The Ghosts of Galway (Jack Taylor)(37)

Clancy began to unfold a large sheet of parchment, said,

“Have a gander at this, see how you like it.”

I moved toward the desk, my legs weak, looked down at the document, read, As

If.



For sickness of the soul

Perhaps

A doctor of metaphysics?





Do you ever recover the one great love of your life?

Me, not really.

Anne Henderson, way back, but the intensity clung to me still. Booze eased the ache but, ofttimes, intensified it. ’Tis madness for sure. She made me feel like there might be a better version of my own self.

There wasn’t.

More’s the Galway pity.

Past my humiliation, my deep shame at the hands of Clancy, I was walking along the beach, dogless and lost. The beach near the army barracks is usually deserted, why I chose it. The sea was a wild thing and I debated the merits of death by water.

Clean,

Said the utter mad part of my mind.

I simply stood by the water, my mind in turmoil, when I heard,

“Jack?”

Tentative.

A woman walking toward me, carefully, as if I might be dangerous. I was but not to her.

Not then.

Do you half hope the love of your life will be old and battered like your own bitter soul?

That the years have mangled and chewed the very thing you cherished?

Yes, in the realm of rage, you half desire their ruin.

She wasn’t ruined.

Not a bit.

Au contraire, as they say in literary novels.

She looked gorgeous.

Anne Henderson, once the very beat of my beating heart.

We stared at each other for a moment. The would we,

Wouldn’t we,

Hug?

It hung there like a shy reprimand. Then she held out her hand, asked,

“Jack, how are you?”

Men and women just are not built for handshakes. I took her hand, it felt like torn hope.

I said,

“Not too bad.”

Jesus. Lame or what?

I mean, what if I spit it out,

Like,

They cut the heart out of my beloved pup.

The Guards reduced me to a level of shame I didn’t even know I still possess.

Oh,

And a young lady I am intrigued by tried to murder me.

And

And

And

How’s that sound?

She lied, said,

“You look …”

Pause.

“Well.”

The moment when Clancy humiliated me burned anew in my mind.

To paraphrase Macbeth,

Who knew I had so much shame in me!

She examined with that close scrutiny that Irish women excel in. Said,

“I forgive you, Jack.”

Fuck me.

I wanted to scream

“Oh, really? How magnanimous of you, how have I survived all these hard years without that vital act?”

I said,

“Thank you.”

Then I did that thing that people do when they are completely out of the next thought. I said, “Nippy for the time of year.”

Oh, sweet God, like a stranded Brit.

And,

She laughed.

Asked,

“I wonder if I might enlist your help?”

Christ, sure, there wasn’t anything on the planet I wouldn’t do for her. More’s the Irished dumb ass. I said, “Depends.”

Thought,

Seriously, I said that?

Her face changed, the briefest flash of annoyance, then,

“I will pay you. I didn’t expect you to work for nothing.”

Before I could stop myself I blurted,

“One time I would have done it for free.”

Fuck.

She shook her head as if she knew such nonsense was inevitable. I asked,

“What do you need done?”

I’d swear a slight blush rose to her face but probably the wind. In Galway, we blame the wind for most things we’d prefer to not name. She said, “It is difficult to put into words.”

I said with more than a little edge,

“Think of me as a priest.”

She gave a sudden abrupt laugh, startling us both, and said,

“Good God! That is the very last thing I could think of you.”

Given the toxic air that priests inhabited these days, that might even have been a compliment. She asked, “Might we meet next Monday?”

I said,

“Sure.”

Set the time for six in the evening at the Meyrick Hotel.

That time, it sneers loudly,

“This is not a date.”

Eight o’clock is a date and anytime in the day is just banal. But,

Six?

Six sucks.

Not





A


(Galwayed)

Hope

??Of

? A

??Chance.

I needed to find the remaining Fenian.

After the other Fenian had been killed he’d gone to ground. But before I could even begin the search, he found me.

I’d been to the pub and, in truth, had way more than I intended. Least I think I had the intention but, as they say, it got away from me. I had bought a drink for a very attractive woman in Garavans, amazed when she smiled at me and, fueled by drink, I had sat next to her. She was in either late forties or a very battered thirties.