‘Do you want me to show you where it is?’ Ivan shouted. ‘Is that why you’ve come?’
Fionn backed up. ‘’Why would you help me? I thought you were a Beasley.’
Liar.
‘I need a Storm Keeper,’ said Ivan, his hair smearing the air with blood red streaks. ‘I don’t care who it is.’
‘Why?’ said Fionn, his eyes never leaving Ivan’s.
Ivan grinned. ‘Why don’t you focus on the where and I’ll focus on the why?’
Fionn pulled the matches from his pocket.
‘All you have to do is listen!’ Ivan doubled his pace, laughter pouring out of him like a song. There was something oddly maniacal about him out here. It was like he had eaten too much sugar and didn’t know what to do with himself. Like he couldn’t remember how to blink. Like deep inside his delirious laughter, a part of him was screaming. ‘Why don’t you islanders ever listen?’
Fionn’s fingers shook as he struck a match.
‘Wait!’ yelled Ivan.
Fionn brought the flame to the wick in one fell swoop.
The island inhaled.
Ivan dissolved into nothingness as the wind rallied around Fionn.
He was pushed out on to the headland, where he found himself alone again on the very edge of Arranmore. An Arranmore that was not quite his own. He loosed a steady breath. The cliffs stretched out on either side of him, the land tumbling into a sinking sea. It was as if someone had pulled out the plug.
The wind coaxed him across the headland, in the direction Ivan had come from. The grass grew past his ankles and the sun climbed higher into the sky. Light edged along salt-crusted stones near the bottom of the cliffs, turning them to crystals that winked up at him.
Keeping his back to the lighthouse, Fionn tracked along the edge of the cliff, searching for openings in the rock. The tide rolled away from the island and wide sandy beaches emerged in its stead.
The grass grew greener as he picked his way down the headland. The tide was so low he could see estuaries of seaweed crawling along the sand. He stayed close to the cliff-edge as it dipped and curved around him until finally, he saw it – a gaping hole in the underside of the cliff.
Fionn crept closer, anticipation wringing his throat.
The Sea Cave was hidden beneath a slanted cliff, where the slab of rock bent inwards, like it was holding its breath. The opening was almost half a mile away from the lighthouse.
And yet, despite his surprise, Fionn found there was something oddly familiar about this place, as though he had been here before, only he couldn’t quite remember when …
The sky darkened as a flock of ravens swept in from the sea, circling towards the mouth of the cave. Fionn pressed a hand to his heart to steady its frenzied beat.
They’re just birds.
He shuffled towards the edge, humming under his breath – a faltering melody he couldn’t quite remember, the words buried somewhere in the back of his mind.
The wind kept rustling, the final layers of Low Tide 1959 sweeping over him. Steps carved from the rock were emerging from the cliff face, widening and groaning as though the earth was spitting them out. A railing appeared, the rusted metal bars joined together by a fraying blue rope. Fionn watched in stunned silence as a pathway to the Sea Cave materialised, winding all the way down to the beach.
The wind prodded him downwards, towards the disappearing tide.
Fionn took his first step. A raven swooped over his head then dived towards the cave, as though it was showing him where to go. He swallowed hard, steeling himself. High above him, a seagull screeched. He took the next tentative step. Another gull popped out of the sky and then another, until an entire flock was squawking at him.
‘Don’t start, please,’ muttered Fionn.
The seagulls swooped lower, circling him as they cawed. Some broke off and plummeted towards the cave, chasing the startled ravens inside it.
Fionn took another shaky step. ‘J-just l-let me get down.’
He upped his pace, stumbling down the steps as the birds surrounded him, beating their wings to push him back.
‘I need the wish,’ Fionn gritted out. ‘Let me have the wish.’
Far below, someone was singing. Fionn tried to concentrate on the quiet lilt and not the chaos around him as he followed the song.
The wind howled and the rock groaned and when Fionn was almost halfway down, a seagull dropped away from the others and came straight for him. He waved the candle at it, the flame pointed like a sword. The bird grabbed it with its talons and dropped it into the sea.
The island inhaled.
Fionn released the railing and pressed his cheek against the rock as debris tumbled past him, chunks bouncing off his shoulders and nicking his arms on the way down. The sea climbed above the mouth of the cave while the steps crumbled away. Some disappeared entirely, including the slab just below the one he was standing on. The railing fell into nothingness, pulling the rope with it, until Fionn was left clinging to the edge of a cliff, stranded in the middle of an ancient, broken stairway.
Fionn picked his way back up, scrabbling for the tufts of grass sprouting from the rock. His gaze was glued to his feet, given that any potential missteps would prove fatal now. After what seemed like an age, he dragged himself over the edge and lay there panting until the wind settled.
He had failed. His best chance of helping his mother had been taken from him by a seagull and now that Low Tide was gone forever. He scrunched his eyes shut until his cheeks stopped prickling. He would not give up. Not when it was his fault. Not when there was still a chance to fix it.
He blew out a breath. At least he knew exactly where the Sea Cave was. He could easily find the hidden cliff steps now he knew where to look for them. If he waited for low tide, real low tide, he might be able to get all the way down without candle-intervention.
But there was something else needling him as he traipsed back up the hill: the island might not let him. If he wanted to pull that wish out of the cave, he would need Arranmore on his side and right now that was far from the case.
When he made it back to the lighthouse, Fionn was relieved to find that Ivan had taken off. The reprieve had lasted less than a minute when Bartley Beasley leapt into his path with all the confidence of Peter Pan. ‘I knew I’d catch you!’
‘Go away,’ said Fionn, stalking past him. ‘I’m not in the mood for you.’
Bartley jogged along beside him. ‘I knew you’d try to go to the cave,’ he said accusingly. ‘Did you burn a candle? I’ve been looking for a low tide one all day!’
Fionn doubled his pace to get away from him. ‘I’d say great minds think alike but you’re a moron.’
‘Did you find a way down?’ shouted Bartley.
‘Yep.’
‘Did you go inside by yourself?’ he asked, his long strides keeping him level with Fionn. ‘You’re a fool if you did!’
Fionn marched onwards.
‘Did you take the wish?’ he asked, sounding panicked now.
Anger was surging inside Fionn, the memory of what happened earlier still rattling around in his head. All those things Bartley had said about his mother, the way he had sneered at Fionn like he was worse than nothing.
‘Yeah,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘I found the Sea Cave and I wished for your hair to turn green.’
‘Not funny,’ snapped Bartley. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Boyle?’
‘Specifically, you. Both generally and right now, since you’re in my face,’ Fionn said, breaking into a run. The wind was back and this time it was blowing him along, a shiver of it curling around his ears. There were birds in the sky again and Fionn could swear that pesky seagull was circling them.
‘Tell me where it is, Boyle!’ Bartley was still chasing after him. ‘You may as well. We both know you’re too scared to go yourself.’
‘I got further than you, didn’t I? And I didn’t need your cousin’s help either. But tell him thanks for the offer!’ At
Bartley’s splutter of surprise, Fionn added, ‘I thought you were supposed to be on the same side.’
‘We are,’ he said quickly. ‘He’s rooting for me.’
Fionn glanced over his shoulder. ‘Are you sure he isn’t rooting for himself?’
‘You’re just bitter because I told you the truth about your mum,’ snarled Bartley. ‘It’s not my fault she can’t take care of you any more.’
Fionn skidded to a stop. If he was stronger or taller he would have punched Bartley then and there. ‘Don’t talk about my mam,’ he warned, his finger raised. ‘Ever.’
Bartley slapped it out of the way. ‘I’ll talk about whoever and whatever I like, Boyle.’
Fionn’s breath was ratcheting out of him and the colour red was seeping into the sides of his vision. He had forgotten all the words he wanted to say. There was only rage and frustration and determination and the infuriating smirk on Bartley Beasley’s face and suddenly a seagull was swooping over their heads, squawking triumphantly as it released a torrent of bird poo all over Bartley’s hair.
‘Eeeeeeeuuuugh,’ shrieked Bartley as it dripped down his face and on to his hoodie. He pressed his hand to his cheek and then stared at it in horror. He looked at Fionn, his cheeks blooming redder than a tomato. Then he turned on his heel and bolted.
Fionn stood stock-still with his mouth open and watched him go. Then he bent over and laughed so hard he nearly passed out.
Chapter Eighteen
THE MELTED MOONBOW
Fionn was still laughing to himself when he got back to the cottage. He had considered trying to be mature about the whole thing but the sight of Bartley Beasley’s face, all gooey and red, was seared into his brain and he was still bursting with the mental image. If only a rogue storm would sweep that moment up. Fionn would keep it in a trophy case above his bed.
When he swung the front door to Tír na nÓg open, his laughter evaporated. His grandfather was folded over in his armchair with his head in his hands. There was a puddle of wax bleeding across the armrest, midnight blue mixed with red and yellow and violet.
Fionn glanced at the photograph of his grandmother and felt the whisper of her presence in the hairs on the back of his neck. The Moonbow was gone, the last of it dripping along the armrest of his grandfather’s favourite chair.
Fionn took a tentative step, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
His grandfather raised his head.
‘S-sorry,’ said Fionn. ‘I didn’t realise you were going to … I just … I’m sorry.’
He blinked and a tear striped his cheek. ‘She was as giddy as a child that night. Woke me up well after midnight and dragged me out on to the headland. It was below freezing.’ He shook his head, his eyes glazing as he travelled somewhere else inside his head. ‘I had never seen a moonlit rainbow before. Didn’t even know moonbows were possible. Winnie said she had wished it for my birthday. The island gave it to her … of course it did. She was impossible to say “no” to … It was that smile. That beautiful smile.’
Fionn cleared his throat. ‘Can I make you some tea or something?’
He blinked at Fionn. ‘What time is it?’
‘Oh. Uh. I don’t know. Mid-afternoon, I think,’ said Fionn, glancing through the window where the sun was still high in the sky. ‘Maybe three or four?’
He frowned. ‘Is it that late in the day already?’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘Goodness,’ he muttered. ‘Have you seen my glasses?’
‘They’re on your head.’
He nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t remove them.
‘Are you hungry?’ asked Fionn a little breathlessly. ‘Did you and Tara eat lunch?’
His grandfather frowned. ‘Tara …’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t know.’
Fionn didn’t like the feeling that was creeping over him.
‘What time is it?’ asked his grandfather.
‘I think it’s three or four.’
‘Already? It’s later than I thought.’
‘Are you feeling OK?’ asked Fionn.
His grandfather studied the puddle beside his right arm. ‘I burned the Moonbow.’
‘I know.’
‘I wasted it,’ he said mournfully.
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Fionn. ‘You got to see her. How could that ever be a waste?’
He shut his eyes tight. ‘They’re supposed to be for the boy. All for the boy. He’s going to need them. And I know that. I do. I’m trying. But sometimes … sometimes I forget …’ He trailed off.
‘Grandad?’ said Fionn anxiously. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘She was even more beautiful than I remember.’ He leaned back and stared vacantly at the ceiling, lost in the memory. Fionn glanced at the candle on the mantelpiece. The flame was as high as he had ever seen it.
He went into the kitchen and made up a sandwich for his grandfather. There was nothing else to do.
‘Here,’ he said, when he had cobbled together some brown bread and cheese and ham. ‘I think you should eat this.’
His grandfather took the plate from him, surprised at its sudden appearance. Fionn had cut the sandwich into triangles because his mother said they tasted better that way and he was inclined to agree.
‘Thank you … Fionn.’ The word came slow and wavy, like he had only just remembered it. He looked up at his grandson, the sea bleeding back into his eyes. ‘I’m not having a very good day.’
‘I know,’ said Fionn softly.
‘I find myself forgetting,’ he said in a quiet voice.
‘That’s OK.’ It really was the furthest thing from OK but Fionn knew the many faces of fear and he could see that his grandfather was already frightened. It was etched in the hard edge of his mouth, the spiky inhales between his words.
His grandfather picked a triangle up and stared at it.
‘Eat it,’ said Fionn. ‘It will make you feel better.’
Fionn sank into the chair across from him and watched him eat while the candle between them tried to climb its way to the ceiling.
‘Tell me something that will cheer me up,’ his grandfather said, his mouth half full of bread.
‘I just saw a seagull poo all over Bartley Beasley’s head.’
He nearly choked on his sandwich. He thumped his chest as he gulped it down, laughter spluttering out of him like a sneeze. ‘What?’ he said delightedly. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Even though the incident didn’t seem quite as hilarious to him now, Fionn was glad his grandfather was enjoying it. ‘It was the best thing I’ve ever seen.’
His grandfather beamed at him.
Fionn watched him devour the rest of the sandwich, relieved when the colour returned to his cheeks. It was just like Tara to take off without making sure he had something to eat.
When he finished the sandwich, he kissed his fingers. ‘Delicious. Thank you.’
‘The secret is in remembering to include the bread.’
His grandfather nodded, his expression thoughtful. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s about four o’ clock.’
‘Is it, really? That’s awfully late.’ His knees creaked as he unfolded himself. ‘I think I might take a little nap. Will you wake me in about an hour?’
‘Of course,’ Fionn called after him. ‘I’ll take care of dinner too, if you want.’
‘Lovely,’ came his grandfather’s response. ‘Thank you, Cormac.’
* * *
Fionn let his grandfather sleep for two hours before he went to wake him. A part of him was hoping the extra time would help with the jumbled memories; the other part was just too afraid to confront the possibility that it wouldn’t.
At six o’ clock, he knocked on his grandfather’s door. Tara was still out, and he was glad not to have to share the cottage with her as he cooked. ‘It’s time to wake up!’ Fionn called through the door. ‘I made spaghetti bolognese!’
‘From scratch?’ came the muffled reply.
‘Uh, no,’ said Fionn, prising the door open.
His grandfather was sitting up in bed, still dressed in his shirt and trousers. He chuckled. ‘That was a joke, Fionn. I know you’re my grandson but I haven’t lost all objectivity on your talents.’
Fionn smiled weakly.
His grandfather’s eyes were a bright, unclouded blue. ‘Did you have something to tell me, Fionn?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I think you know very well what I mean.’
Fionn stood very straight. For a heartbeat he considered lying but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. ‘I burned the Low Tide candle so I could find the Sea Cave,’ he admitted. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said his grandfather.
Fionn looked at his shoes. ‘How did you know I took it?’
His grandfather pointed at the shelf. ‘The truth is you left a very obvious trail of breadcrumbs. It was a bit of a Hansel and Gretel situation.’
There was indeed a large smattering of crumbs on the floor in front of the shelf.
‘Oops.’
His grandfather sighed. ‘As much as casual thievery offends me, I’m more concerned that you burned that candle despite everything I said last week, and worse, that you went to the Sea Cave by yourself.’
Aside from that night in the cottage when Fionn had blown out the candle on the mantelpiece, this was the closest his grandfather had come to being truly angry with him. It was an entirely uncomfortable experience.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘I didn’t really think about it too much in the moment. And if it makes it any better, I didn’t even reach the cave. When I got halfway down the steps, a seagull stole the candle out of my hand and I nearly fell into the sea.’
‘Good.’
‘Good?’
‘As I have told you until I’m blue in the face, you’re not supposed to go to the Sea Cave. And especially on your own.’
‘But the cave has been helpful in the past. You said it yourself.’
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