by Fox Brison
We continued the journey in companionable silence, neither of us feeling the need to fill the car with inane chatter, which was unusual considering we’d just met; it allowed me to relax. Staring out of the window at the passing scenery, my eyes closed a few times and I jerked them open, not wanting to miss a thing.
Visually Ireland owned a stark beauty, although an almost velvety blur softened the harshness, and I was enraptured and enchanted by the landscape. Maybe ensorcelled was more fitting. The lush greens and dark browns of the hills in the distance were carved into jagged squares by stone walls keeping livestock and cattle, sheep mostly, penned in. And this pastoral patchwork quilt was randomly flecked with whites and creams, houses and cottages, which brought a human element to what was nature at its most idyllic.
It was soporific and after being up since four o’clock I finally gave in to the inevitable and fell asleep.
“Feckin lunatic!” I was jolted awake when I felt both the car stop sharply and Elisha’s hand on my chest. The driver behind executed an extremely dodgy overtaking manoeuvre at a blind summit complete with oncoming traffic and blaring horns. “Sorry Brianna, there are some right eejits on the road.”
Sleep disorientated, and with a distinct feeling of dislocation, being grope-woke merely amplified the sensation, which possibly explained the tingling. Slowly getting my bearings, I checked the clock on the dashboard and my cheeks pinked. “No, it’s me who should apologise. I’m sorry, Elisha, I didn’t mean to drop off!” Great! Another super first impression, I thought sardonically. One more and I’d have filled my bingo card!
“Not at all, although I suspected my niece may have left her Peppa Pig toy in the back when the snoring started.” She chuckled and quickly glanced my way before saying, “Your bed’s made up; you can get straight into it when we reach the cottage.”
I don’t snore, do I? If I do, Leo never mentioned it. Pink? Try fuchsia! “No, honestly, I’m fine, I only needed forty winks.” I said, wiping my chin. Thankfully I hadn’t drooled, which would have completed level six in the humiliation games.
“Sure, it’s not far now,” Elisha revealed. Flicking her head towards a medium sized building on the crossroads, “That’s our local and the nearest shop.” The name ‘Fiddler’s Elbow’ was stencilled in whirly writing, and the walls were decorated with signs advertising Guinness, the presence of a toucan intimating they had an age about them. “Maura has a trad night every Sunday and it’s mighty craic. If you fancy we might pop down for an hour,” she proposed softly. “If nothing else, it’ll give you a chance to meet some of the locals.” Gripping the steering wheel, she, for once, didn’t throw me that sideways look she’d sent my way several times already.
“Trad night?” I asked.
“Sorry, traditional music. Maybe you can play.” She looked in the rearview mirror at my violin case sat on the back seat.
“Maybe,” I hedged even though my mind was already screaming no, never going to happen, not in a month of Sundays and several blue moons.
Nu huh.
“It’s a date then,” she said and her eyes opened wide. “I mean. You know. It’s not that. Well.”
Flustered Elisha from the airport returned with a vengeance. “It’s a date,” I agreed which put a stop to her mithering.
We turned left onto nothing more than a small lane. Woody branches reached over our heads and interlocked their fingers in a pattern as fine and intricate as any you’d find on the fanciest Chantilly lace tablecloth. Snatches of blue and white interrupted the willowy brown limbs, whilst shafts of sunlight broke through hitting the road like spotlights on a theatre stage.
“This is beautiful,” I whispered. My eyes were drawn to the stream following the curve of the road. Spring blooms, yellow primroses and white snowdrops, hid amongst the mossy carpet and dark underlay, pockets of colour studding the gloom. Every turn brought a new vista that was similar yet entirely different, and each plateau brought another cottage.
“On a clear day like today there’s nowhere more so. You can see why Yeats found it so inspiring.”
“Yeats was born here?” Elisha was a well of knowledge which I intended to plunder during my visit. Again with the chills. Probably sleep deprivation!
“No, he was actually born in Dublin but his mother’s family were of Sligo, and he spent a good chunk of his childhood here. He thought of the area as his spiritual home. Its landscape became, over time, both literally and symbolically, his country of the heart.” There was pride in Elisha’s tone, and after she negotiated a ninety degree left hand bend, I was treated to my first close up of the mountains themselves….
“I can definitely see why,” I murmured. There was a poetic beauty about our surroundings. It was as if we’d been transported to a world created by Tolkien.
Fantastical.
Grass and heathers wavering in the wind were punctuated by enormous rocks which had been violently spewed onto the side of craggy outcrops towering belligerently into the sky. The light from the pale winter sun highlighted parts of the cliffs, yet cast vast deep grey shadows in other areas. Fifty shades of grey? Fifty shades of rugged beauty.
Spying a couple of indistinct blobs in the distance, I squinted to bring them into focus. Wait. No. It couldn’t be. “Oh my God, are they sheep?” I squeaked. It appeared as if they were clinging to the face of the mountain with sheer willpower alone.
“They are.”
“How on earth do you feed them?” I imagined Elisha abseiling from the mountain with a bale of hay on her back.
“We don’t, unless we have an extreme winter otherwise they eat the vegetation. Without them we’d never keep the undergrowth at manageable levels.” I loved the fact that the sheep were responsible for keeping the mountain tidy. They were certainly more environmentally aware than most humans.
After rounding yet another bend (this mountain had more twists and turns than a Scandinavian detective series and was probably at times equally as bleak) I got to observe these custodians up close and personal because there was a group sauntering along in the middle of the road. Road? By this stage it was barely wide enough for the car, and owned a Mohican of grass down the middle!
“Should we try to herd them back into the field?” The leader of this little flock faced up to the car. He owned some serious attitude – a ram playing chicken with a hatchback! His horns were curved, and although he wore an air of innocence, I bet if he put his mind to it he could exact some significant damage.
“Not at all. We let them roam free. They’ll soon get out of the way.” Elisha took it steady and the sheep duly skipped onto the grassy verge. I smiled. There was something about Skippy the mountain sheep that warmed me inside.
“Now if you’d like to look up and to your right?” Elisha declared in a fairly accurate imitation of a tourist guide. I immediately swivelled and saw a gleaming white cottage. “Home,” she added softly. It’s funny, oh not ha ha funny, but in a peculiar wriggling in the stomach funny. There was something about the way she said home, an innate sense of belonging that brought a lump to my throat.
The Emerald Isle was certainly stirring my emotions.
Chapter 9
Brianna
Drawing to a stop I breathed and smiled a sigh of relief; I had not been Air B&B catfished. Or so I believed until a little red hen came flapping out of the front door, chased by a small grey-haired woman.
With a sweeping brush.
“Get! Ya little whores bastard ya,” she thundered. The poor chicken leapt into the air, and took off like it was being hunted by a harpy.
Elisha excitedly jumped out of the car. Me? Oh hell no, there was a woman with a deadly weapon calling a chicken a whore’s bastard. I was going nowhere! Elisha ducked her head back inside. “C’mon, Brianna, don’t want to meet your new neighbour?”
I’m not sure I do. There was a soupcon of crazy in that old woman’s eyes.
“Biddy, what are you doing to poor Red? She’ll not be laying for me tomorrow,
” Elisha complained good-naturedly.
“This is down to you treating her like a pet! Hens are not pets, Leesh. Sure feeding her popcorn.” The woman shook her head in disgust. “I’ve never seen the likes.”
“She lays more regularly if I spoil her,” Elisha countered.
“Lays more… Next you’ll be bringing her into bed of a night! You’d be cheaper buying a dozen from Glancy’s than feeding that one popcorn! Lays better. Hmmph.”
“She costs less than a dog.” Elisha turned and winked at me. She was clearly revelling in the exchange.
“Costs less than a-” came a mutter of pure exasperation.
I squirmed nervously, wondering if I could slide across into the driver’s seat and make my escape before my new neighbour noticed me. Too late!
“Jesus, why didn’t you stop me from making a holy show of myself?” She frowned at Elisha who replied by throwing her head back in laughter. There was an obvious bond between the two of them, an indication of a long held friendship and love. Elisha opened the door and I, reluctantly, left the sanctuary of the car.
“Brianna McAteer meet Bridget Doran.” Elisha made the introductions and Bridget (who could not have been more than five foot tall) undid her flowery apron and smoothed down her hair which was secured in a bun. I say secured because there were at least three dozen hair grips keeping it in place. She’d have had no problems with hairballs at the airport!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Doran.” I held out my hand, and she shook it cordially.
“Likewise, Brianna. Welcome to Gloshtrasna, and please call me Biddy. Now if there’s anything you need… sure where’s my head at!” she scolded herself. “You must be perished, come on inside. The kettle’s on and I’ve just taken a batch of fruit scones out of the oven.” She hardly took a breath before ushering me towards the house. I turned my head to make sure Elisha was following but she was busy cuddling her chicken.
Cuddling her chicken. Do dee do do, do dee do do. There is a fifth dimension beyond what is known to man…
The grey stone doorstep dipped in the middle, eroded over the years by millions of visiting feet, and inside the cottage was exactly as I imagined, or maybe hoped. There was a faint crackle from the fire, not much of a sound but enough to say ‘welcome, how are you,’ and the air was thick with warmth. Oaken shelves held a myriad of mis-matched blue and red decorative crockery, and the wooden floors were covered by shag pile rugs for insulation and comfort. The room owned an earthy ambience and aroma, the dark tones an allusion of Ireland’s past. The large Stanley wood burner in the corner was guarded by an arm chair and the comfiest appearing sofa I’d ever seen. I was already anticipating curling up and listening to music provided by the elements whilst reading a good book.
Biddy led me through a door on the right (and I ducked just in time to avoid knocking myself out) which brought us into a small but functional kitchen dominated by a cream Aga. The second we crossed the threshold the kettle began to whistle, like we’d tripped some kind of sensor.
Elisha joined us. “Perfect timing,” she said happily. The table was set with a plate of sandwiches, as well as one of delicious smelling scones, and Biddy fetched the teapot and two mugs. “Are you not stopping for lunch Biddy?” Elisha asked.
“No, not today, pet. Patrick has been feeling off colour for the last week or so and he’s finally agreed to go in and see Doctor Nolan, but only after I threatened a fruitcake embargo,” she said, clearly aggravated by her poorly husband’s obstinate refusal to seek medical assistance.
“He didn’t say anyting to me. Let me take you in.”
“Sure, you know what he’s like, Elisha. He’s stubborn and proud and refuses to accept he’s getting old. Plus you can’t leave Brianna on her own.”
“You wouldn’t mind would you Brianna?” Obviously concerned, Elisha nervously twiddled her teaspoon between her thumb and index finger.
“Of course not.” I smiled at both women reassuringly.
“Will you stop fussing,” Bridget huffed. She was clearly a fiercely independent woman.
I wondered if like Skippy, Elisha was about to mulishly play chicken with her neighbour, but no, she backed down. I didn’t blame her, because my first impression of Bridget Doran was hardy and unyielding. A rock. For the second time in less than an hour I was reminded of my DNA provider’s letter.
“Fine, but I’ll call in later to see how Pat got on,” Elisha said, pouting like a five year old.
Bridget nodded dismissively and that was that. Conversation over, she turned back to address me. “Right. So. It was lovely to meet you, Brianna. I’m sorry to be running out on you, but sure look, we’ll have plenty of time for tea over the next few months.”
My answer matched her nod in the emphatic stakes. “Definitely, Biddy, especially if it comes with these scones.”
“I’ll bake a fruit cake next time.” She deftly fastened the buttons on her long wool coat, and left Elisha and me to it.
“She’s a mighty woman,” Elisha said when we were alone. “Herself and Pat have been like second parents. I was a bit of a tearaway in my teens and they helped straighten me out.” There was a hint of a smile and I returned it; I couldn’t imagine Elisha being a troublemaker. First impressions were often the best ones, and hers were sparkling. Still, no matter how genial a person, I was cynical and aware enough to reserve some judgement.
It wasn’t until you got to the nitty gritty dark stuff that you truly knew a person.
Having resisted long enough I took a scone, and cutting it in half I was hit with waft of fruitiness. I slathered it with butter, and as the inside was still toasty, it melted into a puddle of golden yellow. I practically drooled in anticipation. “So she calls you Leesh?” I said.
“Yes it’s what my friends call me. Leesh or Leesha.”
“As in what you take a dog for a walk on? Nice friends,” I goaded.
“Ha, ha!” she grinned. “So what illustrious moniker have your friends bestowed upon you, Ms McAteer?”
“Bri,” I answered proudly.
“Jesus, you’ve some cheek! At least I’m not a stinking cheese.” She laughed.
“So, Ms Callery?” I raised my eyebrows. “How would you like to be addressed?”
“You may call me Leesh,” she said graciously.
“Then I shall hereby be referred to as Bri!” I raised my mug. “Here’s to a long and treasured friendship,” I proclaimed, and Elisha clinked her cup against mine.
The speed at which we had built a rapport was quite astonishing. I was notoriously sloth like when it came to forming relationships, but right from the off I felt entirely comfortable in Elisha’s company.
Which is probably just as well considering we were going to have to complete this project in record time!
***
After lunch, Elisha helped bring my bags in from the car and showed me to my room. “Oh Elisha, it’s perfect, it’s… I love it.” The white metal framed double bed wore a lilac bedspread and a vase of flowers sat proudly on the windowsill; she’d obviously gone to a lot of effort and I was touched.
“Come on,” she said leading the way. “And on our left we have what is often referred to as the powder room, lavatory, or jacks, depending upon the quality of our clientele.” I giggled at her clowning around. “And this, well, this is my room,” she blushed. Her bed was dressed with a thick patchwork quilt, and as I traced my finger over the various squares pondering the significance each one held she asked quietly, “Do you like it?”
“At the risk of sounding redundant, I love it.”
“My great-grandmother made it for my grandparents as a wedding present.” She pointed to one of the squares. “That was the shirt my grandfather was wearing the first day he met my gran, and that one,” which was far more ornate, “was from my granny’s communion dress.” This was a family treasure and Elisha clearly knew the story behind each individual component.
“It’s a wonderful thing to own, although I’d
be worried to sleep under something so precious.”
“Oh I won’t be, it’s just for show,” she smiled. “I’ll be staying up at my father’s farmhouse while you’re here.”
“Why aren’t you staying here?” I asked, surprised. Ever since Elisha suggested I should use the cottage, I just assumed we would be sharing. She wouldn’t be my first housemate and as things were over with Leo, she probably wouldn’t be the last. Rental prices in London weren’t exactly cheap!
“I thought you’d prefer your own space. Plus I was worried it might be a little awkward?” she said diffidently.
“Why would they be? Unless you like to walk around naked?” I laughed but the truth was I probably wouldn’t have minded all that much; she seemed to have a particularly toned and muscular body. Huh. There I go again. What the hell was wrong with me today? I definitely needed sleep. I was tired drunk.
Thankfully Elisha couldn’t read my mind and she wittered on, “No, well sometimes, but not when I have visitors.” Smiling wearily, the solemnity of what she was saying was blatantly weighing her down. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” she exhaled gently, “but there’ll be a few lads on site that I grew up with, and I don’t want you having to put up with any of their smart arse comments.”
“Smart arse comments? Like?” I prompted.
“I’m a lesbian, Brianna.”
I couldn’t help but snort, and worried Elisha would take offence at my reaction, I hurried to explain. “Firstly, I’m a woman working in the building trade - you don’t think I’ve ever been subjected to the odd lesbian comment? Secondly, I can give as good as I get. And thirdly, so what? Is that the only reason?”
“Kinda,” she replied hesitantly. “That and we’ve just met.”
“Not to sound flakey, but it doesn’t feel like we’ve just met. I feel like I’ve known you…” I wanted to say forever, but was afraid it would sound super creepy, so instead went with, “Well let’s just say for longer than a few hours.”
“Are you sure, Bri?”
