“She’s letting in a bit,” he remarked, watching her. “Anyways, it’s not much further to Inis Dil.”
Gulls screeched above them as they approached the steel-grey rocks and sharp cliffs of Inis Dil. Con had to concentrate as he guided the boat over a patch of ominous grey shadows lurking under the water.
“Be careful!” she warned, leaning over to try and see what other dangers lay ahead. “Gerard might have landed on the other side, that’s where the grass is growing.”
“Now she tells me!” groaned Con, laughing to himself.
Esther blushed as his honest gaze ran over her. She began to bale again.
“This sure is a rough old island, ‘tis no wonder it was left to the goats,” he considered aloud. “I think we’ll try and go around to the other side.”
Her long brown hair caught in the wind, whipping across her face as they turned, rounding the curve of the island, where patches of green were scattered amongst the bare rocks and her brother’s puzzled sheep stared out at them. They had to stay well out of the way of the rocks as they began to make for the shore. Con had cut the engine, lifting the propeller up into the air and using an oar to steer them along. With each roll of the waves they seemed to be pushed nearer the shingle-covered beach. The boat was letting in more water as the water swelled and pushed against it. “I don’t think I can take her much closer, it’s too dangerous!” he said grimly, pushing the boat nearer and nearer until it was almost aground, wedged on a sandbank. “We’ll have to wade in.” He lowered the anchor in the shallow water before climbing over the side, the water soaking his trousers. “Come on, I’ll lift you in.”
Esther tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear any of it, and held his arms open to carry her. She squealed and clung to him as he swung her over the water. Her arms locked around his sunburnt neck and she giggled and laughed so much that they both ended up getting splashed and soaked. He dumped her in the water as soon as the level was about to her knees. She gasped at its coldness, ruching her skirt up around her waist, modesty forgotten.
They both scrambled on to the beach.
“You’re soaked!” she gasped, letting her skirt tumble back down over her wet legs, suddenly conscious of his eyes staring at her. She was not used to men looking at her and turned a bright cherry red. “Come on and we’ll see if we can find Ger and Tom. There’s no sign of the boat but they must be around.”
Con tramped behind her as they went in search of her brothers. They climbed the rocky goat paths, calling their names. The sheep seemed content and paid no heed to them. Finally exhausted, they gave up. Esther suspected that the black dot in the distance might be her brother’s boat and that coming after them had been a waste of time.
“Is that them?” suggested Con, pointing to the curve of foam that had cut through the deep blue of the sea.
“Aye!” She nodded. All the excitement of coming on a boat with a total stranger seemed suddenly foolish. The sun had been swallowed up by a bank of clouds and she felt chilly.
Walking back, they passed three derelict cottages, windows gaping, roofs blown off and scattered years ago. Soon there would be no sign of the people who had lived their lives in this hard place; they both felt saddened by it. They walked back down to the beach. The tide had come in, covering the shingle, and the boat bobbed away out on the tide awaiting them. They would have to swim to it.
“Can you swim, Esther?” asked Con, concerned. He knew that most fisherfolk never bothered to learn to swim, believing that it was better to drown quickly.
“Not properly!” she whispered. Her father had never learnt to swim.
“Look, I’ll help you. It’s not too deep!” They walked out as far as they could, the freezing water swirling around them, until Esther realized as the water dashed against her chest that she could walk no further. She tried to doggy-paddle the way she used to swim down on the beach with the boys during hot summers, but whether it was the cold or the gashing rocks that lurked below, or the depth of the water, her simple frantic strokes could not keep her afloat. Salt water streamed down her throat, filling her mouth and nose. Thrashing and screaming she gasped for breath.
“Easy, Esther! Easy!” Con was by her side. “Hold on to me!” he ordered sharply, grabbing her by the waist. “Calm down! I’ve got you!”
Gulping for air, coughing and choking, she clung on to him. He stayed put, treading water as she leant against him, trying to keep upright, but the waves kept washing over her, pushing her under.
“Come on! We’ll swim for it now!” Con moved through the surging blue sea water, but she could only stay afloat for a few minutes when tested against such waves. She would never make it to the boat.
“It’s useless!” she sobbed. “I can’t do it!”
“Listen, Esther. Put your arms on my shoulders. Hold on to me!” he ordered firmly. “I’m not going to let you drown!” Esther let her freezing arms and hands slide about him and for a second rested her head against him. “Hang on! Hang on now!” he shouted, beginning to swim.
They swam for a few minutes then stopped. Esther’s legs felt heavy, her toes stiff and sore. They had walloped against something jagged. Every bit of her was cold. Then Con began to swim again.
“Look, Esther! There’s the boat! We’re nearly there. Hang on just a bit longer!”
They were beside the boat, the water slapping them against it. She was too tired to lift herself up over the side of it. Con was now facing her, his face white under his tan. They both clung to the side of the boat, too tired for anything else. She wrapped her arms around his neck, needing his strength. After a while her teeth began to chatter.
“You are to hang on for a second while I climb in!” ordered Con, loosening her grip. She knew it was no use screaming that she was afraid she would slip beneath the waves. She watched as he pulled heavily against the side of the boat, trying to swing his right leg over the wooden edge, the boat rocking wildly, the swell of waves almost engulfing her. One leg, then he was plunging over and into the boat. Seconds later his strong arms had caught hold of her and he was pulling and lifting her out of the water. She clung to him as he dragged her over the edge and on board. The two of them sat there on the bench seat, both of them getting their breath back, steadying themselves. Esther kept her arms around him, unwilling to let go, her breath easing, her face burrowed against his neck. His hands suddenly moved her sodden straggly hair to one side and his lips touched against the nape of her neck. She pulled him closer to her, lifting her face to his as they kissed. They were both cold, but his warm breath seemed to fill her. Esther had been kissed before, twice at the parish dance, and once outside her front door. Those kisses had been sweaty and fumbled, Jim Byrne and David Murphy both tasting of drink, darting their tongues inside her mouth. This kiss was long and slow and deep. Con tasted of salt water and the ocean, his mouth melting into hers, making her gasp and respond as they kissed yet again. She pulled him closer, wanting to feel his warm body against her. She sighed as he began to unbutton her soaking wet blouse, longing to feel his hands touch her. “Here, Esther!” he whispered hoarsely, passing her the warm sweater that he had left on the boat earlier. She shivered as he pulled it on her, slipping her blouse off. “I think I’d better get us going!”
She groaned as he moved away from her, kissing his cheek. She watched as Con lifted the anchor and then used the oars. He tried and tried to get the engine started but there was no responding shudder when he pulled the starting-motor. The old engine would not bring them away from the currents around Inis Dil; they would have to row.
Con sat across from her, using both oars. He was tired and the incoming tide was strong, but with huge effort he managed to pull them away from the island. The sun had dipped low and they both knew that within an hour or so it would be dark. He rowed for as long and as hard as he could until the sheep became white dots in the distance. Esther implored him to let her help and he reluctantly agreed to let her take one of the oars. They tried to row in
time but every few minutes she would miss a stroke or skim the top of the waves. She cursed the oar and her own stupidity. Con would silence her with yet another kiss. They watched the cormorants dive in the dusk, as the sky became darker and the silver shoe of the moon made a pathway across the water, taunting them. Con wanted her to lie down in the bottom of the boat and rest, but she insisted on sitting beside him, helping to row towards what they hoped was the coast. Every now and then they would talk, trying to keep alert and awake.
“Listen!” called Con. They both heard it. It was an engine. Esther shook her head. They must be imagining it. Then they could feel its rumbling shudder as it came nearer them. Dazzling bright lights cut through the gloom as the large fishing-boat came into view.
“Ahoy there!”
Esther began to cry, recognizing her brother Donal’s voice.
“Are you all right, Esther?”
“Yeah!” she shouted, her voice carrying across the water.
Con was busy explaining to them what had happened and about the engine failing. “Grab hold of this!” ordered Gerard, throwing a towing-rope to Con. She watched as he tied it securely through two rings on the boat. Then the engine of her brother’s boat roared into life and they began to shift through the swell of water. Gerard Doyle watched in disbelief as the stranger went and sat down beside his sister. He seemed to have his arm around her and by Christ he was kissing the top of her head! She was only a young one and he was about the same age as himself. Esther was making a holy show of herself. Her skirt was wrapped up around the top of her thighs, and if he was not mistaken her blouse lay sodden in a pile of water at the bottom of the boat. The sooner they got home the better.
As luck would have it, it was a grand clear night, and Esther gasped in astonishment when she spotted the chain of lamps down on the beach and the group of people waiting. ‘Twas always the way when a boat did not turn in. “‘Tis all right! ‘Tis all right, we found them!” shouted Donal across the bay.
A cheer went up, and the well-wishers crowded down to the water’s edge as the Doyles’ smaller boat ran almost aground. Esther leant against Con.
“Will you come dancing with me again, Esther?” he whispered.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“It’s all right, pet!” he murmured, hugging her. “We’re back home. You’re safe!”
Gerard and Donal were first to the boat and lifted her out, over the sand. “She’s all right, Mam! Honest she is!” called Donal.
Majella Doyle thanked God, standing there grey and haggard, remembering the awful night many years before when she had waited and waited for Dermot’s boat to appear. Majella peered at the dark-haired fellow who was helping her sons pull the boat up on to the shore and thanking them and the neighbours for coming out to search for them. What in the name of God was Esther doing out in a boat at this hour of night with a total stranger? Was her daughter gone mad altogether!
Esther stumbled up across the beach towards her, teeth chattering and freezing cold, her hair hanging like damp rat-tails, Majella noticing that her daughter couldn’t take her eyes off the tall figure of Conor O’Hagan.
In a tumult of emotion, Majella didn’t know whether to hug her or hit her. “What have you done, Esther?” she fussed, wrapping a warm blanket around her.
Esther was too tired to try and talk and explain everything to her mother. Even in the darkness she was aware of Con watching her too.
Chapter Nine
He took her dancing, the first time arranging to meet her outside the Maid of the Mountains dance being held in the old union hall in Spiddal, and keeping a firm hold of her hand as he led her through the queue of waiting patrons and into the hall. The Chris Casey Band were playing, blue blazers shining in the spotlights as their big-band sound ricocheted off the whitewashed walls and ceiling. The whole centre of the dance hall lay open, a yawning empty space of polished floorboards that for the moment nobody dared to cross. The girls lined one side of the hall, the fellahs the other, all too shy and too sober to cross the floor yet. She recognized a few of her old schoolpals: Teresa O’Kelly; Fidelma; Anna, who was with her boyfriend; Carmel Quinn, winking at her as they passed. She could sense that she had aroused their curiosity, and said hello briefly as Con led her over to a group of fellahs in the corner. They were arranging a football match for the following Tuesday and she felt awkward and shy standing beside him, knowing a lot of the girls were watching her.
Much to her relief, a group of brave couples were first to take the floor as Chris Casey belted out his rendition of “Saturday Night Sweetheart.” “Hiya, Esther.” Anna waved, dancing by. “Get up and dance, for God’s sake!”
Con finally agreed and, taking her arm, led her out on to the floor. She noticed his well-pressed shirt and slightly Brylcreemed hair, and there was a pleasant scent of Old Spice aftershave off him. She was glad he had made such an effort for their first proper date. She had dressed up too, in her fitted white blouse and swirly, waist-hugging pale blue skirt. She’d spent the whole afternoon tweezing her eyebrows into a narrow line which was supposed to make her eyes look bigger, and had coated her eyelashes with cake mascara so they stood out long and rigid like the lashes of the film stars in Anna’s Film Monthly. They danced for over an hour, chatting and laughing, shouting to be heard over the sound of the music, clasping each other tightly during the slow sets, both remembering the boat and their closeness. The hall was jam-packed, condensation dripping off the walls despite the open windows and doors. They were both hot and thirsty, Con’s shirt sticking to his torso. He bought two glasses of red lemonade and they gulped them down.
“Will we go outside for a bit, Esther?”
She nodded in agreement, letting him lead her through the crowds and out into the cool night air. He pulled her along past gangs of courting couples, her cheeks flaming as she watched them grope and caress each other unashamed.
“Come here, Esther!” he joked, pulling her into the darkness.
It felt good to be back in his arms, and she did not protest at the welcome feel of his cheek and mouth against hers. Lips and mouths and tongues merged and she quickly lost her feeling of nervousness at her lack of experience, and responded eagerly to his lead. It felt like he was almost draining the life from her, and she had to lean against him at one stage to get her breath back. His eyes teased her as he pushed the long hair off her face and began to move his lips against the skin of her neck, sucking and biting it till she could stand it no more. She had never experienced anything like it before, realizing how brazen she truly was as she helped him mould her body to his and began to deep-kiss him yet again. She could have, would have, stayed there all night long like this with him, only that it began to rain, and an exodus of screaming courting couples fled back into the hall.
“Jesus, Esther! We’ll have to go back inside or we’ll be soaked.”
She pretended to pout, before chasing on inside ahead of him, excusing herself as she needed to visit the Ladies, joining the long line for a cubicle.
“Will ya hurry on up there!” shouted Teresa. “We’re bursting out here!”
Esther caught a glimpse of herself in the steamed-up mirror, her hair tousled and damp, her lips swollen, over-kissed, her skin slightly reddened and taut from Con’s scratchy stubble. Anna breezed in, hugging her. “He’s gorgeous, Esther! Where did you find such a fine thing?”
The shoving and pushing and high-pitched chattering was making her dizzy and as soon as she was finished she was delighted to go back outside with Anna, who insisted on being formally introduced to Con, her boyfriend Matt looking on bemused. Then the four of them danced and jived, interchanging partners. Matt was good company and she tried not to be even a bit jealous when Con swung beautiful blonde Anna in his arms. She was glad when the band slowed the tempo and she had Con all to herself again, for she knew already that she was falling in love with him.
Each night together was like that first night. The Young Farmers’ Dance, t
he O’Casey’s Cabin Ceilidh Night, the hops in Salthill. She couldn’t help herself, for she just adored being with him. He was so different from any of the other boys she knew. He paid her compliments, he loved to smell her hair, touch her skin, making her feel special, noticed. Once or twice during the week he would call to the cottage for her.
“Esther, ‘tis your man!” her brothers would shout, embarrassing her.
“His name is Conor,” she would remind them, “and you are to invite him in.” She wished her family could be more polite. Last week she had found Conor sitting between her mother and Nonie, her mother giving him the cold shoulder because he wasn’t a local and she didn’t know his people, and Nonie tormenting him with questions about all sorts of stupid things.
Usually they would just go for a walk across the fields or along the roadway, or go down and sit by the beach, finding a sheltered hidden spot, watching the waves roll in along the shore. They both wanted privacy, a place to talk and court without all the world looking on, or her brothers and Nonie jumping out at them. “Shove off and leave us alone!” she’d scream at them.
The evenings she didn’t get to see Conor, she felt low and miserable, the house and work closing in on her. How had she never noticed it before? Was this what being in love was like?
“Don’t rush into things,” cautioned her mother. “You barely know him, and he’s a good bit older than you.”
What would her mother know about falling in love with the likes of Conor, anyways? Daddy had been more than ten years older than her and she’d still married him.
As often as she could, Esther made the pilgrimage up by the back fields and along the road to the McGuinness farm where Conor worked, hoping to get a glimpse of him. As luck would have it she would usually spot him, back bent, shovel in his hands, trying to reclaim the land that old Dan McGuinness had let fall to waste in his old age. Nettles and thistles and briars and all kinds of weeds overran the brown earth and it was a devil of a job to clear it. He would stand up and wave before resuming the work. She grumbled to herself that Nuala McGuinness was working him too hard, taking advantage of him, but had to admit that he seemed to enjoy working the land.
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