The Summer of Serendipity: The magical feel good perfect holiday read

by Ali McNamara

  Ignoring Kiki’s sulky face, and the steady gaze of the men, I look at the ponies as we pass them. In contrast to the happy healthy horses I’d seen at the stables with Finn, these horses looked tired and a little sad, and I feel quite sorry for them.

  I shake my head and tell myself: Stop it, Ren, they’re probably perfectly happy with their lot. They have food and water, and they get regular exercise – what more could a horse want? But as hard as I try not to, whenever I see an animal that might be in distress, I can’t help but want to rescue it. Old habits die hard . . .

  Luckily for me, Kiki is already distracted from her longing for a horse-and-trap ride by the dramatic view that greets us as we cross a small bridge.

  Rafferty Castle stands before us. It’s a fairly unremarkable castle as castles go; my home county of Northumberland has more castles than you could ever want, from the enormously ornate to the small and unassuming, so I know a good castle when I see one. Rafferty seems to be more of a fortress, as far as I can see; a stronghold built to protect against marauding invaders, rather than a family home, as some castles are.

  ‘You see those windows?’ Kiki says, looking up at the mottled grey walls of the castle. ‘The thin ones.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, following her gaze.

  ‘Did they make them that narrow to stop people falling out because there was no glass in the old days?’

  I have to stifle a laugh.

  ‘Er no, I think it was more likely to do with preventing the inhabitants from being killed by stray arrows that might have their name on them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kiki says, not sensing my amusement. ‘You’re probably right.’ She spins around. ‘Wow,’ she exclaims as she sees the lake behind her. ‘Look at that!’

  I turn around to join her and am quite taken aback by what I see. In front of the castle is a huge and very beautiful lake; a wide expanse of clear water protected either side by gentle mist-covered mountains. In the distance, I can see a few islands dotted about in the water, and I wonder which of them might be home to Sheehy Abbey. No wonder it’s called that, if as Donal says, Sheehy means eerie or mystical. This place certainly has a touch of the magical about it.

  ‘I’m almost glad the sun went in if this is what you see when it’s misty,’ Kiki says, mirroring my thoughts. ‘It’s beautiful. Magical even.’ She glances in my direction when she says the word magical to gauge my reaction.

  ‘On this occasion, I agree with you, Kiki. This place truly does deserve the use of that word.’

  ‘Boat trip to see the islands?’ an elderly man enquires as he wanders past us.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I reply, turning around. ‘It was suggested to us that we should go over and visit the abbey?’

  ‘Ah, a good choice,’ he says with a toothy grin. ‘I’ll be happy to take you. My boat is over there.’ He gestures to a large wooden boat, big enough to hold six to eight people.

  Just then we hear shrieks and loud voices. I look back to the castle to see a large party of teenage visitors exiting through one of the doors. Oh lord, I mutter, please tell me they’re not planning to visit this ancient place of learning and prayer. They’d ruin any sense of peace and tranquillity the Internet description of the island had promised.

  ‘Shall we get going before anyone else decides they want to come over too?’ our guide asks, seeing my horrified face. ‘One of the other boatmen can take them yuns – you’ll not get any peace and quiet with them about.’

  ‘Oh yes, please,’ I tell him gratefully.

  Kiki and I climb into the boat and Jackie, as he insists we call him, expertly begins rowing out into the lake.

  ‘You’d best put them there lifejackets on,’ Jackie says as soon as the boat is out on the water. ‘It’s all health and safety,’ he says to me as Kiki scrabbles about at the bottom of the boat, getting us each a bright orange jacket. ‘We have to stick to their guidelines or the boat trips don’t happen any more.’

  ‘I bet it wasn’t like that in the old days,’ I ask, sensing this is probably where Jackie has always felt happiest.

  ‘No, you’d be right there, miss. The old days were much easier, you just ferried folk around the loughs and they paid you what they thought best. Now it’s all rules and regulations.’

  ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t ask how much the trip was going to be,’ I apologise as I pull on my lifejacket.

  ‘Ah, we’ll sort something out when we get back,’ he says with a smile so wide I can count all the gaps in his pearly white teeth. ‘I don’t know how long you’ll want me for yet. The abbey is a wondrous sight ’n’ all, but you’d be best fared seeing some of the other islands too, if you want the full lake experience, so to speak.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ I tell him. ‘It’s so beautiful here on the water.’

  ‘Ah, this is only the beginning, miss. Only the beginning.’

  I half watch our passing scenery, half watch Jackie as we continue our journey across the water. The scenery is stunning, there’s no doubt about that, but I find Jackie equally beguiling.

  There’s something about him I can’t quite define – a quality, my American clients often call it when they’re looking for homes. Yes, that’s it, Jackie has a calm and gentle quality, but there’s something about him that seems a little odd, murky even as he rows us across the lake. No, murky is the wrong word; eerie or even ethereal might be a better one. Perhaps it’s all those years of going back and forth across this lake to Sheehy Abbey, but he seems somehow to blend into his surroundings.

  ‘You girls on holiday, are you?’ Jackie asks, continuing to row steadily across the water.

  ‘Kind of,’ I reply before Kiki can say yes or no.

  Jackie nods, but doesn’t question me any further. ‘Well, it’s a fine area to visit, whatever the reason you find yourself here.’

  ‘Have you lived here long, Jackie?’ Kiki asks. ‘I bet you have.’

  Jackie smiles. ‘I have indeed, miss. Some would say far too long.’

  ‘So you know all about the tales surrounding the lake? A guy at our hotel was telling us all about it this morning over breakfast.’

  ‘Which hotel would that be then?’

  ‘The Stag. Do you know it?’ I ask.

  ‘I do indeed. So your storyteller would likely be Donal then? Knows a lot about the area, does Donal. Did he tell you the story surrounding your hotel’s name too?’

  ‘No. Why, is there one?’ I ask, wondering what Jackie might tell us.

  ‘There is, but we’re arriving at the island now. How about I tell you after your visit?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Kiki says. Grabbing a rope, she leaps up on to a little wooden landing platform and expertly pulls the boat into dock. Where did she learn how to do that? I wonder.

  ‘How long will you be wanting, here on the island?’ Jackie asks as Kiki takes my hand and pulls me up next to her. ‘About half an hour is enough for most folk. It’s not that big.’

  ‘Half an hour will be fine,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll wait then?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll wait,’ Jackie says, sitting back in his boat and closing his eyes. ‘Been waiting most of my life, me.’

  We leave Jackie and head up away from the landing platform on to the soft spongy ground of the island, and immediately we see the promised ruins of the abbey directly in front of us. With the crumbling abbey sitting majestically on top of it, this mysterious island in the middle of a lake looks like something from a fairy tale.

  Jackie is right: the island is tiny, so it doesn’t take us more than a few minutes to explore the ruins, then wander a little further until we reach the far side of the island. Other than the abbey and a few ancient trees that I expect have stood here almost as long as the abbey itself, there’s not a lot else to see, so we head back to take another look at the ruins.

  ‘It’s so peaceful here,’ I say as we explore. ‘It’s easy to imagine the monks coming here to teach the kings of Ireland in the past.’

  Kiki has been unusually quiet s
ince we arrived on the island. ‘Can you feel it too then, Ren?’ she asks.

  ‘Feel what?’

  ‘The energy here, it’s amazing, so clean and . . . ’ she struggles for the word, ‘holy.’

  ‘Well, it would be holy if it was once an abbey, wouldn’t it?’ I smile.

  ‘No, maybe holy isn’t the right word . . . perhaps spiritual is a better one?’

  Kiki is right, I can feel something, standing here on this tiny island, but since I’m unsure what that something is, I’m not going to admit it, even to Kiki.

  ‘Ooh, look,’ Kiki says, spying another ruined building we haven’t spotted before. It’s set slightly away from the others, further up the hill. ‘I wonder what that once was?’

  ‘It was probably a chapel,’ I say as we climb the hill and find an engraved stone Celtic cross standing in the middle of what once would have been the stone floor of a tiny building. But unlike the cross, the stone floor has long gone, and the cross now stands slightly crookedly, surrounded by grass and weeds. ‘That cross is like the high crosses you find in many areas that were once inhabited by Celts,’ I tell Kiki. ‘Unlike this one, they’re usually pretty big though, some rise to over—’

  But Kiki cuts me off. ‘Look, Ren, people have left coins around the cross. Do you think we can make a wish?’

  I’ve never been one for wishes. I believe everything that happens in life happens because you make it, not because some mystical force has decided you can have what it is you desire.

  ‘If you want to,’ I tell her, taking a step back.

  ‘No, you have to do it too,’ she insists, pulling me forward again. She scrabbles around in her bag and pulls out her purse. ‘Here’s a euro,’ she says, handing me a coin. ‘Do you think that will be OK?’

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that a chocolate coin would probably do as much good. So I merely nod.

  ‘Right, I’ll go first,’ Kiki announces, a coin squeezed tightly in her hand. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, then she opens them again and leans forward to place her coin on top of the others. ‘All done, you go now.’

  ‘No point in me asking what you wished for, I suppose?’ I say, reluctantly taking her place in front of the cross.

  Kiki shakes her head. ‘I’ll tell you if it comes true!’

  I stand in front of the cross, not thinking about what I want to wish for, but instead wondering how many other people have fallen for this trick that seems to spring up everywhere these days of leaving coins to make wishes. Since when have the fairies, or whatever other power was supposed to grant your wish, started charging for it?

  But I don’t want to disappoint Kiki – I know I’ll get more grief if I don’t do this than it would cost me to pretend that I have – so I close my eyes the way she did and think about where I’m going to look next for a house for Ryan Dempsey. We’ll have to go out on the road again, and see if we can spot anything along the way. It’s surprising how often that works; maybe it will this time too?

  ‘It’s a long wish you’re making,’ Kiki interrupts. ‘It must be complicated!’

  ‘All done,’ I say, placing my coin on top of the others. ‘Now, if we’re all done here, shall we head back to the boat?’

  ‘Yeah. As much as I’ve fallen in love with this island, I can’t wait to hear what Jackie has to tell us next!’

  Neither can I, I think as we wander back to the edge of the lake and our waiting boat. There’s something about Jackie that intrigues me, and like so many other things in this part of Ireland, I can’t be sure exactly what it is, but I’m keen to find out.

  Nine

  Jackie rows us from Rafferty Island, further out into the water on a tour of the neighbouring lakes. As we travel peacefully across the water, he points out places of interest and tells us stories of both the lakes and the surrounding area.

  ‘So this hotel you’re staying in – The Stag,’ he says as we travel through a quiet tree-lined stretch of water and move on to the adjoining lake. ‘Donal didn’t tell you the story?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You’ve noticed the sign above the outside of the hotel, though?’ he asks.

  I look at Kiki.

  ‘It’s a stag, isn’t it?’ she asks. ‘Never looked that closely, have we, Ren?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘So you’ll not have noticed the colour of the stag?’ Jackie asks.

  Kiki furrows her brow as she tries to recall.

  ‘Hmm . . . white, I think?’

  ‘White is correct, young lady. Now, do either of you know what a white stag means?’

  ‘It’s albino?’ I reply, hoping this to be right.

  ‘Yes, some deer would be called this – that is, if their eyes were red as well as their coat being white. But I’m talking about white deer with a condition called Leucism. It’s rare, so it is; it causes the deer’s natural skin and hair colour to turn white, but they keep their dark eyes, making them different than the albino deer.’

  Interesting though this is, I’m wondering where Jackie is going with it.

  ‘A white stag is very unusual to behold,’ Jackie continues, ‘some would even say exceptional. There are reports of folk seeing white deer around these parts, but those are exceedingly rare. So many believe, when a white stag appears, it comes with a message.’

  ‘What sort of a message?’ Kiki asks in wonder.

  Jackie smiles, obviously enjoying his willing audience. ‘Well, the ancient Celts believed a white stag appeared when it brought a message from the other world. Usually when the person it showed itself to was transgressing a taboo, such as trespassing on hunting ground.’

  Kiki’s eyes are like saucers as she listens to Jackie. ‘Have you ever seen one, Jackie?’ she asks eagerly.

  ‘Aye, yes. Many years ago now, though.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ I ask, wondering how much of this tale was for the tourists’ amusement.

  ‘Poaching,’ Jackie says, looking shamefaced. ‘Never seen one before, and never seen one since, mind. But it sure knocked some sense into me, seeing one that day.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d been a bad lad up until then,’ he says, looking straight at me. ‘Always on the wrong side of the law, I was. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Cleaned up my act. Got myself a proper job, working the land. It was hard, but it was good honest toil – which was exactly what I needed. Then when I got too old to be of use doing that, I got meself a boat, and I started doing trips for the tourists out here on the lakes, and here I still am, many, many years later.’

  ‘So you have the white stag to thank for that?’ I ask, playing along for Kiki’s benefit. ‘His message turned your life around?’

  ‘It’s not to be sniffed at, miss,’ Jackie says, seeing straight through me. ‘Anyone around here will tell you: if you ever see a white stag, take note. They only appear to those that need their help.’ He eyes me meaningfully. ‘Plus,’ he adds, ‘on a more practical note, if you do happen upon a white stag, don’t go telling everyone. It’s important to keep it very, very quiet. They’re quite the prized possession for those that would want to mount their heads on a wall somewhere. I’m told they go for big bucks.’

  ‘That’s horrible!’ Kiki says, pulling a face. ‘Poor things.’

  ‘Sadly, that is the world you inhabit today.’ Jackie looks over towards me. ‘Are you OK, miss?’ he asks.

  Even though I’ve been listening to everything Jackie has been telling us, we’ve now arrived on the next lake, another huge open expanse of water, and I’ve been distracted by something I spy across the still lake, nested up in the hills.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ I turn quickly towards him. ‘That house up there,’ I say, pointing. ‘Where is it located? I mean, how would I get to it if I was in a car?’

  Jackie looks up to where I’m pointing: a remote white house, almost hidden in the t
rees. ‘Ah yes, I know it. That’s The Welcome House,’ he says calmly. ‘It’s on the old road that circles the lakes just outside Ballykiltara.’

  ‘Is it?’ I say, looking back up at the house, trying to get my bearings. ‘I didn’t think we’d come that far.’

  ‘The lakes can be deceiving,’ Jackie says mysteriously. ‘They hold many secrets within them.’

  ‘Why did you call it The Welcome House?’ I ask, ‘You must know it well if you know its name.’

  ‘Everyone around here knows The Welcome House,’ Jackie says knowingly.

  ‘They do? Why?’

  ‘It’s part of the local history. You ask anyone and they’ll have a tale to tell about that place.’

  My brow furrows as I look questioningly at him.

  ‘Ah now, you’ve heard enough of my tales for one day,’ he says maddeningly. ‘Perhaps it’s time we turned back. I’ll be quiet now so you can enjoy the peace and tranquillity of the lakes.’ He pulls on the oars and expertly turns the boat around in the water, then to my frustration doesn’t speak another word until we get back to the castle and disembark on to dry land.

  ‘How much do we owe you?’ I ask, keen to get away and investigate this house I’d spotted – it looked perfect, and must have sensational views across the lakes. This could be the one.

  Jackie waves his hand at me.

  ‘No, really. How much?’

  ‘My job is to put people in the right frame of mind to see what they need to see,’ he says cryptically. ‘I’ve done my job for today, miss. Now you go do yours.’

  I look at him questioningly, hoping to prompt him into saying more, but he turns away.

  How odd, I think as I join Kiki, who’s a little way up the hill, taking photos of the lakes on her phone. Ah well, never look a gift horse in the mouth.

  But not for the first time since we arrived here in Ballykiltara, something isn’t sitting right with me about this, and I resolve to discover just what it is about this place we’re in, that on one hand I didn’t understand, but on the other feels so very familiar.