The Blue Pool

by Siobhan MacDonald

  “Fancy,” said Ruth.

  “Really?” said Sarah. “I haven’t seen any apart from a few small streams.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Charlotte. “Because it’s hidden – it’s a place of secrets. Most of the water is invisible. Rainwater makes its way from the acid surface of the hills and it burns swallow-holes in the limestone. The streams go underground through the limestone, making a series of cave systems.”

  “The water’s underground?” came Ruth.

  She had their interest now.

  “A lot of it. That’s why pot-holers and cavers come. To explore the caves. Lots are still unmapped. Look…” she pointed. “Over there to the right, that’s Slieve Elva. You can see the limestone contours.”

  “Looks like a cake mixture poured in a tin,” said Sarah.

  “When did you ever bake a cake, Nugent?” scoffed Ruth.

  “I was a competent baker, I’ll have you know,” retorted Sarah. “Sister Agnes said I had a touch with pastry. And my cake mixtures never curdled.”

  “Ooooh,” said Ruth.

  “Julia Child – eat your heart out,” Charlotte added.

  “I should have gone to catering college,” Sarah muttered.

  Like Mrs Nugent would have allowed that.

  “Do you think the chops will still be edible?” asked Charlotte.

  Keeping themselves fed was looking grim. Sarah’s purse was speeding its way back to Dublin compounded by disaster with the rucksack.

  Charlotte couldn’t wait to get out of college and earn some money. Her father had stopped sending her cheques and she hated taking money from Richard even though he always insisted.

  “The chops are fine – it’s my cosy sleeping bag that’s ruined,” moaned Ruth.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure Cyril has bed-linen you can use,” said Charlotte.

  The car settled into silence, its backseat passengers battling nausea caused by hairpin bends. From time to time they drove by groups of walkers – all ruddy cheeks and muscled calves. They trundled past herds of cattle grazing in rare plateaus of grass that glacial activity hadn’t scarified. On the hillside were lone lopsided trees, deformed and tortured by the wind.

  Charlotte’s neck was getting stiff, her shoulders ached. It couldn’t be much further. Minutes later when she rounded yet another corner, she was rewarded. She got butterflies just as she always did. The landscape had opened, the limestone crust with pockets of green swept down to meet the shimmering sea. It was open to all that the sky and the Atlantic threw at it. Her spirits soared. She loved this place. It was wild and barren and beautiful.

  Five minutes later, they passed through a small town that was home to a pub, post-office, a craft shop, and a grocery. The same grocery where she’d bought ice-creams as a kid and the same pub where she’d sucked red lemonade through a straw.

  It was early evening. They’d turned their backs on the bay below and had begun a steady incline. They passed a deserted church and turned a bend as the hills on either side hugged them closer. A startled pheasant took off into the clear sky. Rust splattered cattle drank from a stream that bubbled down the incline.

  The red Ford Fiesta chugged up the hill until the road leveled out once more. Charlotte spotted the familiar landmark signaling the opening in the road to the right. She smiled. It was still here – that same painted sign – faded now, but promising fresh eggs. The happy hen swung to and fro in the wind. The next turning to the right was theirs.

  “Here we are!” she announced, taking the turning right. “Welcome to the Blue Pool.”

  Ruth

  The Blue Pool

  August 1991

  Her stash of bottles had broken, her sleeping bag reeked of raw meat, and her bum was killing her from the bumpy road. But Ruth felt happy. The results weren’t out but she’d nailed those exams. She was confident the autumn re-sits were in the bag.

  Despite her confidence, exam nightmares gripped her in the still of night. It was the same dream every time. She wasn’t prepared. Her notes were lost. She’d woken up late. She turned up at the wrong exam venue. Crazy illogical stuff. She’s back in the restaurant on Lake Michigan serving a customer who turns out to be one of the doctors from the abortion clinic she’d attended with Kathy. He stares at her. Freaks her out. Comes over and taps her on the shoulder. ‘Hey, how come you’re not back in university studying for your exam tomorrow?’ She panics. No-one told her the exam was on. She’s the only one who doesn’t know. She has to leave immediately. She has to get back to Ireland. Josh White pitches up in her nightmare – he’s a flight attendant on the plane. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ she says. ‘Needed a change of scene,’ he replies. She explains she’s going back to do her re-sits. ‘Wasting your time, kiddo,’ he tells her, ‘exams finished up yesterday.’ So, there’s no point in going home. She’d messed up again. She’d got the day wrong. She’d missed the exam.

  Back in the real world, the results would be out for real in two weeks’ time. Just a fortnight to go and the four re-sit students would know their fate. They had a moratorium – no exam talk. That suited Ruth. She didn’t feel like being disingenuous. She didn’t feel like pretending to her friends that she’d failed her re-sits. That would sit uncomfortably with her. The others were sceptical about their chances. Any declaration of confidence from Ruth would only serve to cast her outside the circle.

  The cabin was just as Charlotte described. It was one of eight, all offset from one another. A scattering of gravel surrounded each cabin and parking was at the rear. The rough track that led to the cabins forked with another track leading to a path by the water. The path was hidden in parts by a straggly line of mountain ash. There were four small jetties that jutted into the water. Between the cabins and the water was a meadow of grass and wild flowers.

  “Can you cut across the meadow to get to the jetties?” Ruth asked.

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” Charlotte replied. “Safer to go down the track. There are bog holes full with water. Perfect for twisting an ankle.”

  They’d piled out of the car as soon as Charlotte had parked.

  “Just a minute,” Charlotte said, as she crouched down by a window ledge.

  “It should be here… it’s normally here in the gap under the ledge… I can feel it… got it!” She pulled out a big black key. “This is where we’ll keep the key if we’re all leaving the cabin together.”

  “Gotcha,” Sarah said.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying put – going to vegetate,” said Kathy.

  “Ouch!” Charlotte stubbed her toe on the plant-pot by the door. The plant inside had long since died. “Okay, here goes…” The key turned creakily in the back door. As she opened the door the others followed, their eyes squinting into the gloom. They entered a musty room full of fishing rods, baskets, tackle, wellingtons, waterproofs, and piles of newspapers. There was a pungent smell of dog.

  “Funny smell,” Sarah sniffed as she pulled a face.

  “That’ll be from Muddy – my uncle’s dog,” said Charlotte lifting the latch on another door. It squeaked as she pushed it open revealing a room with wood-panelled walls and exposed beams. There was an open staircase on one end. At the other end of the room was a fireplace with a seating area on either side, and to the left of the chimney was an open door into what looked like a tiny kitchen.

  “This is just so cute,” said Ruth. “I love the red check curtains.”

  “Bags the rocking chair!” said Kathy.

  “That chair’s been here forever,” Charlotte said, smiling. “I’ve had so many bedtime stories in that rocker.”

  Kathy clapped her hands together. “The chair is mine and in return I’ll tell you all my ghost stories.”

  Jesus, spare us, groaned Ruth inwardly. Kathy’s stories had a habit of getting weird at the best of times. While the place looked romantic in the daylight, Ruth imagined it could be creepy and eerie in the dark.

  “Okay, deal,” said Charlot
te. “By the way, there’s no TV. Homespun entertainment all the way.”

  “There’s the stereo,” said Sarah who was flicking through some vinyl on a shelf. “Into soul, your uncle? All I see is Muddy Waters and Aretha.”

  “Yep. Cyril’s dog’s called Muddy,” Charlotte said.

  “So, an evening with Aretha,” said Sarah. “We’ll dine to music, followed by tales of ghosts and ghouls.”

  “Are we the only ones up here?” Ruth asked, looking at Charlotte a little nervously. “Did anyone notice whether there was life in any of the other cabins?”

  “I didn’t notice any activity as we drove in,” Charlotte replied. “I’ll take a look.” Going to the front door, she tried to yank it open. It was a wooden half door painted blue, but the bottom half had warped and was refusing to budge so Charlotte left by the back door, closely followed by Kathy.

  “Come on, Sarah,” said Ruth. “You come with me. We’ll sort out the beds upstairs.”

  * * *

  Sarah said she’d share with Ruth in the bunk-room. With her sleeping bag out of commission, Ruth set to and made her bed with threadbare towels and moth-balled blankets she found in a linen cupboard.

  Bed-making done, she stood with Sarah at the window and admired the setting sun. It was crimson against the limestone terraces. Flocks of birds swooped across the still waters of the pool. Large insects swarmed and danced between the fronds of long grass bordering the water. Probably dragonflies, thought Ruth. In the distance, they could hear a dog bark and the low bellow of cattle.

  “What do you think those two are gassing about?” Ruth asked Sarah. Kathy and Charlotte were sitting on the jetty, feet dangling in the water.

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Sarah. “If I had to bet on it, Charlotte’s probably banging on about Tomas Walsh and Kathy’s pretending to be interested.”

  “Do you think Charlotte and Tomas will stay together after college?” asked Sarah.

  “It’s a possibility I suppose,” Ruth said, slowly. “Charlotte graduates next year. Tomas has another two years. Anything could happen. They’ve been talking about going abroad together and doing voluntary work. They certainly seem intense together.”

  “I think you’re right,” agreed Sarah. “I think he’s in Charlotte’s long-term plans. I think she’s reckoning on having a family with Tomas someday.”

  Ruth groaned. “No more talk about families and pregnancies,” she said. She’d had quite enough of that particular topic.

  “Do you think Kathy’s okay?” asked Sarah quietly.

  “You mean about the termination?”

  “About the termination, her brother Lawrence, Josh White, about the exams. All of it.”

  “She seems okay,” said Ruth. She paused. “Maybe a little more scatty than usual. She only talks about all that happened when she’s had a drink.”

  “You know that stuff with Lawrence…” Sarah stopped. And looking straight at Ruth, “Did you ever meet him?” she asked.

  “No. But I always thought he sounded like a nice guy.” Ruth had only ever been at the farmhouse for the funeral, the same as everyone else.

  “The guy must have felt pretty awful to do what he did.”

  “I guess.”

  “It took guts too though, don’t you think?”

  “Guts?”

  “You know what I mean,” said Sarah. “It must have taken a certain amount of courage. I wonder if he regretted it… you know, in those few moments between life and death, you know like… was he hanging there thinking ‘oh shit, I didn’t really mean to do this.’”

  Ruth stared at her. “Jeez, I don’t even want to think about that. And I certainly don’t think I’d describe what he did as courageous. It’s not the word I’d use. It’s horrendous. Tragic. Appalling. But not courageous.”

  “Oh alright.” Sarah pulled a face. “I was only saying. Keep your knickers on.”

  Ruth pulled a face as well. They both laughed then, wanting to lighten the mood.

  “Fab here, isn’t it?” said Sarah.

  “Absolutely,” Ruth agreed. Still looking out the window, she watched as Kathy and Charlotte pulled their legs out of the water.

  “I could stay here forever,” Sarah said, sighing.

  “For a holiday, yes. Forever, no bloody way!”

  Ruth enjoyed the countryside but her brief spell in Chicago had whetted an appetite for cities. She craved urban excitement. When she had her degree she was heading straight for a busy metropolis again. “The countryside is fine for holidays, but I prefer the buzz of real world.”

  “That’s my problem there exactly,” said Sarah. “The real world and I are not getting along too well just now.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Ruth said, impatiently. “I’m sure you passed your exams. Anyway we’re here to forget about the real world for a few days.”

  Sarah pushed a matted forelock from her face. “It’s not just the poxy exams, Ruth. The exams are only part of it. She wants to control every single thing I do.”

  “Your mother?” asked Ruth.

  Sarah nodded.

  That woman was a tyrant. Sarah should stand up to her more.

  “What I wear, who I see, where I go…. I did the hair thing to spite her.” Sarah was upset. “You should have seen her face when she saw my hair, it was priceless.”

  “I’m sure she only wants what’s best for you,” said Ruth. There was little else that she could say. She could hardly say that the woman was a tyrant. And a nasty snob to boot. How did Sarah’s dad put up with it? Come to think of it, there was precious little talk of Sarah’s dad. He’d probably been beaten into submission years ago.

  “Have you told your mum about Luke yet?”

  Mrs Nugent would probably self-combust on the spot. Come to think of it, Sarah’d hardly mentioned her fisherman boyfriend. As far as Ruth knew, he was the only guy to pass Sarah’s six-week deadline.

  “Yeah, right. Like I’m going to do that. Do you think I’m a masochist?” retorted Sarah. “Anyway, with me being in Dublin and Luke in the west, I’ve hardly seen him. Think I’m getting tired of the smell of fish…” she trailed off.

  Turning to face Ruth, Sarah suddenly looked full of mischief. “If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it to yourself?” Her eyes sparkled. She looked the way she did when she’d found out some titillating gossip.

  “You know I’m good for a secret,” said Ruth. She hadn’t breathed a word of Kathy’s termination to anyone outside the four of them.

  Suddenly, there came a crashing sound downstairs. Ruth and Sarah raced to the landing.

  “Hey honey, I’m home!”

  Kathy was thumping on the warped half-door, doing her Jack Nicholson impression from her favorite movie, The Shining.

  Sarah burst out laughing. “We’re going to have some fun with that lunatic this weekend,” she said. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I’m bloody starving.”

  “I’m starving too,” said Ruth making for the stairs. “What was it you were about to tell me?”

  “Oh, that…” Sarah appeared to think. “Not just now, Ruth. Later.” And she brushed past Ruth as she slid down the banister.

  * * *

  Charlotte and Kathy had confirmed there were no signs of life from the other cabins. And for the next hour or so, they set the cabin to rights. Work surfaces were wiped, the bathroom was cleaned, and some ominously large cobwebs were swept away.

  “Holy crap!” said Sarah, brandishing a duster, “Come and look at the size of this spider, you could saddle him up and ride him off into the sunset.”

  “Just get rid of it,” said Kathy, who loathed spiders. “And kindly refrain from alerting us to any further wildlife.”

  “Sorry about the cleaning, everyone, I don’t think Cyril’s been here in a while,” Charlotte apologised. “Richard stayed some time ago and said the place was clean. I guess he meant bachelor clean.”

  “No problem, Charlie. What are a few cobwebs amongst frie
nds?” said Ruth. “We’re only happy to have somewhere to chill for a few days. You’re a star to have organised it all.”

  They soon sat down to a convivial supper. By student standards, the meal was good. Arriving late had meant that the small shop in the village was closed and they were forced to raid Cyril’s cupboards. It wasn’t quite the supper Ruth had planned. However, the table looked pleasant with nightlight candles, freshly picked montebretia in a milk-bottle, and flowery toilet paper in place of napkins.

  When it got dark, Charlotte lit an oil lamp in the window recess. The mellow smell of paraffin wafted through the room and in the grate a fire began to crackle. Ruth had found coal and wood in the small bunker at the back of the cabin and had lit a fire.

  “What exactly is this?” Sarah pierced a lumpy mass with her fork.

  “Look, madam, I didn’t criticise your hair so please don’t you criticise my cooking.” Ruth was not in the mood for ridicule. “It was supposed to be chops in a red wine sauce but we know what happened to the wine. I found a tin of prunes in the cupboard – so I improvised.”

  “It’s dee-licious,” said Kathy, stifling a snigger.

  “Right. That’s it!” said Ruth, downing her knife and fork. “I challenge you lot to do better. And I managed a dessert.” She’d found two tins of raspberries and a tin of carnation cream at the back of a cupboard.

  “No, really, you have done well,” said Charlotte, trying to keep a straight face.

  Ruth ignored them and returned with the dessert.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” Sarah said, holding up her hands.

  “Why ever not? I thought you liked dessert?” Ruth was aggrieved that her efforts were being poorly received.

  “No offence, but tinned raspberries. They look like tonsils in blood. I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “Well, can’t have them going to waste,” Charlotte said, snaffling Sarah’s share.

  Clearing the table again, Ruth thought about supplies for the weekend. It was typical that no one else had thought about the basics. As she’d prepared the meal, she’d done a quick inventory of the cupboards. There were packets of oxtail and chicken noodle soup, tins of macaroni cheese and beans, three tins of fruit, a tin of custard, a packet of sugar, tea, and tins of powdered milk. She didn’t bother to look at the expiry date. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Between the dry and tinned goods and pooling together their money, they’d be fine until Monday.