“That was Blair and Michael,” he says in quiet voice.
“You mean your uncle Blair?” Her eyes grow wide, as if she’s just figured something out.
He nods with a sober expression. But I’m feeling more confused than ever.
“Who are you talking about?” I ask. “Who is Blair and who is Michael?”
“Michael McIntire and Blair McMahan.”
“I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with Ian?”
“Come,” Quin says to me in a gentle voice. “Let’s take a dander, shall we?”
“A dander?”
“A wee stroll,” he tells me.
I glance at Darby, but she just nods as if this is a good plan. And then Quin leads me over to where a stone wall borders a strip of beach, and we walk alongside of it. “I don’t want everyone to overhear this,” he tells me. “It’s not a very happy story.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I felt bad bringing it up. But, still, I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Ian?”
“My uncle Blair was Ian’s older brother. He was driving Ian’s car that day. Taking Michael to the airport. At first everyone believed Ian was driving, since it was his car. The news even reported that it was Ian who’d been killed by the bomb—Ian and Michael. But later on, the truth surfaced. Ian had been down in Dublin that day. I was only a wee lad then, but I remember the stories as well as I remember my name. My father, the oldest of the three brothers, suffered greatly. Our entire family suffered greatly. It was a dark day for everyone.”
I’m trying to take this information in. “Do you mean that Ian McMahan is still living?”
“He is.”
I shake my head, trying to process this startling news. Like what does this mean? And, more importantly, what will this do to my aunt?
“He lives not far from here. In Derry.”
“I think we drove through Derry.”
“Aye, I’m sure you did.”
“And he’s really alive?”
“He is.”
“And you think this is really the same Ian McMahan my aunt knew back in the seventies?”
“It seems that way.”
We’re walking back to the other cyclists now. Darby is looking at her watch and acting like its time to get this show back on the road again.
“Let’s get ready to roll,” calls Quin.
“What will I tell my aunt?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone.
“Tell her the truth,” says Quin. “That’s always the best way.”
“Yes.” I nod. “Of course.”
Then we’re packing it up and getting on our bikes, and soon we’re all riding again. And while the sights along the way are stunningly beautiful and it’s an amazing day for a trek like this, all I can think about is the mysterious Ian McMahan, a person I’ve never met and never even knew existed until several days ago. And then I thought he was dead. Very confusing. I’m also thinking of all the questions I neglected to ask Quin: Is Ian married? Does he have kids? Was he in the IRA or maybe even the RIRA? Is he a good guy? Or someone we should avoid? But more than anything else, I’m wondering how I’ll break this news to Sid. What will she do?
At five o’clock all the cyclists pile onto a small ferryboat that takes us around the bay to see the aquatic marine sights, which prove to be quite fascinating. I am amazed at how clear the water is and how easy it is to see the ocean life below.
We’re back in Malin Town at just a little past six, turning in our bikes and thanking Quin and Darby for a wonderful day.
“Don’t leave just yet,” Quin says to me as I hand him my helmet.
So I stand around and wait as he and Darby check in the bikes and helmets until the last one is finally locked up in the rack behind the small shop.
“I want a word with you before you speak to your aunt,” Quin tells me as we go back inside the bike shop.
“This is so incredible,” says Darby. “To think that your aunt and Ian were sweethearts, and she thought he’d died. It’s like a romance story.”
I frown. “Sort of.” I can’t help but think this story will have a sad or, at the very least, a confusing ending.
“I can give you Ian’s telephone number in Derry,” says Quin as he looks through a small book on the counter, then writes something down, “if your aunt wishes to look him up.”
“Thank you,” I say as he hands the slip of paper to me.
“Ian is a decent fellow,” Quin says, as if he suspects my concerns. “He’s been like a father to me since my own da died several years ago. Ian’s the one who loaned me the money to open this shop.”
Darby nods. “That’s right. Ian is a really nice bloke. I would think you might wish to look him up. Did she ever marry? Your aunt, I mean.”
“No. She’s actually been single this whole time.”
Darby’s eyes light up, and she raises her brows as she tosses Quin a glance. “Ian’s not married either.”
“Really?”
“He was married for a while,” Quin informs me. “But she was a real eejit, that one.”
“I’ve heard that word here before,” I say. “What’s an eejit?”
Darby laughs. “An idiot.”
“They got married shortly after Ian opened this really posh restaurant in Derry. And it takes a fair amount of time and effort to keep it running well. His wife liked the money just fine, but she was always cheesed off about the work.”
“Cheesed off?”
“Angry,” offers Darby. “I reckon she thought she was a princess.”
“A real shiver, she was.”
“Huh?”
Darby laughs. “A shiver is someone who’s lazy.”
I nod. “Oh yeah.”
“No one was too surprised when she took off with another bloke. They got a divorce about five years ago.”
Quin is shutting down his computer now, and I suspect that he and Darby might like to call it a day. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Ask away,” says Quin as he comes over to the other side of the counter.
“Well, was Ian ever involved in the IRA? Or is he still?”
Quin frowns now, as if he’s carefully considering his answer. “That’s something I couldn’t really tell you.”
I look down at the floor, feeling embarrassed. “Yes, I probably shouldn’t have asked.”
Darby pats me on the back. “There are some things best left unsaid.”
“We like to think we’re a new generation,” says Darby, “that we’ve gotten beyond the old ways…put the troubles behind us, you know?”
I nod.
“Oh, we might just be fooling ourselves,” says Quin. “But we do hope for peace.”
“Even after what happened in Belfast yesterday?” I ask.
He frowns. “That was a sorry piece of work.”
“Maybe it’ll be the last,” says Darby, but Quin looks doubtful.
“Well, thanks for telling me all that you did.” I hold up the slip of paper. “And thanks for Ian’s number. My aunt is really going to be shocked.”
Darby nudges Quin with her elbow. “Maybe you should go and meet them for a pint. Talk to the aunt, tell her a bit more about Ian.”
“Do you think she’d be up for that?” asks Quin as we walk toward the door and he turns off the lights.
“That’d be great,” I tell him. “It’s going to be hard enough to break this news to her. Having you there to answer questions might be really helpful.”
“How about we meet you at Callaghan’s?”
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“Just a few doors down. Darby’s dad owns the place. We live in an apartment just above it.”
“Sounds great.”
“My brothers working tonight,” says Darby. “His name is Tim. Just tell him to ring us, and we’ll be down.”
“Thanks,” I tell them. “I think my aunt should be back at our hotel by now.”
So we part ways, but as I head back
to the hotel, I feel very disoriented. Like how did this whole thing happen? And why did I just happen to run into Ian’s nephew today? And how is Sid going to react? Part of me is excited, but another part of me is worried. In some ways, I wish none of this had happened. Quin’s answer to my IRA question wasn’t the least bit reassuring. If anything, I think it may mean that Ian is still active in the IRA. And how will my aunt handle that? Perhaps even worse, how will Ryan handle it?
Ten
I don’t see Ryan or my aunt when I enter the hotel. And when I tap on their doors, there is no response. I decide to take a shower and clean up. By the time I finish, its a little after seven, and I’m seriously hungry. I decide to try their rooms again. My aunt still doesn’t answer, which worries me a little. What if Molly was an RIRA member? What if they found out about Sid’s conversation with Sean? I knock loudly on Ryan’s door and am relieved when he opens it.
“Hey, you’re there,” I say, trying to hide my concerns.
“You missed out on a great day,” he tells me.
“Maybe.” I try to decide whether to tell him about Ian just yet. “Actually, I had a rather interesting day myself.”
“I was about to hop in the shower,” he says. “Get rid of some of the fish slime. Is Sid back yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, I’m starving,” he says.
“Me too.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes,” he says.
I wait downstairs, pacing the lobby as I try to decide whether to call my aunt on her cell. I’m afraid I’ll spill the beans.
“No sign of Sid?” asks Ryan, coming up behind me.
I turn and shake my head. “I left a message at the desk for her. I told her we’d be at Callaghan’s Pub.”
“Going pubbing, are we?” he says in a teasing tone.
I give him my slightly narrow-eyed look.
“Sorry.” He holds up his hands in defense. “Didn’t mean to trip your trigger, Maddie.”
“That’s not it,” I tell him as I head for the door.
“What’s up then?”
I don’t begin telling him until we’re outside. But we’re barely a block from the hotel before I’ve pretty much blurted out the whole story. Well, the nutshell version anyway. I’m saving the details for later.
Ryan actually stops walking, turns and grabs me by the shoulders, and yells, “No way!”
I nod without answering.
“Ian McMahan is alive?”
“According to his nephew Quin McMahan, he is.”
Ryan looks totally stunned as he shakes his head. “This is unbelievable, Maddie. Unreal.” Then he looks at me with those huge blue eyes. “But if—and I mean if-—Ian is alive, do you think…Is it possible…”
I know exactly where he’s going now. The same thought originally struck me as well. “You’re wondering about your dad?” I say in a meek voice.
“Yes!” His eyes light up. “Do you think he could be alive too?”
“I don’t really think so, Ryan.” Then I tell him about how Ian’s brother Blair was driving Ian’s car that day. How it was a natural assumption that it was Ian who’d died with Ryan’s dad and how it made it to the newspapers and they didn’t find out until a day or two later.
“Wow.” Ryan takes a deep breath. “This is really freaky, Maddie. I mean, what do you think Sid’s going to do when she hears?”
“I have no idea.” I point toward the village green. “The pub is over there. Darby’s dad owns it.”
“Who’s Darby?”
So I fill him in a bit on Quin and Darby. And by the time I finish, we’re there. “Shall I tell them we’re here yet?” I ask Ryan.
“Maybe we should wait for Sid.”
So we just sit down, and when Ryan orders a cola, I try not to look too surprised.
“I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone today.” I try to replay the day’s events for him with more detail this time. “Do you think maybe I just dreamed this whole thing?”
He kinda laughs. “Yeah. I’m sure you stayed in the hotel all day and just slept. Right?”
“I sort of wish that was the case.”
“To be honest, I’m really worried about how Sid is going to take this.”
“Me too.” Then I tell him that Ian is single now, and I give him the background story of the lazy wife who ran off with another guy.
“Sounds like Ian’s had some rough times.”
“But at least he’s alive,” I say. Although I’m wondering if that’s really such a good thing—I mean, as far as my aunt is concerned. “This really throws a wrench into the works, doesn’t it?” Then I tell Ryan about my IRA question.
“I can’t believe you actually asked them that.”
“I know. It was probably stupid.”
The guy working at the bar, probably Darby’s brother Tim, is setting our drinks on the wooden table now. He stands over us, studying us, or maybe just me, for what feels like several seconds. And this guy is pretty big and fairly intimidating looking, and I’m wondering if he might possibly be an IRA member himself. What if he overheard me telling Ryan about my concerns over Ian’s possible involvement? I am suddenly really nervous.
“You that girl Quin and Darby met today?” he says to me in a rather gruff voice.
I nod and mumble faintly, “Yeah.”
Then he smiles, and his whole face lights up. “Drinks are on the house tonight.”
I blink. “Well, uh, thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.” He nods to a narrow wooden staircase that runs along one side of the bar. “You want me to tell Quin and Darby you’re here now?”
“We’re still waiting for my aunt,” I say.
“Just let me know, and I’ll give ’em a holler. By the way, I’m Darby’s brother, Tim.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. Then remembering my manners, I introduce both Ryan and myself to him.
“Welcome to Callaghan’s,” he tells us. “If you want something to eat, I’ll send my wife, Rhiannon, over with the menus.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’m actually starving.”
He grins. “You’ve come to the right place. My ma’s the cook, and we’ve not heard any complaints yet.” When he walks away, I wonder why I was such an eejit for being afraid.
“Nice guy,” says Ryan.
“Seems like it.” Okay, I don’t admit I was getting ready to run for my life just now. Or that this whole IRA thing has really got me spooked. I mean, can I help it if I’m a little on the wary side?
“Hey, there’s Sid,” says Ryan. He stands up and waves toward the door. “She must’ve gotten your message.”
“Sorry to be late,” she says as she comes to our table.
“How did it go?” I ask.
She looks pleased. “Okay, I think. Molly seems like a really sweet person. She has three school-aged children and is still very supportive of the peace camps. In fact, her children are all at the camp right now.”
“Cool.”
“So I think I’ll pop into the camp before we go home. Check it out and see how it’s changed.”
“Sounds good,” I say. Then Ryan gives me a look like, Are you going to tell her now? And I’m not really sure how to begin.
“This must be your aunt,” says Tim as he sets three menus on the table.
She smiles up at him and orders a pint.
“Do you want me to ring Quin and Darby now?” he asks me.
“No,” I say quickly. “Why don’t we order our dinner first?”
He nods. “Sure. I’ll send Rhiannon over in a bit.”
“Wow,” says my aunt after he leaves. “Looks like you guys know everyone in Malin by now. Fast work, kids.”
Ryan nods to me. “It’s Maddie who’s making all the friends.”
I kind of laugh. “Actually, I just met Tim. He’s Darby’s brother. And Darby is Quin’s wife.”
“And how did you meet Darby and Quin?”
; I briefly tell her of the bike tour around Malin Head.
“That sounds wonderful, Maddie. What a lovely way to spend the day!” She turns to Ryan now. “And how did the fishing go?”
He glances at me. “Uh, fine, Sid.”
“So did you catch—”
“Look, Sid,” he says, “Maddie has something really urgent to tell you.”
Sid turns and looks at me now. “Really? This sounds important. Don’t tell me that some charming Irishman has swept you off your feet, proposed to you, and now you’ve decided to stay on in Ireland and—”
“No.” I sit up straight and look her in the eyes. “What I have to say is even more startling than that. You might want to brace yourself, Aunt Sid.”
Her smile fades. “Not bad news, I hope?”
“Depends.” And so I blunder through my story, but when I reach the part where I tell her that Ian McMahan is alive, her face gets pale. “Are you okay?” I ask.
Just then Tim sets her pint on the table. And I can tell by the way he’s looking at my aunt that he’s heard the whole story by now. I’m guessing everyone in Darby’s and Quin’s families have heard the story by now. Maybe the entire town of Malin knows.
Sid takes a swig of stout and then stares at me with intense eyes. “Could you please repeat that last part again, Maddie?”
“Quin McMahan is Ian McMahan’s nephew,” I say slowly. “He told me it was Blair McMahan, Ian’s older brother, who was killed with Ryan’s dad that day. It was a temporary case of mistaken identity.”
She turns and looks at Ryan almost as if she expects him to dispute this information. But with his lips pressed tightly together, he slowly nods.
Now she looks back at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my aunt appear so confused and helpless. It’s like she’s trying to decide whether to run or scream or maybe even pass out.
I push her stout toward her. “Have another drink.”
She frowns at me but does as I say. And I’m relieved to see a woman, who must be Rhiannon, coming toward us. We haven’t even looked at our menus, but I suddenly remember a line my aunt uses at times like this.
“What would you recommend?” I ask her.
“Well, we’re famous for our fish and chips,” she begins.
“That’s what I’ll have,” I say quickly.
Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland Page 9