The Transatlantic Book Club

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  ‘I know I did but, Cassie, what’s this about?’

  ‘Well, I’ve talked to Pat and she says she’s sure people will turn up.’

  ‘But you mustn’t feel pressured.’ Pat touched Hanna’s hand earnestly.

  Cassie was as tense as a fiddle string. ‘And half of them won’t have seen each other for ages. Oh, come on, Hanna, say we can have one.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, Cassie! Have what?’

  For a moment the bright face under the peacock fringe looked astonished. Then Cassie laughed. ‘Oh, of course, I haven’t said, but wait till you hear! It’s terrific. A transatlantic book club, that’s what!’

  Chapter Twelve

  Cassie and Margot were sitting in the staff room at the salon.

  ‘I talked to Erin after I cleared it with Hanna, and she’s all for it.’

  ‘But what’s a transatlantic book club?’

  ‘Well, just what it says. You set it up with members on both sides of the ocean. And you use Skype.’

  Margot frowned. ‘How? Everyone sits at home in front of their computers?’

  ‘No, because the point is to make it communal. So, over here it’s going to be based in the library, and over there they’ll be in the Shamrock Club.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, we’re calling it a dual-library thing but, really, the one in the Shamrock Club is just a room full of books.’ She’d talked it all through with Erin, whose gran had got in touch with the club committee. ‘The president or chairman, or whatever he is, was so up for it. And Erin emailed this morning to say the committee has waved it through, so we’re good to go.’

  ‘Hang on, let me get this right. Everyone gathers in the two venues at a certain time of day?’

  ‘Exactly. Round lunchtime in Resolve, seven p.m. in Lissbeg.’

  ‘And what? There’s one computer?’

  ‘One on each side of the ocean. With the image shown on two big screens. All that’s needed is the Skype connection, plus a little camera and a microphone pointed at the group in each venue. And people just sit round in chairs, like a regular book club.’

  ‘So, what’ll they see on the screens?’

  ‘It’ll be like an ordinary Skype session. The group in Lissbeg will see the Resolve lot and vice versa. It should feel like two sides of a circle having a chat.’

  ‘Won’t people interrupt each other?’

  ‘Probably. But they do that at any book club. And we’ll have two facilitators – one here and one there.’

  As soon as Hanna had grasped the idea, she’d said she’d be happy to facilitate the group in Lissbeg. She could set up the technical side of things, too, and the reading room with its large screen would be the perfect venue.

  Margot asked who’d do the facilitation in Resolve. Cassie shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. They haven’t got a librarian. Like I said, it’s just a room full of books. Erin said they’d find someone.’

  ‘And is Pat pleased?’

  ‘She kind of wavered at first, but she does that. It was the same when I suggested that we take the trip to Resolve. But it’s so not complicated.’

  ‘How about the technical side over there?’

  Though she hoped Margot wouldn’t notice, the question made Cassie uncomfortable. Someone in Resolve would have to set up the camera and make sure the sound worked, so Jack might well be co-opted again by the club. But she hadn’t been able to ask Erin about it. Not while she didn’t know whether or not Jack had been Erin’s date. It should have been easy to throw in a casual question about the restaurant. Had the meal been good? How had things gone? And, by the way, what was the guy’s name? Yet she hadn’t been able to find the right words, so she still didn’t know if it had been Jack, which made her shrink from mentioning him to Margot. If she did, Margot would want to know all about him, and striking the right nonchalant note might be hard. The fact was that she still wasn’t sure how she felt about Jack Shanahan. All she knew was she felt a tingle whenever his name came up. Daft, she told herself crossly, but there it was.

  Fortunately Margot’s next appointment had arrived. Cassie’s shift had begun with two wash-and-blow-dries and a man who’d just wanted his beard trimmed. Margot and the girls in the beauty parlour had appointments through to lunchtime, and she was covering walk-ins to the salon. Now she debated whether to stay indoors with a magazine or to wander onto the terrace where the sun was glinting on pools left by last night’s rain. The outdoors won hands down over the windowless staff room, so she crossed the highly polished parquet, indicating to Sharon that she was just stepping outside.

  Leaning on the balcony rail, Cassie looked out at the ocean. There was little wind today and hardly any foam on the waves. Down in the marina the vessels rocked gently at their moorings. Among them was a small cruise ship painted in sparkling white and navy blue. Cassie reckoned it could carry about a hundred and fifty passengers, far fewer than her own last ship. Its shallow draft was designed to access small bays and communities, and she guessed it was on its way round Ireland, having already visited the Scandinavian fjords. The chances were that Ballyfin would be worth no more than an overnight, and that the schedule would include a Finfarran coach tour. Probably that would amount to a straight dash up and down the motorway, with shopping in Carrick and the option of a set dinner here at the hotel.

  Remembering the rambling byways and the stunning views from the mountains, Cassie pitied the passengers, though, no doubt, they felt they were having a great time. And Carrick had plenty to interest visitors. Unlike Lissbeg, which had started out as the focus for cattle-dealing, it had grown up at the feet of an imposing Anglo-Norman castle. There was an early medieval cathedral, an old granite courthouse, and a park where you could imagine Jane Austen’s ladies taking the air. But its shopping streets were crowded with computer stores and sports outlets, and its slightly dilapidated Georgian squares and long Victorian terraces were cramped by ribbon development and out-of-town malls.

  It also had the legendary Royal Victoria Hotel, an imposing building set in a terrace off Main Street. A curved flight of granite steps led to double doors with gleaming brass fittings – Cassie and Pat had been there on Sunday for tea. It could be had in the Royal Vic’s conservatory but Pat said that the lounge was the better choice for the time of year. As they’d driven through heavy rain along the motorway, she’d told Cassie that, with luck, the hotel might even have lit its fires. And she’d been right. A large fire had been burning in the entrance hall, stoked from a shining coal scuttle and flanked by urns of dried flowers. Beyond it was the bar, approached through an archway, and at the far end of the bar was the lounge, where they’d found a table and two velvet chairs by another crackling fire.

  As the waiter arrived with a laden tray, Pat had exclaimed at the sight of the cake. ‘You’re going to love the Sachertorte! It’s been their speciality for years.’

  ‘Is this someplace you and Ger used to come to?’

  ‘Ah, no, love. Ger wasn’t one for an outing.’

  ‘So did you come here on dates with other guys back when you were young?’

  ‘Ah, no, love. Mary and Tom used to come here to dinner dances. And Mary and I drop in still for tea when we’re in town. I wasn’t one to go dating in my young days.’

  ‘You mean Ger was the only guy you ever went out with?’

  Pat was inspecting the sandwiches with a smile. ‘Do you know what it is, you’re a pet to have thought of this book club. Did Erin say who’s joining up in Resolve?’

  ‘Well, it’s early days, but her gran and her mom are in. And the chairlady of the quilting guild.’

  ‘Mrs Shanahan?’

  ‘I guess so.’ It had felt as if each conversation she had always came back to that name, and the way Pat said it had seemed kind of weird. To avoid meeting her eyes, Cassie had reached for the milk jug. When she’d looked up, Pat had been adding boiling water to the teapot.

  Now, as she leaned on the balcony rail, Cassie heard a ping from the
lift and saw a man approaching the reception desk. As she left the terrace and went inside, her thoughts were still in Carrick. Had she and Pat been fencing with each other over the teacups, each unwilling to be drawn because both had something to conceal?

  When she reached the desk the guy turned to face her. He was thirty or so, not tall but very tanned and handsome, with hair that looked as if he had it trimmed every week. He wore a well-cut business suit over a crisp shirt with an open collar. Sharon introduced them. ‘This is Cassie. She’ll take care of you. Cassie, this is Mr Miller. He just wants a trim.’

  When he spoke it was in an American accent and, unlike a lot of clients, he held out his hand. ‘Bradley Miller. Call me Brad.’

  Cassie shook his hand and smiled back, deciding he was probably good for a fairly decent tip. She’d been a bit startled when she’d found that tipping wasn’t an Irish thing or, anyway, not at the rates she was used to. But, as Margot had said, the Spa Hotel catered mostly to foreigners, and this guy looked a likely fifteen percent.

  As soon as his hair was washed, she settled him in the chair at her station. He smiled at her in the mirror. ‘So where’s home?’

  ‘Toronto. How about you?’

  ‘California. But I travel a lot.’

  ‘Do you?’ She ran her fingers through his hair, which was dark brown and sun-streaked, and asked him how much he wanted cut.

  ‘Just smarten me up – don’t scalp me.’

  Some clients made it plain that they preferred her to work in silence but this guy seemed to expect a chat, which was fine with Cassie, who always found strangers interesting. She straightened the chair and asked if he travelled for his job.

  ‘I work on cruise ships.’

  ‘Wow, really? So do I.’

  He raised his eyebrows at her in the mirror and she laughed. ‘Well, not right now, obviously. But a lot. Is that your ship in the marina?’

  ‘The Wave Charmer, that’s her.’

  ‘Cool name. So what do you do?’

  The fact that he was staying in the hotel didn’t suggest that he swabbed the decks. He shrugged. ‘Itineraries, that sort of thing. Liaison with local tourist offices. Scoping places out.’ It was an American cruise line, called Your World Awaits, he explained, and he’d worked for it since graduating college.

  ‘So it must be good?’

  ‘Yeah. The ships are small and the teams are really tight. Great people.’

  But presumably he preferred to spend a night or two ashore. Of course, you might want some time away from your team when your ship was small. ‘I don’t know that I’d care to stick with just one line.’

  ‘Well, I guess you like variety, since you’re here.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘So, what, you got washed up by the tide? Or you’re in Ireland to find your ancestors?’

  ‘What makes you think it’s either?’

  ‘Well, it’s usually one or the other. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I have family here.’ Cassie, who’d been wielding her scissors, picked up the mirror. ‘Is that good, or do you like more off?’

  He swung the chair, considering the back of his head, before he grinned and said he’d leave it up to her. ‘It’s really no big deal so long as it dries before I’m out of the gym.’

  It was evident when he’d taken his jacket off that he worked out. Guys on the ships often did. The equipment was usually top notch and staff were allowed to use it. He wasn’t insanely muscly, though, just fit.

  ‘I’ll take a bit more off, then, and you’ll just have to towel it dry.’

  As she worked, they chatted about the cruises she’d been on, and the talk suddenly made her miss the sea. When she’d come to Finfarran with Pat and Ger she hadn’t intended to stay beyond the new year, and now she wasn’t sure when she’d get away. Being stuck in one place had never been part of her life plan, which had always involved moving on to the next exciting thing. Yet recently she’d been half thinking of turning round and going back to Resolve. What was that about? Some vague urge to pick up where she and Jack had left off? But that was crazy, because there was nothing there to go back to. Nothing at all. Far better to find a new ship and return to the life she loved. Meeting Brad’s eyes in the mirror again, she felt a rush of the old excitement that had first made her pick up and leave home. Perhaps Fate had sent her someone who’d give her a few pointers. She’d never taken a ship to Scandinavia, but maybe, when Pat was settled and seemed happier, she’d pack her things and do just that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first meeting of the Transatlantic Book Club was to be an inaugural discussion. On Tuesday morning, with the Skype link yet to be set up, it was clear that texts and phone calls were producing mounting interest in Resolve. In Finfarran Cassie had put an announcement on the Edge of the World website, which was both a community noticeboard and a tool to showcase the peninsula to tourists. Within a few hours of the posting, Ferdia, the website’s administrator, rang the library to say he’d had lots of enquiries. Cassie, who took the call, was elated, Hanna less so. Lacking a book as a point of focus, the meeting might be hard to manage if it turned out to be large. But she reminded herself that enquiries didn’t guarantee attendance. It was easy to click on a website but harder to put on your coat and go out if the evening happened to be cold.

  Ferdia, who worked in the management office of the Old Convent Centre, had offered to oversee the Skype set-up. As the equipment belonged to the county council, Hanna was glad to have it done by a full-time employee. He rambled into the library at lunchtime, saying he might sign up for the club himself. ‘Though your interface could be a lot more sophisticated.’

  Hanna laughed and led him through to the reading room. ‘A Skype link will be just fine, so long as the blessed thing works.’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly rocket science. You’ll be grand in here, and I’ll come and plug things up around six. Do you want to give me a contact for my oppo in Resolve?’

  Hanna looked at Cassie, who’d followed them to the doorway. At first Cassie appeared unsure but then she and Ferdia sat down in a huddle over her phone. Leaving them to it, Hanna went back to her desk. She’d hardly reached it when her own phone bleeped. It was Mary Casey announcing her interest in the club: PAT SAYS UV AN INTERNET YOKE WITH THE YANKS8 ILL BE IN WITH HER

  Hanna glared at the screen. Mary had been told a hundred times not to text her at the library but no amount of telling seemed to work. Her only response was to draw horrific word pictures of all that could go wrong if Hanna’s phone was turned off. ‘I could be stretched dead at the foot of a staircase.’

  ‘You live in a bungalow, Mam, so that’s hardly likely.’

  ‘I could turn my knee in the street and be whipped into hospital.’

  ‘Well, if you are, you’ll be in good hands.’

  ‘Holy God Almighty, that I reared a heartless daughter!’

  ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake! If you fell in the street half the town would come into the library to let me know. Anyway, why should you fall?’

  ‘You’ll be old yourself one day, Hanna-Mariah Casey.’

  ‘Don’t call me Hanna-Mariah. And don’t try to change the subject. You’re as fit as a flea, and you know you always have been.’

  After each row Hanna would get remorseful and try to explain that emergency texts would be fine. ‘I won’t turn my phone off if you’ll promise not to text me unless you have to.’

  Boot-faced and resentful, Mary would promise, and the following day a text would arrive declaring she’d bought a pen, or denouncing the postman for failing to shut the gate. The constant interruptions weren’t appropriate in a workplace, yet Hanna always felt worried when her phone was off. What if this were to be the one day when something terrible happened?

  Now, as she hesitated, the phone bleeped again: MAKE SURE YOU KEEP ME %GOOD SEAT YOU CAN DRIVE ME HOME AFTER

  Stabbing the shutdown icon, Hanna cursed under her
breath. Then, looking up, she found Pat standing by the desk. ‘I thought I’d just drop in, love, and say how excited I am about tonight.’ Pat nodded at the phone. ‘Texts from Mary?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I had one myself this morning, saying she’ll be coming to the club.’

  Hanna struggled to regain a professional mindset. ‘Well, I hope she’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Do you know what it is? I often think it must be hard to be Mary Casey’s child.’

  As Pat was the soul of discretion the comment surprised Hanna. Pat gave her a slightly woebegone smile. ‘I suppose it’s one reason I’ve always tried not to put too much pressure on Frankie. You don’t want your child cringing every time you call.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I cringe, exactly . . .’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t, love, and I didn’t mean to suggest it. But no one can deny that Mary is demanding. God knows I’ve told her so more than once.’

  Hanna laughed. ‘So have I, but I’d say we’ve been wasting our breath.’

  ‘Ah, well, sure we’re all as God made us.’ Pat paused, looking thoughtful. ‘You know, that was a saying my mother had and I’ve always just repeated it like a parrot. But sometimes I wonder if it’s not God that makes us the way we are. It’s what life throws at us.’ She looked at Hanna and her expression changed. ‘You’re thinking your mam had nothing much thrown at her.’

  ‘Well, my dad did tend to wrap her up in cotton wool.’

  ‘That’s true, but you know, love, we all have our troubles. Not that Mary isn’t a lucky woman to have a daughter like you.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say so if you could hear what I’ve been calling her mentally since I saw those texts!’

  ‘Ah, Mary is Mary. You’d have to be a saint not to call her a cow the odd time in your head.’

  * * *

  Cassie had given Ferdia Erin’s details as his contact in Resolve. So, unsurprisingly, when the Skype connection was established, Erin’s was the first face to appear on the big screen in Lissbeg. The camera wasn’t yet properly angled and, as her image settled, Jack’s voice could be heard from out of frame. Then the angle shifted and Cassie found herself looking straight into his eyes. They were even more startlingly blue than she’d remembered but his face creased into the same lazy, lopsided smile. ‘Hey, Cassie. How’s it going?’