Chapter Nineteen
Back at the farm it’s all quiet. The hens and geese have taken themselves off to bed and all I have to do is close their doors for one last time. Freddie and Mercury are safely locked in their field. I rub their muzzles and foreheads and give them an extra handful of pony nuts each.
‘Be good for your master, boys,’ I tell them.
‘Freddie, as much as you love her, you can’t have her, she belongs to someone else,’ I say, referring to the little white donkey down the road.
Why then do I suddenly think about Sean?
I push the thought aside. ‘Mercury, keep an eye on him for me.’ I rub his forehead and long ears then turn back to the cottage with Grace gambolling at my side.
The water’s like a mill pond tonight. The drizzle has stopped and there’s another rainbow across the bay as the sun attempts to wave goodbye, even though we were barely acquainted.
I’ve hardly stood still when a gang of midges get me in their sights and set me as their new destination.
I wave at them madly and run into the cottage, rubbing my hair. I shan’t miss them.
I throw turf onto the fire and pull out some bread and cheese.
I need to think about tomorrow. It’s not like I’ve got a lot to pack, but I need to get into Galway, find a pawn shop, sell the rings, and then find an internet café.
Once I’ve got the money from the rings I can buy a ticket anywhere.
It doesn’t have to be Malta. So where do I fancy?
I go through Sean’s CDs, which are now all in alphabetical order.
I put on some music, pour a glass of wine, and find a pad and pen from the now tidy desk.
The old whiskey bottle has become a candle holder on the table.
I light it. The room’s heating up nicely.
Grace is in her bed by the fire. The cottage has come to feel like home, far more than the modern flat that Brian and I shared.
I put the pad and pen on the table and sit down.
I chew the end of my pen, sip my wine, eat my bread and cheese.
Still my pad is empty. With the world as my oyster I have no idea where to go.
I’m still staring into the distance as it gets dark. The moonlight is throwing its long, silver path down the bay. I blow out the candle and decide to have an early night. I’m sure the answers will come to me after a good night’s sleep.
The darkness is looking in at me from outside as I clean my teeth and wash my face. Grace follows me into the bedroom and lies down on the little mat beside my bed.
‘Good night, Grace. Thank you for being such a good friend.’
I feel a lump in my throat and turn out the light and pull the covers round me, breathing in the smell of turf smoke and washing powder for the last time.
Buzz. I can’t believe it! I did everything to make sure no midges followed me in. I pull the covers over my head in the hope it will just leave me alone.
Buzzzz. It seems to be getting louder and is now keeping me awake. I’m going to have to get out of bed and swat it.
Buzzzzzzz. Either there’s a house party of midges in my room or … I listen more carefully. Grace is snoring gently, making occasional little yelps of joy. I listen again.
BUZZZZZZZZZ. That’s not a midge, it’s a boat!
I fling back the covers. Grace lumbers from her sleep, but no sooner is she on her feet than she’s alert. I run into the dark living room wearing nothing but a T-shirt and press my face against the cold, damp glass of the window.
There’s a light. No, two lights. They’re back!
My heart starts thumping so loudly it’s banging my eardrums as well.
My breathing quickens. What can I do? I rummage for my phone, but there’s no mobile reception, not even for emergency calls.
I can’t phone Sean, and I can’t phone the Garda either.
I pull on my big yellow coat, grab the keys from the hook, but I have no idea how they’ll help.
Grace is now dancing around, tail wagging, hoping for a midnight walk.
I step into my boots, grab a torch, take the biggest breath I have ever taken and open the door, really gently.
Grace pushes her way out with her nose, still dancing round my feet, and I’m hoping that she doesn’t knock anything over.
I don’t turn on the torch. I have to get closer to see what’s going on.
The boat’s engine suddenly cuts out and I stop.
I crouch down, as if that’s going to help.
I wonder if they’ve seen me. If not, perhaps they can hear my heart thundering in my chest because it’s deafening me. But they don’t seem to have.
I smooth Grace’s head. I can hear faint voices. I take quiet footsteps towards the tractor and hold on to the back of it. I can hear the water very gently lapping at the wheels.
Splish, splosh, splish, splosh.
I try and listen to the murmur of their voices.
They’re wearing head torches but I can’t see their faces.
The torches bob around like dancing fireflies.
I can make out the outline of a boat, and then I see it.
They’re lifting a dripping sack of oysters from the water with a long stick. I have to stop them …
‘Hey! Put that back!’ Fear has been replaced by pure fury.
‘Put it back!’ I shout. Grace suddenly starts barking and jumping around in the shallow water, getting me wet.
They don’t seem to be moving. Grace stops jumping and I listen.
I can hear the faint sound of laughter and then, unbelievably, see another bag being lifted.
‘Put it back!’ I scream, pointing with my finger. ‘Put it back!’
But they’re not moving. They’re lifting more sacks. Still I can’t see their faces, they’re both wearing baseball caps pulled down.
‘Grr!’ I grit my teeth in frustration.
I look around for something to help me, anything!
I grab a stone and throw it as hard as I can. It lands with a splash only feet away from me, but Grace thinks this is a great game and chases after it. I pick up and throw another and another, shouting all the time. But more and more bags are being lifted.
‘Leave them alone!’
Splash! I launch another stone.
‘Go away!’
Splash! Nothing is shifting them.
If only Sean were here he’d go out in the boat. I can’t even get further than my knees.
‘Grrrrrr!’ I’m so frustrated.
Perhaps if I can get higher. I gather up more stones and shove them into my pockets, then climb up into the seat of the tractor.
‘Clear off!’ I yell, and launch more of my missiles. They plop just in front of the tractor.
They’re not moving because I’m not. They know I can’t get to them. If only I could sail the boat … But I can’t. I can’t go any deeper. I’m frozen by fear.
But maybe if they thought I was going to get closer …
I grapple in my pocket for the keys. I know they’re here somewhere.
I fumble with them, trying to find the right key and get it in the keyhole while holding the torch.
Finally it goes in. I check the gear stick is in neutral.
I’m not going to actually drive it, just roll it forward a bit.
‘Go away! I know who you are! The Garda’s coming!
’ Then I turn the key and the engine erupts into farting, spluttering life.
‘I mean it! I’m coming! And so are the Garda!
’ But still they don’t move, and more and more bags are being lifted from the water into their boat.
I push down the tractor’s clutch and push it into first. It clunks into place.
I slowly release the clutch and gently push down on the accelerator. It begins to roll forward.
‘I’m coming!’ And by some miracle the boat engine starts up.
I can still hear laughter but they’re leaving.
The boat spins round, closely missing the trestle tables loaded with oysters ready to go to the co-operative and shoots off out of the bay, outboard motor screaming with exertion, churning up the waters and leaving ripples of waves in its wake. I put my foot on the clutch and brake.
‘Yessss!’ I pull in a clenched fist. Adrenalin is pumping through my body. I did it! They’re going. I can still hear the faint sound of laughter as the boat buzzes off out of the bay.
I sit back. ‘Yessssssss!’ I punch the air and my foot slips off the clutch and the tractor rockets forward into the water.
‘Nooooo!’ I try to get my slippery foot back on the pedal.
I can’t see where we’re going. The tractor tips from side to side and the torch flies from my hand.
I can’t get my balance. I try and grab the steering wheel, eventually get a grip and yank as hard as I can, then the tractor hits something underwater, knocking me off balance again.
The accelerator is stuck. I’m slipping and sliding trying to get control of the runaway vehicle, but the water’s getting deeper and I panic and before I can think about it, I bail out into the knee-high water.
The tractor is heading further in, bumping and rolling its way towards the oyster beds.
I can only hold my hands over my mouth and watch as it lumbers like a hungry bear towards the trestle tables with what’s left of the oysters ready to be collected the next day.
There’s a bang, a clank, a crunch, a squeal, the sound of metal being mashed and oysters being crushed.
And the tractor gives a final dying sigh before sinking into a watery grave. I feel sick, physically sick.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ Me and my bloody fear of bloody water. Terrified of the unknown. Terrified of my own shadow, more like. But not half as terrified as I’m going to be when Sean gets back tomorrow. ‘Shit!’