Chapter 13

Cathal waited outside the B&B at 6:15 a.m., jangling the keys to the Capri, staring at the yellow streak in the eastern part of the sky that gave him hope it would be fine today.

In the cold light of morning, it seemed incredible that she’d agreed to hang around—this audacious, captivating Californian, agreeing to be driven around the place by a virtual stranger from Bog Town whose only claim to fame was that he’d stolen her seat on a boat.

Soon came a clumping sound from the stairs within and sure enough, Avery emerged, proving his incredulity unfounded. With a jaunty wave, she sauntered toward him. She was connected to her phone via earphone. Her laptop case strap was strung across her body, dissecting a T-shirt that said something about a “wookie,” whatever that was.

She pulled out one earphone. “Ready?” Her look was penetrating, all business.

“Keeping my end of the bargain.” He slid into the driver seat and started the engine while she plugged in her phone to the electricity output with a special adapter, then waved it in the air as if looking for a signal. He couldn’t help wondering if she couldn’t unplug for just one day.

“You sure you want to take that with you?” he said nodding at the laptop. “It’ll get wet.”

She glared at him. “Are you taking your rucksack?”

It was rhetorical, so he refrained from explaining the difference. Instead, he focused on navigating the bends of the N70. Avery was quiet for the forty-five-minute drive, enjoying the spectacular cliff views until the harbor came into view, as if she realized, like he did, that there was no point in small talk. The rest of their day would be decided by a roll of the dice.

Graham was out, and another three skippers too, so that was encouraging.

“Busy today,” Cathal remarked, slowing to a standstill.

“Hopping,” she said. “Let’s divide and conquer. And remember,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “two seats or nothing.”

He opened the boot and took out his rucksack. “Whatever you’re thinking, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As he strapped on the rucksack, he watched her stalking toward the nearest skipper. She knew what she wanted, and what she didn’t want. He knew surprisingly few people like that.

But the dice were against them. Shaking heads all around. One after another, the skippers announced with sorrowful regret that their boats were full, with no cancellations. Had there been any, they’d have been lucky as they were the first ones there, but everyone who had booked had shown up. Better luck tomorrow.

Cathal rejoined Avery and they looked out to sea, envying the passengers who were putting on oilskins. She looked so dejected—and, frankly, freezing, despite the sensible clothes she was wearing today.

“Now that we’re here,” he said, “how about we take a spin beyond this visitor center and explore Valentia Island? We could find a nice coffee place in Knight’s Town on the other side where we can warm up. A place with a bookshop.”

“Now that sounds good.”

Halfway there, she spoke again. “Damn, I really hoped it would work out today.”

“Tomorrow, hopefully.”

She took up her phone and directed it at the road ahead.

“What are you filming?”

She indicated he should be quiet. After a minute, she clicked the screen and straightened up. “That was a nice patch of road there. I’m making a pilot film about my experiences waiting for Skellig.” She gestured out toward the cliffs and the sea. “I mean, looking at it one way, it’s all Planet Ahch-To around here. I’ll be able to use the footage for something, just not sure what yet.”

She seemed to be trying to convince herself of something, and she didn’t seem to be doing a good job of it.

“I see they have, um, a Darth Vader shrine thingy in the Bridge Bar,” he said in a heroic effort to connect with what she loved.

She laughed. “I’m surprised you knew who he was, or did you read it off a sign?”

“I knew who he was. He’s kind of hard to ignore. Have you taken your photo with him yet?”

“No,” she sighed. “I’m trying to save it ’til last, until after I’ve been over there. And then I’m going to ask if I can pull a pint where Mark Hamill did.” She sighed again. “He’s my absolute hero, you know.”

That old guy? Oh my God.

“Does your Star Wars business really pay the bills?” he asked. It was blunt but he needed to know. She seemed the type who would be compelled to follow her dreams even if it landed her into trouble.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I’m solvent? Well, last year I developed an app that went to number seven in the Apple Store.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“My financial situation is pretty dire at the moment,” she continued. “But you can’t get stuck with a mindset like that if you’re creating stuff. I’m going to have a breakout product soon though. I can feel it.”

“Do you have any support from anyone? Parents?”

“Pfffft. Not a cent. I don’t talk to them much—only when necessary. My mom’s too happy in Pasadena with her new husband and my stepsisters. Dad’s in his ivory tower in academia on the East Coast and only calls at Christmas. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen, on my own terms, my own budget. Every cent I’ve earned has been down to hustling.” Her measured tone told him she’d rattled off this spiel more than once in her life. Her nonchalance was all part of her branding, no doubt.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, trying to keep his voice equally cool.

“Nope.”

“I’m starting to like your branding,” he said, “Talented, independent, and in possession of imaginary, much older boyfriend who wields a mean light sabre.”

She laughed. “Yeah, my branding. Some days I wish I could be a cog in the system too, earning a steady income with paid vacation and all the rest of it. I wouldn’t have to think all the time. But in the end, I’d feel I was missing out on something much bigger, some opportunity.”

“All this waiting around for a boat must be killing you then.”

She sank her cheek against the passenger seat. Although his eyes were on the road, he could feel the weight of her gaze on him. “It has its moments.”

He grinned. It sure did. The day stretched before them, endless with possibility.

They entered Knight’s Town. Unencumbered by traffic or people so early in the morning, the center seemed less like Touristville and more like the wild outpost it really was. A hardy street in a windswept place on the southwest edge of Ireland, last parish before America.

They passed a hipster-looking café that had a sign boasting free WIFI in the window.

“Phew, civilization. Park here, Hoke—I mean, Cathal.”

“Do you want to film me opening this, Miss Daisy?” he joked when he reached the fire-engine red café door. At least he’d seen that film.

“No, Hoke, I’ll film you inside, bringing me a latte and a muffin.”

“Consider it done, Miss Daisy.”

He ordered coffees, muffins, and some soda bread because he was starving. When he turned around, balancing everything in the crook of his elbow, sure enough her phone was up again and she was filming. This would be the perfect moment to stumble and let everything fall. It was exactly what she wanted. He continued extra slowly toward their table, determined not to give the little minx the pleasure.

“Farm Boy, you’ve outdone yourself.” She clicked it off and put the phone away. “I’m as hungry as a wampa.”

“Don’t tell me—a wampa is the old man’s domestic pet?” he asked.

She sniggered. “Not quite. It tried to eat the old man. In his younger day. Hung him by his feet from a ceiling of ice. Cathal, if I ever go out on an ice planet, please check that I come back in?”

“Of course,” he said dutifully. He’d agree to anything she asked, fictional or non-fictional. He couldn’t be more content than he was right now, watching her devour her food alongside him.

Halfway through the bread, she threw him a curious look. “So, what would you have done if you’d managed to scatter the ashes on day one?”

“I’d have gone home to Ballybay.” Tragic though it was, he had no intention of lying.

“No, come on, humor me—where would you go on vacation if you could choose anywhere, anywhere at all?”

“Los Angeles.”

She wagged her finger. “Uh-uh, doesn’t count. Somewhere else. Come on. Hypothetically speaking?”

He shook his head, unable to picture it in hypotheticals because Caelan would be cursing him to hell right now. He could almost hear the harsh, rising tone of his brother’s voice, listing the things that had gone wrong with the pigs, the hens, the bees. And as for Mother—who knew what she was up to?

“Let me guess,” Avery cut in. “Nepal? An arduous trekking vacation? Or maybe… maybe somewhere like Tanzania?”

“Tanzania?” He shrugged. “Why not? Tanzania it is.”

“Where was your last vacation? You have been in a plane before?”

“I have,” he said proudly. “I flew to England when I was in college. I did two summers there.”

“That’s it?”

“I know, it’s not exactly Cambodia.”

“You’re head accountant in a successful company on the Irish stock exchange. I did my research,” she said quickly, in answer to his look of inquiry. “And your mother hasn’t been sick for so long, has she?”

“Did you research that too?” he asked.

“No, I intuited as much from what you’d told me.”

“Well, you’re right, it’s a recent thing. But holidays for me have always been farm times. Father needed a hand as he was getting old. The farm was destined for me, so I did what I could.”

“Oh.” Her face filled with understanding, pity almost. “You must be so tempted to sell it off.”

“No! Not in a million years.”

“Wow. You must really love pig farming.”

“I don’t. I scarcely even like it.”

She pulled her cup away from her lips. “Then why do it?”

“Because it’s our family farm. The Cosgraves of Ballybay have been there for four generations. It just wouldn’t be right. Father would—” his gaze flickered to the car outside.

“What?” she asked, eyebrows high. “Roll over in his grave?”

“If he were in it,” he said weakly.

“Why let his legacy dictate your life?”

How to explain? “Well, for one thing, my brothers and sister don’t want their family house and farm sold off. They need a base to come home to. It’s just not a decision I can make.”

He ripped open a sugar packet for no reason other than to watch it spill onto his saucer. It became clear all of a sudden. He would never be able to take an extended holiday, to go to America, to see her. It would just never happen.

Her line of questioning had got it out of him. Her tone let him know that she understood the implications, thought he was bonkers, and was washing her hands of the sorry situation, and he couldn’t blame her. But for better or for worse, this was who he was. He couldn’t change that even if he wanted to. “I feel impatient sometimes….” He caught her steadfast gaze. “All the time.”

Her eyes flashed. “Then do something about it.”

“I am doing something about it.”

“What are you doing?”

He lowered his voice to a murmur. “I’m laying him to rest. That’s step one. That’s all I care about right now. I can’t think until I’ve done that.”

There was a pause in which they looked around the decorative walls of café.

“Sorry,” she said in a softer voice. “I shouldn’t have dug that up. We’ve got today. Let’s make the most of it. Is there something you’d like to do? Just for the hell of it?”

If he was going to be anywhere near her and not go completely crazy then he would have to be doing something physically strenuous. It would have to be outside where he could be distracted by the beauty that Mother Nature threw at him. And it would have to be punishing. Because that was the only way he was going to resist the need to get to know her better, in a way that didn’t involve talking.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“Good.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s called Cosán na Naomh.”

“Hm. Another pretty Irish name masking a cruel climb up some steep mountainside?”

He grinned and looked down at her boots, which were sensible and made his idea doable.

She stretched her legs into an even more beguiling pose. “I bought these boots yesterday in an outdoor clothing store. That was an experience. First of those stores I’ve ever stepped into in my life.”

His gaze lingered on her legs. “You’ll be thankful for them.”

“You don’t scare me. I’m ready for …Cossawn? Or what was it called?”

“Cosán na Naomh. Path of the Saints. It’s not strenuous but it is long. Eighteen kilometers to the foot of Mount Brandon. We should organize a taxi or Uber back from there. You on?”

“Yeah.”