Page 30 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

‘Ta-da!’ he said with a flourish as he took out a bottle of prosecco. ‘I think we deserve this!’ He pulled the cork, causing the golden liquid to froth over the neck of the bottle, before pouring generous glasses for us all.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as glad to see alcohol,’ I said, taking a sip.

We climbed up onto a large rock. I sighed in relief to finally be sitting down. My feet were burning, and my legs ached from the non-stop running back and forth between the stall and the café.

‘This is very fancy,’ Tadgh said as Ruairí produced a box of crackers and cheeses from the basket and began to serve them.

‘Well, my motto is, if you’re going to do something in life, you may as well do it well,’ Ruairí said.

We toasted one another – ‘Here’s to a great festival!’ – and clinked glasses. Suddenly there was a loud burst of noise, and the navy-blue sky was streaked in all the colours of the rainbow. We sipped prosecco as the fireworks screamed through the air and exploded in a riot of vibrant hues against the dark sky. It was as if an artist had been let loose with his paints. Even though the day had been hectic, and my body was aching, I had enjoyed it immensely. I felt a huge sense of satisfaction at a job well done. The festival had been a success and I had played a part – albeit very small – in it. It had been a long time since I had felt a similar sense of achievement. I was proud to have been involved. I had witnessed more community spirit among the villagers in one afternoon than I had in all my years living in Dublin. I had loved watching the older people relax in their deckchairs for the day and to see the young children, including my daughter, running around, having hours of carefree fun on the sand. It was nice to belong again. I realised that, for the first time in a long time, I was contented. I was content here in this moment, watching the fireworks, drinking prosecco and eating delicious cheese with two men who had become good friends to me over the last few weeks.

After the fireworks had ended and the sky had been restored to its usual blanket of ombré shades of navy, sprinkled with perfect jewel stars, people began to pack up around us and the beach was tranquil once more.

‘I don’t know about you two, but I’m bushed,’ Ruairí said, letting out a bear-like yawn. ‘Thanks for today, Penny. I would have been lost without you.’ He planted a kiss on my cheek before climbing down from the rock. ‘I’ll be off.’ He gathered up his basket and headed off, leaving Tadgh and me alone together.

‘I really enjoyed myself today,’ I said, turning to Tadgh. ‘It took me right back to all the festivals I’ve gone to over the years since I was Lucy’s age.’

‘Do you remember the year you, June Eivers and Laura McPolin formed a band?’ Tadgh said.

‘Oh, please don’t remind me!’ I laughed. ‘I think I had suppressed that memory.’

‘Didn’t you call yourselves the Backstreet Girls?’ he taunted.

‘Hey! We were very original!’ I said in mock defence. I cringed as I recalled how we had begged the organising committee to allow us to perform our first gig at the festival. ‘We took it so seriously – we rehearsed every day after school in Laura’s bedroom. We really believed that we’d get a record deal, but we just went blank when we got up on the stage. I don’t think I’ll ever live that down.’

Tadgh was bent double in laughter at the memory. ‘I think every child has a horror story from the festival. I remember one year when it rained non-stop. I reckon I was about five or six, and Mam had painted my face as Spiderman, except she decided to use normal paint – no way was she going to waste any money on fancy face paint. Anyway, it all washed off in the rain and red paint was running in rivers down my face, down my clothes – everything I touched was destroyed. It was everywhere. It was like a scene from a horror movie.’

We were in hysterics as we recalled our festival memories. I liked how being in Tadgh’s company made me feel – as if I was important to him. He listened to me when I talked. Really listened. We could laugh and have fun together and I wasn’t second-guessing myself, wondering how he would react or twist every innocent little thing I said.

‘You see?’ Tadgh said after a while. ‘Inishbeg Cove isn’t the worst place to be.’ He grinned.

‘No, it’s not,’ I found myself agreeing with him. ‘I think, in all my time in Dublin, I’d forgotten all the good things about belonging in a village.’

‘So, have you decided when you’re going back yet?’ Tadgh asked.

I shook my head. ‘I honestly don’t know what I’m doing.’ I sighed. ‘Joe is giving me a hard time about not seeing Lucy, but I can’t help thinking that if he really wants to see her then he should be willing to get in the car and drive here.’

‘You’d think so,’ Tadgh replied.

‘I don’t want to play games or be stubborn or make this situation any harder than it already is – Lucy needs her dad – but do you know something, Tadgh?’ I turned to face him. ‘I think I’m tired of dancing to Joe de Paor’s tune.’

‘I think that’s very wise.’

I suddenly shivered in the cool evening air. Tadgh took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. ‘It’s getting chilly. We should probably be getting home,’ he said, climbing down from the rock.

I went to get up too and found I barely had the energy to move; I had survived on adrenalin all day and now tiredness was hitting me like a wall. Tadgh offered me his hand to help me down onto the sand and we strolled back up the deserted beach together. Moonlight bathed the sand silver and cast a path across the sea. The softly breaking waves rushing up the beach provided the backdrop to our conversation.

‘It’s a pity we have to grow up and have responsibilities. I wish we could have stayed carefree teenagers forever,’ I said feeling wistful.

Tadgh looked out at the ocean. ‘It wasn’t all fun and games back then...’ He trailed off and instantly the atmosphere had changed.

‘You’re right, I’m so sorry,’ I said, abashed. I shook my head at my carelessness. I had been completely insensitive. What Tadgh had gone through was a living nightmare for anyone, but to experience a tragedy of that magnitude at such a tender age must have been unbearable. I could still remember the visceral sense of shock and raw grief felt by the whole community. Everyone had been stunned by the loss of his parents and by how a person’s world could be turned upside-down in a second.

‘You must really miss them,’ I said, rubbing his arm.

‘Every single day. I still wonder what my life might have been like if they hadn’t been taken so young ... how things might have worked out.’

Our eyes met and I guessed he was thinking about our teenage love.