Chapter 65
65
Another bad night followed, where the racket of the rain did battle with the howling wind. In the morning, the milk I’d taken from Margaret’s fridge had gone sour. Now I really had to go to town. While Claire had been here with her car, I should have filled the house with supplies. But yesterday morning I’d been blissfully unaware that “just popping to the shops’ would be a major undertaking.
As weather-proofed as possible, I stood at the window, braced for a gap between squalls. When one appeared, I was out there fast, pedaling for all I was worth. Getting as far as Applegreen would do, they’d have the basics—and there it was! Still a way off but visible. Picking up my pace, something drew my attention to the horizon. Above the surface of the sea was a shaft of dark color: rain. And it was moving nearer.
In a purple-gray column, it scudded across the waves, coming my way, like it was personal. In literal moments, it had arrived, wet, cold and blowing me around the road.
It was like a time the wind blew my umbrella inside out, except this time I was the umbrella. My bike fell over, throwing me hard against the tarmac, bruising my entire left side from my cheekbone to my ankle.
If a kindly neighbor came running, asking if I was okay, instead of hopping to my feet, mortified at falling, I might allow myself to say, “God, I don’t know…” That’s how shook I was.
But the few houses along this stretch of shore were set back from the road; no one had seen me. As I lay, my face on the wet ground, I was doing financial calculations. I couldn’t live here without a car, but could I afford one?
Slowly, I stood and, wheeling the fucking bike, with its stupid fucking daisy stickers and its stupid fucking wicker basket, I limped home. Where I couldn’t even make myself hot, sweet tea because there was no milk. Or sugar. Or teabags.
That was the final straw. There was no option but to go back to New York. I couldn’t live like this: lonely, unrooted, scared about money, wet, without transport, without hot, sweet tea and once again in bits about Joey Armstrong.
Except I had Jacqui.
And there it was: life gives, life removes, life shifts things sideways. Life reshapes, repurposes, files things away. Life heals, reveals, uncovers, all in its own sweet time. If I could just lean into the journey, I’d be okay.
For a moment, I knew it with such certainty that I looked around, expecting a butterfly. Nothing to see. Perhaps one had been on their way but had been blown off course and was now in Tierra del Fuego?
Or maybe I had become my own butterfly?
…Nobody in town had got back to me. The only conclusion was that the entire population had been killed off by a poisonous gas cloud. Not just all of M’town but the whole country.
In fact, I could be the last person alive on earth .
I actually scared myself so I called Courtney on WhatsApp. But her phone rang and rang. Courtney was dead. That was the only possible conclusion. Courtney always picked up.
Shite.
My phone beeped. Courtney had replied. All going on here. The 2 sons kicking off. I’ll give you a shout asap xxx Welcome back.
Okay, Courtney wasn’t dead. Vivian had never replied to any message from me. Ike no longer wanted to ride me so why would he bother? Lenehan, though? I was here to work! I emailed him, saying he should come over and get me.
Then he messaged—he and Ree were in Dublin visiting Queenie. He wouldn’t be back until Friday.
Friday! Three days away! Could I last until then?
Sometime in the afternoon I had to go upstairs because the sea was getting on my nerves. Then I heard something…was that a car? Parking outside my house? I had a visitor!
A woman was at the front door. I knew her. She was…
“Augustina Mahon. You came to see Hal—”
“Yes! Hello, come in.” A rush of joy almost toppled me. “Yes. Come in, Mrs Mahon. Sit down. I’ve nothing to offer you. Would you like tap water? Is Hal okay?”
“He’s in bed. This weather would depress a saint.”
“It absolutely would, Mrs Mahon! Isn’t it awful?”
“ Awful. ”
“But is everything okay?” Why was she here?
“Ralph McIntyre drove past. Saw there was no car. Between that and the weather, I’d thought I’d come and check. Hal is too down in himself to text you.”
Again I asked, “How is he?”
“He gets like this sometimes. The business last week with your mother’s car and all, he was very upset. He’s very sorry—”
“I know. No one blames him.”
“He’ll be grand in a while. It comes and goes. You never know when it’s going to happen. Not like me. Every year as soon as the clocks go back, I’m bad. November is a wipe-out. But by February, I’m on the up again.” She passed me a tin of biscuits. “Thanks for what you did for Hal, yourself and the go-boy.”
“Oh, not at all. I’m just glad it worked out.”
“Except Burke is still above.” In the Garda station, in his job, she meant.
“But what can we do, Mrs Mahon? Some things we just have to suck up.” I looked at the tin of biscuits. “Thank you, but there was no need. I really am sorry I’ve nothing to offer you.”
“Will I drive you into the shops?”
“Would you? I’ll pay for your gas—”
“Stop that nonsense.”
—
“Where is everyone?” Aldi’s car park was almost empty.
“Hiding out till Easter,” Augustina said.
I got myself a trolley and roamed through the deserted aisles, throwing in anything I might ever want. Especially wine. In the crisps aisle, I saw one of Peadar Brady’s boys—Jimbo? “Hi!” I exclaimed, delighted. “How’s things?”
Jimbo nodded. “Anna. Mrs Mahon.” Then kept going.
That was odd.
And when we finally got to the checkout, the lone woman on duty—Orla, if her name badge was to be believed—beeped my stuff through without comment. No assessing looks, no enquiries as to whether I was “The woman down from Dublin.”
“Stocking up,” I said, giving it some fake cheer.
Orla, giving the impression of a woman suffering from moderate depression, didn’t engage. Unlike my first few days in town, then again after the fire, when I’d been regarded as a minor celebrity, no one was interested. I wasn’t looking for special treatment but I craved some social interaction.
“Nothing personal,” Mrs Mahon said, passing me her Bags for Life. “We’re all in the doldrums.”
Back in the cottage she helped me unpack, stayed for a cup of tea, then another. When she showed signs of leaving, panic nearly choked me. “Would you like a slice of toast?”
“I’ve to make Hal his dinner.”
“Have some toast. I’ve Nutella! Or we could open the biscuits.”
“You need a hobby,” she said. “Do you knit?”
“I don’t need a hobby, Mrs Mahon, I need a car. And for the rain to stop. And—”
“I do embroidery. It’s a help, especially in the bad weather.”
My mouth stayed closed.
“I’ll pop by again soon,” she said. “We’ll see about getting you some transport.”
“That’s very good of you.”
But maybe it would be easier to just go back to New York.