by Eoin Brady
They watched as the flood of morning commuters became a trickle as offices, shops and businesses started their day. Tourists then took their place to fill the streets. Now that they had the ability to ask each other personal questions, Diarmuid was making full use of it. It only ceased when Shade stopped him. “I should just tell you the name of my blog because you’ve covered all the questions that I’m asked most often, in the space of ten minutes. I’ve a page on my blog that you’d love.”
They sat in silence. Shade lay down in the deep, green grass of the manicured quay as the sun warmed her exposed skin. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I’m looking at all the strangers walking past each other with not even a glance or second thought. That could have been us.”
“We would not know to be sad about it. How many times each day do we walk by a person that could be perfect for us? Or one that could make our lives miserable. But I suppose that’s an interesting thought. Imagine all those missed chances, the ‘what ifs’ that could be and then never will. I’m glad I met you,” she said.
“I like the idea of soul mates, but in my mind it belongs in stories. There’s no one person in the world that’s perfect for you. If that were the case then that person could have died decades ago or won’t be born for a hundred or so. You learn how to love or contract it over time.”
“So you’re saying we make do with the people we are alive with?”
“Well it’s a scary thought that there will come a time when everybody we see right now will be gone. Look at your man over there rushing.” Shade followed the line of Diarmuid’s arm to a man that was trying to cross a busy road. “Why the rush? What will it matter in a few years?”
“You never know, he could have eaten something dodgy last night and is in dire need of a loo.”
Shade turned onto her stomach and leaned up on her elbows, digging them into the soft grass. “You work online.” She was suddenly breathless.
“Yes, from the computer at home,” Diarmuid said.
“Why have you anchored yourself in one place? You said yourself you’re poorly travelled. Have you the means to leave?”
“I don’t know where I’d go. I have the means to survive; pay rent, food, travel and the sort, no extravagant houses though.”
“Where would you go if you could be anywhere in the world right now.”
“Right here with you.”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“I do and I’d choose anywhere with you in it.”
“Would you like to see some of the world with me?”
Diarmuid nodded his head without saying a word. They both laughed at the tension that had built up between them.
“That’s if I wouldn’t be an imposition.”
“If you keep that shit up you will start to be.”
Once their breakfast had settled they went in search of coffee. Shade felt relief once the camera was back around her neck. She still worried he was judging her for it. A group of charity agents wearing luminous jackets locked eyes with her on the path ahead and started moving with the intention of intercepting them.
“This looks like a nice place,” she said and veered into a café to avoid them.
Shade waited outside the café to take photographs of the narrow Quay Street while Diarmuid stood in line, waiting for their order. She had not checked her phone in hours and could not remember the last time she felt okay with that, though withdrawal symptoms were definitely setting in. She looked inside at the long line of people ahead of Diarmuid. He never needs to know. She turned the phone on. A stream of messages poured down the screen, which was nothing out of the ordinary. It had actually become comforting to watch, it meant validation.
She checked her private email account. Oliva had continued the conversation and sent a few pictures of her daughter dressed up for a birthday party. There was nothing from Nathan; either the blog had worked or he had yet to see it. She checked his social accounts. There were no new pictures and the old ones he put up of them together were gone.
One name stood out amongst the other emails. She only read as far as the first paragraph before jumping out of the metal picnic table with excitement. Some occasions called for pacing. She eventually noticed Diarmuid sitting across from her sipping on a coffee, her own was on the table in front of her.
“What’s the matter?” He asked.
I’m moving into the Suites today, it’s too crowded here. I need to work on a response. I need to spend the day on it. Shit, are they expecting a reply immediately? I need Oliva’s advice. Shade leafed through her notepad and once she found the number she was looking for she rang it. It rang out long enough for her to become aware of Diarmuid again. She was about to explain but then somebody on the other end of the phone picked up.
“Hello, have you any flights going this morning to Inis Meáin?” Shade asked.
Diarmuid went red and focused on his coffee cup, turning it in his hand.
“Only one seat?” she acknowledged Diarmuid with a brief glance. “I’ll take it.”
When she hung up Shade gulped her coffee, grimaced and spluttered in pain. “I need to get back to the island. Hollow Ways offered me a job!” She packed her stuff in a hurry and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone.
Diarmuid pushed his coffee away from him. Caffeine would only exacerbate his growing level of anxiety. He started to gather his own things. Shade appeared, red-faced beside him. “Dinner’s tonight at eight on the dot in the restaurant. Don’t be late. I’m sorry about this.” She crushed him in a tight hug and let out tremulous giggles of excitement. “Hollow Ways!” She was about to leave for a second time but remembered to kiss him. He waited there for a minute on the off-chance that she would come back again. He had another couple of hours to kill in the busy city until the two-hour lonely journey back to the island.
CHAPTER 14: A DREAM COME TRUE
Shade could not settle during the flight back to the island. She read over the email so often that she no longer needed to look at the screen to go through it. She could not find any falsehood hidden in the words. The email address was accurate, as was the header. Everything looked above-board. There at the bottom was a direct line to Jane Orsen, the head of Hollow Ways magazine. She rang the number and hung up immediately when she recognised the voice on the recorded message. She saved the number in her phone but then promptly removed it for fear of what she might send to her after a few drinks too many.
When the plane landed Shade went up to two different cars before she finally found the island’s taxi. It was a mini-bus and getting it was a mistake as it dropped four other passengers off across the island before stopping outside her B&B. Before the van came to a full stop, Shade jumped out and ran into the building, taking the stairs two at a time. She fumbled the key to her room but eventually got it in. She stuffed all her gear into the backpack. The computer was fully charged. She had never noticed before how slow it was to start. She paced as it warmed up. Opening her messages she read the email over again.
“Hello Shade,
Congratulations on being chosen as part of our segment ‘30 Under 30 Travel Bloggers.’ It was a competitive group this year and your position was well earned. I have been following your adventures on Turf for Thought for a while now. I quite enjoy your approach and writing style. I particularly loved your new segment about getting lost in a place before you write it up. It takes a lot of dedication seldom seen these days.
Following on from your cycle across the United States of America it’s clear to me and my colleagues at Hollow Ways that you share our passion. I would like to extend a hand and talk about your plans for future travel and how far you are willing to go. We would like to help you further your career. I believe that you would make an excellent addition to our pool of field writers.
How would you like to be a Hollow Ways travel writer? If you have a trip coming up similar to your cycle across the USA then we want to hear about it. Please feel fr
ee to get in contact to set up an online meeting if this is of interest to you and you would like to discuss it further. We would ask that you submit a proposal brief of a potential adventure you would undertake under contract for Hollow Ways.
I have attached a copy of our standard contract for you to have a read over, we can alter it down the line if and when the need arises.
Safe travels,
Jane Orsen.
Hollow Ways Magazine, Chief Editor.”
Since leaving Galway, Shade had been formulating a response but now that it came to actually putting words on the screen she thought them drastically inadequate. Jane Orsen sent me a private message. The Jane Orsen read my blog. I’m sure she says that to all potential staff writers, she could not possibly have time to read all candidates for the 30 Under 30 post. Maybe she just read the winners.
Shade was overcome with worry that her writing was not up to standard. The theme she used for her website was outdated by years, she just kept using it because she liked it. I knew I should have spent the money on a web designer.
Shade brought up Hollow Ways site, they had millions of followers, a reach far beyond anything she could ever hope for with her personal wander blog. I’m not sure my web hosting account can handle the amount of traffic that my site would see if I was featured on Hollow Ways.
She read down the list of staff writers, all of them famous within the travel industry, people that dedicated their careers to experiencing as much of the world as possible and sharing it. She had privately considered them colleagues but now they actually would be. Her picture would be right there alongside theirs. Earn some serious credentials. This is big.
Out of fear of accidentally pressing the send button before her response was thoroughly edited, she wrote a draft with pen and paper, hundreds of words written, pages of paragraphs crossed out, until she harvested a few sentences to put into a response.
She read and reread the draft until she was blind to the words. When she was happy it was at the very least legible and had some air of professionalism, she pressed send with an ink-stained finger. Jane Orsen had signed off as Hollow Ways Magazine, Chief Editor. For nearly forty minutes Shade worried over just signing off as Shade. I can’t be just “Shade”. Perhaps “Chief Editor of Turf for Thought”. She deleted that instantly and finally settled for sending her best wishes.
I have to tell Oliva; she won’t believe this. Shade was about to call her when she noticed the time. She was already late to check in to the Suites. She gathered her things in a matter of minutes. As she tried to get her arm into the strap of her backpack she knocked on Laura’s door. No answer. If she still does not want to stay here I’ll let her bunk with me in the Suites. Fuck! Diarmuid. She tried to remember his expression when she ran off and left him in Galway, but she had been in too much of a rush to be able to read the fleeting glance from memory. She groaned. There’s still time to make up for it at dinner tonight.
At the bottom of the stairs Shade picked up the end of a worn piece of chalk and wrote THANK YOU on the blackboard. She thought of leaving a message for Laura but decided against it. It’s a small island, there’s only one pub. I’ll see her again.
Guests staying in the other Suites had arrived hours earlier. Much of the day had passed as she worried over her response to Hollow Ways. People were already sitting down for pre-dinner drinks in the restaurant. The building was beautiful, stone-faced, designed to fit in against the backdrop of the island. Windows gave views of the mainland and the bay.
When she entered the restaurant she did a quick scan to make sure Diarmuid had not arrived ahead of her. No, still time.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Shade said to the woman behind the curved wine counter. “I’m staying in the Connemara Suite.”
“Shade, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“You’re grand, don’t worry, you’re ahead of the ferry guests. I’ll show you to your room now.”
The woman brought two drinks that looked like miniature rock pools, carefully crafted with red dillisk in a sea of gin to a table, then led Shade from the restaurant.
“We got your message yesterday that you had a guest joining you for dinner and breakfast but you never specified if you needed another bed made up.”
“Oh, sorry, no, that’s not necessary. Thank you though.”
They walked down a small pathway with rock features on the left and the four Burren Suites on the right. Outside one, an elderly couple read on sun loungers. In another a man smoked on a bench with a glass of red wine beside him. A young man all in black with a blue apron walked by them with a chicken under his arm. “You’ll not get it fresher than this,” he said casually in passing.
“You’re not actually cooking that for dinner are you? I know it’s advertised as food sourced from the island but …”
“No, that’s Nugget, our little Houdini,” the restaurant manager said. “She keeps escaping and calling in to the guests. We have a hen house by the polytunnel where we collect our eggs for your breakfast. I reckon the kitchen porter’s heart would be broken if Nugget ever did end up on the menu. He was sullen for a week after he had to kill and prepare lobsters.”
The Connemara Suite was the last along the path. It was also the largest. Shade took note of everything for her blog, the private section out the front, the hallway where she was told her breakfast and lunch would be left in the morning. Then a large open-plan living area with dining space and lounge, a small library of well-worn books beside a wood-burning stove. The window ran the length of the Suite giving stunning views of the island, Galway Bay, Connemara and the mountains on the mainland.
Once the brief orientation finished Shade downed both aperitifs, jumped in the shower and donned a crinkled dress.
On her way back to the restaurant, the smell coming from the kitchen made her realise how little she had eaten all day. She was famished. The chef was cutting chives from the herb garden. She took a quick photo. Many people made the journey to the island specifically to dine here. The reviews were all outstanding. Her time in the Suites was going to be a post on its own.
Inside she noticed Diarmuid, sitting looking out of the window with his back to her. He was the only person present wearing a suit. The hostess gave her a warm smile.
“Don’t you look adorable,” Shade said, sitting down across from him.
He poured her a glass of wine from the already diminished bottle between them, he raised his glass up and she clinked her own against it.
“What are we toasting?” she asked.
“Our second last night together.”
In all the excitement of the day she had forgotten that this was one of their last evenings on the island.
“Are we ignoring the fact you’re wearing a suit?”
He looked along the tables at other diners in casual wear. His face reddened but he shrugged it off. “It’s a rental. I checked the place up online and assumed I couldn’t go too wrong with a suit.”
Delicious smells of dinner cooking wafted through the kitchen window, making her stomach lurch with anticipation.
“So what was that about earlier? I would have assumed a family member died, only you looked happy. A family member didn’t die?” Diarmuid asked.
“No, nothing of the sort. Have you heard of Hollow Ways? Travel-related website, magazine, books. The only places they don’t have guides for are Mars, and I’d wager they’ll be up there soon after people have settled it to write a ‘best space-hikes’ article.”
“I know them from their nature documentaries.”
“Right. Well, they reached out to me and offered me a job.”
Diarmuid’s eyes went wide. “That’s insane. Congratulations, Shade. What’s the job?”
“That’s the best part, I get to draw up a plan and send it on to them. They mentioned that the American cycle got their attention, so I reckon it will have to be bigger than that. A massive solo adventure.”
“Solo adventure?
”
“Yeah, I cycled across the United States and blogged the entire experience. I was self-sustained the whole way. No back up, just me, my bike and a country of convenience stores. Though I don’t think I could cycle for that length of time again.”
“Why solo travel?”
“It’s a part of my brand. I’ve built up an audience that I have to pander to if I want them to stick around. They could always look for it elsewhere. I outsource a lot of the smaller stuff now. Pay ghostwriters to do a few filler articles and then I’ll put my own spin on them and feed it to the machine. I threw a lot at the blog in the early days to see what stuck, and eventually a few things did. You need to catch attention to grow. Now that I have it I can’t just change the formula.”
“Personally that sounds horrifying. Having to advertise yourself like that. Opening up to the scrutiny of strangers who will drop you if you don’t give them what they want.”
“You learn to separate yourself from it. At the end of the day, it’s a job. You of all people know that. There’s the online Shade; she has taken on a life of her own, uses my likeness, and the fiction grows. That’s how I deal with the scrutiny. Though you do get some arseholes that think they have the right to air their opinions about you with impunity.”
“Is it lonely?”
“Well, I’ve met you haven’t I? There are plenty of amazing people around the world.”
Diarmuid lowered his head in a slow nod and did not raise it back to meet her gaze.
“Now I have a following of people that read me only for the fact that I am a woman travelling alone. A lot of women are afraid to step out and do it, so I lead by example. Once you know something, the fear you have for it has limits. Now my big thing is solo adventures.”
“Again, it sounds like you’re working for the blog.”
