The Whole of the Moon

by Kevin McManus

  “You shouldn't be up here. Is that your car back there, the Ford Mondeo? Is it broken down?” Jim asked bluntly.

  “No, just couldn't get any further,” Conor replied.

  “You really should stay back at home until we find out who this car belongs to. Look, get in the back of the jeep, it's bloody freezing out there,” Jim said as he got out to open the doors of the Range Rover to let Sarah and Conor in.

  “Did you find the car Darragh was driving?” Conor asked Jim.

  “We found a silver Golf.”

  “How long was it there?” Sarah asked.

  “It was discovered there yesterday morning by three men who arrived to cut timber. The car was parked in the middle of the pass that was the main access into the woods where they had been cutting timber for the last few months. At first, they didn't really pass much remarks on it. They thought it could just belong to somebody out for a walk around the woods or lake, as many people walk around there, especially this week, as people are still on Christmas holidays. However, they noticed that the car was still there yesterday evening when they finished work and were coming out of the woods about five o'clock and it hadn't moved this morning at 8:30 when they came back. Obviously, this made them suspicious.”

  “Was the car locked?” Conor asked.

  “The workmen went over to look at the car and noticed that it wasn't locked and the keys were still in the ignition. At that point, one of the men went up to the phone box beside Shemore Church and contacted us. Garda Ryan and Garda McLoughlin went straight to the scene about half an hour ago. They were the two Guards who were at the checkpoint outside Sarah's home. That's as much as we know so far,” Jim responded.

  The Range Rover came to the junction and turned left down a rough, wet pass, which was the entrance into Dunmadden Woods. About a mile along the pass, the vehicle came to a stop. In front of them was a Garda patrol car and in front of that was the silver Volkswagen Golf.

  Detective Mulcahy went over to the car where Garda Ryan and McLoughlin were examining it. He immediately looked at the number plates and checked them against the car registration given to him by Darragh's sister, Anne. They must've matched, because Conor could see him nodding. The detective went over to the two young Guards and Conor strained to listen in.

  “Well, it's the car all right. Have you found anything of interest in or around the car yet?” Jim Mulcahy asked as he opened the car door and peered inside.

  “No, nothing yet, Detective Mulcahy. I'm afraid we only just got here about five minutes ago. We got it tight to get up some of those bloody hills with the feckin' snow.” Garda McLoughlin replied in that rough Donegal accent.

  “What does it look like to you, lads? If it's a suicide, it's going to be some job locating the body in these woods in this weather. If he is in the lake, that's a whole different story. We are going to need a hell of a lot more manpower to find the remains.”

  Jim Mulcahy returned to the Range Rover to talk to Sarah and Conor.

  “Well, the car does belong to Darragh's sister and presumably Darragh parked it there early on Tuesday morning. Where he went after that obviously is unknown at present.”

  “What happens now?” Conor asked.

  “What happens now is that I plan to organise a thorough search of the area as soon as sufficient resources are made available.”

  The detective didn't spell it out to Sarah and Conor, but the logical follow on was that Darragh must have taken his life somewhere in the vicinity.

  “Do ye want a lift back to your car?”

  Sarah didn't answer. She seemed numb; she sat motionless and stared at the Golf and the dark woods surrounding it, which were coated in a canopy of white snow.

  “We're okay, thanks. I think that we would prefer to walk back to clear our heads a bit. It's a lot to take in,” Conor replied.

  “Okay, I'll be in touch if we discover … I'll call up to the house or send one of the Guards if there are any developments.”

  “I'd like to give some help with the search. If you need help?” Conor asked.

  “Yea, Conor, I appreciate that. I'll let you know if we need you.”

  The couple got out of the back seat of the Range Rover. The snow had stopped falling and was turning into a light sleety rain.

  “Let's walk down towards the lake shore for a few minutes, Conor.”

  “Okay, Sarah, if it makes you feel better.”

  Conor held Sarah's hand and they turned out from the woods and walked down the snow-covered path to Lough Oughter, a path she had taken with Darragh many, many times. When they reached the shore, Sarah stood for ten minutes surveying the lake and the snow-covered hills that surrounded it. It was if she could sense that the spirit of Darragh was resting there.

  Conor held her tightly with his arm around her shoulder. Her long black mane was blowing around her face. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but he thought he noticed a small smile appear on her face and a calmness come over her. She turned and looked at Conor and said, “I'm okay now. Let's go.”

  They returned to Sarah's car, which they had parked at the base of the steep hill leading to the woods. Conor turned the car around and headed back to the cottage.

  Sarah was quiet, but her tears had ceased and she appeared unusually calm and content. It was as if she had reached a point of acceptance that Darragh was gone and she must try to remember him for who he was. Despite the fact that he had been unfaithful to her countless times, she knew he had loved her and they had spent so many happy days together. She believed he was at peace now.

  They arrived back at the cottage and Sarah immediately busied herself by putting more sticks in the stove and preparing lunch. Conor was amazed at how her mood had changed; he still felt devastated about what had happened. He had tried to be the strong one over the last two days, but now it appeared the roles had dramatically reversed.

  “I think that it's time to move on, Conor, to leave the cottage and start again. I'm going to spend the rest of the day packing most of my things and then ring Roisin Sheridan to see if she would put me up for a few nights until I can find a place of my own.”

  “I'm sure you could stay here for a few months, Sarah. What's the rush?”

  “I've made up my mind. I don't want to stay in this cottage anymore. There are too many memories and anyway, with Darragh gone, the Lonigan family would probably want me out.”

  “Well, maybe you're right. I'll help you to pack.”

  Conor helped Sarah to put her possessions into cardboard boxes and bin bags. All around the cottage were sketchbooks belonging to Darragh full of rough ideas for paintings. These paintings would never now be completed. There was a wardrobe full of his clothes and a large record and cassette collection stacked in the corner of the bedroom.

  After two hours of packing, Sarah drove down to the phone box at the local post office and rang her friend Roisin to ask if she could stay with her for a few nights. Roisin told her it was no problem and to come over that evening.

  Conor was again taken aback at how quickly she was moving out. It obviously meant that they would not be spending another night together in the cottage. He was unsure what to think of that. Was Sarah now ashamed of what had happened between them? Did she just want to forget about it, to get on with her life and make a brand new start? Perhaps the only way Sarah could deal with the pain now was to keep busy. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Conor was just relieved that she wouldn't be spending time alone in the cottage.

  He would be going back to England shortly anyway. If Darragh's remains were found around Lough Oughter over the next forty-eight hours, though, he obviously wanted to remain in Ballinastrad for the funeral, whenever that would be arranged.

  After making the phone call to Roisin, the pair returned to the cottage. They carried Sarah's belongings out to the car and packed the boot and backseat. As Sarah went out the door of the kitchen, she looked behind her. To take in the scene for a few moments, Conor assumed. Then she switched off
the lights and locked the door.

  She drove Conor into Ballinastrad and dropped him outside his parents' house.

  “Look, thanks, Conor, for everything today and for the last few days. I wouldn't have gotten through this without you. I just need to get away from here for a while. I can't stay in the cottage anymore—too many ghosts. I hope you understand.”

  “Yea, I understand, Sarah. Well, I think I do. It's all so fucked up I don't know what to do or think anymore. It's all so fucking hard to take in and make sense of. In some ways, it doesn't feel bloody real,” Conor said angrily as he stared out the windscreen.

  “I hope you will be okay, Conor. Look, here is the phone number of the house I am staying at. Give me a ring tomorrow and we will arrange something,” Sarah said, writing the number on the back of a cigarette box and handing it to Conor.

  “Okay, look, I'll let you get on. I'll ring you so tomorrow,” Conor said as he kissed Sarah on the lips and got out of the car. He watched her drive out the Castlederry road and then he turned to look up the quiet main street of Ballinastrad and across to Sheehan's Pub.

  He decided that he needed a pint very badly.

  Chapter XV

  April Skies

  Tuesday, 18th April 1989

  (Three Months Later)

  London

  Conor climbed the three flights of stairs carrying a bag of shopping. His black coat was soaking wet and heavy as he fumbled in his pocket to find the keys to his apartment. He opened the apartment door and went in, closing the door behind him with his foot.

  The wet bag of groceries was thrown up on the worktop in the kitchen as he took off the coat and placed it on the back of a chair next to the kitchen table. In the bedroom, he took off the remainder of his wet clothes and put on an old t-shirt, jeans and a pair of runners. The sound of double-decker buses rumbled outside. Looking through his window at the streets of Kilburn below, Conor could see hundreds of people shuffling through the wet streets and trying to get on buses or in taxis to escape the rain and get home.

  As he went back into the small kitchen, he turned on the central heating and grabbed a large red apple from a bowl on the worktop. He flopped down on the couch in the living room and grabbed the remote, flicking through a few TV channels until he came across a documentary on BBC2. Staring at the image of Lake Victoria in central Africa on the screen, his mind drifted to another lake back home in Sligo.

  Conor had been back in London now for just over three months. The search for Darragh had begun immediately the day the car was discovered in Dunmadden Woods. Gardai had been drafted in from all over the county to search the area.

  The wintry conditions had made the search almost impossible. The heavy snow had lasted for three days and had been followed by a severe frost that had lasted a further week. As temperatures had slowly increased, a thaw had come, resulting in flooding for a number of days as the snow and ice melted. The days had also been so short, with only about nine hours of January daylight from a low winter sun that never really fully penetrated the dark interior of the woods.

  The Gardai, Civil Defence and members of the general public had combed the woods in search of some trace of Darragh. The woods were vast and trying to walk through the thick undergrowth had been a challenge in itself. Conor, along with many of his friends and neighbours, had helped in the search for a week. He had been due back at work in London on Monday the 9th of January, but he'd managed to get an extra week off. Detective Jim Mulcahy had focussed on searching the woods during the first week because Lough Oughter had been frozen in parts, with a thick layer of ice that had made searches of it futile.

  As Conor searched through Dunmadden Woods, one part of him had hoped he would find Darragh's remains so his friend could be given a proper burial. Another part of him had been horrified at the thought of discovering him hanging from a tree or finding him lying in a wet drain after taking an overdose or freezing to death from hypothermia.

  As Conor thought about Darragh, he also thought about Sarah. He had never rung Sarah back the day after she moved out of the cottage as he had promised. He'd thought it was probably best to leave her to herself to make a new life and a new start. He assumed she was still working at the bank in Ballygalvin and living with her friend, or that she maybe had the apartment of her own she had been planning to get. Possibly she had taken the plunge and immigrated to be with her brother in Boston.

  Conor often thought about her. In fact, most days he thought about what might have happened if things had worked out differently for them. He realised, though, that it was probably best just to try to put it behind him and move on.

  After the end of the first week of searching, Conor had returned to London. He was now kept informed of developments by regular telephone conversations with his parents. His father had told him that a few days after he returned to England, the thaw came and the ice melted on Lough Oughter. This resulted in scuba diving teams from all over western Ireland being drafted in to begin an extensive search of the lake. However, the sheer size and depth of the body of water made searching its murky waters extremely difficult.

  The Guards hoped that once the ice melted on the lake surface, Darragh's body, if it was in there, would rise to the surface and be spotted with the aid of a helicopter as it flew low overhead. The thaw had made diving easier; however, the melting snows on the hills of Rossbeg that surrounded Lough Oughter had begun to release floods of water into the lake which intensified its already fast-moving currents. Tree branches and other debris had begun to move, which had hampered the search effort. Lough Oughter also was drained by a series of rivers, which meant that if Darragh's remains were in the lake, they could be quickly washed many miles away by the fast-moving currents as the volume of water in the lake rapidly increased.

  Lough Oughter was vast. If Darragh's body didn't come to the surface itself, the resultant search of the depths of the lake would be a titanic task. After three weeks of intensive trawling of the lake waters, the search had been moved to the rivers that drained the Lough.

  By the first week of February, a month since Darragh had gone missing, the search had been scaled down. Garda resources were needed elsewhere.

  Darragh's body was never found. It could have been washed many miles away by the flooded lake currents into the numerous local rivers that were tributaries of the River Moy, which ran through Counties Sligo and Mayo.

  And that was if the body was ever in Lough Oughter. At times, Conor often wondered if Darragh had staged the whole thing. Had he written the supposed suicide note for Sarah and parked his sister's car in Dunmadden Woods near the shore of Lough Oughter to make it look like a suicide? Had Darragh faked his own suicide so he could move to some other place and start life again under a different name without worrying about the Gardai constantly hunting him? He had no passport, so he couldn't have travelled to the USA. Was he alive and well somewhere in Ireland or Britain or on the Continent?

  However, the more Conor thought about it, the more it seemed highly unlikely. The silver Golf had a half tank of diesel. It had started with a turn of the ignition when checked by Detective Mulcahy. It hadn't broken down. It had no flat tyres. So why would Darragh leave a car in the middle of nowhere unless he was planning to kill himself? Perhaps Conor wanted to believe that his old friend was still alive somewhere because it was an easier thought to deal with than picturing his bloated body floating in a watery grave.

  Conor felt very guilty for what had happened. What if he had gone to the Garda station in Galway City and informed them of Darragh's confession to him straight away on the 2nd of January? Then, perhaps, Darragh would have been arrested and would still be alive today, if in Garda custody awaiting trial.

  What if he hadn't been in bed with Sarah in the cottage in Rossbeg when Darragh returned and discovered them? Then Darragh's suicide might never have happened.

  What if Darragh had one more pint that night, the 21st of December, in Sheehan's Pub in Ballinastrad? Then perhaps Tom Kea
rns might have got a lift home with somebody else and he wouldn't have been walking on the Rossbeg road when Darragh was driving home.

  What if Darragh hadn't driven home drunk and hit Tom and left him dying on the road? What if, instead of driving off and leaving Tom Kearns bleeding to death, he had done the proper thing and gone to a nearby house to ring for an ambulance?

  But they were all just big 'what ifs'.

  Conor had rung his parents at the weekend gone by to check for any developments at home. His father told him that the Gardai had more or less stopped searching now. It had been over three months since Darragh disappeared and his body might never be found at this stage.

  Conor told his parents that he would try to get home for a holiday in the summer, maybe in August. He missed his parents and looked forward to seeing them, but the thoughts of returning to Ballinastrad did not appeal to him now.

  Hunger pangs came over Conor and he decided to cook himself a meal, something quick and handy, as he was wrecked after a long day at work and he still wasn't sleeping that well at night. The culinary delight that was scrambled eggs on toast was brought over to the coffee table and eaten in front of the TV. After eating, he flicked over the channels again and found a football game to watch. About twenty minutes later, Conor was snoozing, even though it was just quarter to nine.

  A knock at the door woke him up. At first, he ignored it, but then a second knock rapped on the door.

  He got up from the couch, walked towards the door, and opened it. He wasn't expecting any callers. Maybe it was one of the lads from Longford who lived in the flat downstairs; they dropped in for a chat some evenings.

  “Hi, Conor,” a female voice said. It was Sarah.

  Conor couldn't quite believe it. His mouth dropped open and he found it difficult to respond.

  “Hi. Hi, Sarah. God, I wasn't expecting to see you,” he said.

  “Some Irish guy let me in as he was going out downstairs. I asked him which apartment you were in and he told me. I got the address of the house from your mother. I met her in the bank in Ballygalvin a few weeks ago and I asked her for it and she gave it to me. I said I was going to write to you.”