The Transatlantic Book Club (Finfarran Peninsula #5) - Felicity Hayes-McCoy Page 0,3
long married life. So Sonny’s large suburban home had felt alien, and the visit had revealed that Pat and Ger had nothing left in common with their middle-aged emigrant sons.
Worse still, Pat had discovered that the carefully chosen cards and gifts, which, for decades, she’d been sending to her granddaughters, hadn’t been wanted. Instead of affirming her presence in their lives, they’d simply produced derision. Devastated, Pat had blamed herself and tried to get involved in their adult lives. But it hadn’t helped. Two of the girls for whom she’d knitted sweaters and chosen birthday cards now had expensive homes of their own, and neither they nor their parents had had any time for their visitors. But Cassie, the youngest of Sonny’s children, had turned out to be a maverick. Cheerful, forthright, and sympathetic, she’d plunged into the vacuum produced by her siblings’ indifference and forged a loving friendship with her grandmother. Then, when the painful visit was over, she’d accompanied Pat and Ger back to Finfarran, saying she planned to explore her Irish roots.
Her energetic presence had been a godsend when Ger was diagnosed with heart failure, and in the days after his funeral she’d displayed a fierce protectiveness that had sometimes brought Pat close to tears. And, when everyone else had left, she’d stayed put, still determined to help. ‘Look, Canada’s out of the question, we both know that. But here’s the thing. I’ve been Snapchatting with Erin since she went back to the States after the funeral. And she says how about you and me take a trip over there?’
‘To Resolve?’
‘Sure. Why not? You enjoyed it before, didn’t you?’
‘But that was years ago.’
You could almost call it a lifetime. In the year of her engagement, Pat had spent the summer working in Resolve. Her passage had been booked before Ger proposed to her, and everyone had urged her not to waste the ticket. Besides, they’d said, a few months in the States would pay for a fancy trousseau.
Gently, Pat had tried to change the subject but Cassie had been unstoppable. ‘Oh, come on, Pat, why don’t we scoot over and see how Resolve has changed? Didn’t you say you worked with Erin’s gran in a clothing factory?’
‘Well, yes, love. I did.’
‘There’s a whole garment district now. Great stores. Places to go. And since Erin’s gran couldn’t get to the funeral, she’d love us to stay with them.’ Sensing reluctance, Cassie had hurried on: ‘There’ll be lots of people you know. Well, families, anyway. I mean, Lord knows why my lot chose Canada when practically every Finfarran emigrant takes off for Resolve.’
‘I was only there three months, Cassie. Nobody would remember me.’
‘That is so not true! Erin says you and her gran were best buddies over there. And think of all the people who sent their condolences. Oh, Pat, let’s do this. I want to meet my US relations properly. We’ll have a ball. Say you’ll come.’
That was Cassie. Her enthusiasm was so infectious that you always found yourself nodding. So, feeling uncertain but far too tired to argue, Pat had agreed. Now, in the silence of the library, the cat stirred as the clock struck the hour. Turning her gaze from a case of classic crime stories, Pat saw it was time to go to her party. Tomorrow, she thought, she’d be flying home to Finfarran and, despite everyone’s kindness, crossing the Atlantic Ocean hadn’t made things better at all. In fact, just as she’d feared it might, being in Resolve had stirred up memories she’d far rather forget.
Chapter Two
March had come in like a lion, battering Ireland’s west coast with a fierce Atlantic gale. The Finfarran Peninsula had taken the brunt of it, and as Hanna Casey drove to her job in Lissbeg Library, the winding country lanes were strewn with debris blown from the hedgerows. In fields on either side of the roads, uprooted trees lay at crazy angles and, here and there, corrugated panels had been wrenched from the sides of barns. Yet, lying awake in her bed before dawn, Hanna had become aware of a change. The icy northerly wind had veered away from the peninsula, and now a southerly breeze had brought a morning as mild as milk.
This was typical March weather in Finfarran, what local people were accustomed to call ‘four seasons in a day’. By this evening another storm could bring sleet, or even snow. But, for now, Hanna revelled in the rain-washed morning, the spangled celandines gleaming in the