It isn’t too hard to get back my old job. The Liffey Hotel has a revolving door, and it’s common enough for former staff members to return when they’re in a tight spot.
I have an email from Bernard. He says he’s sorry he had to leave Pyro Productions so suddenly. He’s done so for personal reasons, he writes, and he’s exploring new horizons. It was very nice to meet me. Would I be interested in going for a drink sometime?
I’m beginning to wonder if I want to work in films at all. Am I able for it? Am I cut out for it?
I’ve a good photograph of myself and Evelyn and Maeve and Peadar and Aidan all in front of the cottage in the woods. It’s one I set up on a timer. We’re sitting together on the low wall as the sun is setting, and there’s solar flare in the upper left corner of the frame. Aidan has his arms wrapped around one leg drawn tight to his chest. Peadar’s blowing smoke. Maeve is captured licking the corner of her mouth with one eye closed, and Evelyn’s dead centre staring sourly at the camera. As I cast an eye over the photograph, I’m seeing something I never noticed before: there are two orbs above Aidan’s left shoulder.
‘Who’re all these people?’ enquires Nuala, leaning over.
‘Friends of mine.’ I’ve come to recognise that a photograph can never capture the essence of a person, or a friendship. The way that certain people provide an exhilarating sense of life’s possibilities, and make your heart sing. That can only be held in a space within you, and photographs are inadequate by comparison.
‘Tell me what I’m looking at here,’ Norma says testily, knotting her forehead as she shuffles through the photos and carelessly fingerprints the edges.
‘It’s the ruin of an abandoned cottage. In a wood down home. It’s full of interesting things to see.’
‘I don’t get it. It’s just junk. Broken clocks and dirty curtains and filth.’
‘It’s art,’ Nuala says wistfully, half closing her eyes. ‘It has meaning. It’s supposed to move you.’
‘It gives me the creeps. I’ve never liked old places. I prefer new places.’ Norma hasn’t the least proclivity for the Arts.
‘Does it not make you wonder about the people who used to live there, and the kinds of lives they had, and how they died, and why doesn’t anyone bother with the old cottage any more,’ Nuala sighs as I gather up the photographs and return them to an envelope for safe keeping.
‘You can’t have much to do with these friends any more if they’ve never been up to see you,’ Norma says.
‘That girl has. The girl with the long dark hair. Do you remember?’ says Nuala. ‘She had the half an hour shower. We nearly broke down the door thinking she’d collapsed inside in it.’
‘That one.’ Norma tsks, raising her eyes. ‘Smoking in someone else’s bathroom, as if she owned the place. She’d some neck.’
My phone is ringing from inside the locker in the cleaning office. I’ve applied for a hundred jobs and so I’m hoping it’s someone important looking to speak to me. ‘Hello.’
‘Katie. It’s Maeve.’ The hairs spring up on the back of my neck and along my forearms. What in the hell is Maeve Lynch phoning for? Is there some bad news concerning Evelyn?
‘Maeve. What’s going on? Is everything alright?’
‘I’m very well, thank you for asking.’ The line is full of static and echoes. It’s like she’s phoning from another time and place. ‘You’re setting the world alight above in Dublin?’
‘I am.’ I laugh in a false way. ‘What’s happening, girl?’
‘I felt badly for not getting in touch when I said I would. I’m only after realising that you might have been waiting to hear from me.’
‘Oh. Yes. I was wondering.’ I was in my hole.
‘It was better for me to stay in Glenbruff in the end. I got a promotion in Amperloc. I’m an assistant manager now on the supply chain end of things.’ A promotion. How in God’s name did Maeve get a promotion? ‘Amanda said I’d be mad to turn down the opportunity.’ Surely be to God but Maeve Lynch hasn’t outdone me, though I suppose she was always clever in her own way.
‘Is that so. A promotion. Congratulations.’
‘What are you up to yourself these times?’
‘Arrah. Nothing to write home about.’
‘Have you a job in films?’
‘I don’t. I must have applied for a hundred things but I haven’t the right experience for any of them. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself.’ I even joined up to a few message boards and enquired about jobs working on films. It seems I need to have the experience first, but you only get experience out of working for free. The dream has never felt so distant, and not for the likes of me. Hard work or otherwise.
‘If you were down in Glenbruff, I could get you something in the company,’ she says. I wouldn’t go working in Amperloc in a fit, but isn’t she very considerate all the same. I’ve always felt there’s an inherent loveliness in people from the country.
‘Ah no. Thanks anyway. Maybe my ship will come in one of the days.’
‘You must pray to Saint Jude. He’ll take care of it for you. All the other saints are a pure waste. They’d do nothing for you. No good at all.’
‘Is that so.’
‘I’ll talk to Amanda for you. She’s well in with all sorts of successful people.’ My ears prick up. ‘You must come to the next fundraiser. You wouldn’t know who you’d meet.’ There might be something in it. ‘As soon as I’m off the phone I’ll text you on the details.’
‘Thanks, Maeve. I’m glad to hear you’re keeping well. I’d better go anyway.’ It just goes to show that people can surprise you. And if the fortunes of a person like Maeve Lynch can change, surely anyone’s can.
We’re sitting in a veritable fort of drying laundry and watching the RTÉ News. Desmond Duignan is being interviewed as acting spokesperson for the Cooney family. The camera is tilted up at him, he’s so tall. Maureen Cooney is standing to the left of him wearing Jackie O sunglasses, and Daithí and Donnacha are standing either side of her like two pillars. ‘To say the Cooney family are sorely dissatisfied with the investigation would be an understatement. Cadaver dogs were never engaged in the critical days following the disappearance. Local people were actively deterred from getting involved in the search. A reported sighting in a shopping centre in Belgium two years ago has never been followed up. The time has come for a fresh investigation into Pamela’s disappearance, and we await formal communication from An Garda Siochána on this matter.’
When the segment has ended, Norma mutes the volume on the television. ‘You must tell us about Pamela Cooney. What was she like?’ I have a twinge of contrition to think of the dancing tape in the sink of steaming suds, and the black entrails wound round the taps. It’s time to hang up the dancing shoes.
I puff my cheeks and blow out slowly. ‘She’s about my height. She has two brothers, and she likes hip hop dancing.’
‘Noo-oo. What was she reaaallly like? Was she good at school?’
‘She was okay at it.’
‘Was she a simpleton?’
‘No. No, she wasn’t a simpleton.’
‘Was she popular?’ asks Nuala, squinting.
‘Sort of.’
‘She had a boyfriend, didn’t she. He did an interview with one of the papers.’ An interview? I must ask Mammy or Robert to locate it and post it on to me. It might even be on the internet.
‘It was only a few months they were together.’
‘Did the boyfriend snap, I wonder,’ muses Norma.
‘No.’
‘It’s always the boyfriend.’
‘He’s not the type. He’s harmless.’
‘Harmless,’ snorts Norma. ‘God. Do you know, I always think it’s an awful insult to refer to a person as being harmless. Like they’re not worth treating the same as other people. Like they’re only to be tolerated.’ I’ve never given the word much thought before now. I suppose there are a few ways of being harmless. You’d readily define Mickey Cassidy
as harmless, in that he intends no harm. He’s the sort that’s tolerated. You’d label Aidan as harmless too; he doesn’t have it in him to harm anyone, not in my estimation, and so there’s nothing derogatory intended in calling him harmless. ‘Do you know him? The boyfriend.’
‘Everyone knows everyone in Glenbruff. It’s a small place.’
‘Go on,’ urges Nuala. ‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s a good person. An ordinary, down-to-earth person.’
‘Well, what happened her, so?’ says Norma impatiently.
‘There’s something strange about Glenbruff. Strange things happen there.’
‘Don’t be feeding us ráiméis.’
‘I’m not.’ How else am I to explain it?
‘She vanished into thin air. Is that it? You’re no good to us.’
The Connacht Press
Five-Year Mystery of Vanished Sweetheart Haunts Aidan Morley (22)
by Gráinne O’Gorman-Flynn
There’s something raw about Aidan Morley. It’s all in the throwaway remarks. ‘I’m happy to have a quiet life. I’m happy just going out for a run or meeting up with a few of the lads for a quiet drink or a kickabout.’ Aidan is an attractive young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes. As the former captain of the local football team, he’s well known in the town of Glenbruff in County Roscommon. But although he’s in the prime of his life, Aidan doesn’t go to nightclubs any more. He’s been recognised several times and it wasn’t pleasant. People pointed and whispered, ‘There’s your man,’ and even squared up to him.
‘It’s been a living nightmare,’ Aidan confides. ‘I’ve been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. I’ve had hours and hours of therapy over it. I’m fed up of people judging me without getting to know me. I’ve often thought about leaving Glenbruff but I can’t let bad people get the best of me.’ He’s currently single, hesitant to seek out romance. ‘It’s always hard when you meet a nice girl. You’re not sure when is the right time to tell them about a former girlfriend going missing. You can’t tell them on the first date, that’s for certain. So it’s been hard for me to judge when is the right time.’
In the spring of 1998, Aidan’s girlfriend Pamela Cooney (17) vanished. Pamela was making her way to a handball alley in Glenbruff to meet with Aidan on a Friday evening, but he says she never arrived. The alarm was raised when Pamela failed to return to her home in nearby Saint Malachy’s Parish. A search was undertaken of the local area, but to this day, no trace of Pamela has ever been found. ‘I believe that the spotlight that’s been put on me has detracted from the search for Pamela. The media always puts the focus on the boyfriend or the husband or whatever, and I’m an easy target.’ Aidan was even asked to take a step back from his football pastime when the hostility between Glenbruff and Saint Malachy’s Parish escalated into violence on the pitch. ‘I’ve been verbally abused during football matches. Spat on. Tackled with excessive force. One of my teammates had his collarbone broken. It’s gone too far.’
Aidan lives with his brother Peadar in their childhood home. Their mother Louise passed away from cancer when the boys were aged ten and eleven respectively. ‘Peadar’s been a great support. Our dad was away a lot working when we were young. We had each other for company. Peadar was there for me when I reached breaking point. We’re the best of friends.’
Aidan is studying sport science at college in Sligo, and intends to become a school sports coach or personal trainer. When he’s asked about the future, he says, ‘I’m determined to build a life for myself on home turf. I feel I have to stand my ground. There isn’t one ounce of evidence against me. I’ve cooperated with the guards. What more can I do? I can’t let the rumours deter me from living the life I’ve wanted for myself.
‘I just want to share my story and tell people what it’s been like for me. My hope is that Pamela will be found, and that we can all achieve a state of closure. It’d be great if she was found alive somewhere, but the more time that goes by, it’s seeming fairly unlikely.’
Do you have information on this missing persons case? Call the Missing Persons Helpline on 1800 324 791.
The sky is grey and heavy, and fat warm rain spatters the pavement. Colourful pinwheels blur in a rising wind that carries the deranged shrieking of seagulls. The sea hurls and heaves, and down by the marina, boats bob and sway disconcertingly.
All at once, I’m apprehensive about the whole thing. All at once, I’m anticipating the end of the evening, scurrying away to the apartment and as far from Maeve as I can get. I pinch the collar of my coat tightly round my neck before turning into a side street. And there she is. Over there. Over the road, standing at the railings in front of a smart townhouse. I cross towards her at a slow pace. As she catches sight of me, her face breaks into a goofball grin. ‘Katie,’ she calls, waving frantically as the damp wind catches tendrils of her wispy hair and whips them about her head. She’s wearing the camel-coloured coat but it’s seen better days, and the buttons are drooping on it. Her lips are scabbed, lipstick congealed at the corners, and the dark semicircle mouth has rubber strings suspended within it.
‘You’re after getting braces.’
‘I am. I’ve had them nearly a year.’ Her speech is laboured, punctuated with the slurking of excess saliva. Hluk. She has a child’s breath that smells like sweets. ‘They’re coming off in a few weeks’ time.’
‘Thanks for inviting me. I’ve never been networking before.’
‘Sure, we go way back, Katie. Old friends always help each other out.’ Hluk. ‘Come on anyway. We’d better go in. Amanda’s waiting for us.’
I follow Maeve up the stone steps, and we come into a plush-carpeted reception area where warm light pools from beneath mosaic lamps, and muzak plays over the speakers. Beyond the reception area is a function room full to capacity with Amanda and John’s wealthy acquaintances. They’re well-dressed people, back-slapping and laughing loudly with their mouths wide open and heads thrown back. The kinds of people who personify what the media is calling the ‘Celtic Tiger’. I feel like an alien in the room, a misfit, but networking is a way of getting ahead, so Nuala says, and if I don’t get ahead one of these days I don’t know what I’ll do. I might have to do the unthinkable. I might have to do the teaching.
Amanda Dowling, deeply tanned and sinewy, glides towards us in a black velvet gown as though she hasn’t any feet, only a big wheel beneath her dress. She has Maeve’s oversized grey eyes framed with two sets of false eyelashes. Gold jewellery drips from her ears and bounces on her wrists, and her neck is unnaturally smooth. She has a short forehead, and I suspect she’s wearing a sort of a hairpiece. ‘You’re late,’ she says tersely, flashing veneered teeth. ‘You’re not dressed.’
‘This is my friend from Glenbruff. Remember I told you,’ Maeve announces. ‘She’s looking for a job in films. Remember I asked if you could introduce her to the right people.’
‘Go out in the back and change. And tie up that hair.’ Maeve’s smile falls away, and Amanda Dowling turns to me. ‘There’s a change of clothes in the utility. Maeve will show you.’ I follow Maeve out through a concealed wallpapered door and into a small utility room, where she proceeds to hang up the camel-coloured coat and her banjaxed-looking handbag.
‘What’s going on? Why do we’ve to change our clothes?’
‘Amanda wants us to serve drinks and help out,’ she says, and she unbuttons her blouse. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ It makes me nauseous seeing Maeve in such a way, standing before me in the grubby bra. She proceeds to unwrap two white shirts from dry-cleaning plastic and holds one out to me.
‘Hold on now a minute. I thought I was here for the networking. I thought Amanda would get me talking to the right kinds of people. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’
‘Will you just help out for an hour or two?’ She looks at me pleadingly, her eyes pinkening. ‘Will you help me keep Amanda happy? You can do whatever you want after that.’
With seething reluc
tance, I yank my top over my head and put on the white starched shirt. To think I’ve come all this way to be handing out canapés. I’ve enough of being a lackey at the hotel. The pair of us go out and take position behind a trestle table laden with minuscule edibles. ‘So. How’s Evelyn?’
‘Oh. She’s hot and cold with me these days. I think she’s jealous of me.’ Evelyn has far more going for her than Maeve. Maeve must be stone mad if she thinks Evelyn is jealous of her. ‘Things are going well for me and she doesn’t like it.’
‘Is she still in Amperloc?’ I wonder if Evelyn is coming up with big ideas without me. Coming up with big plans that don’t include me. There’s no doubt but that she’ll have made strides since we last saw one another.
‘She is. Evelyn has high expectations for her life but she never follows through. I’ve never had anything handed to me, Katie, but look at me now. Amanda’s going to make me a director of her property company.’ She throws up her chin. ‘You know, I thought we could be good friends by ourselves. The two of us. I’m up in Dublin a fair bit, doing the sailing and helping Amanda with her accounts and so on. I thought I’d call you up now and again and we could go shopping or on nights out.’
I can feel Maeve sucking me into the black hole and drawing the vitality out of me. ‘It’s nice of you to think of me that way,’ I say, squirming inwardly. I haven’t a notion of going shopping with her, or on nights out. I can’t bring myself to say any more to her about it. ‘Have you read Aidan’s interview?’
‘I have. We all thought he did very well. We were very complimentary.’
‘What’s he doing with himself? How is he getting on would you say?’ I wonder does he ever think of me. I wonder are himself and Evelyn feeling my absence.
‘He’s in good health. I’d say he’ll end up doing the teaching. He’s filling in the forms, he says.’ He must have got his mind back, so.
You Have to Make Your Own Fun Around Here Page 12