you, with the writing. And Seamus tells me you’re adding gardening to that, and very well. Now you’ve this rascal on top of it all.”
Finola took Breen’s hand for a squeeze, a deliberate gesture of calming and comfort. “If it’s all the same to you, why don’t I just pop into the kitchen there, make us some tea to go with these sweet cakes I baked?”
“I—”
“It’s not a bit of trouble.” With her basket, Finola breezed right in, with the dog close behind.
With a little smile, Marg looked after her friend. “She knows I’m a bit unnerved, so she chatters to give me time to settle.”
“That makes two of us—on the unnerved front. I really was coming back. I just needed to work up to it.”
“I can’t blame you for it. So much thrown at you at once. It’s a lovely spot here. It makes you happy.”
Easier, by far, to talk about that.
“It is, and it does. It’s the first time in my life I’ve lived on my own, and done what I wanted to do. The first time—that I remember—I’ve had a dog, and he makes me happy, too. I want to thank you for giving him to me.”
“Trapping you into it more like.”
“He still makes me happy.” And she needed to be grateful, and gracious. “Please, sit.”
“You were working—writing.”
“Yes. I think I’m not too bad at it, and hope I get better.”
Marg sat, and in her slim pants and thin blue sweater, crossed her legs. “You show talent in the blogging.”
“You read my blog?”
“In my way, yes. Your father had a way with words himself.”
“He’d tell me stories. I couldn’t get enough of them. I was coming back,” Breen repeated. “And I wanted to ask if there was something of his, just some small thing, I could have to remember him by. I have a picture. A publican in Clare let me have it, one of him and his friends playing there. He was—his band—was very popular.”
“Music was his first love, and an abiding one. I’d like very much to see the photograph before we go. As it happens, I’ve brought you something that meant a great deal to him.”
Marg reached in her pouch, took out a smaller one tied with a white ribbon. “I have more of his things, of course, and you are welcome to choose whatever you like. But I know this he’d want you to have.”
Breen opened the pouch, took out the gold ring. A claddagh and, she remembered, his wedding ring.
“He wore it always,” Marg told her. “Even after there was no marriage between them.”
Breen rubbed her fingers over the ring. “He loved her. He knew they weren’t meant to stay together, but he loved her. They’d made me.”
“It may be fate brought them together for only that.”
“It means a great deal to me to have this.” And shamed her because she’d meant to go back—but she hadn’t.
“You’re kinder to me than I deserve at this point.”
“Ah, bollocks to that. I’m your nan, and have more than twenty years of spoiling to make up. Give me the chance to, won’t you, Breen?”
Though Marg’s voice stayed steady and calm, the plea shone in her eyes. “You’ve a good heart. Give me that chance.”
“I have so many questions.” But Breen reached over to take Marg’s hand as she spoke.
“It will take time to answer them all.”
“Then we’ll take the time. I’m going to go get the picture. Next time I’m somewhere with a scanner, I’ll make a copy for you.”
She went inside where Finola fussed over a teapot and cups.
“You knew me when I was little.”
“I did indeed. You and our darling Morena twined together like ivy. She lives with us now that our son and his woman—Morena’s parents—are in the Capital.”
“The Capital.”
“Aye. Talamh isn’t so big as this world, but it’s more than you’ve seen as yet.” She glanced up, looked at Breen with those strong, direct eyes. “Will you see it again, Breen?”
“Yes.”
“That would make your nan very happy.”
“I’m just going up to get a picture of my father to show my grandmother.”
“I’ll take the tea and cakes out then. She is a woman of great strength and power,” Finola added. “One who has suffered deep losses, and still stands. She is my friend, as dear to me as a sister. Perhaps dearer, come to that. It’s my great hope that you take after such as Marg.”
She didn’t know if she took after anyone, but since she only had one grandmother, she’d stop