The Moon Over Kilmore Quay

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘It’s not what you think.’ His face now had two bright red blotches on his cheeks.

  ‘Tell us how it is,’ I said.

  ‘I had to leave.’

  ‘This I have to hear,’ Katrina said.

  ‘Olive is a great woman. But we’d grown apart for years, long before I left. We were little more than roommates.’

  ‘That happens,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it does,’ Katrina agreed. ‘But there’s a thing called divorce. That’s what sane people do. You tell Olive you want to leave. You make sure your son knows he is loved.’

  ‘It wasn’t that easy.’ His voice had begun to sound like a high-pitched whine. ‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with Paula. At first it was merely an emotional connection.’

  ‘Oh the old emotional infidelity card! If we had a dollar for every time we’ve heard that one.’

  ‘It’s true. I didn’t sleep with her. Not for months. But she made me feel alive. And young. And loved.’

  ‘Hard to resist,’ I said.

  ‘Yes!’ he screamed, missing my sarcasm.

  ‘Again, these things happen. But what doesn’t happen, Ted, is a husband making it look like he’s been abducted by aliens, or lying in a downtown morgue. That’s not normal behaviour. Why not tell them you were alive?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say.’ Then he started to cry. Big loud racking sobs.

  If he thought his crying was going to garner any sympathy from either Katrina or me, he was very wrong.

  ‘Pathetic coward,’ Katrina said, the only comfort he was likely to get from her.

  ‘Does your girlfriend know about Olive and Teddy?’ I asked.

  He shook his head, wiping his nose with a pocket handkerchief. Then he looked to each of us in turn, begging, ‘You can’t tell her. We have a life here. A daughter. And she’s pregnant with our second child. It’s a boy. Due in three months! You can’t tell her.’

  ‘We have no interest in upsetting your girlfriend. But she does have our sympathy. Poor woman, being married to a spineless man like you.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘That’s up to Olive. For now, you need to wait.’ I left him to cower under Katrina’s scowl.

  I rang Olive, who was waiting for my call. We’d been in touch several times already on WhatsApp.

  ‘He’s not being held against his will. Nor suffering from any illness that would excuse his actions?’ she asked and, as delicately as I could, I told her the truth. It always amazed me how strong people can be under the most extreme situations. And Olive proved her strength when she outlined her wishes to me.

  ‘Right, here’s what you are going to do, Ted,’ I told him. ‘First, you need to book a flight to New York for tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t just get up and leave. I have responsibilities here!’

  I was astounded at the irony of this comment. ‘As I said, you’ll fly to New York tomorrow, then go straight to Olive’s house.’

  Katrina looked up from her phone, ‘Aer Lingus have seats available down the back or up the front. You’re in luck.’

  ‘Olive will tell Teddy that you have been found in Ireland. She will explain to him that you suffered a concussion, leaving it a bit sketchy on how and where. But you can spend the eight-hour flight coming up with plausible details. She does not want Teddy to know that you abandoned him. You can explain that you have made a new life in Ireland. But you must let him down as gently as is possible. Olive is adamant that you find a way to make sure he knows none of this is his fault. Her solicitor will have divorce papers ready for you to sign when you arrive.’

  ‘And then what?’ He looked resigned now.

  ‘Then you get to come back here and continue playing happy families. But at least your son can sleep at night knowing you are alive.’

  ‘And what if I refuse?’ he said, jutting his chin out.

  ‘You have no choice. Because if you don’t go, if Olive doesn’t call us tomorrow evening and tell us that you went straight to her house to see your son, then we’ll go to see your girlfriend and we will tell her everything. We’re not leaving Mitchelstown until we know you’ve done the right thing.’

  He started to cry again. It was hard to feel anything but contempt for a man who treated people who loved him in such a callous manner.

  ‘Teddy will hate me.’

  ‘Yes, he will. From what I gather, he’s a clever lad. I’m not sure you’ll be able to spin him a tale that he’ll believe. But Olive wants to try. You will have to live with the consequences of your actions for the rest of your life. At least now he can leave the limbo he’s been in, hoping for a miracle, watching the door, waiting for it to open to show Daddy is home.’

  The fight went out of him as quick as it came. He was the deflated bouncy castle again. ‘I’ll book my flight. I’ll make this right somehow.’

  ‘The only way you can do that is to go back in time. And we all know that’s impossible.’ We stood up. We were done here. ‘Remember this: we will be staying in Mitchelstown until we get confirmation that you have seen Olive and Teddy. We fully intend to take out a full-page advertisement in the local newspaper, if we have to, and expose what a dick you really are.’

  ‘The Evening Echo newspaper looks like a nice one to start with. I’ll get working on finding out how best to submit our story,’ Katrina said, her head down in her phone again. ‘Or maybe a radio interview might be more effective. There’s a few we could choose. Cork’s Red FM. Classic Hits. Life FM Cork.’

  ‘Thanks, Katrina. I can see it now. They would love to help us reunite our clients with their missing father and husband.’

  He put his hands in the air, then yelled at us. ‘Stop. I get it. I can’t lose what I have here. I love my life here. I’ll do as you ask.’

  ‘You OK?’ Katrina asked, as I clasped the handrail for support as we climbed down the stairwell.

  ‘I think I’m getting the flu. I feel a bit dizzy, that’s all. I’ll be OK in a minute.’

  ‘You seem to get dizzy a lot these days,’ Katrina said.

  ‘Jet lag,’ I countered. ‘Let’s find Stephanie.’

  A quick phone call to our friend and she told us she’d found us somewhere to stay. We made our way to the Clongibbon House Hotel and found her in the bar, sitting with four lads, who were laughing as she regaled them with stories about New York. When she saw us, she waved us over.

  ‘She’s half-drunk,’ Katrina said, taking in Stephanie’s glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. I reckoned she was right.

  ‘But at least she’s not thinking about “I don’t like labels” Jimmy Del Torio,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve checked us in! I’ve even brought your luggage in and it’s in your rooms.’ She passed a key card to each of us. Then she called for the barman, Pat, as if she’d known him her whole life.

  The four lads introduced themselves – John, Seamus, Lorcan and Donal. All locals who insisted on buying us a round of drinks. Three large fishbowl glasses arrived, filled with gin, but this time with raspberries and mint thrown in too. They tasted delicious and most welcome after the meeting we’d had. A deserved treat. Stephanie’s new friends were farmers and had been at a cattle sale in nearby Fermoy. They were celebrating because they’d managed to sell their stock.

  ‘Eighty spring-calving cows sold!’ Lorcan said. And we all cheered, clinking glasses.

  ‘Fifty spring-calving cows sold!’ Seamus said. More cheering.

  ‘One hundred black-and-white herd sold!’ John said, and we went wild cheering. This was the best fun.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked Donal.

  ‘I’m a sheep farmer.’ Which made us all howl with laughter.

  Stephanie gushed about how much she liked pretty little lambs. I figured she liked more than lambs, judging by the way she kept touching Donal’s arm and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  After our second drink, Pat the barman dropped wooden bowls in front of us, filled with French fries, cocktail sausages an
d chicken goujons.

  ‘We didn’t order these!’ Stephanie said.

  ‘On the house, girl!’ He winked. ‘Do you want some more salt for those chips?’

  ‘I’m never leaving here! I love Cork!’ Stephanie said, which resulted in a further round of drinks and clinking of glasses. The evening went by in a whirl. A trio of musicians set up in a corner of the pub and began to play music and sing songs. Lorcan went over to the musicians and invited himself to sing a song. He told the pub that his song was to welcome the Yanks to Cork. His choice was a pretty good rendition of ‘American Pie’. Everyone seemed to know the words, so I guessed it was one of his specialities. Demands were then made for the Yanks to sing too, so the musicians took a break, leaving the stage to us. Katrina stood up, phone in hand as always, and hit the backing track for her karaoke special, ‘Single Ladies’. Stephanie pulled me up beside her and we became her backing singers. We even did the iconic dance moves as we told the four lads to put a ring on it. As we danced together, the three of us became Beyoncé and my heart exploded with love for my girls. I’d missed this. All thoughts of letters, Dan and secrets of my past went, and all that was left was messy, drink-fuelled fun with my best friends. We fell into a big hug together at the end, me in the centre of the two of them, laughing as we heard the pub clapping and cheering.

  ‘You are some singer like,’ Lorcan said to Katrina.

  ‘I am,’ she agreed.

  ‘We should do a duet. We’d fucking kill it.’ They began to scroll through her backing tracks, looking for another number to sing.

  Then ‘Macarena’ came on and Stephanie insisted we all get up to dance to it. As we swivelled our hips to the music, I thought, this is what happiness is – silly moments, dancing with best friends, not caring how we looked.

  When the song ended, there was another drink waiting for us, courtesy of the lads.

  ‘Do you sing, Donal?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘If he does, he’s never given us a single bar of a song in all the sessions we’ve had!’ Seamus said.

  Donal ignored their remarks and called over to the musicians, who were about to start playing again. ‘I’ll sing this for Stephanie from Staten Island.’

  The guitarist began to strum a number I’ve known my entire life, a song I’ve heard a million times.

  ‘Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling …’ Donal sang, in a clear baritone that made the bar silent, customers calling for quiet, there’s a singer in the house. If you knew ‘Danny Boy’, then you knew that the song had power, no matter where in the world it was sung. It quietened things down. And its power now was that it made me want my Dan. With every fibre of me, I wanted to be back in his arms again. Why had I ever let him go? He was, is, would always be, the love of my life. I brushed a tear as it escaped and gave myself a stern talking to. This was not the place to fall apart. And whether I liked it or not, we were not together for a very good reason.

  I watched Stephanie. Her eyes were locked firmly on Donal as he sang. She looked like she might burst with happiness. And I realized that I’d not seen her that happy since we were kids. Yes, the six or more gins she’d had helped with the general euphoria, but she had a glow about her. One of those happiness glows. When Donal finished singing the last note, she ran over and kissed him on the mouth. This made the crowd clap and cheer even louder. I turned to Katrina to have a ‘what the actual’ moment, but instead found my jaw dropping because she was playing tonsil hockey with Lorcan. Their plans to duet had taken a serious new turn. John nudged me, hope on his face for a hat trick.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ I said.

  ‘For real? Jaysus, I like you American girls! Come on so. Lead the way.’ He jumped up from his bar stool.

  ‘Hold on a minute, Romeo. I’m going to bed. On my own.’

  ‘Fuck it. Knew it was too good to be true.’ He downed the last of his pint.

  ‘There’s a couple of girls at the end of the bar who’ve been looking your way for ages. Why don’t you try over there?’ I told him.

  Delighted with himself, he picked up a fresh pint, then sauntered down to them.

  ‘Tell the girls I’ve gone up to bed,’ I told the last of the four lads.

  ‘No bother. They’ll be safe with the lads. Donal and Lorcan are sound out,’ Seamus replied.

  ‘Good to know. But I’m not so sure they’ll be safe with Stephanie and Katrina,’ I winked as I walked out.

  My room was really nice, with white bed linen. I flopped onto the bed and turned on the TV, to see if I could switch off my brain for a few minutes. Tom Cruise jumped from one tall building onto another tall building, with the usual bad guys giving chase. Mission Impossible something or other, I guessed. A perfect distraction. I dozed off and awoke an hour later with a thumping headache and a dry mouth. It was midnight and I could hear the distant beat of music downstairs in the bar. I wondered if the girls were still there singing their hearts out. It was possible that they might even have company in their rooms. It would be so much less complicated if I could have a one-night stand with one of the farmers. Maybe then I could forget about Dan. Did I do the right thing in finishing with him? I picked up my phone and looked at the message I’d received from him only yesterday.

  Saw your dad yesterday. Cannot believe you are in Ireland. I’m pissed, Bea. Not just because I was supposed to take you there. Because you shouldn’t be anywhere but home right now. When you get back, I don’t care what you say, I’m coming to see you.

  I could picture his face as he wrote the message, flushed with anger, pacing up and down the floor of his apartment. I flicked back through the two dozen or so messages he’d sent over the last month, all variations of him pleading with me to see him. My vow that I’d stay away, that I’d keep him away from me was crumbling by the minute. Doing the right thing was impossible.

  40

  BEA

  February 2020

  The Clongibbon House, Mitchelstown, Cork

  Katrina and Stephanie didn’t surface for breakfast. I figured they needed time to enjoy their hangovers. Once I’d polished off a hearty full Irish, which was all kinds of wonderful, I went back up to my hotel room. Gran and Grandad were in my thoughts today. The buffet I’d just had fun with would have been heaven to them. My appetite had been a bit up and down lately, but four slices of the white soda bread on offer, toasted, with Kerrygold butter alongside local sausages and bacon, was now top of my list for my last-ever meal.

  I went for a walk, strolling down one side of the Main Street, then back up the other. I stopped in a small gift shop and picked up some trinkets. A silk scarf for Corinne. A tweed peaked cap for Uncle Mike that I thought he’d enjoy wearing down in Farrell’s for the craic, as he’d say. He could pretend he was gentry or something. I found a book about Irish literature that I thought Dad would enjoy, and a small plaque that said, ‘Don’t upset the author, you may end up dead … in their next novel!’ I bought both, even though I was annoyed with him.

  I checked in on Ted too, to make sure he was on his way. He confirmed he was standing in line for pre-immigration clearance in Dublin Airport. I had a sneaking suspicion that I couldn’t trust him. He sounded very unsure about what time he would arrive at Olive’s. Ted Spadoni had all the hallmarks of a man about to do another runner. And there was no way I was going to put Olive through one more evening of a no-show. I called in a favour with Uncle Mike. He was always helpful on troublesome cases. When Ted walked into Arrivals, Uncle Mike would be waiting for him, in uniform. He promised me that he would personally drive slippery Ted to Olive’s.

  When I got back to the hotel, I found the ladies in the lobby waiting for me.

  ‘I’m going to need details.’

  ‘He is good kisser,’ Katrina said with a shrug. ‘We kiss. We sing. We kiss some more. I say goodnight.’

  I turned my attention to Stephanie, who was practically dancing on the spot with excitement. ‘I slept with Donal. Three times!’

  We who
oped and high-fived her, delighted at her delight. This was clearly a big deal for her.

  ‘I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life!’ she said, as if she’d read my mind. ‘In fact, I’ve only ever slept with Jimmy.’

  ‘That is so tragic,’ Katrina said.

  ‘I know,’ Stephanie agreed.

  ‘Tell us everything,’ Katrina said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to sleep with him. I said he could come up for a nightcap. We took brandies up with us.’

  My stomach felt a little queasy just thinking about how much drink they’d had after we left.

  ‘And then we started to kiss. And he was so tender. Not one bit pushy. And we talked for ages. He wanted to know everything about me. I think I shared more with Donal in one evening than I’ve done in my entire relationship with Jimmy.’

  She looked like she might cry, so I quickly changed the subject. ‘You are not allowed to ruin this moment by thinking about he-who-does-not-like-labels.’

  She took a deep breath and shook her shoulders, as if she were literally shaking him off her. ‘Last night felt right. And I thought, why not?’

  ‘Too right,’ Katrina said. ‘You did good.’

  Stephanie beamed at this. ‘Donal has asked me to go to see his farm. Do you mind if I disappear for a few hours?’

  ‘Not at all. We have to stay here till this evening to make sure that Ted follows through and gets to Olive’s. By the way, Katrina, I have Uncle Mike lined up to meet him at the airport.’

  ‘Good call. I think we should make our minds up to stay here another night. Then we can drive to Wexford in the morning. Gives you one more night with lover boy,’ Katrina said.

  We checked with the hotel and they happily extended our stay for an extra night. ‘There’s music on in the bar again, ladies,’ the receptionist said. Katrina groaned, ‘I need to go back to bed. That OK?’

  ‘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.