by Ali McNamara
‘It’s all here,’ Father Duffy says, pointing with his white-gloved finger at the words beneath the picture. ‘I spent a long time transcribing this text. It’s you, Ren, I’m telling you. You’ve arrived to save us all! Well, the house at least.’ He gently taps the page, ‘It says so, right here.’
Father Duffy smiles up at me, and I’m wondering how I’m supposed to respond when I hear Donal hurrying up the path.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ I say with relief. ‘I think that’s Donal arriving.’
‘My apologies for keeping you both waiting,’ Donal says as I lead him into the sitting room. ‘I had trouble getting away from the hotel on time. Finn,’ he says, looking pointedly at me, ‘has been asking questions.’
‘Oh, what sort of questions?’ I ask casually. ‘I’ve made some sandwiches, Donal – I didn’t want you to miss your lunch on account of me. And I’ve boiled the kettle for tea.’
‘That’s kind of you, miss – I mean, Ren,’ he corrects himself. ‘Questions about where you are. Apparently, some of the staff saw you moving your bags out of the hotel this morning and have gossiped about it.’ Donal is obviously very disappointed that Stag employees would ever do such a thing.
‘Has Kiki said anything?’ I ask.
‘No, I don’t believe so. Finn didn’t seem to know where you’d gone, only that you’d left.’
‘Good.’ I glance at Father Duffy, but his expression remains neutral. He simply closes the book on his lap and continues to regard me serenely. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘In that case I’ll go and make that tea, then we can get on with our discussions.’
The meeting goes very well. Father Duffy, as requested, has brought along all the books that have a Celtic cross on the front cover. He guides us towards the pages that might have some significance to our search, and I’m relieved when he makes no mention of our previous discussion now that Donal is here.
‘This page is obviously part of a map,’ he says as he turns the pages of one of the volumes. ‘But it’s a little vague as to where.’
Donal studies the page. ‘You’re right, Father – it is a rudimentary map. Is there anything like it in any of the other books?’
While Donal pores over the map, Father Duffy finds another page in a second book that has similar, albeit slightly different markings.
‘Ah, it’s so difficult to know where this is!’ Donal says, squinting at the map. ‘It’s very cleverly coded. Whoever drew this certainly didn’t want just anyone to understand it.’
‘Is there anything in any of the other books that can help us break the code, Father?’ I ask, hoping he doesn’t mention the red-headed woman.
‘I don’t think so, but you’re welcome to take a look.’
Wearing the cotton gloves Father Duffy provided for us, Donal and I carefully thumb through all the books. But other than a lot of tiny ornate script and a few more illustrated pages, there appears to be nothing that can help us.
‘These are all the books with the Celtic cross on the front cover?’ I double-check.
‘They are, Ren,’ Father Duffy assures me.
‘Then the key to the missing pages must be here in the two maps,’ Donal says, setting them on the table in front of us. ‘We’re just not seeing it, that’s all.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Bother, I’m going to have to head back to the hotel – I’ve gone over my allotted hour. I’ll have to leave it with you, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s fine, Donal. Thank you for coming over.’
‘I’m not sure I’ve been of much use,’ Donal says apologetically. ‘We’re still no further forward, are we?’
‘On the contrary, Donal,’ Father Duffy says. ‘I think we’ve made excellent progress. How we proceed from here, though – that is a harder question to resolve, and one I feel only Ren might be able to answer for us.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ I tell them, as they both look hopefully in my direction. ‘I have no idea what to do now.’
‘But I bet the house does,’ Father Duffy says, looking around the room. ‘I bet the house knows exactly what’s going to happen next.’
After my visitors have left and I’ve cleared up the lunch things, I’m feeling pretty tired, so I decide to take a nap. Even though it seems to go against the way the house likes to be, I lock the doors before heading upstairs.
I’ve chosen the bedroom where I’d discovered the key to the cellar. Aside from being the prettiest of all the rooms, it has the gorgeous view that had first attracted me to the house. As I lie on my bed waiting for my drowsy state to turn to sleep, I gaze at the picture on the wall of Rafferty Island and the abbey. The key to the cellar is now safely back in its hiding place between the paper and the canvas.
‘You’re involved in this somehow,’ I think as my eyes grow heavy and I snuggle into the pillow. ‘I’m sure you are.’
I wake, I’m not sure how much later, and for a few moments I stare at the ceiling above, not knowing where I am. Then I remember.
I glance at my watch and I’m surprised to see it says ten past four. I’ve been asleep for nearly two hours! Wow, I must have been more tired than I thought. I’m about to sit up and stretch before heading downstairs to put the kettle on when I hear a noise.
What is it with this room and noises? I sit for a moment, listening. Did I imagine it? A moment later, I hear it again. This time it isn’t a strange fluttering and tapping like last time I was in here, but the sound of footsteps.
I sit up straight on the edge of the bed. Someone is downstairs.
I look around, wondering what improvised weapon I can grab to brandish at the intruder. There isn’t time to faff around unplugging one of the bedside lamps, and the room holds nothing else that I can use to protect myself.
There’s nothing for it but to front it out, go downstairs and hope the footsteps don’t belong to a psychopathic axe murderer.
I take a deep breath. Carrying my flip-flops, I creep as quietly as I can to the top of the stairs, and listen. Yes, I can definitely hear footsteps – big ones, by the sound of it, and they’re coming from the kitchen. So I begin slowly and carefully to make my way down the stairs one at a time, with the intention of sneaking up on whoever is in there before they can sneak up on me.
I almost make it to the bottom without being discovered, but I forget that one of the lowest stairs lets out an awful creak when you step on it. It’s only as I put my foot down that I remember, but by then it’s too late. The resulting noise is enough to alert the intruder, and they immediately appear from the kitchen. But they’re not brandishing a knife or a gun as I’d dreaded they might be, but an empty dog lead.
‘Oh, you’re awake,’ Finn says, looking at me with concern. ‘You haven’t seen Fergus, have you?’
Thirty-Five
‘Wha . . . what are you doing here?’ I ask, still balancing half on one step, half on the one above. My hand involuntarily runs itself over my dishevelled bed hair.
‘Fergus has gone walkabout again,’ Finn says, holding up the dog lead as if it were proof. ‘We were on a walk around the lake and he suddenly shot off up a path I hadn’t come across before. When I followed it, it led here.’
I stare at Finn disbelievingly.
‘When I got here, I found the back door open. I assumed Fergus had trotted inside, but when I wandered around the house I found you sleeping upstairs, so I decided to leave you be. You’re a deep sleeper, aren’t you?’
I can only shrug. I can’t believe he has the audacity to walk in here, let alone be chatting away to me like nothing has happened between us.
‘I was making quite a noise chasing a bird out of the house when I first got here,’ he continues when I don’t speak. ‘I thought it would have woken you?’
I shake my head and step down off the stairs. I’ve been completely thrown off guard by Finn’s sudden arrival, and I don’t know quite where to begin. Why is he here? And why is he using Fergus as an excuse?
‘Why are you here, Finn?’ I ask, setting down m
y flip-flops and slipping my feet into them.
‘I told you: I’ve lost Fergus.’
‘Yes, so you said . . . But why, when you found out he wasn’t here, did you hang around?’ I know I sound hostile, but his story is so implausible it’s infuriating.
‘I’m not hanging around,’ Finn says, sounding irritated, ‘I was about to leave when I heard you coming down the stairs. Believe me, I didn’t want to see you either – after yesterday, I mean,’ he adds hastily, his annoyance changing swiftly to discomfort.
‘The feeling is mutual,’ I say sourly.
There’s silence in the hall, broken only by the steady ticking of the old mantelpiece clock in the sitting room.
‘I still don’t understand how you got in,’ I say eventually.
‘This is The Welcome House, remember? The doors are always unlocked here!’ Finn smiles, but I don’t.
‘I distinctly remember locking both doors before I went upstairs for my nap.’
‘And I’m telling you the back door was open.’ Finn’s smile rapidly disappears. ‘Are you saying I’m a liar?’
‘No . . . ’ I can’t bear this; a few days ago it was such a joy to spend time with him, but now it seems we’re incapable of being civil with each other.
‘Why don’t we go and check the front door too?’ Finn says, stomping down the hall. He grabs the knob, twists it sharply and the door swings open. ‘See?’ he says accusingly, turning back to me. ‘Open.’
‘That’s impossible,’ I say, walking towards him. ‘I locked it, I know I did . . . both of them.’
‘Perhaps you thought you had, but because you were tired you didn’t quite catch them properly?’ Finn suggests in a calmer tone.
I’m sure this wasn’t the case, but there’s no point going on about it. Finn has proved his point and I’m beginning to believe he’s telling the truth.
‘So where is Fergus?’ I ask, changing the subject. ‘If he’s not here in the house?’
‘I don’t know,’ Finn says, his brow wrinkling with concern. ‘Like I said, he ran up the path that leads to the back of this house, and he wouldn’t come back when I called, so I had to follow him.’
‘And this path led from the lake right to here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t remember seeing it.’
‘I hadn’t either, it’s very odd. But that’s what happened, whether you choose to believe me or not.’
‘I believe you,’ I say quietly. ‘And you say there was a bird trapped in the house when you got here?’
‘Yes, a crow or a jackdaw or something. Stupid thing wouldn’t leave when I tried to open a window for it. It took me ages to persuade it to go.’
‘It was a raven,’ I say matter-of-factly. ‘Something similar happened to me the other day. I wonder if it was the same one?’
Finn looks at me a bit oddly.
‘Do you think Fergus chased it up here?’ I ask.
‘He might have, I guess. He set off fairly purposefully.’
‘Hmm . . . ’
‘Hmm what?’
‘Nothing, just thinking, that’s all.’
‘About?’
‘Where Fergus might be,’ I say hurriedly. Now was not the time to tell Finn about the cellar and the raven. He’d think I was mad. ‘You don’t think he’s got out the front, do you?’ I look at the door. ‘Down on to the road? What if it was open – you said it was unlocked?’
Finn quickly pulls open the door and we both rush down the steps of the house towards the road. But there doesn’t seem to be anything disturbing the usual stream of passing cars, let alone a big hairy dog wandering amongst them.
‘It doesn’t look like he’s out here,’ Finn says with relief.
I continue staring down the road.
‘Ren?’ he prompts. ‘Are you OK?’
I nod.
‘I said it doesn’t look like he’s out here.’
‘Yes . . . yes you’re right. Such a relief.’ I still stare at the passing cars.
‘Should we go back up to the house?’ Finn asks gently. ‘Perhaps we could check the back garden again – if it’s OK with you, of course?’
I can only nod, and allow Finn to lead me back up the steps to the house.
‘Look, me being here is obviously a bad idea,’ Finn says when we’re back inside. ‘I’ll pop outside and have another look for Fergus, then I’ll be on my way.’
‘No, it’s not you,’ I say in a weak voice. ‘It’s . . . ’ my voice trails off.
‘It’s what?’ Finn asks, sounding concerned.
‘Let’s look for Fergus, shall we?’ I attempt to say brightly. ‘You’re right, we should try out back.’
I hurry away from Finn down the hall towards the back door. I need air. Fresh air. Not the sort laced with traffic fumes.
Now I know it’s there, it’s fairly easy to spot the path Finn followed. There are a couple of loose fence panels at the end of the garden; when pushed, they turn into a sort of makeshift gate.
‘Wait up!’ Finn calls as I’m about to go through the opening. ‘Are we sure Fergus isn’t in the garden?’
We both take a quick glance round the large but sparse garden of The Welcome House. It’s obvious Fergus isn’t there; he’s too big to remain hidden in a garden with no cover.
‘Back to the lake then?’ Finn asks. ‘Are you sure you’re OK doing this, you looked a bit white a few minutes ago.’
‘Yes, I’m fine now – it must have been the exhaust fumes from the traffic,’ I improvise as I make my way through the gate on to the rough path on the other side.
‘Fergus!’ I call as I begin to walk down towards the lake. ‘Fergus, are you there?’
It takes us only a minute or two to reach the shore of the lake, but we’ve been calling and whistling Fergus all the way.
‘Where is that damn dog!’ Finn says, exasperated. ‘I swear, when I catch up with him—’
But I’m staring out at the lake. ‘Look!’ I cry, pointing out to where I’ve spotted movement in the wide expanse of water. ‘What’s that?’
Finn follows my hand and immediately sees the same thing I do. In the distance, bobbing about in the water, is a furry head. But instead of looking happy and excited to see us, the furry head looks petrified. A moment later, it disappears under the surface of the lake.
‘Fergus!’ Finn cries. ‘How the hell did he get all the way out there?’
Immediately he begins pulling off his shoes and socks, then he tugs his shirt over his head and yanks at his jeans until all his clothes are in a pile on the ground. I watch as he wades out into the lake wearing only his underpants.
In other circumstances, this might have been a pleasant sight, but I’m suddenly overwhelmed by dread. ‘Finn, be careful!’ I shout. ‘That lake is really deep!’ I wonder for a split second how I know this, but I don’t have time to try and remember. All I can do is look on in horror as Finn reaches a point where the water is up to his waist, so he plunges in, swimming out towards Fergus with powerful strokes.
There have been a number of times in my life when I’ve felt helpless, but none of them compare to the way I feel as I stand on the edge of the lake watching Finn try to rescue his dog.
I wonder if I should ring someone, but my phone is back at the house, and even if I did have it on me, who would I call? It’s not as if the lake has its own coastguard.
So I can only stand and watch as Finn gets further and further away from me, but closer and closer to Fergus.
At last he reaches his dog, and I see him attempt to wrap his arms around Fergus’s body. But Fergus is so terrified that he panics and begins to thrash about, and then they both disappear under the water together.
I clap my hand to my mouth in horror, unable to breathe as I wait for Finn to re-emerge from the dark murky water. When he breaks the surface, I find myself whooping with joy – but it’s short-lived.
As he tries desperately to hold on to Fergus, the same thing happens again. The
re’s an agonising wait after they plunge below the surface, and when Finn re-emerges this time I see him trying to calm Fergus down.
He seems to be treading water at the moment with Fergus in his arms, but I know he will soon begin to tire, and he still has to face the long swim back to shore with the frightened dog.
My mind is in turmoil as I frantically try to come up with something I can do to help. Should I run back to the house and call the Gardai? Perhaps there is an emergency service for the lakes, and they could send someone out to help. But then I’d have to leave Finn and Fergus thrashing around out there – what if Finn got dragged under again and didn’t come up this time? But if I do stay what good was I going to be if that did happen? I’ve never been much of a swimmer – even if I could get out that far in time, I doubt I could save someone Kiki’s size, let alone Fergus or Finn.
But then something happens that makes my heart surge with relief and joy. I see a small wooden boat travelling across the lake in their direction.
‘Help!’ I cry from the shore in case the person in the boat hasn’t seen them. ‘Emergency! Please, HELP!’
The man in the boat continues to row calmly across the lake as if he hasn’t heard me, so I jump and wave my arms about at the water’s edge, desperately trying to alert him. I’m convinced he’s going to row straight past, oblivious to Finn and Fergus, and to all my shouting and waving, but at that moment he expertly turns the boat at a sharp angle and manages to pull up right beside the struggling pair.
I watch as he reaches over the side of the boat and effortlessly lifts a struggling Fergus from Finn, then places him down in the boat beside him. When that’s done, he reaches out again and half pulls, half drags an exhausted Finn into the boat beside his dog.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper upwards. ‘Thank you so much.’
To my immense relief, the little boat begins to pull towards shore with Finn and Fergus safely aboard. Only when it draws closer do I recognise the boatman.
‘Jackie!’ I cry as I wade out into the water to take the rope he’s preparing to throw me so I can pull the boat in the final few metres. ‘Thank you so much!’
