Snow Falls In Clover Cove: A heart-warming romance set on the beautiful west coast of Ireland

by Maggie Finn

  Noah grabbed the radio handset from its cradle again. ‘Colleen, do you read me? Colleen?’ He waited, but just got static. The radios were patchy at the best of times, what with the hills and the headlands getting in the way, but all this snow had a dampening effect. He switched to a different frequency, hoping to reach headquarters or local law enforcement, but got the same result. No cell phone coverage either; not that that was a big shock in rural Ireland.

  He reached forward and wiped the steam from the windscreen. Visibility was becoming a problem. The yellow beams from the patrol car’s headlights seemed to be swallowed by the curtain of white falling in front and Noah was relying on the dark ruts worn by other vehicles to show him where to steer: not exactly ideal. When he’d left the Cove, Noah been looking for David Schwartz’s tail-lights, hoping he could overtake the man and take him back to the Port Station cell before he went after Eliza. Now, he was just hoping to get to the airport in one piece.

  He clicked on the car’s radio, hoping for a weather report, but out came the buttery tones of Perry Como over a jaunty version of ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas’.

  ‘It is that,’ said Noah, looking up at the sky. ‘Maybe a little too much.’

  Still, he was glad of the company. And all Perry’s talk of bells and songs and candy canes made him think of all those Christmases past when he and Ma and Da had sat by the fire, carols low on the radiogram, listening out for the jangle of Rudolph’s bells. His da had been right when he had said Christmas had been important in the Moyes family. But Noah also knew Eliza had been right when she had said he remembered it all the way he wanted. His parents’ marriage hadn’t been all sweetness and light. There had been arguments and frosty silences. There had been hard times when the fish stocks had dwindled and the money had drained from the county, but there had always been love. His abiding memory of his childhood was warmth. The warmth of the logs burning in the grate in winter and the sun on his shoulders as he ran along the clifftops in summer. And most of all the warmth of the hugs from both his ma and his da whenever he skinned a knee or lost a match. Or just to say ‘goodnight, sleep tight’. Growing up, Noah had never once doubted he was loved. Love was real, it was unconditional, it was eternal. Which was why he had struggled with his father’s new relationship. If Niall truly loved Linda, didn’t that mean his love for Nancy had been a lie? Or had Eliza been right about that too? Love couldn’t be turned on and off when you wanted. Just because it was inconvenient, didn’t mean it wasn’t real. Noah had certainly found that with Eliza. Given the choice, who would fall head-over-heels for a girl who lived on a different continent? But Noah hadn’t made that choice: it had just happened. So why shouldn’t he…

  ‘Whoa!’

  Noah slammed on the brakes, the car skidding dangerously to the left, then the right, the wheels squealing against the packed snow. He’d been so deep in thought, he’d almost missed the turn-off for the airport. In his defense, the road sign was white and covered with wind-blown snow. Gaining control, he swung the wheel and pushed the complaining engine, his excitement growing as the lights around the runway popped into view, the snow seeming to accelerate as it fell past their lollipop glow.

  ‘Surely nothing can fly in this,’ he said out loud, more in hope than certainty. Obviously if Eliza’s plane could just get above the clouds, then the sky would be clear all the way to California.

  Noah twisted in his seat, trying to get a glimpse of the runway, but the terminal was in the way. Noah drove straight for it, flipping on the patrol car’s lights and pulling up right in front of building: driving a Garda vehicle had its advantages. And he was chasing a fugitive after all. Noah ran inside the building and straight across to the information desk. ‘Police business, Miss,’ he said to the startled woman behind the counter. ‘I need to hold a flight. Two flights in fact.’

  To her credit, the girl immediately snatched up a telephone and began to dial. ‘Where are the flights bound for?’ she asked, wedging the receiver between ear and shoulder and grabbing a pen.

  ‘A scheduled flight to Los Angeles and a private jet owned by Ross Oil going in the same direction, wherever planes flying to Manhattan go.’

  ‘We don’t fly to LA direct, could they be going via New York or Philadelphia?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Noah, ‘It would have been a last-minute booking, she’d probably take any route she could.’

  The girl nodded and pushed her pad and pen across. ‘Write down the names and details and I’ll check.’

  Noah scribbled them down and waited, crossing over to the windows, watching as an airplane lumbered along the runway and struggled into the air, oblivious to the snow. Where was it heading? Was Eliza on board? Had he come so far, just to miss her by a hair?

  The woman at the desk was waving a piece of paper at him and he ran back.

  ‘I’ve found the New York passenger,’ she smiled, clearly pleased with her detective work. ‘But the private jet’s not ours.’

  ‘Not yours? What do you mean?’

  ‘Very few private jets have flown from here today because of the snow and certainly none was registered to Ross Oil. Of course…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, we mainly deal with commercial flights here. If you’re looking for a private plane flying from the west coast, they could have flown from Knock: West Ireland Airport. It’s much smaller, but a Gulfstream only needs about two thousand meters to take off.’

  Noah closed his eyes. He’d spent an hour searching for David Schwartz’s tail-lights and all the time, the American had been heading in another direction.

  ‘What about Eliza Carlisle?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d have to check with the individual airline for her up-to-date PNR info, but I can tell you she checked in for the flight to New York.’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Noah, leaning forward over the desk. ‘What gate is it leaving from?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the girl, her smile fading. ‘I’m sorry, Guard. The last flight to New York left an hour ago.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Noah could hear the singing before he’d even left the square. In the Bleak Midwinter, voices raised on the winter air. He crunched down the snowy lane towards the harbor. My, but it was grand. A crisp Christmas morning, last night’s heavy snow settled on the ground and rooftops. And that song. It was one of Noah’s favorites: sad, but magnificent still – and so evocative of the season.

  Frosty wind made moan

  Earth stood hard as iron

  Water like a stone

  Beautiful. And yet Noah couldn’t smile. He had come so close last night, only to miss out the last moment. He’d missed Eliza’s flight by half an hour. Was it bad luck, fate or bad decisions? Either way, Noah had woken up on Christmas morning alone. No smell of turkey roasting in the oven, no excited laughter, no tear and crackle of unwrapped gifts, just the soft drip-drip of gently melting snow and the squawk of birds circling overhead, oblivious of the date on the calendar.

  So Noah had done what he always did. He put on his uniform and he headed over to the Cove for the blessing ceremony, the roads for once completely empty.

  Now, as he approached the harbor, he could see the crowd gathered around a little platform of fish boxes, Father Declan standing on top, leading them in the hymn. Noah stood apart, watching as the village enthusiastically joined together in song on this special morning. A simple, but beautiful thing. As the last notes faded, Father Dec helped old Bishop Ray into the makeshift pulpit and the crowd hushed, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘Welcome everybody,’ said Ray with a rare smile. ‘So good to see so many of you here. I know it’s a Christmas morning tradition in the Cove, but I’ll try to keep it short as I know many of you will be itching to get off to your families.’ He bent down to look at a small boy in an oversized parka. ‘And you in particular, Thomas O’Neill, as your ma tells me you’re not allowed to open your presents until you get home.’

  There was laughter as,
mortified, the boy seemed to shrink further into his hood. The bishop slowly straightened up.

  ‘But it’s fitting we are all gathered here as a community to celebrate the Lord’s birth and to remember loved ones who cannot be with us,’ he said, ‘Just as Jesus’ family was separated from many of their kin on that holy day.’

  Ray turned to look towards the water.

  ‘We ask the Good Lord to bless this harbor and all those who pass across the waters. Saint Andrew, Peter, James and John were all fishermen, their father Zebedee too – it was a family business which passed down through the generations, just like many here. Galilee was a fishing community just like ours too, no doubt they were often required to join hands and weather the storms both literal and spiritual.’

  The old man opened the bible began to read.

  ‘He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”’

  The bishop closed the book and smiled down at them.

  ‘We do not have the power of His Father to command,’ he said, ‘But we do have one great power: faith. And yes, I know for a lot of you Christmas is about Turkey and tinsel and those big tins of chocolates, but let us not forget what brings us together in this season is our common faith in the goodness of the people around us.’

  He raised a hand to indicate the village behind them.

  ‘The sea hasn’t always been kind to us. Many brave men women and children have been lost to the depths, and yet the village, the port and yes, the whole county all pull together – literally, back when that was how we launched lifeboats, and now too, when we come together to give thanks. Our little community has faced some strong challenges this year – as have I personally – but the one thing we all share is strength. It comes from the church and from this book, sure. But it also comes from these hills around us from the rocks and from the waves at our feet. So join me a silent prayer now to give thanks for all we have, for all we have lost, and for everything – by the Lord’s Grace – we shall receive in the coming year.’

  The crowd fell silent, bowing their heads, lost in their own thoughts. Quietly, Noah moved down to join them, struck by the beauty of Bishop Ray’s words. Because wasn’t he right? Wasn’t that what was important; being part of this great place, this great country and these great people? And couldn’t they all try a little harder, whatever problems got in the way?

  ‘Amen,’ said the Bishop and looked solemnly at the crowd.

  ‘Right then,’ he asked, ‘Which eejit’s going to jump in?’

  A roar of laughter swelled up from the crowd and Noah moved down towards the water. This was his cue. The Plunge was another reason for all those barriers he and Raff and Mikey had erected. If people wanted to jump in, fine, but he didn’t want the spectators falling in.

  ‘Alright folks, don’t push,’ he called, ‘You’ll get plenty of chance to see ’em splashing about.’

  There was already a line of intrepid aquanauts, some in bathing costumes, some wrapped in robes or towels, but most were in wetsuits which would at least stave off the cold – a little, anyway.

  There was the whoop of a horn and they all turned as Raff the fisherman steered his boat, complete with inflatable snowman, closer to the seawall.

  ‘Don’t worry folks,’ he called, waving a boat-hook. ‘If it gets too icy, I’ll be here to fish you out quick smart. And for the bigger ones among you, there’s always my net!’

  More laughter and when the jumpers were all in position, Father Declan stepped forward.

  ‘May the Lord protect you all,’ he said with a mischievous smirk. ‘But if it’s too cold, don’t blame Him – and remember, nobody pushed you in.’

  He turned back to the crowd. ‘Okay, let’s have a countdown.’

  ‘Ten! Nine!’

  The jumpers shuffled sideways until they were lined up along the wall.

  ‘Six! Five!’

  Nervous hands arranged goggles, zips were fastened up to the neck.

  ‘Three! Two!’

  The crowd held their breath.

  ‘GO!’

  There was a roar of encouragement and glee as the bodies leapt from the wall into the green sea, some plunging straight under, some flailing around in a cloud of foam. Noah turned his back to the water his arms spread wide, herding the eager crowd back from the edge. In Noah’s experience, when people had those smartphones in their hands, they tended to be anything but smart, and those eagerly filming the whole spectacle might easily walk straight off the harbor wall. Bishop Ray, back on the fish-boxes, began to lead the choir in a spirited rendition of ‘I Saw Three Ships’ and there was laughter and shrieks as the first of the swimmers emerged from the water, gratefully plied with warm towels and hot tea. It was chaos, but good-natured chaos – in fact, it was a perfect celebration for a place like Clover Cove. Despite himself, Noah stood on the harbor wall and smiled. It was impossible to feel completely gloomy when you lived in such a magical place, surrounded by such warm-hearted people.

  ‘Is it all over?’

  Noah turned. Eliza was standing there wrapped in her red coat.

  ‘Eliza! You’re here!’ he ran over and pulled her into a hug, then, remembering, stepped back.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have – it’s the shock of seeing you when I thought I’d lost y…’ he trailed off, feeling utterly embarrassed. ‘I – I mean, what are you doing here? I went to the airport last night in the storm, Mrs. Brennan said you were flying home.’

  It was only then that Noah noticed Eliza wasn’t wearing shoes, but bright green flip-flops. As his eyes drifted up her bare legs, Eliza opened her coat to reveal an orange bathing suit.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ she grinned. Noah’s mouth dropped open and Eliza laughed.

  ‘I figure since I brought the costume all this way, seems a shame not to use it even once.’

  ‘But Eliza, you can’t swim!’

  ‘Maybe. But you know what?’ said Eliza, draping her coat over one of the metal barriers and walking to the edge. ‘It’s time to stop being afraid. That’s what I came here for. I came to Clover Cove because I thought it was time to start doing things I’d always dreamed of doing, but never had the nerve to go through with. And don’t you think this really fits the bill?’

  ‘Eliza, don’t…’

  She turned and grinned. ‘Catch me,’ she said. And one step, two – she jumped.

  Noah lunged forward to grab her, but he was far too late. Eliza was flying through the air, legs and arms pin-wheeling, a yelp of joy filling the cold morning air.

  ‘Oh no,’ he gasped, just as Eliza hit the water with a loud ‘SPLASH!’

  ‘Eliza!’ shouted Noah. ‘ELIZA!’

  Noah watched the churned surface, but all he could see was dark green and blue water, a lace-web of bubbles rising to the surface.

  ‘Raff!’ he shouted down to the fisherman who was still standing on the deck of his boat.

  ‘Get your net!’ he called, pointing down to the water, ‘Eliza can’t swim!’

  Without thinking, Noah stripped off his jacket and his shoes and, taking a hurried step backwards, launched himself off the wall and into space. He just had time to hope the Bishop’s blessing had been heard by the man upstairs before – WHOOSH – he was enveloped by iciness. Cold. Sharp, piercing cold. All of the air was forced out of Noah’s lungs and suddenly his arms wouldn’t work. They felt heavy, numb and his lungs were screaming for oxygen. But then he remembered Eliza. He couldn’t leave without Eliza. Rebelling against his instincts, he kicked his legs like a frog, diving deeper and twisting in a circle, looking for a shape, movement, anything. Eliza! Where are you? He thought, his mind crying out to her. Don’t leave me again!

  And then he couldn’t stand it anymore, his body taking over, striking out for the surface, bursting through, arms flailing, sucking in air and saltwater. ‘Eliza!’ he spluttered, looking around wildly. ‘Hel
p me Raff!’ he coughed, knowing he’d taken in too much water, feeling weak, a skeletal hand squeezing at his heart.

  And then he felt warmth, a body under his, buoying him up, a hand under his chin. ‘Come on Tarzan,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘El-Eliza?’ he coughed. ‘But you can’t swim.’

  ‘I didn’t say I can’t swim,’ she replied, still pulling him backwards. ‘I said I don’t swim. I watched a horror movie about Piranha fish when I was 11 and it gave me a thing about deep water. But I can manage a life-saving maneuver when I need to.’

  Noah tried to reply, but his teeth were chattering too much – and then Raff’s red face was looming towards him, strong hands pulling him up, up – and he was out, solid wood under his back.

  ‘Eliza,’ he growled, struggling to sit. ‘Where’s Eliza?’

  ‘I’m here,’ she said, her warm hand stroking his hair. ‘You great big stupid wonderful man.’

  And she bent over him, water dripping from her perfect nose. And she kissed him. Again and again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Are you sure I look okay?’

  Eliza looked across at Noah. They were walking along the waterfront of Port Quinn harbor, the calm water and empty docks strangely hushed after the chaos of ‘the plunge’ at Clover Cove.

  ‘I think you look wonderful,’ said Eliza. He could have been wearing a gorilla suit and he would still have looked perfect to her. This amazing man had swallowed half the sea to save her. Noah hadn’t known Eliza didn’t need saving, but somehow that made it all the more brave and foolish and romantic.

  ‘I just want to make the right impression,’ he said, stopping by the harbor’s edge. ‘I don’t want to look like a drowned rat.’

  ‘Only half-drowned, remember? Doc Fabian gave you the all-clear.’