Truths must be told, despite the inevitable consequences.
WHEN ROSS ARRIVED for work, Olivia was relieved to discover that she was neither love-struck nor mortified in his presence. She was just pleased to see him, and Iris, who breezed into the shop like a daisy in yellow and white, her red wellies squeaking against the floorboards. A hassled-looking Ross skulked in behind her, saying he had a huge favor to ask.
Olivia raised her eyebrows and wished he would stop looking so casually handsome.
“Is there any chance you could mind Iris for a few hours? I’ve a meeting with my editor, and school’s closed for teacher training or something. I forgot, because I’m an idiot. It’s only for a few hours. I wouldn’t ask, Liv, but I’m really stuck.”
He couldn’t have known that today of all days wasn’t the best for Olivia, but she couldn’t say no when the child was already standing beside her and besides, Olivia liked Iris. Perhaps it was that she saw a lot of herself in her: head always in a book, endless questions, the knowing sense that she was different now, forever changed beneath the gaping absence of her mother.
“It’s fine. Go on. But you owe me.”
He went to hug her but changed his mind, and what might have been a lovely embrace became an awkward sort of chest bump. “You’re a star, Liv. Thanks a million.”
Olivia turned to Iris. “You don’t mind hanging out with me for a while, do you?”
“Nope. Can I watch cartoons?”
Olivia looked at Ross, who nodded his consent. “Go on then. I’ll come up in a minute.”
Iris followed Hemingway upstairs to the flat, leaving Ross, Olivia, and Friday night’s kiss alone in the shop.
They both started to speak at the same time.
“Listen, about Friday night . . .”
“I hope you’re not . . .”
Olivia waved Ross’s explanation away. “It’s fine. A drunken mistake. Don’t worry.”
He smiled shyly and said that was a relief. “I’ve been thinking about it all weekend, worrying that you might be expecting a marriage proposal! Thanks for being cool about it. I told you gooseberries were bad for me.”
Olivia wished him good luck for his meeting and closed the door behind him. As the bell fell silent, she felt utterly deflated.
Why hadn’t she told him about Jack? Why had she let it all get so complicated?
IRIS WAS A pleasant child, but she was still a child, and after an hour spent trying to keep her occupied while she got on with some work, Olivia realized she couldn’t indefinitely keep a seven-year-old entertained in a small bookshop. To her relief, Henry appeared—as he was apt to do whenever she needed him—and offered to mind the shop while Olivia took Iris out for some fresh air. Monday mornings were always quiet, so Olivia agreed, grabbed her coat and bag, and left Henry to it. It was Iris’s idea to go to the Fairy Tree in Marlay Park. It was a long journey, but she promised Olivia it would be worth it.
By the time they arrived, the rain had stopped, leaving sunshine and puddles for Iris to splash in as they walked through the park.
Iris pulled Olivia along, eager to get there as quickly as possible, leading her along a shaded path that wound through the trees until she took a left turn down an even narrower path, and there it was: an ancient-looking tree trunk in a clearing, with castle turrets on top. Around the side of the tree, spiral steps led up to tiny windows, dainty washing lines suspended between them. At the foot of the tree was a miniature door. Iris stood on tiptoe to peer into the windows before crouching down to knock on the door, whispering secret messages. Olivia’s attention was drawn to the things pinned to the trunk.
“What’s all this, Iris?”
“Those are the wishes. For the fairies.”
Olivia took a closer look at the strange collection of trinkets tied to the tree: baby soothers, pictures, flowers, and messages. “I wish for Mammy to be better soon.” “Dear fairies, please look after my baby brother what’s in heaven.” “Thank you for bringing the money for my tooth.” Such simple, beautiful sentiments.
Olivia asked Iris if she wanted to make a wish.
“I already did,” she said. “I always wish the same thing.” She came closer to Olivia and whispered, “I wish for Mammy to come home.” Olivia’s heart broke as Iris grasped her hand. “But I don’t think the fairies can hear me, because it never comes true.”
Olivia bent down and placed her hands on Iris’s cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart. Some wishes are just too big, even for the fairies.”
“That’s what Daddy says. He says Mammy is with the fairies now and that they’re all looking after me, even if I can’t see them.”
“And I think he’s right.” She hugged Iris and wished she could take away some of her heartache. “You know, my mammy went to play with the fairies, too, when I was only young.”
“Does she still look after you?”
“She does. All the time.”
“I wish Daddy had a fairy to look after him. I think he’s sad.”
“Well, we’d better do something about that, then.” Olivia rummaged around in her bag until she found an old envelope and a pen. “Here. Make a wish for your Daddy. If you leave it at the tree, the fairies will read it.”
When Iris had written her note, Olivia helped her push it into a knot in the tree. Iris stood back to admire it before rushing off into the trees beside them.
“Where are you going?”
“To find a flower. You have to leave them a gift.”
She returned with a handful of bluebells, which she laid at the door.
Olivia hoped with her whole heart that the fairies were listening and watching, because of all the little girls she had ever met, she couldn’t think of one who was more deserving of her wish to come true than little Iris Bailey in her red wellies.
IT WAS ONLY when Olivia was locking up the shop for the day that she noticed a package on the desk. It was addressed to Olivia Kavanagh, Something Old, Little Lane, Howth, County Dublin. It must have arrived while Henry was minding the shop and he’d forgotten to mention it to her.
She opened the padded envelope and removed an early edition of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. Inside the frontispiece was an inscription. “For Olivia. ‘And that was the beginning of fairies.’”
There was no signature. No date. No note.
There never was.