‘I suppose so,’ she said although she’d never admit to anyone that even driving her own modest Mini made her feel a little nervous. She hopped across into the driver’s seat gamely and had a go. And it was not too bad at all. So, she started and stopped a few times, but Dan was kind enough to put her conking out down to an airlock in the diesel pipes – or something along those lines.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked as she parked it outside the cottage again.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply, because it was probably the most thoughtful thing anyone could have organised for Jo.
‘Stop it. I just thought, she might not be fit to walk all the way down to the cove and I spotted this rambling about the hills one day. The farmer was happy enough to lend it to me for a few hours; people are lovely here like that, aren’t they?’
‘They are,’ she said smiling and then, she dropped her voice a little. ‘It’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to stay on…’
‘You’re staying?’ he asked and then she saw something else: he blushed. ‘I’m so glad… for you and for Elizabeth.’
‘If you’re planning on staying too, that’ll be two new faces at the Christmas fair,’ she joked.
‘My family in London think I’m mad to want to stay here.’ He smiled now. ‘We’ll have to see what Tuesday brings,’ he said a little nervously. She had almost forgotten about his arrangement to meet the old nun the following week.
‘It’s going to be fine; Mother Agatha is nothing like Sister Berthilde,’ Lucy said as reassuringly as she could manage.
As night drew in the village had an almost carnival feel to it, as though something exciting was about to take place. It was almost as if the whole sea was holding its breath. The waves, instead of crashing tonight, slipped in gently, icing the sand with a damp velvety coating. The local men’s group had dotted lanterns along the sand and they burned a bright and almost hedonistic path to the cove. Jo loved it all and Lucy caught a tear falling from her eyes when they stood looking at it from their front door.
There was no telling how much money had been raised for the hospice, but on the night of the swim, women turned up not only from Ballycove, but also from several of the neighbouring towns too. Lucy saw a few of the female medical reps and even Thea Gilchrist – the locum who’d covered in the surgery before she’d arrived – turned up with a sponsorship card and a fat envelope filled with twenty-euro notes. They had organised for the swim to take place at exactly midnight. Most of the women would just about dip in and quickly out of the water. Lucy knew it was much too cold for many of them to hang about and the fun would be in that first icy blast and then running up and quickly drying off again.
The charity had been good enough to organise a photographer, who was going to take some shots, but promised that, somehow, they’d manage to keep it all very modest.
‘I’ll strategically add in a pink ribbon to cover everyone’s jiggly bits at the end,’ she intoned to the startled Elizabeth as she began to unpack a fairly complex-looking camera. ‘These shots, well, you can see them for yourself when they are done and if everyone is happy, the charity will use them to promote and thank you all.’
‘We’ll see,’ Elizabeth said tightly. Lucy knew that she wouldn’t fancy having her bottom on display for the laughing country man to ogle before his breakfast.
‘Now, will someone say a few words?’ They were standing; almost two hundred women in the sheltered cove, wearing a selection of heavy coats and bathrobes, waiting for the moment when they’d drop cover and make a run for it.
‘Go on.’ Lucy gave Elizabeth a little shove.
‘It was really Jo too.’ Elizabeth held out her hand and brought Jo with her to the centre of the gathered circle. ‘Ladies.’ She cleared her throat, while the chatter died down for a moment. ‘We just wanted to say a quick word of thanks. Thanks to everyone who has made the effort to collect sponsorship and support this worthy cause, but thanks even more so for turning up here and being such good sports. Today’s swim is our way of telling cancer to…’ She paused, seemed to think for a moment, and then looked across at Jo. ‘Well, to bugger off; it’s not going to get the better of us.’
There was rapturous applause and maybe it was as much because of the way the words were delivered as it was the sentiment behind them. It was very obvious from Elizabeth’s tone that words like bugger were not often, if ever, uttered.