Himself(94)
There they lie, watchful and forgetting.
In the village hall Mrs Moran switches off the urn and hangs the tea towels out to dry. For a moment she fancies she hears a noise coming from the broom cupboard, a rhythm maybe, a pattern of words, like someone speaking poetry. But it’s only the radio, left on low.
Mahony drives slowly through town.
At the Post Office and General Store, Marie Gaughan pulls down the shutters and walks rolls of chicken mesh inside. Later she’ll balance the books and dust the onions, count the stamps and tidy the eggs. She’ll hang her tabard on the hook behind the storeroom door, pull up her stockings and head off up the hill with her carpet slippers in her handbag.
Mahony drives slowly through town.
In the library of the parochial house, the new priest wonders at the fog rising from the fireplace, the dampness of the easy chair, and the newt scurrying in the fringes of the hearthrug. Fortunately, he doesn’t believe in magic.
In the kitchen the cabbage waits in the sink for washing. In the oven the priest’s chop lies forgotten. Róisín Munnelly stands by the back door, waiting.
Mahony drives slowly through town.
At the corner of the road a big girl wearing the last goodness out of an ugly dress grins and waves. And there’s Tadhg standing outside Kerrigan’s Bar with his arms folded having changed a difficult barrel and threatened a cellar rat with his deadly tongue. He has the lights on already in the saloon bar and the door propped open ready for a good night’s drinking.
Tadhg raises a hand solemnly to the passing car. He has been setting his red face up to the dying light and thinking of Bridget Doosey, the tilt of her fedora and the savage glint in her eyes.
By the painted pump in the middle of the square the old ones look up and look down again. Maybe there’s a hint of a wink there but really it’s almost time to call it a day.
In a moment Mahony will be gone, leaving Mulderrig’s living and dead to their reveries, and if they see him leave, well, they let him go with a nod or a wave, a blown kiss or a silent prayer.
When he’s nearly out of town Mahony stops the car and turns to her, sitting silently beside him in the half-light with her windblown hair over her face and her hands held small and calm in her lap.
‘Are you ready?’ he says.
She remembers what Bridget said and smiles. ‘Is it blast-off then?’
He smiles back at her and Shauna holds him with her eyes.
When they reach the open road he’ll take her hand as she watches the town fall away behind them.
Acknowledgements
I am deeply grateful to Susan Armstrong and Louisa Joyner, and the teams at Conville & Walsh and Canongate for making this book possible – thank you for your support, encouragement and belief. Thank you also to Russell Schechter and St Mary’s University for starting me off and continuing to cheer me on.
To my friends, family and all those who have contributed their time and advice (you know who you are) I owe a big debt of gratitude. You have helped me in a thousand different ways and although I have thanked each of you in person I thank you again here for being part of this story.