The Transatlantic Book Club (Finfarran Peninsula #5) - Felicity Hayes-McCoy Page 0,1
the doors?’
Cassie stood up and shook her head. ‘I ought to go find Pat. I mean my gran.’
‘There’s plenty of time, don’t worry. The chairman hasn’t arrived yet and the quilting ladies still haven’t hung their banner.’
‘Do they need help?’
‘Trust me, they do not. My grandma’s the chair of the quilting guild. You don’t mess with those ladies when they’re focused on a task.’
So that’s who he was, the grandson of a club member.
He leaned against the sink, waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Anyway, it’ll take him about an hour to tune up.’
‘Can you actually tune a tin whistle?’
‘Actually you can.’ He shot her an amused glance. ‘Though I’m not sure Rambling Paddy knows that.’
‘And he would be . . . ?’
‘Your ambient music for tonight.’
Cassie giggled and the guy looked a bit guilty. ‘That wasn’t fair. He’s a great entertainer. Probably played the ballroom when your gran was here before.’
‘What – fifty years ago?’
‘Sure. It was accordions back then, and an upright piano. No need for a sound system, my dad says. Just stamina and endless pints of Guinness.’
‘Has your family been here long?’
‘Five generations. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Jack Shanahan.’
‘That’s a good Finfarran name.’
‘Like Fitzgerald.’
‘And have you been to Ireland?’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. Someday.’
‘I used to say that too. I was born in Canada and the family never went home. But a few months ago, I just picked up and took off.’
‘What about your job?’
Cassie explained about hairdressing. ‘I’ve been working on cruise ships. You sign on for a couple of months, or even a few weeks, and plan as you go. Well, obviously it’s not just cruise ships. You can work in salons as well. I love it. I’m a risk-taker. Anyway, I decided to spend Christmas in Finfarran. And then I stayed on.’
‘Cool.’
‘Um. I stayed because my granddad had died. But it is a cool place.’
‘Losing a grandpa is tough. Mine was pretty cool.’
‘I hardly knew mine. But that’s not the point. The thing is, Pat was sort of in shock. So I hung around.’
When she’d seen him earlier, in the dining room, she’d thought Jack was shy. But now he seemed assured. He was lounging back against the sink, with his thumbs hooked into his belt and his weight on his elbows, and the hair on his freckled arms was bleached to gold. Irish-looking redheads weren’t Cassie’s type but somehow she found him intriguing. ‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m a computer geek. Started out working for my dad, now I troubleshoot for firms.’
‘Not an electrician?’
‘No. But if your family are pillars of the club, you’re expected to pitch in.’ Seeing the look on Cassie’s face, he laughed. ‘I enjoy it. It’s not like I’m here all the time.’
‘Only high days and holy days?’
‘That’s about it.’ A blast of feedback from the other room made him wince. ‘Oh, crap! Rambling Paddy must have moved a speaker.’ He made for the door but, halfway there, he turned back. ‘So have you decided?’
‘Decided what?’
‘What you’re going to do next.’
‘I’m going back to Ireland with Pat.’
He nodded, as if considering this carefully. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded again, and turned away. ‘Well, nice meeting you.’
Cassie took a step towards him and paused awkwardly. To her surprise, she found herself wanting to explain. ‘It’s just . . . my granddad died only a few weeks ago. And it was really sudden. Pat needs me around.’
‘Sure.’ His blue eyes crinkled as he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Like I said, it was nice meeting you.’
* * *
When Pat entered the building at five thirty-seven she could hear snatches of music from behind the dining-room doors, which had paper napkins over their porthole windows. Outside, women were easing themselves out of cars, balancing plates and Tupperware boxes. It looked as if half the households in town had been baking, and Pat knew that the cakes would be covered with lavish sparkly icing. The women of the sprawling suburbs of Resolve were mad for the sugar and glitter. Though here in the States, she reminded herself, they called icing ‘frosting’. In the last couple of weeks little details like that had been coming back to her, maybe because of the other memories she wanted so hard to block out.
Moving past the dining room, she looked for somewhere to sit. They’d be expecting her to make a big entrance when the farewell party started, and she didn’t want to spoil their fun by hanging about beforehand. So, as two women staggered past,