Breakfast at Darcy's (37 page)

‘How on earth did you come up with this idea?’ he asks, pouring whiskey into my glass.

‘It was your daughter that prompted it, actually.’

‘Who, Megan?’

‘Just how many daughters do you have, Dermot? Are there more hidden away you’re not telling me about?’

‘I think one is more than enough, don’t you?’ he says, topping up his own glass now.

‘She’s certainly special.’

Dermot grimaces. ‘You could call it that.’

‘Aw, Megan’s a good girl. She’s incredibly bright and knowledgeable for one so young – on many subjects.’

Dermot screws the lid back on the bottle. ‘She’ll be telling me how to build this centre of yours if I don’t watch out, just
you wait and see.’

Dermot moves some papers on the desk to find a space for the bottle of whiskey. ‘What’s this?’ he asks, holding up a sheet
printed from the internet.

‘It’s nothing,’ I try to grab it from him.

‘Rings, Darcy?’ Dermot holds the paper out of my reach and looks with interest at it. ‘Are you thinking of getting married?
Does Golden Balls know about this?’

‘No!’ I manage to snatch the paper from his hand now. ‘Actually they’re Claddagh rings. A Claddagh is an Irish token of love,
if you must know.’

‘Meaning love, friendship and loyalty, yes I do know. My father was Irish, in case you forgot. And if I remember rightly,
it makes a difference how you wear the ring, too. If you wear it
on your right hand with the heart facing away from you, it means you’re not romantically linked to anyone. When it’s turned
the other way it shows that you’re in a relationship, or your heart has been captured. If you wear the ring on your left hand
with the heart facing away from you, it means you’re engaged; turned the other way, you’re married. Am I right?’ he finishes,
a pleased expression on his face.

He’s right. I’d looked them up ages ago, meaning to ask Niall about my aunt’s ring, but as usual here on Tara I’d been distracted
by other things. But this afternoon I’d searched for the page again, and now we had a printer I’d printed all the details
out for another reason.

‘If you know so much about the Claddagh symbol, you must have noticed the one on the old ruined building, then.’

‘What, the one up on the hill?’

I nod. ‘There’s a Claddagh symbol engraved in the brickwork over the doorway that looks out over the sea. It’s got a bit covered
up with all the greenery over the years, but it’s definitely there. I saw it this morning.’

Dermot nods. ‘Looks like the old building was used for a bit more than a few religious meetings, then.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘To have that carved above such a prominent doorway, it must have been used for weddings, too.’

I consider this. ‘Yes, I suppose it must. It’s such a big building, I bet they did everything up there. It would have been
a real focal point for the community, just like it’s going to be for our island.’ I look at Dermot nursing his glass of whiskey,
and I debate for a moment whether to share with him what I’m going to say next. ‘It’s very special up there, you know; it’s
like
nothing I’ve ever felt before. When I’m up there it feels like someone’s comforting me, holding me, even. I feel safe. In
fact, that’s how this whole island makes me feel.’

I smile as I remember something.

‘Roxi said to me when we held the dinner party that I looked like Audrey Hepburn that night. I clearly didn’t. But in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
, that’s how the Tiffany’s store makes Holly Golightly feel – safe.’

Dermot looks at me, and for a moment I actually think he might say something supportive. ‘You feel like that about an island
and a building?’ he asks sceptically.

I should have known.

‘Yes, I do. Not that I’d expect you to understand. To you, all buildings are bricks and mortar; they couldn’t possibly hold
any history, memories or feelings inside them.’ I take a swig of my drink, then continue to study the inside of the glass,
swirling my ice cubes around in the bottom.

Dermot sighs. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth, Darcy. I may erect brand-new buildings now for a living, but when I
was at college I studied history and architecture. I wanted to restore old buildings for a career, not produce new ones.’

I look up at Dermot in surprise. ‘You went to college?’

He grins. ‘Yes, I haven’t always been a builder.’

‘But what happened? Why didn’t you carry on with what you studied?’

‘Eileen happened, just after I left university, and very shortly after that Megan, so Eileen and I decided to get married
before she was born. I had to start earning some decent money, and fast, so that’s where my architectural and building skills
came in, but Eileen and I were never compatible. We should never have got married, but that’s what you do, don’t you, when
there’s a baby on the way.’ He looks up at me and smiles. ‘Where do you think I got these grey hairs from at my age?’ He gestures
to the side of his head. ‘It’s a wonder I’m not snowy white all over!’

I think about my own parents, and the lid on my internal box is lifted slightly. ‘My parents divorced when I was young,’ I
say, looking into Dermot’s eyes, still reflecting on his own past. ‘My dad disappeared from our lives shortly after the divorce,
and my mum passed away a few years ago. That’s how come I got this island. I’m Molly’s closest living relative.’

‘I know about your parents,’ Dermot says, understanding now reflected in his eyes. ‘Roxi told me.’

‘Did she?’ I’m surprised at Roxi mentioning this; I barely ever talk about my parents with her, so it seems odd for her to
talk about it to someone else.

‘Only because I asked her. I kind of guessed you might have some unresolved issues.’

‘What do you mean,
unresolved issues
?’ I demand, feeling myself beginning to bristle.

‘Hey, calm down,’ Dermot says, holding up his hand. ‘I only meant the person I met when you first came to Tara isn’t the same
person I’m sitting in front of now.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘It’s like you’ve been hiding behind a mask, and now the true
you has been unveiled. It’s like finding Audrey Hepburn underneath a Marilyn Monroe costume.’

I’m still not sure how to take this.

‘OK, I’ll try and explain it another way,’ Dermot says, thinking again. ‘When you first came to Tara, you were standing
there behind this thick layer of make-up, with your silly nails, your dyed hair and your designer clothing. That’s the Darcy
you wanted people to see – your version of Darcy. The one no one could hurt. But since you’ve been here I’ve got to know the
real you, the Darcy behind the mask, and she’s a lot more beautiful without the disguise.’

I stare at Dermot. Was I really hearing all these lovely words flow from his mouth?

‘Anyway,’ he says, swinging himself up from the chair and grabbing the bottle of whiskey again even though his glass isn’t
empty yet. ‘These plans won’t make themselves. More whiskey?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m not the only one who’s been wearing a mask since I’ve been here.’

Dermot tops up his own glass. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The mask
you
put on all the time – the “I don’t care. It’s all black and white. It’s no skin off my nose” one. The truth of the matter
is, Dermot, you
do
care, and you care very much about a lot of things. I’ve seen you put in more hours on this island than anyone else, including
me. I’ve seen you with the others, especially Paddy, patiently teaching them over and over again how to make, build and fix
things. And most importantly I’ve seen you with Megan, become the solid, dependable parent she’s never had in her life, and
that is probably one of the most important things you’ll ever do. So when you try and pretend that you don’t care about situations
or people, as you so often feel you need to, that’s just you putting on your own mask to hide your real emotions.’

I’ve watched Dermot throughout my little speech simply stand and listen to what I’m saying without expression. Now he
takes a long gulp from his glass. ‘Seems like Tara’s really stripping us back to our true selves tonight, eh? No one usually
sees below my outer shell, Darcy.’

‘And no one usually sees beneath mine, either.’

Looking up into Dermot’s eyes, I feel the bond between us strengthen, as the uneasy feeling that’s been troubling me of late
is replaced by something much more pleasant.

‘There’s definitely something about Tara, isn’t there?’ Dermot says, still watching me.

‘Yes,’ I nod in agreement. ‘Even Roxi believes it’s a magnet for love.’

Dermot smiles. ‘A magnet for love – I like that. Next you’ll be wanting to perform wedding ceremonies on the island in our
new building.’

I stare at him. ‘Dermot, that isn’t such a bad idea.’

‘You
are
joking,’ he says, his eyes wide.

‘No! It could be another string to our bow. We could hold Celtic-themed weddings, and the guests could stay in the cottages
and we could serve local foods, and—’

‘Whoah, just one minute,’ Dermot says, holding up his hand in my direction. ‘You’d need a licence to do something like that,
and a minister on hand to perform the ceremonies.’

‘Yes, minor details, we can sort all that out, I’m sure. Oh, Dermot, it’s just perfect,’ I say, happily clapping my hands
together. ‘It’s what Tara was made for, to bring new loves together and join them as one for ever.’

Dermot smiles softly at me. ‘I didn’t think you were the romantic type.’

‘I’m not, normally. After my parents, and relationships of my own that haven’t gone too smoothly, I was a bit anti-love before
I came here. But this island does have an effect on you. Like you said before, it seems Tara’s managed to change me, not just
on the outside, but on the inside as well.’

‘It will take me a while to be convinced that marriage is a good thing, after the last time.’

‘Whatever
did
you see in Eileen?’ I blurt out, and immediately regret this. The last thing I want to hear is all the finer details of Eileen
and Dermot’s relationship.

Dermot looks across at me with a grave expression. ‘Do you know something, Darcy?’

‘What?’ I ask, nervous of what he’s about to reveal.

‘I really have no idea whatsoever,’ he says, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘
Dermot
!’ I hit him playfully on the shoulder. ‘That’s not fair. I wondered what you were going to say then.’

‘Well, what did you expect from me, secret revelations about my inner thoughts and emotions?’ Dermot grins at me. ‘I think
you got enough of those from me earlier. I felt like I was in an episode of
Jeremy Kyle
.’

‘No, you couldn’t ever be on
Jeremy Kyle
,’ I reply in all seriousness.

‘Why?’

‘You’re just too darn dull, Dermot O’Connell!’

‘Ooh, touché, Miss McCall,’ Dermot calls in a fake French accent, reaching over to the chair next to him and grabbing a cushion.
‘But now I have ze weapon to defend myself against your barbed comments!’

‘And what are you going to do with that, smother me to death?’

‘No,’ Dermot tosses me a second cushion, ‘We’re going to
have a pillow fight to settle this. My daughter informs me it’s
the
thing to do, and has been teaching me all the latest moves.’

Dermot leaps to his feet while I sit still in my chair holding the cushion.

‘Come on, Darcy,’ he encourages, ‘get into the spirit of it.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’ Dermot stands in the middle of the room with a cushion poised in front of him like a shield.

‘Why do we need to do this?’

‘Because it’s fun, that’s why.’ Dermot lowers his defences for a moment. ‘Come on, didn’t you ever have pillow fights when
you were young?’

‘No.’

‘What, never?’

‘No, I was an only child. I never had anyone to play
with
.’

‘Oh,’ Dermot dejectedly comes back to sit down in his chair. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’

‘Didn’t think I was clever enough to outsmart you, you mean?’ and I give him a huge whack with my cushion as I leap out of
my chair.

‘You little minx,’ Dermot shouts, jumping up out of his own seat now. ‘Right, that’s it.’

I run into the kitchen squealing, followed by Dermot and the dogs, now woken up by my noise. But the problem with playing
this sort of game in such a small house is there’s nowhere to run, and Dermot quickly has me cornered.

‘So now I’ve caught you,’ he says as he pins me up against the sink, ‘what
am
I going to do with you?’

I look up at Dermot leaning menacingly over the top of me with a cushion poised in the air above my head. But the
thing is, he isn’t that menacing close up, he’s actually very attractive in a ruggedly handsome sort of way. When I’m this
close to him I can see that this late in the evening his square jaw is now covered in a fine layer of dark stubble, and that
his soft brown eyes, usually hidden under a pair of dark, unruly eyebrows, contain tiny flecks of bright green. And standing
this close to me, feeling his warm, rhythmical breath on my face, I can also feel the warmth of his body radiating through
his shirt, and I’m reminded of the time in his cottage when he removed a similar shirt and stood in front of me in just his
jeans.

Dermot slowly lowers the cushion from above his head. But he doesn’t move away from me as I expect him to, he simply stands
there, looking into my eyes in the same way I’m looking up into his. And at once I feel that same bond tighten all over again.

Just as Dermot leans forward I hear a voice, but surprisingly it’s not Dermot’s deep, slightly gravelly tone that speaks my
name, but Conor’s Irish lilt.

‘Darcy, what’s going on?’

As Dermot spins around we both suddenly realise we’re not alone in the cottage as we see Conor and Caitlin standing at the
door of the kitchen.

‘Conor, Caitlin,’ I say brightly, smiling at them. ‘Dermot and I were just having a bit of fun. I … I mean, playing a game.
We were just having a pillow fight.’

Whatever I say will sound wrong.