‘Hi,’ I say with a little wave.
Now he’s looking quite irritated. ‘What is this, some kind of joke? Come to set the Garda on me again, have you?’ He turns to leave. A couple in their sixties in matching Irish shirts, checking in at reception, turn to stare.
‘No, nothing like that,’ I try to say, butthankfully Margaret steps in. She jumps up, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
‘Actually, we’ve come to do you a favour. You’re tracing your family tree, right?’ she asks. I’m a bag of nerves. ‘If you want to trace your family tree then you should come back and meet Grandad. I could introduce you. He knows everyone who’s everyone.’ Margaret’s still beaming. I stand up and look out of the window as the old red Skoda reappears. Seamus and Padraig are smiling away like a pair of cats who have got the cream as they pull out into the traffic.
‘Isn’t that right, Fi? Fi?’ I suddenly spin back to Margaret who is looking at me to back her up.
‘Oh, right, yes …’ but I’m not sure what she’s said.
He’s looking at us warily, like we’re the last people he wants to see.
‘You want me to come back to Dooleybridge with you?’ he says slowly.
‘Yes.’ Margaret is beaming.
‘Yes,’ I add.
He looks sideways at us as if he’s being lured into some kind of trap.
Dan looks round in disbelief as he steps into the café, pushing past the hanging dressing gown, now reduced to 50 cents. He takes in the umbrellas in the bucket by the door, all at 20 cents each, and then slowly looks at the other goods on sale: the bulging make-up bag, the worn slippers and the slow cooker. Gerald is creating steam with his new urn. Dolly Parton is playing on the stereo.
‘Grandad, wake up!’ Margaret nudges Grandad who shakes himself into life. Dan puts his man bag on the chair next to him.
‘So, this is Dooleybridge’s coffee house?’ He’s still looking like he’s landed on Mars, and I remember that feeling. I push a nylon nightie off the table and ontothe shelf beside us. Dan looks at it like it’s going to bite him.
‘It was his wife’s,’ Margaret whispers.
‘Is she dead?’ Dan looks as if he’s going to run or be sick.
‘No, she left him. Went off with a Father Dougal lookalike after Tedfest and never came back. So he’s selling all her stuff.’
Dan’s eyes practically pop out of his head. I’m pretty surprised too; I always wondered what all this stuff was.
‘What’s Tedfest?’ he asks, getting out a notebook and pen.
‘A festival on the Arran Islands, over there.’ Margaret points in the general direction of the islands. ‘They all dress up as Father Ted characters for a weekend. It’s a great craic.’ Then she sighs. ‘See, even the Arran Islands have people going there.’
I touch her arm.
‘So this is where my family is from then.’ He looks around, still adjusting to his new surroundings. ‘This is where the Murphys worked the oyster beds,’ he says, warming to his theme. ‘From poor and humble beginnings …’
Margaret smiles and nods at me. It might be working; he might just want to spend more time here and get involved with the festival. I’m beginning to feel a bit better about getting him out here on false pretences.
‘I’d love to meet some of my family. It would make a great end to the book. Travelling across Ireland, all the food I’ve tasted on the way, the meals I’ve had, to finally end up here, coming home to meet my family.’ I swear his eyes have gone all misty. Margaret claps her hands together in glee. Dan has an eager expression on his face. ‘It would be great to actually interview one of them, some old aunt or something?’
Grandad suddenly sits up and cuts across him. ‘Oh, there hasn’t been a Murphy round here for years.’
Margaret and I freeze. Gerald comes over to take the orders.
‘Tea for me, please,’ I say quickly.
‘Coffee please, Gerald,’ says Margaret.
‘Macchiato,’ Dan says, and Gerald gives him a wary look.
‘That’s two coffees, Gerald,’ Margaret says helpfully. Gerald nods.
