Aisling's Summer Diary

Chapter 19 | Windfall

With more and more summer holiday-makers pouring onto the beach, Ciaran, Siobhan, Ali, and I were poised to put the Surf Shack on the map.  But there was a slight problem.  We’d only managed to book four rooms in the past couple of days!  I was beginning to have that sinking sense that our luck had run out—that is until Ciaran’s old friend (and business partner) Fionnuala showed up!

Wednesday 7 June

11 a.m.

I was washing up the dishes from breakfast (the BEST scrambled eggs on toast I’ve ever made!) when there was a knock at the door.  Just as I was peeling off my gloves to answer it, Ciaran trotted past the kitchen, flip-flops slapping across the tiles.  His hair was still a bit wet from his morning surf, and he wore board shorts and a fleecy hoody—every bit the Surf Shack poster-boy.  A few seconds later, he came back in, trailing a svelte blonde in a slate pencil skirt and blazer behind him.  WHO was she?!

She is Fionnuala Kelly, the editor of Irish Beach Holiday magazine!  Ciaran and she had been partners ages ago in New York—first a chain of boutique hotels and later a family-friendly resort on Long Island.  She’d been the first to sign onto Ciaran’s “Young Entrepreneurs” project in Dún Mártain, but like the others had had to pull out when several of her overseas publications had gone under.  

For the past few years, she’d devoted herself to promoting Irish “staycations” in her magazine.  Why rake out a load of cash on airfare and rental cars and overrated accommodation when you can have a brilliant beach holiday right here in Ireland?  “This place is perfect,” she said, “just what people want these days.  Breathtaking scenery, fresh local produce, and reasonable rates!”  Siobhan told me she’d mentioned sending a reviewer down once she was back in Dublin! 

2:30 p.m.

I was so excited about the prospect of an honest-to-goodness review, I decided I’d try to seal the deal by making Fionnuala a special lunch.  Every afternoon, the fishermen offload all sorts of fresh seafood at the pier—salmon, crab, langoustines.  I pedaled down to the village, my head full to overflowing with ideas!  Poached salmon would be nice.  Maybe a tad boring.  Crab salad?  Nice and light, anyway, and full of color.  

3:20 p.m.

I decided to be bold and got a dozen langoustines.  I prepped them just like the chef had shown me, boiling them for exactly three minutes, and pulling the sweet meat out of the tail.  Then I served them with wild rice and my own secret garlic dip.  As Fioannuala took her first bite, I stood aside, wringing my hands in my apron.  I was taking a big chance.  This was the first time ever that I’d foregone the cookbook and let my imagination do the work.  AND she LOVED it!  She didn’t leave a single bite on her plate!  

3:45 p.m.

I hated to leave—with Fioannuala about, the hotel felt so much more alive!—but I had to get to the restaurant.  Tonight the chef was going to walk me through his famous lobster bisque!  I apologized to Fioannuala for ducking out and made for the door.  I’m pretty sure Siobhan made some kind of face at me like where did I think I was going?!  And I get it.  Officially she is supposed to be the one calling the shots, especially in front of guests, but all of this sneaking around is FOR the hotel!   

Of course, she probably thinks I’m off with Slater or some other boy.  “It’s always about how you feel, Aisling.”  She actually said that to me, and maybe that used to be sort of true.  But these days I find myself thinking less and less about who I like and more and more about what I like.  Slater was right, so.  When you don’t know who you want, you choose yourself.  And this cooking scene—it’s actually so much fun.  The more I learn, the more I WANT to learn, and the more I feel like someone.  I wonder would Siobhan believe me if I told her I was sneaking off to be with myself??? 

8 p.m.

The chef let me go early with a sack full of mini quiches and chocolate biscuits for the Shark’s Tooth Hotel’s grand opening!  I was so stoked!  The way we’d plastered the beach front with flyers, the whole village was bound to show!   

But when I ran in from the kitchen, a tray of goodies in each hand, the great hall was EMPTY.  Well, empty if you don’t count Ali, Siobhan, and Ciaran.  The three of them were slouched against the wall, balloons and streamers swaying about them, the music thumping.  “Yay, Aisling!  You’re our first guest!” Siobhan said.  “No one else came?  At all?” I asked, sharing out the biscuits and quiches.  “Not a one,” Ciaran droned.  “They’ll come,” Siobhan said as she peered through the window to the beach below.  “They have to...”

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