by Brady, Eoin
The storm had calmed in the last few hours, but the weather warnings were still in effect. The sound of sharp hail hitting his hood reminded him of camping with his family, when the water ran down the thin tent fabric and they played board games. He felt safe and comfortable. I should be home with them.
No birds flew; they hid in the woods. The sky was dark, keeping the rising sun behind boiling, black clouds. Fin faltered at the electrical keypad to get up to his apartment. Every single person that lived in the block had to have touched that pad.
“What’s the code? I’ll do it!” Rebecca hissed acidly, nudging him out of the way.
Using a pocket tissue, he put the security code in and used the sleeve of his jacket to pull the door open. It did not budge. He put the code in four more times but the rain must have shorted the box. The street was filling up with people.
Fin picked up a flowerpot next to the estate agents and tossed it through the single-pane glass door. It shattered, making people stop and stare. He pulled his hood over his blushing face and hurried through the communal garden area to his apartment.
“Mooch? Flo? Poncho?” The patter of little paws quickened and the three of them peered around the landing when he entered. They shied away from Rebecca.
Once inside, Fin washed his hands with an abrasive nail brush until they stung. Then he sprayed the front door handle with bleach and let it rest there.
He plugged his phone in to charge and tried Solene’s number once more but it did not connect. He tried his father, expecting the same result. He was not disappointed. They’re still asleep.
“It’s a lovely apartment,” Rebecca said. She went through the rooms closing the blinds.
Fin fed the cats and brewed coffee. He gathered up all of Solene’s little letters and sticky notes, while Rebecca went through the presses and fridge. He held Solene’s jumper under his nose and breathed in her smell. I miss you.
“I thought you said this place was full of food?” Rebecca said.
“By our normal standard, it is. We do two shops a week. How many people keep enough food in their homes to last them more than seven days? The only reason there’s so much pasta is because Solene knew if there were more than two ingredients, I wouldn’t bother making it.”
“You’re nearly thirty and you don’t know how to cook for yourself?”
“I’m twenty-five – do I look thirty?”
They drank their coffee while staring at the black screen of the television. Neither of them wanted to turn it on to see what new horrors were unfolding throughout the country. Fin lay on the couch, watching the morning quicken, trying to pretend that the world was okay. Mooch jumped onto his lap and nuzzled his arm for a scratch. “It’s going to be fine,” he said.
From his sitting room he was three storeys high; he could see over the rooftops of most of the other buildings. Traffic came to a standstill on the Castlebar Road. In the silence that grew between them, they could hear the distant horns. Even if they wanted to leave, now was not the right time. Too many people were on the streets. Tempers were too high.
“There can’t be many left in Ireland that don’t know about what’s going on now,” Rebecca said. “Not with all that commotion.”
“You take my bed. The sheets are relatively clean, new ones in the wardrobe if you don’t want to chance it. Try to sleep off the drink,” Fin said.
“What about you?”
“I’m going to stay up a little bit longer, I don’t think I’d be able to settle. I want to make a few calls, see if people are okay. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“The lines are only going to get worse as the day goes on – think of how many people are trying to reach loved ones.”
“I know, but somebody has to get through, eventually.”
Town only got busier as the day wore on. Noise from the car park drew his attention to the window. Lifting up one of the slats on the venetian blind, he watched one man strap a Christmas tree to the top of his car. Does he just think the general madness happening around him is from last minute shoppers? People pushed shopping carts full of food and supplies to their cars, leaving the empty carts in the middle of the path. Horns blared and anger flared as people shouted at each other, though at a distance. Some wore masks. One man was in a full-face respirator. So many people ignoring the government warnings. People were the danger now.
When his phone rang, he clipped his shin off the coffee table in his haste to answer it.
“Hello? Hello!”
“Fin, oh thank God! I thought the worst.” His father sounded panicked and out of breath. He had never heard such worry in his voice before.
“Dad, are you okay? Are you driving?”
He let out a long breath in answer. “We’re not really okay. It’s mad here. There’s not a bit of food on the shelves in any of the shops.”
His heart sank. “Dad, they said not to go out in public.” Fin wanted to shout down the phone, but that would only exacerbate things.
“You know how your mother is, I didn’t bring her along with me because she’d likely be the one rioting.” He left a pause for laughter, but there was none. “I was careful. I’m wrapped up and I have my face covered.”
Fin thought back to one of the specialists on the news. She had stated that masks and such protective gear were dangerous because they created a false sense of security.
“You could bring the virus home on your clothes. Just go back to the house, please, dad. It’s Christmas, the presses should be fully stocked with food.”
“They are, but we can’t wipe our arses with tinfoil, Fin.”
“Go home, now. Do you hear me? Go home. You’re a fool!” He lost control and roared down the phone. The bedroom door opened downstairs and Rebecca was with him in seconds. She was wearing Solene’s dressing gown. The sight gave him pause and the faint smell of her perfume made him sick with worry.
He did not know how long his father had been trying to speak over him; his father’s voice was calm, trying to reassure him. “I wasn’t near anybody else. I went to the stores out in the countryside. I’ve a mask, gloves and antibacterial gel. Look, I’m going home now. You big girl’s blouse,” he added jokingly.
“This is not a game, Dad. You’ve only been watching the news. I don’t think they can show a fraction of what’s coming up online. Either there’s too much to show or it’s censored. This is a killer. Have you enough food to stay indoors? Maybe go to Grandad’s. Pool your resources.” Hiding from it would have been easier if he was alone, but he had to face the thought of his family and Solene out there, being in danger. “I wish I was with yous.”
“Is it bad in Westport?”
Over the phone he heard car indicators click on and hoped that his father was actually turning around to go home. “I stayed the night in the hotel, a colleague of mine was there too. We’re going to try to get out to Achill Island. She said I could stay at hers. I’m in the house now. I’ve never seen so many people on the streets here. You’d swear the world was ending.”
“Panic will do that. Everybody has the same idea. Go out, get food and squirrel away. The island should be safe. It’s a relief to hear that you’ll be okay. Don’t worry about us. I’ve been trying to get through to you for hours.”
Fin went to every window to make sure they were all closed. The alleyway at the back of the house was thronged. He saw people in the adjacent house packing in a hurry.
“I’ll wait until tomorrow morning, when the streets are empty again. We’re safe here. If I had just gotten my full driving licence and saved for a car, I could have driven back home before most of the country was awake. I messed up.” He really felt the distance between them now. It was the first time he could remember feeling homesick; it had always only ever taken a train and a bus ride to be sitting at home, watching a movie with his family.
“Does it take the fear of getting a really bad cold to light a fire under you? Just keep that burning for when this ends and get your licence then.” He was silent for a
moment. “Do you want me to come and get you?”
It was tempting. “No, dad, I’m looking at the main road leaving town and it’s gridlock.”
A rushing ambulance forced cars onto the footpath to let it pass. Some cheeky driver pulled in behind it and others followed, making the traffic worse. “No, I’ll be fine, I’ll – I’ll come back when it’s safe. Promise me you’ll go to the house, no detours.”
“You’re not my mother, stop giving me orders.”
“If I have to ring granny and tell her to send you home, I’m not above it.”
“You little prick,” he said with affection. “Have you heard from Solene?”
“I can’t reach her, she sent me a voicemail during the night. She was crying. I don’t know if her flights were cancelled ahead of the storm. I’ve no idea where she is.”
“You worry about yourself. I’ll try to get in contact with her. If she made it to France then she should be okay. From what I’ve heard, it’s localised here. The storm saw to that. She’s a tender soul, might have been her worry for you that caused her to cry. Sure I was nearly blubbering before you picked up the phone. Right, I’m coming up to a Garda checkpoint. If they give me a ticket for being on my phone, your mother will kill me. I love you.”
“Would you stop saying that, I know, and I love you too but each time you say it, it’s like a headstone at the end of a conversation.”
His dad laughed. “Alright you little bollox, go on. Stay safe. Keep me updated on what’s happening down your end.”
“Tell everyone I was asking for them.”
His father sighed. “I should have built that cabin in the woods down in Kerry years ago.”
“Yeah, your midlife crisis would have come in handy right about now.”
Hearing his father’s voice made him feel foolish for overreacting; the familiar cadence and tone had been there after every success and failure throughout his life, and for most of the mundane morning breakfasts, too. It was real and normal, an anchor in the storm.
Tears dampened his face. He heard his bedroom door close softly. Rebecca had courteously left him when she realised all was as well as it could possibly be. Fin turned the PlayStation on; any form of escapism would do. Before the television came on, the sound of Rebecca’s phone dialing out reached him in the sitting room. He turned the volume up and he tuned out.
6
Hold Your Breath
The vacuous first moments after waking were all the crueller for how normal they were; in his own home, listening to the soundtrack of a paused game. Flo yawned, arching her back as she stretched. What a horrible dream. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. It was the noise from outside that woke him. Our next house is going to be in the countryside. I’m sick of town.
Rebecca sat at the kitchen table. She barely looked up from her phone to greet him. Fin bit back a sob at the sight of her. It’s real. “How long have you been up?”
“A few hours.”
“You should have woken me.”
“You needed the rest and we’re in no rush, not anymore.”
“What have I missed?”
“Roads in and out of Newport are blocked. We can go around, but I think we should cycle. I noticed two bikes downstairs. It’ll take longer and we won’t be able to bring as much food, but we’ll get there today.”
“Wait a minute. It’s that bad? We have a car full of food out there and we don’t have panniers for the bikes. Solene has a basket on hers but that won’t fit much.”
“The Gardaí are closing down roads to stop the spread, but I think it’s too late. Whatever this is, it’s too fast. We might have a chance now against the cops, but we’ll be trapped here once the army arrive. They’ve started shooting people that break quarantine in Dublin.”
Fin lay back on the couch. He did not want to look at the dark depths beneath her eyes, or experience that penetrating stare, desperate for answers, terrified of what they might be. He lost all sense of comfort, kicking the blanket off himself. Relief came in the form of laughter. It was the casual way in which she said the army was killing people. He could not remember the last time he laughed so heartily, long and hard. It sounded alien, perverse and maddening. It was just a build-up to tears.
Rebecca sat on the armrest of the couch. Fin covered his eyes. He felt a reassuring hand on his leg, it said ‘I’m here.’ When he composed himself enough to look at the world again, Rebecca was grinning. It was so unsettling that it gave him a start. She pretended to peel the grin from her mouth and tossed it through the air to Fin. Arm achingly heavy, he raised it up and slowly closed his fingers around the grin. Working hospitality, you always had to look happy, and you passed it on to your colleagues after your shift ended. A fake smile, for the benefit of others. Acting out their usual work routine settled him enough to steady his breathing. “Do you mind if I save this for later?”
“Not at all,” she said in a low, echoey voice.
Fin mimicked putting the smile in his pocket. “So we cycle. What about all the food?”
“We leave it in the boot. It’s mostly dry goods, it’ll keep. Somebody I know from home posted pictures of roads blocked by empty cars. Abandoned scrap yards, building like clots. Look out the window, Fin. Those cars on the way to Castlebar, they were there before you fell asleep. People have just started walking. I don’t think we have a choice either.”
“It’ll be miserable in this weather,” he said.
“We go along the Greenway cycle path. The fewer people around us, the better.”
“Okay, I’ll see what bags I have here.”
Fin filled every plate and bowl in the house with kibble and wet food for the cats. He plugged the sinks and bathtub and filled them with water. By his estimate, he had a little over a week before he would have to come back and check on them. It will be over by then.
Rebecca boiled the kettle twice and filled a hot water bottle for each of them. She tucked one beneath her jumper, using her waistband to keep it in place. She gave the other one to Fin. “Trust me, it’s bitterly cold outside and we don’t have the right clothing. You’ll thank me later.”
The first glint of morning was still hours away when they left the apartment. The unrelenting rain would mask the sound of their bikes. Rebecca took Solene’s weighty city cruiser; both of them carried bulging shopping bags over their handlebars. Fin lifted his light road bike down the stairs, stepping lightly over the broken glass that cracked like thin ice beneath his feet. Rebecca watched the bags and bike while he brought hers down.
They walked through the empty streets. Perhaps yesterday’s madness was forgotten, washed away with the storm. Passing through a tight alleyway, they turned right onto the main street, then followed the river left. Fin stopped outside the church. The doors were open.
“Will you hold this, please?” Fin asked, handing her his bike.
“Hurry up,” she whispered.
Holding his scarf tight over his mouth, he peeked through the doors. The aisle was full of burning candles. The air above them shimmered; it was warm and perfumed by the scented ones people brought from home. A few people kneeled in the pews. Somebody sneezed but nobody else seemed to care. He took his bike back.
“What did you see?” Rebecca asked.
“Desperation.”
Signs outside the petrol station read ‘pumps empty’. The first person they came across was a man trying to break into the shuttered shop, an empty petrol can by his feet. Fin signaled for Rebecca to get on her bike. They mounted and quickly and, as quietly as they could, they passed him. Caution was for nothing, the man was too focused on his task. They only made it halfway up a steep hill on the Newport Road. Fin had to walk the bike the rest of the way. Gasping down clean morning air, it took Fin longer than he was proud of to catch his breath.
Once at the brow of the hill, he mounted and coasted down the other side. This was a stupid idea. He wanted to say it but knew by the look on her face that
she already thought the same. There was no better plan. Water shot off his rear tire and lashed his back. Though his jacket was waterproof, his pants were not and the rain soaked through to his skin. His fingers were brittle from the cold. Traffic lights hummed at a crossroad. He felt exposed beneath the harsh beams of LED streetlights. Newport was straight ahead. Fin had only taken the left road as far as Westport House and back to the quay before. That way would bring them to the hotel. In twenty minutes they could be back on the top floor in their snug with a cold pint. He nearly suggested it, but they were through town and the worst of it – he thought. Nothing but a bit of pedalling between us and an island, away from all of this.
They turned right, down a small lane with only a few houses separated by fields. Most of the bedrooms had lights turned on. Curtains were drawn back out of curiosity. Scared faces watched them cycle by, wondering if they, too, should do the same.
“There won’t be a child going to sleep in this country without a nightlight the next few months,” Fin said.
“Plenty of adults, too.”
At the end of the road they reached the Greenway trail. It ended at Achill Island. There were no streetlights here and they did not risk using the lamps on their bikes. Fin’s bike was light, the tires slender tubes. The front one punctured within ten minutes. Pedalling on the rim caused too much noise. There was no other choice but to walk. Fin lifted the back wheel of Rebecca’s bike off the ground by the saddle so that the chain would not catch and rattle.
His breath frosted in the air, the cold left him numb, but the horizon was brightening. He strained his eyes to make out any sign of movement, not knowing what they would do if they came across somebody coming the other way.
Cars passed in the distance, but beyond that there was only the constant drip of rain and the crunch of gravel on the path. Beyond the tree cover, they were exposed, walking on a rise. The path was more puddle than stone; the ditches on either side of the route were brimming. Twice they had to stop to lift the bikes over downed trees. They stopped beneath a bridge; a tourist map showed the route out to Achill.