Breakfast at Darcy's (39 page)

‘Not that much, really,’ I say carefully, not wanting to disappoint Megan. ‘But with you it will be different. We could have
a party.’

‘Like a themed party?’ she says excitedly. ‘With fancy dress and costumes?’

‘I’m not sure about costumes. We don’t really have the resources here for that.’

‘It wouldn’t have to be anything exciting, we could just make costumes out of things we find lying around in our cottages,
or we could borrow things from others. I know, we could call it a scavenger party!’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea … ’ I glance across at Dermot. ‘But I’m still not sure everyone will want to dress up.’

‘
Please
, Darcy,’ she blinks up at me with a pleading expression. ‘I never get a proper birthday party. Not unless it’s something
Mum organises at some fancy restaurant.’

‘Oh, all right then,’ I sigh, giving in. ‘I guess everyone should be able to find something to pull together.’

‘Wicked!’ Megan says, clapping her hands together. ‘Dad, Dad!’ she calls, jumping off the wall and rushing over to him. ‘Guess
what? Darcy says I can have a fancy-dress party for my birthday.’

‘That’s great, darling,’ Dermot wraps his arms around Megan and hugs her. He gives me a wry smile over the top of Megan’s
head, and rolls his eyes.

‘All done?’ I ask Dermot as they walk back over towards me.

‘Yep,’ Dermot says, rolling up his plans. ‘It’s looking good, Darcy. Even if I do say so myself. This is going to be some
building when I’ve finished with it.’

‘I never doubted it for a second.’

Dermot smiles at me, and we hold each other’s gaze for a moment. I so want this building to go ahead for him, as much as anything
else; he’s put so much time and effort into getting the renovation plans exactly right. Everything’s been chosen so that the
new building will be an almost exact replica of the old one on the outside, from the bricks to the wrought-iron fixtures and
fittings. It’s only the inside that will differ; it will be more luxurious and comfortable than the building would have been
in its heyday, with hints of its original style.

‘What did you do for Dad’s birthday?’ Megan asks, keen to bring the subject back to birthdays again as we begin to walk back
down towards the village.

‘You haven’t had one since we’ve been here have you, Dermot?’

Dermot remains silent.

‘Dad’s birthday is May first,’ Megan informs us. ‘He’s a Taurus.’

‘Dermot,’ I say in frustration. ‘You never said it was your birthday. Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘I didn’t want a fuss, and we’d not been here that long then.’

‘But you still should have said.’ I’m sad to think of Dermot celebrating his special day alone.

‘You can share my birthday, Dad,’ Megan says, slipping her hand into his. ‘We can’t have you missing out.’

‘That’s very kind, Megan. But a fancy-dress party to celebrate my birthday is my worst nightmare. It was bad enough when I
was young, and I had people dancing around maypoles.’

I laugh. Somehow Dermot being born on a festival renowned for its joy and the coming of spring doesn’t quite ring true.

‘Actually, May Day
was
originally a Celtic festival,’ Megan says. ‘It marks exactly halfway through the year. And my birthday’s on Samain, another
festival that marks the beginning of the Celtic year. It starts on October thirty-first and ends November first, marking the
end of harvest time.’

Dermot and I stare at Megan for a moment.

‘Where on earth do you get all this stuff from, Megan?’ Dermot asks in a mixture of bewilderment and awe.

‘The internet mostly,’ Megan says. ‘And books.’

‘You’ll notice the books come second,’ Dermot says to me, shaking his head.

‘Is Samain like Halloween, then?’ I ask Megan, suddenly interested in this.

‘Yeah, I think it’s related in some way. I don’t like Halloween though; it’s always ruined my birthday.’

‘It can’t have been easy living in America with a birthday on that day. They really go to town on it, don’t they?’

Megan nods. ‘Stupid trick or treat. What about “Happy Birthday, Megan”?’

‘Don’t worry, Megan,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘We’ll make sure that this thirty-first of October is all about you, and there’s
not a witch or a pumpkin anywhere to be seen.’

‘That might be a bit difficult,’ Dermot says, looking doubtful.

‘Why?’ Megan and I both ask at the same time.

‘The holidaymakers in Cottage Five at the moment look decidedly spooky.’

‘I understand you’re going to have a party on Samain,’ Eamon says to me a couple of days later when I meet him outside the
shop.

‘Yes, for Megan’s birthday. It’s also her last day here for a while. Eileen is coming to pick her up again the next day.’

‘You’d be knowing that Samain is a very important festival in the Celtic calendar, would you?’ Eamon says, planting his stick
in the ground and leaning on it.

Oh dear, that means Eamon is going to be talking for a while.

‘Megan mentioned it was something to do with Halloween, yes.’

Eamon opens his eyes wide. ‘Oh, Darcy, it’s far more than that. Samain is believed to be the beginning of the Celtic year;
the end to the lighter half and the start of the darker side.’

‘That’s just great,’ I say, thinking of the winter weather
coming to Tara. It has been bearable living here through the spring and summer months, but what’s it going to be like through
the cold and wet of winter? Storms and freezing temperatures definitely won’t bring the holidaymakers in and pay the bills.
I had to find a way of financing this new building, and fast.

‘Its associations with Halloween are echoes of the festival of the dead. Folk would wear costumes or masks to replicate the
spirits, or some say to placate them.’

‘Just as well it’s a fancy-dress party, then, isn’t it? We can all wear masks,’ I say quickly. ‘So, are you going to come?’

‘Darcy, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Eamon says, surprisingly. ‘I’ve a feeling this Samain celebration could be a very
important one.’

‘What is she doing here?’ I ask, watching a boat powering over towards the island. ‘I didn’t think she was coming to get Megan
until tomorrow.’

‘Neither did I.’ Conor looks out to sea with me. ‘That’s all poor Megan wants today, her mam here on her birthday stirring
up trouble.’

Eileen – without Geoffrey – arrives in a hire boat from the mainland. The skipper helps Eileen and her luggage onto the island,
and then roars away again.

Eileen is slightly more practical today in a camel-coloured jumpsuit, but she’s still wearing ridiculously high-heeled tan
leather boots.

‘Darling,’ Eileen cries, throwing her arms around Megan. ‘You didn’t think I’d miss your birthday, did you?’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Megan grumbles, not hugging her mother in return.

Eileen smiles brightly. ‘You know that was just the once. I was stuck in the Maldives,’ she explains to the rest of us who
have come down to the harbour to greet her arrival. ‘There was a mini-tornado and my plane couldn’t take off.’

‘Whatever,’ Megan says.

‘I’ve brought you a present, it’s in my bag,’ Eileen turns towards the designer suitcase that sits propped up against some
tyres. ‘If someone would be so kind as to take it up to one of your quaint little cottages for me, I can get unpacked and
give it to you.’

‘The thing is, Eileen,’ I explain, ‘we didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow to collect Megan. We’re full up this week,
what with it being the half-term holidays.’

‘Oh,’ Eileen looks back to where her boat is now a mere speck in the distance. ‘If you’ve nowhere for me to stay … ’

‘She can take my bed for the night,’ Dermot says, folding his arms and sighing.

‘But where will you go, Dermot?’ I ask.

‘I’ll just bunk down in Paddy’s cottage. He spends most of his time at Niall’s now, anyway. I’m sure he won’t mind for one
night.’

‘That’s very gallant of you, Dermot,’ Eileen flashes her dazzling white teeth at him. ‘I don’t remember you being this chivalrous
when we were together.’

‘Don’t push it, Eileen,’ I hear Dermot mutter as he picks up Eileen’s bag and we all begin to traipse up the slope towards
the village. ‘Or you’ll be sleeping under the stars tonight.’

‘This is the best birthday ever!’ Megan says to me as she tucks into yet another iced cupcake courtesy of Aiden and Kathleen.
‘It’s all wicked – the food, the decorations, everyone’s costumes, even the weather has stayed dry for me tonight.’

‘Wicked’ is the perfect word to describe the party.

All the islanders and some of the visitors have really pulled together and produced tables of delicious party food, homemade
decorations that cover the whole of O’Connell Street and some wonderfully innovative costumes, considering the limited resources
we have on Tara.

Megan is dressed as a sort of twenty-first-century angel. She’s partly wearing her own clothes – a long-sleeved pink top with
the word
Angel
written across it in sequins, white denim shorts, pink Converse trainers and thick red tights. She’s also managed to create
a pair of angel wings from some wire and feathers she’s collected from around the island.And I wonder if any of the birds
on Tara have any feathers left to fly with when I see that Niall and Paddy have had the same idea, and are dressed as red
Indians in real feather headdresses. Roxi, donning silver high heels, a blue satin dress and carrying a tennis ball glued
to an empty toilet-roll tube covered in tin foil announces she’s Beyoncé for the evening. Conor, surprisingly, appears dressed
from top to toe in black; he wears a black mask and carries a sword.

‘Who are you? I ask him. ‘And where on earth did you get the sword from?’

‘I am Zorro!’ he says in a dodgy accent, wielding the sword through the air in a Z shape.‘Eamon loaned it to me for the party.’

‘Where on earth did Eamon get it from, then?’

Conor shrugs. ‘Who cares, but it’s great, isn’t it?’ He brandishes the sword around a bit more, and then goes off to torment
Roxi with it.

I shake my head: boys and their toys.

For my own outfit I’ve taken inspiration from my bedroom, and I’ve fashioned a long robe from my Celtic-patterned quilt cover,
and with some of my jewellery and some wire I’ve managed to make quite an elegant-looking crown. I hope Dermot doesn’t need
any wire to mend anything any time soon, because the amount people have ‘borrowed’ for their costumes I doubt there’s any
left anywhere on the island. I team this with my smartest black trousers from Hobbs, black high-heeled suede boots and a black
cashmere jumper with silver and black sparkly detailing.

But although the boots are already starting to make my feet ache –
I’m so out of practice with heels these days
– the overall effect is quite regal, I feel, and even though this
is
only a fancy-dress birthday party, it feels good to make an effort and dress up once again.

‘Hey girls,’ Dermot says, as he rolls up next to Megan and me looking very Dermot-like wearing jeans, a checked shirt and
a tool belt slung around his waist. He carries a yellow hard hat in his hand as though he’s just been off fixing something
around the island.

‘
Dermot
, its fancy dress,’ I say, sounding disappointed. ‘You could have made an effort.’

‘I have,’ Dermot makes a show of placing the hard hat on his head. ‘I’m Bob the Builder.’

Megan pulls an embarrassed expression.

‘That didn’t take much effort.’ I say. ‘At least
I
tried.’

‘And a very fine queen you make too.’ Dermot takes his hard hat off again to bow.

‘I’m meant to be a king,’ I say, looking down at my legs. ‘You don’t see many queens in trousers.’

Dermot glances in the direction of the two red Indians, helping themselves to sandwiches at one of the tables, then grins
at me.

I shake my head at him. ‘I thought I’d come as a king since Tara is my island, and the Tara in County Meath is supposedly
the hill where all the kings of Ireland were crowned in days gone by.’

‘Is it?’ Dermot asks. ‘I didn’t know that. How did you?’

‘I think Roxi told me. I guess Eamon must have told her, in one of their story sessions.’

‘She’s right,’ Eamon says, wandering over to stand next to us. He holds a glass of whiskey in one hand (everyone else has
bottles of beer or soft drinks, but we’ve allowed Eamon his usual tipple) and his trusty stick in the other, but unusually
for Eamon, instead of his ever-present greens and browns, tonight he wears a black bow tie, an ill-fitting evening suit with
trousers that are slightly too long for him and a jacket that’s a size too big, as his nod to the dress code for the evening.
‘The hill of Tara
was
the ancient crowning site of the kings of Ireland. They also held a great assembly there on Samain, where a bonfire would
be set alight on the great hill. It served as a beacon to the people all over the rest of Ireland to light their own ritual
bonfires, to banish the evil spirits and to aid their own spiritual purification.’

‘Maybe
we
should have a bonfire,’ Megan suggests. ‘I don’t want any evil spirits at my birthday party.’

Great! Someone else is filling Megan’s head with more nonsense.

‘There are no evil spirits here, Megan,’ I try to reassure her. ‘Are there, Dermot?’

Dermot glances towards Eileen, who tonight is dressed in a black and red cocktail dress.

‘No, Darcy,’ he says quickly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘But couldn’t we just have a bonfire in case, Dad?
Please
,’ Megan asks, looking up at Dermot with her big brown eyes, which I notice for the first time have got those same little
green flecks in as Dermot’s.

Dermot sighs. ‘There
is
all that wood from that rotting tree I chopped down the other day. We could use that.’ He looks down at Megan again. ‘Oh,
go on then, if that’s what you really want, but only because it’s your birthday.’

‘Yey!’ Megan claps.