Chapter 29 An Experiment in Being the Messenger Standing in Front of a Man with an Itchy Trigger Finger . . . While Wea
A call woke me the next morning. But it wasn’t some old horndog asking me if I thought I was pretty. It was Jackie, and when I heard his voice, I found that I didn’t mind the wake-up call.
“Maya. So good to hear your beautiful self.”
“Hey, Jackie. How are you?”
“Well, I’ll tell you the truth of it. I’ve been missing you ’round the house something terrible. Nobody’s here to say good morning to me in their pajamas or chat with me over breakfast when I come in from feeding the chickens.”
“I miss you too. I wish we could swing down and see you. How’s the festival going?”
“Oh, just as busy and bustling as ever. There was big palava in the streets yesterday. Two fellas got in a scuffle after liking the same girl in the speed dating.”
I laughed. New favorite thing—dating gossip with Jackie. “Sounds like a reality TV show! I’m so sorry I’m missing it.”
“No, no, what you’re doing is far more exciting. How has the trip been going? Has Tadhg been behaving himself?”
Something in his voice made my smile fade as I realized I was on shaky ground. “The trip has been great!” My voice came out too high, too chipper. “We drove the Dingle Peninsula yesterday and had such a great interview with Maedhbh and Gear’oid.”
But my little attempt at a subject change was deftly sidestepped.
“So, would you say that you and Tadhg are learning to get along? Are you finally warming to each other, then?”
“I mean. Yeah. Sure. I guess. It’s fine. I mean. It’s professional. Everything’s fine, if that’s what you’re asking. Is that what you’re asking?”
“Hmm. Glad to hear that, Maya. Glad to hear that.” He sounded . . . smug? I was suddenly desperate to get off the phone.
“Okay, Jackie. Thanks so much for calling! I’ve got to run. And do stuff. Do stuff by myself.” Oh my God!
“Now, hold on just a minute. Would you do me a tiny favor there? I need you to go tell Tadhg that there’s been a change of plans today. Tell him instead of Cork, you’ll be going to Malin Head, and then Cork’s been moved to Thursday.”
“Oh. All right. Marlin Head? I’ll try to remember. You don’t want to just give him a call and tell him yourself?”
“No, no. Much too busy. All right, thanks for that, Maya! I’ll email him over the details. Have a safe journey. Speak soon, love!”
Before I could say anything, he hung up. I realized that he hadn’t asked me how my dates were going. That seemed odd.
I padded across the hall to Tadhg’s room in my pajamas, and of course, when he answered, he was already dressed and probably had been up since two a.m. for the sole reason of being superior when he answered the door.
“Morning.”
“Good morning. Do you ever sleep? Or do you always sleep in your clothes and shoes, ready to spring into action should someone have any sheep-related emergencies?”
He crossed his arms. “Is this little attempt at hilarity the reason why you rushed over here before dressing yourself or looking in the mirror?” He smirked. My knees buckled.
“Mostly, yes. But also, your dad called and said to tell you there’s been a change of plans. Apparently, Cork has been moved to Thursday, and today we’re supposed to go somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Umm . . .”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“Something about a fish?”
“A fish, Maya? The whole damn country is surrounded by water, and she tells me to look for fish.”
“Marlin Bay?”
“Marlin Bay.” His brow scrunched, and he rubbed a hand against his beard in a way that made me wish it were scraping the crook of my neck.
“Hey—stop that. Protocol exists for this reason.”
He huffed and scowled, which was also sexy, but put his hands in his pockets. “Where the fuck is Marlin Bay?” He pulled out his phone.
“Oh. Or Head? Marlin Head? I thought everything here was a Bally—Ballybofey, Ballyclare, Ballycastle—but this one wasn’t a Bally, it was a fish head.”
“Malin Head?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Nobody likes a pedant, Tadhg.”
“Not Malin Head. That cannot be what you’re telling me.”
Then he was angry.
“Well, I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when your pout-fest is over.”
“Maya.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Was it Malin Head?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
He pulled his phone out and dialed, but no one answered. “That bastard! Getting you to come over here and do his dirty work for him. What is he playing at? The cheek of it! Un-fucking-believable.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Malin Head is eight hours from here. Probably ten with petrol and food.”
“Oh. Long day, then.”
“It’s the most northern point in all of fecking Ireland, is what it fucking is. He literally could not have sent us farther. We should have left hours ago. And he wants us back in Cork by Thursday? Is he trying to kill us? Or make us kill each other?”
WE LEFT IN a rush, and Tadhg was in a sour mood. The audiobook, however, seemed to calm him. So soothing, all that bloodshed.
By the time we’d stopped in Limerick for lunch and a doggy walk, he seemed resigned to his fate.
Jackie, as promised, had emailed Tadhg the nonrefundable B&B reservation, and the time and location of my next date, eight a.m. with a groundskeeper at Glenveagh Castle, which piqued my interest, despite the cold and cruel time of morning.
Would it still be dark? Surely no one woke before eight a.m. by choice.
Tadhg and I ate some tasty wraps on a park bench, and talked about what was going on with the flame wars and who was going to die next, then he had a play with Finn, running around together after a ball and playfighting, which included a roll in the grass, which I wouldn’t have minded myself.
Then we were back in the Jeep to hunker down for the next long stretch.
I didn’t mind Tadhg’s mood, as it didn’t seem to be directed at me, and though we spoke little enough in the car, I knitted and enjoyed the views, my newfound extra legroom, and the audiobook.
Tadhg was fun to listen with, gasping in all the appropriate places, making little comments and predictions as we went, and sometimes pressing pause so we could have a quick tirade about what was going on in the story.
I loved how much he seemed to be enjoying it.
That was a good thing, as I hadn’t yet mentioned that this audiobook was twenty-two hours long and the first in a trilogy. Whoops! Sorry not sorry.
By the time we stopped for dinner that evening in Donegal Town, Tadhg was tired of driving, so we gave ourselves an hour and a half to just take a break from the drive and have a tasty meal that didn’t need to be handheld in foil.
“So, why is it that you don’t eat lamb? I thought you were a sheep farmer—shouldn’t that be all you eat?”
Tadhg’s lips tightened and he gave me a little scowl. “I just don’t, that’s all.”
“You don’t like the taste?
“Guess not.”
“You guess not? That’s very noncommittal for someone who thinks only of his next meal.”
He shrugged.
“What are you hiding? Is there, like . . . something I should know? From a sheep farmer to a conscious consumer? Is there an online petition I need to sign?”
“Nothing like that. They have a good life, wandering all around the countryside. I wouldn’t be involved with it if I thought it was unethical. It’s a good meat for people to choose. Nothing wrong with it.”
“Except for you?”
“Except for me.”
“Wait. Are you”—I narrowed my eyes and leaned across the table—“secretly a big softy?”
He scoffed and went back to eating his pasta.
My mouth swung open. “Oh my God! That’s it, isn’t it? You love them too much, don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re such a bloody smart-arse. Like a dog after a bone, you are.”
Woof.
I laughed. It wasn’t a denial. “You’re a squishy, softhearted sheep lover!” I reached across the table and pinched his cheek like an old auntie. He swatted my hand away and scowled. “I thought I saw a tear in your eye when we held those little babies yesterday.”
“What utter bollocks.”
“Just, you know, cradling it. Singing it a lullaby.”
“Horseshit. I didn’t see you diving into that lamb pie last night, did I?”
“Yeah, well. I am a big softy, with animals, at least. But I don’t pretend to be a hulking, five-hundred-pound, immovable mass of anger!”
“Shut it and eat your damn Alfredo.”
I grinned so hard it was difficult to chew. This made him all the angrier.
It was getting cold and dark as we took Finn for a quick walk in the square, put the B&B coordinates into the GPS, and steeled ourselves for another winding hour.
“Jeezus. Where did the man put us? This B&B is in fecking no-man’s-land. And we have to drive past where we’re going tomorrow to get there.”
But an hour or so later, as we rolled slowly to a stop, our headlights the only thing illuminating the wilderness, we found that we weren’t at a B&B at all.
We were at . . . a tent.
One. Tent.
And outside the flap, a bottle of champagne on ice.