Freckles(39)

Did you see anyone, he asks.

Nobody, I shout. The alarm is still wailing, it’s piercing my ears.

The female garda studies me, then they go to the house, checking windows and doors. They said it was the back garden sensor, she says to him.

Ah that would be here, I say, showing them the area around the patio immediately from the back wall of the house. It’s protected by sensors so it triggers anyone approaching the house.

You wouldn’t have set it off, would you, he asks.

No I came in the same way as you did. The sensors don’t protect that gate, so I can come and go without disturbing them. I shine my torch at the pedestrian gate they entered and highlight the route I take through the garden to the building in the back. I got home at exactly 10.30, so it couldn’t have been me anyway.

I’m sure they’re impressed by my detail. They’re taking me in anyway. Give me a job, I want to say to them, but I know they can’t just do that.

I was over there in the secret garden when it went off, I say.

Where.

I show them with my torch.

Why were you out here.

There was a fox. Oh, it was probably the fox that set off the alarm, I say, suddenly realising.

What did you say your name is, he asks.

Allegra Bird. I’m a parking warden in the village.

Oh yes, the woman garda says and I’m relieved she recognises me.

I wave in at you from time to time, when you’re in the office, I say.

You do, she says.

I applied for the guards, after school.

Well you’ve done a good job here, Allegra, she says. We’ll just take another look around.

It was probably the fox, I say following them. It could have been going for the bins. It usually comes in this way, somewhere behind here – I use the flashlight – and makes its way around here. Bins are over there. Recycling bins haven’t been taken since they went on holiday. It must have smelled the food.

The alarm finally goes off, but I can still hear it ringing in my ears.

Do you have a spare key, he asks me.

No. Next door do. Or Becky’s assistant comes to take in packages and deliveries when they’re away.

Hope you can get back to sleep, Allegra, she says.

Thanks, Garda. I’ll see you around the village, on the beat, next time maybe you’ll recognise me in my uniform. I’ll see you to the car, I walk with them, my flashlight lighting the way to their car. By the way, if you ever need parking ticket information, it would help place someone at a particular location, or something like that, then I’m your girl. We take photos of the cars now, you never know what shows up in the photos.

We usually get that information from the county council, he says, and I deflate a little.

Of course.

Thanks, Allegra. Good night, she says. More friendly. Good cop bad cop.

Do you have a card or anything, I ask.

He doesn’t budge. She roots around in her pocket and hands me her card.

Laura Murphy.

I watch their car until the tail lights disappear and then I grin, I can’t stop grinning, and I feel like I’m floating as I head back to bed.

I like her. Garda Laura Murphy. An ideal one of five.





Sixteen


I’m up. Uniform on, high-vis jacket, lightweight boots. Birds are singing. It looks like it’s going to be a glorious day. No raincoat needed. Lunch is packed. Edam cheese on granary bread, no butter, a Granny Smith apple, candied walnuts, and a flask of tea. I leave the McGoverns’ grounds, looking out for any signs of foul play in the morning light but all is still intact after last night’s intruder. I walk through Malahide Castle grounds, pass the man in the suit with the headphones and jaunty walk, pass the leaning jogging woman. The dog walker with the Great Dane. An old man with a wheelie walking frame and the younger version of him. Good morning, good morning, good morning.

I’m back.

The trip home has helped me. It stripped people away from me, yes, but it gave me something back. A mission. Another one. Though they are linked. I have a spring in my step. I have the letters in my possession that I wrote on the train, signed, sealed, waiting for stamps and delivery. Though I’ve more than three letters, with duplicates for each person to go to as many addresses of theirs that I can locate, I have a total of sixteen envelopes for four people in my backpack. I don’t need to write to Pops, he’s one of my five whether he likes it or not, and I plan to contact the fifth person on Instagram. Garda Laura Murphy is a new recruit to the list but I’d like to befriend her in the flesh. That’s eight people I’m reaching out to but I’m realistic; the odds of Katie Taylor, Amal Alamuddin Clooney and Ruth Brasil all writing back to me are very slim. Maybe it will be just two of them.

Back at the Village Bakery for the first time in a while. Whistles is outside eating a doughnut, a hot coffee on the ground beside him. He gives me a nod as I enter. There’s a woman sitting at the counter at the window, head in her phone, lost in whatever social media wormhole she’s been sucked into. She stuffs the last of her croissant into her mouth, followed by a slug of coffee. I recognise her from around. She drives a silver Mini Cooper. Black top. Two door. Always parks on St Margaret’s Avenue. I’ve never had to ticket her and for that she has my respect, so she gets a good morning from me as she thanks Spanner and leaves.

Freckles, it’s you pal, long time no see, Spanner says. I was beginning to think you’d defected to the other side. Deconstructed apple pie today the grand chalkboard has revealed this morning. Deconstructed my arsehole, Freckles, isn’t the whole point of baking to construct, he asks, isn’t it already deconstructed on the shelves when you buy the ingredients. What’ll you be havin, the same as usual.