There’s no getting away from it, though, I’m definitely going through a phase of feeling more melancholy, a touch of bitter edging the sweet. It’s barely there, but it’s irritating. Rubbing away at my peace of mind like a pebble in my shoe, grit in my eye, the smallest splinter beneath my skin. Insignificant but annoying, in the way of all those things. It feels like I need to take a pair of tweezers to my heart, and have a gentle root around.
I spot a perfect queen scallop shell, and hold it up to the sun, examining its shades and textures. Beautiful. I glance up at the main street that runs through the village, see a woman in the distance, paused by the steps. She’s staring at me, it seems, and I wonder if I know her. If I should wave? Before I can, she turns and walks quickly away. Ah well.
I gaze out at the sea, the sunlight rippling on the waves. It’s beautiful, and I’m lucky, and I need to get out of my own way. I have so much to be thankful for, and I’m being a clot.
I explore for another hour or so, then consider heading into the Kestrel for a pint. I live further around the coastline, up in the hills, but I could dump the car, spend the evening in pleasant company. It’s the kind of place you can just drop in, no need to make arrangements – there’ll always be someone in there you know. Just like the theme song to that old show,Cheers. Shirley the landlady even buys in Taytos, the crisps of my childhood, to make me feel at home.
I’m thinking that’s a grand idea when I see a couple walking along towards me. They’re not young – somewhere in their sixties – but they’re clearly lovers. Holding hands, smiling andlaughing as they stroll. I don’t know them. They’re probably staying in one of the holiday lets. But seeing them, the simple companionship they share, the obvious pleasure they take in being around each other… well. Suddenly that looks like the most perfect thing in the world, and also like something I will never have.
I stride away past the Kestrel. I’m not fit company tonight, I decide. I will go home and drink Guinness, watch TV. I like quiz shows, and spend many happy hours boosting my ego watchingMastermindandPointless. Or maybe I’ll try and catch up with my family. I have two siblings, one in Cork and one in Sydney, and between them they have nine kids. They joke that they’re making up for me, and I know they don’t mean anything by it. They assume I’m perfectly happy the way I am, and most of the time I am. So why not now? Why this creeping dissatisfaction?
Am I having some kind of mid-life crisis? I already have the motorbikes – should I get a dog, a cat, even a sheep? I have the land, and they have these brilliantly strange-looking sheep around here called Texels, heads like pit-bulls. Maybe I should contact one of the local farms, look at getting a couple of those…
I should get my head out of my own backside is what I should do. So I got my heart broken when I was younger. Most people did. I’m fine, and I’m sure she is too. She probably never even gives me a second thought, she’s probably forgotten all about me – it was just a fling, after all, no big deal. I was a fool to think it would last. We were too young, and it was too perfect – the way we felt about each other was too intense. It had to burn out.
And so what if I’ve never met a woman to compare to her? So what if I’ve never felt that way again? There’s nothing wrong with being alone – and it’s not like I’m pining away in solitary confinement.
Catrina is back in the country soon, and we will arrange to meet. One of my ‘friends with benefits’, as Moira called her. Ihaven’t seen her in ages, and it’s something to look forward to. It might not be the kind of love Moira wants for me, but it’s a distraction. And maybe more, if I give it the chance, who knows?
Moira. I think, perhaps, she would be the only company I could tolerate right now. She has loved, she has lost, and she is one of the most naturally empathetic people I know. If only the world had a few more Moiras in it, humanity would set aside their grievances, and settle in with a good book and nice mug of tea for the rest of eternity.
I walk along the street, getting waves and greetings from people I pass, and stop outside the bookshop. The closed sign is up, but that means nothing. If she’s still in there, the door won’t be locked. If she’s gone back home up the hill, I’ll leave it – her sister Joanne, despite her apple cake, is a dour and disapproving woman. If Moira is a warm fire, Joanne is the cold draught that sneaks under the window frame.
I push the door, hear the familiar tinkle of the bell. Look around and see nobody. I head further inside, and see the door to the new Secret Garden is open. It’s a beautiful day, and it’s gorgeous out there – one of the absolute best things about expanding into next door was the outdoor space it brought with it. Kate and Moira are already full of plans for barbecues, acoustic nights, even a ceilidh.
I could stand a spell in the sun with Moira, I think, walking towards the door. It might dry up my invisible man tears and restore my balance.
As I get closer, though, I hear that she is not alone. There are female voices, and then a sudden and huge eruption of laughter. That uninhibited laughter you only seem to get when a bunch of women are together. I freeze on the spot. If this is a meeting of the Three Witches, then I want no part of it. They’ll be sending me on a quest to collect some eye of newt for them.
‘Oh my giddy aunt,’ one woman’s voice says. ‘I’m already tipsy!’ Huh. An English accent, so definitely not one of Moira’s usual coven. The voice is pleasant, warm, full of merriment. For some reason it makes me smile.
More laughter follows, the sound of clinking glasses. They’re having a good time, and they don’t need me intruding and dragging them down. Moira has seemed a bit off her game recently, and it’s nice to hear her so carefree. I’ll just sneak away.
I make it back through the bookshop and out onto the street before she collars me.
‘And where would you be going, Rory Callaghan?’ Moira says, emerging from the shop, her tone mock-stern. What kind of a fool am I to imagine I could steal my way both in and out of the bookshop? Have I learned nothing during my time here?
‘I’d be going home, now,’ I reply honestly. ‘I have a busy night.’ Not so honest.
‘Oh aye? Then why were you skulking around my shop?’
‘I was looking for a book,’ I tell her. ‘I finished that John Connolly one you recommended, and I was looking for the next in the series.’
She rakes me over with her eyes, searching for a lie. ‘Well come back in then, and I’ll find it for you. Rosie and myself were just taking a wee tipple in the sunshine, and we have a guest here too. In fact, Rory, I was meaning to talk to you about that anyway – I’m glad you’re here, saves me coming to your man cave later.’
I shake my head. My home is not a man cave, although admittedly there are a lot of engines, tools, and piles of discarded junk lying around. The house itself is perfectly acceptable for… okay, I suppose she has a point. It’s a bit of a man cave.
‘So, she turned up out of the blue,’ Moira continues, the sparkle in her eye and the excitement in her voice making me smile. She’s thrilled about this, I can tell, and it’s so good to see. ‘And she’d found one of our cards, Rory – the ones Angussuggested, the ones Robbie and I sent out into the world all those years ago!’
Ah. I can see why she’s so pleased now. Kate and Brody finding those cards was the best thing that had happened to her since Angus died, and led to the rebirth of both the bookshop and Moira herself. I pat her on the shoulder, genuinely happy for her.
‘That’s grand, Moira, it is. I hope it all goes well.’
‘Aye, well, I was thinking maybe you could help with that, Rory. She needs somewhere to stay. When we first planned those cards, Angus and me, we’d anticipated being the grand hosts, you know? But then he went and died, and I had my fall, and nobody turned up anyway… by the time they did, the cottage was empty, all ready for Kate and Brody. Now, though, I need to come up with an alternative. Not tonight, she’s tired and needs a bit of peace, so I’m going to take her around to the cottage. Kate and Brody don’t mind, but they’re back tomorrow night so then she’ll be homeless, poor wee lamb.’
The cottage Kate and Brody live in is technically owned by Moira, but she’s in the process of selling it to them. She says she’s happy enough up on the hill, and besides, I think she secretly enjoys living with Robbie and her sister Joanne. They’re very different people, but both widows, and their banter and teasing gets them through the day.
She’s staring at me expectantly, and I’m a bit slow on the uptake.
