I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder from behind. I whirl around and see a man wearing a flat cap and with long silver hair, inches away from me. His grey eyes sparkle with brightness beneath his white, bushy eyebrows. ‘Do you need something to write with?’ His voice is deep and raspy, yet it carries an unmistakeable warmth.
‘Oh yes, something to draw with actually – pencil, pen, crayon – anything at all. It’s just so beautiful out there, and I want to sketch it before it disappears from my mind.’ I have some random pieces of paper stuffed in my purse, wrinkled notes and used receipts that I could use as a makeshift sketchpad to jot down some minimal ideas.
He nods as if understanding exactly what I mean. His hands are thin and gnarled like old tree roots, and he has simple gold hoop earrings in both ears. An elegant black silk scarf is tied around his neck casually, adding a touch of sophistication. Then he opens his satchel and pulls out a narrow case of fine-tip pens while saying, ‘I’m a newsagent; I never travel without my supplies. Would you like some paper too?’
I nod gratefully. ‘Yes please! That’s wonderful, thank you.’
A newsagent. The patron saint of all stationary sniffers and gel-pen fans. I spent so much time in Paperchase, they added me to the staff WhatsApp group.
The man hands me a little moleskin notebook, and I turn back to the vista outside, beginning to sketch out all the beauty that passes by – from small village churches to lush green pastures. As I continue to draw, I can feel the man in the flat cap watching me like a proud parent, happy to have helped me out of a jam. I thank him from across the way, expressing my gratitude and relief.
‘You’re right to seize the day, take the opportunity while it presents itself,’ he says with a knowing nod.
I can sense that he has experienced something similar in his life – like he knows the restlessness artists feel when they need to get their ideas out of their head and out into the light.
About an hour later, I feel a second tap on my shoulder from behind and I turn to find a little old lady wearing bright purple lipstick and a jewelled turban, with a big smile on her face. She’s sitting next to the newsagent. She pulls out a flask of tea, a stack of plastic cups and opens a tin of thickly buttered tea brack, offering it to a bleary-eyed Kayla and me.
‘For the journey, to keep you going. Very pretty artwork there! Lovely! Are you going all the way to Innisfree?’
Kayla turns towards her too. ‘Yes, that’s right. Do you know it?’
‘Ah, yes. That’s where we’re headed! Home sweet home! Do you know where to get off? We know Innisfree inside out – any directions you need just ask… My name is Jacinta; this here’s my brother Fintan.’ She nods at the silver-haired newsagent beside her. ‘We live in the centre of town. We have our shops, side by side in the square, so we’ll spot you – not much gets past us!’ She chuckles warmly.
Kayla and I look at each other with excitement in our eyes. ‘Yes, that would be great! We’re staying at McDonagh’s Guest House…’ We introduce ourselves and shake hands with our new friends.
‘Ah very good. Marianne McDonagh does a good breakfast, though her husband Gus does a better one! It’s only a stone’s throw from the bus stop… we’ll get ye there, safe and sound, not a bother.’ Jacinta then pokes her head through the seats. ‘Are ye here on holidays?’
‘We’re going to make it a holiday,’ Kayla assures her, shooting me a warning glance. ‘I can’t wait to go out, go dancing, explore the area. Any recommendations?’
Fintan replies, ‘Ah, plenty. You’ll not be stuck. There’s music, crafts, food, drink, dance – you’ll have a great time.’
‘Sounds like fun!’ Kayla and I say in unison.
‘Sure, we might have a drink together in The Tap House – the more, the merrier,’ says Jacinta.
I smile at Kayla as I lick the taste of sweet cinnamon tea brack from my lips.
The remainder of the journey passes in a whirr of conversation, stories from Fintan and Jacinta’s childhood, about running their shops, and how the annual market fair sees the town come alive. I’m reminded of Rory and his fond memories as a child. Good times, he’d said. From what I’ve seen and how I feel already, I don’t doubt it, Rory.
We happily take their advice on where to go and what to do while we’re here, enjoying learning so much before our arrival in Innisfree.
Jacinta pokes her head forward once more. ‘And what’s bringing you to Innisfree? I’d have thought two fine young girls such as yourselves would want a big city like Dublin with the nightclubs and what have you.’
‘We were invited by James O’Connor – he’s from Innisfree,’ I tell her.
Jacinta smiles knowingly and shimmies back in her seat. ‘James O’Connor, is it? Well, I cannot say I blame you one bit. He’s an absolute ride…’
Fintan gives her a playful slap on the hand. ‘Jacinta Mooney, God forgive you! Where do you think you’re talking?’
Kayla and I exchange grins.
‘Sure, amn’t I only saying what every woman with half a pulse is thinking? There’s no shame in admiring a thing of beauty, Fintan! I’ve told James O’Connor a thousand times if I told him once, if he was thirty-two years older, we’d be riding’ – she giggles – ‘into the sunset together. Sure, he was devastated when I told him he was too young for me and he’d never get his chance…’
‘Arah, will you stop with yer nonsense, Jacinta! Honestly, you’re losing your marbles.’
Jacinta drops an eye to her brother and he curls his lip at her.
Fintan shakes his head, brow furrowed. ‘Which James O’Connor are you on about? I can’t place him… Sure, my memory isn’t what it was.’
