‘Did I interrupt something?’ Donal asks, but the sight of him chases all concerns about Dave from my mind.
‘Nothing important.’ I slip the zip lock bag into my handbag. ‘I’m really sorry . . .’ but he jumps in.
‘Please God, no, not sorry. I don’t think I could take another sorry.’
We stand there looking at each other. Donal is more fragile than when I last saw him, with hollowed cheeks and a lined face. The impact of the last few days is coming to the surface. I imagine him at The Royal having to eat the neatly cut sandwiches garnished with parsley, listening to the cover band that’s spent the morning practising ‘Danny Boy’ and ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’ as he fends off all the well-wishers.
‘Would you like to go for a drive?’ I say to him.
He looks at the car and then back at me.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
10
I open the boot when we get to the beach, hoping to find a convenient towel, but instead there’s a neat bundle of old documents tied up with a piece of string that resembles a brief to counsel. At first I think these could be more of Dad’s work files but they turn out to be related to the car. Some service documents, registration and other bits and pieces.
Following Donal towards the waves, I take my shoes off at the bottom of the wooden steps. Further out, the surf is pounding under a washed-out sky and pale autumn sun. The beach isn’t at its prettiest with seaweed tracing the high water mark. Donal collapses onto the sand, damp with coldness, and I sit next to him.
‘Paul hated the feeling of sand on his feet,’ he says. ‘When we were little he’d wear his socks on the beach. Didn’t care that everyone laughed at him.’
‘How did he end up here?’ I ask. ‘The beach is the best thing about Kinsale.’
Donal shrugs. ‘He said it reminded him of home.’
We watch the waves come and go. Seagulls gather at the water’s edge, black-tipped wings and button eyes.
‘He liked your birds, though,’ Donal says. ‘Kept sending pictures of parrots to our mother. You know, the wee red and blue fellas that look like they’ve been painted by a four-year-old.’
‘Rosellas.’
‘Mad about birds, she is. Forever stopping the car because there’s an eagle in the sky.’
‘Did she agree to the transplants?’
He tenses. I can see it in his clenched jaw, the tendons in his neck.
‘She decided there on the spot the moment I told her, didn’t even hesitate. She told me that there’s always a rainbow in a raven’s wing. So they went ahead and now I get to take what’s left back home to her.’ Donal doesn’t look at me but instead stares straight out to sea.
I wait a long time before asking if they were successful.
‘Don’t know. Maybe it’s too soon to tell.’
He presses tight fists into the sand. Words seem inadequate so instead I reach across and press down on the hand nearest, slowly smoothing it out with my fingers, like uncrumpling paper. He turns his palm upwards and locks mine in a tight grip.
‘What was happening back there in the church?’ he asks. ‘That policeman saved the day – fair play to him.’
‘It reminded me of what Paul did. Standing up when everyone else stays sitting.’
‘Paul the same as a cop? Now, that would be funny,’ but his mouth twists like it’s not. ‘You’re getting cold,’ he says. ‘Let’s walk.’
We head down to the water’s edge where the sand has a firmer crust and follow the tidal marks, creased like palm lines. The wind starts up and it becomes hard to hear each other so, for the most part, we don’t say anything, caught up in our own thoughts as we plod out the length of the beach.
I used to walk here with Amy most days after school and watch Grace train. She was the school champion for middle-distance running. Some days we tried to keep up with her but she was effortless, gliding ahead without a look backwards, leaving us red-faced and gasping in her wake. We’d head off to get hot chips wrapped in white greasy paper and sit up on the picnic table waiting for her to finish. Until that one day when she kept running and never came back.
I shake the thought away and concentrate on Donal in front of me. He’s a fast walker, a greyhound of a man. Thin and wiry, there’s a race to him. All at once the sun gets stronger, sunlight dances on golden waves and his hair warms red as he marches in long strides to the end of the beach. I have to walk-skip to try and keep up with him.
Surfers in wetsuits are paddling, patiently waiting for perfection as Donal picks his way through the first lot of black honeycombed rocks. Looking out to sea, I gauge how much time we’ve got before the tide comes in. He turns back to me, well before the point. ‘This . . . good,’ he shouts, the wind playing catch and fetch with his words. I scramble out towards him.
‘Everyone’s been so kind but I just want to yell at them to stop,’ he says.
‘You’ve got every reason to yell,’ I say. ‘So do it.’
‘What?’
‘When I was a teenager, I used to come down here with my friends and do just that.’
The three of us, arms linked, united, pitting ourselves against the world. Shouting at the sea while we waited for this boring teenage life to end, the eternal twilight between child and adult, and something far more exciting to begin.
‘You’re kidding,’ says Donal.
‘I’ll yell too if that helps.’
And so we do. Hand in hand. It isn’t even words, just a sound that is swallowed up by the waves and sucked away with the wind. The two of us shout until we can’t anymore. Surfers in the distance sit on their boards with amazed faces.
Another gust and my view of the world becomes tangled up in hair. Donal reaches forward and pushes it out of my eyes. There is a pulse of connection, and all of a sudden we are so close that the warmth of his breath mingles with the brine of the breeze. Our foreheads touch. When I finally kiss him, desire floods through me.
We park the car in a deserted picnic spot off Beach Road. Donal’s jeans are around his ankles and my skirt is at waist height. It’s no-frills frenetic fucking sandwiched between the glove box and the gearstick. There are no preliminaries. We start fast and get faster. I bend over him to keep from hitting my head on the roof, bracing myself on the back of his headrest, praying our efforts don’t crack the seat frame. His hands try all sorts of ways to liberate my breasts but in the end, defeated, he holds onto my hips instead and grinds. Sand finds its way into all sorts of crevices. We finish open-mouthed, shallow breathing, pulse racing, in disarray.
When Donal opens the passenger door I almost tumble out, suddenly self-conscious among the towering gums. He lounges there a little longer, unabashed, clearly more comfortable with semi-public nudity than me.
I peer into the back seat for my knickers. Eventually Donal finds them wedged down between the seats and hands them to me.
‘Damp,’ he says, grinning broadly, an unnoticed dimple appearing in his right cheek. ‘Memorials must really do it for you.’
‘This will be a town scandal if they find out.’ I’m only partly joking, and almost over-balance in my haste to pull my underwear on. He gets back into his trousers at a leisurely pace. I think he’s enjoying my embarrassment.
‘If Paul was here, he’d buy me a drink and ask how I managed to get the best-looking woman in the church,’ he says, which only means Donal hadn’t noticed Tess. He gets out of the car, puts his arms around my waist and pulls me close. With my shoes on, and him barefoot, we are the same height, eyes level.
‘We really should be getting to The Royal. They’ll be expecting you.’
‘Fuck the pub,’ he says. ‘Let’s do it again but in a bed so I can look at you properly.’
Donal is staying at the Ocean Breeze Motel, the cheapest one in town. I park the Mustang between the two half tyres stuck in the ground that mark out his allocated parking spot.
‘How did you end up here?’ I ask, as he fumbles with a key.
‘Janey and Tony were insisting I stay with them, which was kind but I just needed somewhere a bit away from it all, so I picked this one. Liked the name as well.’
The name is designed to fool the gullible traveller; the motel is nearer to the highway out of Kinsale than the beach.
‘It’s not much,’ he says, ‘but sure, I’ve been in worse.’ He gives me a wink, and it’s the same cheeky kind that his brother gave me that day in traffic.
A double bed with thin sheets and an orange checked blanket takes up most of the space. Next to it is a set of drawers with a laminate top, a clock radio, kettle and toaster sitting on top. There are several suitcases on the floor and a large duffel bag.
‘This all yours?’ I ask.
‘Mostly Paul’s,’ he says, and the joking immediately stops. ‘Tony had locked up Paul’s room and wouldn’t let anyone in there, not even Janey, who was desperate to clean it before I arrived. He thought I’d want to see it as Paul had left it. I cleared everything out yesterday and brought it back here.’
His voice is suddenly gruff, a tone I haven’t heard before.
‘I might have a shower,’ I say.
‘Sure.’ He stands there, arms folded, staring at his brother’s belongings.
The shower gushes cold and hot at unpredictable intervals as I start washing away the sand. I stay under the water for a long time, wanting to give Donal a moment to himself. I’m not sure what happens now. Do I get dressed and leave? Maybe that would be for the best. Perhaps this was just a one-off, funeral-shag kind of thing – a chance to push away his grief for a few physical minutes. He might be regretting the entire thing. I’m about to get out and dry myself, when a blurred version of Donal is suddenly there.
‘Not too late?’ he asks.
I put my hands out to him and we are kissing before he even finishes stripping. His tongue finds my lips and presses inside, hard and fast, before tracing a path down my neck, stopping to kiss where it meets the curve of my jaw. His hands outline my breasts, cupping them, feeling their weight before reaching further down, while his mouth dances to the edge of my collarbone. He’s a person who likes to explore the in-between places. With my arms around his neck, my back against the tiles, I hook a leg around his hip and his fingers slide slickly inside. I begin to jolt against him, gasping as tension builds. When my release comes, his mouth is on mine, breathing in my desire.
‘What about you?’ I ask, as we remain tangled up with each other.
‘To be honest, I’ve been trying but the angle’s murder,’ he says. ‘Do you think we could get horizontal for once?’
Dripping, we lay towels down on the bed for the finish. Then, after a sufficient break, we do it again but much more slowly. ‘For good luck,’ Donal tells me. Time stretches, hours pass and the sunlight is fading when slowly we break apart.
I roll over onto my front and lie cheek down on the pillow, with Donal beside me. He has hidden away Paul’s belongings as though trying to claim the room for just us.
‘Do you often go home with strange men from funerals?’ he asks.
I pull myself up sphinx-like to get a better look at his face.
‘No, but Kinsale brings out the reckless teenager in me.’
He gives a crooked smile.
‘And what does your father say about that?’
‘My father?’
‘Tony told me he’s a policeman.’ There’s something in his voice that has an edge to it. I’ve heard that tone before, especially at university, where students from safe middle-class homes would talk about deaths in custody, police violence, harassment and corruption.
‘Just so you know, my brother-in-law is as well. That was him in the church today making sure it didn’t turn into a punch-up.’ I try to say this lightly but want to make a point.
‘Sorry,’ Donal says. ‘That came out wrong.’ There is a pulse at his temple and he looks at me with haggard eyes. He’s exhausted.
‘Dad isn’t a policeman anymore. There was a car accident last year. He’s in a vegetative state.’
‘Jesus,’ Donal says. ‘Tony didn’t say anything about that.’
I wonder why Tony felt the need to mention it at all.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘I have to ask. Do you know the fella who attacked Paul?’
It is tempting to say that Luke was a complete stranger. As if sensing my reluctance, Donal says, ‘I’m from a small town as well, Eliza. I understand how they work. You have to know him, right?’
‘It was a long time ago.’
A soft sigh escapes Donal. ‘So what’s he like?’
It is too hard to look at his face because I don’t know what he wants to hear.
‘When I knew him, he was stupid, senseless, reckless, funny and kind, just like the rest of us.’ In my peripheral vision I see Donal shake his head.
‘I could be wrong. Maybe he was always bad, just I never saw it.’
‘Was he involved with drugs?’ It’s a simple question, though surprising, and yet it seems that Donal is asking something more complicated.
‘I don’t know.’
Donal lets go of my hand and rubs his face. He takes a deep breath.
‘Last year outside our local, a lad was beaten up. He’d been selling in the wrong spot, on someone else’s turf. No-one saw anything, of course, it’s that sort of town, but it was Paul who came home that night with bloodied knuckles.’
I lie down with my head at his feet, trying to give him the space to talk.
‘I knew and Mam knew, and we said nothing. No thought of going to the police, cos you protect your own, right? But we also knew this wouldn’t be the end of it, so Mam decided he could take a trip. She remembered Tony was out here and that he could help Paul find work. Give him time to sort himself out, send money home for Harry. Let this blow over because it wasn’t his fault, it was the downturn and no work, the crowd he ran with, breaking up with his missus. It was everyone else’s fault because he was a nice guy too.
‘Paul being Paul turned it into a jaunt around the world, like the whole thing was a bit of a lark. That’s when I got angry and there were words. I told him he needed to shape up. He had plenty of words for me as well.’ He stops and gives a half-chuckle, but it’s laced with regret.
‘I wasn’t even planning to go to his leaving drinks but Mam got upset so I took that stupid hat for him because he always liked to fool about. It was supposed to mean even after all he put us through he was still my brother. That I knew the real him. The one who didn’t mean to beat someone half to death.
‘Then the whole way over on the plane, I kept thinking that getting punched is his punishment, that he’ll end up brain-damaged like that lad he hit. And then, when I go into his room, I find this.’ Donal leans over and pulls out the duffel bag from under the bed. He unzips it. There are neat bundles of hundreds in there, thousands of dollars.
My voice is more of a gasp than an actual question but I manage to ask how much is in there.
‘Over fifteen thousand. Paul spent every penny he had on his round-the-world tour. He arrived in this country six months ago, completely broke. And I had to stand there today, acting like I was proud of him, like he was a hero, when I know what our town will be thinking: Paul Keenan was trouble and he got what was coming to him.’
He sighs, a deep tearing sigh, as though his heart has been ripped in two.
‘What if the punch wasn’t about that woman in her car? What if it was something else altogether?’
11
Tony pulls up outside early to drive Donal back to the city to catch his plane. As he waits in the car, Donal and I sit on the bed with the bag full of money between us.
‘Do you think Tony knows about this?’ I ask. ‘That’s why he locked Paul’s bedroom up?’
Donal shrugs. ‘Tony’s always seemed a pretty straight person to me.’
‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘Take back the maximum amount I can without too many questions bein
g asked and give that to Paul’s ex for his kid.’
‘And the rest?’
‘Donate it to the hospital and hope that’s enough to wash the dirt off it.’
He opens the door and tells Tony he’ll just be a minute.
‘Well . . .’ I begin. I’ve got a goodbye rehearsed in my head but he gets in first.
‘Look, I wouldn’t blame you for being glad to see the back of me after what I told you, especially with you being a lawyer.’
I did stay awake for a lot of the night working out what should be done legally but every time I looked at Donal my concerns melted away.
‘Eliza, if there’s anything I’ve learnt from this mess it’s life is too fucking short.’ He passes me a piece of paper. ‘I don’t want to be Facebook friends or any of that kind of thing but if ever you’re passing through, here are my details.’
‘I can return the hat when you’re ready.’
‘You keep it,’ he says. ‘I’ll just want to see you.’
He gives me a fierce red-bristled kiss and I find it hard to let go of him.
I hold tightly to that piece of paper as he gets into Tony’s car and it pulls out onto the road, raising my other hand so that he might see it in the rear mirror.
His writing is angular, impatient and quick, a bit like him. I fold the paper and open my handbag, intent on finding somewhere safe to store it. The zip lock bag with the envelope Dave gave me is sitting on top. Flopping onto the unmade bed, I unseal the clear plastic and take out the envelope. Ripping it open, I look inside. Something gold is caught in a corner.
There’s a flat-palm knock. ‘Housekeeping,’ comes a chirpy voice.
‘Just a minute,’ and I tuck the envelope back into my handbag before unlocking the door.
A pretty woman stands there, about my age, warm brown skin, large dark eyes, wearing a blue satin blouse with frills along the neckline and snug-fitting jeans.
‘Oh, hello,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘I just wanted to chat to Donal.’
‘Sorry, you missed him. Tony Bayless just picked him up.’
Second Sight Page 9