“It was God sent you,” Betty murmurs, wiping her eyes.
“We’ll head back to the car-park,” Pat suggests. “The guards want to speak to us as well.”
They start on back.
“I’m still petrified,” Betty says, walking close to Bill who puts his arm round her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, it’s over now—everything is all right,” Bill assures her.
Pat loiters back slightly, accompanying Dave.
“It was so quick—out of the blue,” Dave relates. “When it happens you’re not so brave.”
“The two of you hadn’t a hope. They’re vicious, violent thugs. Something very similar happened in Courtown recently. You heard about that?”
“No?”
“That’s surprising. It was big on the papers.”
“I don’t read the papers much. What happened?”
Pat lowers his voice. ”Slow down… I don’t want her to hear… a couple like yourselves were hunted down in a lonely spot—they were robbed—the man was kicked and beaten unconscious—the girl was beaten, dragged into the bushes and raped repeatedly.”
“Christ!” Dave exclaims, “Only for you then—”
“It was probably the same two. The injured man is still in intensive care.” He points back. “Those two bastards would take pleasure in hunting you down—they’d tire you out, terrify you, and then they’d attack. They could have a spot picked out.” He waves an arm, “It could even be around here—with that heavy gorse and ferns there for cover. The police will be swarming all over this place soon. They’ll get ’em too, don’t worry.” He again points behind. “They’re kinda trapped back there now.”
Shortly after reaching the car-park the wailing sirens of the Garda cars can be heard approaching rapidly.
A Man Can Change
Ned Hayes is standing in the lonely kitchen of his farmhouse, which is situated down at the end of a long winding laneway, or boreen as it is often called. Ned is fifty-two years old, wiry and sinewy. He has on his strong working clothes and boots, having come in from the yard. He has a cloth cap on his head and is unshaved. He is not unlike numerous bachelors strewn throughout the rural landscape of Ireland.
There is a general air of untidiness about the kitchen. A turf fire is smouldering in the grate, flanked by a battered armchair, with more turf stacked close by. A table with chairs occupies the centre of the room. A few faded pictures and a mirror hang on the walls. There is a Scotch dresser containing a display of cutlery. A cupboard and a television set occupy the left wall. A gas cooker is also in evidence. A strip of wallpaper hangs down from a damp patch on the back wall. A black and white sheepdog is stretched out comfortably in front of the fire. Unwashed chinaware has cluttered up the sink.
Ned has a newspaper spread out on the table and is looking down at it for the tenth time. He has put an advertisement in the Lonely Hearts section of a farming paper, which reads:
Lonely farmer, fifty two years old, seeks a soulmate aged between thirty-five and fifty. Must enjoy country life and have a GSOH. Social drinker and occasional smoker. Considered handsome. Hobbies: GAA and horse racing. Preferably replies from South Leinster or East Munster. Strictest confidence assured and expected.
He wonders if he should have put down anything about being handsome. It probably looked stupid. Handsome how are you! He goes and stands in front of the mirror, takes off his cap and studies his craggy, lined, weather-beaten face. It was brought home to him last week how ‘handsome’ he was:
Music and dancing had started up in the local village pub. He had asked a couple of young girls out to dance but they only laughed at him. Laughed up in his face. He was conscious of the embarrassment he felt having to walk back across the floor with his tail between his legs. And noticing O’Connor, with his big mouth, grinning at him. Ned observed again his balding pate. He supposed the truth of the matter was that those girls wanted no truck with someone who reminded them of their own father.
It was partly the experience in the pub that prompted Ned to put his request in the newspaper. But then he was reminded of what Jack Freaney said after the funeral, a fortnight ago. Everybody knew that Freaney was a clever man. Marriage came up in the general conversation.
“I’m never getting married,” Freaney said. “Those new family laws could trip a man up in a big way. You get married and straight away the wife will own half of everything you have. You’d walk up to the altar, boy, with your whole farm, but when the priest is done with you you’d turn around and walk back down the aisle with half a farm.”
Sobering words all right, Ned had thought. But feck it, what does everyone do?
Ned had got a reply to his written request and he had already arranged to meet this lady the following night in Enniscorthy. They spoke over the telephone and agreed to meet in the little secluded lounge of Barrett’s public house. This particular lounge was more akin to the old-fashioned ‘snug’ with the service provided through a hatch.
Now that the time was drawing near, Ned was beginning to feel a little apprehensive, a little nervous, wondering how things will pan out. Still, she sounded a nice, homely, friendly kind of girl over the phone he reassured himself. But then, you never can tell. We should have talked longer, he concluded. Anyway, I better go and look at them sheep. He had lost one yesterday.
It’s a long time now since I had a date to meet a girl. He contemplates this truism as he trudges along, his ever-faithful Bran at his heels. The land is on the hilly side, presenting glorious views all around, but at the moment Ned’s mind is far from scenery. When he thinks about the fair sex his mind always reverts back to Helen Kiely and to the happiest period of his life when they were walking out together. The wonderful company she was, with that big, warm, welcoming smile. How excited and over-the-moon he felt each time he met her. When he wasn’t with her he was thinking about her. They’d go to the pictures or to a dance, it didn’t matter.
Then the fatal mistake he made—the one and only occasion when he brought her home to meet his mother. Straight away, his mother made it plain that Helen wasn’t welcome. She had no intention of sharing her kitchen with a strange woman from the town. The hurt he felt that day was palpable. Things were never really the same between Ned and Helen afterwards. Nor, for that matter, between Ned and his mother. Helen possibly saw no future in prospect. Ned had no money to get his own house built, as well as having no security to get a loan. Shortly afterwards Helen emigrated to England. She urged him to join her but, in an anguished state of mind, he felt he couldn’t go as he knew his parents would disinherit him if he walked out. He sacrificed the one girl he truly loved for a small hilly farm. It was a decision that haunted him down the years. Later he learned to his grief that Helen wasn’t coming back—she had married an Englishman and settled down in Birmingham.
Now, many years later, he is getting ready to meet another woman. Ned goes up to the high field and checks on all the sheep. He then sits down on one of the many rocks protruding above ground. He smokes a cigarette and suffers a bout of coughing. “Those effin’ fags are killing me,” he splutters. “I must give ’em up—the fags and the booze.” He has started to realize that he has a serious problem with the drink. Ned started to drink heavy shortly after losing Helen—anything to try and lessen the suffocating void her departure left.
He gets up and begins retracing his steps back home. He halts at the gateway to the farmyard, urinates against a pier and passes wind loudly, scattering some pigeons from a nearby tree. He stands in the yard, appraising the neglected state of the dilapidated farm buildings and the run-down appearance of the dwelling house. He scratches his head, sighs and mumbles, “Oh God!” He lights up another fag.
In the past he had sometimes fantasized about how wonderful it would be to hear the happy laughter of children as they played around the farmyard and haggard. This was a sound he now felt he was never destined to hear.
The following evening, after shaving—and nipping his chin, d
ue to his shaky hand—he puts on his best Sunday suit, his cream shirt, new boots and cap—fully prepared, he then sets out for Enniscorthy. All the evening he has felt that little tension building up, wondering about what might lie in store. As he drives along he listens to a doctor on the car radio giving a talk about the dangers of being obese. It will be the cause of major health problems in years to come the doctor warns, particularly as regards diabetes. Prostate cancer and other illnesses that men were prone to get worried Ned. He’s noticed he’s been feeling thirsty and peeing a lot lately. Anyhow, he decides, as he contemplates the night ahead, I’ll put all that behind me. I have more on my mind right now. I wonder what will she be like? He repeats this mantra for the umpteenth time.
Arriving in town, he parks his ten year old Corolla down by the river, close to the hotel. Glancing at his watch he becomes aware that he has a bit of time on his hands. Barrett’s pub is across the bridge. The river Slaney is shimmering in the setting sun. Townspeople are strolling about, enjoying the beautiful evening. Enniscorthy is a friendly town. Ned goes in to an off-licence and purchases a naggin bottle of Power’s whiskey, stuffing it into his breast pocket.
Passing Kehoe’s Bar he decides he’ll nip in for a quick one.
Slapping the money down on the counter he addresses Fat Dickie, the barman, “Gimme a half-one, Dickie, for the love of God.”
A retired fisherman—a fixture of the place—sitting on a barstool, greets him.
“Hallo there, Ned.”
“How are you, Freddie? You’re looking well.”
“There you are,” Fat Dickie says, setting the whiskey down on the counter.
“Thanks.” Ned pockets the change.
“Great weather for the farmers,” Freddie probes.
“Great for everyone.”
“When you see a red sky in the west, the weather is settled,” Freddie solemnly pronounces, as if this were a statement of some profound importance.
“You’re right, you’re right. We could be in for a right spell of weather. We’re due one.”
“’Twas bad enough for long enough.”
“There’s a bit of a change forecast,” Fat Dickie announces.
“Not at all!” Freddie contradicts him—fishermen are supposed to know those things—“not with that sky.” He turns his attention back to Ned. “How are they all in Ardhalagh?”
“Never better,” Ned replies.
“That’s good, that’s good. I wasn’t up your way now in a long while. Not since the ould legs came against me— wouldn’t be able for them hills any more. But anyhow, tell me this now and tell me no more—did you meet up with the right little woman yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“What! You didn’t? Be God, that’s a holy terror. What am I going to do with you at all, at all? Sure a house is not a home without the little woman. Isn’t that right, Dickie?”
“Don’t know. I didn’t locate one myself yet.”
“Oh sure that’s right.” He scratches his chin. “I wouldn’t mind you though—sure you kick with the left foot.”
“What are you saying? What did you mean by that?” Fat Dickie angrily demands.
“You know yourself.”
“Know what?” Dickie barks. “What are you on about?”
“Nothing, nothing, nothing.”
Ned gulps down the whiskey in one movement, not wanting to get involved in conversation—especially the current one.
“I’ll be off then. Good-luck.”
Freddie is demonstrably aghast at this prospect, after fully and assuredly expecting the offer of a drink. “Heh, hold on!’ He stretches out his hand. “Take it easy—what’s your hurry?” He hops down off the barstool and almost collapses as his frail legs buckle under him. He grabs hold of the counter. “I have something to tell you,” he shouts. “Heh, come back.”
But Ned is out the door.
“Feck you!” Freddie shouts. Holding tightly on to the counter, Freddie gazes at the closed door. “That’s not like him,” he sadly proclaims. “You’d think the divil was on his tail.” Turning back to Dickie he thumps the counter with his fist. “I’ll tell you wan thing—the days of the ould dacency are gone forever. That’s all I have to say.”
Red-faced, Fat Dickie still glares at Freddie, who struggles to get back up onto the barstool.
Feeling fortified, and with some trepidation, Ned heads for Barrett’s. Frank Barrett is another elderly bachelor who is on friendly terms with Ned. At times, when Ned has had too much to drink, Frank Barrett accommodates him in the spare bedroom at the top of the stairs. Tonight will be one of those nights, Ned decides, as he walks along. He often said to Frank that he’d be fecked altogether if the guards caught him on the road.
*
At this juncture Anna is approaching Enniscorthy from the other direction. She is also feeling anxious, wondering what way the night will develop. It is a complete new experience for her to be meeting a man in this way—or in any way, for that matter. As she rounds a bend in the road and spots the town in the distance she momentarily feels like turning around and driving back home. But that would be too mean a trick to play on any man. No, the die was cast now, there would be no going back.
Ned has a quick chat with Frank Barrett and is told the bed would be available to him at any time. Ned thanks him and takes his drink out to the little-used lounge. The furnishings in this small room are very basic, consisting of a couple of small tables with chairs, soft seating around by the walls, and a few high barstools placed strategically near the serving hatch. Sunken wall lights brighten the room. The entrance is through a dimly lit hallway, leading in from the public bar and the street outside. The service hatch opens and closes and has a small counter to the front. Various posters advertising alcoholic drink hang from the walls. One has a horse sitting in a cart with a muscular man between the shafts pulling.
Sitting down, Ned places his drink on one of the small tables. After a moment or two he stands up and paces the floor, glass in hand, glancing anxiously towards the hallway. Anna finally enters, and excited looking Ned crosses to greet her. He contemplates giving Anna a kiss on the cheek—as he sees on television—but feels too shy and awkward for this.
He stretches out his hand saying, “Hallo… Anna.”
“Hallo Ned,” Anna responds, shaking his hand.
Anna is wearing a blouse, skirt, jumper, loose jacket and low-heeled shoes. Her auburn hair is tied back. She hasn’t applied any make-up. She is forty four years old. Her clothes appear somewhat dated, giving her an unwarranted staid, matronly appearance. Despite this it is apparent that Anna possesses an underlying attractive-ness. She is carrying a large handbag.
“You were able to make it after all,” Ned says. “I was… I was getting a bit worried there.”
“Sorry I’m a little late. The traffic was heavy.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He pulls out a chair. “Here, sit down, sit down. You’re right, the bloody traffic is gone to hell altogether. No comfort on the roads anymore. Anyway, you got here in one piece, that’s the important thing. And I’m real glad to see you. What will you have to drink?”
“It’s all right, I don’t drink.”
Ned looks somewhat disappointed. “Oh, you don’t drink. I see… Sure come on and have something anyhow. Our first time meeting.”
“I know… It all feels a little strange. I’ll have a bottle of lemonade—or orange, or anything.”
“Right. We’ll settle on an orange then.” He crosses and taps on the service hatch with a coin. It opens, but is not large enough for the bartender to be seen. Lowering his head Ned orders the orange drink as well as another half whiskey for himself. Anna is glancing about as she is not familiar with the interior of public houses.
“Did you have a job finding this place?” Ned turns around and asks.
“No, no, you gave good instructions. Anyway, I know the town fairly well.”
The drink is duly served up, which Ned pays for
, saying, “Thanks.” He crosses and places the mineral in front of Anna. “There you are.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like a Kit-Kat or something to go with that?”
“No, I’m fine, this is grand.”
“Maybe you don’t like the cut of this place? I should have said the hotel above. We could always—”
“No, it’s all right.” She glances about again. “It’s nice and quiet, like you said.”
“Yeah, it’s quiet all right,” Ned says, retrieving his whiskey from the little counter. “Tuesdays and Wednesdays are the quietest days of the week in the pub trade.”
“You seem to know a bit about it?”
“You pay well to learn, and I’ve contributed a fair bit. Be God I have.”
“Oh, you have!”
“Well, you know how it is.” He sits opposite Anna. “Thanks for coming, anyhow. I was hoping you wouldn’t get second thoughts. That’s what was running through my head.”
“We kind of broke the ice over the phone. I was wondering afterwards should we have talked a little longer.”
“That’s what I was thinking myself. But what difference!” He clinks his glass against Anna’s, toasting. “Good-luck, then. And here’s to whatever might lie in store.”
“Yes.” There is an awkward silence as both are suddenly at a loss for words. “I never did something like this before—made an arrangement like this,” Anna says.
“Me neither.”
“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose… Well, anyhow, here we are.”
“Yeh, here we are.” Another pause, before Ned blurts out, “At least you didn’t turn on your heels and run out the door when you saw me.”
“You look exactly as I had you pictured in my mind.”
“You look different to what I thought you would— better looking, mind.”
“Go on now with your flattery.”
“No, I mean it—it’s the truth.”
“Anyway, none of us fell down with shock, so we’ll leave it at that.”
“Maybe some people who do this kind of thing exchange photos before they meet. ‘Farmer seeks woman with a combine harvester. Please send photo of combine harvester.’”
Tales of the Bright, the Dark & the Bizzare Page 14
