Aisling's Summer Diary

Chapter 9 | When The Going Gets Tough...

My first day in Dún Mártain has been insane!  I gate-crashed a party, was an accessory to a €10,000 bet, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling for ANOTHER boy-next- door (something I’d promised Siobhan and myself I would NOT do).  And you want to know the worst part?  I can’t tell my best friend how I really feel about Ciaran’s insane bet or the hotel or Slater!   

Sunday 4 June

10 a.m.

This morning we woke up to a nasty surprise.  Someone (and I think I know who) has planted a huge sign between the Sea Crest and Celia’s.  CIARAN’S DUMP it says on one side, CELIA’S PALACE on the other, and there’s a score of zero (that’d be us) to seven.  The cheek of them!  You should have seen uncle Ciaran’s face when he caught sight of it.  He tried to make a big joke out of it—“How immature are they, huh? They’re never get ahead wasting their time with that sort of messing”—but none of us could even fake a laugh. 

10:30 a.m.  

We made tea and toast for Ciaran and set it out in the breakfast room, hoping to cheer him up a bit.  I tried to talk to Siobhan, but she kept me at arm’s length with small talk, and honestly, I don’t blame her.  I haven’t been a very good friend to her lately.

7:00 p.m.

On my way out for a walk, I noticed a letter I’d left out for Ciaran in the foyer.  He must not have seen it.  When I brought it out to him, he was tweaking the leg of an old chair with a screwdriver.  He set the chair aside and turned the letter over sullenly, then looked at me with a gut-rending earnestness.  “You know, I never intended for this place to be a hotel,” he said.  “I wanted create a business center for disadvantaged kids.  They could come here and learn to be entrepreneurs.”  My heart clenched.  I had so completely misjudged uncle Ciaran.  He wasn’t just about the bottom line—he really wanted to help people, to give something back.  And when he’d tried to do just that, he’d ended up with a few too many bills.

He looked out at the coastline and smiled.  “Ironic, right?  A business school on the verge of repossession.”  It was a pretty sad turn, but the idea itself, it was so inspiring.  Apparently, Ciaran had dozens of investors during the boom—all of his colleagues in Ireland, the UK and the States.  A real international business academy.  But then the markets crashed, and the investors had pulled out one by one.  He flicked the letter.  “This is the last one.  I’m well and truly on my own now.”  I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t, that we were all here to help, but I knew that wouldn’t make a bit of difference when the bank man came ‘round again.  Ciaran sighed and leaned on the porch railing.  “Celia can have this place now,” he said.  “I’ve no use for it.” 

I couldn’t resist asking about Celia; there was obviously some sort of history between the two of them.  They’d dated in college.  He was studying finance and she was writing a thesis on Indian cultures.  “She was always a bit out there.  I didn’t know what she was on about half the time,” he laughed.  Not much has changed there, I thought!  She’d proposed they go to India together on a spiritual quest, and he’d told her no—he was more intent upon making his first million than on feeding the poor in Delhi.  “So she went to India, and I went to New York and got into hotels.  Big time,” he said. 

I tried to picture Ciaran and Celia on a date—Ciaran in a wash-worn Uni hoodie and Celia in beads and sandals.  He’d almost definitely be chewing into a double cheese burger, not so subtly glancing at the stocks banner on the TV, and she’d be picking at a veggie burger, not so subtly eyeing his plate.  Even in my head they looked ridiculous!  And this contest?  It wasn’t just about booking rooms.  It was about Celia proving that her hippy-dippy ethics makes for better business.  And by the way she condescends to Ciaran, I’d say she thinks it makes for better people too. 

Ciaran made me promise that I wouldn’t say a word about any of this to Siobhan.  He’s afraid she’d never trust him again if she were to find out the truth about the Sea Crest and his troubles at the bank.  I swore I’d keep his secret, and he ducked back inside, wanting to be alone, I guessed. 

8:00 p.m.

I watched the waves crumbling one over the other on the rocks at the far end of the beach.  The tide was coming in.  Then, out of nowhere, someone whistled—you-who whistle not a heyyyy whistle.  Someone had wedged a blue box between one of the pillars, but there was no one in sight. 

I picked up the box—it was lighter than I’d expected.  There was a note tied to the lid: “Hey Cinders.  You left this at the party.  I’m waiting for you at the beach.  P. C. xxxx.”  Slater hadn’t forgotten me after all!  I pulled the cord free and opened the box, my heart roaring in my chest.  It was my bow tie, the one from my costume, and he’d nested it on top of a collection of glittering pink sea shells!  Murphy had never done anything like this for me, not even close.  The gesture was so wonderfully cheesy and sweet.  I could feel myself smiling. 

Should I go down to the beach?!  Siobhan was AWOL, and Ali was glued to his laptop “cyber chatting.”  Neither of them would miss me.  I knew it was probably a very bad idea, but something inside of me, something bold and giddy, said I HAD to go.  Let’s just hope curiosity doesn’t get this cat into too much trouble!    

...........

Click the Thumbnail Below or Click Info on Mobile to Watch the Webisode.