Page 12

Eoin raised one bushy black eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

“I know you’ve got something to say so just say it. Otherwise, I’m going home.”

“All right then,” Eoin said, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest. “I told you that girl was trouble.”

“Here we go,” Niall muttered, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.

“I told you she was no good. City girl with all her big ideas, filling your head with notions that made you look down upon your family.”

“She didn’t make me look down upon you,” Niall said through gritted teeth. “The pub was my idea. It was my dream. Deirdre made me feel like I could actually achieve it.”

Eoin snorted. “Well, she certainly achieved something, didn’t she.”

“What is the point of this conversation?” Niall demanded. “To make me feel more shite than I already do?”

“Alls I’m saying is, when you get too big for your boots – ”

“Christ almighty, Dad, wanting to do something different than you isn’t too big for my goddamn boots! And I don’t care if you didn’t like Deirdre because I loved her. I loved her, okay? I was meant to marry her and we were meant to be happy together. And it’s gone now, y’see? It’s all fucking gone. So the last thing I need is you sitting me down to have some talk about how right you were and how wrong I was. I know I was wrong, Dad. I know it every day. I know it in my bones. But living in Kilronan and running this pub is your dream, not mine.”

Eoin slammed his hand down on the table. “There you go again, with all your talk of dreams,” he snapped. “D’you think my father cared a whit what my dreams were? D’you think I could have fed you and your mother on dreams? No. Good plain work is all you need in life. You’ll find someone here, start a family of your own, then you’ll see.”

“No, I won’t!” Niall cried, springing to his feet. “I won’t see. I won’t find someone here and I’m not starting a bloody family. I don’t want to be here at all and I’m off as soon as the season’s over. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not you?”

“Don’t you be taking that tone with me, boyo,” Eoin said, standing as well. He was as tall as Niall but with more girth, and he leveled his son with a dark look. “I know you’re not me, that’s plain as day. And your mother seems to think that bringing you home will sort everything out. But we know, son – we know you were living in some mate’s flat in god knows what seedy corner of Dublin. We know you haven’t got any money left.”

Niall blinked. He thought he’d managed to keep that a secret from his parents. Colin, he thought in a flash.

He felt himself deflate. He was too tired for this fight. He was too damn tired of everything. “You’re right, Dad,” he said. “I’m broke. I’m a loser. I’ve got no money, no prospects, no home, no relationship. I’m nothing.”

This sudden about-face seemed to take his father off guard. “Well now, I didn’t mean – ”

“Yes, you did,” Niall said, throwing the rag down on the table. “I’m going home. Close up yourself.”

He grabbed his jacket and strode out the door.

Pocket was waiting for him outside. The border collie cocked her head to one side and trotted over to nuzzle his leg. He patted her head.

“Does Colin know you snuck out?” he asked as they began the walk back up to the house. Niall took out the torch he kept in his jacket – the roads were very dark at night. Pocket padded along beside him and Niall found his thoughts drifting back to the days of his childhood, when his father had seemed like such a hero, a big burly man, the king of Kilronan. When had it all changed?

Probably when Niall had started thinking for himself. And learning to cook his own sort of food. Dublin coddle, or fish and chips, or champ with bacon were far too boring for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love a good stew – he just thought there could be other things on a menu at a pub. But it was like even the thought of trying something different was the equivalent of slapping his father in the face.

Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, Dad, Niall thought bitterly as the lights of the house appeared in the distance. Deirdre had sapped the life right out of his dream. He would gladly serve whatever O’Connor’s had to offer, get through this summer, and get as far away from Inishmore as he possibly could. His father should be happy – Niall had lost all desire to create new recipes. He’d lost the desire to cook ever again.

Cordelia awoke on her third day on Inishmore, got dressed, and went up to the house, wondering if she could finally meet the mysterious Róisín – but when she knocked, there was still no answer. She thought she saw a flash of movement inside, so she waited on the bench again but Róisín never appeared.

Alison texted Cordelia and asked if she could pull up some of the weeds in the cottage’s front garden, so Cordelia headed back down the road.

It was chilly and windy outside. A quick assessment told Cordelia that she had no idea which were the flowers and which were the weeds. After perusing the living room, she found a book that listed various species of Irish wildflowers. By lunchtime she’d named honeysuckle, ox-eye daisies, harebells, common milkwort, and cross-leaved heath and had pulled up quite a few of the weeds that sprouted up among them.

A truck stopped by to deliver a big bag of fertilizer for Róisín. Cordelia hoisted it up on her shoulder and stumbled back to the house on the hill. Alison had said to leave it in the shed, which Cordelia found off to one side, its red paint chipping, its wooden doors unlocked. Inside there was a wheelbarrow, various gardening tools, some buckets, a rubber hose, and two bicycles, one with a basket between the handlebars, a plastic flower stuck to its front.

She dumped the fertilizer in the wheelbarrow, then went to explore the other side of the house, wondering if maybe Róisín was in the backyard. She found a paddock for horses and a breathtaking view of the ocean. The paddock was empty.

Cordelia went back to the shed and decided to take the bike with the basket on it into town to grab some lunch. She texted Alison that she had delivered the fertilizer but had seen no sign of Róisín.

Was there a horse in the field? Alison replied.

No, Cordelia wrote back.