The Moon Over Kilmore Quay: a heartwarming and emotional family drama perfect for summer 2021

by Carmel Harrington

  I’ve kissed many men since my first clash of teeth and lips with a boy called Spencer behind the youth centre when I was thirteen years old. And I’ve enjoyed most of my kisses since. But when Dan kissed me at one moment past midnight, it was the kiss that I would forever hold up as one to eclipse.

  It was every romantic movie and love song I’d ever seen.

  It was a sonnet, a love affair.

  It was full of what-ifs and maybes.

  It was my everything.

  When Dan pulled me into him until our bodies moulded into one, I knew that I loved him. In fact I loved him as I’d never loved another person before, or would again.

  And I’d only just met him.

  8

  LUCY

  June 1992

  Nellie’s Pub, Kilmore Quay, Wexford

  The wait to hear if we’d passed our embassy interviews felt endless and we spoke of little else every day as we waited for the postman to arrive. Our final exams diverted our attention somewhat, then once we’d said goodbye to college, it was time to pack up our things. We were all moving home to Wexford. But then, two days before we gave our keys back, two life-changing letters dropped on our front doormat. Maeve and I held hands as Michelle ripped them open, one after the other, saying nothing until she’d read them both. Then she squealed, waving the letters in front of us.

  Congratulations you have been awarded an American Visa.

  Michelle cried, Maeve cried, I cried. We opened a bottle of Blue Nun even though it was only 11 a.m. No matter how many times we read our letters, it felt surreal. I could not compute that I would leave Ireland. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of person who did life-changing things like emigrate.

  ‘When will you go?’ Michelle asked.

  ‘As soon as possible. By the end of the month latest. We’ll go home for a few weeks to pack up, say our goodbyes, have a party, then it’s goodbye Wexford and Dublin and hello to the Big juicy Apple!’ Maeve said. Her eyes danced with excitement.

  ‘Mam and Dad will do their nut.’ I was worried about how they were going to take it. Maeve had no concept as to the impact this would have on them.

  ‘Tough luck. They’ll have to suck it up. It’s our life, Lucy. We have to live it on our own terms.’

  Over the previous few years, Maeve’s relationship with our parents had been quite volatile. While I loved working in the bar, she found it curtailed her social life. She clashed with Mam over everything – what she wore, from her make-up to her skirts that were too short, to her heels that were too high. It irritated me how hard Mam was on Maeve. But I could also see how often Maeve pushed my parents’ buttons, just to wind them up. When she worked in the bar she spent most of the time flirting with the locals. Hamming it up if she saw Mam give her a disproving look. Dad said little, but saw everything. I knew it hurt him when any of us fought.

  The pub had been my maternal grandfather’s originally. He named it after my grandmother, Nellie. And when Dad married Mam, he gave up his job as a fisherman to work side by side with her. They’d given their lives to their business. Together they’d introduced a new lounge, creating an area for live music at the weekends. Dad managed the darts tournaments that ran every Friday night. Couples played for a rib of beef or a ham. And at Christmas and Easter they played for turkeys. While Nellie’s wasn’t a trendy pub, it was a great local. My parents greeted everyone who came in through the door by name. They made it their business to know everyone in the parish. All milestones of life were celebrated in Nellie’s, from wakes to christenings and post-wedding parties. And I had grown up part of that. It meant something. To me at least.

  ‘Go easy on them.’ I was irritated at Maeve’s callousness. She wasn’t mean-spirited, but even I had to admit that sometimes she was thoughtless.

  ‘Relax. You worry too much,’ she replied, but when I continued to give her the stink eye, she softened. ‘OK, I promise to play nice.’

  Michelle’s new boyfriend, Tadgh, drove up to Maynooth in a van he’d borrowed from a friend to help us move. Judging by the way they kept looking at each other, it was a good job Michelle hadn’t won a visa. They were smitten, laughing and smiling, hanging on to each other’s words, in the way couples do when they first fall in love. I hadn’t seen Michelle like that with any other man before. And if I’m honest, a part of me was jealous. Would I ever have that for myself? Yes, I dated, but nothing had lasted beyond a couple of weeks. Maeve and Michelle said I was too fussy. I don’t think that’s true. More often than not it was the guy who dumped me. Mam said that I just hadn’t met the right person and to have faith because he was out there, waiting to bump into me one day.

  Between the three of us, we managed to accumulate a lot of stuff from our four years renting in Dublin and we filled Tadgh’s van to cramming point. Once it was emptied, we stood in the flat and looked around the empty space.

  ‘We’ve drunk a lot of Blue Nun in here,’ Michelle said.

  ‘We’ve watched a lot of Cheers here too,’ I said.

  ‘And kissed a few frogs and more than the odd prince,’ Maeve added.

  Michelle turned to us both and started to cry. ‘It won’t be the same, will it. You’ll both go to America and get all fancy and sophisticated. You won’t want me any more.’

  ‘No!’ we both cried, protesting the absurdity of the accusation.

  ‘We’re the Three Amigos,’ I said. ‘That’s a lifelong bond. In fact, I think we need to say our motto one more time here, just to seal the deal. Are you ready?’

  Their response was to stand with their hands on their hips, Three Amigos style. I joined them, and the three of us began our chant: ‘Whenever there is injustice, you’ll find us. Wherever there is suffering, we’ll be there. Wherever Liberty is threatened, you will find the Three Amigos!’

  We fell to the floor laughing and crying and hugging each other, each knowing that despite our protests, Michelle was right. Things would never be the same again. And I think we would have stayed there for hours if Tadgh hadn’t come in and put an end to our ‘dramatics’, as he called them.

  ‘I’ve a goo on me for some chips from that takeaway in Ashford,’ he said, and we all agreed happily. It was rare that anyone did a drive to Dublin from Wexford that didn’t involve a stop in that chippy. We closed the door to our flat for the last time and made our way home to Kilmore. Sitting in the back of the car, with Maeve’s head resting on my shoulder as she dozed, realized that I felt scared.

  9

  LUCY

  June 1992

  Nellie’s Pub, Kilmore Quay, Wexford

  We waited until the end of the shift to tell our parents the big news. As we stacked the pint glasses into the dishwasher, emptied ashtrays and wiped the tabletops, the mood was light. Mam was singing and Dad hummed along to her. I would have put it off until the next day, but Maeve wanted it out of the way. So she sat them down and told them our news. I’m not sure what I expected. But I hadn’t anticipated Mam crying. It started off like a strangled sob, but then she gave in to it and when the tears came they wouldn’t stop.

  We sat in silence, watching her, feeling horrendous that we had made our mam so upset. Then Dad spoke. He never took the lead in things; he always let Mam do that. ‘There’s no need for you both to go. You have jobs here, if you can’t get work teaching. You have a home. There’s no need. No need. Really no need.’ He kept repeating that fact over and over. Maeve and I looked at each other helplessly. Our parents had gone into full meltdown.

  ‘We’re only going for the summer!’ Maeve said suddenly.

  Mam stopped crying and Dad stopped muttering. They looked at us both, one after the other. Then Mam found her voice, ‘Why didn’t you say so? The summer is a great idea. Travel, see the world, I wish I’d done it when I was your age.’

  Dad nodded, a smile so wide on his face I felt my heart crack a little. Maeve winked at me and for a moment I believed that our plans had changed. This was a working holiday, not us emigrating. But when
we went to bed, she just laughed when I suggested it.

  ‘It’s easier this way. We’re breaking it to them gently. We’ll go, and in September we’ll tell them we’re staying on a little bit longer. Then by the time Christmas comes they’ll be used to us being gone. No big drama. You’ll see.’

  ‘You lied to them,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a white lie, for their own good, which doesn’t count.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘You don’t like much any more, Lucy Mernagh. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up a right old misery guts. Look, if you want to stay here, you stay. But I’m going with or without you.’

  ‘You’d go without me?’ I asked in disbelief.

  ‘I don’t want to. But I can’t force you to come with me. I’m going, Lucy. And if you have any sense, so will you.’

  I contemplated staying, even suggested as much to Mam, but by this time she was fully on board the summer in New York train, and told me not to be silly. A few weeks later, we were back on the road to Dublin again, but this time in Dad’s car. We’d said our goodbyes to Michelle the night before at the party our parents threw for us in Nellie’s. All the neighbours came, they booked a band and Dad gave a free round of drinks to the house. Michelle asked the band to play ‘Don’t Go’ in our honour. Everyone sang along and Mam, Dad, Michelle, Maeve and I stood with our arms around each other, half laughing, half weeping as we sang don’t go, don’t leave me now, now, now. I’d never hear that song again without remembering that night. If we’d stuck around and laughed a while as the song said, maybe it wouldn’t have been the last time that we were all together. But maybe fate would have caught up with us one way or the other …

  Before the night ended, I slipped outside and went for one last walk on my own through the village. A full moon shone bright over Kilmore Quay. It was as if I was seeing its beauty for the first time, as others must see it when they arrive. The inky blue water with fishing trawlers bobbing up and down on the quayside. The faint outline of the Saltee Islands in the distance, the sound of a seagull’s caw echoing in the sky. We’d spent so many happy times visiting that island on Dad’s boat. When we were little, Maeve and I used to dream about building houses on it, side by side. We’d marry two drop-dead gorgeous men and our children would grow up as close as we were. I saw the moon glisten on the golden roofs of the thatched cottages with their whitewashed walls. And I swallowed an ever-growing lump in my throat as one of my neighbours shouted their best wishes as they passed by, telling me to come home soon.

  Home.

  I loved it here so much.

  But I loved my sister more. Where she went, I would always follow.

  I watched the moon that hung low over the water. I couldn’t fathom that the next time I looked at this same moon, it would be in New York, thousands of miles away from here.

  The next morning we checked into our flight with a smiling Aer Lingus steward, then walked to the entrance of the departure gates. We stood awkwardly for a moment; nobody wanted to say goodbye. Mam threw holy water over both of us, then put a small bottle of it into each of our handbags.

  ‘Throw some over your bedroom when you arrive. And don’t talk to strangers.’

  ‘Mam, they’ll all be strangers to us over there!’ Maeve pointed out.

  ‘Then talk to nobody,’ Mam replied.

  We promised. It was easier to agree. I knew she was fussing because she was close to tears again. We put our goodbyes off until time was stretched to its limit. We took turns to hug each other and, despite our best efforts, our sorrow caught up with us and we did cry.

  ‘So silly,’ Mam said, blowing her nose. ‘We’ll see you in a few months. The time will fly in.’

  I hated myself then for allowing Maeve’s lie to take root. But it was too late to change it now. We walked through the sliding doors and, just before they slid shut, I saw my parents holding hands, waving to us. That image will never leave me either.

  ‘This won’t do,’ Maeve said, wiping tears away. ‘We’re on our way to America and you’d swear we were going to Dingle or something!’

  ‘I like Dingle.’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ Maeve said. ‘Come on, let’s have one drink.’ She pulled me into the Gate Clock Bar and ordered two glasses of champagne. To her credit, she didn’t flinch when the bill came.

  ‘We’ve come a long way from Blue Nun,’ I said, as we clinked glasses.

  ‘Champagne all the way for us now, Sis. You wait and see. Anything can happen.’

  ‘What will we toast to?’ I asked.

  ‘To possibilities.’

  ‘To possibilities,’ I replied, and we raised our glasses and sipped. ‘You know, I think I prefer Blue Nun.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say that! I could have bought two bottles of the stuff for the price of these two glasses.’

  And by the time we’d finished our drinks and made our way to the boarding gates, we were giddy with excitement. I’d never flown anywhere before, other than a school trip to London a few years back, so flying transatlantic was a big deal. As we settled into our seats, headphones on, choosing which movies to watch on the small screen on the headrest in front of us, I began to relax. Maeve was right. I did need to lighten up.

  Landing on the tarmac of John F. Kennedy Airport was a sobering experience. We were now in another world. We went through the motions of going through immigration and collecting our baggage, almost in silence. And it was impossible not to reflect on the thousands of Irish who had arrived before us. From the Ellis Island immigrants to us now, with our futures yet to be decided. I thought about the footprints we made, as the soil on the soles of our shoes changed from Irish to American with each step we took.

  Martin, our contact in New York, had given us instructions on how to get to Woodside. We found the express shuttle bus exactly where he told us it would be. Watching the tall skyscrapers on either side of us as we drove to Manhattan was surreal. We looked from one side to the other and clasped each other’s hands in delight. We got off the bus at Grand Central Station and that’s when it became real, as three bright yellow taxi cabs whizzed by. We were in New York!

  ‘It’s like a movie set,’ I whispered, jumping to one side when a man wheeling a large battered suitcase bashed into me, shouting obscenities at us for being in his way.

  ‘Look,’ Maeve said, pointing to a Budweiser truck, rumbling over an air vent that sent smoke from the subway below into the air.

  ‘I swear I saw that exact truck on Cheers last week,’ I said.

  ‘I know. Me too. Sis …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Maeve turned to me, ‘I know I pushed you into coming here. And I was all bravado saying I’d go on my own. But honestly, I can’t imagine doing this without you. Thank you.’

  I was grateful for the acknowledgement. I nudged her shoulder with mine and we had one of those smiles that said so much.

  Thank you. I love you. We are in New York!

  Then I spied a small cart on the corner of the street. ‘Look, we can finally find out what a pretzel tastes like.’ I ran over and ordered two, handing over a ten-dollar bill, crisp and new, straight from the bank that week. ‘They’re hot!’ I said, handing one to Maeve. We took a bite each on the busy street, one hand clutching our cases, the other on the salty snack. And I was glad I had a bossy sister who always got her own way. I was in New York and I knew I had one hell of an adventure ahead of me.

  10

  BEA

  New Year’s Day 2020

  Innisfree, Prospect Avenue, Brooklyn

  ‘Did you have to bring him?’ I asked as Katrina led Karl in through the door to my studio. Karl was her pet pug, named after her favourite actor, Karl Malden. The actor was a hero back in her home country Serbia. They even had a statue of him in Belgrade.

  ‘He go where I go. Plus, you owe me. I should be sleeping. Not getting my eight hours is no good for my complexion. Look at what it has done to you.’ Katrina peered at my face then
laughed as I glanced in the hall mirror to double-check that I’d not changed appearance overnight. If she wasn’t my friend, I’d hate her.

  ‘Just make sure he doesn’t pee anywhere,’ I demanded.

  Karl started sniffing around my studio and then jumped up onto the sofa to dry-hump a cushion.

  ‘Are you seeing that?’ I asked Katrina.

  ‘Is his normal sex drive. No big deal,’ she replied. Some people have to strain to understand her Serbian accent – even though she’d been in America for most of her life, she spoke in clipped, sometimes stilted English. Because she spoke in her native tongue to her parents, her accent had never left her. A bit like my grandparents, who kept their Irish accent right until they died.

  ‘Did you have a good night last night?’ I asked.

  ‘Not so much.’ Then with an unusual display of affection, she said, ‘I missed you.’

  ‘Sorry. I just couldn’t face it.’ I hated letting her down.

  Katrina pointed to my opened laptop. ‘You working again?’

  I decided it was better not to answer. I had been pulling some late nights in the office recently. While I loved working with my best friend, it meant I couldn’t hide anything from her. I snapped the MacBook Air closed and gave her a look that I hoped said, subject closed.

  It worked because she shrugged, then pulled a box from her small handbag and threw it at me, hitting me on the arm with it.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘No reason. I saw and thought of you. I think you like it.’

  I peeled off the gold-and-silver-striped wrapping paper to reveal a blue jewellery box. I flipped the lid open and inside was a rose gold chain, with an oblong bar hanging from it. On one side, it had three initials, BFF. On the other side, BOC, KP. Katrina never bought things like this. Typical presents from her over the years included tequila, a tangerine and a voucher for rock climbing. I felt her eyes on me and I tried my best to hold in the tears. ‘Oh Katrina, I love it.’