The Blue Pool

by Siobhan MacDonald

  “Aha! I see your plan,” said Ruth. “You don’t need much petrol if you don’t have to give us lot a lift to Ennis, am I right?”

  “Right,” said Charlotte. “I could take a more direct route home – if I don’t have to go through Ennis.”

  “So… if we three make our own way back to Ennis, you won’t need all the money for petrol,” Sarah added, nodding.

  “Exactly,” Charlotte said.

  “A no-brainer,” said Kathy. “We could easily hitch to Ennis as long as we start out early, we should make our connections. What do you girls think?” She looked at Ruth and Sarah.

  “Hitching’s great by me. Let’s do it,” said Ruth. Sarah nodded too.

  “Party on!” said Kathy. “That’s it sorted then. Same again, everyone? Cough up, Charlie.”

  All three smirked as they watched Kathy sashay to the bar. She’d timed it well, coinciding her approach with the stubble-faced guy she’d singled out. Five minutes later, she returned from the bar with a sloshing tray and the promise of a visit from the four-man party.

  “They’re here on a caving weekend,” she said. “From the north of Ireland,” she added.

  “What happened to ‘No Men Allowed’?” Sarah said, looking puzzled.

  “Oh, come on, girls – you must admit the guy with the stubble looks cute.” Kathy tried to place the glasses without slopping.

  “You’re a lost cause, Kath, beyond salvation,” said Ruth, sighing.

  Charlotte detected a note of envy. For all Ruth’s confidence, she lacked ease with the opposite sex.

  “Only a bit of fun,” protested Kathy. “Sean, the guy with the beard, has been telling me the most amazing stuff about the caves around here.”

  I’m sure he has, thought Charlotte.

  Kath was such a sucker. She’d conveniently forgotten the previous evening’s conversations. As they’d barbequed in the dusk, Charlotte had recounted Cyril’s stories of caves and caverns hidden in these parts.

  She gritted her teeth as Sean and his companions came loping over.

  “Hi girls, nice to meet you. I’m Sean.”

  He held out a hand to Kathy.

  Good lord, she’s practically purring, thought Charlotte.

  “And these are the guys,” Sean said, using his pint to point. “Harry, Milo, and Bundy.”

  What kind of a weird name was Bundy, Charlotte wondered? The only Bundy she’d ever heard of was Ted Bundy, the serial killer, rapist, and necrophile.

  With introductions done, they pulled stools across the floor to join them. I see what’s happening here, thought Charlotte. Sean’s companions had taken their cue from him, and fancied their chances of pairing off with the other three. None were as diverting as Kathy found Sean – both of whom were engaged in conversation about stalactites.

  “Bundy – what an unusual name,” Charlotte ventured. “No relation to Ted Bundy I hope?”

  The guy looked at her gormlessly. Stupidly.

  “It’s just what the guys call me.”

  Silence.

  “Really?” The lights were on here but no one was home.

  “Yeah.”

  Another silence.

  “I’m from Bundoran, you see. Bundoran – Bundy… get it?”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Jesus.

  Why on earth had Kath invited them over? They’d been managing perfectly fine on their own.

  To her left, she overheard the guy called Milo explain to Sarah that he was a butcher. He and the guys came to the Burren once a year to go caving. The guy was staring at Sarah, drinking her in with intense brooding eyes. She looked rosy and healthy after the day’s exertions. The wind had teased out her hair which didn’t look quite so matted.

  That left Ruth with Harry.

  And there was nothing happening there. Charlotte smirked as she saw Ruth give the guy a withering look. His attempts to entertain her were falling on barren ground. Charlotte found herself enjoying the guy’s pathetic attempts to chat Ruth up. But then Bundy turned his attention to her.

  “What brings you to these parts, then?” he asked.

  “We’re students,” Charlotte replied. “Hanging out waiting for exam results.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Microbiology and pharmocology.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘ologies’,” Bundy chuckled. “No Geology?”

  Charlotte smiled. He was trying hard.

  “That’s the one I’d do,” he continued. “Be useful to know more about the caves.”

  Amusing though it would be to toy with him, Charlotte couldn’t be bothered. He was too much of a dullard. She made it plain that she had a boyfriend and that had the desired cooling effect. The following half an hour was filled with mildly diverting conversation.

  Charlotte knew a bit about the caves from Cyril, but Bundy and his buddies seemed to think they’d stumbled on something new – a previously undiscovered cavern not far from here. Its entrance was hidden by hazel scrub with a long narrow tunnel leading to a series of water filled chambers. Bundy’s eyes were shining as he told her.

  “Where exactly is this cave?” asked Charlotte. Cyril would be intrigued to hear of this new find.

  “I’ll tell you,” Bundy replied, “you know the field with the fairy-fort where –”

  “The girls aren’t interested, Bundy,” Milo interrupted sharply. “Let’s not bore the arses off them completely.” His expression suddenly darkened.

  Bundy stopped, open-mouthed, blinking. Milo was staring at him hard. There was an odd exchange of glances.

  “No really, it’s not boring at all. I’d like to know,” she persevered.

  “Last orders, Bundy. Get one more in,” said Milo icily. He ignored her completely.

  Charlotte tensed. Who did Milo think he was? She’d no doubt been coming to the Burren a lot longer than this chancer. What gave him the right to be so proprietorial over a cave?

  An embarrassed Bundy stood up to offer her another drink but she declined. Her mood had soured. To her annoyance, the others accepted. And so Charlotte was obliged to suffer the company of this odd crew for another whole hour before the landlord ejected them all into the dark on the country road.

  “Can we give you girls a lift home?” asked Milo.

  “You’re driving?” asked Charlotte, scathingly. She was surprised, given the number of pints Milo had downed. She’d left her Ford Fiesta back at the cabin.

  “I sure am,” he said cheerily, his earlier frostiness forgotten.

  Charlotte was uneasy. There was something schizo about the guy.

  “Over there.” Milo pointed to a white van with block lettering. It declared a proud tradition of thirty years quality butchering. He must fancy his chances with Sarah, thought Charlotte. Judging by the leery grins on the other guys, they fancied their chances at pairing off too.

  Sarah giggled.

  “Thanks for the offer. We’re okay, thanks.” Charlotte didn’t trust the guy and she certainly wasn’t piling into a honking butcher’s van. The idea was gross.

  “We won’t all fit. We’re fine. We’ll walk,” she said firmly. “We have a torch.”

  “Ah, you’re only four wee slips of things. It’s no problem. Come on now girls, get into the back.” He was insistent. He was also arseholed.

  “I don’t think so…” but even as she protested, she was aghast to see the other three piling into the back.

  “C’mon, Charlie,” slurred Ruth. “It’s better than walking home in the dark.”

  Christ!

  Even sensible Ruth was pissed. Was Charlotte the only sober person here? Against her better judgement, Charlotte followed the others, crawling into the dark and seat-less rear of the van. A hairy arm brushed against her breast as someone reached to pull the back door closed.

  The van took off with a screeching wheel-spin and exploding exhaust. All in the back lurched forward, banging off one another. In the dark came a bad smell like rotting meat. Oh, this was a mistak
e. A big mistake.

  Milo tore around the road at breakneck speed.

  “Can you slow down?” shouted Charlotte, feeling queasy. They should never have got in the van. This was mental. Milo was wasted. Rounding a corner, everyone lurched to the left.

  “I feel sick,” moaned Kathy.

  “Get your hands off!” Ruth cried out. Someone had roaming hands.

  “Who’s got the torch?” Charlotte asked, scared now.

  “I do, I do. I doooo, I dooo, I doooo, I dooo…” sang Sarah, too drunk to care. She flashed the light on and off into their faces. It was all a laugh to her. On, off, went the torch.

  An arc of light hit the van wall opposite. Charlotte froze. There was something there. Dark again but she knew exactly what she’d seen. Walls covered with blood. In the next flash of light, two eyes stared back at her, boring a hole through her. They’d noted her alarm. The four of them were fools. Irresponsible fools. What had they got themselves into?

  “Occupational hazard,” a voice said in the dark. It was Bundy. “Meat hangs along the sides.” In the cabin of the van were the four of them along with Bundy and Harry. Sean was up front with Milo.

  “Quit messing with the torch, I can’t see,” said Milo. “Sort it, Bundy.”

  “Sarah, stop,” Charlotte added. They would end up in the ditch.

  “Ooops,” said Sarah, still clutching the torch and angling it downwards, turning it on and off at their feet instead. She was really getting under Charlotte’s skin.

  Her bum felt icy cold. Her back was pressed up close to something hard. What were they sitting on? In the next flash of light she spotted wet-suits and oxygen cylinders.

  “What’s in here…?” slurred Sarah. She was pulling at the zip of the hold-all she was sitting on. Out came something dark, a piece of clothing. “What’s this?” She tried steadying her hand but they were all suddenly catapulted forward as the van screeched to a halt.

  “What did I say about the torch?” Milo said softly. His voice was full of menace. He’d turned around and was staring at them all in the back of the van. “What the fuck did I say, Bundy? Did I or did I not ask you to take the torch from her? Are you a fucking retard? Well are you?”

  “Sorry…” mumbled Bundy.

  Charlotte held her breath. Sarah wasn’t giggling now. There was deathly silence in the van. In the moonlight Charlotte could make out that they were straddling both lanes of the country road where they’d skidded to a halt.

  Milo held out his hand. Wordlessly, Sarah handed him the torch. He held out his hand again. She handed over the piece of clothing. Still holding her breath, Charlotte focused in the moonlight. A diver’s hood? No. But close. A balaclava.

  “Bundy, zip that bag,” ordered Milo.

  “Yeah, sorry,” said Bundy again.

  “Well, you know what they say, girls?” Milo asked, a cold smile on his lips. He looked around the cabin.

  No one answered.

  “What?” laughed Milo, “Well, you’re all very quiet. I’ll tell you what they say – Curiosity killed the cat. That’s right, isn’t it, Sarah?”

  “Eh… yeah, I guess. Dunno really…” Though drunk she knew she’d pissed him off.

  “Mmm…” Milo pondered her response.

  “I feel really sick,” groaned Kathy.

  “Well, we’d better get motoring again,” quipped Milo in another change of mood. “How much further up the road?”

  “The Blue Pool, you know it?” asked Charlotte carefully. She was completely unnerved now. This guy was unbalanced. What were they doing with balaclavas?

  “Oh yeah, the Blue Pool. I know it,” he said. His driving had slowed down. Harry and Bundy exchanged glances.

  “You do?”

  That was strange. Off the main road, it was difficult to find. Most visitors needed detailed instructions. As the car spluttered up the hill, Charlotte thought ahead. She suspected the four guys might expect to be invited in to the cabin. But that was not happening. Tense, she sat there scheming, trying to hatch a plan to get rid of them without offending Milo.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to put her plan in motion. Kathy saved them. Kathy, the source of much disaster, came up with the solution. As the van pulled to a stop outside their cabin, she was moaning, “Let me out. Now! I mean it!”

  As the doors opened, she splayed them wide and projectile-vomited out the door and all over Sean’s walking boots. Good woman. Her timing was impeccable. Ruth, Sarah and Charlotte all went to her aid.

  Sean looked Kathy up and down with disappointment. He looked dejected. Her vomiting had cooled his ardour and with a doleful look he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Looks like it’s time to call it a night, girls,” drawled Milo. “Pity that…” he looked around. “Well then, I guess that’s that.” He clapped his hands together. “See you again,” he said. “We’ll call in tomorrow.”

  “See yez’all for breakfast!” Harry shouted out the passenger window as the van was reversing noisily in a spray of pebbles.

  Something else that won’t be happening, Charlotte thought, as they stumbled into the cabin. They’d be out of here by breakfast tomorrow if she had anything to do with it. Some of them would struggle to get up but Charlotte would look after that.

  She watched now as Sarah led a disheveled and wasted Kathy to the bathroom. Kathy was such a mess. Serve her right for drawing that shower of reprobates on top of them. It had been a most unpleasant and alarming drive home.

  “Okay, so everyone, I’m going to hit the hay,” Charlotte announced. “I’m completely knackered.”

  Ruth and Sarah parked themselves at the bottom of the stairs outside the bathroom door waiting for Kathy.

  “How did Kath manage to get this trollied?” Sarah asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “Are you kidding, Nugent? That guy, Sean, was buying her Malibu and Coke for the last hour, didn’t you notice?” Charlotte asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Malibu – the taste of paradise,” said Ruth in a monotone staring at the bathroom door. She was pissed too.

  “Sounds like Kath is going to be talking all about Malibu for a while, on that great white telephone in there,” said Charlotte. “Drink a pint of water before you turn in!” she shouted through the door. “You’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

  From the sounds emanating from behind the door, Charlotte had little faith in that. She winced at the stomach-churning sounds. They were making her feel queasy now. There were lots of moans and groans of anguish. Lots of flushing and lots of calls to Jesus. Charlotte hurried past for fear she’d retch herself.

  It’d be a long day tomorrow. There was setting the cabin to rights and Charlotte wasn’t looking forward to the long drive ahead. Although exhausted, she didn’t expect much sleep. The dreaded sunburn had now kicked in, her hair stank of cigarette smoke, and she wasn’t looking forward to her legs getting all prickly hot and sticky in the nylon sleeping bag. She could only hope that her moderation had paid off and that she’d managed to stave off a hangover. As she zipped up her sleeping bag, Charlotte couldn’t help but smile as she thought about Sean buying Kathy all those expensive drinks. Served him right. His plan had so backfired.

  How could she, puzzled Charlotte? How could Kathy even have a scintilla of interest in guys after the year she’d just put down? To Charlotte it seemed unimaginable that the girl could have one iota of interest in the opposite sex. And yet she did. It wasn’t like the ordeal of the termination was short-lived. It wasn’t that – Kathy brooded about it all the time but they all knew she didn’t want to talk.

  Charlotte had come to the conclusion that Kathy wasn’t stupid. What she was was reckless and naive. That was it. Kathy possessed an abundance of both. Despite protestations to the contrary, Kathy still continued to seek male company. She still craved male attention. It seemed to Charlotte that Kathy had developed a weird and perverse appetite for pain and chaos, limping from one ill-fated relationship to the nex
t, battered and bloodied, looking for more destruction.

  Was she in some way trying to punish herself for what had happened to her brother, Lawrence? Charlotte listened as the muffled sounds from the downstairs bathroom continued unabated. For now at least, sex was not on Kathy’s mind. Charlotte didn’t envy her. She didn’t envy her waking in the morning. She didn’t envy her hitching with a hangover. Come to think of it, there was not a thing she envied about Kathy. Not one little thing. After some tossing and turning, Charlotte fell into a fitful sleep. At the back of her mind was a niggling regret at having raided the petrol money.

  * * *

  Bright sunlight poured through the check curtains the following morning. It was seven o’clock. Outside, the birds were singing. It was time to get up. Charlotte peeled herself from the nylon sleeping bag.

  She cleaned out the remains of the fire and went to the coal shed for fuel to set a fresh one. As the coal clattered into the scuttle Charlotte heard the sound of tires on gravel and the throaty sound of a diesel engine. Oh no, those guys hadn’t come looking for breakfast, had they? She’d told them they were heading away today. Yet, it seemed too early for a social call. She was in no humor to entertain anyone, far less cook a breakfast. There was precious little food left anyway.

  However, when Charlotte emerged from the coal shed, there wasn’t a car to be seen. No white butcher’s van waiting outside. Nothing outside apart from her Ford Fiesta. That was strange. Charlotte hadn’t imagined the noise. She most definitely had heard something.

  Puzzled, she made her way back to the sitting room, and began to clear out the ashes in the grate. Job complete, she stood up and surveyed what else had to be done. The floor was still sticky with the beer that Kathy spilled and sweeping didn’t quite get into all the grooves and dips of those pitted black flagstones. Over the years some of the cabins had replaced the flagstones with tiles or wooden flooring. But Uncle Cyril had been reluctant to tamper with tradition. She would use the hoover, that should sort it. The ancient machine was nearly as old as the cabin itself and the noise from it would be a way of getting the others up. Finding the creaking upright machine at the back of a cupboard in the mudroom, Charlotte set to work.