The Tour

by Jean Grainger

  For once, Dorothy’s face showed something other than disdain.

  ‘Well, I’m sure GTR appreciates my continued custom. I have taken many tours with them, so I’m probably one of their most important clients,’ she said smugly.

  ‘That was certainly the impression I got from the message they left for me,’ Conor agreed.

  ‘Now Juliet I have to tell you, that like myself, you are in an ordinary room with no obvious perks. Handing her the key, he gave an imperceptible wink.

  ‘Oh she’ll be fine,’ Dorothy replied, ‘any hotel room is a treat for Juliet. Isn’t that right dear?’

  Juliet chuckled inwardly at the condescension, so relieved at having finally made the break from this monstrous woman.

  ‘Oh yes Dorothy,’ she said, trying to conceal her glee, ‘I’ll be fine. See you in the morning!’

  Before Dorothy had time to suggest that they meet for dinner Juliet was gone. She caught up with Conor on the stairs while Dorothy was being ushered to her suite by the manager.

  ‘Conor, I don’t know how you did it. I can’t thank you enough,’ Juliet gushed once Dorothy was clearly out of range. ‘I know the suite is probably much more expensive, but just tell me the cost and I’ll take care of it immediately. Honestly, you’ve no idea how relieved I am…’

  Conor turned and put his big hands on Juliet’s shoulders. ‘Now you listen here to me. I want you to relax and enjoy the trip. The others are a nice bunch and they’ll be happy to have you join them as they go around, so long as herself is out of the picture. As for the room, it won’t cost you a penny.’

  Juliet began to protest ‘But I can’t expect…’

  Conor interrupted her in mock stern tones. ‘You can and you will. The manager here is a pal of mine and the suite was empty anyhow. I won a few bob off him a few weeks back at poker and he’s looking after Dorothy for me as a kind of alternative payment arrangement shall we say.’ Conor gave her a wink. ‘Consider it my good deed for the day OK? Now, not another word on the subject right, or my reputation as a hard man will be in tatters.’

  Juliet’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You are one of the kindest men I have ever met. I just don’t know what to say.’

  Conor blushed and gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Go away out of that,’ he replied and headed for his room.

  As Juliet put the key in the lock, she heard a noise coming from further down the corridor, ‘Psst! Are you alone?’ a voice asked in a stage whisper.

  Juliet saw the face of Patrick O’Neill emerge from around the door of the room across the corridor.

  ‘Em yes…Dorothy has another room. On the top floor so I…’ Juliet was shy around the big police officer.

  ‘Well get yourself down here girl. We’re having a little cocktail hour.’

  Juliet threw her bag on the bed and crossed the corridor. In Room 105, she found Bert and Ellen sitting at a table in the bay window.

  ‘We’re actually drinking to save Bert!’ Patrick laughed. ‘Corlene has set her sights on him, so it’s not safe for him to be out alone.’

  ‘She sure does believe in the institution of matrimony. She is a pretty lady but I guess I’m just too old for chasing skirts anymore. A nice scotch on the rocks and an early night is my idea of excitement these days,’ Bert responded.

  ‘Now Juliet, what’s your poison? We got whiskey, beer and wine – take your pick.’

  ‘A glass of wine would be just lovely,’ Juliet replied. ‘You really are very kind to invite me.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ cried Patrick. ‘We’ve just been waiting for you to ditch old iron drawers.’

  Juliet broke into peals of laughter at the perfect description of her travelling companion.

  Patrick took a long slug of beer from the neck of the bottle and said, ‘Y’know Juliet, we’ve been feeling really sorry for you. How in hell’s name did you get stuck with that whining old bat?’

  ‘Oh Patrick,’ Juliet replied, ‘I know, I know. I mean I don’t like to speak badly of her, but it’s been so embarrassing. I never wanted you all to think she was speaking for both of us. Talk about the ugly American. She gives the rest of us such a bad name.’

  ‘Hey Ellen!’ Patrick said, ‘what about Anna? We should call her room and see if she wants to join us right?’

  Ellen and Juliet had both noticed the heated conversation between Anna and Elliot earlier on, and it was obvious when she arrived back to the coach after the stop at Ladies View that things were anything but right.

  ‘Her room is just beside mine and I just might have a little bottle of something to add to the party down there so I’ll bring her back with me if she wants to join us,’ Ellen said, as she headed out the door. Stopping off at her room, she collected the six-pack of Guinness she had bought on impulse that afternoon. If only her family and friends could see her now. One week in Ireland and she’s taken to the drink!

  She knocked gently on Anna’s door and, when it opened slightly, Ellen could see that the younger woman had been crying.

  ‘Oh Ellen, I’m sorry…I was just …Something…’ Anna began incoherently.

  She had been hoping that Elliot would realise his reaction was crazy by the time they had booked into the hotel, but instead he had just dumped his bags and stalked off in the direction of the town. He hadn’t reappeared since. Anna was sitting on the bed, stunned, horrified and trying to assimilate the impact of the crisis when Ellen knocked at the door.

  Ellen moved towards the little table by the window. ‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you like, but sometimes it does help to talk.’

  Anna looked at this kind old lady and felt that if she was going to confide in anyone, then Ellen was as good a bet as she was likely to get. Slowly, and in between sniffles and gulps, Anna explained her situation. When she finished, she looked plaintively at Ellen. ‘So now what do I do? I don’t have a job, my family think I was crazy to have anything to do with Elliot in the first place. I don’t have a house, I mean how can I give this child anything it needs?’

  Years later, Anna was to replay this scene in her head and every time she did she told herself how fortunate it was that the person who heard her story that night was Ellen O’Donovan. Another person might have railed against Elliot, or told her that in this day and age women had choices. They might even have berated her for being so stupid that she couldn’t see what was perfectly clear to everyone else.

  Ellen fixed Anna with her clear blue eyes. ‘All any child needs is love. My father raised me on his own in a strange country where he had no support. It wasn’t easy and I’m sure there were lonely times, but he loved me with all his heart. And I loved him. Neither of us regretted a second of it and it will be just the same for you, my dear. Congratulations.’

  As Anna dried her tears, she realised that her world had not just come to an end. Ellen announced, ‘I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink! There’s a little cocktail party going on in the Patrick’s room and I’ve been sent to fetch you. So how about we both touch up our make-up first, eh?’

  Chapter 12

  Despite spending an hour in Patrick’s room, where everyone had been so kind, Anna now felt exhausted and miserable. She was slowly acknowledging that she had made too many excuses for Elliot, but she still couldn’t bring herself to believe that he wouldn’t come around to the idea of the baby. The night wore on and there was still no sign of him, so Anna undressed and got into bed. She awoke at four in the morning, still alone. As she made a cup of coffee and watched the sun rise, she placed her hands on her still flat stomach and spoke to her child directly for the first time.

  ‘Your father is a cold-hearted shit. Everyone tried to tell me but I wouldn’t listen,’ she said aloud, ‘but your Mommy loves you enough for two. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. I don’t know how exactly yet, but everything is going to be fine.’

  As she boarded the coach, Dorothy asked in her usual acerbic manner, ‘I suppose we all have to wait for your husband yet agai
n? This really is getting most tiresome.’

  The normally apologetic Anna turned and looked her straight in the face.

  ‘No Dorothy,’ she replied, emphasising the older woman’s name. ‘I think we have all waited long enough for Elliot don’t you? Some things will never change, no matter how much you may want them to.’ Then turning to Conor, she said, ‘I don’t think Elliot is going to continue with the trip. I’m sorry, but it would be best if we just moved on.’

  Despite being on the brink of tears, she remained composed and took her seat.

  Ellen moved in to the window seat and offered the other seat to Anna. Anna smiled gratefully. ‘Ireland is a magnificent country, isn’t it? I’m really enjoying the trip so far,’ Ellen proffered. Her gentle voice had a soothing effect on Anna. She knew that Anna was fragile and that light rhetorical conversation was exactly what she needed.

  ‘Today is a very special day on our trip,’ Conor began, ‘we will be touring the Dingle peninsula, which is just spectacular. We will be visiting some Celtic and Early Christian sites, and of course we’ll be in the heart of the Irish-speaking part of the county. So, I know you’ll really enjoy it. As well as that, we’re going to visit the Blasket Islands, which is a rare treat. The weather out there can be very unpredictable and life on the island was hard for those who lived there. But despite all that, such a wealth of writing and art has been created there, it’s remarkable. There are no permanent residents there now, of course. They have all either emigrated or have come to live on the mainland. ’

  Patrick was confused. He came to Ireland expecting lots of things but, most importantly, he wanted to feel like an Irishman. He remembered all the family get-togethers he had attended as a child – events that filled the young Patrick with patriotism for “the old country”. Listening to his uncle singing ‘Danny Boy’, and to his father and his friends telling stories of the “boys” and their noble struggle for freedom in the fight against the English. As a young police officer he began to make regular contributions from his meagre salary to NORAID, the organisation that supported the families of Republican prisoners, a subject he had hoped to raise during his conversations with people in pubs while he was on vacation here. If he was honest with himself, he wanted a little bit of gratitude, or if not that, at least a sense that he earned his badge as an Irishman and could take his place at the bar with his fellow countrymen as one of them. He wanted to be identified as culturally and socially different from the others on the coach. They seemed like nice people, but they weren’t Irish. They were just tourists.

  So far, however, this vacation had been less than satisfactory. Conor seemed to have no animosity at all towards the British oppression and occupation of Ireland and seemed, very subtly, to have been able to get Patrick to agree with his calm and reasoned opinions. Outside the tour group, the only other person he had managed to have a proper conversation with in the past few days was Cynthia. She was something else. She seemed kind of quirky, and her background was strange to say the least. She had said she was Irish, lived here all her life, but was educated in England and appeared to identify with the age-old enemy more than she did with her own country. All her talk of horses and big houses had Patrick totally confused. On top of that, it seems she’s Protestant; the whole thing was a mystery but since he had kind of set himself up as an authority on all things Irish, he couldn’t ask anyone.

  Corlene decided that if she couldn’t get Bert into some kind of romantic clinch today, then there was no hope. Granted he was an old guy, but hey, he was on this tour which meant he was rich, so he wouldn’t be the worst person to get stuck with. Corlene wasn’t too keen on dusty Texas, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, she reasoned. She had dressed with particular care that morning. Her leopard- print wraparound dress left nothing to the imagination; it would be a waste not to put the boobs paid for by husband number three to some practical use, she reckoned. Her vertiginous sandals caused the ever-diplomatic Conor to express some concern about her safety during the day ahead. Apparently, this Blasket island place was “a bit rough” whatever that meant! She wasn’t going to put on sneakers for anyone. They would look ridiculous, and most unflattering, with her dress. That Conor doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, she thought with a smug grin. She had been Homecoming Queen three years in a row, admittedly in 1977, 1978 and 1979, so she was used to walking in high heels. She had managed to wangle her way into sitting beside Bert on the coach today, but not before she noticed him trying to chat up that other old relic, Ellen, yet again.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Bert’s Texan drawl. ‘Excuse me Miss Corlene, would you like some candy?’ he said, offering her a paper bag containing a variety of sweets. Corlene turned on her brightest smile, her scarlet collagen-enhanced lips (funded by husband number four) contorted into what she thought was a combination of coquettish charm and suggestive allure. Maybe all was not lost. ‘Why Bert, that’s really kind of you but I’m sweet enough. Thank you for thinking of me though,’ she fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Are you enjoying the trip Bert?’

  ‘I most certainly am Ma’am. It’s real pretty and the people seem great.’

  Corlene deliberately let her leg rest against Bert’s and applied some pressure as she spoke.

  ‘Oh yes it’s lovely, but I get so lonely sometimes. You must be the same, travelling alone…’

  Bert realised this was his opportunity and if he didn’t take it now he could find himself in real trouble with this woman.

  ‘Well y’know Miss Corlene, I’m real lucky like that. I don’t ever get lonely. I was very happily married for forty- one years. My kids and grandkids are wonderful. I got enough money to keep me comfortable and I’ve handed over the running of the company to my son and daughter. I thought what’s the point of holding onto stuff when I don’t need it? I’m sure you feel the same. It’s all for the kids in the end anyhow, so now I’ve just got a small pension and I live in a one-bedroom apartment. Take the bus everywhere and, as I said, I have things just the way I want them. Nice and simple and easy. I’ve no interest – and no point – in changing my life at this late stage.’

  Bert’s innocent brown eyes looked straight at Corlene. While his speech seemed innocuous enough, Corlene realised for the first time that Bert was a tough guy, making it clear he wasn’t going to be taken for a fool. He knew her game and in a gentlemanly and diplomatic way he was telling her in no uncertain terms that she was wasting her time.

  Recovering her composure she replied, ‘Well Bert, it seems like you got life all figured out.’

  I’m no quitter, she added silently. That old Texan might be off the list, but there are plenty more fish in the sea.

  The day passed pleasantly, as the group continued to bond under the unobtrusive but effective guidance of Conor. They visited wonderfully atmospheric Celtic ruins, early Christian churches and strolled through the Gaeltacht village of Ballyferriter. A Gaeltacht was an area of the country where Irish was spoken Conor explained while they shopped for their picnic lunch on the island.

  Walking back to the coach, Conor joined in the conversation between Patrick and Bert.

  ‘I’m tellin’ you Bert, one guy came into the little store there and said ‘dig a ditch’ and the guy behind the counter answered him by saying, ‘dig a squirrel ditch’!’

  Bert laughed out loud. ‘What the hell is a squirrel ditch?

  And why would you need to dig it?’

  Conor guffawed, ‘What those fellas were saying is an Irish greeting, our form of hello, if you like. It means God be with you, and the reply is “God and Mary be with you. Dia Dhuit agus Dia is Muire agat”. Nothing at all to do with squirrels I’m afraid!’

  ‘Well I dunno about that Conor. It sure sounded like squirrel ditch to me.’

  The trip out to the island fulfilled all their expectations and they marvelled at how people had managed to live in such an isolated place in harsh winter conditions. The weather was glorious, and it seemed to most of the group that t
hey were as close to heaven as it was possible to get. As they spread their picnic on the grass, Conor told them stories of the writers and poets who had come from the island and he read them poems and stories, including a short extract from some famous book in the Irish language. While the words sounded strange to their ears, there was a wonderful musical quality to the language. As they lay on the grass, curlews and gulls circling overhead and the wild Atlantic pounding the cliffs relentlessly below them, each member of the group was lost in his or her own thoughts. When, eventually, Conor insisted that they make their way back to the pier to get the boat to the mainland, it was with great reluctance that they gathered up their belongings.

  Dylan fell into step with Conor and Ellen.

  ‘Thank you so much Conor.’ Ellen said. ‘What a wonderful experience you have given us. You know, there are expensive spas and wellness centres all over the world, but I think sitting there on the grass, listening to you read us those poems and stories, well, no money could ever pay for that.’

  ‘When the weather cooperates here, which is hardly ever I might add, it’s the most special place on this earth and it makes my job very easy.’

  Dylan liked Ellen and Conor the best of the group, so he had the confidence to contribute his own opinions. ‘This country is totally awesome,’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘When my Mom said we were coming to this island place, I was like, totally bummed out, but especially today, I can, like hear, where the music comes from. There’s this tune, called ‘The Lonely Sailor’ or something, and it’s like the sound of the sea, with birds and everything, it’s awesome.’

  Conor smiled at Dylan’s turnaround. ‘Would that tune be called ‘The Lonesome Boatman’ maybe? It’s usually played on a tin whistle?’

  Dylan clicked his fingers ‘Yeah dude, that’s it…’ he marvelled at the older man, ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’

  ‘God Dylan, there’s so much I don’t know about everything. You just got me on a good day.’