Saving Christmas in the Little Irish Village (The Little Irish Village #5)

Chapter 3

3

‘The Shamrock Inn. This is Kitty Kelly speaking.’

‘Nan, it’s me, Hannah.’ There was an urgency in Hannah’s tone as she plucked at the denim of her dungarees for want of something to do with her free hand.

‘Oh, Hannah! ’Tis lovely to hear your voice. How’re you?’

Hannah couldn’t help but grin despite her state of agitation. Nan had a knack for making it sound like it had been months instead of days since she’d last heard from her granddaughter. However, before she could get to the crux of her call, Kitty Kelly ploughed on, ‘Now, what I want to know is, are you eating properly? I thought you were looking thin when I last saw you.’

‘I told you the other day, Nan, I’m after eating plenty of greens.’

‘And meat. A woman needs her iron, you know, Hannah.’

‘And meat.’ She wasn’t, but sometimes it was easier to fib. Besides, meat was pricey. It suited her to be vegetarian whilst in Cork.

‘I’m glad to hear it. What colour is the hair this week, then?’

‘Same as when I FaceTimed last week on Mam’s iPad, Nan. Green.’ She’d thought she’d heard the end of the hair lectures when she cut off her locs earlier in the year, but now her vibrant hair colour choices were a bone of contention.

‘I’m not sure about the green, Hannah. It’s unnatural. Sure, you’re not a leprechaun, and there’s you with those pretty chestnut highlights like your mam’s and Shannon’s if you’d only leave your hair alone.’

‘You weren’t sure about the red either, Nan, and I don’t want to look like Mam or Shannon. I want to look like me. And would you let me get a word in?’

Kitty blithely carried on. ‘Christmas is nearly upon us again; sure, I’m counting down the days. I suppose when you think about it, green’s a festive colour. It puts me in mind of a holly wreath.’

Hannah, rolling her eyes, decided she’d had enough. ‘Nan, I didn’t ring to chit-chat about my hair colour and Christmas.’

‘Well, that’s charming, so it is. What was I just saying? Holly’s prickly and all.’

‘I rang because I’m after reading a news story about a proposed garden centre with a ridiculous Christmas tree farm attached to it behind Emerald Bay.’

‘What are you on about garden centres and the like? Sure, the closest one’s in Galway, and why would you want to go to a garden centre this time of year? Unless it’s for a poinsettia. I bought your mam a lovely one once, but while Nora might well do a lovely job with the window boxes, she’s cack-handed when it comes to indoor pot plants. The poor thing had withered by the time the new year rolled around. As for a Christmas tree farm, I think someone’s after pulling your leg. We’ve already got the Shaughnessys’ place, where your dad goes each year. They do a grand Nordmann fir, so they do.’

Hannah tried to keep her voice even. ‘Nan, would you please listen to what I’ve got to say because it’s serious? A developer wants to build this monstrosity I’ve just told you about on the abandoned farm’s land behind the village.’

‘What was that?’

Hearing her nan’s bewilderment, Hannah slowly repeated herself.

‘I’m not an imbecile,’ Kitty snapped. ‘And that can’t be right. The farm was deserted during the Great Hunger, and building on it would mean knocking down the famine cottage. Sure, that’s part of Emerald Bay’s heritage.’

‘It’s in the paper, Nan.’

There was no sound but that of Kitty breathing as she processed what she was being told.

‘Nan?’

‘I’m still here.’

‘This can’t go ahead because what you said about it being part of our village’s heritage is true. We can’t have a stranger barrelling into town destroying our history.’

This time, Kitty didn’t beat around the bush. ‘No. It can’t go ahead. That place should be left alone with its ghosts. So what are you going to do about it?’

‘Me?’

‘Well, the middle granddaughter with the green hair I know and love wouldn’t stand by and let some bigwig developer walk all over us.’

‘You’re right, Nan, she wouldn’t.’ Hannah’s blood was beginning to boil.

‘So then? Are we agreed?’

‘Erm, did I miss something?’

‘You’ll come home early, and together we’ll make sure this garden centre/Christmas tree farm malarkey doesn’t get the go-ahead.’

Hannah picked up on the ‘we’. This wouldn’t be a one-woman protest like the last time she tried to take a stand at Christmas. Dylan would be OK with her finishing a week earlier once she’d explained what was at stake because they both knew how these things worked. He had to be because the developer would be trying to rush planning permission through before everything shut down for the Christmas holidays. Red tape was easier to snip through when people were desperate to clear their desks before the holidays.

‘We’re agreed, Nan.’

‘Grand. Your mam’s just after walking in.’

Hannah heard her asking which of her daughters was on the phone.

‘It’s Hannah, Nora. She was after ringing to tell me the news. Have you heard about this ridiculous garden centre/Christmas tree farm business?’

‘The pub’s been abuzz with it since Isla Mullins closed half an hour early and stormed in waving the paper. I had a feeling Hannah would be on the phone as soon as she got wind of it. Can I have a word with her?’

‘I’m just passing you over, Hannah. I’ll see you soon.’

‘You will. Bye, Nan.’

Nora Kelly didn’t bother with pleasantries. ‘It’s caused a right to-do with the local business owners. The consensus amongst them is it would be the death knell for their shops because everybody knows garden centres don’t just sell plants and the like; they’ve a finger in the gift line, and sure, you know yourself, they always have a cafe thrown in there, too.’

Hannah hadn’t even considered that side of things. She’d been focused on the cottage’s historical value and its surrounding land, but those with shops on Main Street had every right to be up in arms.

‘And what about you and Dad? How do you feel about it.’

Her mam’s reply took her by surprise.

‘We’re keeping an open mind for the time being.’

‘Mam!’

‘You asked, and we’re entitled to our opinions. The Shamrock’s our livelihood, so it is, and if it brought more people to the village, then that would be good for our business. We’re not sure there isn’t room for everybody.’

Hannah held the phone away from her ear in disgust. However, she could still hear her mam prattling on about how progress frightened people sometimes and how easy it was to let emotions override good business sense. She pressed the phone back to her ear in time to catch the end of her one-sided conversation.

‘Your dad and I would like to know more about the project is all I’m saying, Hannah. Now we’ve a full bar, so I’ve got to love you and leave you.’

A kiss was blown down the phone, and Hannah’s,‘ But, Mam ,’ fell on deaf ears.

There was no point in sitting here feeling irked, not when she needed to get home to Emerald Bay. So, after running through how to broach leaving the organisation in the lurch with Dylan at the busiest time of the year, Hannah ventured downstairs to the office, her fingers crossed behind her back as she cleared her throat.

Dylan looked up from whatever he’d been doing. ‘Hannah, I wondered where you’d got to. Sonya’s after reminding me it’s the second-to-last weekend of GLOW in Bishop Lucey Park. We flogged a heap of our Christmas cards there last year.’

‘I remember. I was doing the hard sell so I followed this fella onto the Ferris wheel thinking he was a shoo-in for buying a wodge of cards.’ The ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’-themed festival’s big draw card wasn’t just its lights; the thirty-metre-high Ferris wheel also pulled in the crowds. Never again, she thoughttryingto shake off the wave of nausea the memory of rocking back and forth at the top of the wheel for what felt like forever invoked.

‘And did he?’

‘Nope, but he did ask for my phone number. I gave him short shrift obviously.’

‘Obviously. The thing is, Sonya’s in Dublin this weekend.’

‘I know.’ Hannah squirmed, not liking where he was heading.

‘And the Climate Guardians rally is happening tomorrow night. We’ve got something big planned that’s going to highlight the lies being told about the financing of fossil fuel in Ireland. It’s going to show not just Cork but the nation the Climate Guardians aren’t just mouthpieces. We mean business.’

Hannah was sidetracked as she pictured paint bombs being lobbed or someone scaling the National Monument and pouring tomato soup over it – quickly changing the mental image to minestrone with all its lumpy bits because tomato was her favourite – before asking him what was going to happen.

‘I can’t say anymore right now, but trust me. People will be talking about this Cork City protest for a long time.’

Whatever was planned, Hannah knew this much: Dylan wasn’t messing. She’d heard the stories of him having being strip-searched, held in the cells for hours and the numerous court appearances he’d made in his quest to draw attention to what he believed in.

‘So I wondered if you’d mind heading along?’ The maniacal gleam in his eyes disappeared as he fixed her with his puppy-dog gaze, and Hannah, realising he wanted her to go to GLOW, dug her nails into her palms because no matter how much she wanted to please him by saying yes, she knew she needed to go home more.She took a deep breath and was as surprised as Dylan by what came out of her mouth. ‘No. I can’t, Dylan.’

He blinked, clearly a little taken back.

‘I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll need to take early leave because I’m not going to let this proposed monstrosity destroy my village. I won’t let planning permission be rushed through because some eejit who doesn’t give a toss about Emerald Bay wants to sign off for Christmas.’

The steel in her voice brooked no argument.