Chapter 10
Dear Ms. Reynolds, many thanks for your recent application. Unfortunately…
Have you ever thought about teaching? Your cousin Alice teaches.
Dear Applicant, we regret to inform you…
She’s in one of those alternative education schools though.
We will keep your details on file.
“Unstructured play,” she calls it. It wouldn’t be for me.
We wish you all the best.
Did you talk to your sister?
I slouch back on the cold metal chair, ignoring my mother’s texts as I skim through the latest batch of rejections. They all read exactly the same. But at least these are the ones who got back to me.
“Donate now to help our fight against ocean pollution!”
Nothing yet from Stewarts. Obviously I wouldn’t expect anything so soon but I still had a little bit of hope that everything might magically fall into place.
“Industrial fishing is destroying our waters!”
Maybe I could get a book deal. If Arnold could get a book deal, I could get a book deal. I just need an angle. Some kind of sexy commercial angle.
“Marine debris is killing our cetaceans!”
“What’s a cetacean?” I call, sorting my rejections into my rejection folder.
Louise doesn’t even turn around. “A whale.”
“So just say that.”
“Abby—”
“No one knows what a cetacean is.”
She shoots me a harassed look before turning back to the muddy field.
“Donate now to save a whale!” she calls, shouting to no one in particular. “For as little as fifteen euro a month you can help us raise enough money to buy a new boat to monitor our waters for sightings and strandings of these endangered creatures.”
An elderly woman covers her ears, glaring at us as she hurries past. I dump my phone back onto the table. I’m supposed to be keeping track of donations. Which I would happily do if there were any. “Louise?”
She ignores me, trying to get the attention of a young couple pushing a stroller. They smile politely at her with friendly “no thanks!” energy.
“Louise!”
“What!” she snaps.
“It’s not working. You need to be more emotive.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You literally asked for my help this morning.”
“With setting up the stall. I know what I’m doing.”
“We’ve been here for two hours and you haven’t signed up a single person. And fifteen euros is not a little amount. Make it three and you’ll get ten times as many people.”
“I said I didn’t ask for your—”
“Who wants juice?” Tomasz ducks under the flap with a tray of wheatgrass shots in his hands. “I took as many samples as I could without it being weird.” He glances between the two of us as Louise turns stiffly away. “What happened?”
“I talked to her,” I sigh as he hands me a shot.
“I told you not to do that.”
“I can hear you,” Louise says.
Tomasz grins at me and settles into the other chair.
We’re at the Easter Fun Day. Or to use its proper title, the Clonard Easter Family Fun Day.
Whatever you want to call it, it’s… not as fun as I remember.
The games are still here. As are the activities and the chocolate and the man dressed up in a surprisingly decent bunny suit.
But it’s not as exciting when you’re older than nine and I’m beginning to understand why my parents sat in the adult corner for the three hours it took for Louise and me to tire ourselves out.
It doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to leave our stall and check out anything else.
According to Louise, we’re here to work, which again would be fine if she stopped scaring away anyone who came within five feet of us.
“What’s on the list today?” Tomasz asks, nodding at my planner.
I hold it up, pointing to where I’ve written save the whales in large block capitals.
“Wow. You really are ambitious.”
“She needs to change her fundraising tactic,” I say as he knocks back his wheatgrass and immediately starts coughing. “You only have three seconds to get someone’s attention. Her message is too confusing.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You could help her,” he says.
“I offered. You heard me offering.”
“No, I heard you telling her what you thought she was doing wrong. That’s not helping.”
“It’s my kind of helping.” I glance at my phone as it buzzes with a text from Jess.
Can I get a train from London?
Crap. I’d really hoped she’d forgotten about the “I’m coming to see you” thing.
No , I reply. There’s a whole sea in between.
Don’t you have that sea train?
It’s called the Eurotunnel and it’s between England and France. Don’t visit. The water’s hard here and it will wreck your hair.
I send the text, knowing it won’t be enough. Once Jess gets something into her head like this there’s no going back.
“But we don’t have any here.” A stranger’s voice drags my attention away and I look up to see Louise cornering a frowning woman in a bulky anorak.
“Just last week a bottlenose dolphin was spotted off Nimmo’s Pier in Galway,” Louise says. “All Irish waters within the Irish Exclusive Economic Zone are a whale and dolphin sanctuary and—”
“If it’s already sanctuary then why do they need our help?” the woman interrupts.
“Maybe you could go on some expeditions with her,” Tomasz says as they start to argue. “Or to the speeches she gives at the schools. Spend some quality time together.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “And it’s a kind thought. But the last time we went a day without wanting to kill each other I was five years old. We’re not going to be friends.”
“You don’t have to be friends,” he says. “Friendlier maybe.”
“You try talking some sense into her. She’s not going to listen to me.” I shove my phone into my pocket and pick up a stack of leaflets from the table. “Tell her she needs some stuffed animals. And a poster of Free Willy .”
“Where are you going?”
“To drop these off at other stalls. I’m no use sitting here.”
I sneak out the back of the tent before Louise can notice.
The atmosphere changes immediately when I do.
Besides the force field around our little patch, the Easter Fun Day is packed with families and locals from the surroundings towns and villages.
Only instead of a few folding tables with homemade brownies and cups of tea, there are dozens of professional stalls selling everything from local honey to bog stones to hand-painted pottery, all with signs telling you to follow them on Instagram. A few even accept Bitcoin.
But it’s nice. Charming, even. And among the slicker setups I spy a few neighbors still selling brownies, though now they come with a list of allergies and a salted caramel option.
I take my time walking through them, dropping off leaflets and saying hello as I make my way to the edge of the forest, where, standing behind a picnic table, is Andrew O’Donoghue, the original organizer of the fair.
Back then he’d been a middle-aged busybody.
Now he looks like a slightly older middle-aged busybody, in his element as he directs a horde of children toward the petting zoo, which consists of one sheep, two guinea pigs, a very bored looking goat, and someone’s Labrador puppy who’s slipped from its lead.
A large chalkboard timetables the day’s activities behind him along with all the raffle prizes.
“Your sister told me you were back,” he says when I reach the front of the line. I’m still feeling a little flush from my recent clothes sales, so go crazy and buy two tickets for fifty cents each.
“I’m just visiting,” I say, examining the table. “Everything looks really impressive, Andrew.”
He falters, thrown by the praise. “Well… yes, thank you. Just because we’re a small community doesn’t mean we don’t know how to put on a show. Will you be entering the egg hunt this year? It’s ten euro.”
“To enter? Are you serious?”
“It helps us maintain a high standard of prizes,” he says, gesturing grandly to the list of things to be won.
To my surprise, it’s not just misshapen pottery and match tickets for the local team up for grabs, but cash prizes now too: 250, 500...
“One thousand euros?”
“We were gifted it in a will a few years ago,” Andrew says, only a little smug.
“Who leaves something for the Easter Fun Day in their will?”
“Someone who got a lot of enjoyment out of family activities,” he says sharply. “It’s the grand prize. Shall I put your name down?”
I have vague memories of scrambling around a muddy forest with a hundred other children looking for the same supermarket chocolate Mam had at home.
“I think I’ll pass,” I say, buying an extra ticket for a titanium flatiron.
“Then kindly stop taking up space.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands and I obey, dropping some leaflets on the desk when he’s not looking.
With nothing else to do, I start to loop back to Louise when I spot Beth jumping up and down at a small, cheerfully decorated stall, trying to keep warm.
“Abby!” Her voice is so loud several heads turn her way.
“Hi.” I smile as I head toward her. “I didn’t know you were—”
“Thank God, you’re here,” she interrupts. “Could you hold the fort for me? I really have to pee.”
“Oh.” I hesitate, glancing at the miniature coffee shop she’s set up behind her. “By myself?”
“Two minutes tops. You just need to keep any customers here until I come back. Or try to sell them some pastries.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Beth—”
“Thank you thank you thank you.” She whips off her Coffee - branded apron and throws it at me.
“But—”
“Two minutes!” she calls, ducking under the flap.
“ Beth! ”
She’s gone. And not only has she gone but her sudden fleeing has drawn attention. I smile at the curious looks as I fumble with the straps of the apron, squeezing behind the makeshift counter.
Okay. This isn’t a problem. How many times have I watched someone make me coffee? How many times have I—
“Can I get a cappuccino?”
The man in front of me is already opening his wallet. “I… no.”
“What do you mean no?”
“We don’t have any.”
He looks confused. “Can you not make one?”
“I don’t know how to make coffee.”
“But you’re working at a coffee stall.”
“I’m minding a coffee stall.”
“But—”