The Rose Garden (12 page)

‘Yes, but I’m staying with Molly for a while. I’ve spent a lot of time over the years here since I was kid. I always love coming to Kilfinn.’

‘Centre of the universe!’ he joked. ‘Are you not bored?’

‘Not at all,’ she said defiantly.

Looking at him, she had to admit that he was dead attractive. Even in shitty clothes he looked good …

‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ she asked, trying to be polite. Molly had ingrained in her the importance of neighbours when living in the country and how much people depended on each other when they were farming, and helped each other.

‘No, you’re fine, thanks. Anyway, I’m hardly dressed for it …’ he gestured.

She watched as he closed up the trailer and, adjusting it, clambered back into the jeep.

‘But maybe I’ll take you up on that coffee another time,’ he grinned as he started the engine and drove off.

Molly wasn’t home till nearly six o’clock, and came out to the back field immediately to admire the manure.

‘This is like pure gold for my roses,’ she enthused. ‘It’s late in the year, I know, but the soil has been so impacted that this will help. Mulching and feeding and this horse dung will really encourage the plants that are there to grow. Judy and Tom are so good to send it over. Did one of the boys bring it?’

‘Yes, Luke did.’ Kim was curious about him.

‘Oh, he’s their middle son. Justin is on the stud farm with Tom – he’s the married one – and the youngest boy, Sam, is studying equine science. Luke’s a teacher, and a very good one by all accounts.’

Kim would never have imagined him as a teacher, with that sturdy, strong build.

‘They have a sister too, Melissa; she’s a sweetheart. She lives in Dublin with her boyfriend.’

Kim had to laugh; Molly was a mine of information on everyone who lived not only in Kilfinn, but for miles around the locality.

‘It’s a bit too late today to start working, but we’ll get up early tomorrow morning and start spreading the manure. I want to use most of it in the rose garden.’

Kim felt she must be gone mad as she found herself agreeing to help with the rotten mucky digging-in job …

‘It was so nice of Luke to bring it over,’ smiled Molly. ‘I must phone Judy to thank them.’

GINA WAS KEPT BUSY AT THE CAFÉ ALL DAY AND WAS ALSO
catering for a retirement party on Friday night being held down at the local GAA club. Her brother Dylan and his wife, Jenny, were down from Dublin to stay for the weekend with their new baby, Aisling. It was lovely to see them, as they had got married years ago and were now finally holding their precious little daughter, who had been born after a single programme of IVF last year.

‘We’re the lucky ones!’ said Jenny, a very proud new mother.

Gina’s boys had surprised her and were literally fighting over holding baby Aisling and playing with her. Dylan, enjoying fatherhood, was happier than she had ever seen him before.

They went for a forest walk and picnic, and on Saturday night Paul barbecued for everyone. Sitting around chatting over a few beers, Gina confided her secret hopes about the café.

‘Fingers crossed it all works out for you, sis!’ wished Dylan.

When they packed up to return to Dublin on Sunday evening everyone was sad to see baby Aisling go.

‘I wish that we had a little brother or sister,’ said Conor.

‘Me too,’ said Aidan. ‘I’d teach them how to play football.’

Were the men in her family gone mad! thought Gina; their lives were busy enough without a baby! When Paul snuggled her close in bed that night, she pushed him away, laughing.

‘We have more than enough on our plate,’ she giggled. ‘With
any luck, we might even be running the café in a few months, so there’s certainly no time for babies in this house!’

‘I’m happy with the boys,’ he said proudly, ‘and you. That’s more than enough for me.’

‘I’m glad to hear it!’ she smiled, reaching forward and kissing him.

It was Monday, her day off, before she managed to go and see how Norah was settling in to Beech Hill Nursing Home. A young Filipino nurse showed her to Norah’s room at the end of a long, narrow corridor.

Norah was sitting in a special chair at the window, looking out over the grounds. Her bedroom was lovely but impersonal. Norah looked pale and tired, and without thinking Gina grabbed a tissue and wiped away a bit of spittle from her chin.

‘How are you, Norah?’ she asked, sitting down opposite her.

‘OKAY,’ said Norah slowly, making an effort to try to get the words out. ‘Want hoommmee.’

‘Not yet. Marian and the nurses here will take great care of you, Norah, until you get well again,’ she soothed.

‘But wwwant to go hhhhome.’

Gina had suspected as much. She’d gone upstairs to Norah’s place before she came over and collected a few of her small personal items: a bronze cat figurine and a soft black toy kitten, some family photographs, a bright patchwork throw and a plump cushion with an embroidered picture of a bridge in Venice with a gondola. Norah always talked about her trip to Italy when she was younger. Gina wondered if perhaps she had run away there with some young man many years ago; or perhaps she had met a romantic Italian while she was on holiday there who had stolen her heart. Norah never discussed her love life, but Gina had seen photos of her when she was in her twenties and Norah Cassidy had been a good-looking young woman. She fixed the throw over her and positioned the cushion on her bed.

‘Just a few things for you, Norah. I’ll bring you more the next
time,’ she promised. She’d also got Norah a magazine and a paper. Unfortunately, with her swallowing problem, she was still not able to manage eating cakes or biscuits or sweets.

Sitting down, she filled Norah in on what had happened in the café over the past few days: who was ill, who was away and who had won the local parish Lotto. ‘Imagine, eight thousand euro! There’s been no winner for a few months and Johnny Lynch goes and wins it. That’s a fortune for him!’ she laughed. ‘Do you know, one of the first things he did was put all the money in the Post Office and then came into the café, sat down in his usual seat and had the full lunch – soup, roast chicken and potatoes and stuffing, then a big slice of apple tart and cream and a pot of tea.’

Norah nodded, taking it all in.

Gina racked her brain for stories of the locals, who were like family to Norah. It was sad the way Norah had ended up, but at least here she was well cared for and near all those who knew her.

‘Bridey said to say she’d call in tomorrow after lunch to see you,’ Gina said, pulling on her warm jacket. Norah and Bridey had gone to school together and were still friends. Norah held on to her sleeve, getting upset and not wanting her to go.

‘Listen, I’ll come and see you in another few days,’ she promised, giving her a hug.

Walking back out towards the car park a small black cat came across her path and wound around her legs.

‘Whose cat is it?’ she asked as one of the nurses got into a car beside hers.

‘That’s Suki. She belongs to the home,’ she laughed. ‘They all love her.’

‘Can I bring her inside to show someone?’

‘Of course.’

Gina lifted the little cat up and went back down the corridor to Norah’s room.

‘Norah – look who I found in the corridor! I have a visitor for you,’ she said softly, and gently lowered the black cat on to the old
lady’s lap. She watched as Norah lifted her hand and very gently began to stroke the cat.

‘M-mmy caattt.’

‘Yes, Suki is yours, Norah, while you’re here,’ she explained. ‘She lives here at Beech Hill.’

She watched quietly as Norah stroked the cat, which relaxed, settling in on her lap as the old woman kept petting it. She knew that Norah would love this real cat …

Driving home from Beech Hill, Gina couldn’t help but wonder when a decision about the café was going to be made. It was becoming clear that Norah was not going to be able to return there and things couldn’t keep going the way they were with the suppliers. They were being extremely patient and understanding, given the circumstances, but were hinting at being unable to give any further credit unless the payment situation was sorted. Gina was even making some of the payments in cash in order to ensure she was supplied with all the ingredients and food that the business needed.

She’d had a quiet word with the local bank manager, who lived about three miles out along the road. His son James was in Conor’s class in school.

‘I know the café, and I know about Norah,’ he’d said as they stood watching their boys’ team play football. ‘Keeping a healthy business like the café going is important in these times, and the fact that you are already running the place is a huge factor. I’m sure the credit committee would view a proposal from you very positively, but look, nearer the time come in and see me officially.’

Gina was quietly relieved that he didn’t envisage a major problem about her looking for a loan if and when the time or opportunity came for her to try to rent or even buy the café.

MOLLY WATCHED FROM THE BEDROOM WINDOW AS THE BLACK
Audi pulled into the driveway and a tall young man in a suit got out of the car and locked it.

Murphy King, the Dublin auctioneers, had phoned to say that they were coming to value the house and to discuss the possibilities of putting it on the market. Molly had been expecting one of the senior partners to appear to inspect the property, not a junior member of their staff, she thought, as she headed down to open the front door.

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Hennessy,’ Niall Devlin said, introducing himself. ‘I work in our country-house division. Coming to see beautiful old properties like this is why I like my job so much.’

Molly warmed to him immediately as she began to show him around.

‘What a fine Georgian house!’ he said, recording detailed notes of every room as he walked around, measuring dimensions. In fact, he was quite an expert, remarking on the ceilings and covings and cornices, on the door frames and shutters, and able to point out to her where work had been done on the house at various times.

‘This orangery is a very fine example of the period. Very few of them that have survived are in this good condition and usable; in so many places they have to be demolished as they are unsafe and gone beyond restoration.’

‘My husband was determined that this should be carefully
returned to its original condition. It cost a fortune sourcing the missing glass panes. We also put in under-floor heating, as in the winter it can be very chilly.’

As they walked around she listened to his comments, which mostly seemed positive. He called Mossbawn a fine example of Georgian elegance. Upstairs he admired the views and said little about the rooms that they barely used. He went up into part of the attic and then returned to the large kitchen, which overlooked the circular herb garden, and looked around the totally restored pantry and the old scullery, which they had turned into a practical utility room.

‘The house has been really well updated, keeping the important features intact,’ he congratulated her. ‘Unfortunately, so many places I see have been irretrievably damaged by the way that people try to modernize them.’

‘We loved this house from the minute we saw it,’ said Molly. ‘It’s taken us years, but it was worth spending the time to get it right.’

‘It was well worth it,’ he said approvingly. ‘This is a very fine house, and the fact that it is on the edge of Kilfinn village and is only a short stroll from the shops and pub is a real asset these days.’

‘Come on and let me show you the rest of the place,’ offered Molly, taking him outside, where he took some photographs.

‘Are there any outbuildings?’

‘Yes, there’s the old courtyard and stables. We just use them mostly for storage of old equipment and junk from the house that we don’t want.’

‘They must have kept a lot of horses here at one time and had a very busy yard.’

‘Yes, it’s huge, but we don’t really use it. There used to be a laundry area too.’

He took some more photos. ‘Any other buildings?’

‘Just the old Gardener’s Cottage – but it’s a bit of a wreck! It’s around the other side of the house. Hold on and I’ll find the key for it.’

As Niall walked through the rooms in the Gardener’s Cottage, Molly thanked heaven that it seemed fairly dry and cosy, though there must be a leak somewhere, as there was a nasty damp patch on the wall and a musty smell pervaded the place. Black mould totally covered the ceiling in the kitchen. It was full of bric-a-brac: old string and seed packets and pots, and worn leather gardening gloves and wellingtons, the dresser covered in cracked mugs and plates, with a trail of mice droppings all over the area around the sink and stove. The windows were small, overlooking a section of the garden where the walls were covered in the thorny growth of old roses.

‘Is this cottage part of the sale of Mossbawn, or are you reserving it or intending to sell it separately?’ he enquired.

‘To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about it,’ she admitted. ‘We never use it.’

‘Obviously, given it is in a state of some disrepair and is fairly small, I wouldn’t expect it to achieve a huge price, but there is a possibility that a separate buyer could be found for it. Old gate lodges and cottages like this often have an appeal of their own.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I know so. Just imagine it tastefully extended, bigger windows to let in more light and heat, with the rooms knocked through and a modern kitchen,’ he continued.

Molly smiled to herself; he was very good at his job, because even she began to imagine the old cottage given a new lease of life and being lived in again.

‘It’s a good bit bigger than most of these types of cottages,’ he announced, stepping outside to take some more photographs.

‘A gardener used to live here with his wife years ago. He looked after the gardens and farmland and provided vegetables and fruit for the kitchen. But it’s been empty for years, as Paddy, our gardener, lives in the village.’

‘What a shame,’ the auctioneer said, ‘as it’s got plenty of potential.’