Chapter 6
“Maps said you take a left in two hundred meters,” Ella instructed, her head buried in her phone as she tried to direct us to Sinéad's house outside Bray in County Wicklow. We’d been there a few times over the years, but there was no way we could find the way to her house on our own from the main road.
It was my turn to drive, unfortunately, which meant I’d be dealing with the long, hungover trek home tomorrow, but that was future Róisín’s problem.
Sara was making her own way down from Galway, so at least I had Ella for company - although she was renowned for sleeping on any car journey if she felt seedy.
I had managed to dodge being the designated driver for any day trips from college ever since last year, when I drove to the ploughing and then forgot where I’d parked the car.
The four of us had had to sit and wait for hours until the car park cleared out and Finnula, as my little black golf was lovingly named, finally revealed herself to us.
This was the fourth year making the trip to Bray for Sinéad’s birthday, and I loved a night out somewhere different.
Especially with Sinéad’s friends from home who were all sound, and Bray had a great big town atmosphere - especially for Halloween.
Her mam also fawned over us any time we made the journey.
It was a bit like we were visiting aristocrats the way she rolled out the red carpet for us.
Sinéad was an only child; I think her mam had some complications falling pregnant with her and her dad had died when she was five, so Sinéad and her mam, Betty, were as close as could be.
I think that’s why Sinéad came across as a little on the shy side.
She was quieter than the rest of us and when we first got together as friends, she used to seem a little overwhelmed at the loud, big personalities around her.
But as soon as she settled and felt comfortable, she always found her voice in a crowd.
And Sinéad was the type of person that when she spoke, you could guarantee whatever she said was worth listening to.
She didn’t babble or make mindless conversation; she was very thoughtful and measured and she was always my first go-to for advice about things.
Sinéad was a bit like the glue of our group - steady, stable, and considerate, but without being a craic vacuum.
In small groups she had the driest humour I’d ever come across, and the things she came out with would have you falling out of your seat laughing.
She just showed a more reserved front when she was in an unfamiliar space.
It was one of the reasons I loved coming to see her in Bray, because you’d never find her more at ease than with her mam, her cousin Orla, and her best friend from school Maura.
“Which turn Ella? There’s two,” I pointed out the windscreen, slowing down and waiting for her instructions.
“Fuck, I don’t know,” she panicked and I glanced over, seeing her flick out of Instagram and back to the Map app.
“Jesus Christ Ella, you’re the fucking navigator,” I snapped just as a horn blared from behind me for going five miles an hour approaching the first left turn.
“The next one, the next one - keep going,” she shouted at me as three more cars joined in with horns blaring.
Mortified, I put the foot down and shot to the next cross, almost right behind the first one, then took the turn haphazardly to get off the main road and away from some seriously irate drivers.
We pulled into Sinéad’s driveway within fifteen minutes and the door swung wide as Betty waved at us from the front porch.
We grinned and waved back as we gathered all our stuff to bring inside.
Sinéad’s house was a small three-bedroom cottage just off the dunes behind Bray beach with a cute, manicured garden overlooking the wild grey churning of the Irish Sea spread out in front of us.
I loved that view and always begged to stay sitting around the fire pit outside long after everyone else moaned to head inside because of the cold.
I was a sea baby, growing up a stone’s throw from the beach in West Cork, but our house was a ten-minute drive from the sea.
So I never got to wake up with a view of the ocean and the strong smell of salt in the air like I did when I visited Sinéad.
“You’re only here for one night girls, what’s with all the bags?” Sinéad asked from behind Betty’s shoulder as she eyed the large duffels Ella and I wrestled out of the boot.
“Options, obviously,” Ella huffed as she got to Betty first and gave her a big hug.
We had pretty much decided on our costumes, but we still needed backup options and a lot of accessories.
I was going as a minion, Sinéad was going as Jojo Siwa from TikTok, Ella was a red Crayola crayon, and Sara was going as Blindboy from the Rubber Bandits - plastic Spar bag with eye holes at the ready.
Just your typical sexy outfits really. I gave Betty a big hug and then trailed after them into the kitchen, where the smell of fresh baking was everywhere and a delicious spread of scones, sandwiches, and tea was laid out on the table for us.
The VIP treatment Betty gave us made me feel as beloved as Misneach, trotting around áras an Uachtaráin after Michael D Higgins.
Sinéad clapped to get our attention. “Róisín, you’re in with me and Ella, you’re in with Sara this time.”
Ella groaned audibly. “No moaning, Ella, it’s your turn. I had to share with her at Róisín’s twenty-first, and Róisín shared with her when we went to Galway in the summer.”
I popped the scone in my mouth, smiling smugly at Ella who rolled her eyes at me.
Sara snored like an Arctic truck, and it was literally impossible to sleep through that coupled with her habit of kicking you black and blue while she jerked in her sleep.
When the opportunity arose, we made her go on her own, but she made such a fuss about being lonely that we mostly just took turns to appease our sow of a friend.
“What time is she getting here anyway?” I asked Sinéad as Betty poured my tea.
“She was working this morning, so she should be on in about two hours. Then we’ll head down to the beach,” she said the last part in a slight mumble, and my eyes narrowed on her.
“Sinéad, I am not fucking getting in that sea. It’s about three degrees this time of year, and my body will shut down if you try to make me swim in that.”
Sinéad was like my mother - big on the sea swims, if there was a layer of ice sitting on top of the ocean, she’d give it a little crack to make room for herself to jump right in and carry on. I did not share the sentiment.
“We’ll have wetsuits on, and it’s not swimming anyway,” Sinéad replied.
“Oh no - I’m not trying to surf again,” Ella exclaimed.
Balance was not her strong suit, and after she’d fallen face first onto her board and broken her nose at fourteen when we were taking classes at Inchydoney, she had sworn off ever getting on a board again.
Seeing her two black eyes and getting a blow-by-blow of the agony of them resetting her nose, I became another surfing dropout soon after.
“It was seven years ago Ella; you need to get over it. The waves are small and we’ll be right by the shore.
Come on, Orla and Maura are meeting us down there and we’ll all come up and get ready afterwards.
We’ll be so energised after it, plus it is my birthday.
” She eyed us slyly as she pulled the birthday card.
“FINE,” I rolled my eyes at her as Ella pressed her mouth in a thin line, while I agreed on her behalf.
********
A few hours later, I was mesmerized by the shade of blue my feet had turned, exposed to the icy sea wind that was nearly blowing our hair off our heads.
Turns out the wetsuits didn’t include socks.
Sara nudged me to pay attention to the instructor as he demonstrated again how to go from lying down to standing up with the board on the sand.
Poor Sara had barely dropped her bag before Sinéad had ushered us all along the sand path leading through the low dunes from her garden to the beach where Maura and Orla were waiting.
After some enthusiastic greetings and a brief catch-up, it was full steam ahead with our surfing lesson, which thankfully hadn’t resulted in us braving the water yet.
Sara was a lot more enthusiastic than me or Ella, but she loved a challenge and was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, so considering we were about to freeze to death this was right up her alley.
I refocused my attention on the very large, very bald instructor as he told us it was time we gave it a go and walked around correcting everyone’s snapping-up technique.
How he fit into that wetsuit I had no idea; he looked like he spent seven days of the week sinking Guinness (going by his beer belly) rather than surfing the waves.
But if he kept me afloat instead of carried across to England in an ice cube, I was his number one fan.
After a few more tries and some critiquing, we were ready to hit the waves, much to my disappointment.
Ella grabbed Sinéad’s arm as we all gasped from the cold, knee high in the water.
“I just want you to know that even though it’s your birthday, you WILL be paying for any reconstructive surgery if my face gets fucked up again. ”