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

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘Of course. And Stephanie, remember you are to stay at Donal’s as long as you like. But keep us posted.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Stephanie asked me.

  ‘I think sleep is a nice idea too. I haven’t had an afternoon nap since I was a kid, but I’m thinking they should be mandatory for adults. I must be getting old, I can’t deal with hangovers any more!’

  Donal arrived a few minutes later and Katrina and I warned him to look after our friend. He nodded so earnestly, assuring us of his only good intentions, that we all joined Stephanie in her newly formed “I love Donal” fan club.

  ‘Good to see her happy,’ Katrina said as we walked back to our rooms. ‘I would like to see you happy too.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Any more messages from your younger self?’

  ‘Yes. As it happens there was one this morning when I checked. But I’ll tell you about it after your nap.’

  ‘Sleep can wait. Show me now.’

  Katrina followed me into my bedroom and I picked up my letter, flicking through to page three.

  Are you in love? Does it feel wonderful?

  ‘You haven’t answered yet,’ Katrina’s voice was gentle and soft.

  ‘Because I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Why did you and Dan break up? No more telling me that it is too painful. I want the truth.’

  ‘I can’t tell you, Katrina. Because if I do, it will change everything and I’m not ready for that.’

  ‘Is it for good reason?’

  I nodded, unable to trust myself to speak.

  ‘You know that you can tell me anything. If I can believe that your younger self is leaving messages to you, then I will understand anything you tell me about Dan and you.’

  I lay down on the bed and Katrina lay beside me, until we faced each other.

  ‘I’m so tired, Katrina. But I will tell you soon. OK?’

  ‘OK. For now, we sleep.’ She reached over and held my hands between hers. With her touch, her support, her friendship, I always felt stronger. I closed my eyes and Katrina began to sing a lullaby that I hadn’t heard in years. When we were fourteen, I burned my hand making hot chocolates for us both. And I cried for so long, she began to sing a lullaby her mother sang to her when she was a child, about a butterfly. ‘Leptiriću, šareniću, hodi k’ meni amo, Evo imam lepu ružu, pomiriši samo.’ I fell asleep listening to Katrina’s pretty voice now, just as I had when we were children. And I dreamed we were kids again with no more to worry about than our homework or which boy we were crushing on.

  I awoke four hours later with the sound of my phone beeping a new call. Katrina was asleep beside me still, so I nudged her awake. ‘It’s Uncle Mike.’ I put the call on speaker.

  ‘Mission accomplished. Gave him quite the fright when he saw me standing there at baggage claim. I didn’t like him one bit. Little weasel tried to talk his way out of going with me. Giving it loads about his crazy Mrs. But I had none of his bullshit and drove him straight there. I stayed outside until he left. He was there for about an hour all in all. The cheeky bastard asked me for a lift when he came out. I told him to do one. But I called up to see if Olive was OK once he was gone.’

  ‘He’s unreal!’ I said.

  ‘Yep, anyhow Olive was in a bit of a state so I made her some coffee. The kid was crying, but he tried to hide it in front of me. Didn’t want to be a wuss in front of a cop. I’ve seen it before. So I told him it takes a real man to cry, to own his feelings. I hope that was the right thing to say.’

  ‘It was the perfect thing to say. Thanks, Uncle Mike. I owe you.’

  ‘You are a good man,’ Katrina added.

  ‘I told Olive she could call me if she needs anything. I’m gonna go get some grub now. You guys all right over there?’

  ‘Having a great time. We had a session in a pub last night in Cork. We all sang it out for hours,’ I said.

  ‘Good for you. It’s quiet without you, Bea. Your dad is fretting. He said he’d not heard from you for a day or two.’

  ‘I bet he is,’ I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. He’d sent a few text messages but I’d ignored them. I wasn’t ready to talk about Lucy and her revelations yet.

  ‘He, um, he wondered how you got on with Lucy. How is she?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Spit it out, Uncle Mike.’

  ‘Did she …’ he trailed off, leaving the question unfinished.

  ‘If you want to know whether Lucy told me that she was Dad’s girlfriend before he and Mom got it on, then yes.’

  Uncle Mike sighed. ‘She had it rough back then. I always liked Lucy. She was a great woman. More suited to your dad than Maeve ever— Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’

  I tried to formulate my thoughts. I’d believed my entire life that Mom and Dad had a fairy-tale love that was cut short by the cruel hand of fate. Had they even loved each other in the end, or was I the only reason they’d married?

  ‘Honestly, love, forget I said that. You know I talk a lot of baloney at the best of times,’ Uncle Mike said, his words spilling out in a rush.

  ‘It’s fine, Uncle Mike. I have a lot of questions for Dad. But they can wait until I get home.’

  ‘Will you just message him to let him know that you are OK?’

  ‘I’m not having a conversation about this on text. I want to see his face. But you can tell him you’ve spoken to me, if you want.’

  ‘Tell Lucy I said hello. I really did like her. She didn’t deserve what happened. It wasn’t right. Mom and Dad loved her too. It took them a long time to get used to Ryan being with Maeve and not her.’

  ‘I think she’ll appreciate hearing that. I owe you a dinner for today, by the way.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that. But let’s make it lunch and a pint in Farrell’s. We can get merry then stagger our way home to Innisfree together afterwards.’

  ‘Sounds good, Uncle Mike. Love ya.’

  ‘Your dad is going to get such a shock when he finds out about Mark,’ Katrina said when I hung up.

  ‘I wonder has Lucy told Mark the truth yet?’ I flicked through my WhatsApp again, to see if she’d messaged me. There had been nothing from her since we left. There was unfinished business in Kilmore Quay and I had to sort it out before I left.

  I found Olive’s contact details, then hit call. ‘Hi, Olive. It’s Bea and Katrina here. Are you OK?’

  ‘Hi, ladies. It’s been the worst day and the best day, if that makes any sense. Seeing him was so strange. Years of praying for him to walk in through our front door, and when he does, all I want to do is hit him.’

  ‘I would have done so,’ Katrina said. ‘Hard.’

  That made us all laugh, if only for a moment.

  ‘Teddy didn’t know what to do at first. He stood by my side, shy and unsure. But then he ran towards Ted and they both cried a while as they hugged each other. And I went over and hugged them both too. Even knowing what I did. We all clung to each other like we were hanging onto a life raft for our dear lives. I realized that, as much as I hate him, I’m still relieved he’s alive. For Teddy’s sake.’

  Katrina made a face, so I threw a cushion at her. ‘That’s understandable. What happens now?’

  ‘He told Teddy that he’d had a fall on his way to work three years ago, cracked his head and had concussion. He had an elaborate tale of hitchhiking across America, before finally meeting a group of Irish who talked him into visiting them in Cork. And then he said that he’d fallen in love with someone else. That he believed he was single and would never have made a life in Ireland had he known the truth, etc, etc.’

  ‘Did Teddy believe his dad?’

  ‘Not at all. Teddy said there were more holes in his dad’s story than in some of his socks. He’s a smart kid.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘He signed the divorce papers. It’s straightforward enough. I keep the house. Whatever savings we had are long gone. An
d he’s going to start to pay maintenance.’

  ‘That’s something at least. Will he stay in touch with Teddy, do you think?’

  ‘Who knows? Teddy asked him when he would visit again. He said he wasn’t sure. Teddy also asked if he could visit Ireland. His father was cagey in his response. I don’t hold out much hope. His Irish family don’t know about us here. And he wants to keep it that way.’

  ‘I wish it were a Hollywood ending, with me bringing you home a concussed husband, but life is rarely like that. We’re staying a few more days in Ireland, on our own buck. But when we get back, I’ll be in touch. You call me if you need anything further. And for what it’s worth, I’ve learned that secrets always have a way of coming out.’

  ‘That’s for sure. And at least my son and I can now sleep at night. The truth, though hard to hear, will be easier to bear in the long run, rather than us both living in false hope, as we were. We couldn’t go on like that.’

  False hope. The truth easier to bear. Olive’s words bounced around my head, making me dizzy.

  41

  BEA

  February 2020

  The Clongibbon House, Mitchelstown, Cork

  Watching Stephanie say her goodbyes to Donal made me quite emotional. They both promised to stay in touch on WhatsApp and on social media. Judging by the long lingering kiss they shared while Katrina and I waited in the car, her phone would be buzzing before we left Cork.

  We decided to do some sightseeing on our way back to Wexford. Our first stop was in Cobh. Gran had a great-great-uncle who died on the Titanic, which famously set sail from here. It was a small charming seaport town and the weather gods were on our side. As we looked at a cruise ship in the distance, I remembered Stephanie’s obsession with a childhood programme. ‘Remember Zach and Cody? You loved those twins!’

  ‘Oh. My. God. I was sure I’d marry one of them.’

  ‘You used to say that we’d live on a cruise ship, in cabins beside each other. Just like the one in The Suite Life.’

  ‘And you used to say that you could solve all the crimes that occurred there.’

  ‘Well, if you decide to do that in the future, don’t leave me behind. Sounds a lot like fun to me,’ Katrina said, and we linked arms, in the way that we did. We stumbled across a Heritage Centre and decided to go in. We learned a little more about Annie Moore, the first Irish immigrant to walk through Ellis Island into New York. As we made our way around the exhibits, it struck me that my two friends and I, were all descendants of immigrants. Stephanie’s mother was from the UK, Katrina was born in Serbia, and of course I was both the daughter and granddaughter of Irish immigrants. Maybe that was part of why we were such good friends. We each understood the challenges and privileges that came from being a child of someone who left their home and loved ones for a better life. Dad always said that he felt an added pressure on his shoulders to succeed. The sacrifices Gran and Grandad had made, leaving their homes and families behind them couldn’t be taken in vain. And then I remembered that morning on Brooklyn Bridge with Grandad, when he spoke about the tangible legacy of the Irish who helped build New York City. Their heartbeat, their DNA could be heard in buildings and bridges alike, if you listened hard enough. And I felt pride for each and every one of them – the Irish Americans who had prevailed.

  As we continued our drive through Waterford and onwards to New Ross, I wondered would I ever have the chance to visit Ireland again. Here, with the girls, anything seemed possible. As we whizzed by green fields, the words of the many Irish ballads I’d grown up singing, came to glorious life. When we realized that President John F. Kennedy’s homestead was only a short diversion off our route to Wexford, we decided to visit that too. My grandparents loved him and Jackie so much, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. And Dan had mentioned it a few times to me too. JFK’s great-grandfather sailed from New Ross in 1848. If he’d not survived that journey, then there would have been no Jack Kennedy. Now that was a sobering thought. The Kennedy Homestead was bigger than I expected, with a pretty farmhouse nestled between smaller slate-roofed cottages and outhouses. One of which had holes in the walls, where tourists had picked stone souvenirs to take home with them. A little piece of the Kennedy magic. The museum had a dedication plaque that read, The Kennedys who went away and the Kennedys who stayed behind. And I thought of Lucy and Mom getting on a flight to New York and leaving their parents behind. I thought of Gran and Grandad and of my Great-Great-Uncle Richard whom I’d never met, yet still had a place in my heart, because he gave us all Innisfree. I felt profoundly sad, thinking about the many tears that had been shed by both immigrants and the families who lost them to the promise of a better life in a new world. But there was pride too. OK, we weren’t presidents, but we had done all right. More than all right. Dad was a successful author. Uncle Mike was a respected and decorated cop, who not only risked his life in the terrorist attacks of 9/11 but every day since then on the streets of New York. That meant something.

  The three of us left New Ross, each quiet, lost in our thoughts. Stephanie’s head was bent low, eyes on her phone, messaging Donal.

  Katrina broke the silence. ‘It makes you think, doesn’t it? Am I successful? Have I done enough to make my family in Serbia proud?’ Katrina asked.

  Before I could respond, Stephanie leaned forward in her seat and said, ‘If I were your family, I would be ever so proud of you. In fact I often wish that I was more like you are, Katrina.’

  ‘How so?’ Katrina looked back in surprise.

  ‘You are beautiful. Confident. Clever. Funny. Fearless. And you are co-owner of a business that is thriving. I would think you can safely say that you are a success. Serbia should be proud.’

  ‘Well, maybe not as successful as Karl Malden. But close enough,’ I added, which did as was intended and made Katrina laugh.

  ‘Speaking of Karl, I miss my dog,’ Katrina said. ‘Nikki sent photo today of him humping her H&M fake-fur coat. Funny.’

  ‘Poor Nikki. She was kind to offer to take care of him,’ I said.

  ‘Never mind Nikki, think of the poor coat,’ Stephanie said, giggling. ‘What would you like to do when we get to Kilmore Quay?’

  ‘I want to eat fish and chips on the quay, looking at the Saltee Islands. The night I met Dan, he told me about a place there.’

  I could feel both of their eyes on me, surprised that I’d brought Dan up voluntarily.

  ‘Then we shall do that,’ Katrina said.

  ‘What if Lucy hasn’t told Mark? Will you tell him yourself?’ Stephanie asked.

  I’d thought about this a lot over the past twenty-four hours. And considered all the possible outcomes. Should I stay quiet and let sleeping dogs lie? Or finally empty the proverbial can of worms. ‘If Mark doesn’t know, then I won’t tell him. But if Lucy doesn’t tell Dad, I’ll have to do that. Because he deserves to know the truth. Then he can come over to Ireland himself and let the cards fall where they fall.’

  ‘I think that’s fair,’ Katrina said. ‘Hey, Stephie, how’s farmer boy?’

  Stephanie gushed; there was no other word for it. ‘He just messaged me from his tractor! Isn’t that so … so … manly!’

  ‘You should have stayed in Cork until tomorrow and gone straight to the airport from his place. We wouldn’t mind,’ I said.

  ‘No way,’ Stephanie said immediately. ‘I made the mistake once of putting a man before my friends. Never again. I’m on holidays with you both. And while it was fun to be with Donal, it was a holiday romance. That’s all.’

  ‘You could try long-distance with him?’ I said.

  ‘That would never work. We’ll chat on WhatsApp for a few more days, then I’m sure it will all fizzle out when he’s at the next session in the Clongibbon. I bet a lot of tourists pass through Mitchelstown.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. I think he likes you as much as you like him,’ Katrina said.

  ‘They all like you at first. I’m not going to get carried away. It is what it is. A gorgeous
memory to take home with me.’

  ‘And they do say the best way to get over a man is to get under another. So at least that mission was accomplished,’ I said.

  ‘Six times. I’m well over, you could say,’ Stephanie boasted with a giggle.

  ‘You need to get under a man quick,’ Katrina said, jabbing me in my side.

  ‘The very next one I see, I’ll be sure to work on that.’

  ‘Or maybe the truth is you do not want to get over Dan,’ Katrina added.

  ‘Maybe. But what we want and what we get are not always the same thing.’

  I didn’t say any more, I just let them discuss between themselves all the reasons why I still loved Dan. I closed my eyes behind my glasses and allowed myself to pick one of my favourite memories from my Dan box. I hit play and watched us both dance a slow tango in Central Park, and as we moved slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, I drifted off to sleep.

  42

  BEA

  February 2020

  Nellie’s Pub, Kilmore Quay, Wexford

  We were welcomed back to the Coast Hotel in Kilmore as if we were family returning. This time we did accept their offer of scones and homemade jam in the lounge. If there was a more delicious taste than that combination, I don’t know what it is. Every mouthful reminded me of my grandmother. Saturday mornings, standing by her side, at first on a step, helping her knead the dough. I’d sit on the floor cross-legged and peer in through the glass door of the oven, watching the scones rise tall. Then I’d sit impatiently waiting for them to cool on a wire rack. Gran was famous in the neighbourhood for her scones, a recipe she brought from Ireland. One that her mother had learned from her mother.

  ‘Why don’t I bake?’ I asked as emotion threatened to undo me.

  ‘Because you are not Martha Stewart,’ Katrina said.

  ‘But I’m letting down Gran. She taught me how to bake scones, in the same way her mother taught her. She said it was something she brought from Ireland and left in New York.’ Tears sprang to my eyes, taking me by surprise.