Breakfast at Darcy's (11 page)

‘You’re a bit confident that you’re going to be chosen,’ Dermot says, raising an eyebrow. ‘This
is
only an interview.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Ah, but if you don’t have confidence in yourself, who else is going
to?’ Conor winks at me, and I look away as I feel myself begin to blush.

‘Indeed,’ Dermot continues. ‘So then, Conor, what makes you think you’re a suitable candidate to be chosen to come and live
on the island?’

Conor’s face becomes serious. ‘I was born and raised with a view of Tara constantly in my sights for the first eighteen years
of my life. And in that time I spent many a happy hour on the island walking, fishing, even courting on occasion, as my old
grandfather used to call it.’ His blue eyes flash towards mine for a split second. ‘I’d be confident in saying there’s only
a couple of other people that know Tara better than me.’

‘And who would they be?’ Niall asks, picking up his pen. ‘Just for the record.’

‘Eamon for one, since he’s lived there most of his life. No one knows Tara better than Eamon, that’s for sure.’ Conor turns
his eyes to me again. ‘And your aunt would be the other one, Darcy. I remember her coming over to visit; it was clear to see
she loved that island.’

Conor’s last comment compels my eyes to remain gazing back into his longer than they probably should. Momentarily
I’m reminded of the waves that crash against the rocks around Tara – so many shades of blue in one place, yet clear and inviting.
Hurriedly I avert my gaze when I realise it’s lingered there a bit too long, and pretend to study something on Conor’s application
form.

‘You said you had the island constantly in your sights until you were eighteen, Conor,’ I hear Dermot say while I try to regain
my composure. ‘What happened then?’

‘What happens to so many of us when we’re young – the call of foreign shores, I’m afraid Dermot. Is it all right for me to
call you Dermot?’

Dermot nods.

‘I wanted to see the world. So much to Mam’s upset, I packed a bag and went travelling.’

‘How long for?’ Niall asks.

‘The next ten years.’

‘Ten years? What did you do for ten years?’ I’m amazed that someone can just up and abandon their life like that. I think
what I’m doing is bad enough, and I’m only moving across the water to Ireland.

‘Oh, all sorts,’ Conor smiles. ‘Take me too long to tell you now. I’ve been many things to many people me.’

I look down at his application form. That would explain the vagueness of the career section, then.

‘Why the desire to come back home now?’ Niall asks. ‘If you’ve been travelling for so long?’

Conor’s expression changes so suddenly it’s like he’s swapped it with one of those theatrical masks that has both a tragic
and a comic face. ‘Me mam passed away, just this last January,’ he says, his head bent. ‘But she had a good life, and
we saw her last Christmas out together before she passed peacefully on New Year’s Day, not long before you folk came across
to visit Tara for the first time.’ A pair of blue eyes now filled with sorrow look up at us. ‘I’m an only child, so it was
up to me to sort everything out – in fact, all my family’s gone now since Mam’s passed on, so I’ve kind of hung around for
a bit, to catch up with the past, you know?’ He looks with meaning at me.

I find myself nodding involuntarily.

Appearing unmoved by Conor’s heartfelt explanation, Dermot continues with his questions. ‘What exactly could you bring to
us in terms of your skills – aside from your extensive knowledge of the island, of course?’

I stare at him incredulously. Does he not have an ounce of compassion?

Conor doesn’t seem particularly bothered by Dermot’s lack of empathy. ‘Let me see … ’ His brow furrows as he thinks about
the question. ‘When I lived in Australia I worked on a sheep farm for a few months, and then there was the time I was on the
fishing boats just off the coast of Alaska. Then I lived on a farm in Africa for a while, and I also worked at one of the
Sea Life Centres in Florida when I was over in the States. I learned to scuba-dive that year, too.’

Turning towards Niall, I grin while Conor continues to reel off a list of the very suitable jobs he’s had around the globe.
Niall gives me a thumbs-up under the table.

‘Thank you, Conor,’ Dermot holds up his hand. ‘It seems you’ve had some quite varied experience in many fields.’

‘I’ve done my fair share, you could say that.’ Conor seems to be back to his usual self again now. ‘So when will you be
deciding on the lucky candidates?’ he asks, those eyes looking directly into mine again.

‘We’ll be letting the successful applicants know over the next couple of days,’ I reply in my formal interview voice, desperately
wanting to tell him there and then that if he wants to come and live on Tara with us then I’m certainly not going to stop
him. ‘Is there anything you’d like to ask
us
, Conor?’

Conor thinks for a moment, then he grins. ‘Nope, I think I’m quite happy with everything. If you are, that is?’

I just manage to prevent myself looking like a lovesick nodding dog.

‘I think that’s all we need to know for now, Conor, thank you,’ Dermot says, standing up. He reaches out over the table to
shake Conor’s hand. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

Conor shakes Dermot’s hand, and then Niall’s and then mine. I notice his hand lingers a bit longer in mine than the others,
and how smooth it seems in comparisons to Dermot’s, which have always struck me as being quite rough when we’ve shaken hands
before.

‘Be seeing you soon then, I hope,’ he says as a parting comment.

If I’ve got anything to do with it, you definitely will
, I think to myself as he disappears through the door. There’s no ‘hope’ about it. Suddenly a year spent on Tara is looking
like a much more interesting prospect.

‘I just don’t trust him,’ Dermot had said that same evening as he knocked back the last of the whiskey that we’d moved on
to as the evening progressed, and dropped his glass back down
on the hotel coffee table. ‘There something about him that doesn’t add up.’

I find myself sighing heavily, and not for the first time that evening, as I massage the back of my neck. ‘That’s not a good
enough reason. Conor has lots of talents in so many areas that would make him perfect for the island, as far as I can see.’

‘Yep, that’d be right,’ Dermot raises his eyebrows and mutters so quietly I can hardly hear him. ‘I bet that’s not all you
see, either.’

‘What did you say?’

Dermot ignores me. ‘Look, Darcy, at the end of the day it’s your island. You’re the boss, you make the final decisions. I’m
only here to advise – that’s what you’re paying me for.’

‘Yes. Yes, you’re right, I am in charge, aren’t I?’ Dermot can be so overpowering at times that I’ve almost forgotten I’m
paying him to do a job for me. ‘Well I say Conor is in, so that’s one for definite.’

I look down at the other application forms we’ve got strewn across the table. We’d had so many applicants we’d decided to
accept far more people on to Tara than I actually required; an insurance policy against the odd one or two not liking it and
wanting to leave. ‘Right, Dermot, I’ll let you have your say with him, him, her, her and him.’ I pick up some forms and place
them to one side. ‘And we’re already in agreement about all these … So I’m going to add Caitlin, Ryan and Siobhan to that
pile, too.’ I look at Dermot. ‘They were OK with you, weren’t they?’

He nods.

‘All right with you, Niall?’

‘Yep, you know I liked them,’ Niall grins at my assertiveness.

‘And I’m going to go with Daniel and Orla, and Aiden and Kathleen too.’

Dermot screws up his face.

‘Dermot, doctors and bakers on the island, how can that be a bad thing?’

‘If they wanted to be doctors and bakers they would stay in the city. They want to play at being farmers and fishermen, not
do what
you
want them to.’

‘Let’s just give them a go, shall we?’ I say, trying to remain patient. ‘I liked them.’

Dermot shrugs. ‘It’s your island.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I remember saying firmly that night, putting an end to any more argument. ‘It’s my island. My Tara.’

And now as we pull around the bay that leads down into the harbour, there it is again – my island, in all her shades of grey-covered
glory.

For our inaugural trip over to the island, Mother Nature has not chosen to present Tara in her best light. In fact, so much
of the island is shrouded in cloud that if we didn’t know there
was
an island hiding in there somewhere, we might have thought it was simply a huge grey wad of candyfloss floating out in the
middle of the ocean.

Is this what I’ve given up my life back in London for?
I think as I look out over the sea. It had been awful saying goodbye to Roxi a few days ago; we’d cried and laughed and got
extremely drunk on tequila and cocktails reminiscing about all the good times we’d had together in our little flat. Then the
next morning there’d been more tears as finally I’d set off for the airport, squeezed inside a taxi cab with my many cases
beside me.

Driving down the narrow path towards the harbour, with Niall sitting excitedly next to me like a child about to start his
summer holiday, we find Dermot already waiting for us. According to Dermot, the Irish weather couldn’t have been kinder in
the last few weeks, so all the necessary work on the island has been completed slightly ahead of schedule. Although some of
the accommodation still needs a few tweaks here and there, it is now ready to be inhabited. So Niall and I are arriving on
Tara somewhat ahead of schedule, with our fellow islanders due to join us in a few days’ time.

‘Nice morning you’ve picked for it,’ Dermot calls, loading some boxes down to the waiting boat as we pull up next to him.
Niall and I climb out of the vehicle, me proudly zipping up my new North Face waterproof coat as we walk towards him.

Dermot stares at me as we approach.

‘What?’ It’s unnerving, him looking at me like that. ‘Is something wrong?’ It can’t be my jacket – the internet said it was
recommended for all weathers and all mountain terrains. So I
must
be wearing the right thing, surely?

‘You’ve changed something about yourself since the last time I saw you.’ Dermot’s eyes narrow in deep concentration. ‘What
is it?’

‘Oh, right,’ I’m relieved it’s not my outfit. I smooth my hand over the top of my head where my hair is pulled back into a
long, loose pony tail. ‘Yes, I have, it’s my hair. I’m a brunette now. I didn’t think being blonde would be very practical
over there for a year, you know, what with needing to touch my roots up every five or six weeks. So I went to the hairdresser’s
and had it dyed back to my natural colour.’

Dermot nods knowingly. Although looking at his short black
hair, which is just starting to become peppered with the odd strand of grey at the edges, I doubt the need for hair dye is
something that’s ever worried him much.

‘It suits you,’ he says gruffly. ‘The dark hair, I mean. It’s better than the bottle-blonde look.’

‘Thanks,’ I smile deliberately at him. I’ve decided I’m not going to allow Dermot’s barbed comments to wind me up any more.
‘See, I told you I could be practical when I wanted to be.’

Dermot nods. ‘I see you’ve kept the nails on, though.’

I look down at my newly manicured nails. ‘I told you before, they’re real.’

‘Real they may well be, but they won’t last five minutes over there.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ I say with determination.

‘So is everything ready for us, Dermot?’ Niall interrupts. He sounds like an eager schoolboy about to go on an outing, and
has talked about nothing but the island since we left Dublin this morning.

‘Uh-huh,’ Dermot nods. ‘Like I said last week, though, it’s not perfect but it’s liveable, and there’s plenty to be getting
on with before the others arrive. So do you two need a hand with your stuff?’

‘I’ll be grand with mine,’ Niall grins. ‘But Darcy could probably do with some help to lift her trunks.’

‘Trunks?’ Dermot turns to me with a questioning expression. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve brought so much stuff you needed to pack
it all in trunks.’

‘No,’ I say with a little laugh. ‘That’s just Niall’s idea of a joke. But please bear in mind that this isn’t just a holiday,
I am coming here for a year, there is a certain amount of things I need.’

I hear a snort of laughter from the back of the people-carrier as Niall unloads his own cases.

Dermot frowns. ‘Just how much
stuff
do you have in there, exactly?’ he says, heading purposefully around to the back of the vehicle.

Quickly I follow in his footsteps, and find him staring in disbelief at the cases and bags still waiting to be loaded onto
the boat.

‘It’s no wonder you wanted a bigger boat this time,’ Dermot says, shaking his head. He turns to me. ‘I thought you said a
minute ago you could be practical. You’re going across to an island. You’re hardly going to be parading up and down in the
latest fashions every day.’

‘It’s not just clothes,’ I say crossly. ‘There are things for my house in there, too. I assume I
have
got a house. I’m not going to get across there and find some fancy wigwams, am I?’

‘Yes, you’ve got a house. You’ve got the best house, actually, since it’s your island. The biggest one, anyway.’

I find myself smiling at that thought. ‘Have I? Ooh, what’s it like?’

Dermot smiles now too. ‘You’ll see it soon enough. Look, there’s no point in us standing here arguing. You’ve brought all
this stuff with you, so I suppose it’s going to have to go over there now. We’d best get it loaded onto the boat.’

‘Want a hand?’ A soft Irish lilt comes floating down the path we’ve just driven down.

We both turn towards the voice to see Conor strolling down the hill. He’s wearing a large rucksack strapped to his back, and
carrying a holdall in his hand.

‘Conor, hi,’ I call, smiling up at him as he arrives next to us,
‘you’re just in time. Dermot thinks I’ve brought too much luggage with me. So we may need a hand getting it all onto the boat.’