Cathy Kelly 3-Book Collection 2: The House on Willow Street, The Honey Queen, Christmas Magic, plus bonus short story: The Perfect Holiday

Cashel nodded in return. It was time.

A fine mist began to descend upon the graveyard as the ceremony ended. The gravediggers had moved forward to the edge of the grave, ready to start filling in the earth. Cashel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a graveyard ceremony. When he was a child, many kids of his age had been to every funeral their mothers had been to. It was the Irish way: children were taken to funerals, perhaps in an effort to help them understand the cycle of living and dying. In the countryside, there was no escaping death – it was everywhere. Animals were born and died, the pig you’d played with as a piglet was killed and turned into sausages, the scrawny chicken who’d never been a good layer ended up in the cooking pot. And people went back to the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Anna hadn’t been one of the mothers who’d taken her children to the funeral of every Tom, Dick and Harry. But even so, Cashel had been to enough of them; he’d seen enough damp earth spilled on coffins. He was sorry now that they hadn’t considered cremation. He hated the idea of his mother lying in the damp earth, food for worms. But today was the sort of day she’d have relished when she was well: the day with all her friends around her and her beloved sons, too.

Rhona hadn’t come, although his assistant had emailed her with the information. He wasn’t surprised; there had never been any real closeness between Anna and his ex-wife.

Riach was busy talking to people, saying the right things, his wife at his side. Charlotte was dressed in black, like they all were; she was indeed a fine woman, with short dark hair and small, dark eyes that viewed the world with kindness and wisdom. She was a good wife to Riach, Cashel knew that. His mother had never needed to worry about her younger son’s choice in the marital stakes. She’d been so happy at Riach and Charlotte’s wedding day ten years before.

They had got married in Rome – something which had pleased Cashel, because he knew there was no danger of bumping into Tess. It was stupid really. He’d been married to Rhona then, wealthy, obviously happy, with more money than they knew what to do with, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the small-town girl he left behind. Only his mother had ever seemed to be aware of the fact.

‘It all in the past, Cashel,’ she’d told him as they posed for photographs.

Riach had cracked a joke about Avalon being a match for the glories of Rome, and immediately Cashel’s mind had drifted back to his home town and all that was there.

‘There’s no point in looking back. Her life has moved on and so has yours,’ his mother had said shrewdly.

‘What do you mean, “her life has moved on”?’ he’d asked, and then felt angry with himself for wanting to know. ‘No, forget that I asked. I don’t want to know.’

‘That’s good, then,’ Anna Reilly had said. ‘It would be a terrible shame to be here in the Eternal City with your lovely wife and continually be thinking of Tess Power, wouldn’t it?’

Yes, he’d thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he’d given a magnificent speech at the wedding lunch, talking about the wonderful times he and Riach had growing up in Avalon, omitting to mention their father’s drinking and his devotion to the bookmakers, and leaving out the friendship both brothers had had with the Power family. Wedding speeches were as much about what you left out as what you put in, he realized.

Rhona had loved the wedding feast at the elegant palazzo. She hadn’t been born into money, any more than he had, but she enjoyed spending it. He worked out that her Gucci outfit probably cost as much as the bride’s wedding dress – probably a lot more, if he knew Charlotte – but then he had the money to indulge Rhona. And indulge her he did. Spending money on her was easy, easier than making their marriage work.

‘Isn’t it divine?’ she said to him, as they circled the dance floor, her head resting lazily on his shoulder.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said automatically, wondering what was wrong with him, why wasn’t he happy?

By the time they got divorced, the writing had been on the wall for years. Both of them had gone out of their way to avoid being together until, finally, there was no pretending any more: it was over. Cashel signed the divorce papers feeling like a failure – not something he encountered much in his professional life.

‘Are you coming?’ Charlotte asked him.

His sister-in-law put her hand on his sleeve and the touch unmanned him. Cashel felt the tears burn up behind his eyes. Here in Avalon he felt like the loneliest man in the world.

The after-funeral teas and coffees were held in the Avalon Hotel, and Cashel found people he didn’t recognize talking to him at every turn.

‘Hello, Cashel, I’m sorry for your loss,’ they’d say, and he would thank them and wonder who they were.

He’d been gone so long, he knew nobody here.

And there was to be no escape from reminders of Tess, either.

An elderly lady with bifocals and a head of lovely silvery blonde hair hugged him and said she was sure he remembered nobody now, ‘… except the Power girls.’

Unable to listen to any more of this, Cashel shoved his chair back. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to make some calls,’ he said abruptly, and ignoring the startled expressions around the table he got up and left.

The driver he’d hired was outside reading a paper in the car. He looked up in mild alarm to see his client marching out with a face like thunder. Cashel waved him away and walked down the hill, not really knowing where he was going, only that he had to get away. The aroma of freshly ground coffee drifted across from a café on the square that hadn’t been there in his day. Who was he kidding, he thought: nothing had been there in his day. Avalon was like a totally different town. Despite Riach and his family being there, Cashel felt as if the last true link to the place was gone. Riach could visit him anytime, anywhere. He’d send the plane for them. The kids would love it. There was no need ever to set foot in this town again.

A wave of grief for his mother swept over him. He hadn’t been there for her. He’d paid for things, naturally, but he hadn’t been there, hadn’t been the person she’d call to ask about a fuse box or a shrub that needed to be cut back. Riach had been that person for her. Tess Power had taken all that away from him when she’d rejected him. Tess Power – it was her fault.

Cashel marched into the café, tall and brooding in his funeral suit, a formidable presence of wealth, privilege and expensive tailoring. Behind the counter, Brian took a step backwards. The big man looked as if someone had done something to upset him and Brian hoped to God that the person who’d done the bad thing wasn’t him.

‘Yes?’ he said anxiously.

The man seemed to focus on him then, dark brows opening up.

Brian felt a relieved quiver in his legs, the way he used to in school when someone else was in trouble. It wasn’t him, after all. The man in the suit wasn’t angry with him.

‘An espresso,’ said Cashel, not sure why he was here at all. He didn’t even want more coffee.

‘You’re here for the funeral,’ said Brian, attempting a bit of light chat. His mother, Lorena, who owned the café, said he didn’t do enough conversing with the customers, but it was hard. Brian didn’t have the knack when it came to chatting.

At the mention of the funeral, the glower came back into the big man’s face.

‘Right, so,’ said Brian, and busied himself with the coffee machine.

Cashel paid for his coffee and sat down at a window seat. The local newspaper had been left, folded incorrectly, on the seat beside him and for want of something to do, he picked it up and scanned it. News was the same the world over, he thought, long fingers flipping through the pages: communities raising money for charity, a politician no longer in power lamenting the state of the country, young athletes beaming for the camera as they posed with medals or a cup …

His fingers stilled as he turned to the back pages.

Property for sale: Avalon House.

After the funeral, Tess went back to the shop and opened up. She found that her fingers were shaking as she tried to undo the mortice lock at the bottom of the door.

‘Yoo hoo,’ called Vivienne from next door. ‘How was it? Is that lovely rich son looking for an older woman to spoil? I can’t promise much in the way of sex, but they’re working on that female Viagra, aren’t they? I could go on a pharmaceutical trial!’

Vivienne finally arrived at her door, took one look at Tess’s stunned, now-pale face and said: ‘That bad? Come in and sit down. You can keep the hordes of buyers happy and I’ll get you a strong coffee.’

She installed Tess in a chair by the till, then locked Something Old and handed the keys to her. ‘Nobody’s come near us all morning. I doubt that a busload of rich tourists is going to turn up within the next five minutes.’

Tess was glad she was sitting.

Vivienne liked mad disco music from the seventies. She played her old CDs on a loop. Any day of the week, you could be sure of hearing ‘September’ or ‘Disco Inferno’ belting out from the shop. There were times when the seashore whooshing ‘tranquillity’ soundtrack from the beautician’s upstairs was on extra loud and the disco beat had to compete with the odd whale or dolphin song. Today someone was singing a hit from thirty-odd years ago about how someone could ring their bell anytime, anywhere. In spite of her shock, Tess smiled. It was all wildly suggestive and she thought of how she hated the songs her kids listened to now because they were too racy for Kitty’s ears. It was all a cycle really.

Would she look back on this day in thirty years, if she was around then, and smile at how upset she’d been?

Would she ever be able to think of Cashel without wanting to cry and tell him what had really happened?

No, she didn’t think she would.

Vivienne meant well, but she wasn’t someone Tess could unburden herself to. Suddenly she was overcome with the desire to talk to Suki.

It was eight on the East Coast, too early to phone, but she didn’t care. She fished her mobile out of her handbag and dialled.

Suki was up.

‘I’m sorry for phoning so early,’ Tess said. ‘I had a bad day.’