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

Chapter 4

4

A clear, frosty Saturday morning saw Hannah hit the road home to Emerald Bay early. Outside, it might be a wintery December day, but inside her beloved old banger, Doris, the temperature was tropical, thanks to the heater being stuck on the highest setting. Hannah, cooking, had whipped her jumper off and was stripped down to her vest as she puttered along the coastal road. Annoyingly, the radio station kept crackling in and out of reception. Still, it was better than juddering along alone with her thoughts.

Without the musical distraction, her mind would begin to tick, tick, tick, her thoughts turning to the world and all its problems. Global warming, capitalism, the threat of nuclear war, the refugee crisis, hungry families. The images she’d seen online would crowd in, her feelings welling up until she’d feel like all the air had been squeezed from her chest like a wrung-out sponge. Then she’d have to pull over and breathe slowly into the sick bag she kept in the glove box. Panic attacks. She couldn’t pinpoint when they’d started and was loath to go to the doctor for fear of being stamped with a label; there were so many these days. Nor did she want to be issued with medication. If that were to happen, and she allowed herself to be softened and soothed, then she’d stop being Hannah, and she didn’t want that. Not when she had so much to do. So much to fix.

There she went again. Overthinking.

To distract herself, she began drumming her fingers on the steering wheel to the crackling beat of some poppy song she hadn’t heard before. It didn’t work, though, and her mind flitted to Dylan and what she fancied was an admiring glint in his eyes as she’d laid down the law about going home for Christmas early. Her fingers had itched to reach out and touch his face for no reason other than to feel his skin beneath her fingertips. Of course, she hadn’t.

A rabbit bounding across the road just then saw her slam her foot on the brake. Feck! That was close and would teach her to daydream about Dylan while driving. On Doris’s back seat, the hold-all she’d stuffed her gear into had slid off the seat. At least the Feed the World with Bees Christmas cards filling Doris’s boot were in boxes jammed in alongside one another with no room to move. Selling the cards while she was home was a condition of being granted early leave. Determining to stay focused, Hannah eased her foot off the brake.

On her right, the Atlantic ocean frothed and churned, its roar a constant battle cry as the white horses charged into shore. Then, rounding the bend, she counted off the familiar landmarks, signalling she was nearly home. Kilticaneel Castle, the fishing boat harbour, Benmore House, the row of pretty thatched cottages (one of which Shannon and James were now the proud owners of), and then finally, she was passing under the Merry Christmas banner strewn across Emerald Bay’s Main Street.

‘Happy Holidays’ was painted on the window of the art gallery’s jewellery shop, Mermaids. Hannah soon saw that the rest of the village shops had gone to town with tinsel and displays of colourful hanging bells, paper snowflakes, faux miniature Christmas trees and gift-wrapped boxes with bows piled on top of one another. The usual fairy lights were draped like a magical arbour across the street, and the Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the square.

‘Home sweet home,’ Hannah announced as she clapped eyes on the Shamrock Inn with its cheerful door, candle stubs in the window and the window boxes that Mam had planted with seasonal, lush green foliage and berrying plants to add a splash of winter colour. It was always so comforting to arrive at the Shamrock and see that only the window boxes had changed. There were no surprises, which was part of its charm in an ever-changing world. This was why the garden centre and Christmas tree farm couldn’t proceed. It would change everything, she thought, parking around the back next to her dad’s hulking yellow wagon.

There was no sign of her mam’s car, she noticed, pulling up the handbrake. She must be out and about.

As the heater died in the car along with the engine, Hannah bent to retrieve her jumper from the floor of the passenger seat. She’d have to clean the car at some point, she thought, eyeing the rubbish hidden by her jumper.

A tap at the window saw her snap upright like a piece of elastic being pulled too tight and suddenly let go. Jaysus! Then, registering the black cap pulled so low that its wearer’s face wasn’t visible, fear stabbed her.

Cop yourself on, Hannah , she told herself. Carjackings were uncommon in Ireland and unheard of in Emerald Bay. Besides, why would anyone want to steal Doris? She was one of the most easily identifiable cars in this part of the country, covered in stickers for everything from Greenpeace to Stop the Gold Mining, not forgetting her beloved bees. Accordingly, she wound the window down and registered the familiar face beneath the cap with an annoyed huff.

‘For feck’s sake, Imo, don’t sneak up like that when you’re dressed like a criminal. And why are you panting and jiggling about like so? You know where the toilet is.’

‘I’m jogging on the spot, you eejit.’

‘More fool you then.’ At least that explained her sister’s head-to-toe designer activewear. Imogen never did anything by halves. Since she’d shacked up with Ryan back in Emerald Bay, she might not be quite the Dublin designer label fiend of old, but a leopard never really changed its spots.

‘I’ve taken up running. I’ll seize up if I stop. I saw you rattling your way in. No one mentioned you were home this weekend,’ Imogen puffed indignantly.

‘Because I didn’t want Dad doing his Ice Road Truckers , ten-four, little buddies, what’s your ETA bit.’ Liam Kelly worried about his girls driving on the open road and expected regular route updates.

Imogen managed a breathy laugh. ‘Fair play. So are you taking your holidays early then?’

‘Yes and no. I’m here on a mission.’

Imogen cocked a brow. ‘If it involves bees, then I don’t want to know.’

‘Not bees. Garden centres and Christmas tree farms.’

‘With bees?’

‘Forget the fecking bees for a minute!’

‘Well, get to the point then – it’s not easy this jogging on the spot business.’

‘I’m home to ensure the proposed garden centre and Christmas tree farm on the abandoned farm site don’t get approval.’

‘Right. Well, good luck with that.’ Imogen clocked what Hannah was wearing. ‘Why are you wearing a vest in December?’

‘Because Doris’s heater is faulty. It’s like the Costa del Sol in here.’

Imogen’s fitness tracker began beeping. ‘My heart rate’s dropping. I can’t stand about arguing the toss with you. I’ll catch you later.’

Hannah thought her sister’s running style was more penguin than gazelle as she watched her go. Then she slipped her jumper back on, grabbed her bag off the car floor and made her way to the kitchen door. She’d get Dad to help fetch the boxes in the boot later.

The small but industrious kitchen and dining space the Kellys all managed to squeeze into was empty, and the savoury aroma wafting from the oven made Hannah’s tummy grumble. It was comforting to know that wherever Nan and Mam had got to, lunch was sorted.

Hannah glanced about, trying to put her finger on what was different. Something was missing.

Napoleon. Shannon’s Persian cat, who’d had a temporary home here at the Shamrock, would have appeared to greet her by now, but the cat with attitude had moved to the cottage with her sister and James.

Hannah lugged her bag to the bottom of the stairs. Resting one hand on the bannister rail, she called out in case anyone was upstairs. There was no reply, and so she trooped up the well-worn treads and down the landing to her old room.

The bedroom she’d shared with the twins had had an upgrade since they’d all moved out, their mam insistent on Cape Cod style with its beachy vibe. Hannah missed the fairy theme of her childhood, though. Not that she’d admit it. She missed the twins’ presence in the room on the occasions she found herself home alone, like now. Still and all, they’d be home in under two weeks for Christmas.

After offloading her bag onto Ava’s bed, she flopped down on her identically made-up one. The walls in here echoed with secrets shared and laughter, even though there were also plenty of times she’d stamped her foot over having to share with ‘babies’. There were seven years between her and Ava and Grace. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but as a teenager, the gap had seemed huge. Sure, look at the way things were panning out, Hannah thought. She kicked the little voice into touch, whispering how pathetic it was that while her little sisters were madly in love and settled, she was floundering after a fella who’d not shown any sign of fancying her.

‘You’re not here to moon after Dylan, Hannah Kelly,’ she told herself. ‘A hot shower, that’s what you need.’

The floorboards beneath the carpet creaked as she made her way to the bathroom, and in the time it took for the water to begin steaming, she’d stripped off. Finding the sweet-smelling shower gel, whichImo must have left behind, was an added bonus.

As a rule, Hannah didn’t take long showers, but on this occasion, she made an exception, standing beneath the hot jets for an agebefore stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in a fluffy towel.When she picked up her jeans, she noticed a brown stain near the zipper. Coffee, she realised, cursing her sloppiness silently. Ah well, there wasno point in putting them on; they could go straight in the wash. The corduroy trousers her sisters said should see her strung up for fashion crimes against humanity would have to do. She’d nip back to her bedroom and dig them out, and then she’d be good to go.

Clouds of steam billowed out asshe opened the bathroom door and stepped onto the landing, guilt pricked at her excessive hot water usage.Her feet refused to budge as she heard a sound that shouldn’t be there. A throat clearing.It took a second for the haze to clear sufficiently for her to see the man on the stairs and to realise that theglass-shatteringscream she could now hear was coming from her own mouth.