Watching the YouTube video (4,350,223 views … 4,350,224 …), Aoife’s heart was in her mouth. ‘It’s about to kill Killian … Carla, stop right now— Oh, you crazy— My God, she’s a lunatic!!!’
‘That’s the Gilvarry blood for you,’ agreed Teresa Gilvarry, swerving wildly to avoid a lamb grazing at the roadside. ‘Dianne calls it madness, but I call it having the sense to rush in where angels fear to tread.’
‘I can’t believe this! She killed a pooka single-handed!’
‘Not that she would have survived if I hadn’t bought her a crystal. Here’ – the old lady again groped behind her in the bag – ‘you might as well have this last one. I got it for Ellie, but she’s not back from the hospital yet.’
Pulse still racing, Aoife held up the transparent stone – it caught the light in a shower of sparks. A thought came to her mind as she hung it around her neck: Believe in me. ‘Where did you find this, Teresa?’
‘Ultan McNeal tracked them down for me in this wonderful little shop in Westport.’
‘Ultan McNeal, the changeling boy?’
Teresa was taken aback: ‘You know him as well? What a coincidence! He’s the son of a very old friend of mine, and I bring the dinner up to him and his dad every day.’
‘That’s …’ Words were not enough.
Teresa prattled cheerfully on: ‘We did think about getting everyone in the town a charmstone, after we realized how well they worked with pookas, but there wasn’t the money. Ultan can make fairy gold, but you have to use a card when you’re ordering online. Killian Doherty refused to tap his dad – in fact, that boy has been utterly useless since his birthday. Lying around in bed, acting all depressed, listening to music. Carla makes excuses for him – says he’s traumatized by the pooka, of all things! – but he’s just being a spoilt brat. He came out for half an hour to help me with the horseshoes, then made some excuse about a headache and never came back. Same with old John McCarthy – he’s spent his life warning everyone about the fairies, but when there’s something that actually needs doing he’s suddenly far too busy in the shop. Maybe the sluagh coming to Kilduff will concentrate people’s minds …’
‘The sluagh attacked Kilduff too?’
‘Don’t panic, darling!’ Teresa patted her knee. ‘Everything’s under control. I saw them off.’
‘You?’
‘And I’m bringing in a fresh supply of horseshoes in case any need replacing, and hopefully Father Leahy will loan me an altar boy to help this time, because my knees won’t take any more.’
‘Horseshoes?’ Aoife’s brain felt like it was about to run out of her ears. ‘What have horseshoes got to do with it?’
‘Haven’t you been on Facebook yet this morning? No? No wonder you’re so out of touch! Google “Paranoid Priest, Kilduff”. I haven’t watched it myself yet because of the poor broadband connection, but Carla sent Ultan to tell me that Father Leahy was on the internet, and I was to rush in straight away.’
The hand-held video – taken from near the front of the church, facing the pulpit – had been uploaded only half an hour ago, just after ten that morning.
It began with Father Leahy, uncharacteristically animated, brandishing the Bible with both hands and ranting: ‘… failed Kilduff like the coward that I am, terrified of public humiliation, terrified of being called mad! Forgive me, Lord! You sent proof of evil, but I hid my eyes! A fairy made the font boil at its christening – and yet I said nothing, because I was afraid of being laughed at! A demon gazed at me with red, burning eyes – and again I was too cowardly to speak of what I’d seen. I sealed off the Doherty grave to keep the demon out …’
(Joseph Doherty could be heard yelping from somewhere in the church, ‘What?’)
‘… but kept the true reason secret …’
(‘You’ll be hearing from my solicitor!’)
‘… and then in February, when the Doherty boy was nearly murdered in his bed …’
(‘He was WHAT?’)
The priest raised his voice further, over the builder’s frantic interruptions: ‘… I still said nothing! Yet God has not deserted you, Kilduff! The Lord sent a mere girl in my place to fight the darkness! And it was that mere girl who killed the demon, and who last night saved this town from an attack of lost souls, sent by the King of Darkness to destroy us!’ The priest fell dramatically to his knees, stretching out his arms. ‘Carla Heffernan, come to the altar! You have earned the right to lead us all!’
In the moment of dead silence that followed, Dianne Heffernan could be heard saying softly, ‘Ignore him, Carla – he’s completely off his trolley.’
After which the congregation could no longer contain itself. A few frightened cries from the very elderly were drowned out by a massive tidal wave of laughter from everyone under eighty. It was the funniest thing ever that their normally boring priest had fallen for a wild Twitter rumour spread by drunken young men – #lostsouls – and a YouTube clip taken over two months ago – Mad Irish girl pranks screaming boyfriend with gorilla suit.
The video ended abruptly, because whoever was filming it was laughing so much that he’d dropped his phone.
Aoife sat wiping away tears of gratitude and admiration. ‘I can’t believe this. Carla saved everyone. Everyone. Oh, Carla, you genius …’
‘Never mind Carla, what about muggins here?’ Teresa changed gears with an angry slam of the hand. ‘No one would think from that sermon that it was me who spent three whole weeks kneeling in the mud, banging horseshoes into fence posts and getting her fingers ripped apart planting hawthorn all tangled up with mistletoe …’
‘Mistletoe?’
‘Yes, mistletoe! Nothing but the best for Carla Heffernan! She forced me to take all my cuttings from that ridiculous tree on the Clonbarra road, which involved all sorts of sneaking around …’
‘She’s so brilliant!’ Last October Aoife had thrown away her fairy crown – the tree must have sprouted where it fell. ‘Hawthorn is a million times as powerful when it’s bound with mistletoe!’
‘Oh yes, Carla’s so brilliant …’
Aoife said hastily, ‘And you too, Teresa – you’re an absolute star. You’re more than a star. You’re a galaxy of stars, rolled up into one. You’re amazing. You should have a statue erected to you in the square.’
‘I certainly should,’ agreed the old woman, looking somewhat pacified as they hurtled over the gap and downwards towards Kilduff. ‘I had to spend two weeks in bed after I was done, and I’ve been hobbling around with a stick and knee-supports ever since, as if I was an old woman.’
Below them, the countryside opened out – a land bisected by stone walls and narrow roads. Fields of buttercups. The square grey tower of the church poked up above the trees, pale green with the fuzz of spring.
As they neared the town, Teresa began proudly pointing out the results of her work – horseshoes nailed to fences and gateposts, and a hedge of hawthorn and mistletoe growing up around the town, lining the ditches. The old lady was shocked by the height of the hedge – a good two metres in places. ‘When I’d finished it was just a few small cuttings, and now look at it! It’s going to completely take over the place, worse than the wild rhododendrons. Those busybodies from the environment will be on to us next.’
The car was being forced to slow down. A handful of young men of John Joe’s age had spilled out of Rourke’s pub in front of them, lighting up. One of them banged his hand cheerfully on the roof of the car – then did a double-take when he saw who was in the passenger seat. ‘Hey, lads, look who it is – Gorilla Girl is back from holiday!’
Rolling the window down, Aoife smiled up at Lorcan’s older brother. ‘Hi, Padraig.’
He was buzzing. ‘Did you see the mad sermon on YouTube?’
‘I did.’
‘That was Lorcan took the video! And it was me tweeted about the lost souls last night – I mean, the Greenland geese …’
‘Father Leahy’s lost his mind!’ chorused the other lads gleefully
. ‘He’s great craic!’
Teresa Gilvarry edged the car through the crowd, while leaning across Aoife to snap, ‘Greenland geese, my skinny arse. Those were sluagh, and if it wasn’t for me personally nailing up horseshoes all around this town, none of you would even be standing here alive, let alone drinking and smoking on a Sunday lunch time like the heathens ye are …’
‘Teresa Gilvarry saved our lives with horseshoes!’ chanted the lads in delight. ‘Teresa! Teresa! We love you, Grandmother Teresa!’
‘Oh, get out of my way, ya fools. Grandmother Teresa indeed.’ (Although as she drove on towards the square, the old lady repeated ‘Grandmother Teresa’ to herself several more times under her breath, as if trying the title on for size and finding it good.)
Round the corner from the pub, Kilduff basked contentedly in the warm spring sunshine – daffodils swaying in huge wooden planters around the square. Flower baskets sat on windowsills and dangled from chains outside the shop. There were still a number of people standing around, chatting and laughing, showing each other their phones – clearly still discussing the entertaining Mass.
As Teresa drove slowly, looking for a parking place, Sinead came running over and rapped on Aoife’s window. Heart sinking, Aoife rolled the window down again, braced for some spiteful remark …
Sinead cried, ‘I’m so glad you’re back from holiday! I’ve missed you so much! It’s gone pure mad in the town since you started this new trend. Everyone’s been playing stupid jokes and buying gorilla suits and sending mad tweets, and Father Leahy this morning … oh my God, hilarious. Did you see it on YouTube? Over half a million views already!’
Aoife stared open-mouthed at the green-eyed girl, whose sharp, pretty, pointed face was lit up in a smile of what seemed like genuine welcome. A round-faced girl came running up behind – all red cheeks and bouncing black curly hair. ‘I’m so glad you got back in time for your birthday!’ cried Lois. ‘I have a playlist already sorted – all your favourite music!’
Before Aoife could work out even what to say to this extraordinary offer, Teresa Gilvarry suddenly whipped the car into a parking space and slammed on the brakes. ‘There’s Father Leahy. I’ve a bone to pick with that man.’
Through the church gates a small cluster of people had just appeared – Father Leahy, Dianne Heffernan (looking utterly dazed) and a slender young girl with blonde highlights, in jeans and a purple sweater, who was talking very seriously to the priest. With a cry of delight, Aoife flung open the door.
Sinead caught her by the arm. ‘Look, there’s something you need to know about Stinky …’
‘Never mind, tell me later!’ cried Aoife, shaking free and racing across the square towards the gates.
And the next moment she and Carla were in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER THREE
Father Leahy was having a heart attack – or something like it – uttering hoarse shrieks, as he staggered backwards into the churchyard, fumbling for his crucifix under his clothing. ‘Return to the underworld, in the name of the Lord!’
Carla scolded him through tears of happiness: ‘Father Leahy, do stop. This is the real Aoife – look at her, she’s wearing a charmstone.’
‘She’s a fairy!’ roared the priest, brandishing his cross.
‘Father, calm down, she’s on our side. Oh, Aoife …’ Carla crushed her best friend tighter in her arms: ‘I’m so sorry I messed up in Falias, and left you behind …’
Aoife hugged her back just as tightly. ‘You didn’t mess up! I granted your wish “quair” because I wanted to stay behind, for Shay.’
‘Oh, oh … you … oh …’
‘And now he’s safe at home, with his mam!’
Carla squealed in raucous delight, leaping up and down while still hugging her madly: ‘He was alive! You rescued him!’
Aoife was forced to leap up and down as well – not that she minded: ‘And you saved Kilduff from the sluagh!’
Carla beamed wide enough to split her lovely face. ‘But I had absolutely no idea what I was doing! And it was Nan who did all the work! Oh, look, there she is! Father, it’s Nan!’
The priest, still hiding inside the gates, tentatively lowered his crucifix as Teresa Gilvarry limped towards him, brandishing her walking stick, shouting loud enough for everyone around to hear: ‘That’s right, Father – it’s me, Grandmother Teresa, who saved the town from the sluagh by spending three weeks on my knees in the cold, wet mud nailing up horseshoes and getting my poor fingers ripped to shreds, and with no help from anyone, especially from you!’
(Hysterical laughter surged across the square. The younger stragglers from Mass had already been drawing closer, giggling as their lunatic priest panicked afresh at the sight of Gorilla Girl. Meanwhile Carla’s mother was slumped against the side of her blue Toyota, hands over her face – her whole body radiating: This can’t be happening to me.)
Aoife drew Carla a few metres out of the way, along the churchyard wall. ‘And it wasn’t just the sluagh. I saw the video. I know you killed a pooka single-handed. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.’
Carla blushed: ‘Ah, now. I could hardly not save Killian, could I? Especially as it was my fault, for not realizing that that horrible boyfriend-stealing Aoife couldn’t possibly be the real you. I’m such an eejit …’
‘It’s Killian who was the eejit.’
‘No, but it wasn’t his fault!’ Carla rushed anxiously to her loved one’s defence. ‘The pooka seduced him against his will, just like the Deargdue did with Shay. And I totally forgive him, just like you forgave Shay! Poor Killian was under a spell and it was awful for him – wasn’t it, Killian?’
Which was when Aoife realized – with a slight shiver – that the builder’s son was close by, leaning against the lamppost on the corner of the lane. His arms were folded; his silver eyes fixed on her, through slightly lowered lashes. Much taller and more muscular than when she’d last seen him six months ago. Cheekbones sharper, jaw stronger.
Oh God, he so reminded her of Dorocha …
She plastered on a bright, fake smile. ‘Under a spell? How awful for you, Killian!’ (She remembered well how Killian had tried it on with her in the school bike shed that rainy day last October, when he’d been under no sort of a spell whatsoever.)
Still holding her gaze, the handsome boy smiled back at her – not his charming ‘boy-band’ smile, but a slower, cooler, adult smile that lifted only one corner of his mouth …
Again, a coldness flickered through Aoife’s gut. She wanted to look away. Yet for a moment she remained frozen, unable to take her eyes away from him as his gaze travelled over the long, delicate lace lenanshee dress, lingering on her long red-gold hair. Her bare feet. He said lightly, ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised you turned out to be a monster.’
Aoife said, equally lightly, ‘That wasn’t me – but if it was, I’d have bitten off your head before Carla could save you.’
Carla giggled wildly. ‘Ah now, stop teasing each other, ye two! I love you both, and we all have to pull together on the war committee!’
Aoife turned in renewed amazement to her friend. ‘You’ve set up a war committee?’
Carla nodded, pinkly proud. ‘Ages ago! Although it’s only been me and Nan in my bedroom up to now! But Father Leahy’s just told Mam she has to stop grounding me, because I’m so important – isn’t that mad? So now Mam thinks we all of us have lost our minds! But at least we can start having proper meetings and invite more people. Oh, Aoife!’ Carla again threw her arms around her. ‘I’m so relieved you’re here! You can tell us exactly what to do!’
Aoife hugged her best friend back once more. ‘I think you know a lot more than I do!’
The lane down to her house was vibrant with spring; the over-arching elderflowers leaking a dappled light. Primroses and violets in the hedges. There were signs all along the hedges of Teresa’s work – although some of it had been damaged. A cutting of mistletoe-hawthorn lay shrivelled at the side o
f the lane – grubbed out of the bank by a massive claw, as if a huge dog had been digging a hole. There were U-shaped indentations on wooden gateposts, as if horseshoes had been nailed there, but then prised off.
Yet both her mother’s Volvo and her father’s Citroën were parked safely in the driveway of the old stone house, and a trickle of turf smoke was rising from the chimney; a window was open and music playing on a radio – The Corrs. So all was well in the O’Connor household.
Aoife took a happy, running jump along the short path to the house, and lifted off into the air so high she nearly crashed into the front door – except her father opened it at just the right moment, so that she merely crashed into his arms.
‘Hi, Dad!’
‘Darling, you’re back again!’ He staggered, laughing and panting, under the impact of her slender weight, his dark brown eyes shining with love. He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Maeve, Maeve – our fairy daughter’s home!’
And here came Maeve, rushing from the direction of the downstairs bathroom, her dark blonde hair tied back in her usual rough ponytail, wearing that old green cardigan she loved so much, holding little Eva by the hand.
‘Aoife, thank God! We’ve missed you so much!’
‘I’ve missed you too!’ Aoife embraced her mother, then crouched to kiss Eva. ‘Honey, are you pleased to see me?’
But the little girl shrank from Aoife’s attempted kiss, squealing, ‘Get away from me, you monster!’
Maeve shook her head at her youngest daughter, who was straining to break from her grip. ‘Do stop that stupid game, Eva, and let your sister kiss you for once.’
‘She’s not my real sister!’
‘Yes she is, you silly child.’ Maeve pulled an apologetic face at Aoife. ‘I’m so sorry, darling – she’ll get used to having an older sister eventually. Even a fairy one that keeps coming and going from her own world. Anyway!’ Maeve’s face brightened as she changed the subject. ‘Did you have a nice time in paradise? We were in such a panic when you disappeared after playing that trick on Killian at his party – we thought maybe you’d had a fight with him about it, especially as he and Carla got back together at the same time. You young people are so changeable! But Carla said everything was OK between you all, and that you’d just popped back to the fairy world for a day or two. So we told everyone you’d gone on holiday to relatives, though it made us look like awful parents, letting you miss so much school … I wish the time difference wasn’t so dramatic, sweetheart. I know you must have barely set foot in the place to be home so soon, but it always seems like for ever to us, even though we know you’re always perfectly safe.’
The Hawthorn Crown Page 13