by Eoin Brady
Katie brought Shade into a larger group of actors. Most of them were still in stage dress. It seemed none of them wanted to waste drinking time, to the point that some of the actors were the first to arrive at the pub from the dún. Katie was kind in her introduction of Shade and engaged her in all the conversations, imparted names and brief histories to jokes. Shade wondered if the earlier coldness was a figment of her imagination. Though it was not lost on her that Katie left out any connection Shade shared with Diarmuid.
When Diarmuid finally returned with a clinking bag, he melded seamlessly with the group. He was comfortable amongst these people. “Going to rob Shade from youse for a moment.” He congratulated them all on a wonderful performance, he was beaming with a happiness, the root of which Shade did not know.
As they left the life and sound around the pub Shade breathed in a long breath of cool air. “Did you grow the barley yourself and brew it?”
“What?”
“You could have with the amount of time you were in the bar. It was harder talking to her than it ever was talking with you.
“Who, Katie? Yeah, she’s got a tongue sharp enough to strip you of your pride if she cared to. But she’s a nice sort when she gets to know you. A tad protective, if that’s even the right word for it. She has a good heart. You wouldn’t believe the bollocking I endured before I came down here to appease her.”
Diarmuid ran into his house to pick up supplies.
“So you’re here for her?” Shade asked when he came back.
Diarmuid caught the changing current of the conversation. “I’m here for the play Shade. It so happens that I’m also here for a concert in Galway tomorrow evening.” He took tickets from his pocket. “What a coincidence. It looks like you too are here for the same concert.”
“I don’t think it’s called a coincidence anymore when you go out of your way to ensure we keep meeting.”
“I don’t care what it’s called, so long as it keeps happening.”
“Yann Tiersen.” Shade read the act on the ticket and remembered some of the songs he had played for her.
Leaving the light of the village behind them, they climbed to the highest point on the island. In darkness they were silhouettes to each other. What does he see in me? What did he put there? What do I actually see in him? A shadow of somebody else?
“You only brought one blanket?” Shade said.
“Could only fit the one in my bag.”
“Cheeky.”
“Thought you’d appreciate that,” he nudged her with his shoulder.
The lights on the coast and Inis Mór glistened. Her favourite phase of the moon was now high in the sky, it appeared to be looking off into the distance. “You know, a couple of days ago I was drinking cocktails in a rooftop bar in Manhattan. Mad to think now I’m across the ocean, swigging Guinness from a bottle, watching stars fall with an Irish man.”
“Well we could mix the stout with the wine I brought if you’ve a thirst for cocktails.”
“You ruin things when you speak; you do know that, right?”
Diarmuid laughed.
They sat in the middle of a tractor path. Grass had long pushed up the road in the middle where the tires could not keep them in check. They sat and watched. Above them stars left brief scars on the roof of the earth. Millions of lonely years ended in a brilliant splash of light. Wrapped up together they reached for each other’s hands at the same moment. Diarmuid turned and kissed her cold cheek. His lips lingered there, then he nuzzled back against her. They passed a bottle of stout back and forth.
Conor Walsh’s “The Front” played on Diarmuid’s small speaker as they watched fog drift along the coast. It had already enveloped the other island. Thick clouds lumbered in from the Atlantic. They were in the eye of calm until the night hid the stars from sight. “That music, I’ll have to get in contact with the artists agent to see about paying to use it in my Inis Meáin vlog. It would be perfect.”
He nodded silently. Shade found it easier to look at him in the dark, his eyes reflected what little light there was in the world, honing his stare.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Let’s go home.” She stood up and brought him with her. It did not matter if he missed her intention, she would not let his hand go.
Diarmuid stopped at the crossroads where they would part to head to their own beds. He was about to speak but Shade interrupted him.
“If it’s goodbye you’re about to say, save it for when you leave the island.” Shade dragged him down the road to her house. He needed little coaxing after that.
He stopped beneath the lamp where they had parted the previous night. He pulled her close and kissed her with a passion that denied any of the trepidation she feared he had. He walked backwards away from her, out of the light, towards her house. “Are you smiling Shade?”
“You know that I am, now come back and kiss me.”
When she opened the door to the house Diarmuid went straight to put music on.
It was weird being back in the house with him, the tension was different. Yearning replaced any nervousness that there was. It felt like they had jumped forward in time to a point when this was normal. When they actually knew one another.
Diarmuid almost dropped a bottle of stout when he heard her scream. He ran to her side at the entrance to the bedroom.
“What?”
She pointed at the wall where a massive spider clung against all logic of gravity. Shade shuddered brushing invisible spiders from her back and arms.
“Would you get rid of it? Please.”
“Not a hope. That looks like an orangutan’s hand.” Diarmuid backed away, indifferent to her pleading. “Why do you think I’m still single? My dating profile has the addendum ‘does not remove spiders, actually looking for a woman that will get rid of mine.’”
“We can’t leave it there.”
“Can you call your landlord?”
“Do you know what time it is? It’s only a spider.”
“Okay, go ahead then. You get rid of it if it’s only a spider.”
Shade took off her shoe and entered the room in short bursts of confidence marred by quick retreats whenever she thought it moved. When the spider actually did move she instinctively threw the shoe. It missed by a foot, startling the spider, making it drop off the wall and fall behind her backpack.
Shade slammed the door behind her crying out in frustration. Diarmuid was holding his stomach he was laughing so much.
“Well, that spider means you’re not getting any tonight,” Shade said.
Diarmuid stopped laughing. “Is it too late to kill it?”
Diarmuid’s breathing stopped. Shade had drifted off to its steady rhythm. Seconds passed in silence until she sat up worried that not only did she not have sex, but the man she still knew nothing about had died after a cuddle on her sofa. When she was about to shake him he drew in one long sonorous breath and started snoring again. She lay back down beside him. Candle light wavered above molten pools of wax. They were going out one by one. The fire was a few smouldering embers buried in cooling ash.
When sleep continued to evade her, Shade sat up and covered him with their blanket. She checked that the bath towel was still wedged tight against the bottom of her bedroom door. She would deal with the spider in the morning, or better still, Nip would. She kissed Diarmuid’s cheek. There’s still time.
She took the laptop to a corner chair where the light would not wake him. She saved all the links to the music he played. They had spent the rest of that night sharing songs, both mining a few gems from the other. She would not sleep until she got some work done. It was always that way. Without achieving something during the day, sleep seemed like admitting failure.
Two emails jumped off the screen of her personal account. There was another from Nathan the photographer, but she completely ignored that when she saw a string of unanswered messages from Oliva. She feared the worst.
“Shade you’re feat
ured on some list about influencers. “30 under 30 travellers to follow.” Have you seen who else is on the list? Actual important people! It’s on the Hollow Ways website.”
Shade turned her phone back on. After a brief waking period the notifications sped up the screen. She could not read the content but her mentions were blowing up. She only remembered Diarmuid when the repeated pinging woke him. He sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes. “What?”
“Oh, sorry. Go back to sleep. I’ve got some good news from work.”
“Congratulations,” he said, while already falling asleep.
Shade opened the article that Oliva had sent her. The quip about her being on a list of actual important people lost its sting when she saw the company she kept. Granted she was near the bottom of the list but there she was on a Hollow Ways article. Since she first wanted to travel the world and document it, she had dreamed of seeing her name in Hollow Ways. She turned her phone off again. I’m not ready for this. She felt overwhelmed. It was something she could not control. That did not stop those countless eyes that would now be on her work after reading the article, scrutinising her images, words and her. Strangers commenting on her photos. Strangers on my affiliate links and clicking my advertisements. There was little solace in that thought.
Shade crept back under the blanket on the sofa beside Diarmuid. She listened to his soft breathing. It brought her some small peace.
CHAPTER 10: THE BODY
In the morning, Shade listened to the noises Diarmuid made as he tried to sneak about the cottage. There was the rustle of clothing as he dressed. A few muffled yawns, a long period of scribbling, footsteps and finally she heard the front door close. Her eyes never opened and when silence returned she fell back to sleep. She was missing a big spoon, though there was little chance of her getting cold considering she took all the blanket during the night. Best to start out as you aim to continue, so that there are no surprises down the line.
When she woke again she could tell by the light outside that a few hours had passed. Though she was still tired, his absence kept her awake. She had no reference for how long she napped for or how long he had been gone. There was a glass of water on the coffee table beside her closed laptop.
Walking through the house she made a show of not looking for him. The bathroom was empty, she knew that after she used it. She surmised that he was not hiding in the garden when she went out there to drink her coffee. The bedroom was empty when she let Nip in to find the spider. Did he do a walk of shame after only a snuggle? The bastard. I’ve had better snuggles. She put it out of her mind where it raged in her not-so-subconscious. If he went for breakfast then he’d already be back by now. She left her phone off and hid the laptop in her bag, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of the Hollow Ways article. Worrying over why Diarmuid had left without a word took away any enthusiasm for working. I’m taking a rest day. She drank the water he left for her and curled up on the sofa.
Before checkout Shade cleaned the cottage and packed her rucksack. It took hardly any time. Once she finished there was no trace of her having been there at all. She locked the door and put the key through the letterbox as the owner’s email had instructed. With everything she needed to survive clinging to her shoulders she left the house. She fed the last of her apples to the donkey and cows in the adjacent fields. Nip followed her most of the way to her next destination – a bed and breakfast on the edge of the world.
It bothered her that Diarmuid had not even thought to leave a note. He can’t be that out of touch to not know I’d take it in a bad way. Or did he know and not care? Of course he knew. The issue is why am I starting to care so much? Maybe I dreamed the scribbling noise.
Shade snapped a picture of the pub as she walked by it in the daytime. Hanging baskets on windowsills burst with gaudy flowers, flaunting the colours of summer. Tourists sat outside sipping coffees and cool beers, muddy walking sticks leaning against picnic benches. She stopped to watch traffic on the old pier. Of all the things she had expected to see on the island, congestion was not one of them. Islanders filled vans, tractors and cars with produce from the cargo ship that serviced the islands. Curraghs lined the slipway into the clear water. Fishermen prepped gear and donned bright yellow overcoats, open in the warm morning. Seagulls followed behind a curragh in the bay as a man threw out fish guts behind him.
She ignored Dún Fearbhaí and the donkey that lived there, continuing on past the café where Diarmuid had waited for her yesterday. The tarmac road ended a short distance beyond it. The only other buildings were stone cattle sheds, feed stores and ruins. The B&B was the last building on this side of the island. It stood alone looking out at Inis Oírr. No electrical lines were visible this far out. The place sold rooms on the novelty of being on the edge of the world and off the grid. That was very appealing now when she was considering hiding away from the fallout of her new small bit of fame. It had a rustic look that showed the pictures on the hostel site where she first came across it were long outdated. Faded white wash flaked away showing the old stone beneath it. The reed thatch roof was balding.
The only thing that looked as if it were made within the last twenty years was a mound of suitcases piled by the front door. A woman on her phone came around the side of the building and hung up when she saw Shade.
“Do you work here?” she asked in an exasperated tone of voice.
“No, I’m a guest.” Shade turned to the side to show her large rucksack. This not a bit of a giveaway?
The woman took out her phone again and redialled the number she had been trying. Shade heard it ring out. “I’ve been here thirty minutes now and nothing. Don’t know if they’re asleep or plain forgot about us.”
Shade peered in through the window but heavy net curtains and a dull room made it impossible to see much. There was no movement anyway. Leaning in close to the window she could hear a telephone ringing.
“It’s a nice morning to be out,” Shade said, trying to disarm the woman’s growing tension. She knocked on the door.
“Tried that,” the woman said after an acidic sigh.
Having experienced the open door policy in her last home, Shade turned the handle. As she expected, the woman had no snide comment when the door opened. She did not interrupt as Shade walked into the hall and called out their arrival. There was no answer.
“Can we do that, walk in without being welcomed?”
“Are you a vampire?”
“No, but I’m also not rude.”
Shade bit her tongue. “Well at the last house I stayed in on the island I never once met the owner. Could be a similar deal here and the host just never said anything about it.”
“I can’t find an email address for this place. Nothing, only a number.”
Upon inspection the soundest part of the house belonged to the woven nests of swifts up in the eaves. “Part of the charm, that. People spend a fortune to not be able to use their electronics. Pay more for less. Well I had to make a reservation over the phone, I assume you did too. Nobody’s here and there’s only one boat and one plane in the morning, so …” Shade shrugged her shoulders. “I’m Shade by the way.” She held out her hand, which the woman accepted without hesitation.
“Laura.”
“Laura, let’s break and enter, will we?”
The dusty smell in the B&B reminded her of stale air when Christmas decorations came out of storage. A small blackboard hung on the wall behind the door, little nubs of chalk kept in a bowl on a table beneath it. Written on it was the time for breakfast and the menu; full Irish fry with orange juice. She thought she could smell the ghost of fries past woven through the fabric of the building. The area under ‘Island Events’ was blank but for swirls and currents of rubbed off chalk dust.
“So you just walk to your room? No service?” The woman looked back at her pile of bags, she sounded disgusted.
A pet peeve of Shades was lazy people that booked a place and gave it a bad review because they did not research it. “I
’m much more confident about it now with this sign here. Seems very self-service-ish. It’s not like she’s not going to get the money from us. Eh … you do have cash right? I doubt she’ll accept card.”
“I did bring paper with me in case. The taxi man never said a word about it on the way out here,” Laura said.
“Wait, there’s a taxi on the island?”
“Yeah, it’s a normal looking car with nothing written on it.”
“Wonder what else the island is hiding? If you want food the pub serves, but you might want to stock up at the convenience store. Last night I was about to get on to some pizza places in Galway to see if any offered a boat delivery service. Come on, I’ll give you a hand bringing your luggage in.”
Shade almost put her back out trying to lift one of Laura’s suitcases. She walked up the creaky stairs putting a foot out to test for steps ahead. Shells and other washed up tide offerings adorned the shelves along the stairs. Shade was not sure if the crab boxes and fishing nets were decorative, or tools of the owner’s trade.
“Where are you from, Laura?”
“London.”
“Oh, no way! I’m heading there after the island. How long are you travelling?” With this amount of luggage, a better question would have been, “What made you want to settle here?”
“I’m not sure to be completely honest with you.”
“Girl, you and I are going to have a long conversation about your luggage logistics. Travel is my business.” One more subscriber.
It took a further two trips up and down the stairs to get Laura settled in her room, then Shade went looking for her own. Apart from the bathroom there were only two other doors upstairs, and one had “Private” painted on it. That left Shade with a double bed, ensuite, ocean facing room, with a cushioned bay window. Perfect for writing. She could set up her tripod and timer and catch a lovely picture of her drinking a coffee there as the sun rose.
“What’s your room like, Shade?” Laura called.
