by Ali McNamara
I wander over towards their stalls, and dither uncertainly a few feet in front of a black-and-white horse, who according to his nameplate is called Alfie.
‘Hello, Alfie,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m Ren.’ I move a little closer to Alfie and reach my hand out slowly to stroke his nose in the same way I’d seen Finn do the other day with Trixie.
Alfie closes his eyes as I continue to stroke his nose. ‘You like that, do you?’ I ask. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any treats on me, is that OK?’
Alfie opens one eye, and then closes it again, and as I continue to stroke him I’m not sure who is more comforted by this simple motion, Alfie or me.
‘He’ll let you do that all day,’ I hear a familiar voice call and I turn to see Finn wearing his usual casual attire, but with the addition of long boots and a riding hat, striding confidently across the stable yard. He leads Trixie, his favoured light-brown mare from the other day, and is accompanied by Fergus, his mottled brown dog, who trots happily alongside them both, his tongue lolloping out of the side of his mouth.
‘Have you been riding?’ I stupidly ask.
‘Did the outfit give me away?’ he says, grinning.
While Fergus wanders amiably about the yard, I follow Finn as he leads Trixie back into her stall. Then I watch while he expertly removes her bridle and saddle, and silently begins grooming her.
‘I’m surprised to find you here again,’ I say to break the silence.
Finn glances at me, then continues with Trixie’s grooming. ‘I used to have horses, many moons ago,’ he explains. ‘So I like to spend time here when I can.’
‘Where was that?’ I ask, expecting him to give me his usual vague answer.
‘Just outside of Dublin,’ he says, running the brush over Trixie’s neck. ‘My parents kept horses on their land when I was young.’
This was more information than Finn had ever offered me before.
‘You must have had a lot of land then?’ I try, pushing him a bit further.
‘We did that.’ Finn looks wistfully at Trixie’s mane for a moment. Then he quickly straightens himself up. ‘But, like I said, that was many moons ago.’ He gives Trixie a hearty pat. ‘One of the stable girls will be around to feed and water you in a bit,’ he tells her before producing a treat from his pocket, which Trixie nuzzles gratefully from the palm of his hand. Then he pats her again and leaves the stable, shutting the door firmly behind him.
‘Were you wanting me for something?’ he asks bluntly, looking straight at me.
I’ve been so mesmerised watching Finn deal with Trixie that for a moment it had slipped my mind why I’d come here in the first place.
‘Oh yes, I was wondering if you knew who owned the white house on the main road out of Ballykiltara?’
‘You mean The Welcome House?’ Finn asks, unbuckling his helmet.
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘I don’t think anyone does,’ he says, to my surprise.
‘How do you mean?’
Finn whistles Fergus and the big dog comes bounding over to him. Finn pats him as he arrives by his side and produces yet another treat from his other pocket, a dog one this time, which he feeds to Fergus.
‘I mean what I said. No one knows who owns that house.’
‘But it’s not derelict. I saw it today; it’s very well looked after. It’s definitely lived in, there’s food inside and everything . . . ’ My voice trails off while Finn looks at me with interest, his head cocked slightly to the side, a bit like Fergus.
‘I mean . . . ’ I try and recover. ‘It . . . it looks like there would be someone living there . . . from the outside.’
To my relief, Finn doesn’t question me further about how I know there is food in the house’s kitchen.
‘Mac!’ Finn calls across the yard. And I turn to see a man with greying hair pop his head out from one of the stalls. ‘This lady here wants to know more about The Welcome House.’
‘Does she now?’ Mac says, the rest of his body following his head. Like Finn, Mac bolts the stable gate firmly behind him.
‘Mac knows everything there is to know about this area,’ Finn says as we watch Mac hobble his way across the courtyard towards us, using a knobbly old walking stick.
‘More than Donal?’ I ask.
‘Oh Christ, yes, a lot more than Donal. Donal is like a walking guidebook. Mac is the real deal when it comes to local knowledge.’
‘Now,’ Mac says as he arrives in front of us. ‘What would you like to know, lass?’
‘Do you know who owns the house?’ I ask.
Mac looks at Finn and raises his bushy eyebrows.
‘I did tell her,’ Finn says, shrugging. ‘She won’t believe me, though.’
‘Young lady, no one knows who owns The Welcome House, that’s part of its charm.’
‘But how can no one own it? Is it rented from someone? A company, perhaps?’
The men exchange a knowing smile.
‘What? What are you smiling about? It’s a fair question, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed,’ Mac says, nodding. ‘And one many people before you have asked. You’re not alone in your wondering.’
I look between them; what is going on here?
Mac checks his watch. ‘Is it too early?’ he asks Finn. He raises his hand and gestures a drinking motion.
‘It’s never too early for you, Mac!’ Finn replies. ‘Shall we head back to the hotel bar and you can answer all Ren’s many questions about the house?’
‘Sounds like a plan to me! Let me finish up here and I’ll be right over to join you.’
We watch Mac hobble away again.
‘Lives for this place, does Mac,’ Finn says, and he gestures for us to make our way back along the path to the hotel. ‘Never seems to leave it, unless of course he has a date with a glass of the black stuff somewhere.’ He calls Fergus, who immediately comes bounding over.
‘You seem to spend a fair amount of time here too,’ I tell him as we make our way along the path. I have to walk briskly to keep up with Finn’s long bouncy strides. I want to ask more about the house as we walk, but there seems little point until pints of Guinness are poured. At least now I have hope of some answers.
‘When I have spare time, I like to spend it at the stable, I can’t deny that,’ Finn says. ‘I much prefer time spent in the great outdoors than stuck inside the hotel. But sadly it’s the hotel that pays my bills.’
‘The more I get to know you, the less likely it seems that hotel manager is the job for you,’ I try, hoping to get the truth out of him this time.
‘The more you get to know me, eh?’ Finn smiles to himself then turns towards me. ‘Sounds serious.’
‘Stop avoiding my questions,’ I reply, accustomed to this evasion technique of his now.
‘I’m not. In a few minutes, I’m taking you to get all the answers you require from Mac, aren’t I?’
I sigh and shake my head.
‘Perhaps it should be me asking the questions?’ he continues. ‘Like why you’re so interested in a house when you’re here on holiday?’
‘My turn to be evasive,’ I call, skipping on ahead of him. I grab the handle of the gate and let myself through. ‘Two can play at that game!’ I tease, pausing in the archway.
‘Ah, but the difference between the two of us is . . . I can live without the answers,’ Finn says knowingly. ‘Whereas I don’t think you, Ren Parker, can.’
I’m about to defend myself when, instead of heading towards the back door of the hotel, Finn takes a detour to the left of the building.
‘I need to pop Fergus back to my place – it’s not looked on too favourably if I have him in the hotel.’
I’m about to offer to come with him when he says, ‘I’ll meet you in the bar in about ten minutes. My place is round the back of the hotel. I just need to get him settled and I’ll be there.’
Secretive as ever, I think. ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘See you in a bit.’
Finally, I
’m sitting at a table, the same table Kiki and I had sat at the night we arrived in Ballykiltara, with Finn sitting on one side of me and Mac sitting opposite. I texted Kiki to see where she was, but so far I haven’t had a reply. So it’s just the boys and me. I’ve joined Mac in a Guinness, something that seems to impress him, but Finn is drinking orange juice again.
To my annoyance, all I’ve discovered so far is something I already knew, that Mac’s full name is Cormac, and he’s lived in Ballykiltara all his life.
‘So,’ I say, desperate to bring the conversation around to The Welcome House. ‘You were going to tell me about this house, Mac?’
‘Ah yes, lass, so I was. What is it you want to know again?’
‘Well, to begin with, who owns it?’
‘Ah now, that is a very tricky thing to explain, young lady.’
‘Why is it?’
Mac puts down his pint-glass. ‘Do you like stories?’ he asks.
‘I’m in Ireland, I’m getting pretty used to them by now. Why, though?’
Mac grins. ‘Because if you want to know about The Welcome House, it’s quite a long tale.’
‘Go on then,’ I say, taking a sip of my drink. ‘I’m in no hurry.’
Mac glances at Finn before beginning. ‘The Welcome House has stood in Ballykiltara for as long as anyone can remember. An Fáilte Teach, to give it its proper name, is a house with its doors always open. Open to passers-by in need of shelter or accommodation for one or a few nights, or to those that need protection or help. Its front door, they say, has never been locked or bolted.’
I look at Mac, trying to take all this in.
‘But someone must own the house, surely? They must do.’
Mac shakes his head. ‘The legend of The Welcome House is one that has been passed down through the generations. I don’t know how long that house has been there, but it’s always been the same: a house that welcomes and is open to anyone that needs it.’
I nod politely. This is getting a bit awkward; it’s a lovely story Mac is telling me, but someone must own the place, and if Mac believes this legend that has sprung up around the house, then perhaps he isn’t the best person to be asking.
‘That story is lovely, Mac. But if you don’t know who owns the house, then who looks after it? Even if the welcome story is true, the house is hardly derelict, is it? I mean, who puts food in the cupboards and the fridge?’
I notice Finn’s eyebrows raise a little when I mention the inside of the house. Damn, I’m giving myself away again.
‘Jackie told me about the food,’ I improvise.
‘Jackie?’ Mac asks, his tone suddenly changing. He sits forward in his chair. ‘Where did you meet this Jackie?’
‘He took me and my friend out in his boat. We went over to Rafferty Island to see the abbey today.’
‘Did he now?’ Mac says, again in the same strange voice.
‘And what did this Jackie look like, if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Er . . . he was fairly old,’ I say, trying to remember, ‘but powerful. Yes, I remember thinking that someone who was as old as him shouldn’t still have the strength to row a boat about on the lake like he did, but he did it with ease.’
Mac nods. ‘What else?’
‘He was really knowledgeable about the area and the lake. That’s how I spotted the house, when we were out on the water, but when I asked Jackie about it he was evasive with his answers, a bit like you both were when I asked you at the stables earlier, so I didn’t think that was anything odd.’
‘White hair?’ Mac asks.
‘Yes, and a tattoo on his lower right arm of a—’
‘Celtic cross?’ Mac finishes for me.
‘Yes, do you know him then?’
Mac picks up his Guinness again. He takes a long, slow sip.
I glance at Finn, but he looks as mystified as I feel.
‘Mac, who is this Jackie?’ Finn asks. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around the area, but you seem to know him?’
Mac puts down his pint again. ‘There have been sightings over the years of a man that goes by the description you just gave, Ren.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘Ghostly sightings.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Come on! You can’t expect me to believe that Kiki and I were rowed across a lake by a ghost!’
‘Jackie Byrne was an eighteenth-century ferryman who kept the town of Ballykiltara, on one side of the great lake, linked with the town of Ballybun on the other. The ferryboat was the quickest way to get from one side of the lake to the other. Now we’d take motorised transport, but in those days the boat was the fastest direct route. Even horses took longer and were more expensive.’
‘Go on, Mac,’ Finn encourages.
‘Jackie was a well-known local figure, a hero to many after he saved a child’s life when she fell into the lake one afternoon while playing at the side of it. But even though the water was his life, it would be his death too. They say Jackie drowned one night while trying to ferry a son over from Ballykiltara to Ballybun to his elderly, dying mother. The son had bought medicine that could help his mother, but he needed to get it to her immediately. So even though the winds were fierce over the water that night, and a boat should never have attempted the crossing, that’s just what Jackie did.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, now totally caught up in this tale.
‘They never made it,’ Mac says gravely. ‘Both were drowned in the middle of the lake, never to be seen again. Jackie’s boat was washed to shore the following morning – empty.
‘However,’ Mac continues before Finn or I can speak, ‘that wasn’t the last time Jackie was spotted on the lake. There have been sightings of him and his boat many times in the years since, usually in the early morning, or late evening, when a mist sits over the water. It’s as if his spirit can’t rest until he takes his boat on one last successful journey. But never,’ he looks solemnly at me, ‘never has anyone reported being taken out in his boat with him.’
Finn and Mac’s eyes both fix on me.
‘Stop it,’ I tell them. ‘There is no way that Kiki and I were rowed across a lake today by a ghost! This guy must look very similar to this other Jackie, that’s all. He was definitely alive and breathing, I’m sure of it.’
‘How much did he charge you for the trip?’ Mac asks.
‘He didn’t; he waved me away when I tried to pay him.’
‘Cash isn’t any good to you in heaven,’ Finn says. I glance at him and he winks at me.
‘Mock all you like, young Finn,’ Mac says. ‘I tell nothing but the truth.’
‘Look, I know you Irish like your myths and legends,’ I tell Mac, ‘and that’s great – I get it. I’m quite interested in all that kind of stuff, as it goes. But you’ve sat here tonight and told me about a house that doesn’t have an owner, and yet is filled with fresh food to welcome random guests, and about a ghostly ferryman who apparently rows people across a lake so his spirit can ascend to heaven. I know I’m English, but come on, you don’t seriously expect me to believe all this, do you?’
Mac lifts his pint-glass and downs the dregs of his Guinness. ‘Young lady,’ he says, placing his glass firmly down on the table. ‘You can believe what you like. I can only tell you what I know, and what I know is the truth.’ He lifts his stick then uses it to ease himself up to a standing position. But before he leaves, he leans down again, resting his hand on the table. ‘What I do know is,’ he says quietly, ‘if Jackie took you and your friend out to show you The Welcome House, then there’s a very special reason for it, a very special one indeed. Now all you have to do is find out why.’
Twelve
‘What on earth just went on here?’ I ask Finn as we watch Mac walk out of the bar. ‘Was he serious about all that stuff?’
‘It’s quite hard to believe, I agree, especially the part about the ghost. I’d never come across that tale, and I’ve heard a few since I’ve been here. But Mac’s right about T
he Welcome House, it does welcome in passers-by and has for as long as anyone can remember. It’s part of Ballykiltara’s history.’
‘But someone must put the stuff in there,’ I insist. I feel like I’m labouring the point, but it’s a fact: there has to be a person or persons who look after that house, and if they don’t own it themselves, they must know who does.
Finn shrugs. ‘It’s a funny one, I’ll give you that. I’ve often wondered about it myself. But the locals here simply accept it as read.’
‘You don’t count yourself as a local then?’
‘No, not me, I’ve only lived here for a few years. I’m still seen as a newcomer. Another drink?’
I look at my glass. ‘Sure, yes, why not? Thank you.’
Finn picks up my empty glass and heads to the bar. While he does, I check my phone. Ah, at last, a text from Kiki:
Don’t worry about me, I’m with Eddie at the pub. Trying to get to the bottom of the mystery as well as a few glasses! See u later, K xx
I’m about to text her back, when I hesitate. I haven’t found out that much yet; maybe Kiki can get a little further than I have.
Finn is still at the bar, waiting for my Guinness to settle, so I pick up the menu that sits on the table and realise in all the excitement tonight I haven’t eaten yet. I probably shouldn’t drink much more on an empty stomach, so I peruse the menu while I wait.
‘Are you wanting to order some food?’ Finn asks as he brings a pint of Guinness and a pint of Coke over to the table. ‘I could probably do with some myself. It’s been a fair while since lunch.’
‘I was thinking about it,’ I reply as he sits down again. I wish I’d asked for a soft drink now that Mac’s gone and I’m the only one drinking; I don’t want Finn to think I’m an alcoholic with all this Guinness. ‘You’d be welcome to join me, if you’re not busy?’ I ask in a quiet voice, burying my head in the menu in my embarrassment.
‘Nope, not busy at all,’ he says calmly. ‘I’ve had an afternoon off today. I don’t normally spend it at the hotel, but since it’s you . . . ’ he winks.