by Ali McNamara
Orla looks surprised at my question, then her usual calm placid expression returns to her face. ‘I only know there’s a fair bit of legend surrounding it. I think my father first told me the story when I was a girl. Not that long before he died, as a matter of fact.’ Sorrow is now the emotion covering Orla’s pretty face.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I tell her. ‘Yes, I’ve heard there are a lot of old tales surrounding the house. That’s why I’m so interested in it. I’m writing a book, see,’ I tell her in a flash of inspiration that makes me wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner. ‘I’m here doing research on Irish myths and legends, and this one is so interesting and different.’
‘I didn’t know you were a writer.’ Orla suddenly looks interested. ‘Have you had anything published?’
‘Not an actual book as such, no,’ I reply truthfully. ‘I usually write features, quite often about property . . . ’
‘Ah, I see.’ Orla doesn’t look quite as impressed now.
‘But I’m hoping the book I’m researching will be picked up. I have a party who’s keen to know how it’s all going while I’m here.’
Orla nods.
‘So, can you tell me anything about the house?’ I ask. ‘What did your father tell you?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. We have guests . . . ’ Orla looks over my shoulder as some new guests dragging suitcases arrive through the main door.
‘Welcome to The Stag,’ she says brightly. ‘I’m so sorry there was no one to take your bags for you. Our bellboy has temporarily been dispatched to another part of the hotel. Now, you’re aware our check-in isn’t until three p.m. . . . ’
I leave Orla and her guests at the reception desk and walk back to my laptop to wait for Eddie. Maybe he can shed a little more light on that early morning mystery visitor . . .
‘So, the only thing you can tell me about this guy is that he was tall, broad, and definitely male?’ I ask Eddie again.
‘Yeah, like I said, I didn’t take much notice. I was late for work, so I was cycling quite fast. It wasn’t until I got to work I thought properly about what I saw.’
‘Sure, I understand.’
‘I told Kiki everything I know last night.’ Eddie looks down at his feet. ‘Grand girl, she is.’
‘She likes you,’ I tell him, still thinking about the house and its early morning visitor.
‘Nooo,’ Eddie insists, looking down at the floor again. But his pale grey eyes glance up at me from under a pair of dark heavy brows. ‘Does she?’ he asks, looking pleased.
I smile. ‘Yes, she does. I wish you all the luck in the world – if Kiki’s set her sights on you, you’ll need it!’
‘Eddie, what are you doing here?’ Finn calls across the foyer, ‘You’re supposed to be helping Sarah in the kitchen. That new fridge is being delivered today and she needs help moving the old one.’
‘Surprised she can’t move it on her own,’ Eddie mutters. He winks at me, and hurries – the only speed Eddie seems to have – over towards Finn. ‘Right on it, boss!’ he salutes, and Finn shakes his head as Eddie speeds off in the direction of the kitchen.
‘I thought you were supposed to be on holiday?’ Finn asks, wandering over towards me, nodding at my laptop. ‘You’ll blow your cover.’
‘I have a new cover now,’ I explain, sitting down. ‘I’m a writer, here doing research.’
‘Oh?’ Finn says. ‘Let me guess, research into old houses with odd names and even odder backstories?’
‘Something like that, yes.’ I look at Finn as he sits down next to me. Today he’s wearing blue jeans and a casual white shirt, and as he turns towards me his shirt opens just far enough for me to catch a glimpse of a fine smattering of dark hair scattered over what I knew would be a muscular chest. ‘I had to think of something fast,’ I tell him, looking away and developing a sudden interest in my empty coffee cup. ‘I was asking Orla questions and she wondered why.’
‘As will most people, when you start pressing them about this. A writer isn’t a bad cover, I suppose.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Did you find out anything more from Eddie? I’m assuming you were grilling him?’
‘I was not grilling him. I was simply attempting to clarify his information, that’s all.’
‘He looked pretty scared to me.’
‘That’s probably because I was telling him Kiki had the hots for him,’ I say, ignoring Finn’s usual teasing.
Finn’s eyebrows raise. ‘Oh, does she now?’
‘Well, she likes him – a lot.’
‘Does liking someone always mean you have the hots for them?’ Finn asks, his serious expression fighting for supremacy with his mischievous eyes.
‘Not always, I suppose . . . ’ I try to answer with an equally solemn voice, even though to my annoyance my heart is racing, making my voice quiver slightly as I speak.
‘Only sometimes, eh?’ Finn smiles again.
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Only sometimes.’
Finn and I are sitting very close to each other on the sofa, and as I find myself gazing into his handsome face, my eyes are drawn towards his with a magnetic force that scares, and yet excites me at the same time.
Finn leans in a little closer . . .
‘Ren . . . ’ the voice sounds muffled, as if it’s a long way away, it’s so at odds with the moment I find myself in right now with Finn. I turn my head to the side to listen.
‘Ren, are you there?’ I hear again through my perfect bubble, and it’s as I realise who the voice belongs to that I feel the bubble pop.
Finn and I sit bolt upright on the sofa as Kiki appears in front of the alcove my sofa is positioned in.
She looks between us with a delighted smile.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, unnecessarily standing up to greet her.
‘Nothing. Everything is absolutely wonderful! Well, it is from where I’m standing.’ She winks at us both.
‘So why were you calling me?’ I ask, trying to ignore her even though I can feel my cheeks are flushed. ‘It sounded important.’
‘Oh that,’ Kiki says, flopping down in the armchair opposite Finn, still grinning at him. ‘I think I’ve found us another lead. And this time, it comes heaven sent . . . ’
Fifteen
‘I’m not sure about this,’ I whisper as we reach the top of a steep hill and approach an imposing church set a short way from the centre of Ballykiltara. ‘Religion and me don’t get on.’
‘How can you not get on with religion?’ Finn asks, amusement in his voice. ‘Have you argued with it often?’
‘No, I mean I don’t like it. Especially – and I mean no offence when I say this, Finn – the Catholic religion.’ I wrinkle my nose apologetically.
‘Ah,’ Finn says knowingly. ‘Yes, that has had quite a bad press of late.’
‘I mean, I don’t want to single out Catholicism,’ I say hurriedly, in case he takes offence. ‘I just assume that’s what this church will be. Because it’s all religions I take issue with. They’re so conformist, there’s no room to question anything.’
‘Like?’ Finn asks, pausing as we reach a gate that acts as the entrance to the church.
‘Like different beliefs, alternate ways to interpret what goes on when you die.’
‘What do you think happens when you die then?’ Finn asks, as if he genuinely wants to know.
I consider this for a moment. ‘I think you go to a sort of halfway house to begin with. Somewhere you can watch over your loved ones for a while, and if you need to, try and put right your wrongs.’
‘And after that?’
‘When we’ve checked our loved ones are OK without us, and dealt with any unfinished business, we are reincarnated into someone or something new, and everything in our previous life is wiped from our memories.’
‘Whoa, heavy,’ Finn says, nodding. ‘You’ve certainly thought about it.’
‘Haven’t you?’
He shrugs. ‘Not really.’
; ‘You’re not religious? Worrying whether you’ll be condemned to eternal damnation in hell for your sins?’
‘Maybe I don’t have any sins,’ Finn says, trying to sound angelic. ‘Can’t you see my halo shining?’ He glances up above him.
‘Everyone has sins,’ I tell him. ‘It’s only a question of how bad they are.’
‘Ooh . . . you’ve just become even more fascinating, Miss Parker.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I highly doubt that. I’m very dull.’ I look over the gate at the church and sigh. ‘I guess we’d better get this over with.’
Kiki had told us about her tip to go and visit the local Catholic priest, Father Duffy. Apparently, she’d got into quite a long, in-depth conversation with a young guy in an alternative clothing store, and he’d told her that Father Duffy would more than likely know about the house because ‘he’d lived in Ballykiltara forever’. We’d then had a quick discussion about who would be best to go and see him, and it had been decided that Finn and I should go that afternoon. Kiki’s excuse was she might say something ‘unreligious’, and she was probably right. I didn’t know what this Father Duffy was like, but if he was anything like the Catholic priests I’d come across in the past, he wouldn’t appreciate Kiki’s ditziness. And I knew when Kiki was under pressure, it only got worse.
So Finn had agreed to go with me for moral support, plus we figured as a well-known local figure, his presence would help make my questions about the house seem less suspicious.
It was quite nice to have Finn on board with us; he seemed as keen as we were to solve this mystery. He said the house was something he’d always wondered about since he’d come to Ballykiltara, and he wanted to see if we could discover some proper answers.
And as we approach the church, where we’ve been told Father Duffy will be this afternoon preparing for evening Mass, that’s what I’m hoping we’ll be able to achieve.
Finn turns the big iron handle on one of the huge wooden double doors at the entrance to the church and it swings open. ‘So far so good,’ he says, opening the door just wide enough for us to go through.
Inside, we find ourselves in a small vestibule that leads into a surprisingly big and very ornate church.
‘We could be getting married!’ Finn says, holding out his arm as we walk along an intricately tiled floor towards the altar.
‘Except we’re going the wrong way up the aisle,’ I point out, not taking him up on his offer. ‘Unless you’re my father in this scenario, in which case we’re spot on.’
‘Oh, have a bit of fun, Ren,’ Finn says, walking backwards up the aisle in front of me. ‘You only think you’re dull. You don’t have to act like it all the time!’
I know Finn is only teasing, but he’s beginning to sound a lot like Kiki. I open my mouth to respond, but up ahead, hidden by Finn’s tall frame, a voice calls out to us. ‘Can I help you?’
Finn spins around and we see, waiting for us at the top of the aisle, a tall, jolly-looking man wearing a black clerical shirt with a white tab collar, black trousers, and smart black shoes.
‘Blimey,’ Finn hisses, looking upwards, ‘I didn’t mean it, about us getting married!’
‘Father Duffy?’ I ask, walking past Finn towards him.
‘Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?’
Father Duffy is not what I was expecting at all. I’d anticipated a tubby, white-haired, miserly old priest in a black cassock and formal clothing, but he’s a trim-looking middle-aged man, with a friendly smile and what I consider to be quite modern dress for a man of the cloth.
‘Finn?’ he says, as Finn catches up with me. ‘We don’t see you in here very often – what’s the special occasion?’
I turn to Finn; he hadn’t mentioned that he knew Father Duffy.
‘Helping out a friend, Father,’ Finn says, holding out his hand, which Father Duffy takes with a firm shake. ‘We wondered if you had a few moments to answer some questions?’
Father Duffy takes us back to his cottage, which is right next to the church, where he then insists on putting the kettle on and making us tea.
‘Now,’ he says, smiling as he returns to the room to wait for the kettle to boil. He sits down on a chair opposite the sofa where Finn and I are sitting squashed next to each other. ‘You want to know about The Welcome House, is that right?’
‘How did you know that?’ I ask in astonishment.
‘Ballykiltara is a small town with a lot of people,’ he says in a gentle voice. ‘And people have a habit of talking – especially if there’s something new happening, or someone is asking unusual questions.’
‘I am interested to know more about the house – if you know anything, that is?’
‘You’re a writer, yes?’ Father Duffy asks, looking at me with curiosity through gold-rimmed spectacles.
Oh Lord, I can’t lie to a priest!
‘No,’ I admit, shamefaced. ‘I’m not. I’m a property seeker.’
‘Ah, a property seeker. Let me guess: the property you’re seeking is our Welcome House?’
‘Sort of . . . ’
‘And what about you, Finn? Are you seeking this house too?’
Finn shakes his head. ‘No, I just want to know what it’s all about, Father – the mystery, I mean.’
‘Ah, the mystery, yes.’ He stands up. ‘That will be the kettle whistling already. Now, how do you take your tea?’
When Father Duffy is happy we have every refreshment we need, including an assortment of biscuits to go with our tea, he sits down. He then takes a sip of his own tea before he places his cup carefully back on its saucer.
‘So, what is it you would like to know,’ he asks. ‘About the house?’
‘Who owns it, for starters,’ I ask, not messing about.
Father Duffy smiles. ‘I’m sure you know the answer to that by now, Ren. The house belongs to the people who need it.’
‘Yes, I know all that, and I think it’s a lovely idea to have a house like that for people to stop off in. But someone must own the house. If they didn’t, surely it would be a ruin by now, or have squatters or something?’
Father Duffy smiles. ‘That would be the sad truth in most places, I’m afraid. But here we like to look after the needy.’
‘Do you know who looks after the house then?’ Finn asks now, while I take a frustrated sip of my tea. ‘Someone must put the food and stuff in there – it doesn’t just magic itself into the house.’
‘Sadly, I do not. But even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to tell you if it was told to me in confidence.’
‘I understand,’ Finn says.
‘I don’t!’ I suddenly explode. ‘Why all the secrecy? Why doesn’t anyone know the answer to all this. Sorry,’ I mutter, when I feel both Father Duffy and Finn’s eyes upon me. ‘I’m finding this extremely frustrating, that’s all.’
‘And understandably so,’ Father Duffy says gently. ‘Many have tried to find the answer to this mystery, and few have succeeded.’
‘But some have?’ I ask, picking up on his words.
‘A few.’
‘Who? Oh, let me guess: you’re not at liberty to say.’
Father Duffy smiles. ‘I can tell you something about the history of the house, though, if you’re interested. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. You never know – it might help you in your endeavours.’
‘Yes, thank you, that would be grand, Father,’ Finn says, glancing at me with a look that suggests he doesn’t think it will be of any more help than I do, but we need to be polite.
‘That would be lovely, Father. Thank you,’ I say, finding my manners again. ‘Please go ahead.’
Father Duffy tells us everything that Mac had, and although I’m grateful to him for taking the time to tell us all this, I can’t help thinking my time might be better spent elsewhere trying to find out more about the house as it is now rather than the house as it was in the past.
‘ . . . so a house has stood on that site for as long as anyone can remember,’ Fa
ther Duffy says, continuing his story. ‘It’s said that during every troubled time this country and this county have ever encountered, a Welcome House has stood on that site to help those in trouble or in need. I have records here at the church from centuries ago that refer to a Welcome House, through the Irish rebellion and the nine years war to the Cromwell conquests and the potato famine. I even have records that tell of people hiding out in the house in the two world wars. But a Welcome House has stood on that site for as long as our records go back, that’s for sure.’
‘I had no idea it went back that far,’ Finn says, sounding surprised.
‘Oh, I have my suspicions it goes back even further,’ Father Duffy says. ‘I think it might have been the monks that built the first house when the Vikings came over, to provide protection against the invading marauders.’
‘But you’re talking as far back as the eighth or ninth century?’ I say, as amazed now as Finn had been.
‘You know your history, young lady. That is correct. The Vikings were a threat to these shores from 795 onwards.’
‘How did you know that about the Vikings?’ Finn asks, looking impressed. ‘I know a fair bit about Irish history, but I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that.’
‘Oh, I remember all sorts of rubbish,’ I reply. ‘I have a mind full of facts. Kiki is always making fun of me for it.’ Then I realise what I’ve said. ‘Oh, sorry – I didn’t mean your story was rubbish, Father . . . Your story was anything but that,’ I insist.
Father Duffy holds up his hand. ‘No offence taken, I assure you. You know, Finn,’ he says, turning to him. ‘This young lady would be quite the asset on the quiz team.’
Finn looks at me. ‘You could be right, Father.’
‘What quiz team?’ I ask, looking between them both.
‘Ballykiltara has a pub quiz every Tuesday evening,’ Finn explains. ‘Father Duffy here is in The Stag’s team.’
‘I couldn’t pull together a church team,’ Father Duffy says regretfully. ‘Besides, everyone would think I had an unfair advantage.’ He casts his eyes upwards. ‘So Finn kindly lets me compete for his team.’