Chapter 23

It was drizzling in Portmagee harbor. It was 6:45. Four boats were heading westward, braving the Atlantic without them. Cathal tore off his rucksack, sank onto a bench and rested his forehead in his hands. Sorry again, Father.

Avery nudged his shoulder. “Ever seen the movie Groundhog Day?”

He groaned. “That’s one I have seen. That’s exactly what this is.”

Although he was aware she was filming him, he was too jaded by the early-morning start and too disheartened by the horizontal drizzle pinging his face to put on any kind of show for her fans.

Or maybe this was the show.

“Wonder how far out they’ll make it today,” she said, and then in a dramatic tone, added, “Wonder if we’ll ever make it to Skellig Michael?”

He gazed into her phone camera lens. He didn’t mind playing his role— Farm Boy or whatever role she thought best suited him at the moment. If it helped keep her fans engaged, it didn’t matter to him. At least some good, however tangential, was coming of their daily pilgrimage.

She rose and began her trek back to the Nissan he’d picked up in Cork. “I’m beginning to hate this place.”

“Ireland?”

“No, Portmagee. Don’t get me wrong—it’s got its charm, of course, the first or second time you come here. But on your sixth? Not so much. To think that so many come here and they haven’t done anything with it. It’s a UNESCO heritage site, for crying out loud.”

“That’s precisely the point—a heritage site. But your app will make it engaging for people who need stimulation.”

“People like me, you mean?” she snapped. “Who can’t deal with plain boring reality?”

He shook his head. “Those are your words.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

He didn’t want to argue with her. It wasn’t what he meant. But neither did he want to pretend that the idea to artificially enhance Skellig Michael was universally amazing. “I agree on some points,” he said. “but many won’t be plugged in to anything when they come here. Some are here to get away from all that.”

He gazed around at the forlorn port in its many shades of grey. Three tourists who’d had the same idea of trying their luck were huddled dejectedly under the bus shelter. He knew from experience that they were going to have to wait another fifty-five minutes for the next public bus.

Avery pointed to those people. “My app would help people in situations like this. Somebody would report on the status of each boat in real time. It would save them from the utter hell of waiting. You’ve seen it for yourself. Demand seriously outweighs supply here, and it’s chaotic as hell. So many people just end up waiting.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Some of the best things in life happen when waiting.”

“Well, that’s all we seem to be doing here. Waiting.”

Her words troubled him. Hate was a strong word. She actually hated this place. Perhaps she was homesick. Homesick for a faster, more exciting pace of life, where what she did had meaning. Where like-minded souls ran around with chai lattes in their mobile work spaces, where every second person was connected to Hollywood. Her experiences here in Kerry must surely resemble those of a time traveler who’d come from a futuristic society and landed in a backward community.

He gazed around the port, trying to see it through her eyes. They knew all the boat operators on a first-name basis by now. They knew about wind direction, windspeeds, pressures, gale warning levels. They could do advanced degrees in meteorology and get jobs at Met Éireann. Now there was a happy thought.

“Something’s made you smile, at least,” she remarked.

He swung an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you warm. A flat white with half a sugar and a cinnamon bun in the Skellig Center?”

“Arr.” She laughed. Then she frowned. “Am I getting that predictable?”

“You are. But also the range of possibility is that small.”

They walked into Skellig Center and settled into armchairs near the fire. The atmosphere was so cozy, they were both loath to move. Two Irish coffees later, they were even lazier.

“All right, we do have to do something today,” she declared with a yawn when a beam of sunlight shone through and hit their empty glasses. “Whose turn is it to decide anyway?”

“We haven’t explored Valentia properly,” he said. “We could do Geokaun Mountain and Cliffs.”

“Is that something special?”

“Spectacular. You can’t go home without doing it.”

Three hours later, his assertion proved correct as they were treated to first rate 360-degree views from the top of Geokaun—as good as any he’d seen in Kerry so far. Avery was enchanted and took dozens of photos.

Geokaun Mountain was a touristy place, but for once he didn’t mind. The people they’d met on the easy climb had smiled back at them with none of the veiled suspicion that he, as a big, stocky man, tended to get whenever he was out wandering on his own. Indeed, many of the older folks they met had that same dreamy look—that look that people reserve for happy young couples. It was interesting to be on the receiving end. Pretty damn cool, actually.

“Breathtaking,” she said, clicking away with her Nikon. “Even on an overcast day, the photos don't do it justice. They could easily have shot the Ahch-To scenes here. It would have been easier to get all the equipment up as well. I think I’ll write to George Lucas and tell him.”

With her flushed face and glowing eyes, he’d never seen her look so happy. That her mood could change so quickly from desultory to happy showed a resilience that he craved in people but so rarely found.

They paused at the various stops on the way down, grabbing an ice-cream here, a hot dog there. It was the most haphazard way of eating lunch ever, and it felt wonderful.

“I could live here,” she sighed as she finished a hot dog, licked her fingers, and threw the wrapper in a bin.

Her words lifted his spirit into the sky for some weightless seconds. “Ah, you couldn’t,” he teased. “You’d be bored within a week.”

“How do you know? Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You certainly should.” He took her hand in his, lifting a finger to his mouth and curled his lips around it. It tasted of tomato ketchup. She squealed and tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go. Instead he tugged her in close and she melted into the embrace. “Where would you live then? Here, in Kerry?”

“Yes, I’d build my own house overlooking Ceann Sibeal.” She looked up at him with a dreamy expression in her eyes. “I’d be able to look out my own window every morning and get the sense that I’m on planet Ahch-To. I’d build a replica beehive hut in my front garden. Maybe I’d put a hot tub in there to relax in—or to practice my Jedi meditation in—as I watch the sun set over the cliffs.

“And before you ask me how I’d fund all this decadence, Mr. Accountant”—she threw him a stern look—“I’d run my own B&B for people coming to Skellig Michael. Star Wars fans would get a discount, of course. They’d use my app to figure out in advance which boats were running. And if they failed to get a ride to Skellig Michael then they could spend the day relaxing in my home theatre that played all nine films back to back in a constant twenty-four-hour loop. I think I’d do pretty well for myself, actually.”

“That sounds pretty amazing,” he said. “Even with all the Star Wars stuff.”

“What about you? Your dream house?”

“I’ve never given it any—”

“Humor me,” she said. “What harm can it do?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’d hack it down here in Kerry.”

“Where then?”

“I’d like to see some of the places my siblings talk about. Berlin, Amsterdam, Sydney.”

“Hm, all cities.” She nodded thoughtfully. He was glad she was no longer trying to impress on him how easy it was to go to any of these places.

“Maybe come see me in LA?” she asked. Her tone was light, but her eyes shone with truth.

“That’s what I’d like more than anything,” he heard himself saying before his logical mind could ruin it all by pointing out that it wasn’t possible, or at least, not yet.

She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips—gentle, unexpected, and welcome. “I know, I know. You don’t have to explain.”

His heart stopped beating in anticipation. Was this the point where she told him she wanted to be with him, for longer? That she’d wait? But with a toss of her head, and another click of her Nikon, the moment passed.

They were back at the car already. He had no idea how an afternoon could pass by so quickly.

On the winding road back to the B&B, a fog of regret descended on him. They wouldn’t have many more of these leisurely days together. In fact, it was probably a once-off. Was this as good as it got?

*

The next day, Portmagee harbor looked as gloomy as ever in the morning rain. Cathal stared at the boats in a kind of stupor. Yes, “hate” was a strong word, but sometimes strong words were the ones that nailed it.

He shook himself. It was time for some affirmative action. “It’s too late to expect Lady Luck to show her face around here,” he told Avery. “I need to beg the skippers for mercy.”

She gave a whoop. It was mainly for the benefit of her invisible audience, as she was filming.

“I’ll explain to them how badly I need to do this. I’m going to shove it in their faces.” He unbuckled the rucksack and eased the urn out, twisting it to inspect the grainy, cream porcelain surface. He caught her eye. “Not a scratch, despite all the abuse.”

She snorted. “I’ll flutter my eyelids or whatever you think will help.”

“And say your prayers.”

“Will five hundred Instagram likes do instead?” She took her phone down from filming position and peered at her screen.

“I wouldn’t rule anything out at this stage.”

United with a purpose, they strode toward the skippers. They decided to tackle them in increasing order of madness—starting with Sean, the most sensible.

Skipper Sean was rolling up a rope. “’Tis early, even for you two,” he greeted them.

“’Tis indeed.” Cathal stepped forward. “So, Sean, I need a favor.”

Sean straightened, looking wary. His eyes dropped to the urn.

Cathal held it out to him. “It’s my father.”

Sean shrank back in horror. “Jaysus, don’t be bringing that anywhere near me!” He frantically finished rolling the rope and made the sign of the cross. “It’s not right, spreading ashes like that instead of burying your old man proper in the grave. The church doesn’t like that kind of messing about with the dead. Leave that kind of malarkey to the Church of Satan.”

“But—” Avery began.

Cathal tugged her sleeve. “Thanks anyway, Sean.”

She was sniggering into her coat sleeve as they skedaddled away. “Church of Satan? Oh, why didn’t I get that on live camera?”

“You might yet.” With a nod, he indicated the next skipper.

Captain Damian was next and after him, Captain Gerard. While neither the urn nor the flagrant disobedience of the church fazed them, the two men still had no cancellations and they steadfastly refused to sacrifice one of their passengers’ seats, no matter how sympathetic they were to Cathal’s plight.

“You could always have a go at asking one of the passengers yourselves,” Gerard suggested. “For that’s the only way I would see it working out.”

Avery didn’t wait. She was off like a shot, intercepting a group of sporty-looking guys. She gesticulated toward the sea, then toward him, and finally patted her chest in an impassioned manner. He had to hand it to her—she had some spunk. But then he saw their inevitable apologetic head shakes.

Now it was his turn. He caught up with a pair of old ladies shuffling along, who looked nervous about the slipperiness of the pier.

“Oh, we’ve done it a few times now,” the older-looking one said, wrapping rosary beads around her wrist.

The beads gave him pause but he wasn’t giving up now. “The thing is…” He launched into the sob story, which rolled easily off his tongue.

After a silence, the younger woman spoke. “Oh, that’s terrible. Your poor dear father. We’d love to help. But Mary here has…” She lowered her voice as if someone was eavesdropping. “Cancer. And she has to come out here. She’s got the chemo next week, you understand.”

Cathal swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The woman called Mary raised bony fingers to her hood and pulled it back to reveal surprisingly vibrant red hair and piercing blue eyes. “Skellig Michael is an ancient point of cosmic energy and earth merging as one,” she informed him in a slow, measured voice. She stretched her arms toward the sea, moving them in intertwining arcs, as if to indicate this meeting of energies. He saw now that the beads around her wrist were crystal bracelets, not rosary beads.

“A place of merging of the polarities in oneself, the male-female rebalance,” she intoned. “The color rays are violet, emerald, and blue. But of course, you have to be attuned to them.”

“I see.”

“I’ve survived five chemotherapies, young man, even though I’m seventy-four.” Her tone grew querulous. “And I’ll do it again.” She clenched her fist. “Cancer’s got nothing against the ancient forces!”

The younger woman patted her arm. “We’ll send a karma to your father when we’re up there,” she said kindly to Cathal.

“Yes, well. Thank you.” He waved them off on their slow amble toward the pier.

By the time Avery caught up with him, all boats were full of passengers taking photos of the sea, conspicuously eager to set off. “I wasted my time on those two biddies,” he told her. “How’d you get on?”

“Not much better,” she said gloomily. “But they did invite me to drinks tonight as a consolation.”

“Huh. Are you going?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

He ran his hands through his damp hair as the last boat took to the water. He raised his face to the clouds. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“You didn’t book in time, you fool,” she said.

He swung around. “I did. I booked for the first week available in May. But I couldn’t go then because my mother went into hospital that week. When I tried to re-book, everything was already full. All I could do was forego the seat to some lucky bastard.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have waited until Father was dead. I should have given him the trip while he was still alive. Even better, I should’ve—”

“Cathal, stop.” She held her hands to her ears. “Just stop. Holy crap, just accept it and move on. Plan it for another time. I bet you haven’t even made a new substitute booking yet, have you?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“See? That’s just so you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’d rather just moan and grip and blame the universe, the boats, the weather… your God.”

He bristled. Where was this coming from? He opened his mouth to protest.

“And the whole farm thing? You’re in a dead-end job, unable to move, unable to take holidays when you want to, unable to do anything you actually want to do, and why? Because you let them all shit on you.”

“Avery—”

“Hear me out. Someone has to say it and your siblings are far too busy abusing you to say a word. Stand up to them! Tell them you’ve got your own goals. You want to sell the farm, you have better things to do in your free time than feed pigs.”

The last words were spat out like it was the most menial, most disgusting job on this earth. So she might have a point. But still, this was his family, his decision. “Thanks for your concern,” he said coldly. “But let’s drop this and get somewhere warm now.”

“Changing the subject, but you can solve this,” she insisted. “It hurts me to see someone like you, who could have the world at his feet, so… stuck with this… whatever it is that’s keeping you stuck.”

“You think you can just punch life and all problems out of the way all the time?” he asked.

“No. But you can give it your best shot.”

Was nothing precious in her world? Could she not understand the idea of sacrifice for one’s family?

“Don’t clam up on me,” she warned.

“Come on then, let’s get that coffee and then plan your trip to Cork.”

She gave him a weird look. “Cathal, there’s nothing to plan. I’ve already booked everything.”

“But I can drive you. It’s much easier.”

“No, Cathal.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t understand it.

She sighed. “I knew this would happen. Look, you don’t have to give up your whole day for me and my business. I’ll get there and back tonight in time for the daily grind. Taxis, trains—everything all organized. You just relax here.”

She looked too determined to get away from him and the ‘daily grind’ to press the matter any further. “Good,” he said. “I’ll hold the fort here for when you return from your intergalactic travels.”

She grinned and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll make sure to come back, then.”