The tree starts to creak. ‘Almost there.’ We saw once more, then twice, then there is a mighty swishing sound as the tree descends, falling between the branches of the surrounding trees.
‘We did it!’
I run to Tom and hug him. He gives me a pleased little peck on the forehead before he goes to inspect the cut. ‘Yep, she’s all good.’
‘That was fun,’ I say, pulling on my coat. ‘Maybe I should become a lumberjack. I do like those red chequered jackets they wear.’
‘Flawless logic as always,’ Tom says, turning off the torch so we’re bathed in darkness. As our eyes grow used to the dark I can see him, pale in the cloud-covered moonlight. He’s holding out his gloved hand, palm to the sky. ‘Hey. I think it’s snowing.’
I turn my face to the sky and after a moment feel the chill of a snowflake against my cheek. Then another. And another. ‘It is!’ I say with excitement. ‘See if you can catch one in your mouth.’
Tom and I are snapping at the sky. ‘I got one.’
‘Me too.’
‘They’re everywhere!’
‘They’re delicious!’
‘Come here,’ Tom says, grabbing me around the waist. He tips his face so our noses are touching. He has snowflakes on his eyelashes. My heart is so loud, I can hear it thumping: true love, true love, true love.
My brain is failing to think anything at all.
Our icy lips meet. His mouth is so warm. We cling together, kissing, all else forgotten until Simon comes chugging over the ridge and we have to turn and shade our eyes from the headlights.
CHAPTER
33
Heavily falling snow keeps us inside the next day but I don’t mind one bit. Prue’s right, it is magical. I spend most of the morning with my nose pressed to the glass watching the world turn white. It’s cosy gathered in the drawing room with my friends, playing games and reading. Dillon teaches me how to play a frisky tune on a tin whistle and I gallop about trying to river dance while I play it. Jordan tells me to shut up and stop jumping around like an elephant, so I go over and blow it in her ear.
After lunch, Dillon goes for a nap and Tom and Simon settle in to watch a football match. I feel antsy like I need some exercise, so I decide to go swimming in the indoor pool.
‘It’s cold,’ Simon warns me. ‘Father is rather frugal with the pool heating.’
I snort with derision. Simon’s probably never swum in any ocean besides the South China Sea.
No one will join me; Prue wants to decorate the Christmas tree with cookies she baked this morning and Jordan and Felix just want to mooch around. So I stomp out to the pool room by myself and dip my toes in the water. Simon’s right, the water is like ice, and my toes go bright pink. There is no way I’m getting in.
I make some splashing sounds and kick water around the edge of the pool so it looks like I’ve been swimming vigorous laps, then I duck my head under the shower so Tom thinks I’ve been swimming too. I wait for a while, then I go back to the drawing room to gloat about how soft they are compared to brave, adventurous me.
Standing at the door, I see Tom and Simon are still consumed by the match. Prue is on tiptoes by the tree, cookie tin in hand, while Felix and Jordan sit huddled on the green couch, faces close. I’m about to declare my presence when I notice how intense they look.
I scoot closer. It isn’t fair to eavesdrop on my friends but I can’t resist. I get the distinct impression they’re talking about me. And I’m right.
‘So she’s kissed Tom three times?’ Felix is saying, sounding pretty damn judgemental. ‘How many times has she kissed Dillon?’
‘I don’t know but it’s intense between them.’
‘He slept in her room the first night.’
‘No!’ Jordan says.
‘Yes.’
‘I guess I’m not surprised. Did you notice last night, before Prue knocked Dillon out with something for the pain? Olive was all over him.’
Felix is scandalised. ‘You think she wanted to stay with Dillon again after kissing Tom?’
‘Didn’t you see how upset Tom was?’ Jordan blushes. ‘Oh. No. Sorry. Stupid question.’
I want to laugh at her stuff-up, but their comments hurt too much. How can they think this about me? Yes, when I saw Dillon weak as a lamb last night, I totally wanted to bundle him up and keep him safe all night. But that’s a nice thing isn’t it? Wanting to care for someone? I feel their betrayal like a sting.
‘So, she really likes Dillon then,’ Felix says. ‘Poor Tom.’
‘Poor Dillon,’ Jordan replies. ‘She really likes Tom.’
Felix groans. ‘It’s so not fair on them. Can’t she see that?’
‘I know. It’s cruel,’ Jordan replies. ‘You should have seen Tom’s face when she rode off with Dillon last night—it was so pitiful I almost told him to forget her myself.’
‘She says she doesn’t know who to choose, but it’s almost like she’s enjoying it.’
‘Olive does love attention.’
‘But when it’s hurting other people …?’
It feels like sour milk is swilling around inside my stomach to know my friends think I’m stringing along Tom and Dillon for attention.
It’s not true, I want to scream. I’m not enjoying this! I care about them so much.
Dillon walks in sleepy-eyed behind me. He looks so adorable with his hair all mussed up from his nap. ‘What’d I miss?’
‘Nothing,’ Jordan replies, leaning away from Felix and picking up her book.
‘Still nil all,’ Simon says without turning.
Dillon drapes his arm around my shoulders. He can see I’m not happy. ‘Ya have nettle soup for lunch, Lol?’
Jordan’s face blanches as her eyes flick up from the pages of her book.
‘Olive’s here?’ Felix hisses to her.
‘Mhm,’ Jordan replies, eyes down again, pretending to read.
‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving, so you guys can keep talking about me!’ I say and storm out the door.
Later that afternoon I go to find Prue. I need to leave Shewthrop Hall before I make things worse. I was trying to do the right thing by being here for Felix. But as usual I’ve just ruined everything.
Prue’s in her bedroom, painting her nails. ‘Felix isn’t here,’ she tells me. ‘He’s with Simon.’
I hesitate by the door. ‘I was actually hoping to speak to you.’
‘Really?’ Prue screws on the lid of her nail polish to give me her full attention. ‘Come in. How can I help?’
I shut the door behind me. ‘I just … I need to go.’
‘But tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.’
‘I know.’ I slump onto her floral-print bedspread, noting a pile of Felix’s braille books on the bedside table. I never got the chance to sleep in his bed. I miss him like crazy even if he does believe I’m doing all this for attention. ‘But I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I need to get out of here.’
‘Where would you go?’
‘To Ireland. To find my grandfather. I was hoping you could tell me the best way to get there?’
‘Where in Ireland?’
That’s the tricky part. I have no clue where he is. ‘Maybe Dublin?’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Do you know where your grandfather is?’
‘No. He’s a Traveller. He could be anywhere. But I intend to find out,’ I declare with false bravado.
Prue blows on her toenails. ‘Felix might kill me for this.’ She gets up and walks to the door on her heels. ‘But he’d kill me for leaving you in Dublin with no plan too. Come on.’
Prue takes me to her father’s office which is a musty smelling room of dark wood and leather. She starts rummaging through a filing cabinet and pulls out a manila folder. ‘Here it is.’ A yellow sticky note has the name Ardan scrawled on it, along with a telephone number. ‘What are your grandparents’ names?’
I write them down for her, thinking how strange it is to write Derry and Muirgheal down toge
ther like a couple, as Prue dials Ardan’s number on the vintage black rotary phone on her father’s desk.
Ardan—I’ve heard that name before.
‘Hello. No, it’s Prudence. Everything is fine. I’m sorry to disturb you, I just need a favour.’ Pause. ‘Yes. Yes. If you could just look into this matter for me. I’m trying to find a Traveller, Derry Nial McDonagh.’ Pause. ‘No, he’s not in any trouble. He’s my friend Olive’s grandfather, and she wants to visit him in Ireland.’ Pause. ‘Yes. A Christmas surprise. Very jolly.’ She reads the paper. ‘Derry Nial McDonagh. McDonagh. You can tell him she’s the granddaughter of Muirgheal.’ Pause. ‘You will? Thank you, Uncle.’ Uncle? That’s where I heard the name. In Vietnam! ‘No, I will. Yes. Thank you, cheerio.’
‘Was that Dillon’s father?’ I ask Prue as she hangs up.
‘Yes, but I’d rather you didn’t tell Dilly. Ardan’s going to make some calls for us.’
‘Does Dillon know that you know where his father is?’
‘It’s complicated, Olive. Really best not to get involved. He’s after Dilly’s money. I don’t know if you’re aware, Dillon’s mother—my aunt—left him quite a sum. But of course, Dillon wants to believe, you know …’ She looks flustered.
‘That his father loves him?’
‘That’s right. You really can’t trust him though. We’re protecting Dilly by not telling him. Honestly.’
‘But you can trust him to find my grandfather?’
‘Oh, definitely. The Traveller community all know each other. And Ardan, well, he likes to stay on the right side of the family.’
I bet he does.
‘Sure. I understand,’ I say, bending over the table and slipping the sticky note into my pocket, glad to be invisible. ‘Thanks for helping me, Prue.’
‘Pleasure,’ she says, smiling. ‘Just make sure you’re back for the wedding.’
I hide in my bedroom for the next hour, looking at a map of Ireland in an old atlas I found in the earl’s study. My fingers run over place names—Limerick, Cork, Ballyshannon—names both familiar and strange. When Jordan comes knocking I don’t answer. I stash the atlas under my pillow and when the door opens, I sit stone still as she scans the room. It makes me sad to sit here hiding in plain sight. But she hurt me. I can’t pretend it away.
‘You know I didn’t mean anything by that stuff I said with Felix,’ Jordan says into the room. ‘And I would have said it all to your face if you’d spoken up.’
I don’t respond. She’s probably right.
‘You can’t blame us for being concerned, not just for Tom and Dillon but for you too. It’s not fair on anyone. I understand that you don’t know who you want to be with—and that’s fine—just don’t go around kissing them for Christ’s sake.’
It’s like a smack of realisation and I’m flooded with shame. I hang my head in my hands, devastated.
Jordan rakes her fingers through her hair. ‘What am I doing? You’re probably not even here,’ she mutters, leaving.
Hearing the door shut, I flop face forward onto my bed to cry.
Prue knocks on my door a few moments later. Her face is bright with excitement when I open it. ‘Ardan found your grandfather.’
‘Really?’
‘I can have the helicopter take you to Liverpool now, but after that, you’re on your own. I’m afraid it’s due to pick up my mother and father in Gstaad tomorrow.’
I feel a leap of nerves. ‘Where’s Liverpool?’
‘It’s here in England, a few hours north-west. You can get a boat from Liverpool to Dublin, then your grandfather said to call someone called Cian.’ She hands me a number.
Call Cian? It sounds like I’m making a drug deal.
‘He’s near Dublin then?’
‘Some town west, on the outskirts. Bundgal. You’ll need to google it.’
Of course. How did anyone go searching for their mysterious grandfather before the internet?
‘He wants to meet you, Olive,’ Prue says, her eyes shining.
My heart skips in my chest. ‘He does?’
‘Uncle Ardan said he’s dead keen.’
It’s like a dream. Derry Nial McDonagh is real and he wants to meet me.
‘Don’t tell the others will you? Not till I’ve left anyway.’
‘Our secret,’ says Prue, smiling.
She’s not bad, this girl. It’s the one good thing I’ve learned today.
CHAPTER
34
The earl’s helicopter alights and I watch the lights of Shewthrop fade into the veil of falling snow. I feel an ache of guilt for leaving them, especially so close to Christmas, but I need to go. Choosing between Tom and Dillon is like choosing between water and oxygen. I can’t do it. I’m hoping that the distance will bring me some clarity.
It does feel good to pull away, like a thousand little strings are being cut, and finally I’m untethered. Free.
Prue has asked the pilot to deliver an important Christmas parcel to Liverpool docks. So we skim over the countryside; me in the back, the parcel up front in the passenger seat. I’m not too insulted. I’ve been upstaged by worse.
When we arrive in Liverpool I wait for the pilot to disappear with the package before getting out. I’ve got ten minutes before the ferry departs. Fortunately being invisible means I don’t have to worry about any of those pesky ticket or immigration issues. I dash straight up the gangplank of the large car ferry—vehicles are loaded into the bottom, passengers up on the top decks—and follow the people carrying suitcases down narrow corridors to their assigned cabins. I’ll have to wait until later to find an empty one during the overnight voyage, so I withdraw to the deck to watch the ship pull away from the docks.
The Liverpool port lights blur in the haze and I stand huddled against the cold watching England grow smaller and smaller. It wasn’t so abhorrent, the old mother country. Maybe I won’t completely disown her.
Inside the ship I take a good look around, wandering up to the bridge to check out the captain and his team at work. They look like they know what they’re doing so I stroll down to the ship’s galley, ducking around the chefs and waiters to make myself a cheese and pickle sandwich. It’s so chaotic nobody notices me, even when I get bumped a few times. Out in the lounge, I steal a magazine from a woman distracted by her phone, then stash it under my coat with my sandwich and find a quiet spot.
A few minutes later as I lie across a row of seats on my belly, tapping my feet together, chomping on my sandwich and reading British gossip—which is so much trashier than Australian trash—I suddenly realise, I am happy.
Here on my own. This is the life.
Then my phone vibrates.
Jordan: You’ve gone! Are you ok?
Olive: Didn’t want to be cruel anymore.
Jordan: I’m sorry about what I said
Olive: No you were right. Trouble is I don’t know what to do.
Jordan: Then don’t pick either of them
What? It hits me hard—I can pick neither.
I think about my revelation a moment earlier, how happy I am on my own. I can choose no one. I can choose to be on my own.
Jordan: BTW Tom’s leaving after Christmas lunch. He doesn’t want to hang around if you’re not here.
Instantly I feel sick. I’ve abandoned Tom again. It’s thirty-three days of solitude all over again. Here I am running away refusing to speak when he needs me the most. What have I done?
Olive: And Dill?
Jordan: Dunno. He said he wanted an early night.
He’ll be fine, I think. I don’t have to worry about Dillon just yet. Just Tom. He’ll hate me for running away. I have to call him.
I go outside so nobody hears me speak. I’m already shivering when Tom picks up.
‘Olive? Are you okay?’ Of course he thinks it’s an emergency, why else would I call?
‘I’m fine. I just wanted to check in and let you know I’m not abandoning you.’
‘Okay …’
‘This is not another “thirty-three days of solitude” situation. I’m available anytime, night or day, just call.’
‘Like 000?’
‘Or something more dirty.’
Tom laughs. ‘I might take you up on that.’
There is a pause while I try to figure out what to say next. Eventually I decide on, ‘I’m sorry I left.’
‘No, I understand. It was getting pretty intense.’
I’m grateful he gets it. ‘I know. Ridiculous. The whole situation.’
‘Yeah. I’m angry at myself because it’s not what I came over here to do. I just wanted to hang out, you know? Be us?’
‘I know.’
‘But when I saw you with Dillon …’ He exhales.
‘Impossible,’ I say. ‘I know.’
‘But it’s crazy right? You’re nineteen. I can’t expect you to come home and marry me or something. That’s just … not going to happen.’
Marry him? Cac!
‘It is on the intense side,’ I say, my voice wobbly because I’m kind of terrified.
Tom laughs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not proposing to you.’
‘Thank god.’ My teeth are chattering.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m on the deck of a ship crossing the Atlantic about to freeze to death.’
‘Christ, Ol. Get inside.’
‘I will. But Tom?’
I think about what Felix told me about Tom not being able to move on. It’s unfair that he feels tied to me. I need to let him know he has a choice in this. He doesn’t have to love me.
‘Do you remember that first night, when you said things had changed with Dillon seeing me?’
‘In the garden? Yeah.’
‘You were right.’
Tom snorts. ‘Like that’s not obvious.’
‘No. I don’t mean Dillon and me.’ I take a breath. ‘I’m talking about the curse. The true love part is obviously bullshit if Dillon sees me. I can’t have two true loves right?’
Tom takes a moment to answer. ‘So … I’m not your true love?’
God. How do I do this? I don’t know if I’m breaking his heart or if he’s about to pass out with relief. I push on, hoping honesty is enough to get us both through this.
The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away Page 22