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

Chapter 11

11

‘A pint of Harp, please.’ Tom smiled that lopsided grin Hannah had noticed earlier, but it left her cold this time. Her own smile was fully gone now, as if she’d had a bucket of ice water thrown over her.

Tom was oblivious. Looking about, he said, ‘Everyone seems in good form.’

‘And one on the house for Tom, too, Hannah,’ Liam bellowed.

Hannah refused to make eye contact with Tom as she fetched a glass and curtly explained, ‘Shannon and James announced they’re expecting their first baby earlier.’

‘Congratulations! That’s a brilliant early Christmas present.’

He didn’t know them. He didn’t know any of them. Even though his tone sounded warm and genuine, Hannah was irked.

‘It’s not me having the baby,’ she retorted snippily, ‘but I’ll be sure to pass it on.’

This time, glancing up, she saw bewilderment at her standoffishness flickering in his grey eyes. Tough, she thought, busying herself pouring his pint. Too bad if he couldn’t figure out what her issue was. There was no time to get into what had changed her attitude toward him, not with Isla Mullins, the shops on Main Street closed now, tapping her fingers on the bar, waiting to be served.

‘Er, thanks. Cheers then, Hannah.’ Tom raised his glass, giving her a searching look, but she gave nothing away. Then, hearing his name being called by Liam, he headed off to join him and Nora.

Hannah rustled up a smile for Isla. ‘The same again, is it, Isla?’

‘Thanks a million,’ Isla confirmed before leaning over the bar like she was about to bestow great words of wisdom. ‘Now listen up, Hannah. I’ve a lovely selection of novelty Babygros in the shop, so I do.’

‘Lovely,’ Hannah murmured, thinking, Bully for you, Isla , as she fetched the bottle to refill the Irish-souvenir-shop owner’s stemmed glass.

‘So I’ll set one aside for you then, shall I?’

‘One what?’

‘Keep up with the play, Hannah. A Babygro. I think the limited-edition design in green with the Celtic tree of life emblem would go down a treat.’

‘It’s early days for buying gifts. Shannon’s only four months along.’

‘Sure, that doesn’t matter. Wasn’t I just after telling you the Babygro is green? Green’s gender neutral, you know.’

Jaysus, the woman did not give up. Thankfully, Eileen Carroll came along to rescue her at that moment. Glad of the distraction, Hannah turned her attention to the knitting shop owner, leaving Isla to mosey off, still muttering on about Babygros.

‘’Tis happy news, Hannah. Shannon’s a great girl altogether for putting a smile that wide on your mammy and daddy’s faces.’

‘It is that, Eileen. A top-up, is it?’

‘Grand.’ Eileen slid her glass toward Hannah. ‘You’ll be ever so excited at becoming an aunt for the first time.’

‘You’re not wrong there.’ Hannah refilled her glass, aware she was beaming from ear to ear at the thought.

‘Well, I’m an aunt many times over, and take it from the horse’s mouth: it’s the knitting you’ll need to be cracking on with because a baby needs a layette and a wool blanket.’

‘I’ll stop you right there then. Nan’s the knitter. She’ll see the baby right.’

‘You know yourself knitting is a life skill, Hannah.’ This was followed by a derisive sniff. ‘I’m surprised your nan isn’t after teaching you. We must pass our knowledge on to the generations coming through, or they’ll be lost forever.’

Hannah thought that was erring on the dramatic side, adding in defence of her nan, ‘Oh, she tried, but it’s a little like the parallel parking. I’m afraid I’m a lost cause.’ She decided an excuse to exit this conversation was needed, her eyes alighting on a table full of empty glasses. ‘Best I crack on and clear some tables – Mam’s after shooting me daggers. So, if you’ll excuse me.’

But Eileen wasn’t to be deterred. ‘There’s no such thing as a lost cause. It’s the right teacher you need, is all. And I know just the woman to teach you.’ Her smile was saintly.

Too late, Hannah realised where this conversation was headed.

‘I’m after running a two-week evening learn-to-knit class for you young ones, Monday to Friday from seven sharp until nine p.m. in the run-up to Christmas. I’ll even give you a discount on account of your happy news. Your little niece or nephew will thank you when they’re all snuggled up in their little woolly blanket.’ And just like a boat in the wind, Eileen sailed off.

‘Why do you have a face like a slapped arse?’ Nora enquired, placing the empty glasses she’d beaten Hannah over to clear down on the bar.

‘Eileen Carroll just roped me into knitting classes five nights a week until Christmas,’ Hannah groaned because that had not featured in her plans. She had so much to do and only ten working days in which to do it.

‘You knitting!’ Nora exclaimed incredulously before bursting into laughter.

Her mam’s mood was giddy with the news she was to become a nana – either that or the bubbles had gone to her head. Still, the idea of her whipping up a pair of booties wasn’t that hilarious.

‘Sure, I remember that pillowslip you made at school. The seam split the first time I tried to pull it over a pillow. I don’t think you’d be a natural at knitting. Oh no, Hannah, it’s best you tell Eileen it’s not for you. I wouldn’t want you making an eejit of yourself now.’

‘Eejit’ was laying it on a bit thick, Hannah thought, disgruntled. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. Sure, it’s a sad day when your own mammy has no faith in you. Eileen sees potential even if you don’t.’ She held her hands up. ‘You watch this space, Mam. These hands will be whipping up the softest baby vests and cardigans in no time.’

‘If you say so,’ Nora replied, smirking as she walked off.

‘What are you doing?’ Imogen demanded, plonking her and Ryan’s empty glasses on the bar top and eyeing Hannah. ‘Some sort of wrist exercises?’

Hannah, her hands clenched in fists, was twirling her wrists in one direction and then the other. ‘I’ve no choice but to get in shape,’ she said.

‘What for? The wrist Olympics?’

‘Ha ha. Eileen Carroll has roped me into knitting classes now that I’m to be an aunt.’

‘You?’ Imogen’s snort saw several heads turn her way.

‘Shut up, Imo. Yes me. I’m starting on Monday evening.’

‘ Right .’ Imogen said this in a slow, drawn-out manner that suggested her sister had lost the plot.

‘Same again?’ Hannah asked tersely. She’d wipe the smirk off her sister’s face when she became the favourite aunt thanks to all the cool woollen garments that were going to be coming her niece or nephew’s way.

‘Thanks.’

Then, as Hannah fetched the drinks, Imogen’s voice became sly. ‘That Tom, who’s in Room 5, has been asking all about you, Han. I think you’ve got yourself an admirer. It must have been the flash of those sensible, sustainable cotton knickers that did it.’

‘Feck off, Imo.’ Hannah pulled a face. So Shannon had told her about the incident on the landing earlier. No surprise there. She didn’t pause in her pint-pulling as she added, ‘And for your information, even if he was the last man in Ireland, I’d not be interested.’

‘Why? I think he’s cute in a nerdy kind of way. He puts me in mind of Clark Kent. Try picturing him whipping off his glasses and turning into Superman.’ Imogen waggled her eyebrows lewdly.

Hannah’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch. ‘I already said your man over there isn’t my type.’ She looked to where he was laughing at whatever her dad was saying. He was an interloper. Sure, look at him worming his way in over there.

‘And what exactly is your type then? Mr Invisible.’

‘You’re not funny. And my type is someone who values our planet and wants to make it better for the next generation.’ Dylan sprang to mind. ‘Not an architectural arse who blows into town and destroys local business along with the countryside to build a feck off big garden centre and Christmas tree farm. What do we need a Christmas tree farm on our doorstep for?’

Imogen’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘So that’s why he’s staying at the Shamrock? To scope out the work site?’

‘Proposed work site, and yep.’ Hannah plonked a pint in front of her sister.

‘Well, he’s only doing his job. You do realise someone’s employed him to do it. He’s not the bigwig who’ll own the complex.’

‘He might as well be.’ Hannah had made her mind up about Tom Flynn, and her opinion wouldn’t be swayed.

‘What are you all looking so serious about?’ Shannon slotted in alongside Imogen with her empty glass. ‘I really shouldn’t have another OJ, given how much time I’m spending in the jacks these days, but I’ll push the boat out since we’re celebrating. Oh, and crisps, please, Hannah. Two packets since I’m officially eating for two.’

Hannah tossed over two different-flavoured bags of crisps. ‘No Freya?’ She realised she hadn’t seen the owner of Mermaids art gallery and bespoke jewellery shop, and Shannon’s best friend, at all that afternoon. She’d surely be on her side regarding this Greenhouse project.

‘She’s scoping out galleries around Kerry this weekend with Oisin.’ Shannon’s grimace upon mentioning Freya’s fickle fella’s name spoke volumes.

‘Have you told her the news?’

‘Of course. She was delighted obviously.’

‘You didn’t tell her before us, I hope?’ Imogen said.

Shannon squirmed.

‘But we’re your sisters!’ Hannah and Imogen chimed in a put-out duet.

‘Yes, but you’ve both also got big blabbermouths, and I didn’t want it getting out until I was through the first trimester.’

There wasn’t much either sister could say to that. They knew they’d have struggled not to let the happy news slip until Shannon gave them the all-clear.

As Nora breezed past, a radiant grandmother enjoying all the pats on the back as though she’d had a hand in the conception, Hannah remembered the conversation in the kitchen earlier regarding the mysterious woman Mam thought was watching her. She raised the subject with her sisters, wondering if they’d heard mention of it. ‘I’ve only just remembered what happened with your and James’s news, Shan, but it’s weird, don’t you think? Especially the part about her resemblance to Mam’s mother.’

‘It’s weird all right. Mam was after telling me yesterday. Nan’s right – she was in a bit of a flap,’ Imogen said. ‘I feel bad now for forgetting all about it.’

‘Me too,’ Shannon joined in. ‘It went out of my head, what with finally being able to tell you I’m up the duff and sorting out Princess Leia.’

‘I wonder who she is?’ Hannah mused, wiping a patch of spilled ale on the bar top, aware the hairs on her arm had stood up.

Imogen rubbed the back of her neck. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll find out unless she decides to make herself known to Mam.’

Hannah’s musings about the mystery woman following her mam were interrupted when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw she’d missed a call from Dylan, and her hand trembled as she fumbled the phone. He’d already texted her. What was so important he needed to speak to her? Desperate to find out, she said, ‘Imo, give Chloe a hand while I take ten, would you?’

‘But I was just about to?—’

Imogen’s protest fell on deaf ears because Hannah had already walked off.