by Eoin Brady
“Pretty much the same.” Laura’s room was gloomy and dingy in comparison. Shade took all her clothes from her backpack. She kept her wallet, writing equipment, laptop, camera gear and spare batteries for everything – the essentials. Shade locked the door and pocketed the key.
“I’m heading over to Inis Oírr when the ferry comes in, if you’ve any interest in joining me,” Shade offered.
“I don’t want to be here by myself in case the owner comes back and wonders how we got in. I’ll go with you, but I don’t like leaving my kit here.”
“I reckon she’ll ask for payment when we see her but sure there are locks on the doors. Put your stuff away and I’ll show you about. We’ve a while to wait for the ferry.” Even though she knew it was a short crossing, the thought of being out on the water again was daunting. She made sure to skip breakfast that morning.
Shade knocked on the other bedroom to be sure but there was no response. While she waited for Laura to get ready she went downstairs to explore. The floor in the sitting room and dining area was filthy with a thick layer of dust and flecks of dried mud. The dirty culprit boots lay in front of a cold fireplace. A paunch of ash bulged beneath the grate after a feast of fires had gone without cleaning afterwards. A frail wooden chair angled towards the fire, so close that to sit there when it was lit would be uncomfortable. An empty bottle of whiskey stood to attention beside it.
Mismatched chairs pointed towards an open pine box on top of the kitchen table, the focal point of the room.
“Hello?” Shade edged closer to the table. The only sound came from an old clock sitting on the mantelpiece. The house did not look like it was set up for guests. For a second she wondered if they were in the right place but the sign in the hall put her at ease. “Is there anybody home?”
The old net curtains let in very little light so Shade shifted them aside. Dust motes pillared in the sunbeams. She was about to take pictures of the decor but the box on the table drew her attention. A woman lay in it sound asleep.
“Hey?” Shade ran out of the room in a panic, slamming into the table scattering bits of chalk to the ground. “Laura! Laura!”
The English woman appeared at the top of the stairs in an instant, flustered by Shades shouting. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s a dead body in the kitchen.”
Laura almost fell down the stairs in her haste to get out of the house. Outside she turned to Shade. “What did you see?”
Shade jogged a bit of a ways from the house slowing to a walk as it dawned on her what she saw.
“I may have overreacted. There was an old woman in a coffin.”
Laura relaxed. “She’s set up for a wake?”
“It’s still a dead body,” Shade mumbled. “I wasn’t expecting to see a dead body this morning is all.”
They edged back across the threshold into the sitting house, the reverent silence shattered by the indifference of a ticking clock.
“Shade you gave me a heart attack, I thought you’d walked in on a murder scene. Or that somebody died and had gone unnoticed. This house is awful isolated. She’s laid out for a wake.”
They stood at a respectful distance though morbid curiosity made them linger.
“Do you reckon that’s our host?” Shade asked.
“Well I doubt she’s a guest.”
“What do we do? We can’t leave all our stuff here if mourners will be coming over to show their respects.”
Before they could make a plan the stairs creaked, somebody was coming down. Laura turned white, while Shade rushed to the net curtains to shift them back into place. There was no way she could rush out of the house without whoever was coming down those stairs seeing her. “We did nothing wrong,” she whispered. “We have reservations.”
The lumbering footsteps coming down the stairs quickened as the person noticed the opened front door. There was the sound of angry mumbling. The door slammed shut making them both jump. From the belligerent force of it they knew the nature of the person before they ever saw him. Shade never experienced a door opening as slow as the one into the kitchen. A tall, unshaven man walked a few feet into the room, eyes downcast until he was close enough to the women to see their shoes. He started and looked up and for a brief second mimicked their shocked expressions. Pouches hung beneath bloodshot eyes, dark, like a blood moon rising over a sea at night.
He shouted at them in Irish; the tone and sharpness made them blanch. It was only when he switched to English that they understood him. It hardly needed translation. “Who the fuck are ye lot?”
Laura composed herself faster than Shade did. Shade found it a little difficult with a corpse in repose behind her and the hot anger of this man in front.
“We’re guests. We booked ourselves in here weeks ago.”
“Months for me,” Shade added.
“We did not know. I’ve been outside knocking this last half hour.” For a moment Shade thought she could hear a disgruntled tone from Laura but in the circumstances that was understandable.
He scratched at the stubble on his cheek and chin; it sounded like crinkling autumn leaves. He looked at them and sighed, the beleaguered façade gone. Now all that remained was a brutal hangover and sorrow wearing the husk of a man. She recognised him from the boat – he was the one that had kept watch over the coffin during the crossing.
“I - I assumed youse were well-wishers leaving a blessing and food.”
Shade did not need to look around to see that nobody had left food.
“The taxi dropped you here? Didn’t say a word to you, I’m guessing?”
“He could have thought I was family, or a friend,” Laura said.
“He knows well enough there’s neither of those. His silence wasn’t a kindness.” He walked straight for the kitchen, forcing the two of them to step out of his way. He did not spare a glance for the woman in the coffin.
He put a large kettle on the old stove and lit the ring beneath it. “Have you paid for your stay yet?”
He opened and slammed presses in search of something.
“Not yet,” Shade said. “Supposed to when we arrive. Sorry for barging in, we thought it was self-service.”
He smiled at that but there was no mirth behind it. “Oh it will be that.” He opened the fridge, sniffed and winced. “Pay up and you’ll have your rooms. I’ll put some food in the fridge later.”
“We can’t stay here with her!” Laura said. “I mean, we don’t want to impose.”
“No imposition, she has her bed, I’ve mine, there are two spare and sure you have them booked. How am I to find new guests on such short notice? Do you want a cup of tea wet?” He put out two extra mugs for them before they could answer. “Sugar’s on the table.”
Shade felt ill at the prospect of spending a night under the same roof as a corpse.
“Are … are you sure?” Shade asked. “We can look elsewhere.”
“No need, we’re planting her in the ground this evening.”
Shade opened her mouth to respond. But what do you say to that?
“Leave the money in the kitchen and I’ll get bits for dinner and breakfast tomorrow.”
He left the two of them in the dining room with the body as the kettle started a low hum that would soon become a screaming whistle.
“How long are you staying here?” Laura asked
“Only for tonight. You?”
“A week.”
Shade laughed – it was how she dealt with stressful situations. She assumed that she would die giggling.
“I’ll take you up on the offer of joining you on Inis Oírr.”
They left money for room and board on the kitchen table. Having very little recent experience with death, Shade bowed to the body before running out of the house.
CHAPTER 11: FORGET-ME-NOT
“How much did you spend in there?” Laura asked when they left the Inis Meáin Knitwear factory. They sported matching beanies. Shade put her glasses on against the sun as they made
their way to the pier.
“About two grand.”
Laura winced as Shade stuffed her backpack with clothes. The rest she paid to have shipped to her sister in Iceland.
“It’s beautiful make and quality, but two grand? And you’ve balled it all up into your rucksack.”
“It’s for work. I’ll take a few pictures of myself modelling it around the island and then – I’m a blogger by the way – I’ll snap a few pictures of myself wearing this gear. Add a few affiliate links to where readers can buy it online and the hope is, make the money back and some. Market the post online and sure, it’s always on my website for somebody to find in the future. The links will make me passive income so long as the clothes are available to buy.”
“What’s the name of your blog?” Laura asked.
“Turf for Thought.”
“Shade - Shade Watts! I know you. Well, I mean, I know of your blog.”
Shade felt at a complete disadvantage to Laura. She ran through some of the more personal posts in her mind. The ones that stood out were those written when she felt at her lowest during her cycle across the States. Even with three years experience it still felt like an awkward situation to be in.
“That’s crazy,” Laura said. “Your blog was one of the reasons I started looking into travel. Well, it was more that I hated seeing that somebody else was off exploring the world while I felt stuck. I didn’t recognise you – most of the time you’re looking away from the camera.”
For the first time that day, Shade was glad Diarmuid was not around to hear that. “I’m glad the blog helped,” she said.
“That’s so mad to meet you here of all places. I’m in advertising and marketing myself,” Laura said.
“It took me a while to learn the ins and outs of it, but your degree would have saved me a couple of expensive fumbles,” Shade said.
“Goes to show, me with two degrees in the subject and you learning off the internet and earning more.”
That’s always the way, people assume you’re loaded when they see the number of followers you have. Granted spending so much on clothes to shove them in my bag can only make me look frivolous.
“Chance and circumstance I suppose,” Laura said.
“What type of marketing do you do?”
“I am … I was head of marketing for a mobile app firm back in England.” She stopped to take a picture of the boat approaching Inis Meáin.
Shade decided against using her considerably larger camera to rob the shot. “That sounds so cool, but …?”
“Fell out of love with it. The last project I led was for a mobile gambling app. There was no issue with how we advertised it and that was the problem. We did so well. When I saw the demographic and the software the company used to target users to spend more, I had to excuse myself from the meeting. Went into the bathroom and threw up. I’m good at my job, but when you see what you do is targeting the weak spots of vulnerable people …”
“So you quit and now you’re travelling?”
“That’s it.”
“To ‘find’ yourself?”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but I wouldn’t put it that way. I’m going to do a bit of wandering. Never got around to it after college. Live off my savings for a while and see what happens.”
“Have you thought about setting up a blog? Using your skills there to try and earn money? Make the blog pay for your travel.”
“What do I have to say about travel that isn’t already said? You’ve seen the amount of luggage I’ve brought with me. I’m not one for the sort of things you do, the solo travel in dangerous places.”
“Yeah. Even I’ve started looking towards the luxury end of travel blogging,” Shade said. “I’ve found that people aren’t following me for the sake of my writing, or even me personally. Judging from the messages I receive, most of my readers want to know how they can do what I do. So I lead by example. I sell the experience. I travel and do these things,” Shade nodded to her bag full of expensive clothing. “I buy these clothes and then market the shit out of it because people reading my blog want to have that lifestyle. You don’t actually live it. You just mimic what they think they want.”
“The more you talk about it, the less different it sounds to what I was doing … I’m joking,” Laura said to Shade’s thoughtful glance.
“Put it to you this way,” Shade said. “The post that has netted me the most money is the step by step guide on how to set up your own blog. I promote the sites I use and they give me money when a sale is made through my links. Travel is the hook I use to lure people to my affiliate links and adverts. I’m happy to show you how to set up your own, get the ball rolling. We could keep in touch and see how your travel’s going.”
“That would be great, thank you so much. I’ll use your affiliate links.”
Shade had planned to do that regardless when helping Laura set up her website.
In her knitwear green scarf, blue hat and white jumper Shade stood out as much as the lighthouse behind her. The rented bike allowed her to get to the far end of Inis Oírr ahead of the crowd of tourists. The boat had been a pleasant ten minutes, which she had spent on deck for fear of feeling sick again.
Inis Oírr was completely different to its middle sibling. Straight off the ferry a young girl played tin whistle with a hat of coins between her feet. A line of horses and carts waited for tourists to give them the authentic experience, if they had the money for it. She reckoned anyone setting up a horse and cart on Inis Meáin would be laughed out of the pub.
Laura turned down the offer to join her on a cycle around the island, instead opting to relax in the pub with her laptop and access to internet. She promised to spend the time trying to come up with a name for her new blog. The long road to the lighthouse was completely empty.
Shade took out a thermos of coffee that she had filled in the local store and made herself comfortable. With the obligatory selfies taken, she took out her laptop to respond to some work emails and update her travel journal. A folded sheet of paper slid off the keys and fell into her lap.
Morning, Shade,
I hope you find this before the day’s out. I’ve yet to see you look away from your laptop for any length of time, so we should be safe. I did try to wake you but you grumbled something very offensive. I checked your room for the spider (That’s a lie).
The concert I mentioned is on tonight. Meet me at the Róisín Dubh in Galway City at eight. When you head in the door turn to your right, there is a little snug in front of a fire, I’ll be waiting for you there. Unless somebody else has taken it and if so I will be the one glaring at the people in the snug. Come in what you’re wearing, no need for anything fancy.
I hope you see this message in time or else I’ll feel like a right tit.
Hope you have a good day.
Until we see each other again,
Diarmuid
P.S. Are you smiling?
I am. Her enthusiasm was only partly due to the prospect of not sleeping in the same house as a body. I’m getting too involved. Then again, it’s harmless fun. As he said, it’s something I’d not experience had he not offered. Shade rang the airport and booked a seat on the plane leaving that evening. She had been a little stung by his absence that morning but that was now salved. If nothing else she would go for curiosity’s sake.
Shade felt giddy and let it bleed into her work. Following the release of the Hollow Ways article her emails were full of congratulations and interview requests.
Oliva left a video message for her. “Don’t go getting a big head.”
Kristofer was beside her. “Don’t pay any attention, she’s already sent off for a large print of the article to have it framed. Bit of craft work and she will have you stitched in at the top of the list.”
There was nothing from her adopted parents on the Chanthams. Though they never had the best internet connection. She wished she could share this with them.
Well-wishes came in from her regular blog commenta
tors. Turf for Thought’s analytics were enjoying a massive spike in traffic following the article.
Nathan, the American photographer saw it as well, both the exposure she was getting and that she had removed his photographs. Would you take a hint?
His request for another date was tacked on at the end of his last email.
“Hi Shade,
I know you’re travelling and don’t have much time to get back to me at the moment. I’m assuming that your social media updates are all automated. Congratulations on the shout out on the 30 Under 30 list. Well deserved. I noticed you’ve taken down our photographs and I wanted to touch base with you about why? If there is an issue with the quality I can send you on some more. Hit me up when you read this.
Got a new lens that will love you, can’t wait to see you again.
Nate.”
She could appreciate persistence when set to the right task, but when applied to people it became pestering.
Shade opened a fresh word document. If he reads every word then let’s see what he makes of this. She wrote the title, ‘Travel Romances and How to End Them.’ She made it bold and increased the print until there was no escaping it. She wrote with a malicious pleasure, letting out the aggravation he had caused her. There’s no way he’ll think of this in any other light, unless he’s stupid.
When she finished the first draft of the blog post Shade covered the rest of the island by bike. She stopped only to capture the best bits on camera. Lying in a bath of seaweed in the island spa she edited the post on her phone, asking Laura’s opinion from the tub next to hers. It would come across a little bit off-brand but a refreshing insight into the seldom-discussed topic of road romances. It carried more sincerity than some of her other posts. This kind of discussion-worthy topic would bring eyes to the post and trickle down to her other ones. Over the years she had learned to write what garnered the most engagement. Click-bait headings got more attention, more eyes on the adverts, which meant more money in her pocket.
