The Moon Over Kilmore Quay: a heartwarming and emotional family drama perfect for summer 2021

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘I’m glad you guys are with me.’

  ‘BFFs until we die.’ Stephanie said, and Katrina didn’t even throw her eyes up to the heavens.

  The hotel was small but charming. We had a double room each. I tried the bed out and was pleased to note that it was comfortable. The receptionist couldn’t have been more helpful and told us that afternoon tea was being served in the bar, if we fancied it. We were still stuffed from our earlier lunch but promised to check it out another time. We took an hour to freshen up then met in the lobby.

  ‘You can smell the lobster, can’t you?’ Stephanie said as we strolled up to the harbour and watched the colourful boats bob up and down on the water.

  ‘How you know it is lobster. Not hake. Or cod,’ Katrina asked. Sometimes she was contrary purely to wind Stephanie up.

  ‘Because it smells like lobster. That’s why,’ Stephanie said.

  ‘I love the sea. Isn’t it the only place in the world where you can stand and be,’ I said, before their debate took root.

  ‘Be what?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Be anything you want. The possibilities are endless, looking out to that vast ocean.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, I don’t want to be pathetic any more,’ Stephanie said.

  I turned towards her, the wind whipping my hair across my face. ‘Hey, enough of that kind of talk.’

  ‘I met Jimmy’s fiancée the other day,’ Stephanie said.

  ‘Shut. The. Front. Door!’ I said. ‘Where, what, how? Details!’

  ‘I just bumped into her. I was in Macy’s in Herald Square, picking up some bits for the trip. And as I came down the escalator from women’s into accessories, she was standing there, looking at me.’

  ‘Shit,’ Katrina said.

  ‘Yes. Shit. I thought she didn’t know who I was, but I was wrong. The look she gave me was horrible. It was pure loathing. Like I was the dirt from her shoes.’

  ‘You are not dirt, Stephanie,’ I said, appalled that she would call herself that.

  ‘I’m not sure about that. I rarely thought about Rita when Jimmy was in my bed. And when I did, it was as if she wasn’t real. She was like a character from a book. But she was sure as hell real as she squared up to me in Macy’s.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Katrina asked.

  ‘She said that I was pathetic. Then she asked me a question. “You knew he was engaged and you made a choice to accept second place. What does that tell you about yourself?”’

  I reached down to clasp her hand. Stephanie looked out to the ocean and continued, ‘I had no answer. Because she was right. I had allowed myself to be second best.’

  ‘You made a mistake. You loved the wrong man. Stephanie, you deserve to be number one in someone’s life,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe I don’t deserve anything more than being on my own.’

  ‘This isn’t all on you,’ Katrina said. ‘You were not the cheater. You were single. Jimmy is the one she should be angry with. Right before she kicks his sorry ass to the kerb.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll do that?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Please tell me that you are not hoping he’ll go to you, if that happens, and marry you?’ I asked.

  She didn’t answer my question, which worried me. ‘I used to think about a future with him, the fairy-tale ending with him.’

  ‘Prince Charming doesn’t say to Cinderella, “Wanna be my mistress?”, does he?’ Katrina said, blunt but with unavoidable truth in her words.

  ‘No, he doesn’t. And to answer your question, Bea, I’m done with Jimmy del Torio. There have been too many lies. Too many excuses. And with every mile the distance between us grew as we flew across the Atlantic, I realized that I didn’t even like him any more. It was as if he was some bad drug I was addicted to.’

  ‘Like my cigarettes,’ I said.

  ‘You never smoked,’ they both replied.

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. I knew what I knew.

  ‘Let’s go buy some flowers,’ Stephanie said, and we linked our arms once more.

  31

  BEA

  February 2020

  Kilmore Quay, Wexford

  Stephanie emerged from the shop with four bunches of flowers in her arms. ‘I bought one for the grave and one for each of us too. We can put them in our hotel rooms. I can’t tell you the number of times Jimmy bought me flowers as a sorry excuse for yet another disrespectful no-show. Or a bribe for a booty call. I’ve decided that, from now on, I’m buying flowers for myself. I’m officially done with men.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, pushing Dan’s face from my mind.

  ‘Me not,’ Katrina said.

  We walked past Kehoe’s pub and found St Peter’s Church, sitting prettily amongst the thatched cottages. It had a bell tower on its roof and I thought about the person whose job it was to ring that every Sunday before Mass. Had any of my family done that? My mother? My aunt? The porch had a large stained-glass window of Jesus standing above a boat with fishermen. The quotation underneath it said, I Shall Make You Fishers of Men. Poems in mahogany and gold frames lined the brick walls, offering hope and encouragement to the parishioners who had prayed here. One called ‘The Optimist Creed’ made me stop and pause. It spoke about the importance of being strong so nothing can disturb your peace of mind. And to always look on the sunny side of life. And one line said that you should promise to make all your friends feel that there is something in them. I looked at my two best friends and made that vow. For as long as I could, I would think only of the best, work only for the best and expect only the best. We left the church and made our way to the old graveyard and began to wander through it, weaving in and out of the gravestones, looking for the final resting place of my Mernagh family. Pretty quickly we found my grandparents’ grave. It was a grey granite Celtic cross, with the Mernagh family name written across its base.

  In Loving Memory of

  beloved husband and father

  Denis Mernagh

  7.12.1951 – 5.9.1992

  And his wife,

  Elizabeth Mernagh

  01.10.1949 – 12.07.1996

  ‘This has to be my grandparents. The names and ages seem right.’

  ‘But your mom isn’t mentioned,’ Stephanie said. ‘Was she definitely buried here with them or somewhere else on her own, I wonder?’

  ‘Her ashes were supposed to be here. Dad said that was the plan.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t add her name onto the gravestone,’ Stephanie said.

  My response to this was to burst into tears. Disappointment crushed me. To have come all this way from New York to Wexford only to find Mom missing, was too much. I sank down to my knees and sat on the granite stone that ran around the perimeter of the grave.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Stephanie said. ‘She might be somewhere else. In her own grave. We’ll look. Quick, Katrina, help me find her.’ They both began to run up and down the graves, flowers in their hands, flashing colour as they went.

  But there was no sign of my mom’s grave anywhere. ‘Maybe they scattered her ashes somewhere special,’ Stephanie suggested, in a last-ditch effort to save the day.

  ‘I wwwant my mom,’ I sobbed as Katrina and Stephanie joined me on the granite kerb. They let me cry my grief out, only breaking the silence to offer words of comfort. And eventually, I only felt hollow inside. I wanted to explain to them how I felt. But it was difficult though to put into words the pain and loss of not having a mother in your life. ‘I don’t know what she smells like. Gran used to say when she smelt lavender that it reminded her of her own mother. She had a thing about spraying lavender onto her pillowcases. But I don’t even have a smell to remember my mom by.’

  I ran my hands over the grey and white pebbles that blanketed the grave. Were her ashes scattered here? Did part of Mom linger in this atmosphere, coated to stones, the rock, the ground? I closed my eyes and tried to sense her.

  I heard birdsong.

  I heard the rustle of leaves in the breeze.


  But I couldn’t find my mom here.

  ‘How is it possible that I miss someone I didn’t even really know? Every damn day of my life I’ve wondered what might have been. And now, now …’

  ‘Now what?’ Katrina asked gently.

  ‘I need her more than I’ve ever needed her before. Everything is so messed up. Dan. The bloody letter and its messages. If I could have any wish in the world, do you know what it would be? It would be to feel her arms around me, holding me, telling me that everything is going to be all right.’ I rocked myself back and forth on the cold kerb.

  ‘We can’t give you that wish, but we’re here for you. We might not be your mom, but we are your sisters in every way but blood,’ Katrina said. She placed her arms around me.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere, Bea. Whatever you need from us, we’re here. We’ll work out what’s going on with the letters. And I know your heart is broken about Dan. We can see that. But maybe if you talk to us, let us in, we can help with that too.’ Stephanie added her arms around Katrina’s.

  ‘I honestly would be lost without you both. I’m lucky to have so many people who have always been on Team Bea. I just wish it didn’t feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.’

  ‘You are not losing anything. I will not let you,’ Katrina said, so fierce I nearly believed her.

  ‘Being here is heartbreaking. It’s making you sad. That’s natural. But you’ll bounce back. Look at me! Who would have thought a few weeks ago that I’d be in Ireland right now. Having fun,’ Stephanie added.

  I reached out to hold each of their hands. ‘When you go back home, you both need to do this. Hold your moms’ hands. Then make sure she knows how much you love her. So she really feels it.’

  ‘Now I’m crying … again!’ Stephanie said.

  ‘I need a drink,’ Katrina said, wiping her eyes with her coat sleeve. ‘Oy. Bea you have a little …’ she pointed to my nose, which now had a line of snot dribbling from it.

  ‘And of course I’ve no tissue,’ I wailed.

  ‘Always the drama with you. Use this,’ Katrina said, pulling one of her gloves off and handing it to me. I blew my nose into it. It was quite satisfying actually. The suede was lovely and soft. I handed it back to Katrina. She peeled the second glove off and threw it at me, ‘No, you keep both. I insist.’

  This made Stephanie giggle, followed by Katrina, then me.

  Friends are magicians. They have the power to turn tears to laughter in an instant.

  32

  LUCY

  November 1992

  Woodside, Brooklyn, Manhattan

  I settled back into life in New York with ease. Despite my heartache at leaving Mam behind, it felt right to be back. Brooklyn had become my home. I returned to work at the Woodside Steakhouse, but while I liked it there, I knew it was time to think about my future here in New York. That meant it was time to explore working in the education sector. I wanted to teach.

  Weekends were spent with Ryan at Innisfree. It was busy, but in a good way. Joe and Peggy had an open-door policy and loved to welcome in friends from the neighbourhood. Most of which were the Irish diaspora, or other immigrants. They’d built a tribe for themselves and I liked being part of it. They all but canonized me when I brought them a hamper of goods from home that I’d packed in my luggage. Barry’s tea, a thirty-pack box of Tayto crisps, half a dozen bars of Tiffin chocolate, packs of Kimberley, Mikado and coconut creams, plus some fig rolls.

  ‘You are the sweetest, kindest girl. Ryan is a lucky guy that you got lost that day outside the library,’ Peggy told me.

  ‘She didn’t react with as much enthusiasm as this when I gave her diamond earrings for her fiftieth birthday,’ Joe said, pretending to sulk, as he opened the Mikados.

  They always invited Maeve to join us too, but she didn’t enjoy Innisfree as much as I did. I think Peggy reminded her too much of home and Maeve wanted to leave every bit of Ireland behind her. It was different for me. I loved being part of the Irish community. I’d even agreed to help Peggy with the St Patrick’s Day parade the following year.

  I rang Mam every couple of days and she tried hard to put a brave face on her heartbreak. But during our last call she had cried for ten minutes. She’d been to Dad’s month’s mind, a Requiem Mass celebrated in memory of someone a month after their death. I shared my distress with Peggy, who sympathised and understood. She suggested that I write to Mam: ‘Letters from home have been a blessing to me. When I left Ireland, I wrote to my mam every single week and she did the same to me. And when she died, I found all of my letters in her bedside locker tied up with a big, thick red ribbon. She kept every single one of them. Dad told me that she’d read them at least a dozen times each. Sometimes out loud to friends or family when they visited.’

  My first attempt wasn’t very good. It felt stilted and strange to put my thoughts onto paper. But Ryan helped me, coaching me to open up about my day and the things I’d experienced. Once I thought about the letters as a form of journaling, it was easier and the words came from somewhere. Maeve preferred postcards and sent lots of funny ones that she found in souvenir shops. Michelle had proven herself to be a good friend, despite our distance. She visited Mam every Sunday after Mass. Michelle would take her some brown bread, or a tart, and they had a coffee together. I wondered if Mam read my letters to Michelle. It was a nice thought. Michelle planned to coax Mam out of the house with a promise of afternoon tea in the Ferrycarrig Hotel. She hadn’t left her cottage since Dad died. And the change of scenery might help.

  We’d spoken about her selling the pub when I was at home with her, sorting things out. But it had been in the family for four generations so it was hard to imagine it ever not being a Mernagh business. But even with Hugh now appointed manager, I still wondered if there was any point holding on to it. If we sold, then Mam could officially retire. She could take up a hobby, maybe an art class. When we were kids, she used to draw cartoon characters for us. Sometimes, late at night in the moment before my eyes closed, I allowed myself to daydream of a future house for Ryan and me. We’d have two spare bedrooms. One for a nursery and one for Mam. I loved that daydream. I smiled as I imagined Ryan and me painting the house, room by room. Sunflower yellows and kingfisher blues.

  I began to sense that Maeve was not as happy with Eric as I was with Ryan. She’d been acting strange over the past few days. I thought she was avoiding Ryan and me, but when I suggested that to him, he reckoned I was overreacting. I didn’t believe it was coincidental that she stayed in her bedroom whenever we were in the apartment. I’d seen this with Maeve before. When she didn’t want to discuss something, she hid. When she turned down a chance to go for a drink in Saints and Sinners at the weekend, I decided it was time to confront her. I didn’t care if she wanted to finish things with Eric. The heart wants what the heart wants. And while I liked him a lot, I was pretty sure she didn’t love him. I also wanted to make sure she was not holding on to silly guilt about Mam. I hovered around our apartment, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. She’d been in there for at least twenty minutes. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of her being sick. This worried me because she’d been sick the day before too, insisting it was food poisoning from a kebab she’d bought from a street vendor.

  I felt a bit light-headed as my head began to thump with the conclusions that were flying around. I knew I was doing a two-and-two-makes-five leap, something I always tried to avoid. But as I heard her being ill, I remembered her pale face from the past couple of weeks. And this jolted me. I kept my eyes locked on the bathroom door until she came out, red-eyed and pale.

  ‘What are you doing lurking there, Lucy?’ She was startled to see me outside, waiting.

  ‘Are you pregnant, Maeve?’ I hadn’t meant to be so direct. But the words were out before I could stop them.

  She looked around me and I thought she was going to make a run for the door. ‘Maeve. It’s OK. It’s only me. You can tell me anything, you know that. Are you pregnant
?’ I softened my voice, trying to coax the truth from her.

  Two fat tears fell in synchronicity, landing with a plop onto her breastbone. She didn’t answer me, but moved her head in the slightest of nods.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘About six weeks.’

  ‘Is it Eric’s?’ They were on and off, dependent on her moods. I hadn’t seen much of him since I got back from Ireland.

  She walked past me into the kitchen and put the kettle on. ‘I’m going through our stash of Barry’s tea like nobody’s business. It’s the only thing I can stomach at the minute.’

  ‘We can get more from the Butcher’s Block. Have you told Eric yet?’

  ‘No, and I’m not going to. Not yet. Not until I figure out what I want to do.’

  ‘Abortion?’ I asked in a squeak, and wanted to kick myself for sounding so scandalized. This was 1992 and if my sister wanted an abortion she could bloody well have one. ‘Sorry, Sis. That sounded like I was judging you. I’m not. Whatever you want, I’m here for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Lucy. I’m judging myself enough for both of us.’

  It was as if time had gone backwards and she looked no more than twelve or thirteen again. My poor, scared sister. I couldn’t fathom a world where Maeve was pregnant. Not now, just as she was living the life she’d dreamt about in New York. Plus, she was so clued in when it came to birth control. We’d talked about safe sex and both vowed never to get caught out. How the hell had this even happened?

  ‘I am considering an abortion. I have to. Because if I have this baby, it will ruin so many lives.’

  ‘If you decide to have this baby, then it will be a good thing.’

  She didn’t look so sure.

  ‘Eric will understand and support you, whatever you decide to do. I’m sure of it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He loves you, Sis.’

  ‘I know. And I like him a lot. But I’m not in love with him. I wish I was.’