by Eoin Brady
“Way to bring the mood down,” somebody said.
Good natured laughter joined the applause. He raised up the new pint set before him. His face brimming with a smile and his blush burning a few degrees hotter. With a break in the music people waiting outside came in to further test the seams of the building. The membrane of noise was warm.
The harpist and fiddler covered his retreat from attention with another tune. The pub clapped along to the beat and a rush of people made for the bar to get another round in while it was polite to do so.
Shade noticed the piano player at the bar where she had recently been, a good distance further away from where he had any cause to be to get the bartenders attention. Shade left her untouched pint and went to the counter to get another one.
“Sorry about the drink earlier,” she said to the side of his face.
“Shade isn’t it?”
“Diarmuid?” He smiled his answer. “I didn’t recognise you with different clothes on.”
“Bit difficult to remember my face without the look of abject terror on it? Though if you came hurtling at me again I bet you’d recognise me.”
“Oh I knew I saw you before. There was something familiar about the look of fear on your face when asked to play the piano.”
“I got caught out in the rain, did not have as much time as I thought, hence the change of clothes. What are you drinking?” He looked over to where she had been sitting and saw the untouched pint.
“Sure I owe you one from earlier,” Shade looked to the musicians table bowed down from the weight of so many drinks that he would not need to open his wallet for the rest of the night.
The tempo of the music rose. Dancing began in the parlour.
“I’ll take that drink from you tomorrow,” he said.
“Oh you will now, will you?”
Diarmuid caught the tone in her voice and, unsure of its sincerity, added. “Well we’ll sober up waiting at the bar, the queue is three bodies deep and it will mean seeing you tomorrow.” Shade was not sure if his blush from earlier was still lingering or this was a fresh coat.
“Are youse coming to dance?” The red-headed musician carried Diarmuid away with enthusiastic momentum. The woman took Shade with her too.
Shade glanced at what was happening in the other room. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“That’s all right, none of us do,” Diarmuid said with a reassuring smile.
“Flail your legs about like you’ve a general disregard for your health and the well-being of the people around you,” the woman said, taking them both through to the dance floor. The fiddles started yowling.
Diarmuid lingered around the edge of the dance and even that seemed to take a lot of effort. He took photos while the melody trapped Shade. Dance is the wrong word for it. Shuffling on the London Tube in rush hour would be more appropriate. If she jumped her feet would likely stay off the ground – the cramped room was so thick with people that she would be wedged between their shoulders.
She noticed how he smiled often and needed little provocation to do so. There always seemed to be a pre-emptive grin there, waiting to broaden. He said something to her but it was lost in the noise. When she escaped the music she took him by the hand and brought him back to the bar that had cleared enough for them to get a spot to sit down. Her notebook lay on the window sill next to her bag. Its absence had been part of the reason she wanted to return to the bar, his presence had kept her away from it longer than usual.
“Another round?” he asked, but had already motioned to the bartender for it before she had time to answer.
A sheen of sweat covered both of them.
“There’s no need for that,” Shade said.
“What’s the price of a pint in return for good company?”
“Fair. So are you from the island?” she asked.
“Here visiting, same as yourself.”
“What makes you think I’m not from here?”
“Everyone knows everyone here and their cats. Besides I don’t see many locals out with camera and writing equipment tonight.”
“I thought I heard you speaking Irish to that woman you were with earlier?”
“The only thing I can say in Irish with any confidence is ‘I’ve no idea what you said. No, don’t bother repeating yourself, that won’t help.’”
Shade laughed and watched as his eyes darted down to her notebook and back to her with a questioning nod. His awkwardness was infectious. Before she could tell him what it was a fresh wave of music began. They both turned to listen. For the duration of the song they snuck glances at each other, smiling when caught.
She passed her notebook across the table to him. On the top of a new page she wrote “Who are you?” He took the offered pen and fidgeted with it as he considered a response.
“People often ru –”
Noticing that she was watching as he wrote he turned away from her to finish. Shade sipped her pint while listening to the melody created by violin, harp and flute.
He handed both pen and paper back to her.
“You have lovely handwriting,” she whispered, causing him to snort into the melting, yellowing foam of his pint.
“People rush through hello and names and go straight for what you do for a living as if that is the defining feature of ‘you.’ So without that I’m a bit lost on what to write.”
Below it, Shade wrote “Nobody is ever just one thing.” She handed it back to him.
The music stopped and they clapped, freeing them to speak.
“I usually ask people to talk about their secret places and what gives them meaning,” she said. “Would you care to share some of yours?”
“Happily.”
Shade had finished her pint when he finally handed the notebook back to her. She asked for a few lines. He wrote five pages, stopping as he did only to clap for the music.
“You might want to put the kettle on before settling down to read that,” he said with a broad, self-conscious grin.
“Why so much?”
“You asked for secret places that held meaning, I’ve given you that. Places you’d never have known about had you not asked. I like that. Tell me something about you I’d not know had I not just asked.”
“That could be anything.”
“Well I’ll take it.”
Shade thought for a moment. “I’m here because my sister went and got herself pregnant – planned. So I’ve taken her booking at the Inis Meáin Restaurant & Suites. I’m staying there later in the week.”
Diarmuid raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal gesture.
“I’ve lived on the Chantham Islands off the coast of New Zealand for most of my life … This is harder than I thought, you’ve put me on the spot. Your turn. I can tell you’re from Ireland.”
“My accent won’t help you much. Town where I’m from, the neighbour four doors down has a different one.”
Shade leaned in to speak as the next song began, she was beginning to begrudge the music. “It’s unavoidable, who are you?”
Diarmuid stared at the paper before him. The fervour with which he documented places for her to visit and why was gone. When the song ended the page was still empty, the question unanswered. “I could be anybody,” he said, looking at her.
“Well – that’s not the point.”
“I’m hardly the best person to ask on the topic of me. Who doesn’t jazz up their portfolio when they first meet somebody new?”
“Well I could find your friend we were dancing with earlier.” Shade leaned out of her seat to look for the woman that had brought them both in to dance.
“She’d be even worse. She’d likely tell you the truth.” He mumbled that last part.
“So what then?” Shade said with a smile. “No names, no histories?”
“Well, we already have each other’s names.”
“So you mean this to be a game of attrition? We wear each other down with questions to see who breaks first and tells the other who
they are?”
“I didn’t think this through but to be fair, I’m quite drunk.”
“No, you didn’t and yes you are.”
“Would you like another drink?” he asked.
Shade finished her pint and had the sudden, sobering realisation that it was two more than she was comfortable with. “So much for my early morning tomorrow.”
Diarmuid laughed. “That’s a yes, so.”
“How about we talk about our future selves, who we’re going to be?” Shade asked once he returned with their drinks. She wanted to keep chatting with him and feared that if they stopped then the new threads weaving between them could tear apart. She wanted the night to last longer. Time flew in his company.
“Who are you going to be, Shade?”
“This is wish fulfilment then, isn’t it?”
“Kind of, and you’re building on who you already are or changing yourself.”
“I’ve worked too hard to become who I am to want to change it,” Shade said.
“You’re never the one person your whole life anyway. Say you subscribe to the notion of an afterlife, it would be a crowded place filled with you and the people you once were.”
“Well that’s ruined our game. How can we be anyone other than ourselves?”
He smirked. She had already started documenting his various smiles and what they meant.
“Fair point, let me counter,” he stuck out his tongue.
Shade made to slap his leg in mock reproach. He caught hold of her hand and was slow to let it go, knowing how difficult it would be to broker such a connection again. Shade hid her smile behind a long pull of her pint.
“Your most awkward moments then. Tell me about those.”
“How long are you here for?” he asked.
“Six more days. Why?”
“That’s not enough time to cover the catalogue of my worst moments.”
“You have them categorised?”
“Oh yes, I save a fortune on heating in the winter. I just think back to one of them and I heat right up. Nothing like cringey memories for keeping you warm.”
“How long are you here for, Diarmuid?”
“Five more days.”
They were quiet for a time.
“You could show me around tomorrow, stop me getting lost.”
“The island’s only four miles long, how would you get …? I’d love to,” he said with sudden understanding.
“Who are you?” Shade asked trying to catch him off-guard.
He winked but then laughed, robbing the gesture of any coy charm and filling the moment with his own awkward brand.
They spoke late into the early morning, nothing of consequence, but squirrelling away whatever stray pieces of information the other dropped until the lights went out. Noise in the pub went with it. It had emptied enough for people to dance, though the ones that could were advised not to for their own safety.
“I guess that’s us,” Diarmuid said.
Before they reached the door with careful steps the barman shouted. “Hang on now, that wasn’t me running you. The power’s gone out on the entire island, Inis Oírr too by the looks of it. There’s still drink in the taps.”
A cheer went up.
Candles were lit on the tables and made little shoals of light in the darkness. “We can’t not,” Diarmuid said. “It’s too perfect not to.”
“I suppose, if we must.” Shade’s tone made it sound like an effort. She reached for his hand in the darkness and squeezed, letting him know it was anything but. “Will you tell me who you are on our wander tomorrow?”
“You’re very welcome to guess. If you get it right I will let you know though.”
“I’ve never heard of a friendship built on guesswork.”
“Isn’t that how most begin? Good lies we tell about ourselves or by omitting some truths?”
When another person left the pub, the cold early-morning air rushed in, making the candles flicker. Pools of shadow shimmered across his face. She saw him swallow hard.
“So you think you can get to know a person without their past, in five days?” Shade asked.
“Well so far I already know that you’re the type of person that was in mind when they coined the word smitten.”
A loud scoff came from the couple sitting behind Shade. She watched as Diarmuid’s eyes closed and his face scrunched up in a grimace.
“I’d say you’ve had enough to drink,” the man behind them said. The woman sitting with him laughed.
“Not if I remember this moment in the morning,” Diarmuid said back.
Shade held her open palms close to his cheek. “Is this going in your catalogue of cringe?”
“Oh, it’s going on the cover.”
Shade cackled.
When the bartender’s yawning had gone from subtle suggestion to genuine. Diarmuid took out his headphones and gave her one. Hunched close they listened by candlelight. Diarmuid took a hold of her hand and turned it over. His fingertips tapped out the piano notes of the song on her palm. Shade’s breathing became deep and relaxed, his touch grew less precise, out of tune until his delicate fingers glided across her skin.
She said nothing for fear of stopping the moment. When the song ended they were aware that they were the last people in the pub. They wished the bartender a goodnight. The moment they crossed over the threshold the door slammed closed behind them.
“Look at those stars!” Shade said. A cold Atlantic wind had cleared away the cloud cover. Moonlight guided their path. The short wire of the earphones forcing them to walk close together.
“I hope the bartenders not sore with me,” Diarmuid said.
“It’s his job, no?”
“Still, there’s only the one pub on the whole island. The first few times going in was like being on a date. You don’t want to upset the only bartender on an island.” They walked in silent reverence to the music, until they stood at a crossroads, beneath one of the only lamps still working. A generator hummed beneath it, the light showing a tight corner scarred by cars.
They stood in the cold, waiting for the song to end, she knew she would have to speak to him when it did but she did not know what to say. They could hear birdsong in the dark fields around them. The moon created a silver sliver of light connecting the island to the mainland.
“That was beautiful,” Shade said when the song ended.
“It was wonderful chance meeting you, Shade. Goodnight.” He shook her hand.
Shades teeth chattered, threatening to chip, but the sound filled the empty space that she had no words to fill with. Then it dawned on her to ask, “Where are you staying?”
“Other end of the island.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say so? There was no need to walk me home. I thought you were staying out this way.
“What does it matter in return for good company? It was a pleasure.” He started to walk back the way they had come disappearing in darkness beyond the weak beam of the lamp. “Oh and don’t forget to drink plenty of water before bed or you’ll be dying tomorrow, and there’s no getting out of our walk.”
“Sensible advice,” Shade said. She stuffed her hands beneath her armpits.
“Well sure, the fact we drank so much that we need water, takes away from the idea I have any good sense.”
She could no longer see him. Her heart was racing. “Yeah, you’re right. Had you any sense at all you would have kissed me.”
There was a brief silence when she could no longer hear the receding sound of his footsteps. There was a whispered curse.
“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
“You play piano on a lady’s hand and talk about presumptions.”
“Is it too late now?”
“Sure, the moment’s gone.”
They laughed. Diarmuid looked at her in full light and smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Are you smiling?” Shade asked.
“I am. Goodnight.”
CHAPTER 6: ESCAPE BY
ANY MEANS
Shade woke up and regretted it. The pounding in her head felt like a second pulse. She moved to a position that put less pressure on her full bladder. The slight movement set the room spinning. Her stomach started churning. She felt like she had during the ferry crossing. Light seared through the open curtains burning her eyes. She still wore the clothes from the previous night. Her shoe laces had knotted so she went to bed with them on.
“I’m never drinking again.” Speaking made her throat scratchy.
Nip took her words as an invitation and came running into the room. He jumped on the bed to nuzzle Shade, licking her hand and wriggling his head beneath it.
“Nip, go get help, I’m dying.” Shade stroked the dog who finally flopped down beside her.
She sat up and shivered, wincing at the effort. She left the window open all night and now cold sea air pervaded everything. Her cracked lips were like the stone surface of the island. Memories from the pub were clear, though she still felt anxious sifting through them. Nothing to be awkward about. A fantastic night. I’ve dozens of photos and plenty of quotes from locals for the main blog post about the island. Then she remembered that she had organised to meet up with Diarmuid. She groaned. There’s no way I can meet him feeling like this. I’m looking for excuses – I don’t want to meet him. I don’t have to. Her head was pounding. It was a poor forecast for the day ahead.
Nip set to the tinned food with relish. Shade retched at the thought of solids. She poured enough instant coffee into a mug that when she added hot water it was thick as soup, dark and heavy enough to stop her stomach from rising. She wrapped herself in a duvet, sat cross-legged on the armchair and waited for the heat to reach her from a young fire. She opened her laptop and went to work. The life of a digital nomad meant she traded in the dull office apparel for pyjamas until noon most days. She only ever had to set alarms for herself now, though it also meant that she was her own boss and, if there was a review department, she would not rate herself favourably. In the few years she had been doing this she had never made employee of the month; that always went to the talented people she outsourced to. She never actually gave an award – that would be a tad unprofessional – but she would make an exception if she ever won it herself.
