The Beach at Doonshean

by Penny Feeny

  Ronnie saw Pat pass outside the window, whistling to JP. His clothes hung loose on him, the neck rising from his collar was scrawny. He was no longer the beefcake who’d roared up to the top of the Conor Pass with Ronnie riding pillion. Their first bike trip was the best part of fifty years ago, but she’d never forget the thrill of the perilous mountain road. She’d wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his leather jacket and the screams had been whipped from her mouth by the speed of their dramatic switchback descent. There’d been long absences and tough times since, but they were still together. She knew she was lucky.

  Julia rose. ‘I couldn’t have left without coming to see you. It wouldn’t have been right. I don’t know what drove me to Dingle exactly, or what I thought I would find. It was one of those inexplicable spur-of-the-moment decisions. But the memorial has been a huge comfort.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ As Ronnie got up and padded to the door, the atmosphere between the two women recalibrated itself. No more apologies, no more confessions. ‘Will you take some refreshment? A cup of tea?’

  Julia glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I’d better get going. Your Mr O’Leary doesn’t like his passengers to be late and it’s a two-hour drive, isn’t it? I’ll just say goodbye to Bel.’

  As she led the way to the outbuilding where the kittens tumbled in the straw Ronnie said, puzzled. ‘Is she staying on in the cottage then? Is she not going with you?’

  ‘She can’t,’ said Julia. ‘She didn’t bring her passport because you don’t need it on the ferry, only on the plane. I didn’t know if I’d be able to get a flight back, but I grabbed at the chance because, for various reasons, I want to get home quickly – I’ve been away a long time.’

  ‘I see,’ said Ronnie, who didn’t quite.

  The kittens were suckling. The mother cat lay stretched out and resigned as the small silky bodies scrambled over each other and plundered her teats. Eoin and Conor sat astride ancient tricycles pretending they were horses.

  ‘Where’s your daddy?’ said Ronnie. ‘Or your uncle Kieran?’

  Eoin slapped his steed’s flanks with a cane and trundled across the yard, waving the make-believe riding crop at the barn opposite. Bel was leaning back against it. Kieran, facing her, had one hand resting on the stonework just above her shoulder. They were close in conversation, but when Julia called out they sprang apart.

  ‘Mum, are you going?’ Bel darted forward to embrace her.

  ‘It’s very good of you to offer her a lift,’ Julia said to Kieran. ‘By all accounts the train journey can be tedious.’

  A lift? He’d be carrying a passenger from Dingle to Dublin and he hadn’t said a word. Ronnie opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. She tried to catch her son’s eye; he avoided hers altogether.

  33

  The Stopover

  The goodbyes were extravagant and heartfelt. Bel stood aside as Kieran was passed from brother-in-law to sister to father to mother in a leave-taking of epic proportions. (Her own mother had left quietly, a good hour earlier.) Ronnie was extracting a promise that he’d be back in the summer. ‘A weekend’s easy enough now the planes are flying again. We can pick you up from Farranfore.’

  ‘Sure I’ll come,’ said Kieran, inching away from his family, whirling one of his nephews into the air like a shield, indicating that Bel should get into the car.

  But Bel had to be embraced by everybody too and Ronnie insisted on fetching a hand-knitted scarf to wrap around her neck in case it got breezy on the boat.

  Chased by the dog, they rumbled down the lane away from the farmhouse. It no longer looked as bleak as on her first visit because the sun was shining. The fields fanning out behind them in shades of green were tipped with bronze and gold, as iridescent as the ocean. Inside the Renault the atmosphere lightened. They were both in high spirits. ‘Well,’ said Kieran, taking his eyes from the road to flash her a smile. ‘We’ve made our escape.’

  ‘Don’t you like being with your family?’

  ‘They drive me mad, that’s all. Probably because I’m the youngest.’

  ‘Me too! I hadn’t realised you were.’

  ‘There’s only eighteen months between me and Tom. People often get us the wrong way around.’ Nevertheless, his tone sounded reproving, as if she should have known better. As if he’d expected her to be in a different league from those who saw the brothers as interchangeable, or worse: Kieran blighted forever by Tom’s shadow. ‘You’re not worried, are you?’ he added, accelerating.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘What you’re going to find when you get home?’

  Matt had rung her the night before with the news of the fire. ‘Well it took my brother two whole days to tell us anything, so it can’t be too dreadful, can it? It’s only a garage.’

  ‘It wasn’t why your mother decided to fly?’

  ‘No, I think she’d just had enough. She’s been away much longer than I have.’

  It had crossed her mind that Matt was playing down the gravity of the event, particularly in relation to her father. Second-degree burns, he’d said. Bel didn’t know what this meant. Her mother had said it would be too early to predict the prognosis, but Bel could see she was apprehensive. They both knew there was nothing more important to Leo than his work.

  Kieran’s hand left the wheel and squeezed hers, lying in her lap. ‘Hey. It’s been a heavy week. Let’s try and enjoy what’s left of it.’ She squeezed back. ‘Right then,’ he said. We’re away.’

  They bowled along lanes and highways and onto the motorway. As the countryside sped past, Bel could see crumbling stone towers, deserted ruins garlanded with ivy, lime-washed cottages under a crop of thatch, meadows studded with spring flowers. Such a lyrical romantic landscape, she thought. How tempting to hide yourself away in it with a lover. Maybe, if she ever got the chance to come back…

  The sun was streaming from the west, from the counties they were leaving behind. It was sinking too, sliding beneath a trail of light cloud on the horizon, turning its edges pink.

  Kieran said, ‘Now, about tonight. You’ll need a place to stay.’

  She fidgeted in her seat. ‘Oh don’t worry about me. I can find a room somewhere and get myself to the ferry.’

  ‘I’m not going to abandon you! I’m driving you home.’

  ‘To Liverpool? But it’s out of your way and I have the train ticket.’

  ‘Don’t you want me to?’

  ‘Well yes, but only if it’s no trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Okay then. Thanks.’

  ‘Grand, we’ll head for Ned’s house. It’s where we often stop off.’

  ‘He won’t mind?’

  ‘No, but I should warn you, it’s a bit of a tip. If you’d rather somewhere civilised we could look for a hotel.’

  She liked the idea of meeting his friend; hotels were impersonal and besides, she had scarcely any money left. ‘Oh no, I’m not bothered. I can crash anywhere.’

  The light was fading when they turned into a narrow side street in Dun Laoghaire. The blue door at the top of a flight of steps was faded too, its paint flaking, battered by the salt-laden winds. Most of the neighbouring houses had gleaming brass numbers screwed to freshly varnished doors; some had bay trees in pots.

  Kieran ran up and rang the bell. When no one answered he patted the pockets of his jacket. ‘I should have the key here.’

  ‘You’re going to let yourself into the guy’s house?’

  ‘It’s fine. He’s expecting me. Why d’you think I have the key in the first place?’

  As he pulled it out another object clattered onto the steps: a disposable orange cigarette lighter. ‘I remember this!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s the one I thought you’d dropped on deck and tried to give back to you. Only it was Tom who—’

  ‘It’s empty. I should have thrown it away.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  He turned the key and pushed open the blue door. �
�No, I didn’t.’

  She followed him into a sitting room in splendid disarray. Silver discs were scattered like giant coins amid piles of empty CD cases, a guitar was balanced in a corner, a mug of coffee dregs stood on the mantelpiece beside an Arabic dictionary, an iPod dock, a bottle of Bushmills and a giant conch shell. A sagging sofa crouched under a faded throw, which might have been woven in the Middle East; dog-eared magazines surfed along it.

  ‘Are you sure he was expecting you?’

  ‘Ned’s place is always like this. I did warn you.’

  ‘It seems like quite a smart area.’

  ‘Oh it is. Comes with a high price tag too.’

  ‘So how can he afford it, your mate?’

  ‘Actually he’s my cousin. Through my dad’s sister. She lives in Boston now with her second husband. Ned’s meant to be keeping the place warm for when she comes back over. Not very often, as you might imagine. He persuaded her to hang on to it when she wanted to sell, which was a wise move. Otherwise he’d be out in one of those housing estates builders threw up when money was cheap and planners thought the best thing you could do with a fine green belt was swamp it with identikit concrete boxes.’

  She’d noticed the suburban sprawl replacing quaint picture-book Ireland the closer they’d got to Dublin. She was a little uneasy about being in this stranger’s house. ‘Where is he then?’

  ‘I’ll text him. Shall we fetch the bags indoors?’

  After they’d dumped their cases in the hallway they progressed into the kitchen, which also had the look of a sinking ship hastily abandoned. Kieran opened the fridge and she peered over his shoulder at a dozen beer bottles and a lonely piece of cheese. She didn’t regard herself as fastidious, especially in comparison with Rachael and Julia, but even she baulked at the growth of blue fuzz. ‘Oh my God, it’s got hair!’

  He took out two of the bottles and nipped off their tops. ‘Thirsty?’

  ‘A bit.’ She would drink from the bottle. As a rule, to her mother’s dismay, she was casual about hygiene, but it had been drummed into her that she shouldn’t take any more risks. Her immune system was weak; if bacteria or viral infection took hold, it could set her health backsliding again.

  ‘D’you want to eat? A lot of places are shut on Sundays but we could find somewhere for a pizza.’

  ‘Only if you let me pay.’ She reckoned she could run to pizza, even if the cash she’d be using was Matt’s.

  ‘Sure, if you insist.’

  ‘I do.’

  His hand rested lightly in the small of her back as they descended into the street again. Once in the pizzeria she discovered that she was ravenous, ended up gobbling too fast to speak. He was less hungry – on account of his enormous lunch, he claimed – and apologised for the time he was spending checking emails on his phone.

  Watching him as she ate, the swift typing, the methodical clicking, the occasional expressive arch of the brow, she realised that when she was with Kieran she felt no manic compulsion to make conversation. As the quiet member of a voluble clan, he could focus with calm intent – and this was catching. Were they not, the two of them, in perfect harmony? Mellow and relaxed?

  She murmured, as she placed her knife and fork together, ‘I suppose he might be back now.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your cousin.’

  ‘Ned? Ah no, he won’t be coming back.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s in Kabul.’

  ‘What!’ She recalled the detritus littering the house. ‘But it looked like he’d just popped out for a packet of fags. How can he be halfway across the world?’

  In the restaurant the lighting was low but Kieran’s eyes glinted with amusement. ‘He’s a foreign correspondent so he often has to drop everything and scoot off at short notice. At least, that’s his excuse. Basically he’s a slob.’

  ‘Did you know that he wasn’t going to be there? Is that why you had the key?’

  ‘I often stay over. And Tom too. When I first asked him about tonight, he came back to me saying yeah, cool. He didn’t happen to mention he wasn’t going to be around.’ His thumb skimmed the surface of his phone; he held it up to show her the recent text. ‘He’s only just let me know he’s in Kabul. Typical. Does it bother you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said emphatically. ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘It can’t enhance your opinion of the Farrellys.’

  ‘I should think it’s wildly glamorous, being a foreign correspondent.’

  He snapped the phone shut and consigned it to his pocket. ‘It’s like a lot of things: the image is a bit different from the reality. But you know what, I’d like to show you we’re not all hopeless feckin’ eejits. You can see for yourself, if you ever visit my place… It was a wreck when I bought it but I’m pleased with what I’ve done.’

  ‘Tom said you were good at DIY, that you can bang a nail straight.’

  ‘My ambassador,’ said Kieran with a spark of sarcasm.

  ‘Oh no… I always say the wrong thing.’ She reached across the table till their hands met. ‘I’d love to see your house. Do you live alone?’

  He gave her a probing look. ‘I do at present, yes. But it’s through choice, not because I have unsavoury habits.’

  ‘Like cultivating hair on rancid bits of cheddar?’

  He laughed. ‘Can you face going back there?’

  Perhaps she’d been too quick to turn down his suggestion of a hotel: the prospect of white Egyptian cotton and spotless sanitary ware was now more appealing. But comfortable as she was in his company, she still didn’t know quite where she stood. And the money business could be tricky. She made a point of opening her wallet and counting out her last euros for their dinner bill. ‘It’s no problem. Honest.’

  A faint chill permeated the dark night air. As they left the restaurant, Bel wrapped Ronnie’s scarf around her neck and slipped her arm through Kieran’s. It seemed a natural enough thing to do. It was only a short walk back to the house which, under the street lamps, blended with its neighbours. When they got inside and Kieran switched on the lights (not every bulb had a shade), the disorder was brutally and vividly illuminated.

  He started up the stairs. ‘Trust me: the spare room at the top isn’t too bad. But we’ll need to find you some clean sheets.’

  He rummaged in the linen press on the landing. Bel peered through open doors. The one to Ned’s bedroom was wedged ajar with boxes full of books; a second room, also book-crammed, was apparently used as a study. Up a further flight, under the eaves, the third bedroom was refreshingly sparse. It contained only a double bed, a chest and a chair and seemed an oasis of tranquillity. The sheet billowed between them like a sail as they laid it over the mattress. Bel stuffed pillows into cases; Kieran shook out the duvet. She colonised the chair with her bag and jacket, couldn’t suppress a yawn.

  He said, ‘You’re right. It’s been a long day so I’d better leave you to it.’

  She wasn’t sure what to make of this. ‘What about you? Are you going to sleep in Ned’s room?’

  ‘No, I’ll take the couch downstairs.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t do that!’

  ‘Why not? I’ve done it before.’

  ‘I bet you woke up black and blue.’

  ‘Actually I slept okay.’

  ‘Couldn’t you stay up here?’ said Bel. ‘I’ve had enough of being stowed away in the attic all alone like Rapunzel. God, that sounds awful, like I’m not grateful to you. What I mean is…’ butterflies beat their wings against her stomach wall; her intestines tied themselves into bows ‘…please will you sleep with me?’

  He was standing on the threshold, half in and half out of the small room. In a trice he could be leaping down the stairs away from her. She waited.

  He said, ‘Sleep with you?’

  She said, ‘Look, I just meant… this is a big bed, so we could share it. I often do that when I stay over at friends’. I’m not coming on to you or anything.’

  ‘Yo
u’re not?’ His voice was neutral, giving nothing away.

  She kicked off her boots and lay back on one half of the mattress. ‘See?’

  ‘You want me to join you?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  She was curious to see what he would do, although she worried about her tactics too. Had she come across as hopelessly needy, like a child who was afraid of the dark? Or a young woman desperate to be held by another human being?

  Kieran took off his shoes as she had done and stretched himself out beside her.

  ‘Plenty of room, isn’t there?’

  He turned, propping himself on his elbow, and regarded her until she felt exposed beneath his scrutiny. She raised her hand to push him away, but he caught her wrist and held it. Within an instant, this simple move had ripened into an embrace that was nothing like the farewell hugs she’d exchanged with the other Farrellys (or that brief lustful flirtation with Tom). She closed her eyes and Kieran kissed her lids, her ear, her throat before meeting her lips. This is well worth waiting for, she thought.

  Tentatively he began to slide her top from her shoulders and she wriggled to make it easier for him. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and the buckle of his belt. Thus, by degrees, they undressed each other on Cousin Ned’s only respectable bed, peeling off socks, jeans, underwear, letting the garments tumble onto the bare boards of the floor.

  Take it slowly for God’s sake, Bel told herself. To Kieran, as she removed his boxer shorts, she said, ‘Now, will you lie on your back? Make a shape like a da Vinci man.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know.’ She spread her limbs in demonstration. ‘Leonardo Da Vinci’s drawing of a man inside a circle, the really famous one.’

  He gave her a wry look. ‘Am I going to like this game?’

  ‘Chill out! I’m not going to tie you up or anything. But you have to keep still. This is important. I want to draw you. Like, get to know you.’