Breakfast at Darcy's (45 page)

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Dermot replies huffily. ‘I’ve never done it before. What should you say, then?’

‘You should say something profound and lovely about the person,’ Megan says, pushing her beanie hat up out of her eyes so
she can see me. ‘Isn’t that right, Darcy?’

‘Yes,’ I nod at her. ‘Yes, that’s exactly right, Megan.’

‘Come on then,’ Dermot says, wrapping his arms around his body and patting his gloved hands against his arms to try and keep
warm. ‘Hurry up and say something profound, Darcy. It’s bloody freezing standing out here at this time of night in the middle
of winter.’

Eamon’s final instructions in his will had been for us to scatter his ashes over the same cliff that I’d scattered Molly’s
ashes when I’d first visited Tara. The only difference being he wanted it doing on a clear moonlit night.

So myself, Dermot, Megan and the two dogs have climbed to the top of the cliff on a freezing-cold December evening on the
first clear night we’ve had on Tara in ages.

As I stand thinking about what I’m going to say, I suddenly remember.

‘I know, I’ve got just the thing.’

‘Hurry up then,’ Dermot says, his breath forming an impatient haze in the cold night air.

‘Megan, have you got the casket ready?’ I ask her.

‘Yes, it’s here,’ she says, a pair of red mittens holding out a plain black urn.

‘Right then, here goes,’ I pull my scarf away from my neck a little and clear my throat.

May the Irish hills caress you.

May her lakes and rivers bless you.

May the luck of the Irish enfold you.

May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

It’s the same blessing that Eamon had spoken when we’d released Molly’s ashes free into the wind almost a year ago. But this
time as I nod at Megan to empty the casket, it’s Eamon that is picked up by the wind and goes soaring into the sky to meet
her.

‘Look,’ Megan shouts pointing to the sky, ‘Eamon’s star is out.’

‘It’s your star now,’ I remind her. ‘Eamon gave it to you, remember?’

‘I’m going to make a wish,’ Megan says, screwing her eyes tightly shut.

As I look up at the bright white star in the sky, I feel a hand reach out behind Megan and gently pull off my glove. Then
as the warm hand wraps itself tightly around mine, I feel that same sense of comfort and reassurance spread through me once
more.

I smile at Dermot in the moonlight, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

‘What did you wish for, Megan?’ Dermot asks, dragging his eyes away from mine for a moment to look down at his daughter.

‘She can’t tell you that or it won’t come true,’ I say, still smiling at him.

Megan looks up at the two of us holding hands in the moonlight, and she grins. ‘You know something? I think it’s already starting
to.’

There’s a sudden crackling in Dermot’s pocket and I hear Roxi’s voice. ‘How do you work this stupid thing … Oh right, I get
it … Mr Cowell, are you there? Over.’

Dermot rolls his eyes. ‘Can’t we even have a moment?’ he says, reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve the walkie-talkie.
‘Yeah, Roxi, I’m here. What’s the problem?’

‘There’s a problem over here I really think you need to deal with. Er, over.’

‘What sort of a problem?’

‘Um … I don’t know,’ Roxi’s voice goes a bit muffled for a moment, as though she’s consulting with someone. ‘But I really
think you should come at once.’

‘All right, where are you?’

‘Up at the old ruin, see you in a minute. Over and out, good buddy!’

‘Roxi, it’s not CB radio,’ Dermot mutters, but she’s gone.

‘Why on earth is Roxi up at the old ruin at this time of night?’ I ask, as Dermot grabs mine and Megan’s hands and we’re suddenly
making our way towards the hill. We’re still refurbishing the building and it’s coming along very nicely, but there’s not
usually anyone there after dark.

‘Maybe there’s some problem with the scaffolding,’ Dermot says as we hurry along.

It had been a very difficult decision to make, but I’d decided to sell some of Eamon’s artefacts to fund the restorations
to the building. We’d had the collection valued, and the entire amount was worth over five times what the renovations were
going to cost. So after great thought, and remembering Eamon’s advice about always doing what my heart felt was the right
thing to do, we’d put a few things up for a sale in an auction house in Dublin and they’d sold for far more than their reserve
price. So in addition to the renovations on the building, we’d decided to turn Eamon’s cottage into a proper little visitor
centre dedicated to both his collection and his memory, so that all future visitors to Tara would be able to appreciate them
too.

As we approach the entrance to the building, Megan runs on ahead.

‘Where are you going?’ I call. ‘It’s dark, be careful.’

But she vanishes into the black of the night.

‘Aren’t you worried?’ I ask Dermot, looking up at him in the moonlight as we continue walking.

But Dermot is strangely silent.

‘Right,’ I ask, stopping in my tracks. ‘What’s going on?’

‘This is what’s going on,’ Roxi calls from the building as suddenly hundreds of tiny fairy lights are switched on and the
Celtic stonework is lit up like a fairy-tale castle.

‘What are you doing, Rox?’ I ask in astonishment as she appears in the archway looking like a Russian princess dressed all
in white, with a matching fur hat and muff. ‘I thought there was a problem up here.’

Roxi shakes her head. ‘No, no problem. We just had to get you up here. Isn’t that right, Dermot?’

‘You knew about this?’ I ask, swivelling back around to face him.

Dermot nods.

‘We all did!’ Megan cries excitedly as Niall and Paddy wrapped up like Eskimos now appear to join the gang. ‘Dad’s got something
he wants to give you.’

‘All right, Megan,’ Dermot warns, throwing her a look of caution. Dermot takes my hand again and leads me so I’m standing
right beneath the archway, while Roxi takes Megan’s hand and leads her over to join Niall and Paddy. ‘First, I want to thank
Roxi for making this setting look so magical tonight,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘It’s perfect, Roxi.’

‘Just call me Roxi Llewelyn-Bowen,’ she says with a grin.

‘And for organising the next part of this ceremony too.’

‘No, you’ve got to thank Eamon for that,’ Roxi says, looking up into the clear night sky, ‘it was all his idea. And there
was me thinking I was the only matchmaker around these parts.’

‘Eamon,’ I ask, looking around at everyone. ‘But I don’t understand.’

‘Darcy,’ Dermot says, taking my hand. ‘When Roxi went to read up on Finn McCool in Eamon’s history books she found a little
bit more than some faded old text. She found
this
hidden inside the pages of the book, with a note.’ Dermot holds up a gold ring. ‘It’s your aunt’s Claddagh ring. It seems
your aunt returned it to Eamon for safe keeping, to be passed on to you at an appropriate time.’

I stare at the ring in Dermot’s hand. I can hardly believe I’m seeing it again after all this time.

‘Apparently the ring is not just valuable because it was your aunt’s, but it holds a significance to others in both rarity
and value.’

‘It does? How’s that?’

Dermot looks to Roxi. She eagerly nods her encouragement.

‘It seems there is a legend that goes with the ring, that it has been passed down from generation to generation of islander
for many hundreds of years.’ Dermot hesitates again. ‘Some say it may even go as far back as Finn McCool’s time on Tara.’

‘His treasure!’ I exclaim. ‘The ring could be the treasure Finn left on Tara for safe keeping. So Eamon might have had Finn’s
treasure in his cottage after all.’

Dermot nods. He still seems uneasy, though, and his cheeks flush a little redder in the cold now. ‘Perhaps, if the legend
is to be believed. But Eamon also had one further request.’ He clears his throat. ‘Eamon has asked … Well, he thought in his
wisdom that I should be the one to return the ring to you.’

My heart races inside my chest while I wait for what Dermot is going to say next.

‘Would you like to wear the ring, Darcy?’ he asks, looking down at me.

I nod silently and pull off my right glove. I can’t believe Eamon has had Molly’s ring all along. And for him to suggest that
Dermot be the one to give it to me …

Dermot shakes his head. ‘No, Darcy, if I’m going to give you this ring, then the only way I’m doing it is if you’ll wear it
on your left hand.’

I stare up at him. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Can you put up with me?’ he whispers, his big dark eyes looking questioningly down into mine.

I put my hand up to his face, run the tips of my fingers gently along his furrowed brow, then down along his cheek, smoothing
any worry he has about my answer away. ‘I’ve managed to pretty well over the last year, haven’t I?’ I answer, smiling up at
him.

As we stand under the archway gazing helplessly into each other’s eyes, we suddenly realise what everyone else seems to have
known all along.

‘Is that a yes?’ Megan asks impatiently.

We both turn towards her. ‘It’s a yes,’ I smile, as Dermot pulls the glove off my hand and slips the ring onto my finger.

‘Yey!’ she shouts in glee as a round of applause breaks out.

‘Tara’s magic has struck again,’ Roxi grins. ‘With a little help from me, of course.’

‘And me!’ Megan insists.

‘And Molly and Eamon,’ I say, as above our heads two bright stars shoot across the night sky together.

Turn the page to find out more about Ireland and exactly
why Ali McNamara loves the Emerald Isle so much.

I love to visit Ireland; it’s been one of my top holiday destinations over the last ten years. I’ve had family holidays there,
romantic weekends away and even walked the length of it for charity with a famous pop star on a couple of occasions! But why
do I love it so much and what are my favourite things to do when I’m there?

Ireland’s capital city, Dublin, is a great place to start if you’ve only got a weekend. My top tips are the Guinness Storehouse,
you’ll never taste a fresher pint of Guinness than at the top of their visitor centre; a visit to Trinity College Library
to see the ancient illuminated manuscripts of the Book Of Kells; a spot of shopping in Grafton Street and Henry Street; and
a walk along the quays, stopping to view the many bridges that line the River Liffey. And if a single pint of Guinness isn’t
enough for you, a trip to the infamous Temple Bar one
evening to sample some of Ireland’s famous craic is an absolute must.

While in the Dublin area you must stop off at a little harbour town called Malahide. It has a beautiful coastal walk that
stretches for several miles to the next town of Portmarnock, which is gorgeous on a lovely sunny day, but equally bracing
on a cool one, and if Dublin’s Temple Bar was a bit too raucous and full of tourists, Gibney’s pub in Malahide will show you
some traditional Irish hospitality along with some fantastic local food.

Over on the west coast, the ring of Kerry is well worth a drive around for its stunning scenery. Just be prepared to stop
off every few miles in one of the handy lay-bys to snap ‘just another quick photo.’ Just above Kerry, there’s the Dingle Peninsula
with the pretty town of Dingle, famous for Fungie, a bottle-nosed wild dolphin who has lived and played in the mouth of the
harbour since 1984. A boat trip out to see Fungie is an experience you will not forget.

Head as far west as you can on the Dingle Peninsula and you will be able to see Great Blasket Island itself (find out more
about Great Blasket’s history on the following pages), the island that
Breakfast at Darcy’s
was inspired by. I highly recommend taking a boat trip out to the island and seeing for yourself the striking unspoilt landscape,
and crumbling remains of some of the original islander’s homes.

There’s so much to see in Ireland that I can’t recommend it enough as a holiday destination. I can’t guarantee you’ll bask
in a hot, sunny climate while you’re there, but
what I can promise is you’ll receive a warm Celtic welcome that will remain long after you’ve left the Emerald Isle and leave
you longing to return in the future.

Ali McNamara

Great Blasket Island

I had my idea for a story about a fictional island called Tara after I had visited the island of Great Blasket, off the south-west
coast of Ireland.

Great Blasket is the largest of a small cluster of islands called the Blaskets and has a literary history of its very own.
In the 1920s and 1930s, the Blasket Island writers (Peig Sayers, Tomás Ó Criomhthain and Maurice O’Sullivan among others)
wrote about the landscape and way of life on their island. They wrote their stories in the Irish language and their books
are still considered classics in the world of literature today.

The Blasket Island community began to decline as a result of the continual emigration of its young people, until the 1950s
when it became almost uninhabited.
Today, it’s only the many visitors that venture over to visit the island by boat that provide its inhabitants, even if only
temporary. Great Blasket is a wild, rugged, yet extremely beautiful place and you can spend several hours or all day enjoying
its natural beauty.