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

Chapter 33

33

Tom pulled in behind the Shamrock, still laughing with Hannah over the knitted Christmas stocking Eileen had brought to the hall tonight for inspiration. She’d stuffed it with old socks to demonstrate how much it could hold, resulting in a decidedly phallic stocking. Hannah and Tom, who’d laughed the loudest, had been taken aside by Eileen for a stern talk about setting examples and not behaving like children. It had almost been as funny as the stocking.

The second class had been gas, and Hannah had felt connections forming with the disgruntled teens, seeing glimpses of the kids they still were as they tackled their projects. She thought she could sense a connection forming between her and Tom, too, and felt like a teenager herself as they walked toward the back door. If only there were mistletoe hanging over it! No such luck, though, she thought, stepping inside the kitchen.

Hannah was eager to sit down and unpick the rest of the evening with Tom over a hot chocolate and was about to suggest just that when Nan appeared in the doorway. Voices from the television echoed behind her. ‘You missed a grand session in the pub tonight. Your dad and the lads decided to entertain the American tour group.’

‘Dad plays the tin whistle, and his pals Dermot and Ollie are on uillean pipes and the fiddle,’ Hannah explained to Tom.

Kitty gauged their cheery demeanours. ‘You two had a good evening, I take it?’

‘We did.’ Hannah, still giggly, was about to fill her nan in on the craic over the stocking when she cut her off.

‘You’ve got a lad waiting to see you in the pub, Hannah. He arrived an hour or so ago, and your mam’s been looking after him with the ale while he waited for you to get back.’

Hannah looked to Tom as though he’d know who it would be. However, he was taking his coat off and had his back to her.

‘He’s a colleague of yours from Cork,’ Kitty continued.

Hannah stared at her nan, suddenly light-headed, because it couldn’t be, could it? ‘Dylan?’ she exhaled, feeling winded.

‘That’s right. Dylan something from Feed the World with Bees.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Tom said, his relaxed demeanour stiffening as he slung his coat over his arm and moved to bypass Kitty.

‘Will you not stay and have a brew with me, Tom?’ Kitty asked, blocking his path.

If Hannah hadn’t been thrown into such a spin over Dylan’s arrival, she’d have been pleased that, like her, Nan seemed to be warming to Tom, and she didn’t even know what he’d done for them yet.

‘No. Thanks anyway, Mrs Kelly. I’ve work I need to be cracking on with.’

Kitty stepped aside.

‘Tom,’ Hannah called ineffectually after him, unsure what she wanted to say, but he was already taking the stairs two at a time.

She hovered in the kitchen, anxiousness bubbling, knowing Dylan was on the other side of the wall.

‘What’s going on? You could have cut the air with a knife then.’ Kitty rested green-veined hands on the back of the chair and fixed her gaze on her granddaughter.

‘Nothing, Nan.’

Those all-seeing blue eyes didn’t budge from hers, and Hannah crumpled under their scrutiny. ‘Everything,’ she whispered, tears threatening, still grasping the fact Dylan had shown up at the Shamrock.

‘Your man’s sitting by the fire with a pint and a bag of crisps. He’s waited this long. Another few minutes won’t make any difference. So sit yourself down and tell me what’s going on.’

Hannah sank into the chair opposite her nan, clasping her hands in front of her tightly. Kitty waited with an air of expectancy, and after a moment’s hesitation, Hannah began talking. She started at the beginning with her crush on Dylan, telling her nan she’d thought he was the one for her, given everything they had in common, but he’d shown no sign of picking up on her feelings. Or reciprocating. She wasn’t game to let him know how she felt either and risk ruining a good working relationship. Hannah paused, embarrassed.

Kitty had her head tilted to one side, listening. Then she reached out and patted her granddaughter’s hand, encouraging her to continue.

She’d come this far, so there was no point in not unloading everything now. Her fingertips were pressing into her knuckles as she fessed up about Dylan’s part in the rally in Cork, confiding how uncomfortable his actions made her feel and how it had left her wondering exactly how far he’d go to be heard and how far she’d go if he asked her to join him. ‘I wanted him to respect and admire me like I did him, Nan. I thought he might finally see me in a different light if I did.’

Kitty’s eyebrow lifted. She’d clearly picked up on Hannah’s use of the past tense.

‘He’s told me he doesn’t think our efforts to stop the Greenhouse from going ahead have been enough. Money talks, he says, and I don’t know if he’s right or wrong in this case, but I’m hoping it’s the latter. Surely, people’s consciences have a part to play, too. Otherwise, there’s no hope.’ She was venturing into Debbie Downer territory again.

‘I think we must believe most people are fundamentally good, Hannah.’

‘But what’s he got planned? I’m sure he’s not driven from Cork to confess his undying love for me.’

‘And if he had?’

‘He won’t have, but Tom’s muddied everything. And that’s another thing. How can I have all these big feelings for him when I’ve just met him?’

‘Sure, wasn’t I after telling you I knew I’d marry your granddad within a week of laying eyes on him?’

‘Steady on, Nan – who’s talking marriage?’ Hannah raised a watery smile. ‘How can I be so fickle, though? One minute, I’m mooning after Dylan, convinced Tom’s the devil incarnate; the next, I’m convinced he’s the best thing since sliced bread.’

Kitty laughed. ‘You’ve a way with words, Hannah Kelly, I’ll give you that.’

‘It’s not funny. I’m all over the show.’

‘There’s no right or wrong way to fall in love. Remember that. You need to look inside yourself and listen to what your heart tells you to do. It’s no good hiding away in here.’

Nan was right, and Hannah pushed her chair back. Knowing Dylan was sitting in the pub waiting for her would have turned her into a giddy, weak-at-the-knees mess a few days ago. Now she felt she was heading for the gallows as she grabbed the money from the sale of the seed cards and pushed through to the pub.

Liam was behind the bar, and Nora was busy clearing tables full of glasses left by their American guests. Hannah caught her mam’s eye, and Nora beamed a greeting before pointing to where a familiar dark head was bent over his phone. Dylan had his back to her, his thrift-store great coat draped over the back of the chair, facing the fire. A half-drunk pint sat on the table alongside him with an empty, balled-up crisp packet and a vape pen.

Hannah steeled herself and joined him without bothering to fetch a drink.

‘Hi.’ She didn’t pause to check her pulse rate to see if being near him had set it racing, nor did she wait for an invitation to sit down. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Hi.’ Dylan set his phone down and ran his fingers through his too-long hair. She could see the jut of his shoulder bones through his army surplus sweater, and the faint hint of spearmint was a clue that he’d not long ducked out the back to vape. ‘No drink?’

‘No, not for me.’ She was still hopeful about that hot chocolate with Tom. If she was game to knock on his door and invite him to join her, that was. There was no need to stretch out what she had to say over a drink with Dylan.

‘This is a grand little pub. Your mam and dad made me welcome.’ Dylan’s eyes swept the space around him like he’d not already had an hour to soak it up.

‘It’s home,’ Hannah replied, trying not to sound terse. ‘These are the takings from the seed cards so far.’ She slid a fat envelope toward him.

Dylan peeked inside and raised his brow slightly, then gave a low whistle. ‘Well done.’

The praise made her sit up straighter, and she remembered how she’d planned to tell him about her secret sales weapon, Princess Leia. Now wasn’t the time, though. Nor was she a puppy grateful for a pat, so she needed to stop behaving like one, she told herself firmly, getting to what was on her mind. ‘Dylan, why are you here?’

‘I said I would help, so here I am.’

‘I appreciate it, but I wish you’d called first because I’d have told you things have changed.’

Dylan picked up his pint and supped. His face was an annoying blank page.

Hannah looked away, staring instead at the ring mark left behind on the Guinness coaster. She gave herself a once-over. There were no butterflies or jelly legs to deal with, and her palms weren’t clammy either. It was like a plug had been yanked out of a socket, cutting off the source of her attraction to him.

‘Your mam said you were with your man down from Dublin this evening.’

She hoped Mam hadn’t elaborated on what she and Tom were doing. Knitting would ruin her street cred.

Actually, no. On closer examination, she realised she didn’t care what he thought.

‘You’re not taking it literally, are you? What I said about keeping your enemies close?’

Wasn’t there an old movie called Sleeping with the Enemy ? Hannah thought then snapped, ‘That’s not your business. Things have changed.’

‘Be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Have you not heard of a wolf in sheep’s clothing?’

Janey Mack! Who said things like that? Hannah thought, inwardly cringing. It dawned on her that the very thing she’d thought she loved about Dylan, the way he took himself seriously, she was now seeing through a different lens, and the urge to laugh rose in her throat. He’d be the sort to use the melting-chocolate bedroom voice! Was it good for you, baby? Ugh.

Somehow, she kept a straight face as she stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted trip, but this was one instance where words did work.’ A white lie, given she was only hoping this was the case, but there was no room for Dylan’s agitating tactics in Emerald Bay.

Dylan lowered his pint slowly and stared at her, looming over him like a nightclub bouncer. His expression said he was unsure if this was the same person who’d left work last Friday.

‘Are you feeling OK?’

‘I’m feeling grand as it happens.’ She mustered a smile.

‘I don’t know… You seem different.’

‘I’m still me.’ She shrugged, even though she knew Dylan was right. She was different.

After apologising for not being able to keep him company, she wished him all the best for a happy Christmas then left him to finish his pint. Or not, as the case may be.

Pushing through to the kitchen, Hannah grinned because she’d put her finger on what was different.

She felt strong – like someone who finally knew her own mind and was ready to act on it.