He snatches the phone away.
‘Ava, could I borrow a few clips?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ she smiles.
‘Wait a sec. Now I don’t know--’ Cormac spurts.
‘Not those ones,’ Ava says to him.
I pull out my laptop, open my video editor, and sync Ava’s files to the desktop.
‘What are you doing exactly?’ Cormac asks.
‘Raising awareness.’
I mash on the keyboard, Cormac and Ava schooching in to peer over my shoulders. I piece together a montage of pastoral images: Inishmore’s rocky shoreline, the crystal lake, the market in Kilronan, the buzzing floor of St Enda’s, and Dermot milking at the farm. Between each image, I intersperse a stream of text slides.
‘The economy of Inishmore has its foundation in traditional methods of agriculture.’
‘Sheep and cattle are reared on open pastureland.’
‘The farms have been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years.’
‘Aran milk is legendary the world over.’
‘Like the handcrafted cheeses of homegrown brand, St Enda’s, it’s made with love.’
I fade the screen to black.
‘But this is not a guidebook,’ I say. ‘It’s an S.O.S.’
I call up stock images of supermarket chains and feedlots and flash them onscreen.
‘Should we allow economic interests to threaten local identities?’
I pause the video.
‘That’s deadly!’ Cormac says.
‘It needs one more beat,’ Ava says.
‘You know, you’re right.’ I pull up a blank text slide.
‘Like a tagline,’ Cormac says.
‘Yeah,’ Ava nods at him.
I lean back in my chair and rub at my forehead.
‘How ’bout “We are who we eat?”’ Cormac says.
‘It’s a dairy crisis, not a zombie apocalypse,’ Ava laughs.
‘How’s this?’ I tap away at the keyboard. ‘“Save an island, save the world”.’
‘Love it,’ Ava high fives me.
‘Here, I’ll upload it,’ Cormac says.
‘You can do that here?’ I ask.
Ava pushes her phone across the table. ‘Wi-fi hub,’ she smiles.
‘Posted!’ Cormac says.
‘Already? Holy. Let me link it to the website, and--’
My phone beeps.
‘Two seconds,’ I say and dig it out of my bag. ‘It’s the factory.’
Cormac freezes.
‘Hello?’
‘Julie! Oh GODDDD.’
‘What?! Assumpta?’ A jumble of wailing voices swell behind her.
‘It’s ruined! All of it!’ she shrieks.
‘All of what?’
‘Oh God!’ She tries to say something, but her words are swallowed up in sobs.
‘I’m coming down there. Hang on.’
‘What? What is it?’ Cormac asks.
‘I don’t know. Dermot?’ I call out.
‘He’s milking.’ Cormac nods toward the barn.
‘We can come with you,’ Ava trills.
‘Yeah,’ Cormac says.
‘No. Let me handle this,’ I say, and the two of them heave big teenaged sighs at me and plop back down.
I bolt out the door and don’t stop running until I’ve got a hand on the factory door.
‘I’m here,’ I gasp. Aoife and the girls turn to meet me, eyes muddied with tears, faces long. ‘What? What is it?’
‘It’s gone,’ Orla sniffs.
‘What’s gone?’ The huddle turns a mournful gaze toward the coolers. ‘No,’ I whisper. It’s only then that I realize how quiet it is. Where’s the droning thump of the old diesel? The whine of the auxiliary?
Aoife takes my hand and leads me to the curing room as if it were a funeral march. She swings open the door and a grim, soured smell floods out to meet us.
‘It went at least twelve hours ago.’ She pats at the engine casing. ‘Strain was too much on the old girl.’
‘NO!’ I step inside, pick up a wheel, sniff at it. ‘We can’t save any of it?’
The girls shake their heads.
‘Fit for the bin,’ Teresa says.
‘All that work,’ Emer sighs.
‘All those orders,’ I say, my hands trembling.
‘We can’t make them, of course,’ Aoife says. She hugs me round the shoulders. ‘I’m very sorry, love,’
‘Well, you can’t just give up! Call somebody. The repair guy!’ I yelp.
‘We did,’ Emer says. ‘He’s on his way.’
‘But he’s not promising anything,’ Aoife snipes.
‘What does that mean?!’ comes a familiar voice.
The side door bangs open and in strides Bridie.
‘What are you doing here?!’ Aoife nags at her. ‘You should be at the hospital!’
She marches over to me, head high, shoulders back. ‘I heard what happened,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t stay away.’
‘Isn’t it awful?’ Teresa moans.
‘Dreadful,’ Emer sighs.’
‘Now,’ Bridie says, firm as ever. ‘This factory’s seen worse catastrophes than this one!’
‘Has it?’ Teresa asks.
‘We got through them, and we’ll get through this!’ Bridie booms.
I shake my head in dismay, unable to look any of them in the eye. ‘It’s all my fault.’
‘Nooo,’ Bridie says.
‘Yes, I put us all at risk! And now…’ I gag on a hot rush of tears. ‘Our entire stock is ruined. Where are we going to get the money to pay the farmers?’
Bridie squeezes my hand. ‘You did just as your grandmother would have done. You took a chance on what was best for St Enda’s.’ I look up at her and force a smile, but my throat is still seized with panic.
We all cast about, dumping the spoilt cheese and the soured milk, every pong in the bin scoring a pale chink in my heart. I run outside and try to ring Michael--if I could hear his voice at least!--but it goes straight to voicemail. I linger in the still morning air, trying to steady myself.
A scrawny lad in a jumpsuit walks over to me. ‘Sorry, are you Julie?’ he asks.
‘Yes! You’re the technician?!’
‘Em. Yeah.’
I drag him over to the coolers. ‘Can you fix it?’
‘Maybe.’ He gets down on his hands and knees and yanks off the cowling. After a few long dragging minutes, a rancid whiff of smoke pucks out at us. ‘Sorry, missus?’ the techician says.
‘What?’ I bend over to him.
‘I can’t fix this.’
‘What? What do you mean you can’t fix it?’ I roar at him.
‘Well, I can. But it’ll conk out again in no time.’
Bridie steps up behind me. ‘What’s he saying?’
‘He can’t fix it.’
‘Well, I can,’ the tech says.
‘We can’t afford a new machine, sure we can’t!’ Bridie says.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Michael--thank God!
I pick up.
‘What’s the excuse this time?’ Kate howls. ‘Wait, wait, lemme guess. Abducted by leprechauns.’
I cup my hand to the receiver. ‘This isn’t really a good time.’
‘I KNOW!’ she screams. ‘I just wanted to let you know that the office on forty second is gone. If you care at all.’
‘What!’ Why is it always everything at the one time?!
‘Yeah, thanks, partner. For everything.’
‘I’ll wire the money first thing!’ No idea where I’m gonna get it, but--
‘Really? For real this time.’
‘Yeah.’
There’s a sickening pause at Kate’s end. ‘You’re lying! Chrissake’s, Julie! It’s been nothing but since you’ve been on that island!’
‘Kate, I’m--’
‘I’m out.’
‘Wait! KATE!’ She hangs up. I turn the phone over in my hands, gape
-mouthed.
Right. This is officially the worst day ever. I’ve ruined every last good thing in my life!
Clare comes stomping up to me, head lowered like a charging moose.
NOW it’s officially the worst day ever.
Bridie and the girls close ranks behind me.
‘Can I have a word?’ Clare says, not once taking her eyes from me.
I nod, bracing for the worst, and lead her into the office.
‘Shut the door,’ she says.
Bridie stares after us, hand clapped to her heart. I shrug at her and click the door shut.
‘Sit, please,’ Clare says.
I ease myself down onto the chair across from her and plant my forearms on the desktop. ‘I suppose you’re here to say “I told you so”. Go on. Let’s hear it.’
‘I have a proposition for you,’ she says flatly.
‘Say what?’
‘I’ve spoken to Mr. Heaney. Everything’s in order.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Pending your signature, and Mr. Ryan’s, the sale can be registered, and in three days it will be final. But I have no desire to take on a failing business.’
‘But I thought you were--’
Clare silences me with her eyes and snatches out her checkbook. ‘I’ve added five thousand to the amount we’d agreed upon.’ She signs it with a flourish. ‘If you like, I can give it to you today.’
I stare at her, stunned. ‘But why?’
‘So I can be sure St. Enda’s will come to me in good working order! There’s plenty there for you to sort out this mess and start a new life back home,’ she says.
‘Hold on,’ I blink. ‘Are you saying you’ll give me the money if I agree to leave?’
Clare pushes the check across the desk. ‘Take it or leave it,’ she says. ‘Up to you.’
She wooshes out the door, leaving me staring at the ominous, green backed check. The girls fly in behind her, and I press it into my pocket.
‘Well? What is she after saying?’ Bridie asks.
‘Nothing. She didn’t say anything.’ I grab my bag and make for the door. I can’t take it, all of them looking at me like that!
‘Nothing? Julie, wait!’
‘I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.’
I stumble outside and up the road to the arbor. I need some air, some space to think. I haven’t had a chance to digest the fallout from the breakdown, and now Clare is throwing money at me, and Stuart is begging me back! Is this the universe telling me to pack it in?
I’d blown in with my big city swagger and pushed Kieran and Bridie, the entire island, to bet their way of life on me and my stupid textbook projections. With the factory closed, the co-op would have to reconvene with the Germans. They’d have to sign that awful agreement!
I slump back against the hillock and stare down across the cold, green sea. I should’ve listened to Clare and stayed well and clear of St. Enda’s. It was on me now to make things right, and Clare, God love her, has given me an out. I could have a new cooling system installed, two even, go home and sort another office, a better one, and if I couldn’t patch things up with Kate, there was always Stuart’s offer.
Of all the days for Michael to be gone…
I grab up my phone and dial his number, but there’s no answer.
It’s probably better that I can’t get through. Hearing him, telling him that I’ve made a wreck of everything and I’m going home would only make things worse.
I pick myself up and walk, slow and heart sore, up the road to the cottage. Clare would be waiting there for my answer. I reach the crossroads. There, at the top of the hill, is Michael’s jeep! But he’s headed away, back into town or to the ferry. I wave after him, but the jeep speeds on and drops out of sight. Had he been by looking for me?
I break into a run and burst into the sitting room. Dermot and Clare blink up at me from the sofa. A garish bunch of lilies sits dead center on the coffee table, filling the room with a sick sweetness.
‘Was that Michael?’ I ask.
‘He was, alright,’ Dermot says. ‘He--’
‘He had to head off again, I’m afraid,’ Clare cuts in. ‘These came for you.’ She points at the flowers.
I look to Dermot. ‘Who are these from?’ He gestures for me to look for myself.
They must be from Michael. I thumb open the little card. ‘Congratulations on your promotion. See you, Monday, DIRECTOR Quinn. Best, Stuart.’
Impeccable timing, Stuart.
Clare sneers across the room at me.
‘Well done, Julie,’ she says. ‘You run a fifty year old business into the ground, and this man wants to promote you! Is that how they do things in New York?’
‘Clare. This isn’t the time,’ Dermot harps.
That’s why Michael had left! He thought I was jetting back to New York!
‘I’ve got to go,’ I say and fly out of the room.
‘You owe me an answer!’ Clare yelps.
‘Later.’
I hop onto my bike and tear up the hill toward the cliffs, eyes casting about for Michael’s rust red jeep, heart knocking in my ears. He saw the flowers and bolted. He probably thinks I’ve been sitting on the directorship this whole time, that everything that’d happened at St. Enda’s, between him and me, was just a diversion. It didn’t mean anything in the greater real of my life. There! The jeep is parked just shy of the ruins. I jump off the bike and sprint toward the cliff edge, heart threatening to burst.
Michael sits cross legged on the stone slab, staring out across the water.
‘Michael,’ I cry breathlessly as I bumble over to him. ‘Listen, I--’
‘It’s alright,’ he says and stands up. ‘Really.’
‘No, but I didn’t--’
‘You don’t have to explain. It’s alright.’
‘I didn’t take the job.’
Michael searches my eyes. ‘You didn’t?’
‘No. I mean, not yet. I’m considering my options.’
‘Julie. You’ve got to take this chance.’ My eyes flood with hot, stinging tears. ‘Live the life you’ve always wanted,’ he says and puts his arms around me.
I smoosh my face against his shoulder. ‘But what if that is the wrong life?’ I gasp against the tremor of tears.
‘Shhh, now,’ Michael says and kisses me on the head.
I pull back to look into his eyes. ‘You could come with me.’
He smiles, just at the corners of his mouth. ‘No. I couldn’t. My heart is here. Anyway, I don’t reckon there’d be much call for a cattle vet in New York.’ I laugh through my tears, and Michael hugs me to him. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk you home.’
‘I guess the sale’s gone through?’ Michael says when we reach the gate to the cottage.
‘Tomorrow. Clare’s trading me in for a new cooling system.’ I kick at the loose pebbles on the roadside. ‘My flight’s in the evening.’
Michael forces a smile, but it doesn’t take. ‘When you go, will you do me favor?’
‘Anything.’
‘Tell me. I want to be there.’
I hug him close. ‘Okay.’ He kisses me and then pulls away with a sad sort of finality. It takes everything in me to walk up the path and through the door without looking back.
I go straight to Mum’s room and shudder into a heap on the bed. The tears come in a relentless, hacking wave. Everything I’d wanted had been flopped inside out. I wasn’t off the ferry five minutes, and I was raging to go home. Now, I’m not sure where that is.
There’s a tap at the door. I roll over just enough to see Clare kneading her hands at the foot of the bed. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she says.
I pull myself up and draw a hand across my face. ‘Thanks. I’m not hungry.’
She takes a step toward me, then stops as if she’s come up against an invisible wall. ‘I’ve been onto Mr. Heaney. We’re to be at his office to meet Mr. Ryan at nine in the morning.’
‘That’s. Good,’ I s
ay. She nods into her chest and turns to go. ‘Clare?’ I call after her. She cranes around to me, and I can see now the ugly red rim around her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. About everything,’ I sniff. ‘I should have listened to you.’
Clare looks down at the floor, takes a deep breath, and looks back to me. ‘It’ll come out alright,’ she says. ‘It will.’
I try to smile, and so does she. It’s a strange moment, the two of us in Mum’s room, trying to love one another.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As promised, Johnno Ryan is elbows planted and jabbering away at us bright and early in Cathal’s safari shod office. A strand of his wild white hair keeps falling into his face, and he keeps tucking it behind an ear. How old is this guy? Ninety?!
‘First day on the reef, I’m all suited up,’ he says. ‘Got the fins on, tank, the whole bit, and the man says for me to jump in. I think that’s what he said. He was Swiss or German or something. Anyway, I see the lads next to me are sort of leaning backward and going in that way, so I waddle over to the back of the boat and lean waaay back. Slammed smack into the dive platform. Bone came right through the wetsuit!’ Johnno hoists up his leg to show off the cast.
Made With Love: I Love You Forever Page 25
