Michelle Vernal Box Set
The Guesthouse on the Green Series
Christmas at O’Mara’s
Bonus, New Year’s Eve with the O’Maras, Short Read
A Wedding at O’Mara’s
Maureen’s Song
Table of Contents
Title Page
Michelle Vernal Box Set - The Guesthouse on the Green Series, Christmas at O'Mara's, New Year's Eve with the O'Maras, A Wedding at O'Mara's, Maureen's Song
Also by Michelle Vernal
Christmas at O’Mara’s | Michelle Vernal
New Year’s Eve with the O’Maras
A Wedding at O’Mara’s
Maureen’s Song | By Michelle Vernal
Maureen’s Song | by | Michelle Vernal
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Book 8, The Guesthouse on the Green Series | The O’Mara’s in LaLa Land
Pre-Order here: https://books2read.com/u/bW12e1
The Promise | By Michelle Vernal | The Beginning
MICHELLE VERNAL LOVES a happy ending. She lives with her husband and their two boys in the beautiful and resilient city of Christchurch, New Zealand. She’s partial to a glass of wine, loves a cheese scone, and has recently taken up yoga—a sight to behold indeed. As well as The Guesthouse on the Green series Michelle’s written eight standalone novels. They’re all written with humour and warmth and she hopes you enjoy reading them. If you enjoy reading The Guesthouse on the Green series boxset then taking the time to say so by leaving a review would be wonderful. A book review is the best present you can give an author. If you’d like to hear about new releases in this series, and other book news you can subscribe to Michelle’s newsletter here: http://tiny.cc/0r27az
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Also by Michelle Vernal
The Cooking School on the Bay
Second-hand Jane
Staying at Eleni’s
The Traveller’s Daughter
Sweet Home Summer
The Promise
The Dancer
When we say Goodbye
Christmas at O’Mara’sMichelle Vernal
Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Vernal
Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel, Christmas at O’Mara’s is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.
Introduction
Cliona Whelan, Clio for short, had been many things in her fifty-nine years on this earth. A daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, journalist and now a published and, some would say, feted novelist, but there were things she hadn’t been too. Things she’d have liked to have been had fate played her a different hand. If she’d been born into these modern times, perhaps she would have had it all but in her youth, there was no such thing as, “having your cake and eating it too”. She’d had to make choices, hard decisions because she couldn’t have it all. She wasn’t a wife, nor a mother and she would never be someone’s grandmother. ‘I’ve got you though haven’t I, Bess.’ It was a statement not a question and she reached down to stroke the cat’s silky back as she meandered past on her way through from the kitchen where she’d finished her breakfast to bask on her favourite chair. Bess mewled but didn’t pause on her well-worn path.
Clio took a sip of milky tea from her china cup. The dancing rose pattern, so delicate against the white, bone china, was beautiful and she paused briefly to admire it as she set it back down in its matching saucer. The Japanese knew the importance of things being just right when it came to drinking one’s tea. They’d understand her refusal to sip her morning brew from anything other than this rose teacup. It was a habit adopted from her mam. God rest her soul. ‘It tastes different when it’s not in my cup,’ Maeve Whelan used to say. Clio had thought her a terrible old fusspot suffering from delusions of grandeur when she was young, but now, she knew exactly what she’d meant.
She heard the familiar rattle of the cast iron letter slot being pushed open by Niall. He of the ruddy cheeks and ready grin who’d been the postman delivering to her street for forever and a day. It was followed by the soft plop of mail landing on the mat by the front door. Clio liked this time of year. Oh, she wasn’t a fan of the cold. She’d have been happier banging away on her trusty old typewriter somewhere warm and sunny like Spain. Dublin could be bleak in the depth of winter. What she liked about the month of December though, was the way in which people became kinder and more engaged with one another. Those that would hurry along the streets, heads down, keen to be on their way the rest of the year, would slow a little, look one another in the eye and give a nodding smile in passing. It was as if they’d suddenly remembered what really mattered in life. She enjoyed sifting through the post of a morning too knowing there’d be a pile of cards to open—it was much more enjoyable than eyeing the electric bill while munching her toast.
Clio liked to eke out her morning routine, partly because it took longer to wind through the gears and crank into fourth these days and partly because she wasn’t, and never had been, a morning person. She got up and knotted her dressing gown tie before padding through on slipper-clad feet to the kitchen. She slotted her toast into the toaster pushing the handle down before going to fetch the mail. The white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and her eyes flitted over the different handwriting as she scooped them up, but as she registered the postmark on one such envelope her breath caught and her hand fluttered to her mouth. The envelope, as her eyes drifted to
