair was as thick and sandy as their father’s. As one raked gravel on a path and the other trimmed the edges of the lawn with an industrial strimmer, Jo noted that the menacing piece of equipment was almost as large as the operator.

‘Don’t be holding it at such an angle!’ Declan yelled as the strimmer hit the gravel, pebble dashing the rake-holding son.

Jo winced as the twins argued and their father cursed.

‘I’ve sorted the running order for the entertainment,’ Finbar said. ‘We’ll finish the night with the headline act and I’ll sing the closing numbers with him.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Jo said. ‘I hope we get enough people here to enjoy it.’

‘The place will be packed. Desmond Drecker has a massive following and he’ll have all his relatives here too.’

Jo nodded as Finbar highlighted the merits of Desmond Drecker, a singer from the local pub, Father Ted’s, who, like all the others who’d agreed to play on the night, wanted to see the manor get off to a good start and had offered his services free of charge. The pub was providing an outside bar and the landlord, Ted, had agreed that a percentage of profits would go to the area’s hospice. The Round Table too would contribute from their various fund-raising stalls.

‘Have you seen Hattie anywhere?’ Jo asked.

‘She was heading towards the old cottage about an hour ago.’ Finbar nodded in the direction of the end of the garden, where the slated roof of a building peeped out from thick bushes and overhanging trees.

‘What on earth is she doing down there?’

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