by Eoin Brady
It was time. Shade readied in a daze and was about to leave the hotel room when she remembered she had brought her notebook, pen and camera. I won’t need them tonight. I know what Shade is going. She left them on her bedside locker, feeling vulnerable without them. The hardest thing to leave behind was her notebook, it had often acted as a shield in awkward situations. She could not remember how many strangers she had disarmed and what information she managed to get from people through its use. She would have hid behind it tonight but she could not allow for any distractions. Now all she carried with her were the letters she wrote for him and the ticket she could not be sure worked.
The sickening feeling that shadowed her every waking minute after making the decision to take this chance was gone now that she knew he was trying to reach her. If he is here tonight what an amazing surprise it will be. If not then I will have his letter when he sends it.
The worst that would happen tonight is I have an excellent evening listening to beautiful music. Come to think of it, contender for worst night would also be actually running into him and trying to explain the horrible misunderstanding.
She arrived early to the National Concert Hall. Aside from the staff members and possibly the performers she was the first there. A man came up and checked her ticket through without any issue. One problem solved. Now the main one, finding him. There were two doors into the main concert hall but only one entrance into the building, she would station herself there. Stand out in the crowd. The thought made her sick but it was only for a short time.
She sat outside a small café down the road from the venue and called her sister while a cappuccino cooled in front of her.
“Hey, Oliva.”
“Well, how are things going? Take it you’ve not found him yet?”
“It seemed like a good idea before I actually arrived. Now I’m waiting here like a tit for the concert to begin.”
“It’s more for you than him right now. At least you can say you’ve tried. How did Hollow Ways take it when you returned home?”
“Better than I expected, but for the most part I think they’ll be too wary to work with me again in the future. They were as friendly as a company has to be. To be honest with you I didn’t like working for them. Sure I could have altered my writing style to suit their needs but I started this to do my own thing.”
“It’s a job at the end of the day.”
“I asked myself how much was enough? There was always an ‘and then?’ to consider. Leaving them won’t hurt the trajectory I was on but it certainly won’t help it, and I’m okay with that.”
Oliva spent the rest of the phone call making fun of Shade’s sudden romanticism. It took her mind from the awkwardness and predicted let-down of the night to come.
When Oliva wished her the best of luck and hung up, Shade took the phone away from her ear and looked at its cold and lifeless screen. She wanted more, wanted to hug Oliva. But more than anything she wanted Diarmuid. She thought of what she would do when they met again. There would be time for words after. She just needed to hold him.
Shade took Hayley’s concrete pen and continued writing her last letter to him.
I’m sitting at a coffee shop with a bundle of letters for you. I don’t know if you’ll ever see them. Not sure I want you to either at this point. This will be my last attempt at finding you. It has to be, I have to let you go.
She had that much written so far but now reading over it she could not sense the feeling of despair she had experienced when writing it. He tried to find me. That consolidated her own feelings, gave her validation for taking this chance.
She continued writing.
I’m in Dublin today, sitting across from the National Concert Hall about to listen to our songs, though I’m here on the chance that you might be too.
Knowing that at the end of this letter I won’t have to say goodbye makes me so happy. I could write and ramble until I run out of ink about all the plans and things we can do together. I would know your story for as long as my own will last. Well you know, so long as you’re not an arsehole. It all depends on what you’ve written in that letter.
After tonight the ghost of what could have been will be gone. It’s a weird thought that you’ve been with me far longer than we’ve known each other. This all seems a bit crazy to me but it didn’t on the island. It felt right there. I want you in my company and less in my thoughts.
When Shade stopped writing the milk froth of her coffee had dissolved, leaving a cool brown pool that rippled in the breeze. Traffic had passed its peak and subsided as pubs began filling up. People were now arriving for the concert.
Shade finished the letter with, “I hope to continue this in person.”
CHAPTER 25: NOTHING LEFT TO SAY
One of the first things Shade noticed in the concert hall was that people came in pairs and groups. She was the only single. What if he’s brought a date? Would he even acknowledge me after reading that blog post? He could have been going out with somebody while he was on the island. With a drink in hand she wandered through the growing crowd. She stood out in her colourful Aran knitwear, drawing the attention of those she passed. At least if I don’t spot him he’ll feel the heat from my embarrassment as I pass. She held the cold glass of beer against her cheek to quell the rising blush. What is a bit of embarrassment, a transatlantic flight, a week of hard trekking, hotels, ignoring a once-in-a-lifetime job offer, when compared to good company?
“Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please.” The concierge made the hall go quiet. “If you would please follow the ushers you will be seated shortly, the concert is about to begin.”
Shade appeared to be the only person present unhappy about the announcement.
She hovered around the entrance but the steady flow of well-dressed bodies had become a trickle as most of those that were in attendance were enjoying a few drinks before the music started. Shade had drawn the attention of staff who kept an eye on her unusual activity. What I wouldn’t give to have my notebook and at least look like an amateur journalist. Wandering through the crowd she thought she must look how she felt: like a lost child.
Shade took one last deep breath of the night air. Dublin was lit by a round bright moon. Rushing inside to get to the inner doors, Shade saw the crowd split into two lines heading for separate doors. This couldn’t have been easy. There was no way she could watch them both. Panicking she glanced across the backs of men’s heads, she thought a few of them were Diarmuid shaped but on quick inspection, none were. Overcome with emotionally reductive hopelessness she chose a door at random and stood beside it to watch. If it comes to it I will leave early and stand outside the other door.
“Can I help you?” the concierge asked, startling her.
She had rehearsed for such an eventuality but stuttered now that it came down to it. “I don’t have my phone with me and I’m trying to meet my friend. We were to meet here but I can’t find him.”
“Seats are all allocated. If you bought your tickets together then your friend will be seated beside you. He might already be inside. Would you care to join the line?” His hand stuck out like a barrier that would brook no protest.
“We didn’t buy them together and I’m not from Ireland, only off the plane this morning. Last minute job. I apologise if I’m in the way. I’m a little worried.”
He looked at her for a moment in silence then his arm slowly lowered. “If it’s down under his name we may be able to find him on the system when it quietens down, and see if he has claimed his seat.”
“That would be incredibly helpful. Thank you so much.”
“Good luck with the search.” He left her there and returned to his post.
She felt calmer now but no less foolish that she could just check the names on the list. Unless it’s down under Katie’s name again. Shade enjoyed thinking of what she would do to that woman if they ever met again.
Both lines filtered through into the main hall until the only people left outside
were employees and those that arrived late. One of the ushers kept staring at her as one would a strand of hair that would not sit in place. The doors closed. Now she would have to wait for an interlude in the music before she could go inside.
The hall erupted in applause. It began.
Shade went towards a window as broad as she was and looked down on the stage where Ludovico Einaudi sat before a grand piano, framed by the only light in the room.
Shade listened to the music and scanned the crowd. He could be in there, so close and yet I may as well still be in Patagonia for all the good this does me. After the break following the second piece Shade stood outside alone. She knew from the beginning that this was how it would end but even still, the failure hit her harder than she anticipated. She was sick of sharing moments for money. She wanted to share them with him.
She wished that she could disappear. All those passing eyes that had lingered on her. All strangers. The ushers exchanged glances until one of them decided to ask “Are you sure you don’t want to head in?”
Shade stood by the window looking at the stage. A few stragglers came in and waited until there was enough of them before the ushers guided them to their seats.
“Just a little bit longer,” Shade pleaded, though at this point she had no intention of heading in. Memories of Diarmuid came to life in the melody.
She had no desire to wait around until the end of the concert, to scan the crowd from the other door. I’ll have a look at the list of names on tickets and then leave. If she went inside she could hide in the darkness a little longer, become invisible, but the music was still a sore point for her.
On to another flight, maybe stay with Oliva until she has the baby. Take time and plan for something else. I have enough content stored away to be able to feed the blog for a few months at least. I can outsource other pieces. That was consideration for tomorrow.
She looked down over the cliff at the stage as a sea of applause resounded to the most recent piece. The concierge cleared his throat to get her attention and nodded towards the hall.
Her eyes unfocused from the stage behind the glass to the reflection of somebody standing behind her. She thought to move aside so they too could see but then he spoke.
“Hello, Shade. Sorry I’m late.”
His voice, his accent. Shade could not turn around. She just stared at his reflection until he came into focus. He was smiling for her. Shade was on the verge of tears. She could not remember the last time she breathed but she was pretty sure she needed to soon. Her mind was blank, she had rehearsed over and over what she would say if she ever saw him again, edited each word to make it perfect, but none of it mattered in his presence. She reached a tentative hand towards his, let the touch linger a moment to seem accidental, waited to be sure he did not move away and when he did not, she laced her fingers around his and drew him to her side.
“Do you remember this piece?” he asked as the song ended. When he looked at her he asked no further questions. He squeezed her hand in his. She found her voice. “I’ve missed you.” She had no intention of letting go.
He smelled just as she remembered. Sorry I’m late – how did … “How did you know I’d be here?”
The expression on his reflection changed into one of confusion. “I gave you a copy of the tickets with the letter before I left the island.”
“Oh.” Her breathing turned ragged and she laughed but it sounded like sad gulps so she stopped. Tears fell in the dark. All this time he had planned to meet me here, kept hope that I would. “But you tried to reach me through my landlord on the island.”
Diarmuid shook his head. “That wasn’t me.”
Oh shit. Who did I give my address to then?
Ludovico began playing again, lulling the crowd into silence. It was their song. The music that Diarmuid had played on the edge of the cliff the first time they met, the song he played in the pub that night that stopped her in the middle of a small pub on Inis Meáin.
They huddled close before the window and listened. From the corner of her eye Shade caught Diarmuid looking at her. When he realised she saw him, he smiled.
How naïve you are. If only you knew what I’d done for a chance to see you again.
He started tapping the notes as they played, onto her skin. The song will end but this won’t.
Shade turned, took his head in her hands and kissed him. She did not care that he was conscious of her tears as her wet cheeks touched his. When they parted he was no longer smiling. There were no words that could convey what the kiss already had.
“There’s so much we have to talk about.” Shade said.
“We have time.”
“Are you ready?” The usher whispered as the song neared its end.
Shade nodded. They would soon enter into the near total darkness and find their places.
“I have something for you.” Shade took out a thick envelope that bulged with the letters she had written to a person she thought would never read them. She had never felt this nervous posting a blog for thousands of people to see. This was only for one and it contained several pieces of her. Memories frozen in ink – how she saw the world and how she hoped it saw her. She passed it to him, knowing she could not do it when they were free to talk.
Diarmuid held it in both hands. When he looked at her the light of the stage shone in his bright blue eyes. He leaned in close and ran his fingers through her hair, shifting it away from her ear.
“I’m not saying it,” he whispered.
Shade laid a hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to.”
CHAPTER 26: TURF FOR THOUGHT
No stranger ever leaves this island. At least that’s my feeling after spending only a week on the middle and least populated of the three Aran Islands. When I left I knew it would not be for the last time, so writing this I feel underqualified to tell you about the island.
Somebody joked to me that the island was fifty years behind the times. When I put that to some of the islanders they laughed it off, saying that was a conservative estimate.
The first language of the locals is Irish and they always have a friendly greeting for tourists, at least I assume it was friendly – I don’t speak a word of it. Ni Thigim means ‘I don’t understand.’ It got me by beautifully. Whenever I spoke with a group they’d switch to English without a pause and stay there to keep you in the conversation.
There’s one pub, one church and one shop and I imagine the only reason the church stays open is so there is a place where they can go and pray that the pub does. Be on your best behaviour, it’s quite sobering I’m sure to upset the only bartender on an island.
The karstic landscape was scraped of topsoil by glacial erosion. There are certain plants that grow here and nowhere else on the mainland. Being no botanist however, I can only go by the words of the guide books. After a week of wandering I’d been down every path and road there is – twice. Not once did I ever go out and fail to see something new that drew the interest of my camera. It is a dream to walk, though give yourself plenty of time as there is always something of historical, geographical or literary interest. Synge’s Cottage and Chair show how important the island and the preserved culture was to Irish writers. The ancient fortifications are all that remain of a people and time long past.
Inis Meáin is special to me. I’ve never been so close to civilisation and yet still felt removed from it. I’ve watched boatloads of tourists and even a cruise ship pass from Inis Mór, the largest island, to Inis Oírr, the smallest, ignoring this one entirely and that is to your benefit. All the islands rely on tourism but you’d not find a horse and cart once you step off the boat here. There’s “none of that carry on” as they say. I’m sure no matter where you go in Ireland the bartender is obligated to say “It’s the best pint of Guinness you’ll ever have”. It does not need saying here.
Nothing ever breaks here, it just works in different ways. People go by a different time. Now, I can’t speak for the locals who, if they ever read t
his, will think I’m full of it, but definitely as an explorer I found it nice to wander and get lost from the rush of everyday life. I learned to be present on Inis Meáin. It was the first time in longer than I care to remember that I went without looking at a screen of some sort, for a while at least. This leads me on to a notice I have to make to my regular readers. I’m taking a bit of a break from living online for a while. I want to try to live in the real world, for a little bit anyway. I’ve been doing this for a long time now. The job requires that you change to remain relevant but it’s got to the point that I don’t recognise the person I was when I started out in this business. Instead of writing about things that I want to, I end up doing things that get the most engagement so I can show potential clients the active audience they could advertise to. This is a numbers game. Companies that want to work with me put a value on how many people they can reach through me. This is a wonderful job. It has allowed me to travel more and I’m not going to stop. I always wanted to bring my passion for travelling from the hobbies section of my CV to the work section and now that I have, it feels too much like work. If you’re hungry to see more of the world then get out there and experience it. We can share stories afterwards.
Be back soon,
Shade.
Want More?
Signing up to my mailing list is the best way to stay up to date with new book releases. I rarely post but when I do, it will be news about my stories or the books that I love.
Sign up here: http://eepurl.com/dsbuCn
Website: www.eoinbrady.com
Follow me on:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EoinBradyAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/turfforthought
Reviews Help
You can make a massive difference to my career as a creative professional. Honest reviews of my work are incredibly useful tools for letting other readers find my stories.
