“Okay.” Megan inched her way along the bar and sat down.
Perched on a stool, Dan raised his pint of lager. “Cheers and good luck with your new property. So what was it you wanted to ask me?”
Megan sipped her Guinness. “I had a bit of a problem with a farmer today. Paudie something, I think his name was. He seems to be renting my fields in something called conacre, which you seem to have forgotten to mention.”
“But I did.”
Megan frowned. “No, I don’t remember that.”
“Probably because you were half asleep.”
“Must have been while you were droning on about property laws. I kind of lost interest halfway through. Maybe you should improve your reading skills? Make it more interesting so your clients don’t fall asleep.”
He put his glass on the counter. “You mean you expect it to be some sort of entertainment? I’m sorry if I bored you, but I thought, as it concerned your property, you might have made an attempt to stay awake.”
“I didn’t know I had a property at that stage. You might have told me that at the beginning and then—” Megan stopped. “Aren’t we losing track of the real issue here?”
“Yes.” He took another swig. “What was the issue?”
“Paudie O’Shea and his conacre. He said the contract was good for ten years.”
Dan shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s renewable at the end of every year. He’s paid until then, and after that it’s up to you if you want to continue.”
“But he has the right to put cattle in the garden too? He tried to unload some calves.”
“No, absolutely not. He probably took the liberty, thinking there was nobody around. I suspect your Uncle Pat said it was okay or something. You have to sort that out with Paudie.”
“Or you could write him a letter,” Megan suggested.
“Could do. But if you speak to him first, he might agree without much pressure.”
Megan sighed. “I doubt that very much.”
Dan winked. “But a pretty face goes much further than a solicitor’s letter.”
She smiled stiffly. “Of course. That’s what I always use. My charm and femininity.”
“Thought so.” He winked. “You have foam on your lip.”
She wiped it off. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What’ll I do about Paudie?”
Dan drained his glass. “Nothing for the moment. Let me know if he causes any trouble, and I’ll go and beat him up.”
“Very funny.” Megan wriggled off her stool. “Goodbye.” She took her half-finished glass and pushed into the crowd, looking for Beata or Boris.
Someone touched her arm. A stocky, red-haired man in his fifties blocked her way. “Are you the O’Farrell girl?”
“Um, yes?”
His beady eyes studied her for a moment. “Thought so. You’ve that O’Farrell look. He grabbed her hand so roughly, she nearly dropped her glass. “Tom Quinn. Your Aunt Molly’s nephew.”
Megan took a step back. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”
He looked at her in silence for a moment. “So, how did you do it, then?”
“Do what?”
“Get him to will you the house.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The man grabbed her arm. “We were very good to Pat the last few years. Worked hard we did, for him. Helped him with the animals, drove him to the shops, even dug the potatoes. Hard work it was. My brother and I went to see him nearly every day in the nursing home. And he swore we would get the place when he died.” He moved closer still. “But a pretty girl like you wouldn’t have any trouble getting an old man to part with his property,” he wheezed in her ear. He smelled of sweat and beer.
Megan pulled away. “I really—” They were interrupted by a voice calling for Megan.
Beata sidled up to them. “Come over and meet our friends.” She nodded at Tom Quinn. “Hi. I’m Beata.”
He smirked. “Yeah, I’ve seen you before. Not from around here are you?”
Beata frowned. “No. From Poland.”
Tom nodded. “Yes, thought so. A blow-in.”
Beata bristled. “What do you take me for? I don’t do stuff like that.” She pulled at Megan. “Come on, we don’t want to talk to this fucker.”
Tom Quinn lifted his glass. “Have a nice evening, ladies.”
“Bastard,” Beata growled when they were at the door. “Did you hear what he called me? A ‘blow-in’. As if… I mean…”
Megan took Beata’s arm. “Hey. Listen, it’s not what you think.” She struggled to keep her face straight. “A ‘blow-in’ means a stranger. Someone who’s not from here. Have you never heard it before?”
Beata’s jaw dropped. “Oh… I see. I thought he meant some kind of tart giving—you know…”
Megan let out a giggle. “Yeah, I know what you thought.”
“ Oh shit. Thanks for letting me know. But that guy’s still a fucker. I’ve seen him around. Always getting drunk and touching up women.”
They were interrupted by a shrill sound from Megan’s bag. She put her glass on a nearby table and fished out her phone. “Hello?”
A voice said something she couldn’t hear. “Hang on. I’m in a pub. Can’t hear a thing. I’ll go outside. Sorry,” she said to Beata. “Phone call.” She inched her way through the crowd and walked to the door. Once outside, she put the phone to her ear. “Okay. Can hear you now.”
The male voice said something in a Kerry accent so thick, it was impossible to understand more than ‘—on the road’.
Megan pressed the phone harder to her ear. “What? On the road? Could you speak more slowly? Who is this?”
“Mick Ryan. I live down the road from your house.”
“What?” Megan asked, confused. “How did you get my number?”
“Dan Nolan gave it to me. Said it would be useful in case something happened. And now it has. Your cattle are on the road.”
“What cattle?” Megan looked wildly around and was relieved to see Beata, coming out of the pub, puffing on a cigarette. “Hang on, I’ll put you on to my friend who understands the language.” She handed the phone to Beata. “Here. Please try to find out what’s going on. I don’t speak Kerry.”
Without removing the cigarette, Beata took the phone. “Hey, what’s your problem? You harassing this woman, huh?” She listened for a moment, then: “What the fuck do you mean? Megan doesn’t have any cattle. You must have the wrong number. If you don’t stop this, I’ll call the—”
The voice grew louder.
“What’s going on?” Megan hissed, trying to take the phone.
Beata puffed on her cigarette “I see. Okay. I’ll tell her. We’ll be right over.” She handed the phone to Megan. “He says there are cattle on the road outside your house. You have a house?”
“Yes. Just an old wreck I inherited. Don’t really know what to do with it. Then today this guy with a trailer arrived trying to unload some calves into the garden, but I told him I’d call the police so he left. Must have snuck back later when I was gone and unloaded them.”
“Who was he?”
Megan shrugged. “Said his name was Paudie O’Shea.”
Beata’s eyes narrowed. “I see…”
“You know him?”
“Yes, sure I do. Creep.”
“What am I going to do?”
Beata marched to her van. “Get in. We’ll sort this out.”
Megan got into the passenger seat. “What about Boris?”
Beata slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. “We’ll leave him here. He’s drunk. No use to anyone.”
“Where are we going?” Megan asked when the van took off.
Beata squinted through the cigarette smoke. “First, we’ll go to the house and see about the cattle. Then we’ll go and have a little chat with Paudie.”
“It’s very kind of you to help.”
Beata laughed. “Kind? I’ve been waiting for a
reason to stick it to that bastard for a year.”
***
Four calves grazed on the sparse grass at the edge of the lane. Beata stopped the van. “There they are. All together. Great. This won’t be too hard.”
“What are we going to do?” Megan asked.
Beata smirked. “We’re going to drive them back up to Paudie. It’s not far. A couple of kilometres up the lane.”
“How?”
“On foot, of course.” Beata glanced at Megan’s shoes. “ Oh shit. Your shoes are useless. And that miniskirt’s pathetic. You have fantastic legs, but that won’t help you now. Hey, there’s a pair of willies in the van. Stick those on and we’re away.”
“You mean wellies, I hope?”
“Yeah, whatever. Willies, wellies, same difference.”
“Uh, not quite.” Megan found a pair of muddy boots in the back of the van. She pulled them on and tossed in her stilettos. “How’s that?” she called, walking around the car.
Beata laughed. “Not the most elegant look but better for this job.” She glanced at the house. “This is it? This wreck?”
“Yes. The house my great-uncle left me in his will.”
Beata looked around. “Good location. That beach is great for surfing. Lovely mountain views, and straight up that road you have some good hiking trails. But the house needs a lot of work, if you’re planning to live there.”
Megan shrugged. “I know. But I don’t want to think about that now.”
“You’re right. None of my earwax anyway. Come on, let’s go. Grab that stick over there and get behind the little fuckers. I’ll go to the side to stop them getting in through the hedges. Let’s go.” She let out an ear-splitting holler. The calves jumped to attention. “Woo, woo, woo!” she shouted, waving her arms. “Come on, you bastards, get going up the road.”
Megan waved her stick, pushing the calves ahead. The wellies chafed her ankles, making her wobble. The calves scattered all over the road, and she had trouble keeping them together. But Beata managed to get them in line.
They walked slowly up the lane lined with wildflowers and fuchsia. The sun sank lower behind the mountains. Birdsong, the buzzing of bees and the soft bellowing of the calves made a pleasant, mellow symphony. Megan waved her stick, occasionally calling to the calves and began to enjoy the summer’s evening adventure.
She waved away a fly. “So, why do you hate Paudie so much?”
“He’s a two-faced bastard.”
“What did he do?”
Beata whacked at a bush. “Oh, nothing much. We had this thing going, you know?”
“Yeah?”
Beata looked into the distance. “I had just arrived here. I was lonely. Not used to… men. Paudie was so cute. So flirty. I thought he was only interested in me but of course, he’s like that with all women.”
“Not with me,” Megan remarked “He was anything but flirty earlier today.”
“That’s unusual.” Beata tapped at the back of a calf with her stick. “Go on, move!” She slowed down again. “Well anyway, I fell in love with him, I suppose. I never met someone like that. A small village in Poland isn’t crawling with handsome hunks, you know.”
“No, I can imagine.” Beata’s downcast expression made Megan feel a sudden sympathy. “I’m sure you were homesick too. That can make you fall for the wrong men, I’m sure.”
“Homesick? For a village in the middle of nowhere? Where there’s no work and everyone is dirt-poor? No way. But I missed my family, of course.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Then I met Paudie. I looked into his baby-blue eyes and fell for him big time. We were in bed the very first night we met. I don’t think we actually said much, except ‘hello, how are you?’ Just jumped into bed. Didn’t get out of it for two days. I was exhausted. God, that man knows how to fuck!”
Megan squirmed. “Uh, really?”
Beata giggled. “Sorry. That was a little too much information, wasn’t it?”
“Just a tad. But I know what you mean. Some men are like that. They get under your skin. Addictive or something.”
Beata glanced sideways at Megan. “You’ve been there too?”
Megan nodded. “Yeah. Bad marriage. He left me for a younger model. You know. Skinny. Shiny hair. Gorgeous face. The usual.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. How long were you married?”
“Eight years. It was good, I thought. I loved him. Thought he loved me. We had great sex. No idea what that bimbo could offer that I couldn’t. And now she’s pregnant. Something he didn’t manage with me. But never mind about that. Go on with your story.”
“No, I want to hear more about you,” Beata said. “Not the bad marriage but what you did as a living and how you came to inherit the house.”
Megan slowed her pace. “I was what you call a stylist. Which means you help people dress the right way. But to me, that wasn’t all there was too it.”
Beata looked at her with interest. “Really? I thought stylists were the kind of people who got celebrities to look glam on the red carpet.”
Megan laughed. “Yes, that’s if you live in Hollywood. But I worked with normal people. Sometimes I had newly elected politicians as my clients. Or high-powered executives. Or the wives of executives, who needed to look their best in the public eye. Often women with low self-esteem and not much confidence. You’ve no idea what a little polish and the right outfit can do to give them a lift.”
“I’m sure it does. Must be difficult to handle really ugly people with no style. I could never do that.”
“Not always easy,” Megan agreed. “But everyone has something attractive about them, so you point out the good bits and then carefully tell them how to hide the bad bits.”
Beata stopped. “So, what about me? What would you say if I asked you to improve my look?”
Megan forgot about the calves and studied Beata. “Um…you have a great figure and good skin.” She hesitated. She was going to say that sticking your head in a bucket of bleach was not the right way to go blonde and that all the black eye make-up made her look more than cheap, but the look in those pale blue eyes was too intimidating.
“But? I hear a ‘but’ there.”
“Well, maybe orange isn’t the best colour on someone with such pale skin? Something softer might bring out your blue eyes. But I wouldn’t touch anything else,” Megan added. “Except perhaps adding a bit of blusher or something. But that’s a minor thing.”
“Hmm.” Beata didn’t look satisfied. “That’s not the whole story is it? I’m sure there’s a whole lot more wrong with me, but you’re too chicken to tell me.”
“No,” Megan protested. “Not at all. Of course, if we got into the nit-picking stage, I might point out other things. But on the whole, the thing about you is that you have a great personality. You make me laugh. And you look like the kind of person I’d want to know better. That’s not about hair or clothes, it’s about aura. And you have a nice one.”
Beata put her arm through Megan’s. “You have a very nice aura, too.”
Megan started walking again. “So what about you and Paudie? What happened?
Beata shrugged. “Not much to tell. We had a few months together. I moved into his house. But then we started to fight, and one day he just threw me out.”
Megan stopped and stared at Beata. “He threw you out? What a bastard.”
“Yeah. So now you know why I want to get back at him.”
“Yes, and so do I.” Megan waved her stick again and increased her pace, pushing the calves ahead of her up the road.
Everything was going smoothly, until one of the calves crashed through a hedge into a field.
“Shit!” Beata shouted. “Go after him, Megan. I have to keep these ones on the road.”
Megan squeezed through the hedge, the brambles scratching her arms, into the field, trying to get around the gambolling calf. He kicked out. She ducked and fell into a fresh cowpat.
Beata screamed with laughter. �
��Get up, quick, he’s getting away!”
Megan scrambled to her feet and ran after the calf, waving her stick. She managed to get behind him, turn him around and finally back onto the road.
Beata couldn’t stop laughing. Gasping for breath, she herded the calves on. “I’m sorry but you looked so funny. It was like something from Father Ted.”
Megan pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, right. Ha, ha.”
Beata calmed down. “I’m sorry about your clothes. But the skirt can be washed and the top… well, we can pick the cow shit out of the sequins and wash it by hand.”
Megan pulled the top away from her body. “I’ll never wear it again. God, it stinks.”
“You could always take it off.”
“And go around naked? A great first impression that’d make.”
“Sorry. Of course. Look, here we are. Paudie’s place.”
Megan stopped. The house was long and low, painted white with a slate roof. A concrete courtyard in front with a tractor parked outside the door. Geraniums in a wooden tub added a dash of colour to the otherwise drab entrance. A big, black dog of indistinguishable breed lifted his head from his paws and let out a soft ‘woof’.
“Nice house,” Megan remarked.
“Yes, it’s okay.” Beata looked around. “Now, where can we put these calves? Where would it be most annoying?”
“In the hay barn?” Megan suggested. “Then they’d eat hay that’s intended for next winter.”
“Hmm, yes. That could work. Or—” Beata walked to a gate. “Aha! Cows. Let’s put them in there. That must be the mummies. He must have just weaned the babies, judging by the bellowing and mooing.”
They swiftly ushered the calves into the field, where they galloped off to join the cows coming toward them.
The dog barked. The door flew open and Paudie rushed out. “What’s going on? Who opened the gate and let those calves in?”
The cattle’s bellowing and the dog’s barking mingled into an ear-splitting cacophony. Megan put her hands over her ears.
“Shut up!” Beata shouted. “Down, Denis!” The dog whimpered and slunk away.
When all was quiet, Paudie drew breath. “Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?”
“We brought your calves back,” Megan said. “They seemed to be lost.”
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