I wait anxiously, but Dillon and Derry don’t emerge for dinner, and they’re still in the caravan when I knock on the door to tell them we’re going to midnight mass.
‘Hold up, we’re coming,’ Derry calls roughly.
I’m relieved to see them emerge looking pretty much the same. ‘How did it go?’ I mouth to Dillon but he just winks at me.
‘Where are ya, Olive?’ Derry demands from the bottom of the steps.
‘Here, Granddad.’ I step up to take his arm. On closer inspection, he does look shakier. We share an umbrella as we walk through the village. The rain has eased to a fine mist and the wet road shines in the streetlights.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask him, concerned by the way he has to shove his hands in his pockets to stop them twitching.
‘Do I look okay?’ he grumbles.
‘I just thought Dillon … might have helped?’
‘Helped?’ He makes a throaty snort. ‘We’ll see, won’t we.’
‘Well, thanks for telling the truth. I appreciate it.’
‘Didn’t have a choice, did I?’ he grumbles. ‘That boy of yours got the sight.’
I’m shocked. ‘You can tell?’
‘Haven’t witnessed that old magic in twenty years. No point lying to the boy, he sees straight through ya.’ He shakes his head. ‘Gives me the heebie-jeebies.’
It had given me the heebie-jeebies too, watching how Dillon pressed the truth from such a tough old guy.
‘I heard about yer fella, years ago. Poor fecker. His Ma wanted it for him, called it a “gift”.’
‘Why would his mother want it for him?’
‘Thought it would protect him, if he couldn’t lie for anyone.’
I note the wording: lie for anyone, not to anyone. His father, I think. His mother was trying to protect him from becoming like his father. Dillon would be a liability as a criminal. No wonder his dad didn’t want him around.
‘Do you know who cursed him?’ I ask Derry. ‘Are there powerful gypsy magicians all over the place?’
‘Magicians!’ He snorts. ‘Yer got no idea do ya?’
‘No. That’s why I’m asking,’ I say, sounding as snarky as I feel.
Derry chuckles. ‘There are a few auld girls that still know the ways. Ardan’s sister, Fuamnach, is one of them. She travels with him.’
So Dillon was cursed by his aunt and I was cursed by my great-great-grandmother—what lovely families we have.
‘Fuamnach’s an unusual name. I haven’t heard it before,’ I say.
‘What’s Muirgheal been teachin’ ya?’ Derry is appalled. ‘Not heard of Fuamnach! I suppose ya never heard of Midir either?’
‘Wasn’t Midir the fairy king?’ I say, wanting to defend Muirgheal when it was in fact Rose who read me Irish legends.
‘To be sure, Midir was the fairy king!’ Derry says as he swoops out from beneath the umbrella to spread his arms wide. ‘Two wives he had, lucky bastard. Fuamnach was one of them, but she was dead riled about having to share him. She magicked the other wife into a fly.’
I giggle. ‘Handy skill to have.’
‘Aye.’ Derry’s eyes narrow as I press the umbrella into his hand. I don’t want it to look like it’s floating. ‘Perhaps you’d be like yer great-great-grandma if given the chance.’
I’m taken aback. ‘I’d be like Yseult?’
‘Yer got her blood, don’t ya?’
I don’t point out that all my cousins have her blood, including Rose, who is quite possibly the last person in the world I can imagine turning someone into a fly.
‘Yseult knew brilliant things about the world,’ Derry says, eyes shining. ‘Things that would turn ya inside out.’
‘Sounds disturbing.’
‘Aye,’ Derry says. ‘Things that’d make a banshee’s skin crawl.’
‘I guess Dillon understands some of these things too,’ I say, watching Dillon up ahead rough-housing with my cousins. ‘He must if he lived with his aunt for eleven years.’
‘Queer choice of a beau, love,’ Derry says.
‘I didn’t choose him. He sees me.’
‘Aye, what of it?’
‘The curse says only my true love will see me.’ I marvel at how at ease Dillon is with my cousins; he punches Kevin as Sean puts him in a headlock. Joan is glaring at them, willing them to ‘cop on and behave’.
Derry is watching them too. He points the umbrella at Dillon. ‘That one would see anyone dead or alive—he’d see a feckin’ pixie.’
It’s like the icy rain has found its way into my bloodstream. ‘What?’
‘The boy sees truth, aye? Whatever form it comes in,’ Derry says. ‘So if you’re true—he sees ya.’
I’m starting to shake all over. ‘So he’s not my true love?’
‘I don’t know about love, but even if ya hated him to blazes—that lad would still see ya.’
CHAPTER
38
Dillon waits at the church gate for me to catch up. I’m straight furious with him but I’m also afraid. How had I got him so wrong? I trusted him unequivocally and all this time he’s been lying to me.
Dillon’s not my true love—and he knows it.
Dillon sees it the moment he looks at me. His sunny face darkens. Derry sees it too. ‘Want me to puck him one?’
I take the umbrella. ‘Thanks Granddad, I got this.’
I scoot over to Dillon’s side. ‘Can I speak to you, please?’ I hiss.
He looks shamefaced. ‘Aye.’
I pull Dillon around the corner of the church but the church roof offers no shelter so I’m forced to stand close, holding the umbrella over us both, when I really want him away from me—on the other side of the church yard would be ideal.
Inside, I hear the sounds of people greeting each other, bright and cheery. The church light glows warm and welcoming through the window, the organ plays Christmas carols, everything is brimming with Christmas cheer, unaware that we’re out here in the cold and the dark, and I’m frightened of Dillon. No, I’m frightened of myself—and how I trusted him. I’m so naïve and stupid.
Dillon runs both hands over his scalp and I can see the veins on the back of them bulging.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I demand. ‘After all your bullshit about not being able to lie—you’ve been lying to me this whole time!’
‘Ya never asked me directly, ya just assumed,’ he says. ‘I didn’t correct ya, for sure, but I didn’t lie.’
I feel my teeth clench so tight they feel like they might crack. My voice drops. ‘Don’t you dare give me that. I shouldn’t need to ask you.’
He hangs his head and his hands fall limp by his sides.
‘You know this situation has been killing me,’ I continue. ‘Tom is my true love. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I didn’t want it to be true obviously!’ Dillon looks at me with fire in his eyes. ‘How was I supposed to compete with some Adonis true love? I never stood a chance!’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No it’s not,’ he insists. ‘Yer so hung up on the damn curse ya can’t think for yourself.’
My grip tightens in fury. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Ya could think, “feck this curse, I’ll like who I like”, but no—it’s “I have to love this lad because some mad auld woman said something fifty years ago”!’
His words sting. ‘What the hell? You believe in this stuff more than I do!’ I pull out the mistletoe wedged in my buttonhole and fling it at him. It bounces off his coat and lands in the mud. Dillon bends down to pick it up, flicking off the mud with his fingers.
‘I might believe it but I don’t let it run my life.’
‘Could have fooled me,’ I mutter, watching him shove it back into my jacket with fierce determination.
Dillon’s hands lie still at my lapel. ‘What do you think this is between us?’ he says. ‘Some freakish aberration?’
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ I snap. ‘You see everything! You are a f
reak!’
I register his pain and the depth of my regret before he steps away. He stands in the drizzle, his hands resting on the brick of the church, his head down, eyes closed.
I step close to cover him, sweeping my fingers through the damp tussle of hair growing over his ear. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I just wish you told me.’
‘I’ve been trying to find a way to, but …’ He turns to look at me. Light from the stained-glass window casts asymmetrical shapes onto his face. He shrugs. ‘I just like ya.’
It’s so simple and real. And I feel exactly the same way.
‘If ya want Tom that’s fine,’ he says. ‘But choose him because ya love the lad, not because of some fecked-up curse. He deserves that.’
He does. We all do.
I take a shaky breath of recognition. It’s horrifying to think how quickly I was sucked back into the power of the curse. I’d decided on the ship to choose neither Tom nor Dillon—and one new bit of information and I’ve tied myself to Tom again. It’s terrible the command it has over me.
I think about how Ani urged me to be Olive, not invisible Olive, and decide I’m going to be Olive-with-no-true-love from now on. I don’t want the curse to rule my life anymore.
‘The problem is, I don’t know what I want,’ I admit.
Dillon snorts. ‘No one does, Olive. I don’t have a clue what I want, even tomorrow. But when the time is right, I’ll know.’
‘You’ll just know?’
He shrugs. ‘I got to have faith.’ He reaches out and strokes my brow. ‘I’m sure ya will too, Lol.’
The intimacy is too much. I move my face away. ‘I doubt it. It seems way too easy.’
Dillon chuckles. ‘Well, sure. It’s bound to be more of a production for you. But you’ll figure it out,’ he says. ‘One day, you’ll just wake up and—bam.’ He does jazz hands which makes me laugh.
‘And in the meantime?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Fun?’
I should be angry with him—the old Olive wouldn’t have spoken to him for thirty-three days. But I can’t find the energy for it. And the truth is I do want to have fun. ‘Should we go inside and mess with mass?’ I say. ‘I can play some spooky chords on the organ?’
‘Yes! And make a storm in the holy water!’
I bounce on my toes. ‘Levitating Jesus!’
‘You’re one useful Lolly.’ Dillon cackles and pulls me inside. And I think, if this is how it feels without true love, then I like it.
My cousins are proud to claim me as their own after mass, insisting on more pranks back at the house. We stay up drinking as I fool around, dancing with PJ’s hoodie so it looks like a ghost, making crisps appear on Kevin’s head, dropping toenails in Sean’s pint so he finds them in the dregs and says he’ll murder me if he finds me. Clare just wants me to carry around large objects. She’s killing herself laughing at the floating furniture.
I play jokes on Dillon too, asking him direct questions to amuse us all. When was the last time you peed your pants (three months ago!); do you believe in fairies (yes!); would you have sex with a nun (absolutely!). When I ask him if he likes Justin Bieber, and he admits it, my cousins are in hysterics.
‘Don’t tell her, lad. Just stop!’ Sean begs him between chortles.
But Dillon doesn’t mind. He knows I won’t ask the things that matter. When we head up to bed, we’re still giggling. I tumble onto the single bed and even though Joan has made up a mattress on the floor, I beckon Dillon to climb in with me.
I know what I want tomorrow.
He crawls towards me, pulling off his clothes until he’s just in his boxers.
‘This is not me choosing you,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not making promises to anyone. I told Tom that and I’m telling you the same.’
‘I’m not making promises either, girl.’ He’s hovering over me, arms locked either side of me, but he’s swaying.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ I ask him.
‘I’ve been wanting to kiss ya properly for donkeys but I didn’t want to confuse ya.’
I laugh at him but it’s also kind of sweet. ‘Go ahead, Dill—bewilder me.’
On Christmas morning I wake to find Dillon’s nose against mine. His eyes are open, his eyebrows so huge they almost shield us from the morning light. We lie there smiling at each other.
‘Merry Christmas, Lolly.’
‘Merry Christmas, Nut.’
‘I need coffee.’ His eyes brighten. ‘Want me to fetch you breakfast?’
‘Pancakes?’
He kisses my forehead and scrambles out of bed. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’
I watch him button his jeans then stand there, frowning at the wrinkles in his shirt after he so thoughtlessly discarded it last night. It makes me chuckle.
‘Ya laughing at me?’
‘Is there anyone else in the room?’
He pretends to look around. ‘Sorry? Which one of you invisible girls said that?’
‘The one who wants pancakes—pronto.’
Dillon chucks the shirt at me and walks out just wearing his jeans. As I watch him I think, I might know what I want again tomorrow.
I call Jordan to wish her Merry Christmas while I wait for Dillon. I know something big has happened because Jordan is almost singing when she picks up the phone.
‘Hey! Merry Christmas! How are you?’ she trills.
‘Please don’t tell me Simon proposed.’
‘No!’
‘So what’s going on?’ I demand.
‘Nothing!’
‘So why are you so happy?’
Jordan laughs. ‘I met Simon’s mum last night.’
‘So?’
‘So, she’s great. We spoke for hours. And you know how I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my life?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, Catherine—Simon’s mum—knows the manager of Oxford Playhouse Theatre. And she’s offered to try to get me work there!’
‘The theatre?’ I exclaim. ‘You?’
‘Not acting,’ she says like I’m stupid. ‘Backstage or production. I figure I’ve got enough experience handling dramatic people.’ She laughs. Again. It’s getting kind of annoying. I don’t do jolly people.
‘Do you think it sounds like me?’ she asks.
I’m flattered she wants my opinion. ‘For sure,’ I reply. ‘You love the theatre, right? And you’re super organised and creative. Bossy too. Just don’t be the music person okay? You’re cac at guitar.’
‘Shut up.’
‘No, but it’s really great. I’m happy for you,’ I say, realising I’m actually kind of jealous too. Then I realise something else. Something horrible. ‘I guess you’ll be staying with Simon, at Shewthrop.’
‘I will until I sort something, but I want to get my own place. A share house in Oxford or something.’
Wow. She’s really thought this through. It’s going to happen. I’m losing my best friend to England.
‘You’ll have to visit,’ she says. ‘You can help me with props or something.’
‘No, I’ll act. I’d be perfect for the ghost of Hamlet’s father.’
Jordan laughs. ‘I’ll still come to New York. But maybe closer to March or April? The winter months are really busy at the theatre apparently.’
‘Cool,’ I say, still feeling sick with it. ‘That sounds … good.’
Jordan senses it. ‘What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you going to try and talk me out of it? I thought you’d incite a coup or something trying to stop me.’
‘I rode in the earl’s helicopter, Pins. I know what I’m up against.’
‘So you don’t hate me?’ Jordan says. ‘Even though it’s England and Simon?’
I search my heart and—strangely—I don’t. I’ll miss her. But I don’t blame her for wanting this.
‘Simon’s okay. Besides, you’re sure to be swept off your feet by dozens of dashing young thespians. A young Sir Laurence Olivier perhaps.’
‘Ur
gh. Creepy. Hey, Felix is here. He wants to ask you something.’
‘Okay.’
‘See you at the wedding!’
See me? In her delirium she’s forgotten I’m invisible. Happiness is so stupid.
Felix comes on the line. ‘Hey it’s my favourite cursed girl!’
‘Please don’t tell me you’re as ecstatic about life as Jordan,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I can take it.’
Felix laughs. ‘She’s pretty damn excited, huh? Both her and Catherine. Hopefully they calm down. I do want Prue to get some attention, being the bride and all.’
‘So you met the parents? How did they take the wedding news?’
‘They’re okay with me, I think. Catherine’s a bit pissed though, she was planning on a big society wedding. Which is exactly what Pruey didn’t want.’
‘And the earl?’
‘Wrapped around Prue’s finger.’
‘Handy.’
‘I’ll say. He’s being very cooperative, not like my mum. She’s here the day after tomorrow and completely terrified. Doesn’t know what to wear apparently.’
‘I’ve got the same problem. Tossing up between my three T-shirts.’
‘Always too many choices with you, hey?’
‘I know, I’m so cruel,’ I say pointedly.
‘Yeah, Ol. Sorry about that.’
‘You should be.’
‘Even if it was true?’
‘Especially if it’s true. Tell me next time. I could have done with the help.’
‘You’d never accept my help,’ he says, which is annoyingly correct. I can’t stand him telling me what to do. ‘Is it any clearer now?’
‘I don’t know, Lix. I honestly think I love them both. But I’m not ready to be with anyone permanently. I’m just going to take it day by day.’
‘Sounds like a good idea, as long as they’re both cool with that.’
‘I think they understand.’ There is a knock on the door, then Dillon brings in a plate of toast and two mugs of tea. He passes me one before climbing into bed beside me. ‘Thanks,’ I mouth to him and he winks.
I turn my attention back to Felix. ‘So, bub, what did you want to ask?’
‘I wanted to know if you would be my best person at the wedding?’ Felix says.
The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away Page 25