“I’ve got something for you.” He lifted a small box out of his pocket.
Jo looked up in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. I’m happy when I’m with you.” John smiled. “Go on – open it.”
Jo took the little leather box and pressed the gold pin. It sprang open. A diamond sparkled back at her from its black velvet bed. It was mounted on a platinum chain.
“John, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Jo gasped. “I couldn’t possibly take it!”
“Sshh…” He took the necklace from its box and placed it round Jo’s neck.
“Gorgeous. Just like you.”
Jo was speechless. She thought she was going to cry. She touched the stone and stared at John. God he was so lovely! His blue eyes shone as his handsome face smiled back at her. Jo thought that she’d never been as happy as she was at that moment, sitting in the glorious sun, in a beautiful place with the man of her dreams. She leaned forward and threw her arms around him and he kissed her passionately.
“Mmn… I think we should get a room…” John whispered.
Jo looked up. She could sense a group of people on the far end of the terrace. One of the waiters pointed in their direction.
“John, there’s a policeman coming towards us.”
John spun round and stood up. Jo recognised the policeman. It was young Malcolm from Marland station, his parents lived in Butterly and he used to drink in the pub.
“Hello Jo” Malcolm began. He took his helmet off and held it under his arm.
“What is it officer?” John said. “Will you sit down?”
“Aye, I will.” Malcolm replied gratefully. “Thanks.”
A waiter rushed forward with an additional chair. Malcolm looked at Jo and took a deep breath.
“Jo, I’ve bad news.” He began. “It’s to do with your friend Hattie I’m afraid. Judy told me you were here. I’m sorry to spoil your meal, but I think you need to be with her when we break it.”
Jo’s mouth was dry. She clutched her diamond and began to pray that the words she knew Malcolm was going to say, weren’t true.
It wasn’t Hattie’s Mam.
“It’s Bertie O’Reilly. He was killed this afternoon.”
The breath sucked out of Jo’s lungs and the table spun before her. She heard John gasp.
“There’s no easy way of putting this I’m afraid. He was riding on the beach near his home and witnesses say something startled the horse and Mr O’Reilly came off. It seems the horse kicked his head. The horse was in a terrible state, prancing and frothing and couldn’t be controlled. It’s all a bit of a mess.”
Jo felt her world spin. Strong arms were around her and someone was holding a glass of iced water to her lips. She heard John’s voice, as he held her.
“It’s alright officer, I’ll get her back to the hotel. Hattie’s on duty, we’ll tell her, but I’d appreciate you being around to clarify things.”
Jo gulped the water. She took a deep breath. Whatever was she doing? Hattie needed her! She had to get to her as quickly as possible. She stood up and saw John place a large bundle of notes in the bill folder on the table. He shook Malcolm’s hand and firmly took Jo’s. He led her to the car, which had been bought to the front of the hotel.
“Are you alright?” He glanced over as they sped through the lanes leading back to the main road.
“Yes, I think so.”
“You’ve had a shock.”
“So have you, he was your friend too.” She held Johns hand and noticed that his eyes were watery and tears dripped down his face.
“Hey, pull over, you can’t drive like this.” She handed him a tissue. John shook his head and kept going.
“The policeman’s following us. We need to get things sorted.” He began to punch numbers into the car phone.
Jo stared out of the window. She couldn’t believe this was happening. One moment she was in paradise - a place Hattie had found too. Now she was speeding along, on a mission to break the terrible news that would destroy Hattie’s dreams and shatter her heart. You have to be strong Jo! She braced herself and sat up straight. Her time for crying could come later. Hattie was the most important thing now.
They turned into the hotel gates.
“When we get out, I’ll have Malcolm tell Judy and the staff. Get Hattie into the garden or a room somewhere quiet.” John thought about Thomas, he didn’t want the child to hear the upset that was to come. “We’ll need to get her home and be with her when she breaks it to her kids and her Mother. You must stay with her. Can Judy cope with the hotel?”
Jo thought ahead. They were quiet tonight, the conference should have finished and there were only a couple of rooms dining. Judy and Sandra could manage with whatever staff they needed.
John switched the ignition off as Malcolm parked his squad car discreetly by the archway.
“OK?” John squeezed her hand.
“Let’s do it.” Jo squeezed back then climbed out of the car and went through the front door. Hattie greeted her halfway down the hallway.
“I thought I heard a car.” Hattie smiled. “Nice timing - Old Pucker has packed up, pissed off and paid his bill. He said he was sorry to miss you though.” She glanced over Jo’s shoulder and saw John.
“Shite, sorry…” Hattie lowered her voice. “Did you have a good time? Pete Parks is due in any minute for dinner.”
“Hattie, I need to talk to you. Come and sit down.”
Jo took Hattie’s arm and led her into the Green Room. Hattie stared at Malcolm in the porch, he was speaking to John. She grabbed Jo’s elbow and began to shake.
“What is it Jo? Is it Mam?” Very meekly, she allowed Jo to guide her to a chair. Jo closed the door behind her and went to sit beside her friend.
John heard the scream. It was followed by terrible sobs. Simon rushed down the hallway, he looked anxiously at John.
“Fetch some brandy and two glasses Son. Better bring the bottle.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
It seemed as though the whole of the county had turned out for the funeral. The weather was as sombre as the scene and a persistent drizzle fell from muddy grey skies.
Hattie and Jo slowly walked behind the cortege. Ahead, Bertie’s family followed the black mourning carriage which was harnessed to a single horse. Her ebony coat glistened, as rain fell on the oily black surface and a tall plume of black feathers stood proud on her mane.
The church was less than a mile away and as they approached, crowds of mourners bowed their heads. Jo had Hattie’s arm linked tightly through her own, she gripped it as the glass doors of the carriage were opened. Six men came forward. They gently lifted Bertie’s coffin onto their shoulders and with perfect timing, began to make their way slowly through the churchyard. John was one of the bearers alongside Bertie’s three brothers and a close friend. The coffin seemed lopsided as they walked, it was apparent that the sixth bearer towered above the others. Big Ken crouched slightly to try and level his corner as they entered the church.
Hattie was in a daze. From the moment Jo had broken the terrible news, she’d been incapable of making any kind of decision. Her Mam and Eileen Aitkinson, from over the road, had stepped in to take care of the boys. Hattie found it difficult to comfort them as they cried, not understanding that they wouldn’t be going to Ireland and would never see Bertie again.
John had arranged transport for the funeral and Hattie vaguely remembered being put into a car alongside Jo, with Rory at the wheel as he drove them to the airport. Jo handled everything as they boarded and Rory had a hire car waiting at the other side.
In true Irish fashion, they’d gone straight to pay their respects. As Hattie got out of the car, she stared at Bertie’s sturdy stone farmhouse, the scene of such happier times only a short while ago. All the curtains were drawn. She let Jo guide her along the stone path and Bertie’s elder brother greeted them at the front door. Jo offered their condolences.
Peo
ple sat everywhere, in the kitchen, the hallway and lounges, even the garden. Tea and drinks were offered and sandwiches handed round. Mrs Flannigan met Hattie by the parlour, where the body was laid out. She’d been the first to find Hattie’s phone number when the accident happened and had insisted that the Garda tell Hattie straight away. Now, seeing Hattie, she rushed forward.
“’Tis a terrible business, it is.” She gripped Hattie’s hand.
“Did he suffer at all?” Hattie asked quietly.
“Now don’t you worry yourself with those thoughts.” Mrs Flannigan replied. “It was instant, like turning out a light, may the good Lord be thanked.”
Hattie closed her eyes. Her own light had been turned out, forever from that fateful day. Mrs Flannigan gently opened the parlour door.
“Go on girl. Say your goodbye.”
Hattie reached for Jo and gripped her hand, then let herself be led into the dimly lit room. The coffin was at the end, in the bay window overlooking the coast. The curtains were drawn, but Hattie saw them flutter gently where a window was open.
“ ‘Tis to let his spirit out.” Mrs Flannigan whispered.
A young woman sat by the coffin. She wore a smart black dress and gloves. A short net veil was clipped in her hair and partially covered her face, but they could see that she was the image of Bertie. Hattie stumbled. Jo gripped her and placed one arm around her shoulders. She gently led her forward.
“Siobhan?” Jo introduced herself and Hattie.
Bertie’s daughter stood up, she nodded curtly then moved to one side. A man about the same age as Siobhan, emerged from the far end of the room and was introduced as her husband. Hattie was white and almost on the point of collapse. She let Jo support her and move them forward. A mirror on the wall behind the coffin was covered over with a cloth - more Irish tradition. Hattie closed her eyes.
Jo stared at the open coffin where Bertie lay. He wore a dark suit with a white shirt and black tie and was covered in a shroud from the waist down. His hands were laced across his chest and he held rosary beads between his fingers. His head was partially bandaged and the bruised skin surrounding the covered wound looked vicious against Bertie’s sallow waxy complexion. Jo heard Hattie gasp and gripped her more tightly. Whatever happened she had to be strong for Hattie, even though she was fighting back sobs herself and could hardly bear to look at the body. She felt Hattie crumple and braced herself to support her.
“Oh my Darling Bertie, your poor old face.” Tears streamed down Hattie’s cheeks. “He has such a dear face, such a dear, dear face…”
Jo watched Hattie lean forward. She gently traced the bandages and stroked Bertie’s cold injured cheek, then touched his eyes, gently stroking the closed lids. Jo stood back. She heard Hattie whisper.
“Goodnight my Darling. Thank you for loving me.” Tears streamed down Hattie’s face and dripped onto his jacket. Jo saw Hattie take a tissue from her sleeve and dab at the wet trail. She touched two fingers to her lips and pressed them gently to Bertie’s lips. With a sob, Hattie stepped away.
They stood for a while and Jo silently said her prayers as she waited for Hattie.
“He looks very peaceful.” Hattie murmured and after what seemed like an eternity, turned to leave the room.
“Thank you for coming.” Siobhan was terse as she held the door open.
Jo put her coolness down to grief.
The priest spoke warmly of Bertie during the mass. Two of his brothers said a few words and managed to raise a chuckle with the mourners, as one recalled Bertie riding the biggest horse on the farm, when he was just a mere boy.
The coffin was once again carried for it’s final journey to the cemetery and as the mourners passed Bertie’s house, everyone stopped. They bowed their heads to pay their respects.
Hattie stood bravely by the open grave, a few steps behind Siobhan and the family. Bertie was buried beside Oonagh and Hattie waited patiently as the family threw earth on the coffin. She carried a red rose and as she stepped forward, she kissed the flower then gently let it go. She closed her eyes as it fell onto the wooden box.
Everyone returned to Bertie’s home, where food and drinks were served once more. The atmosphere was lighter and laughter could be heard as they approached. Hattie gripped Jo’s arm.
“I don’t want to go in.”
“We’ll just have one drink and make small talk.”
Jo led Hattie into the house where people remembered her visit and were kind as they spoke of Bertie. He’d told folk his intentions and how happy he was with Hattie. There was a great feeling of sympathy for her.
They searched for Siobhan but each time they got near her, she moved along. Jo knew that Siobhan was avoiding Hattie and was sure that Hattie knew it too.
“Jo, I don’t want to be rude, but can we go?”
“Yes, of course we can.”
Jo was keen to get out of the house herself. She knew that Hattie may well give Siobhan a mouthful if the atmosphere between them became any more strained. John was in the thick of it somewhere with the other men and they’d hardly seen him. She searched around for Rory and caught up with him in the kitchen. He stood by the table, talking to a pretty red-haired girl who was cutting up a cake.
“There you are Rory, any chance of a lift to the airport?” Jo asked as she watched the girl thump him playfully on the arm.
“To be sure. Anything to get away from this one!” Rory crammed a piece of cake in his mouth. “I’ll tell John you’re off.” He made a play of thumping the girl back and she wrapped a huge slab of cake in a napkin then pushed it in his pocket.
“Don’t be leavin’ it so long big Bro.” She leaned over and hugged him and Jo saw the family resemblance as Rory returned his sisters hug.
Jo returned to find Hattie in the hallway and they stepped out into the front garden. The rain had stopped and weak sunshine warmed the damp air. Bertie’s younger brother sat on a stone wall. He smoked a rolled-up cigarette and stood up as he saw them.
“’Tis a terrible business Harriet.” He tossed the cigarette butt to one side and shook his head. “Bertie was happy with you and wanted you here.” He took her hand. “I don’t know what’ll happen to the farm, ‘tis all left to Siobhan, but you’re always welcome in these parts, I hope you know that.”
Jo thanked him for his kindness and Hattie allowed the brother to hug her.
“Don’t I get a hug too?” A voice boomed out. Big Ken marched over the lawn and pulled both of them into his arms. Hattie finally broke down and sobbed uncontrollably as Ken held her. Jo stood back. She felt the tears trickle down her own face too but she tried to stay composed, even though she wanted to sob her eyes out. Rory’s car approached.
“Any hugs left for me?”
Jo felt warm breath on her neck as John’s arms wrapped round her waist and she melted into him. She could smell the peat of malt whisky on his breath.
“Thanks for everything.” Jo sighed.
“I’m flying back later. I’ll stay on for a bit.” John looked back at the house. The curtains were all open now and the parlour window closed.
“He was a good man.” John hugged Jo. She nestled her face in his shoulder and smelt his warm male smell, she wanted to sink into his strong arms forever.
“Cars ready.” Rory called out. He had the back doors open and stood alongside to help the girls. Hattie pulled away from Ken and blew her nose on his massive handkerchief. Jo reluctantly extricated herself from John and turned to say goodbye to Ken. She stood on her toes to peck his cheek.
“It’ll get better Girl.” Ken smiled down. “Give her time.”
John walked them to the car. “I’ll call you when I get back.” He closed the doors then nodded to Rory. “Look after them.”
Rory acknowledged his nod, climbed in and started the engine. Ken and John stood side by side. The farmhouse glowed in the late afternoon sun and as they accelerated away they saw Bertie’s horses in the meadow, swishing their tails as they lazily munched on
the lush pasture. Cattle with full udders meandered into an uneven line and stomped off to the milking parlour.
Jo watched the scene grow smaller and the men turned and disappeared into the house. Life goes on… She thought as she held Hattie’s hand and watched Bertie’s beloved home and countryside disappear forever from their world.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Pete Parks edged his car through the gates and leaned over the steering wheel to peer up at the hotel. The place looked open, even though there were only a couple of cars outside – one of which was Jo’s.
He pulled up at the front and eased himself carefully out of the driver’s side. His leg was stiff and painful today, he thought it must be the damp weather – it always played havoc with his old racing injury. He tried not to limp as he opened the front door and let himself into the hallway. The place smelt of beeswax and a waft of coffee drifted down the corridor. He followed it.
In the garden, Jo stood in a border and reached up. The best bloom was a couple of feet above her head and she was determined to pick it. If I put this on reception, it will bring me luck today… She superstitiously told herself. Goodness knows she needed a bit of luck. It had rained incessantly for days, bedrooms were empty and the post bought nothing but bills.
Pippa wagged her tail. She watched her mistress stand on a flat stone and lean further towards the wall where the climbing roses blossomed, their sodden heads heavy with rain. Jo stretched her arm and gripped the secateurs, ready to strike. She pulled the stem towards her but as she clipped it, her foot slid off the stone and she stumbled into the muddy border.
“Bloody Hell!” Jo looked down at her red pumps. Sludge oozed over the suede and squelched into her toes. The rose had fallen, head down beside her feet. She bent to retrieve it and pricked her finger.
“Blast!” The rose’s revenge was sharp.
“If it was a snake bite, I’d suck it out.” Pete Parks stood beside her.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 24