Cathy Kelly 3-Book Collection 2: The House on Willow Street, The Honey Queen, Christmas Magic, plus bonus short story: The Perfect Holiday. Cathy Kelly
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choice.’
Mara looked at Cashel, one eyebrow raised and the slightest hint of a smile playing around her lips, which were some wild, red colour today. He wondered where she got those mad lipsticks. They never seemed to fade. It was as if Mara decided Today I shall be wearing bright red and it shall be bright red from morning ’til night.’
‘Will you bail me out when I kill that bloody Lorcan?’ Cashel asked her when the architect was gone. ‘He is so determined to have his own way.’
‘I know somebody else like that, but I can’t think who …’ said Mara.
Cashel swotted at her with his giant pile of papers ‘Make me a coffee, madam, and stop teasing. After a couple of hours listening to him drone, I think I need a kick-boxing session.’
‘Kick boxing?’ she’d asked. ‘I’d no idea you were interested in that. I saw you as more of a weights man. Or a marathon man. Yes, I can see you doing marathons, never giving up. Oooh, the iron man – have you ever done one of those?’
He grinned at her properly this time. ‘You really are a minx,’ he said.
‘Have I overstepped the mark?’ Mara enquired. She did sometimes wonder whether she overstepped professional boundaries in her dealings with Cashel, but they got on so well that this wasn’t an issue. Leaving Kearney Property Partners after what had happened with Jack had changed her. The part of Mara that was always irreverent and determined to be her own person had come fully to the surface. No matter what job she was in, she was going to be herself, her ordinary self. She was not going to reinvent herself in order to conform to other people’s notions of what she should be, what she should wear, how she should behave, not worry over whether her boyfriend approved of her mad clothes, for example. She shook her head as if to dislodge the thoughts. No, let’s not go there.
‘Are you going to join the land of the living any time soon?’ Cashel enquired. ‘My espresso is ready.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘My mind was elsewhere. I was picturing you doing the marathon after a very long bike ride.’ Her eyes twinkled at him. ‘Worn out, begging for mercy.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I really believe that.’
Restored after his espresso, Cashel set off to find Freddie, the master builder.
Striding round the house in his wellies and hard hat, eyeing things up and pulling a pencil from behind his ear to adjust his calculations on a scrap of paper, Freddie was a delight to deal with. He had lived in Avalon his entire life. Though younger than Cashel, he knew Riach and pronounced him ‘sound’, which appeared to be the highest praise there was in Freddie’s estimation.
He was less enthusiastic when it came to Lorcan.
‘He’d drive a sober man to drink,’ Freddie had been heard to say on a few occasions, according to Mara. He never said it in Cashel’s hearing though. No, Freddie wasn’t that stupid. It would be an awful mistake to insult the client by letting on you thought the architect should be locked up somewhere. Preferably with padded walls and something to draw on.
‘It’s a fine house,’ Freddie would say wistfully when they were standing outside looking at the sweep of Avalon House in front of them. Then they’d turn and look at the avenue of trees, where the tree surgeons were busy at work, and over to the gleaming sweep of Avalon Bay. Because it was winter, the hard landscaping Judy was overseeing had to end early, but Cashel and Freddie would often linger after the workforce had gone home just to appreciate a spectacular sunset or the beauty of the view from Avalon House.
For all that Cashel was a very wealthy man and the new owner of Avalon House, because he was Avalon born and bred, Freddie looked upon him as an equal.
‘Sure they were different times then,’ Freddie might say, ‘times when the landed gentry had land and money and the rest of us, ah sure, we had nothing. My father used to get fierce angry over the injustice of it all,’ Freddie went on, ‘the haves and the have nots made him a bitter man. A bitter man,’ he repeated. ‘He was always thinking of what we down there in the town had and what the rich people up on the hill had. And sure, for all I hear, near the end, they didn’t have two pennies to rub together.’
‘True,’ said Cashel, ‘true.’
‘And it doesn’t matter whether you live in a castle or a hovel. What matters is that you have a bite to eat, a fire to warm yourself at and a bit of love. What was that old saying from the bible …?’ Freddie could talk for hours in this manner, and Cashel found he liked to listen to him. ‘“Better a dinner of herbs and love than a stalled ox and hatred within.” I think that was it, anyway,’ said Freddie. ‘For all the teachers who tried to get it into my thick skull, I can’t remember much of the aul catechism, but it was something like that.’
Cashel grinned. ‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said. ‘My own family didn’t have much, either.’
He was waiting to see what Freddie knew about his humble upbringing – but then, Freddie must have known, given that he knew Riach. Whatever he knew, however, Freddie was too wise to mention it.
‘Ah, we were all the same back then,’ was all Freddie said. ‘No arse in our trousers.’ He laughed. ‘Look at us now, two fine men with jobs – aren’t we doing great?’
Yes, we are, thought Cashel to himself. And on the surface, it all looked great. So why didn’t he feel great?
Her addiction to hot chocolate with Danish pastries for elevenses would have to go, Mara decided as she drove down Willow Street in the direction of Lorena’s, the best café in Avalon. She could feel her waistband getting tight and, now that Christmas was coming, she didn’t want to have to watch what she ate. Mara loved Christmas. The only problem was working out where she’d be for it.
Danae was clearly much more comfortable with her around and Mara had begun to wonder if she’d stay in Avalon for Christmas Day itself and then drive to Dublin the next day.
At the back of her mind was Danae’s secret: Mara was consumed with a desire to know about her aunt’s past. Would Danae ever tell her?
All these thoughts flooded Mara’s mind as she wound her way down the town to look for a parking place in the central square, which was already full of vehicles double parked in the rush up to Christmas. Only two more shopping weeks to go! said signs stuck outside the butcher’s shop, where tinsel and illustrations of happy turkeys on platters were painted in primary colours above real slabs of meat.
‘I miss you,’ Cici had said mournfully on the phone the night before. ‘We had such good times together.’
‘I miss you too,’ Mara said. ‘But I couldn’t stay. It was all too painful, everything reminded me of Jack. Anyway,’ she added, determined to haul the conversation away from dangerous territory, ‘bet you’re having great fun with all the Christmas parties in full swing.’
‘It isn’t the same without you,’ Cici said gloomily. ‘Everyone says so.’
Mara was briefly gratified by this information. At least the friends she and Cici hung around with missed her.
‘Nobody wants to go dancing because they say going out’s too expensive. Despite that, they all go round to each other’s flats and drink cheap beer or the latest Lidl wine offer by the crate. Next day, it’s alcohol-induced depression and even less money all round. At least dancing doesn’t give you a hangover.’
‘That’s because we danced without having to have six cocktails each,’ Mara said virtuously. She hadn’t had so much as a drop of wine since she’d been staying with Danae, who never drank anything but water and green tea.
‘I saw Jack and Her last week in Eyre Square: Tawhnee,’ Cici said the name in