Tea for Two

Jody stepped back to look at the front sign they had just finished putting up: “Tae do beirt” — Tea for Two in Irish Gaelic. Sandrine, Sandy as everybody called her, her business partner and best friend, wasn’t sure about the name, though she liked the way it sounded.

“People will think Irish is spoken here,” Sandy said. She had been living in Dooagh, Co. Mayo, Ireland, for more than five years, and her French accent could still be heard.

“Relax,” Jody told her. “Only a few people speak the language.”

After many comings and goings, piles of paperwork, and endless administrative matters, Jody was finally able to use her grandmother’s cottage as a tea house. It had been Jody and Sandy’s dream ever since they had met some years earlier in the staff room of the school. Sandy had just arrived from her hometown, a small farming village in the south of France, with her two children. She had divorced her husband of ten years and was seeking an opportunity to start afresh abroad. She applied for the position of French teacher at the local school and also gave private lessons to people who wanted to travel.

Her children enjoyed the place, made friends, and loved their school, but they could not forget their roots. When they finished secondary school, they decided to attend college in Paris. Sandy’s ex-husband played a big role in that decision, as he made it clear he would only pay for their tuition if they returned to France.

With resignation and a deep sigh, Sandy watched her children leave. She could have moved back to France — something that had crossed her mind — but the project she and Jody had in their hands excited her so much that she stayed and did not regret it. Her children were fine with her decision, as they loved the Irish town they had come to see as a second home and adored having a place to return to for holidays.

Dooagh was a village on Achill Island in the west of Ireland, best known for nearby Keem Bay, a Blue Flag beach. It was a paradise for children and tourists during the summer, but for the rest of the year, it was wet, wild, and lonely, a place shaped by weather, routine, and the steady presence of the sea. Still, there were caves to explore, cliffs to climb, birds’ nests to discover, and wild sheep with great curly horns to observe.

Jody and Sandy believed that, given the chance, they could contribute to local tourism by promoting the area year-round. For that reason, they felt the village needed a good tea house and an inn. Setting up a small inn that would be open both summer and winter. The main reaction from most of the townspeople was total disbelief.

Little by little, however, people began to realise that it was actually going to happen. Every objection that was raised had already been considered by the two friends. It took time and money to gently renovate the cottage, preserving its original features and maintaining the area’s heritage.

The cottage had belonged to Jody Brennan’s grandmother, a low stone building set back from the road, its walls thick enough to hold warmth even in the harshest months.

Sandrine fell in love with it immediately, not because it was perfect, but because it felt contained, as though it knew how to keep a person. She liked that it was slightly removed from the village, not isolated, but private. Enough space to breathe. Enough quiet to think.

Jody, who had known the cottage all her life, watched Sandrine walk through the rooms with careful interest. She touched the furniture lightly, as if asking permission, and asked practical questions about repairs, heating, and damp.

The idea for the tea house followed naturally.

Jody had spoken about it for years, always in half-formed sentences: something small, something welcoming, a place that belonged to the village rather than to tourists alone.

Jody had been hesitant at first, but their shared passion led them to open the first and only tea house in the village. They also provided work for some locals, hiring Caoimhe as a waitress and Mrs Patterson as a cook.

The name, “ Tae do beirt”, came later, chosen one quiet evening over a bottle of wine. Tea for two. It felt right. Simple. Honest.

The renovations took longer than expected. Money disappeared more quickly than either of them liked. Sandy invested a considerable portion of her retirement savings without quite admitting to herself how much it mattered. Jody, in turn, contributed the cottage, the land, and years of unspoken hope.

Sandy visited the many public houses scattered around the countryside and told the owners about their plans. Their guests would want to tour the cliffs and hills around the town. They would recommend that visitors see the real Ireland and have lunch in traditional bars and pubs in the area. In return, she asked the pub owners to send customers their way — tourists who might want to stay at the inn or enjoy tea and pastries at “Tae do beirt.”

They decided to start small with the tea house and convert Jody’s upstairs rooms into a humble but cosy inn. Sandy offered Jody a place in her own home while they worked on the project, as she had two spare rooms that belonged to her grown-up children, who only returned once or twice a year. Jody gladly accepted.

Jody’s grandmother was her last remaining relative. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was a child, and Nana, as she called her grandmother, raised her alone after Grandpa George died three years later. For Jody, he was little more than a shadow and a photograph in a frame. Luckily, Nana was an excellent seamstress and managed to make a living for herself and her granddaughter, as she was sought after even in neighbouring villages. Nana insisted on Jody’s education, as she did not want her to follow in her footsteps.

“Too self-sacrificing, my child,” she always told her.

Jody decided to study Business Administration at Galway University. She was not sure what business she would eventually run, but she was not keen on any other field of study, and Nana encouraged her, saying that anything was better than making a living with needle and thread.

Nana had been right. Only now did Jody feel she could truly use what she had studied to manage her own enterprise. For the past seven years, she had worked as the administrator at the local school. That was where she met Sandy and where they became best friends.

Jody was single and, as she always said, “not in a hurry.” She had had a couple of relationships, but none had been particularly serious. Still, Jody believed in love, and as Sandy often remarked, “she’s waiting for the one.” Jody was a beautiful woman in her early forties, with dark red curly hair worn in a short bob and big blue eyes that contrasted with her marble-like skin. She was neither tall nor short, but slim, and she liked to wear sports clothes — something Sandy occasionally reproached her for.

By contrast, Sandy was ash-blonde, tall, and toned, as she spent many hours a week at the gym. She was five years older than Jody, but it didn’t show. She loved to dress elegantly, even in a small town like Dooagh, where, as Jody liked to say, “nothing happens.”

The plans went on and on. There would be five guest bedrooms, one large kitchen — the architect enlarged the original kitchen while preserving as much of it as possible — and a dining area where all the guests would eat dinner together. The old sitting room, with its enormous window overlooking the sea, where Jody and Nana had once spent their evenings by the fire, would become the tea house.

Jody, who was in charge of the renovations, found a huge old-fashioned table. She scrubbed it and discovered that it was rustic, authentic, and unmistakably Irish. A local craftsman made matching chairs and restored Nana’s old dresser to display the china — Sandy’s idea. Whenever they had time, Sandy and Jody drove to auctions and sales around the countryside, finding glasses, plates, bowls, and antique tea sets.

Sandy loved teapots, so they bought quite a few. Jody wasn’t sure they would ever use them all, but Sandy assured her they would look divine in the dresser and on special shelves around the room. Nana’s old rugs and small antique tables were also restored. Deep down, Jody knew her grandmother would have been delighted to see her cherished treasures put to good use.

When the planning applications were approved, Jody requested a walled kitchen garden so they could grow their own vegetables. She wanted “Tae do beirt” to be known for the freshness of its dishes and the quality of its vegetarian options.

Sandy, who had studied countless magazines featuring hotels and country houses, took charge of the décor, as they could not afford a professional designer. She proved to have elegant taste and a flair for good ideas. She was also responsible for creating a website and handling online bookings — a world still foreign to her — but with help from her children via video call, she managed.

Sometimes, during the process, Jody would wrap herself in Nana’s old woollen shawl, walk along the cliffs at night, and gaze out over the Atlantic Ocean. It gave her strength and a sense of connection to the land. She had moments of doubt and fear, worrying that she had committed to something larger than herself and had dragged her best friend along. But she always dismissed the thought, as something in the dark sea before her seemed to tell her she was doing the right thing. Then she would go back inside, make herself a mug of tea, and realise she was happier than she had ever been. She thanked the Almighty — and her Nana — for the hope that filled her. She knew they would succeed. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was ready for the sacrifice. Her worries would fade, whether because of the wild winds, the comforting tea, or a combination of both. Every morning, she woke ready for anything — which was just as well, because in the months ahead, there would be much to face.

That was why watching the sign being nailed to the front of their tea house made her, perhaps, the happiest woman in town.