On at least three occasions she’d been tempted to ignore Richard’s advice and stop for a hitch-hiker. Thankfully it was only another half hour or so before she’d pick up the others. She earnestly hoped that Sarah had made the train. Sarah somehow managed to be late for everything. As she drove into Ennis town she looked out for signs to the bus and train station. The Friday afternoon traffic was heavy and agitated.
Ruth and Kathy were waiting for her in the train station car-park. “Are you serious?” Ruth said poking her head through the driver’s window. “Where are we all going to fit?” She smelled of Poison perfume.
“I warned you not to bring too much,” Charlotte replied in protest. “Good job we’ve got the roof-rack. We can tie some of your stuff up there.” She got out of the car and hugged the girls, each laden down with bulging rucksacks and sleeping bags.
“Any sign of Sarah?” She scanned the car-park.
“Nope – Dublin train isn’t in yet,” said Ruth. “Hope she didn’t fall asleep and forget to change at the junction. She’s done that before, silly cow.”
“Guess we can’t rule it out,” said Charlotte. “She’s knackered from working in the pharmacy. As soon as the re-sits were over it was back to the grindstone for her.” She cracked an imaginary whip.
“Poor thing,” added Ruth. “She rang me on Monday to say it was touch and go if she could get away. She sounded really desperate. She had her work cut out convincing her old dear to let her take a few days off.”
“At least she’ll have some money,” said Charlotte.
“She doesn’t like us much, does she, Mrs Nugent?” Kathy pulled a face. It was more a statement than a question.
“My guess is she blames us three for Sarah failing her summer exams,” said Charlotte. “And I know for a fact she doesn’t like me at all. Not since second year when I borrowed Sarah’s ball-gown. She made me feel like trash.”
“Not a hippy?” Ruth said smirking.
“A hippy?” Charlotte looked at Ruth. “What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Oh, come on, Charlie. Take a look at yourself. What’s with the ponytail thing? And since when did you start smoking roll-ups?”
Charlotte had been shredding tobacco into the folds of a rizla on the bonnet of the car. And she happened to like the length of bead-wrapped hair she’d fashioned into a tail at the nape of her neck. Richard had laughed, saying it looked like a mouse tail, the rest of her hair being so short. Her brother saying it was one thing but she was damned if she was taking any sarcastic remarks from Ruth.
“Roll-ups are much more economical,” she said curtly.
“Really?” said Ruth. “Think I’ll stick to Benson and Hedges myself.”
Ruth could be an uppity cow. Alright for her, thought Charlotte, she doesn’t even have to pay for ciggies. She just steals them from her family shop.
“Any more ‘hippy’ crap and you can bloody walk!”
“Oooh, touchy,” muttered Ruth.
They were interrupted by a wolf-whistle from Kathy.
“Holy cow! Would you look at the state of Sarah Nugent? What the hell has she done to herself?”
As Sarah walked towards them, Charlotte was relieved that the focus had shifted to Sarah. It was her appearance under the spotlight now. Charlotte stared. And stared some more. Sarah’s hair was a sight – a mess of clumpy locks. And there, glistening at the side of her nose was a metal stud like an errant silver snot. She looked every inch the nuclear disarmament protestor.
“What crusty camp did Nugent fall out of?” muttered Ruth, under her breath.
“Greenham Common?” asked Kathy.
As Sarah came closer, her face had pulled into a scowl.
“None of you are fooling me,” she quipped. “I can see you smirking. Say nothing. Nothing at all. If just one of you makes a single comment, I’ll turn around and get on the next train home. And that’s a promise.”
“But can’t we please just ask what happened?” Charlotte wheedled. She was dying to know. She stopped short of smirking. “Please?”
Sarah appeared to consider the request.
“Alright then,” she said, “but no laughing.”
She set her suitcase on the ground.
“I decided to perm it last night, with one of the perms from the chemist,” she said. “But my klutz of a sister, Ava, misread the instructions and left the solution on too long.” She shrugged. “It’s a disaster, I know. But what’s new? It’s been a long summer of bloody disasters.”
“And the nose furniture?” ventured Ruth.
“Oh that…” Sarah said flicking her hair. “That’s purely to annoy my mother.”
“I’d say it does,” said Charlotte, licking and gumming a roll-up.
“Jeez, you’re one to talk, Charlie,” Sarah retorted. “What’s that you’ve got going on with your hair? Looks like a rat’s tail.”
“Okay, okay – truce!” Charlotte held up her hands. “As I said to Ruth, any smart remarks and you can all walk to the cabin.”
Maybe she should reconsider the ponytail.
“Come on, then, you lot. Let’s get packed up and move on out of here. It’s going to be an awesome few days. Guess what? I’m going to teach you three how to fish.”
“And I’m going to teach you all how to cook,” said Ruth, as she swung her rucksack onto the roof of the car. “I raided the freezer, so I’ve loads of chops and mince.” She made a doleful face. “Cash on the other hand, is in very short supply.”
“No need to worry about that,” said Sarah as she leaned into the car to lay her suitcase across the seat. It looked absurd – a designer suitcase plastered with her CND stickers. No doubt another ploy to annoy her mother. “I’ve got my wages from last week,” she said, the exertion making her wheeze. “I’ll treat us to the seafood chowder that Charlotte’s always raving about,” she said.
“Magic,” said Charlotte. “Seafood chowder and Guinness at the pub. We could go for that tomorrow night.” She adored the chowder in the local pub.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Sarah, sucking on her inhaler. She then began to rummage about in her pockets. “Just hang on a minute though. Oh no, I don’t believe it…” She searched the pockets of her combat pants. “Oh, please don’t tell me…” She had lost something. She stuck her head in a paper pharmacy bag, her head almost completely inside.
“What’s up?” asked Charlotte.
“Fuck!” wheezed Sarah. “Shit, shit, shit – I don’t believe it. I’ve left my bloody purse on the train. I must have…” She ran her fingers through her matted hair. “Hang on, hang on… I remember now. It was on the seat next to me with my Walkman when I bought that cup of coffee… yeah, I remember it now.” She looked startled as if something else occurred to her, “Maybe the train is still on the platform…” and off she raced, matted hair flapping up and down, sucking on her inhaler as she ran.
Ruth shook her head. Kathy threw her eyes to heaven. And Charlotte leaned back against the car and smoked her roll-up.
Sarah’s trip proved fruitless. The train was gone. Returning to the car, she looked tearful and dejected. She’d described the purse to the office attendant and left her name and address with him.
“Don’t worry,” said Charlotte, who couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. “Someone will hand it in. Just you wait and see. You’ll get it back.”
“But that’s not the point,” she moaned. “Now, I’ve got no money for the weekend. No bloody money at all. What else is going to go wrong for me? That’s the end of my treat in the pub. That’s the end of the seafood chowder. That’s the end of the Guinness. Thank God I kept my return train ticket in my combat pocket. At least I haven’t lost that.”
“Forget about the money,” said Charlotte trying to put a brave face on things. “The rest of us can chip in for you. The chowder’s overrated anyway – I’m sure Ruth’s chops are far superior.”
Ruth pulled a face and stuck out her tongue.
“
Come on, we’re out of here. I mean it – let’s go.” Charlotte bundled them all into the car. The afternoon was marching on and there was still another hour and a half of driving ahead.
“We look like we’re going on a Himalayan expedition,” Ruth said, trying to wedge herself into the back seat next to Sarah. Charlotte had secured Ruth’s rucksack to the roof rack with blue rope and a knot that she’d learned in Girl Guides. Kathy sat in the front with her rucksack on her knees. She only had space to maneuver her head to the left.
“What’s that, holding the window up, Charlie?” she asked.
“I stuffed a toothbrush in to stop it falling down,” Charlotte replied. “Don’t try and open it. I’ll never get it up again.”
Sitting on the suitcase meant that Ruth and Sarah’s heads were touching the roof of the car. It wasn’t going to be a comfortable journey for them either.
“How y’all doin’ back there in First Class?” Charlotte asked.
Sarah’s head was bowed over. “Holy cow, Charlie, I can see white lines! I can see the bloody road. Did you know there’s a great big rusty hole in the floor of the car?”
“Yeah, I know. Some folks have a sun-roof. I have a sun-floor. Don’t worry. It’s grand – just don’t drop anything.”
The car felt slow and sluggish with its heavy cargo. Charlotte was waiting to turn left at the traffic lights exiting the town. They’d only been driving ten minutes or so but already the windows had fogged up.
“The kids in that blue car to our left are pulling faces at us. What a bloody cheek!” said Kathy.
Charlotte couldn’t see her wedged behind her rucksack. She imagined her face was squashed up against the passenger window.
“They probably think you’re the one making faces, sitting like that,” laughed Sarah from the back. Her upset over the purse had begun to wane. “You look like a freak.”
“I can’t help it,” whinged Kathy. “I can’t move my head.”
“For God’s sake, would you all stop complaining!” said Charlotte.
It was going to be a long journey.
* * *
The roads got lumpier and bumpier the further they got from the town and her two back-seat passengers continued to moan. Every time Charlotte drove over a bump, their heads would hit the roof. It wasn’t the most comfortable of rides but she thought they should be grateful. It was a free weekend after all. Free transport. Richard had given her the petrol money. Charlotte hoped the girls weren’t going to moan the whole way to the Blue Pool.
“I’m going to have brain-damage by the time we get there,” wailed Sarah after another jolt.
“There’s a brain to damage?” quipped Kathy, from the front.
“Gee thanks, Kath,” said Sarah. “My mother is beginning to wonder the same,” she said, sighing. “I catch her looking at me on the dispensing counter like she can’t quite figure out where she got me from. ‘Ava never failed an exam,’ she says. ‘Ava knows where she’s going.’ Too bloody right. Ava’s bloody terrified of Mum. Christ, I’d better get these exams. I swear, you have no idea. My life won’t be worth living if I fail again.”
“No exam talk,” shouted Ruth. “Remember, we agreed. Two rules this weekend tour. No exam talk and no man talk. Verbotten. We’re here to relax.”
“Apologies, mein Führer,” said Sarah, attempting a salute.
“What’s it like working on the counter in the pharmacy?” asked Charlotte.
“It’s boring, boring, boring. I’d rather pull out my own tonsils,” said Sarah. “I’m only allowed to give out stuff like paracetamol and aspirin and the odd pessary or suppository. Sometimes the gay guys come in for incontinence pads.”
“You’re kidding?” squealed Kathy.
“Nope.”
“Why do they need incontinence pads?” asked Ruth.
“Why do you think? There’s only so much the rear end can take, my dears!”
“Gross,” said Charlotte.
“Gross,” agreed Kathy.
“Actually, the gay guys that come in are a good laugh. Especially some of the older guys who’re into make-up.”
Charlotte could imagine Sarah being doubly charming to her gay customers. She watched in the mirror as Sarah tried to light a cigarette in the shuddering car. The smoking was definitely to irritate her mother.
“I go to the make-up counter when they come in,” she continued when the cigarette was lit. “They’re always looking for advice. Mum ignores them but I like to help. It cracks Mum up. ‘No daughter of mine is going to fritter her life away on a make-up counter’, she says.”
Poor girl, thought Charlotte. Mrs Nugent was a total harridan. How could the woman ignore what was staring her in the face? It was plain that Sarah had little aptitude and zero interest in Pharmacy. But her mother would not be swayed. The woman was a bulwark against reason.
“Music would be nice. Put on the radio, will you?” Kathy ordered from behind her rucksack.
“Ha bloody ha – you know there isn’t a radio,” said Charlotte.
“Well no, actually. I can’t see from where I am. And just to let you know, in case anyone is interested, my legs are numb from all this weight.”
“We shouldn’t be too much longer. You’re just going to have to sing for entertainment,” said Charlotte.
“We’re on the road to nowhere, Come on inside…” came the now familiar chant from the backseat.
The August sky beat down on the grey boulders and rocks of North Clare. Green had turned to grey. Fertile fields had turned to shale and scarp. The landscape changed with every passing mile.
“Stop!” cried Kathy suddenly. “I think something’s fallen off the roof. I’m sure I just saw something go whizzing past my window.”
“Bloody hell!” said Charlotte, screeching to a halt at a farmer’s gate. The two backseat passengers lurched forward, Sarah burning Kathy in the back of the neck with her amber cigarette butt.
“What the hell…!” wailed Kathy.
“I’m so sorry… sorry, Kath, I couldn’t help it. Are you okay? Just a minute…”
Sarah unfurled herself from the car and hurried to the passenger door to Kathy’s aid. She yanked Kathy’s rucksack from her lap onto the ditch and tried to examine the wound.
“Wait a minute, I’ll get out,” said Kathy, tears streaming down her face.
Oh, this is marvellous. Bloody great, thought Charlotte.
A passing coach-load of American tourists stared as Kathy hobbled from the car with her weight-numbed legs and burning neck.
Christ, what a sight we must look. With a start, Charlotte noticed that the coach was pulling into a lay-by a few yards ahead. A few seconds later, the driver alighted and ran towards them with a wobbly belly and rolled-up sleeves.
“Everything alright – do you need an ambulance?” Out of puff, he stared with concern at the angled car and at Kathy who was clutching her neck.
“No, we’re fine, thank you. Just lost some stuff from the roof that’s all,” Charlotte said.
The coach driver scratched his head. “Yeah, I think I rolled over something back there. Not too far back. Are you sure you’re all okay?” He looked again at Kathy who was wincing.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for stopping but we’re fine,” she said.
Kathy was hopping from one foot to the other trying to get the blood circulating.
“If you’re sure then…”
Satisfied, the driver took off back to his coach, his low-slung trousers only half covering his bum.
“Good look that… builder’s arse,” Charlotte chuckled “Have you recovered then?” she said turning to Kathy.
“It’s sore.”
She had a feeling they would be hearing about this all weekend. She sighed. This wasn’t exactly going according to plan. Ruth was back on the road looking for her rucksack, Sarah traipsing behind her.
Charlotte watched as they slipped off the road into a gully surrounded by yellow brambles. She followed them, in time to witne
ss Ruth performing a roadside autopsy of her battered rucksack. Everything was still inside. But not intact.
“Shit! The bottles are broken.”
“Bottles?” asked Charlotte, peering over her shoulder.
“The bottles of wine I took from the shop. Oh no – not the chops.”
“Chops?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Yeah – the chops have defrosted and leaked all over my sleeping bag.”
“Why did you put them in the sleeping bag?” asked Sarah.
“They wouldn’t fit anywhere else!” snapped Ruth.
“I’m really sorry, Ruth.” Charlotte tried her best to look apologetic. “I don’t know how the rucksack came loose. I tied it really tightly.”
And suddenly out of nowhere, all three started to laugh. It started with a titter, then a splutter. They threw their heads back and forwards with loud guffaws and ended up crippled over with howls of mirth.
“We’re on the road to nowhere… ” they sang as they sauntered back to the car.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, the dishevelled crew was ready to set off again. This time the rucksack was welded to the roof with an assortment of knots and inside the car they had a new configuration.
Kathy refused to sit in front, saying she had enough whiplash and burns for one journey. She swapped with Ruth, who was quietly seething about the broken bottles, the leaking chops, her stained clothes, and her ruined sleeping bag.
Of Charlotte’s three passengers, only Sarah was taking any interest in the countryside they trundled through. Maybe she was faking. Everyone knew Charlotte’s passion for this place. The Burren was her childhood playground. As the road wound its way through limestone forms in swirls, tiers, and cliffs, she felt an onus to showcase it, to point out its harsh and barren beauty.
“That’s a lot of rocks,” said Ruth, stating the obvious.
“A whole lot of rocks,” agreed Kathy.
Charlotte remained undeterred. The landscape would win them over. It might take a while, but it would weave its magic.
“It’s water, not rock, that’s the key feature of the Burren,” she told them.
The Blue Pool Page 10