Page 58 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Let’s hope there’s no repercussions,’ Hattie said, as she leaned over Jo’s shoulder and studied the title of the gardening class.

‘I’m more concerned with twisted knees and arthritic backs,’ Jo replied. ‘There’s a community hospital in Kindale, but the nearest Accident & Emergency is in Cork.’

‘A long way to go if your dibber gets stuck.’

‘Do you think it was a good idea to let Finbar host a singing class?’

‘You’ve played a blinder and judging by the reaction of every female in the place, who was still doing an Irish jig with him at three o’clock this morning, I’m sure his classes will be booked out for months.’

‘He is popular with the ladies, isn’t he?’

Hattie’s eyes were dreamy. ‘I’d give him a go,’ she said.

‘Hattie,’ Jo said, ‘there’ll be no fraternising with the staff. Remember what happened with Paul the Potter.’

Hattie sighed as she remembered more than Jo had ever known. The pottery wheel had taken a frenzied spin back at Boomerville in Cumbria when Paul, the traumatised potter, had ended up in hospital. But he’d soon got over his injury and they enjoyed more than moulding clay pots in their out of hours liaisons.

She picked up a clipboard. ‘We need to press on; there’s a ruck of outsiders joining the classes today and by the look of things, some of them are starting to arrive.’

They looked out to the driveway, where cars were assembling. The occupants, a mixture of middle-aged residents from the surrounding area, keen to try the new classes, were greeting each other as they headed towards the front door.

‘Coffee and biscuits are being served in the lounge that overlooks the lake.’ Jo stood. ‘Can you direct everyone to assemble in there?’

‘On my way,’ Hattie replied and with a broad smile stepped out to welcome the new arrivals.

* * *

Bill had a stonking headache.It was all he could do to lift his head from his rolled-up jacket and sit up. His bed rocked as he wriggled out of his sleeping bag. Bill’s mouth was dry and his tongue felt thick; he was sure his breath was foul too.

You stupid man! Getting yourself hooked up with this lot; it’ll end in tears!

‘Morning, Mother,’ Bill said out loud as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was parched and as he was overtaken by a yawn that made his jaw ache, he looked through bleary lids for a glass of water.

You deserve to be dead, not just hungover!

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Bill sighed, the old woman was off to an early start today. ‘Six feet under, alongside you.’

You’re bringing a bad name to the family, get yourself home – away from this evil place!

‘The only evil thing here is your bloody ghostly presence,’ Bill said. ‘Now bugger off and let me get on with my day.’

The door of the bedroom opened and Alf came in.

‘Talking to yourself, old lad?’ Alf asked. ‘That’s a bad sign.’ He held out a plate stacked with a bacon sandwich and two fat sausages. ‘I thought you might be ready for a bite to eat.’

‘My mouth’s as dry as dust.’

Alf took a bottle of water from his pocket and handed it to Bill. ‘There you go, that will whet your whistle.’

Bill flicked the top and glugged the water down in one. Licking his lips, he reached out and took the plate. ‘Thank you, I needed that,’ he said.

Harry appeared in the doorway. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was wet. He nodded when he saw Bill. ‘Good night, last night, eh?’

Bill, who had a mouth full of sausage, nodded.

In truth, the previous evening had been one of the best nights of Bill’s life, as had the journey to Kindale. Once Bill had overcome his queasiness on the ferry, he’d loved every second of the ride. The repartee with Harry, as they enjoyed drinks and a sing-song on the back seat of the bus, was second only to the feeling of being part of a team, with Alf and Willie, as they chaperoned Audrey and the Babes to dinner, and the unexpected dance with Finbar and the hotel guests. Bill had never been so happy, as he’d found himself participating in a Irish jig with a lady from London, and the group hug at the end of the Gay Gordon’s had left him exhausted but ecstatic. As the Cumbrian party staggered across the lawn and headed back to the cottage, in the dead of the night, it was a happy Bill who’d fallen onto his camp bed, breaking one of the supporting legs, as Alf and Harry slid him into a sleeping bag before collapsing, head over heels, themselves.

For the first time in his life, Bill felt as though he had friends. It was a curious feeling but one that felt good. Very good.

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