Secrets and Shamrocks

by Phyllis Gobbell

  I could see that such a development, practically adjacent to Shepherds, had the potential to squeeze out the B&B. “Colin and Grace should know about this,” I said, as if they didn’t have some clue already. But Helen knew more than they did. “It’s not good news for Shepherds.”

  “I know it’s not, and you’ll have to believe I’ve felt some guilt over all of it,” Helen said. “But now that I know how deceptive Lucas was, I’ll have no qualms about revealing his plans. We’ll be going back to London tomorrow. What does it matter to me if Colin and Grace know?”

  From the back seat came a note of laughter from Molly, apparently at something Ian had said. Doreen’s dark expression did not bode well for the young couple.

  We passed through the lively town of Limerick and the beautiful Shannon region, with its pastoral views. Finn pulled over a couple of times for us for photo ops. It was not long before the spectacular Cliffs of Moher came into view.

  CHAPTER 22

  Breathtaking was the word that came to mind, but it didn’t do justice to the wild, rugged cliffs that rose high above the Atlantic, silhouetted against the gray sky. Finn pointed out the warning sign at the entrance to the car park. The white hazard sign meant to take extra caution, as the winds were strong. “Not so bad down here, but much stronger up there!” he said, pointing to the cliffs. “I hope everyone brought windbreakers or rain jackets. There’s a saying that you can experience four seasons of weather in the same day, here at the Cliffs. No telling what you might get, up on the paths.”

  The car park was a sea of vehicles. Alex mentioned that the Cliffs of Moher were Ireland’s most visited tourist attraction. “Though I hope to steer my readers to some of the less-touristy sites, like the Hedge School, I would be remiss if I didn’t give this one its due,” he said. I wondered how Alex would manage on the rocky cliff trails. I would stay close by him, if he’d let me, and I hoped he’d have the necessary stamina.

  Finn parked the van, advising us that if we cared to use the facilities in the Visitors Centre, we might also want to view the films and exhibits that would inform us about what we could expect from the Cliffs of Moher experience. Finn was taking seriously his job as our tour guide. Alex, Doreen, Helen, and I followed his suggestion. Ian and Molly headed straight for the cliffs.

  The Visitors Centre was unlike any I’d ever seen, in any country. Built into the hillside, it was hidden under the grass roof except for the entrance and, Finn informed me, two other windows for the views. “Seventeen years in the planning and building,” he said, “but you’ll hear all about that when you watch the films.” He turned as we were about to reach the entrance. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Quinn. I thought we’d lost you.”

  Doreen, lagging behind our little group, had no clever retort. She said nothing. If she had looked over her shoulder, she would have seen Molly and Ian, holding hands, as they set off toward the cliffs. Helen had glanced back, as I had. “Come along, Doreen,” she said, pausing to let Doreen catch up. “Let’s find the loo and then have a cup of tea before we tax our mental and physical abilities too much.”

  Just inside the entrance, a woman was trying to corral two little boys, who looked to be about nine and seven. The smaller one crashed into Alex, but Alex saw the collision coming, braced himself, and kept the child from falling. “Oh ho, young fellow!” he said in a jolly voice. “Better check your brakes if you’re going up on the cliffs!”

  The boy called, “Mam!” and ran to his mother, wrapping his arms around her legs.

  “So sorry!” the woman said. She grabbed both children’s arms and shook them.

  “No harm done,” Alex said. What restraint he displayed! Alex was not in favor of the more permissive approaches to child-rearing. He was actually quite fond of children who sat quietly, read books, displayed good manners, and spoke politely to their elders. I was glad he didn’t advise this mother to put the boys on a leash.

  Helen caught up with me as the frazzled-looking mom herded the children into the coffee shop. “You don’t think she’ll take those boys up there, do you?” Helen said.

  “It’s a scary thought,” I said, “but I don’t know why they would have come here, otherwise.”

  “There’s plenty to see besides the cliffs,” Doreen said, her vinegary tone leaving no doubt that she was thinking about Molly and Ian, still miffed that they’d gone off without her.

  Finn said he’d be taking a cup of tea out at the picnic tables, and he left us to our own devices.

  I was eager to go up on the cliff paths, but the others—even Alex—seemed content to wait, to see if the weather might improve.

  Interested in knowing more about this eco building, I went straight into the domed cave-like space that housed the interactive media displays—the Atlantic Edge exhibition. A pretty young customer service agent named Moira must have been trained to spot visitors like me, for she introduced herself and said, “Is there anything you’d like to know about?” When I said I was fascinated with the underground building, it was like turning her switch on. Moira informed me that at a cost equivalent to $32 million, the environmentally sensitive structure implemented conservation measures throughout. She explained about the use of geothermal lighting and cooling, solar panels, and gray water recycling. “Do you know about gray water?” she asked. I said I did, but she told me, anyway, how the gray water was like dishwater; it might look dirty but was actually safe for reuse in many instances, like irrigation. She told about the dual flush systems and aerated motion-sensor taps in the toilets. “You might not know about the waterless urinals in the men’s toilets,” she said. No, I did not. “Everything on the inside, as well as the outside, is in favor of protecting the environment,” she said with pride.

  Though I was interested enough in the renewable energy systems, I was most captivated by the structural system. The large beams that supported the structure from the roof level and spanned between the outer walls were buried within the hillside. Moira was so knowledgeable that I had to ask if she might be an architectural or engineering student, but she was not. “My specialty is ornithology,” she said. “Would you like some information about the thirty thousand seabirds that nest around the cliffs?”

  I might have taken her up on the offer, but I wanted to look for Alex. I located him at one of the interactive displays. “O’Brien’s Tower,” he said. “That, I must see.”

  I happened along just as the narrator was telling about Sir Cornellius O’Brien. Credited with being a man ahead of his time, O’Brien saw the potential for tourism and decided to build an observation tower for all the visitors coming to the Cliffs of Moher. The narrator added that in another version of history, it was said that O’Brien built the tower to impress the ladies.

  “Maybe we should have lunch before going out on the cliffs,” I told Alex, keeping my voice just above a whisper, so as not to bother the others around us who were watching the film. “It’s already past noon.”

  “If you like,” he said, still focusing on the images of the tower.

  “I’ll be somewhere around here when you’re ready,” I said. He nodded.

  I made the tour of the rest of the exhibition. It had everything anyone would want to know about the cliffs—geology, plants, birds, wildlife, underwater caves—and I could see that Doreen was correct in saying there was plenty here besides walking on the cliffs. This kind of self-guided tour, I could manage, as opposed to long lectures. I got a glimpse of each area as I made my slow walk through the dome but did not stop until I came to a screen and rows of wooden seating. I saw Helen on the end of one of the rows and took a seat beside her.

  “Having a good time?” I asked.

  “Oh, indeed! It’s all quite informative and entertaining. This is supposed to be very exciting. It’s a virtual reality cliff face adventure,” she said, half-reading from her brochure.

  Virtual reality cliff face adventure was an appropriate description for the short video called “The Ledge Experience.” We were virtually
on the edge of the cliffs, looking out over the ocean, looking down on the sheer drops. When the film ended, Helen took a deep breath and exhaled. “Remarkable!” she said. “So it’s actually like that, I suppose.”

  “I suppose, if you get that close to the edge,” I said. I probably would not.

  Alex found us and said he was ready for lunch. He’d seen “The Ledge Experience” earlier and was up for the real adventure.

  “What is the name of the café with the panoramic views? If we can get in, let’s have a nice lunch there,” Helen said. She and Alex went on to get a table. I looked for Doreen and found her in the coffee shop, with a cup of tea.

  “You’re welcome to sit down,” she said.

  I told her Alex and Helen were waiting at the Cliffs View Café, and we wanted her to join us for lunch. She shook her head, and I took a seat across from her.

  “I can’t stay, but I just have to say this, Doreen. You’re making yourself miserable.”

  She met my words with a frown, and then the frown transformed into a reflective expression. “I think Ian reminds me too much of Molly’s dad. Very charming, he was. Talented and good-looking. Ian seems nice enough, but a man like that, you’ll always have to worry about the young women. Like flies to honey.” She sipped her tea. “My husband left us for one of his music students when Molly was just five. Since that time, it’s just been Molly and me. Just us.”

  That, it seemed to me, was the heart of the problem. Doreen could not imagine her life without Molly as the center of it, but I didn’t think I could say that.

  “It may just be a passing thing with Molly and Ian. She’s enjoying the attention, and why not? Just try to enjoy yourself, too.” I stood up. “I have four daughters and there have been many boyfriends along the way. Many tears, too. Not mine—theirs.”

  With a bit more persuasion, Doreen agreed to come along with us. Perhaps because it was already one-thirty, the crowd had thinned in the Cliffs View Café. Helen and Alex were at a window table. What a view we had! The sky was still overcast, making the cliffs seem even more ominous. I calculated that a couple of hours on the cliff paths would be enough—especially for Alex. The only thing that might make us wish we’d hurried on up there would be if the weather changed for worse, instead of better. We had light lunches all around. My bowl of chowder and slice of crusty brown bread were just right.

  We visited the restrooms before taking off. Outside the gift shop, as I waited for the others, I met the little boys that we’d seen earlier. They each had a sword that I hoped was a toy. The mother followed with a bag of candy, just what the little boys needed to keep their energy up! She gave me a quick apologetic smile when the boys started fencing with each other. Toys that they were, the swords seemed too real for comfort as the hard plastic blades slapped: some twenty-seven inches from hilt to point. They could put an eye out in the hands of these little boys.

  From behind me came a voice: “Where are the others?”

  “Mr. Sweeney!” I said.

  “Didn’t you come with the bunch from Shepherds?”

  It sounded a little like a reprimand. He hadn’t been invited. Surely he couldn’t have been surprised that we didn’t ask him to join us, given his aloof manner toward all of us at the B&B. Besides, Finn’s van seated only seven, including the driver. I had no reason to apologize, but I stammered my reply: “Yes, Finn is our tour guide.” That made it seem more formal. And Mr. Sweeney had said he didn’t care about sightseeing.

  “I’m surprised to see you,” I said.

  “It’s my last day in Thurles,” he said. I took it to mean that he’d finally decided to visit one of the sights before his holiday ended. As he spoke, he was watching the little boys and their mother, who had their attention, for a change. She must have been saying something like We’re going up on the cliffs now, but you must settle down. I was hoping she might be saying, We’re skipping the cliffs because you’re too wild! But probably not, given that there were no tantrums.

  Something else distracted Mr. Sweeney, and I followed his gaze. Molly had come in the entrance. By the time she had greeted us, Alex was there, and then Helen and Doreen joined us. From the relief that washed over Doreen’s face upon seeing Molly, one might have thought her daughter was a runaway who had returned home, a prodigal daughter.

  “Excuse me, and I’ll see you back on the cliffs. Ian couldn’t pull himself away,” Molly said to no one in particular. She headed, apparently, for the restroom.

  Doreen said, “I should wait and go back up with Molly,” and she followed her daughter, who was not slowing down at all for her. I couldn’t help wondering what those two would be saying to each other on their way to the cliffs.

  Mr. Sweeney kept watching the two little boys, and I thought about the statement he’d made once, that his son had played the violin. I knew from Enya’s account that his son was dead. Did those little boys trigger memories of his own child? Mr. Sweeney was such an enigma.

  “We should get going,” Alex said.

  “We need to find out what time Finn wants to leave. He told us he’d be around the picnic tables,” Helen said.

  “Going up on the cliffs, Mr. Sweeney?” I said to be polite.

  But he must not have heard me. He approached the little boys, and I heard him ask, “Did you buy those swords in the gift shop?”

  Clouds had begun to scuttle across the sky, and the air was cooler now.

  We put on our rain jackets and hiked toward the Main Viewing Platform. Alex took his time and did not get out of breath. Helen stayed with us, telling about all she’d learned from the Atlantic Edge exhibition. The fact that Alex and I had seen the same displays—and said so—did not deter her. I thought about her glum mood when we’d first started on our day trip, and I had to admit that I preferred glib to glum. This trip was a much-needed diversion for her.

  The view from the platform was nothing short of magnificent. The jagged cliffs stretched out forever, it seemed—eight kilometers, we had learned. Far below, the sea crashed against the black rocks as seabirds circled above. It was the view we’d seen so many times in our brochures and in the exhibition at the Visitors Centre, but so much more dramatic in reality. I noticed that Alex took only a couple of photos. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Doesn’t it just make you feel like you’re standing on the edge of the world?” It was a phrase I’d heard in one of the videos.

  “It’s spectacular,” he said.

  It occurred to me that there were only so many descriptive words for the sight, and all of them overused.

  “You don’t seem that awe-stricken,” I said.

  “I am.” He held up his camera. “I’m saving my photos for the cliff paths.”

  I was about to remind him that his camera was digital, that he could take pictures and delete at will, when Helen spoke up. “It seems quite safe from here. I was expecting a more risky experience.”

  “Let’s head to O’Brien’s Tower,” Alex said. “It’s more than two hundred meters tall, the highest point around. From there they say you can see the Aran Islands—though maybe not today.” He looked up. The clouds did seem to be rolling in. Maybe we had waited too long.

  The walk to O’Brien’s Tower was not especially dangerous or strenuous. There were steps along the way. But the wind had kicked up. At the Tower, Alex was able to listen in on a tour guide’s spiel. Helen and I went on up the spiral iron staircase, for another view of what seemed like the entire five miles of cliffs. Maybe not, but a stunning spectacle. I could imagine watching for sailors to come home or looking out for Viking fleets. Not from this tower, which was less than two hundred years old, but from this site. Soon Alex joined us. We could not see the Aran Islands, as the clouds were gathering, but the wild beauty of the giant, rugged cliffs was intensified with the skies darkening above them.

  Back on the path, Alex said, “Shall we go to where we can see the puffins?”

  Apparently the South Platform was perfect for viewing the puffin colony on Goat
Island. Alex informed us that these particular seabirds arrived from the mid-Atlantic in April and returned in July, so we were extremely fortunate to be here in May. We passed the Main Viewing Platform and continued south. This section of trail became more narrow and rocky. A sign warned: Extreme Danger, Unstable Cliff Edge. “Oh, my!” said Helen. “I’m not sure—well, I suppose it’s all right.” She admitted that this was risky enough for her taste. I noticed her hot pink canvas shoes were more stylish than substantial.

  “I think it’s fine as long as we stay on the trail,” I said. There were sections of low walls where the cliff edge might have been too close to the path, but not all along the way. There were treacherous parts, to be sure. At one point a boy and a girl, probably college students, lay on their stomachs right at the edge, looking down. Flashes of my own college-age twins made my blood run cold. Alex took a photo of the couple and said he was documenting what not to do.

  A moment later, the rain began. A mist, not a downpour, and as we pulled the hoods of our rain jackets over our heads, it seemed we might wait it out—wait for the inevitable change. But the change was for the worse, with winds that whipped the cold mist into our faces. I could almost feel the temperature dropping, degree by degree. Others began to turn around, most of them younger tourists who had dressed for warmer weather, not rain.

  “Should we go back?” Helen asked, trying to hold out the edge of her hood to protect against the wind. “It’s beginning to seem a little unpleasant.”

  “I’d like to say I did it—all of it,” Alex said. His face was slick with the mist, but he stared straight into the wind like a weather-beaten sea captain, and I realized that this adventure on the cliffs was more than just sightseeing to Alex. It was his personal challenge. Maybe he had worried that he wouldn’t be up to it and, if not, what impact might that have on his future travels to other demanding sites?