is a garage it would be silly not to have it looked at.’
‘Oh goodness! Of course you must get it checked out. Will there be a garage here that can deal with antique cars, though?’
‘Of course. It’s not that old. I’m sure there’s nothing much wrong with it. I’m just a bit nervous about breaking down far from home. We had some grisly times in the van, I can tell you.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Laura, slightly relieved that Monica, who seemed so well travelled and super-calm, had some normal neuroses.
‘The bed-and-breakfast people will know,’ said Monica.
‘I hope it won’t take us too long to find it,’ said Laura.
‘Oh come on,’ said Monica. ‘How hard will it be to find in a place this size? It’s tiny!’
‘I know. I can’t make out why they’re having the festival based here, and not in the town five miles up the road. And why is it so popular we could hardly find a place to rest our heads?’ Resting her head was a high priority at the moment.
‘Perhaps it’s that writer the sponsor is so keen on. Maybe he’s bringing them in in busloads.’
Laura shrugged. ‘Well, we certainly travelled quite a way to come and see him, although we do have an ulterior motive. But it is a charming place, isn’t it?’
They looked around at the brightly painted houses, the cars parked all higgledy-piggledy and the fishing boats tied up in the harbour. It wasn’t conventionally pretty, but it had great character.
‘Mm,’ agreed Monica, ‘and if it has a garage I’ll think it’s even more charming. Let’s get going!’
As Monica predicted, the bed and breakfast was not hard to find. It was a bungalow, tucked behind a hedge to shield it from the road, not that there was any traffic of note. The landlady was one of those useful people who imparted information without you having to ask for it.
‘Good afternoon girls, I’m Marion,’ she said cheerily. ‘Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea now? Come into the kitchen. You’re here for the festival? I expect you’re wondering why we have it in January.’ She paused for breath. ‘Fact is, the place is heaving in summer. It’s a real tourist spot, but there’s nothing going on in the winter, so they thought they’d have a festival of some kind in Patricktown – you know? Up the road?’
Laura and Monica nodded and took seats at the big wooden table.
‘Well – is it builders’ tea you like? Or I’ve got Earl Grey, Lady Grey, any amount of herbals, White tipped China—’
‘Builders’ tea please,’ they said in unison.
‘But Himself said – that’s your great writer man, Dermot Flynn – he said he wouldn’t go to a festival he had to travel five miles to, and so they have it here. It’s grand for business. Now, have you had tea – I mean proper tea, not just a cup of tea in your hand?’
‘Yes, we had an all-day breakfast at the café.’
‘He would have given you a grand big Full Irish, didn’t he?’
‘He did, only we saw a girl.’
‘Oh yes. She’s my niece. A lovely girl.’
Accompanied by constant, amiable chat, the girls were escorted to their room. It was, Monica declared, a picture.
‘I’ve never seen anything so fantastically kitsch in my life! It’s a fairy palace!’ she said once their landlady was safely out of earshot.
‘And all in mauve,’ agreed Laura, slightly less enthralled. ‘I don’t think there’s anything that could take another purple frill if its life depended on it.’
Monica bounced on one of the single beds. ‘Comfy. What’s the bathroom like?’
‘Mauve,’ said Laura, peering into a little room adjacent to theirs. ‘Even the loo paper is mauve. But it seems to have everything, including a bath.’
Her yearning for one must have been audible because Monica said, ‘Why don’t you sink into it while I sort the car out? Then we can either go out or just stay in and watch television.’
By the time Monica came back the television was watching itself with
‘Oh goodness! Of course you must get it checked out. Will there be a garage here that can deal with antique cars, though?’
‘Of course. It’s not that old. I’m sure there’s nothing much wrong with it. I’m just a bit nervous about breaking down far from home. We had some grisly times in the van, I can tell you.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Laura, slightly relieved that Monica, who seemed so well travelled and super-calm, had some normal neuroses.
‘The bed-and-breakfast people will know,’ said Monica.
‘I hope it won’t take us too long to find it,’ said Laura.
‘Oh come on,’ said Monica. ‘How hard will it be to find in a place this size? It’s tiny!’
‘I know. I can’t make out why they’re having the festival based here, and not in the town five miles up the road. And why is it so popular we could hardly find a place to rest our heads?’ Resting her head was a high priority at the moment.
‘Perhaps it’s that writer the sponsor is so keen on. Maybe he’s bringing them in in busloads.’
Laura shrugged. ‘Well, we certainly travelled quite a way to come and see him, although we do have an ulterior motive. But it is a charming place, isn’t it?’
They looked around at the brightly painted houses, the cars parked all higgledy-piggledy and the fishing boats tied up in the harbour. It wasn’t conventionally pretty, but it had great character.
‘Mm,’ agreed Monica, ‘and if it has a garage I’ll think it’s even more charming. Let’s get going!’
As Monica predicted, the bed and breakfast was not hard to find. It was a bungalow, tucked behind a hedge to shield it from the road, not that there was any traffic of note. The landlady was one of those useful people who imparted information without you having to ask for it.
‘Good afternoon girls, I’m Marion,’ she said cheerily. ‘Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea now? Come into the kitchen. You’re here for the festival? I expect you’re wondering why we have it in January.’ She paused for breath. ‘Fact is, the place is heaving in summer. It’s a real tourist spot, but there’s nothing going on in the winter, so they thought they’d have a festival of some kind in Patricktown – you know? Up the road?’
Laura and Monica nodded and took seats at the big wooden table.
‘Well – is it builders’ tea you like? Or I’ve got Earl Grey, Lady Grey, any amount of herbals, White tipped China—’
‘Builders’ tea please,’ they said in unison.
‘But Himself said – that’s your great writer man, Dermot Flynn – he said he wouldn’t go to a festival he had to travel five miles to, and so they have it here. It’s grand for business. Now, have you had tea – I mean proper tea, not just a cup of tea in your hand?’
‘Yes, we had an all-day breakfast at the café.’
‘He would have given you a grand big Full Irish, didn’t he?’
‘He did, only we saw a girl.’
‘Oh yes. She’s my niece. A lovely girl.’
Accompanied by constant, amiable chat, the girls were escorted to their room. It was, Monica declared, a picture.
‘I’ve never seen anything so fantastically kitsch in my life! It’s a fairy palace!’ she said once their landlady was safely out of earshot.
‘And all in mauve,’ agreed Laura, slightly less enthralled. ‘I don’t think there’s anything that could take another purple frill if its life depended on it.’
Monica bounced on one of the single beds. ‘Comfy. What’s the bathroom like?’
‘Mauve,’ said Laura, peering into a little room adjacent to theirs. ‘Even the loo paper is mauve. But it seems to have everything, including a bath.’
Her yearning for one must have been audible because Monica said, ‘Why don’t you sink into it while I sort the car out? Then we can either go out or just stay in and watch television.’
By the time Monica came back the television was watching itself with
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