Chapter 31

Cathal saved the Excel sheet into his December folder. End of year calculations were completed three days early. On his way back from delivering the report to the Chief Operations Officer, he called into Sean’s office for a bit of a light relief.

“Cathal, just the man.” Sean swung a full arc in his chair. “Coming to the Christmas party tonight, amiright?”

Cathal shook his head. “Skipping it this year.”

“Ah come on, it’ll be great craic. Emma will be there.”

Emma was the new woman in marketing. She was nice, but he had no interest. “Sorry, Sean, I need to look after my mother. She’s not well.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Is she sicker than normal?”

Cathal nodded. In a manner of speaking. Christmas was especially hard for her.

“Jesus, Cathal. At this rate, you’ll end up an old man drinking six pints down the pub of an afternoon. And I know your problem. You’ve got this weird secret life, subscribing to all her channels even though you hate Star Wars.”

Cathal stiffened. “You’re very observant, Sean.”

Sean tossed a pencil in the air and caught it. “I’m highly attuned to whacko behavior. Where’s the rest of your clan when you need them?”

“Not home this year.”

“Okay, you’re off the hook,” Sean said. “To be honest, I was hoping for a wingman,” he added wistfully.

Cathal stared at him and then the penny dropped. “Emma?”

A faint flush crept along the edges of Sean’s freckled cheeks. “Quick, aren’t you?”

Oh God. Sean had recently split up with his girlfriend. It would be great if it worked out with Emma. But Sean was awkward with women he liked, and only came to the fore when in the company of trusted friends, or in this case, trusted colleagues. He should do this for him. He was obliged to do this for him.

But he couldn’t leave Mother alone. It was agony to let either of them down. But Sean wasn’t likely to go off wandering in his slippers on a frosty night if left alone.

Decision made.

He kicked open the front door when he got home. Mother was snoring by the fire. Not a bother on her. The scraggly Christmas tree blinked at him in alternate reds and greens. He could’ve stayed for the first hour of the staff party. Maybe even two. Maybe long enough for Sean to work up the courage to ask Emma out.

He slumped down at the kitchen table and looked out over the fields of frozen brown mud and stark, deformed-looking trees. A particularly loud, honking snore from his mother made him look up. She stirred, mumbling, and fell back to sleep.

Her resting face, pressed against the threadbare arm of the sofa, was creased in deep lines of anxiety. She was having a bad time of it in this drafty house with these squealing pigs, the constant repairs, the general damp. The loneliness she must endure during the day while he was at the office. Her endless waiting for the phone to ring and one of her children to be on the other end.

What was it all for? What did she live for now?

Father wouldn’t have wanted this—Mother so listless, oscillating between despondence and depression. It wasn’t the way her life should be. And he didn’t see how he could make it better for her. He would never earn enough money at Morrissey & Scanlan to give the farm the radical overhaul it actually needed. And his so-called family weren’t ever going to help him. If they came back from time to time, and if there was any sense of unity there, it would be worth it. But as things stood...

And then he heard it. A distant voice.

Cathal.

Avery? He bolted upright, spun his head around. It hadn’t come from within the room, or the house, but it was a voice, clear as day. It was her voice. No doubt about it.

His mother slept on, oblivious. He strained to get his head back in the space where he’d heard the voice.

Cathal. Help me!

He leapt up from the sofa. What was going on? Was he going mad?

Heart racing, he shut his eyes and focused his mind on the inner voice, urging it to tell him something more, but it refused to come again. Memories flooded in… memories of Avery in the summer, those heady days. But never had she spoken those words to him. It wasn’t a memory.

He paced the room, seriously spooked. Where was she, and why did she need help? He had to call her. Find her number and call her.

No, wait.

He couldn’t just do that.

He was being stupid. He’d call her, telling her he’d heard her voice, and she’d—what? Laugh at him and demand to know why he was drunk-dialing her. And maybe he’d have to pretend that he had been drinking, to explain the ridiculous behavior. He’d become one of those men, those exes she needed to be wary of.

But what if she really was in danger? He had to know. Even if it made him look a fool, or in the worst case, unhinged.

He located her number online and called it.

“Yes, Jeremy speaking. How can I help?” came the officious voice. Cathal flinched. He wasn’t expecting this.

“Is Avery there?”

“No, she’s in Norway. Who’s speaking, please?”

“A friend.”

There was a pause, then a hushed, “Oh.”

Cathal tried to imbue some politeness into his voice. “When did you last hear from her? Could you… give me a number for her?”

Jeremy called out a number, which he memorized.

Norway. She’d mentioned Norway in her latest vlog. She’d even mentioned a specific hotel. He searched and found her latest entry where she was getting excited about a movie location called Hot—no, Hoth—that looked the antithesis of hot.

He typed in and called her number. No answer. It was probably switched off, or out of battery, as often happened when she travelled. Okay, he’d call the hotel and that would be the end of this folly.

The phone rang three times. “Hotel Finse 1222.”

“Do you speak English?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” The receptionist sounded offended.

“Is Avery Hudson there? Her cell phone’s dead. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, one moment please.” A pause, a rustle, a polite cough. “She is not in her room.”

“Could you locate her, perhaps in the restaurant or bar?”

“Please wait.”

He could hear pan-pipe Christmas carols playing in the background. A few minutes later, the receptionist returned. “She is not on the premises, sir. If you like, you can leave a message.”

He wondered how hard she’d looked. “It’s dark outside, right?”

“Yes.”

“Stormy?” He tried to keep anxiety out of his tone. “Well, where could she be?”

“I’m sorry, sir. If you would like to call back later, I will be happy to give her a message.”

“Look, is it any way possible that she’s stranded out there? She’s looking for Star Wars locations and some of them are further out than accessible by foot. She can be a bit… determined sometimes. Crazy, actually. Someone needs to check, please.”

“She will get your message when she comes in, sir.”

“She’ll be dead!”

His outburst was met with stony silence, and the nerve-grating repetition of “Jingle Bells.”

Time for the big guns. “Well, just so you know, I’m posting this conversation up on TripAdvisor, HRS, and Booking.com. Please let me know your name so I can add it to the review and you can defend yourself however you see fit. Also, kindly let me talk to your manager.”

Another crackle of static and the line went quiet.

“Yes, who’s speaking please?” The rich tones of an older lady with a milder Norwegian accent came over the phone.

“My name is Cathal Cosgrave. I believe one of your guests, Avery Hudson, is stuck in a blizzard out there. Please send a search party before I call the local police.”

“Please calm down, sir.”

“Not until someone promises to do something.”

“I will send out my husband with the dogs. That is all we can do until morning.”

Cathal calmed down a notch, enough to provide the proprietress some details of Avery’s mission and read off the geocoordinates she’d posted in her latest vlog. “Call me when you have any news,” he said, making sure Mrs. Hammervold promised before finishing the call.

Help is coming, Avery, he projected mentally into the ether.

And so am I.