C H A P T E R 8 - M R T A S N A D T O N N T A

C H A P T E R   8    -   M ó r t a s   n a   d t o n n t a  

The rain was beating hard on the ground and somehow, in all the confusion she had lost him. She called his name, but her voice dissolved in the mad crashing of the waves and violent swishing of the wind. It felt like the world was about to come down on her and in the air suffused with cold and salt it was hard to breathe.

The storm came suddenly this time. No warning was given before the skies turned black and winds picked up. One moment they were looking for the lost girl, the next everything was dark and blurry, cold rain assaulting their shoulders.

Órlaith turned around and around in the darkness, trying to see something to cling on to, make her way to the lighthouse, lock herself in and try to reach Brian some other way, but there was nothing but rain and the occasional burst of lightning that blinded her to everything around her. She was close to tears now, not of desperation, but pure pain. The salty air burned her eyes and flogged her skin until it felt hot and ached. She hid it behind her sleeve and pushed on, moving in the direction she hoped the lighthouse stood. She never got as far as the lighthouse though.

She was stopped, just at the edge of the path, when a small, curved body hit her side, sending he flying across the underbrush into ice cold sand. She hit her head on a old, rotting boat carcass as she went down, wincing at the sudden flash of pain. When she opened her eyes she was cradling a shivering tiny body to her.

‘They’re coming, they are coming,’ it kept repeating, over and over again in a hushed, raspy tone, only stopping for a moment to cough. It clung to her with crooked, white fingers and when she tried to pull it off, the boy screamed, shaking his head. ‘Please, please, I can’t… I want to go home… please…’

For a second she believed she may have hit her head a little too hard and was hallucinating the whole thing. She blinked up at the tear-streaked face, opening and closing her mouth. The fear in the boy’s eyes finally broke through her daze and she pulled him close into a hug, whispering, ‘I got you. I got you. We will take you home now. We will…’

The boy stared crying then, strong, broken gasps that shook his frail frame and pushed him deeper and deeper into her. She covered him with the hug, soul and body, rocking him for what seemed like hours before a dimmed glow of a lantern appeared over them and she looked up into Brian’s shocked, huge eyes.

‘Jesus fuck,’ he gasped, staring at the boy with pure horror, ‘you found him.’

E n d   o f   b o o k   I

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C H A P T E R   2    -   S a s a n a c h   ( p t   1)

The village stretched along the wild Atlantic way spoiling views of golden beaches and sprawling dunes. Fanore - the ring of gold. Shame that the only thing that could be seen from the tiny parking lot looking out into the general direction of the ocean was a whole lot of fog and a rigged silhouette of the stone-wall lining the driveway. He was half tempted to throw a stone into the fog and wait for it to hit something, anything, to make sure the world was still there, hidden in it’s murky depths.

‘And here is the key,’ snickered a pale, weathered face of an ancient woman, handing him a key to a half-desolate cottage. ‘As for visits…’

‘I don’t expect anybody,’ he cut her off swiftly taking the key and facing her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Thank you so much. It’s all very lovely.’

The woman, Mrs Murdock, obviously distrusting his English positivity, just snorted a laugh. ‘I left my phone number on the kitchen table. My son will stop by tomorrow to take care of that leaking pipe for you.’

‘Thank you.’

The woman turned to go. Watching her wobble toward her car on her arthritis-crooked limbs, made him wince. She looked far to frail to walk, much less drive a car. He was about to offer her a ride home when she turned and, with a sharpness of a local gossip inquired, ‘This teaching job of yours, Mr Smith…’

‘Yes?’

‘What kind of school has classes in summer?’

Brian attempted a smile, first one in a very long time, turning back to look out into the fog, which, he honestly hoped, hid the golden beaches of Fanore bay. ‘Oh, I imagine lots do,’ was the only thing he said.

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C H A P T E R  1 -   R u g    a n    f h e a r t h a i n n    a i r

There are over fifty words to describe various degrees of rainfall in your average Irish person’s dictionary.

At least that’s what the guide said. He didn’t even realise he bought it. It was a non-negotiable part of a road map he picked up before leaving Dublin in a rusty rental with no GPS and a blinking check-your-engine light. He wasn’t sure he believed anything written down in a little book whose introductory sentence went like this: ‘Shopping experiences you absolutely cannot miss in Ireland,’ but truth be told, since landing in Dublin this afternoon he has already experienced at least five degrees described.

Constant rain. Obnoxious little droplets straight out of the ninth circle of hell covered the murky, grey landscape with salty puddles. He had to wait out a blizzard in a little pub near Ballyvaughan and when he complained to the barmaid good-naturedly she snickered pointing out this wasn’t rain, this was a little wet wind, in a rich, melodic tilt.

Little wet wind. A curious way to describe weather. Especially weather that made it impossible to see through your car’s windshield and made the car swerve precariously all over the narrow country back-road.

He couldn’t see the turn in the road before it was too late. Fog and heavy downpour blended it into background creating a canvass of grey impenetrable by human senses. The wall came out of nowhere. He twisted the wheel to the side at the last moment, sending the car skittering into the iron gate in the middle. His deep curse cut through the screeching of metal as the front bumper hit iron and continued well after, joined in by the car’s high pinched horn blaring as his fists beat the wheel in rapid succession. ‘Fuck!’ he finished, kicking up for good measure and almost missing the gentle knocking on the driver’s side window.

‘Shit!’ he growled again, turning the key to lower the window and look out. A sprinkle of icy drops spat in his face in answer, cold and salty enough to make his eyes water as he squinted up into the concerned face of a rain-coated figure leaning over him.

‘A dhuine uasail? An bhfuil tú ceart go leor?’ 

He shook his head staring uncomprehendingly as the face leaned closer revealing a bushy moustache and deep-set crystalline eyes lined with crows-feet.

‘Are you alright?’ repeated the man in heavily accented English. ‘I saw you hit the wall and decided to come up and check on you. The fog gets heavy when the sun goes down around these parts.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he muttered, shaking his head. He was getting dizzy, shock setting in and putting a shake into his bones. With a grunt he unfastened his seat-belt and stepped out, joining the other man in a steady drizzle. ‘Sorry. I’m…’

Dark eyes watched his shaking hands as he withdrew a packet of cigarettes and lit up. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? My car is just down the road. I can drive you up to Ennistymon to get you checked…’

‘No! No, thanks. I’m fine,’ he mumbled, puffing out a cloud of smoke, which instantly sank under the onslaught of rain.

‘Say, where are you headed anyway?’ asked the man suddenly, earning a suspicious glare from him. ‘I mean, if you’re not pressed for time you can wait out the…’

‘It’s okay. I’m okay. I’ll just be on my way.’

‘To?’

This time the glare deepened, and the man even opened his mouth to snarl at him, but before he could, arms lifted and the stranger gave a warm, hearty laugh. ‘So sorry, so sorry. It’s my job, you see. I’m the local garda officer. One of the few. Admittedly the biggest disputes you get around here concern a lost cow… but still. Academy lessons fade away slowly. I’m Mike Cassidy, by the way.’

The stranger wondered whether the tension in him was obvious. Whether, as he outreached his hand to grasp Cassidy’s cold, wet palm, the tightness in his muscles betrayed him. But all the while Cassidy continued smiling and the shake ended abruptly, with the stranger withdrawing his hand and mumbling, albeit unhappily. ‘Brian Smith.’

‘So, Brian, are you on holiday?’

No. Stop asking questions. I came here in order not to be asked questions. All of these made their way on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them all and opted for truth. As far as police came he learned he had better chances with truth, even considering that with lies the outcomes were not much better. ‘I’m moving to Fanore for the summer. I got a teaching job there.’

Lightning struck, colouring Cassidy’s astonishment in blue and white. ‘Really. Fainic thú féin! Bíonn siad amhrasach faoi strainséirí.’

‘Excuse me, I don’t…’

‘It means: Take care. They regard strangers with suspicion. You should think about picking up some Irish along the way, Mr Smith. In Fánóir people remain traditional.’

‘Dully noted,’ Brian replied, looking up at the dark outline of the lighthouse ahead. ‘I should get going. It seems the rain is ceasing. Thank you, officer…’

‘Cassidy. It’s garda’s job to help.’

Brian shared a slow smile with him and nodded. The man had no idea just how long and far Brian was prepared to travel to make sure he never saw a police officer again in his life. He got into his car, prayed for the engine to start and when it did, with a cough worthy of a tuberculosis patient, he backed back out into the road and with a last wave to Cassidy sped toward Fanore. He did not see Cassidy’s gaze follow him with careful, distrusting eyes, all signs of smile fading into nothingness.

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C H A P T E R   3    -   A n f a    m a r a   ( p t   1)

‘Hello? Is anyone here?’

Nobody answered, just like nobody answered any of his knocks. With a sigh he turned the handle and the bright red door screeched open, revealing a mess of dust and surfing equipment. The room showed all signs of abandonment. Wide, intricate spiderwebs stretches between furniture and filled up the empty corners. Old, dingy boards were lined against the back wall, bound together by age and disintegrating rope. The only thing that seemed even remotely new was a big coffee maker and a freshly brewed cup of dark liquid sitting on a dirty counter next to it.

Brian walked in, pulling off the hood of his jacket and sighed. ‘Well, this looks cozy.’

‘That you bet, my man!’

The voice startled him and he swirled back overthrowing a surfing Santa statue in the process. With a curse he searched the dark for an intruder, finding a soaking wet man in a wetsuit standing in the doorway. His sun kissed mane of shaggy blond hair and tanned skin were as out of place as the shed itself.

‘You must be Brian. I’m Dereck. I was expecting you a little later. I went to catch some waves before we start. Early mornings are the best here.’

‘Yeah. Not many people out there, thought.’

‘Nah.’ Dereck propped his board against the wall and shaking the water out of his hair paddled into the room. ‘Most of them are in Lahinch. Sea is much wilder there. This is more of a beginner course we hold here. You won’t see many surfers around aside from those you send out there.’ He looked up, surprising Brian with a laid back smile. ‘And I really don’t encourage you to do so until the third class or so.’

‘Hear, hear,’ he muttered and followed Dereck inside another little storage area behind the office, helping him pull out equipment. When they were done he looked out at the sea and asked, ‘If you don’t mind my asking, if there are no surfers, what are we going to be doing here this summer?’

‘Oh, they come. Usually beginners’ groups, some kids for the surfing summer camp. Some very bored teenagers from Galway looking for a thrill. I also have a deal with a guy in Lahinch. They send me people when their courses get filled up. Don’t worry, there will be work. Mostly because we also help the garda secure the shore. Sort of lifeguard kind of gig if you catch my drift.’

‘I’m more worried about…’ he started saying, but never got to finish. Dereck’s head rose to look up over the shimmering golden dunes and his smile widened.

‘Speaking of garda, dia duit, officer!’

‘Dia is Muire duit, cén chaoi a bhfuil tú?’

Brian followed Dereck’s gaze spotting Cassidy. He was making his way toward the shed with slow deliberate steps, pushing a bike at his side. He stopped just before the shack and smiled, pointing at the skies. ‘You really chose a poor day to open the shop, lads. There is a storm coming. Biggest one this year. I would recommend you close up and go home.’

‘Oh, man, really?!’ Dereck grunted, eyeing the skies with a certain level of respect. Then, turning to Brian, shrugged. ‘Well, you heard the man. Help me put these back inside then. If we’re lucky we will get enough time to have a pint at O’Donohue’s before everything goes to shit.’

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C H A P T E R   1 1    -   S í o f r a    ( p t   1)

Cassidy arrived just before noon the next day. He knocked on the door twice and waited until Órlaith opened, staring at him with wide, unnerving eyes. She invited him in and brewed a mug of coffee, huffing and nodding to his polite attempts at conversation. She never opened her mouth to answer to anything until they sat down at the table and Cassidy asked, ‘How are you feeling today, Miss Hannigan?’

He spoke Irish and she breathed a sight of relief at that. She hated talking to him. She hated talking to him in Irish a little less. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied. The more tentative, ‘How is the boy?’

‘He is… adjusting. They wanted to keep him in the hospital for the night, but the parents should be picking him up as we speak. Aside from a few cuts and bruises he seems unharmed.’

‘I’m glad. Did he say anything? About what happened?’

It was clear in Cassidy’s face that he didn’t believe a word he was about to say as he huffed, ‘Apparently he just got lost on his way home. He didn’t see or speak to anyone until he found you.’

Órlaith nodded, but just like Cassidy had trouble believing it. He was missing for over a week. A child alone in that? What did he eat? Where did he sleep? And how come nobody saw him wandering? ‘I’m just glad he is alright,’ she resolved. ‘But what about the girl?’

‘We will keep looking.’

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