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Jules was right. I did love it. Not quite the wreck Rory had warned me about, the cottage was nevertheless in need of some serious updating. But still, it had all the ingredients that make one fall in love with a rural retreat: glorious views of the Galtee Mountains, an apple tree in bloom in the front garden, roses rambling across the front wall, the sun shining on oak planks and a little wood-burning stove in the living room. There was also a sweet kitchen with a Belfast sink and oak cupboards, a bedroom with a wrought-iron bed and a bathroom with an old-fashioned slipper bathtub. There was a small shower cubicle, but I could see myself in that bath, looking at the view through the window.
I looked around, noting the sparse furniture and the warped sash windows that were probably horribly draughty, and wondered if I’d suddenly gone all soft in the head. This was a sharp contrast to my plush modern flat in one of the best parts of Dublin. No central heating, power shower, dishwasher, Internet connection or even a landline. What was I thinking? I’d be mad to walk into a rental agreement for such a place.
“I’ll get one of the lads on the farm to give it a lick of paint,” Jules said as if she could read my mind. “And I’ve already ordered a new mattress and two easy chairs that will go on either side of the stove. I have tons of sheets and towels you can have. And blankets and stuff. Old curtains too that are lovely but will need altering. There’s a woman who does sewing. She’ll run them up in no time.”
“What about the Internet connection?” I asked.
“There isn’t one. But you can get mobile Wi-Fi. The signal is strong here.”
“No central heating?”
“No. But the stove will keep the living room nice and cosy, and there are electric radiators in the kitchen and the bedroom. I’ll put in one of those wall mounted fan heaters in the bathroom for you.”
“Grand,” I said, my eyes drifting to the sun dipping over the mountains, then back to the cracked plaster in the ceiling.
Jules hovered in the doorway. “So?”
I laughed. “I’m probably completely bonkers, but I’ll take it. And the little doggy if you’ll keep him for me until I move in.”
“Fabulous.” Jules heaved a huge sigh and held out her hand. “Welcome to Knocknagow, Finola McGee. I think you’ll be a terrific neighbour.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Better than the previous tenant, I’m sure.”
“Who was that? Some American tourist wanting to get to know ‘the real Ireland’?”
“No. Johnny Keegan. Your predecessor. And his wife and son. They loved the place.”
“So why did they leave?”
Jules’ eyes drifted to a spot on the wall behind me. “I don’t know. They just upped and left. Maybe they wanted a change of scene?”
“Hmm,” I said more to myself than anyone. “I smell a story. Or some kind of mystery.”
Jules focused on me again. “Don’t put your reporter’s nose where it doesn’t belong, Finola,” she said, a cold edge in her voice. “I don’t know what went on with Johnny, but a blow-in digging around in that stuff wouldn’t go down well with the locals. I know, being one myself.”
“Being a what? A blow-in? But your family must have been here for generations.”
Jules shrugged. “It takes a while before you’re considered a local around here.”
“How long does it take?” I couldn’t help asking.
“The same as a lawn. Three hundred years and a lot of patience.”
***
The Saturday edition of The Knockmealdown News caused a stir in the town. Not the whole edition, but the item about me that Dan had written. Behind my back, he’d ditched the idea of ten facts and ran up a short piece. I read it in the coffee shop near my lodgings, where I nearly choked on my latte and raisin scone as I read it.
THE NAKED TRUTH ABOUT FINOLA MCGEE
By Dan O’Meara
When I heard that Finola McGee was going to be our new editor, I couldn’t believe my luck. Working for this reporter, who, in a very short time became a legend in political journalism, was like a dream come true.
I’m sure most of our readers will remember how Finola and her legal-eagle friend across the pond managed to solve the murder of TD Eoin Ryan and crack the corruption case connected to a well-known software company. Not long after that, she also managed to unveil the goings-on behind a huge insurance scam that linked Boston and Dublin. Some dirty politicians are now behind bars because of her clever sleuthing. But she has assured me she has now put all that behind her and wants to enjoy the peace and quiet of the countryside and run our newspaper, making it even bigger and better than before. This is a welcome break for us here at The Knockmealdown News and our readers.
That’s what we know about Finola’s professional life. But what about the woman behind the legend? I’ve done a little research and spoken to those close to Finola during her early years and found a few facts that might surprise you. Here’s Finola up close and personal:
She was the captain of both the camogie and basketball teams at school. She was known as a true-blue fighter and once even played in the basketball final with a slipped disc (her team won). She tried every sport and physical activity she came across being one of those truly driven young women we all admire (and secretly fear). Not quite ballerina material, she was kicked out of ballet school at the age of twelve but excelled at Irish dancing, in which she won several medals. Way to go, Finola!
Finola was a top student and sailed into Trinity, where she studied journalism. She got her degree in record time and then worked with the both the Labour party and Fine Gael during their various election campaigns but decided to go the journalism route. During this time, she tried her hand at abseiling, windsurfing, women’s rugby and rowing.
Finola’s been engaged twice, but never married. She’s still looking forward to meeting Mr Right. Right, Finola? Maybe he’s lurking right here in County Tipp. Not such a long way to go if it turns out to be a happy ending...we’ll keep you posted!
I’m sure our readers, just like us here at the paper, are looking forward to finding out what Finola’s going to do with us all. She’s planning some pretty startling changes, including her own column: Finola’s Country File. We’re not sure what she’ll be writing about, but whatever it is, you know it won’t be boring!
To cap it all, there was a photo of me at the age of thirteen in an Irish-dancing costume. I was wearing braces and my smile was lopsided, making me look like a complete geek. Where on earth had he found it?
I exhaled, realising I’d held my breath while I read this horror story. Jesus, that Dan fellow had some nerve! I paid the bill and raced out of the café and down the main street, catching my breath as I reached the office building. Then rage took over, and I ran up the front steps, continued up the long stairs until I reached the office.
“Where the hell is Dan O’Meara?” I roared, making Sinead on the switchboard jump.
“He hasn’t come in yet,” she replied. There was a buzzing sound from the panel, and she turned her attention to the caller. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll forward your message.” She turned to me. “The phones have been hopping all morning. They all loved Dan’s piece about you.”
“Shit, it’s so cringe-making, I want to die.”
“No,” she protested. “Not at all. I thought it was sweet and heart-warming. I loved it. It makes you a real...person.”
“How fabulous.”
“I can tell you’re annoyed. But I love it. And it might make you less of a blow-in to people around here.”
Blow-in. How I hated that word. But in a rural area, someone who wasn’t Tipperary born and bred would forever be considered a stranger.
“We’ve nearly sold out, you know,” Sinead announced. “We should really do another print run. Do you want me to call the printers and tell them?”
“No. Better to let it run out. This way we can do a bigger print run next time.” I relaxed, slowly realising that Dan’s piece would not only sell more copies, but also herald the new look and feel of the paper. And if it made readers feel positive towards me, that wasn’t a bad thing at all. “Okay, so this was a good move by Dan. Not that I’m thrilled about having details of my love life spread all over town.”
Sinead giggled. “I know. But...” She paused. “You were engaged twice? What happened?”
I hesitated, knowing anything I told her would be out on the jungle telegraph within minutes. But if I didn’t say anything she might make up something worse. I sighed. “One of them fell for someone else.”
“That’s tough. I’m really sorry, Finola. And the other one?”
“The other one—”
“Yes?”
I shrugged. “We just weren’t compatible.”
Sinead looked disappointed. “I see.” She was interrupted by another buzzing from the switchboard, and she turned her attention away from me.
Relieved to have been saved from explaining the real reason for my second broken engagement, I walked into my office to deal with messages and work on the next issue of the paper. I sat down at my desk and started to make a few notes as ideas began to form. I’d do a weekly column. Nothing controversial, just fun stuff about a townie getting used to the country. I’d let Dan be the main reporter, as he had the finger on the pulse of the town. I’d even let him write the little crime section I was planning. Break-ins, the odd traffic accident and whatever else he could find out from the Guarda station. Could be informative and useful. While I was busy writing, the very man strolled into my office.
I stopped mid scribble. “Hi. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to give out to you about that piece.”
Dan stopped in his tracks. “I tried to make you interesting.”
“Oh, you did. Very interesting, it appears. My love life splashed all over the Saturday edition. Where on earth did you get that information? And that photo?”
“I contacted your old school and got the email address of the girl who edited the school year book. Cathy...Hannigan. She knew all about you.”
I groaned. “She would. She hated me.”
“Did she? Why?”
I leant back in my chair. “She used to pick on girls who were shy and vulnerable. She had her own little clique who’d go around and intimidate anyone who didn’t agree with them. But I managed to burst their little bubble and get them reported to the headmistress. Cathy Hannigan never managed to sit on me.” I frowned. “God, I hate bullies.”
“Who doesn’t? But anyway, I’m sorry if my piece embarrassed you.”
I shrugged and waved my hand at him. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m happy to share my love life in public if it helps sales.” I tapped my notes. “But sit down and we’ll do a little brainstorming. Since it’s Saturday and Sinead is manning the phones, we can go through this and then take the rest of the weekend off.”
“Great. Just tell me one thing. What did you do to get kicked out of ballet school?”
I scowled at him. “I grew.”
“Huh?”
“Let me put it to you this way...have you ever seen a five-foot-nine ballerina with size-seven feet?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No.”
“There you go. Can we forget about it and get down to business?”
Dan sat down on the chair in front of my desk. “Of course. So—” He was interrupted by Sinead screaming in the main office.
She ran into my office, her face red. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, do you know what I just heard?”
I stared at her. “No. Is there a fire somewhere?”
“No...no...no,” she stammered. “No fire. Just Colin Foley. Coming. Here.”
“Colin Foley, the actor?” I stared at her, mystified. “Here?”
“Yes. To Cloughmichael,” Sinead panted. “To make a movie.” She drew breath and put her hand on her heart. “My friend, Kate, who works at the Bianconi Inn, just told me. They’ve booked the whole hotel for two months. The movie company, I mean.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “I mean, is this true?”
Sinead nodded several times. “Yes, but it’s very confidential. Kate had to swear not to tell a soul until it’s all official.”
“So she told you immediately.” Dan remarked drily. “And then you rushed in here and told us.”
Sinead blushed. “Yeah, well, she is my best friend. And this is news, right?”
“Of course,” I soothed. “Very exciting news. I bet every female within two hundred miles will be swooning when they hear this. But I wouldn’t tell anyone else until it’s official.”
“Of course not,” Sinead said primly. “It’s confidential.”
Dan and I looked at each other in stunned silence when Sinead had stomped out of the office.
“Colin Foley,” I said. “The hottest Irishman on the planet. Here. In Cloughmichael. This is a fantastic scoop. And just after his Oscar nomination too.”
“This could be great for us,” Dan said. “For the town too.”
“What’s the movie?”
Dan shrugged. “No idea. I don’t follow show business news much. Do you?”
“No, but I read Hello Magazine at the hairdresser’s a few weeks ago. There was nothing else to read. The issue was a couple of months old. There was a feature about Colin, though. His marriage break-up was big news then.” I didn’t say I’d been so engrossed that the purple highlights had been added, as, too mesmerised by the pictures of Colin’s fling with a Mexican air hostess in the Bahamas, I barely noticed what was being done to my hair.
Dan smirked. “Yeah. Saw something about that in The Sunday Times.”
“What a body,” I said without thinking.
Dan nodded. “She was pretty hot, yeah.”
“Not her. Him,” I mumbled, remembering the abs, the biceps, not to mention the rear. I shook myself and cleared my throat. “But, um, back to business. What suggestions did you have to show me?”
“It’s about the website. It needs serious updating. I thought, to save money, we could get someone who’s looking to start his or her own web-design business and would agree to do it for free in exchange for exposure.”
“Good idea. Do you know someone like that?”
“No, but I’ve drawn up an ad we could put on the front page and make it stand out. In the left column, where we usually do community news. I’ve made up some text.” Dan pushed a piece of paper across the desk. It read:
The Knockmealdown News is seeking a web designer to update our website. The position will provide invaluable skills and experience in editorial design and other aspects of the publishing environment. In addition, the successful applicant will be able to showcase his/her talents in web design and setting up websites for their own design business. Applicants must be proficient in Adobe CS, in particular InDesign and Photoshop, and have an interest in editorial design. Please send your CV along with samples of design work to Dan O’Meara, at the Knockmealdown News head office, Cloughmichael.
“I’ll set up a Facebook page and Twitter account for us too.”
I stared at him. “You mean we don’t have those?”
“No. Johnny never did that social media stuff. He was kind of busy with—” Dan stopped. “Other problems,” he ended.
“What problems?”
Dan shrugged. “Not for me to say. But once I set those things up, we can mention this there too.”
Wondering what ‘problems’ Johnny Keegan had been dealing with, I pushed the paper back at Dan. “Excellent. Get Mary to run that in the Thursday edition.”
“Okay.” He got up. “Do you want to break the news about the movie in that issue?”
“I think we must. We might just get it in before it’s all over the country. Tell Sinead to keep her mouth shut, and make sure she tells her friends to do the same.”
“Hmm, I doubt we’ll be able to stop them. But I’ll do my best.”
The phone rang. It was Jules. “Hi, Finola,” she whispered. “Sorry to disturb you at the office, but I have something to tell you...”
“What is it? Why are you whispering?”
“All very hush-hush, but you should know that an American company called Mira—something, have contacted me about a film they’re going to make right here in Cloughmichael.”
“Miramax?”
“That’s it. They want to use the house as one of their sets. And the stables. They’ll be setting up all the trailers and movie equipment on the front lawn.”
“Really?” I said, deciding to hear her end of the story before I said anything. “What’s the movie about?”
“A story set just before the nineteen sixteen rising. Some romantic crap about a young girl from an aristocratic family falling in love with an Irish rebel. Complete rubbish, I’m sure. The movie will be something like the Titanic story. And some big star will be playing the main part. I don’t go to the cinema much and I don’t watch TV, so I’ve no idea who he is. The set will be closed to all outsiders, so you’ll have to have some kind of badge to go in and out. I wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t for the money they offered for the use of the house and grounds. And they want to use the horses too. It’ll all help pay for some urgent repairs. As I said, very hush-hush, but I thought I’d tell you, as the place is going to be quite noisy during the next few months. I hope you don’t mind. If you want to pull out of renting the cottage, I quite understand.”
“Not at all. I’m sure I can cope,” I said, trying to keep the glee out of my voice. I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d be up close and personal to the cast and crew. We could run this as a serial in the paper once it got rolling. And as no other media would have access to the set, The Knockmealdown News would have the exclusive...if I could swing it with the movie company. My mood plunged. That probably wouldn’t work. They were too big for us. But living on the set, as it were, I might have been able to weasel my way in some way. I’d faced bigger challenges like this in my chequered past.
Jules’ voice cut into my musings. “Not a word to anyone about this.”
“Of course not,” I lied. “When are they coming?”
“The director and producer have already been here to look at locations. But the cast and crew aren’t coming until the beginning of June.”
“I see.” The beginning of June. Only a couple of weeks away. No time to waste. I had to plan what I was going to do with this. Maybe write a clever little teaser or something.
“They’re looking for extras too. So they’ll be announcing that soon,” Jules continued. “Might be something fun for the locals.”
I blinked. There it was. The little opening I’d been looking for. “Brilliant! I’ll look into that. We could run the ad for them. Must go. Thanks for calling, Jules. I’ll see you during the week to plan for my move into the cottage.” I hung up and stuck my head out the door yelling for Dan. What Jules just said had given me the idea I was looking for. The next issue of the paper would soon have the town talking. And increase our circulation a little bit.
I felt the buzz of a new start and a whole new life for this little country newspaper.