The Library at the Edge of the World

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  “I’d say the thing to do now is to move him to the freezer.”

  Fury O’Shea was striding down the field toward her, his waxed jacket pulled tightly around his hips to avoid the briars. The Divil was bouncing along ahead of him, alternately appearing and disappearing through the waving grass. Arriving at Hanna’s feet, he pointed his nose at her, barking shrilly. Jabbing her finger at the goat, Hanna shouted at Fury.

  “What is that animal doing on my property?”

  The dog subsided as Fury reached them and Hanna repeated her question.

  Fury cocked an eyebrow at her. “How well you think I’d know what he’s doing here.”

  “Are you telling me that you don’t?”

  “I do, of course. I borrowed him for you.”

  “You borrowed him for me? Did somebody tell you I needed a goat?”

  “Sure can’t the whole world see that you need a goat? You’d be better off with two of them. I have my eye out for another one but it might take a week or so yet.”

  Outrage and common sense warred in Hanna’s head. Then common sense won and she glared at him. “How long would it take for two goats to clear this field?”

  “Name of God, girl, where were you reared? Do you not know that yourself?”

  Before she could reply he took her elbow and led her toward the cart wheel.

  “I can’t be coming in here day and night to be shifting him for you. Untie the rope there now yourself and we’ll move him down to the freezer.”

  Ten minutes later, with the dog bristling at her feet and the goat clearing a new circle of grass around the rusting fridge freezer, Hanna found herself sitting on the wall at the end of the field beside Fury O’Shea. The chances were that the structure of the roof would be grand, he said. And there was nothing wrong with the walls at all.

  “How do you know?”

  Fury turned his head and looked at her severely. “What is it you do for a living?”

  “You know what I do, I’m a librarian.”

  “And I’m a builder. Will we leave it at that?”

  He stood up suddenly and for a moment Hanna thought he was going to stride off as he’d done the last time. Instead he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “We’ll look inside, so.”

  Falling into place behind The Divil, she followed him up the field.

  As they entered the house Hanna caught her breath in dismay. Was she really planning to make a home here? The door sagged from its rotting frame and the windows with their tiny panes were cracked and dirty. The floor was covered in debris fallen from the ceiling that, in one corner, was stained with damp. Maggie’s tall wooden dresser still stood in an alcove by the fireplace, wreathed in cobwebs. Behind its dirty glass doors, old cups and glasses stood forlornly on the shelves. A crow’s nest had fallen down the chimney onto the hearth, bringing with it a mound of soot and a mass of feathers. Through the open door at the end of the room Hanna could see the corner of the high brass bed that had once been Maggie’s. Beyond it, faded paper was peeling off the wall. She watched as Fury inspected the cramped little extension. It had been roofed in corrugated iron panels and the weight of ivy growing outside had caused them to buckle dangerously.

  There was a scuffling noise behind Hanna, who swung round in alarm. With a gasp of relief, she saw The Divil emerging from the bedroom with his nose covered in dust. Fury’s face appeared in the doorway to the extension. Feeling foolish, Hanna gesticulated toward the bedroom.

  “I thought there might be rats.”

  “You may be sure there are. I’d say you might need The Divil as well as the goat before you’d have this lot sorted.”

  But back on the wall at the end of the field, as the sun sank into the ocean, he assured her that she had no need to panic. You’d get rats in any house that was left in that state, especially with an old mattress on the bedstead. The thing to do was to strip the whole place out and get it weatherproofed. It wouldn’t take ten minutes to knock down the old lean-to and no time at all to build it up again in blocks.

  “That’s the place you’ll have your loo and your shower and a bit of space as a utility room. We’ll whack a few presses and an oven into the main room and you can do your cooking in style. Sure, with a sink, an oven, a fridge, and a run of work surfaces you won’t know yourself. You’ll keep the fire on the hearth and have an easy chair beside it. And once we deal with the roof and hook you up to the mains you’ll be laughing.”

  It was all happening far too quickly for Hanna. She wanted to think and to see plans on paper. And she’d need to budget, she said, so she’d have to have a quote. Remembering the conversation in the day center, she fixed Fury with the look she usually reserved for borrowers with late returns.

  “You do understand? I’d want everything on paper.”

  “You would of course.” Fury stood up and looked around for The Divil, who was improving his acquaintance with the goat. “Do you know what it is, I’d say there’s rain on the wind. I should be getting home.”

  Hanna scrambled to her own feet and laid a hand on his arm. “Look, I’m sorry, I know I was rude to you the other day.”

  There was a pause and then he shrugged. “Listen, girl, you and I both knew Maggie Casey. If she thought she had a trespasser on her land, she’d have reached for a weapon.”

  Hanna grinned. “That’s true.”

  “So maybe I should have known better than to take offense at a bit of rudeness from her grandniece.”

  “Maybe. But I’m still sorry.”

  Fury pulled a blade of grass and chewed it, looking out at the horizon. “Maggie was a hard woman but, do you know what it is? I liked her. I gave her a hand round here for a while when I was a lad. Just for a month or so. She was always falling out with the neighbors, so she wanted a proper boundary round her land. And I wanted the price of a ticket to England, so I built her walls for her.”

  He nodded at the house. “I patched a few holes in the roof there, too, while I was at it.”

  “And that’s another thing.” Hanna eyed him sternly. “I want to retain the original slates when they’re stripped from the roof.”

  “You do of course.” Fury thrust his hands into his pockets, pulled his long jacket round his skinny hips, and whistled for The Divil. “Don’t forget to keep shifting the goat now, because I can’t be always keeping an eye on you.”

  “Yes but, hold on, I’ll need to take your mobile number.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, so we can keep in touch.”

  “You won’t keep in touch with me that way, girl, I never turn the damn thing on.”

  18

  There were times, thought Conor, when his job in the library wasn’t all that brilliant. This morning he’d spent several hours on the farm before driving in to work in Lissbeg and fifteen minutes trying to get his bike to start before driving home in the rain. So now he could do with crashing out and doing nothing. But instead he had to drag himself up to shower and get sorted while the rest of his family ate pizza in front of a game show. When he came down again in his good suit his brother, Joe, shook his head in disbelief. Was anyone paying him overtime to get all dolled up and drive to Carrick? Conor shrugged and didn’t answer. All he had received was a brisk text from Miss Casey summoning him to some class of an event in the council building.

  “What’s the idea of inviting you anyway?” Joe, who was slouched happily on the sofa in sweatpants, cracked open a can of beer. “I mean you’re not going to fit in with that lot, are you? No matter how much product you stick in your hair.”

  Their mum gave Joe a push. “You leave your brother alone, he looks grand. And why wouldn’t they ask him to a party? They’re probably grooming him for a great future.”

  Conor leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t say that’s likely, Mum, but thanks anyway.”

  It was well known that Orla McCarthy thought the light shone out of her sons. In fact, she’d have be
en the joke of the parish if people hadn’t been genuinely impressed by the way that Conor and Joe had taken over the farmwork when Paddy, their dad, had injured his back. Frequent pain and constant frustration made Paddy McCarthy a difficult man to live with, but what else could they do but pull together and cope?

  As he drove to Carrick in the rain, Conor told himself Joe had a point. God alone knew why Miss Casey had asked him to come to this party, which didn’t even seem to have anything to do with the library. Still, he supposed he’d find out when he got there.

  Hanna met Conor in the foyer of the council building at seven and they shared the elevator to a seminar room where, judging by the array of bottles and glasses, a full house was expected. Teresa O’Donnell must have managed to call in a serious number of favors. Seeing Tim Slattery on the far side of the room, Hanna steered Conor over to him, cheerfully announcing that though she’d texted him after hours, he’d been happy to turn up. Obedient to the instructions that she’d given him in the elevator, Conor smiled and said there was no such thing as a nine-to-five job. Tim nodded in approval, clearly marking him down as someone who could be called on to be useful. And with any luck, Hanna told herself as she steered Conor away again, that would counteract the unfortunate effect of their previous chat about the bull calf.

  Conor hadn’t realized that before anyone got a drink they were going to have to sit round listening to a speech. There were rows of chairs laid out before a podium, and when Teresa O’Donnell the Tourist Officer arrived they all sat down while she introduced a toothy guy who turned out to be a government minister. There was a big fuss about sitting the minister in the right seat. Then there was another fuss about getting the O’Donnell woman a glass of water. Then, to a smattering of applause, she got up at a lectern and talked. Conor didn’t really notice whether or not anyone else was listening. He tuned out himself after the first few minutes and only a poke from Miss Casey’s elbow brought him back to earth. Teresa O’Donnell, with a big smile on her face, seemed to be galloping towards the finish line.

  “. . . so, that’s the Hands On Hands Off app! A direct response to central government’s recommendations for targeted budgeting in the regions, it’s designed in the local area, will lessen our tourist spending by a factor of ten while offering an exciting, twenty-first-century experience to the Finfarran Peninsula’s consumers. I’m confident that everyone here will agree that that’s a win-win situation.”

  She stepped back from the lectern to a round of applause led by the minister. Then, reaching for a sip of water, she looked around for questions.

  “Please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m dying for feedback!”

  The minister smoothed a manicured hand across the back of his head and glanced around at the room. “Well, I’m interested in the name that you’ve chosen for the application. Can you tell us more about that?”

  Conor thought that the name was the last thing that mattered. Surely the app itself, which sounded pretty dumb, was what they’d want to talk about. But the O’Donnell one was off again.

  “Of course I can. The name defines the core concept. ‘Hands On’ because it delivers an empowering, personalized experience to the user. ‘Hands Off’ because it facilitates direct interaction between the individual and their tourist area of choice. By providing the app we replace an outdated, generalized interface with the ultimate in niche marketing. And it comes with its own brand image. It’s the HoHo Experience.” Teresa made air quotes with her fingers. “‘The Finfarran Peninsula App. Download It And You’ll Be Laughing.’”

  Conor only just managed not to laugh out loud himself. But, shooting a glance at Miss Casey, he couldn’t read her face. So he kept quiet.

  As soon as the minister nodded and made a note, hands shot up around the room. Hanna could see that three of them belonged to Gráinne, Phil, and Josie who manned the desks in Carrick’s and Ballyfin’s tourist offices. Ignoring them, Teresa pointed to her own assistant who was sitting in the back row. The girl jumped up immediately.

  “I wondered if you could expand on the Cost Benefit Analysis.”

  It was ten full minutes before Teresa drew breath and the minister raised his hand again.

  “So ultimately this app would replace the existing local tourist offices?”

  “Ultimately, yes. Indeed. Absolutely.”

  “They’d just be closed down?”

  “And replaced with a system which, as well as reflecting central government targets, would bring immeasurable levels of improvement to the area. The fact is that we have to keep up with the times. Research has found that the average visitor to Finfarran is highly digitally aware and smart-phone savvy.”

  People, she said, wanted immediacy, fun, and excitement. They wanted cultural tourism delivered in a dynamic package. But above all, they wanted control.

  “And if we want them to click on Finfarran when they choose their holiday, that’s what we have to provide.”

  Ten minutes later Hanna found herself in a corner with Tim Slattery. Over his shoulder she could see that most of the guests, who were all local councillors or council employees, were using the occasion to down as much free alcohol as they could. At the far side of the room the girls from the tourist office were standing in a corner muttering. On the other side, in an alcove, Teresa was monopolizing the minister. Hanna noticed Tim’s eyes occasionally flickering in their direction. But that was hardly surprising. It wasn’t often that government ministers bothered to travel from Dublin to Carrick.

  As they waited for Conor to bring them their drinks, they talked shop. Tim was eager to expand the county’s stock of nonfiction titles. Hanna told him that more nonfiction was badly wanted in Lissbeg: she’d had three requests in the last week for the new Peter Ackroyd. And wouldn’t it be good, she said, to reopen the library in Ballyfin and return the de Lancy collection to the building that was built for it? There was a moment’s pause in which Tim’s eyes flicked away again toward the minister. Hanna looked at him sharply.

  “I’m not missing something here, am I?”

  “What kind of something?”

  “This HoHo idea isn’t going to affect us, is it? I mean, there’s no question of Lissbeg Library being closed?”

  Tim threw his hand up emphatically, revealing a large purple wristwatch on a tartan strap.

  “Over my dead body! Of course not.”

  But an edge of concern still niggled at the back of Hanna’s mind, and she laid her hand on his arm.

  “You’re sure?”

  Tim raised his eyebrows in mock reproach, and, ashamed of herself, Hanna laughed. Then, lest she might have offended him, she apologized. At that moment Conor appeared through the crowd, balancing wineglasses. Wriggling like a contortionist, he reached their corner without mishap and Tim and Hanna, abandoning their conversation, concentrated on sipping wine with their elbows clamped to their sides. It was as bad as Tim had predicted so, as soon as it was decently possible, Hanna said that she must go. Conor said that he’d best be off as well.

  “We’ve got the vet coming in the morning.”

  As soon as he’d spoken he blushed, remembering Hanna’s instructions in the elevator. But, seeing his scarlet face, she could only smile at him. No matter how hard you might try to advance his career prospects, you could take Conor out of the farm but you couldn’t take the farm out of Conor.

  19

  The following week Hanna’s route in the mobile library van took her along the northern edge of the peninsula. The road ran between a fringe of ancient forest and black cliffs towering above stony inlets that were very different from the sandy beaches to the south. It was another day of sunshine and showers. The sky above the ocean was full of billowing clouds, the dark trees were full of birdsong, and the rutted road that Hanna drove was dappled with sunlight filtered through rustling leaves.

  Because the villages were more scattered on this side of the peninsula she had more stops on her schedule and stayed for shorter periods at each of them. One of
her first was at a crossroads where an old forge and the house adjacent to it had been turned into a guesthouse. Perfectly positioned between the forest and the cliffs, it had been bought and renovated a few years ago by a young German and his Irish wife. There were four en suite guest bedrooms in the house, where Gunther and Susan also had their own living accommodations, and the old forge had become an open-plan space for the guests, where meals were served on long wooden tables and an assortment of sofas and comfortable chairs surrounded an open fire. Gunther did the cooking and Susan had taken on the housekeeping, kept sheep and goats, and made cheese in a stone shed with a slate floor they had built behind the forge.

  As Hanna pulled up at the crossroads, Susan ran down to speak to her.

  “Hi, Miss Casey. Did that order of mine come in? Sewall’s Life of Emily Dickinson?”

  Hanna walked around the van to open the back door and get the book. This side of the peninsula had fairly efficient Internet coverage, and Susan frequently used the online system to request interlibrary loans. It wasn’t a system used by many of Hanna’s older borrowers, though some of the seniors at the day-care center had plans to sign up for computer classes in Carrick, which, they had assured each other, would revolutionize their lives. The only shame, they’d told Hanna, was that they couldn’t find classes nearer to home. Traveling to Carrick in the evenings was a bit daunting, even in summer, so, up to now, nothing had come of their plans. High-quality Internet access on the peninsula was a big issue. There was no problem in Lissbeg, but the big businesses toward the far end of the peninsula had lobbied aggressively to get the transmitter there to favor Ballyfin. As Susan said, for everyone else it was a case of the devil take the hindmost.