Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “Are you serious?”

  “No, no,” O’Reilly said, rubbing a hand through his hair and turning back to the computer on his desk. “I’m just knackered. I trust ye with me life, Shane. You’re right, sooner or later some wanker will start a newspaper and then we’ll be in the shite. No, we’ll create a walled compound. Anybody gets sick, we put them there. Top secret. It’ll be our very own Area 51. No one will ever know.”

  “Except eventually they will. Or are you counting on Ireland never getting cell phone towers again?”

  “Not any time soon. Besides, by the time word spreads, we’ll have the cure.”

  “Change of tactics?”

  “You do give me points for flexibility, don’t ye, Shane?” O’Reilly said with a dry smile. “Things have changed and so must we. If there’s a cure, we need to have it. And we need nobody else to have it.”

  Shane sighed. At least that made a little more sense than paying not to find a cure.

  “Lotta people dying out there, Liam,” Shane said as he walked back to his own desk.

  “I’m not a monster,” O’Reilly called after him. “If they have enough money, the cure will be available to them. That’s only free market enterprise. America was bloody built on it.”

  *****

  Sarah was sure it must have taken everything Mike had to allow her to climb up the rudimentary ladder of branches first. But maybe not. Perhaps just knowing his boy was there, alive and laughing was enough. It would have been for her. She hugged Gavin briefly before Mike made it up the ladder. She saw the intense delight on his face as he gazed on his son, lost for so long. Father and son held each other in a brief but forceful bear hug until Mike pounded Gavin’s back several times and stepped back with an enormous grin of pure joy flooding his face.

  “We found ye, lad. By God we did. Where’s the gun ye nearly took me head off with?”

  Gavin laughed. “Would I be trying to trap food if I had a gun?”

  “I can’t believe we found you,” Mike said, shaking his head in wonder.

  “I’m so sorry, Da. One thing led to another. I never meant to be gone so long.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mike said, and Sarah could see that it really didn’t.

  Mike held his hand out to Sarah.

  “Young John’s missing,” Mike said. “Gone looking for you.”

  “Aw, shite, no,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “I was afraid of that.”

  As they walked to Gavin’s campsite, he told them his story. From Father Ryan’s lie to Gavin marrying his beloved in the woods to…everything that had happened after. When he and Sophia fled the Italian campsite, they’d run until Sophia collapsed. Gavin had found a dry crofter’s cabin to stay the night. They’d walked all the next day too—heading due south and keeping in the woods and off the roads. They’d been at their present campsite two nights because Sophia wasn’t ready to go on. Yesterday, when he was out looking for something to eat, he found the pit and covered it up, in the hopes of snaring food.

  “I think you bagged a fox,” Mike said. “He was none too pleased to be sharing his place with us.”

  Even Sarah could tell Gavin had changed in the six weeks he’d been gone. A boy had left and a man now strode into the rough campsite where a young girl sat waiting. And not just a man because he’d married—that in itself was enough to shock anyone—but in the manner that he’d been forced to rescue her.

  That had changed him.

  When they arrived at the campsite where Sophia was waiting, Sarah couldn’t help but notice how much the girl looked like her mother—right down to the hunted look of fear and sadness in her eyes.

  “Sophia,” Gavin said, “this is me da and stepmum.”

  “Hello, lass,” Mike said. He didn’t reach out to shake her hand. She sat with her mangled hand roughly bandaged and held to her breast.

  “You look like him,” she said in a strong Italian accent. “Like Gavin.”

  She’s still in shock, Sarah realized as she sat down in front of the campfire. There was a rabbit on a spit over the flames. Sophia turned away to stare into the fire.

  “Are you in pain?” Sarah asked. She had no pain relievers with her but they were well equipped back in Ameriland.

  Sophia shook her head and smiled sadly, still only looking into the fire. “I am good,” she said.

  “I didn’t want to rush her,” Gavin said, sitting down on the other side of Sophia, his feet wrapped in rabbit furs.

  “I like what you’ve done with your footwear,” Mike said grinning.

  “Aye? Just like the American Indians, so it is,” Gavin said.

  “I can’t believe we’ve found you,” Sarah said. She reached out and gently touched Sophia’s uninjured hand. Sophia continued to stare at the flames but slipped her hand into Sarah’s. Sarah was struck by how childlike the girl was. She couldn’t be nineteen years old and she’d already suffered so much.

  “You’ll be okay now,” Sarah said softly.

  Sophia nodded. “I know. I know this from the moment I first see mio cara.”

  The next morning, Sarah was awakened by the sounds of Mike and Gavin breaking camp. She felt guilty about not being able to fully revel in Mike’s elation. She felt like a bad wife and a mean-spirited soulmate to allow her own desperate sadness to seep into these moments of rare joy. But she couldn’t help it. They were all going to bundle up their pathetic belongings and limp the last fifty miles of cold, wet road to the compound—where there would be warmth and hot toddies and going to bed every night with full stomachs.

  And John would be nowhere near any of it.

  The thought of the journey was almost more than Sarah could bear. She watched Sophia as she slept by the fire. How nice to be oblivious, Sarah thought. How perfect it would be to just close your eyes and wake up when this nightmare had played itself out instead of having to endure every miserable, agonizing moment of it.

  Mike left Gavin and came to sit down next to her in front of the fire.

  “Thank God,” Sarah said. “One down.”

  Mike took her hand. “Aye. One to go.”

  “I can’t go with you,” she said, surprising herself that the words were on her tongue, let alone in her head. She hadn’t known before she spoke that that’s how she felt.

  “I can’t go back without him. Not even to restock or get the other truck. I’m sorry, Mike. I can’t.”

  Mike squeezed her hand and they watched Sophia wake up and look around the campsite in a growing panic until she saw Gavin, a backpack on his shoulders, come out of the nearby bushes. Then her face relaxed.

  “Ye know he’s nowhere in Ireland,” Mike said gently.

  “I know.”

  “All right then.”

  Gavin sat down next to Sophia and gently lifted her wounded hand.

  “Are ye about ready?” Gavin said to Mike and Sarah. “We should make it by nightfall tomorrow if we put our minds to it.”

  “We’ll not be going with ye, lad,” Mike said. “You two go on. Your Auntie Fi will see to your bride. You’ll both be well. And we’ll be along anon.”

  Gavin gaped at them. Sarah turned to Mike in stunned surprise.

  “Where the hell are ye going?” Gavin asked.

  I would love to know that too, Sarah thought, as Mike’s big calloused hand squeezed hers.

  “We’re going to Rosslare,” Mike said.

  The minute he said the name, Sarah’s shoulders relaxed and the tension she’d been holding dissipated.

  Yes. That is exactly where we’re going.

  “Rosslare?” Gavin said, frowning. “Blimey, why? Didn’t you say he’s in Wales?”

  “Aye, but we can’t get to Wales,” Mike said, smiling sadly at Sarah. “So Rosslare is as close as we can get.”

  “That makes no sense,” Gavin said.

  “It will when you’re a parent.”

  “You’d go to Rosslare when you know he’s not there? Instead of coming to the compound where there’s c
omfort and family and safety?”

  “It’s a different kind of comfort,” Mike said. “Did I ever tell you the story of the Irishman, many years ago, who worked as a day laborer and had five bairns?”

  Gavin slowly shook his head.

  “He was a good father and loved his children dearly but the one lad—the youngest—was his favorite, as much as you’re not supposed to have those.” He smiled.

  “This lad was smart and cheerful—a grand little fellow and everyone loved him. One day, the lad took sick and died as bairns do. The father was devastated, so he was. After the child was laid to rest in the parish kirkyard, the man found it hard to carry on with his life as it was before. He ate little and began to disappear for hours several times a week. His wife became worried and decided to see for herself what he was getting up to.

  “One day she followed him to the church graveyard when he was too focused on his own grief to know she was there. She watched hidden from the bushes as her husband lay down on the grave where their lad lay buried, his head by the gravestone, and he stayed that way for half an hour or more.”

  Mike paused as if bolstering himself for the telling of the rest of the story and Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she pictured the heartbroken father.

  “After her husband left, the wife went to the grave of their little lad. She walked around it and saw a rock that shouldn’t have been there next to the headstone. She picked it up and saw there was a hole underneath.”

  “A hole?” Gavin said. Even Sophia had turned toward Mike to listen.

  “Aye. A hole just big enough to fit a man’s arm into. And just deep enough that when the grieving father lay on his stomach and pushed his arm into it his fingers could touch the wooden coffin that held the child he loved so much.”

  They were all silent for a moment. Finally Gavin took in a long ragged breath and spoke to Sarah. “You need to be near where he last was.”

  Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “We’ll go too,” Gavin said, reaching for Sophia’s hand.

  “Nay, Gavin. Take your lass home. Take her to the compound.”

  “It’s my fault he’s in Wales. If I hadn’t left that fecking note…”

  “It’s doesn’t matter, lad. Your coming can’t change the past.”

  “How about the future?” Sophia said softly. Three heads turned to look at her, her eyes clear for the first time since the attack. “We are a family now. We should stay together.”

  Gavin looked at both Mike and Sarah. “Sophia’s right. Families stay together. We’ll all go to Rosslare and wait for John there. Together.”

  Tears gathered in Sarah’s lashes as she realized that in the space of fifteen minutes she’d begun to hope again for a miracle. And that miracle began with a walk to Rosslare with these three people on a cold, wet Christmas Day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The snow in Oxford piled up in great banks of white, making the inside of the little brownstone all the cozier. It was impossible for John to believe that tomorrow was Christmas Day. He hated not being home for it and knew his mother and Mike were having a sad day—especially if Gavin hadn’t found his way home yet. He imagined it was snowing in Ireland too. He wondered who was helping Mike with the horses now that he and Gav were gone. It was Christmas Eve. And while that holiday in the compound didn’t look anything like it had in Jacksonville when he was a kid, John had to admit it was still pretty wonderful.

  The whole place would be busy with baking pies and roasting pigs and chickens. They even had a big Christmas tree in the middle of the camp decorated with ornaments people brought from their own homes or found in abandoned cottages. The gifts were modest—certainly not on the scale of the Xboxes or iPads he’d once known. But somehow it was still magical.

  The longing he felt today for his mother and for Gavin and Mike was as physical as if someone had slammed his hand in a door.

  “Penny for them, then John?” Gilly said from behind him.

  He tossed the book he was trying to read on the couch next to him and moved the magazines off the cocktail table to make room for the tea tray she was carrying. She placed the tray down and sat opposite him.

  “Nothing, really. Just wondering what my mom is doing today is all.”

  Gilly poured tea into three mugs. Obviously her father would be joining them soon.

  “I hate you not being with your family for Christmas. Blame the weather,” Gilly said handing John his mug. “If it weren’t for about six inches of snow, you’d be on your way home by now.”

  John spilled hot tea on his hand and quickly placed the mug on the coffee table.

  “What are you talking about? I’m not supposed to leave for another two months.”

  “Oh. You mean the deal you made with my father?” Gilly blew on her tea as if she were totally relaxed but John could see her fingers trembling.

  “I told him that was nonsense. I told him there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go home.”

  “In fact, it’s already done,” Dr. Heaton said as he descended the stairs from the bedroom and walked into the salon. It was a rare day off for him and he clearly didn’t know what to do with himself. He and John had visited the commune twice in two weeks in order that the doc could carefully examine their buckets and filters. John wasn’t sure how the knowledge he gained translated back at the lab with his own bucket system but at least the doc seemed to be thinking from a different perspective.

  “Really coming down, isn’t it?” Dr. Heaton said as he stood by the window in the salon.

  “What do you mean it’s already done?” John pressed.

  Dr. Heaton sat and dropped two sugar cubes into his tea mug.

  “I booked the three of us on a medical transport to Belfast. It was to be my Chrissy prezzie to you, lad, but the weather wouldn’t cooperate. Still, it’ll only delay us a day or two.”

  John stopped listening. The whole salon seemed to dissolve away in his mind when Dr. Heaton delivered the words I booked us transport to Belfast. He was going home! He looked out the window to see the snow coming down harder. And even if he missed Christmas day with them all back at the compound, he’d see his mom soon and she’d forget how sad she was today.

  A big grin spread across his face. This had just turned into the best Christmas ever.

  The rest of Christmas Eve was quiet as the three of them enjoyed a roast beef dinner with Yorkshire pudding and fruitcake with real whipped cream. As they sat in the salon in front of the fire, John saw movement from a group of people outside and felt himself tense up. Although he hadn’t felt the need to be on guard since he was in Oxford, a baseline wariness never left him. Be ready.

  “There’s someone outside,” he said to Dr. Heaton.

  “Aye. I should think so,” Dr. Heaton replied. He poured a tot of brandy into his coffee.

  “It’s the carolers!” Gilly said, hopping up. “Come on, John. You’ll want to see them.”

  He followed her into the foyer and she pulled open the front door. Five people stood out front stamping their feet, bundled up against the cold, their cheeks rosy and chapped by the wind.

  “Happy Christmas!” they called out in unison.

  “Happy Christmas,” Gilly said. She pulled her coat off its hook and slipped into it but stayed inside the foyer.

  Sandra Lynch was one of the carolers. John also recognized Dr. Davis, one of the other researchers from the lab. They sang Jingle Bells and then Good King Wenceslas and finished with Noel. John draped an arm around Gilly although he’d never done anything like that before. The combination of Dr. Heaton’s brandy and the familiarity of the music gave him a warm happy feeling that called for sharing. He knew she wouldn’t mind.

  Dr. Heaton appeared behind them just as the group was finishing. After an energetic round of applause, he invited them all in for drinks. Only Dr. Lynch took him up on it. As they waved the rest of the carolers off, she joined them in the foyer, kicking snow off her boots and rubbing her hand
s together.

  “We’ll soon get you warmed up, my dear,” Dr. Heaton said, taking her coat and ushering her into the salon.

  John wondered if Dr. Lynch could possibly have joined the carolers for the express purpose of being invited into Dr. Heaton’s home for Christmas Eve drinkies. He thought it extremely likely. Dr. Lynch sat down with them in front of the fire and Dr. Heaton poured drinks for everyone.

  “To Christmas,” Dr. Heaton said raising his glass. As soon as they all drank, John heard a sound that he’d heard every day of his life for ten years and then never again. The distinct sound of a cellphone vibrating against a hard surface. At first he couldn’t place it, but Dr. Heaton jumped up and hurried to the console in the adjoining dining room where he picked up the cellphone and spoke into it.

  “Daniel?” he said into the phone. “Happy Christmas, old son!”

  John looked at Gilly. How had he not known they had working cellphones? She smiled at him with a slightly confused look on her face. Her eyes were dreamy in a way that reminded him that he’d held her in a one-armed hug not fifteen minutes earlier. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten.

  “I didn’t know you had cellphones. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Were you going to call someone?” Dr. Lynch asked dryly her eyes watching Dr. Heaton talking on the phone.

  “Not everyone does these days,” Gilly said, glancing over at her father. His face was animated in a big grin as he listened to his brother at the other end of the line. “But because of his government work, naturally, Dad needs to be reachable. He doesn’t carry it.”

  “Do you…is it possible I might make a phone call later?”

  Gilly frowned. “I thought you said your mom didn’t have phones where she is?”

  “She doesn’t. But my grandmother in the States does.”

  *****

  John would always remember the sound of his grandmother shrieking with delight to hear his voice. It nearly made up for not being with his mom on Christmas. He spoke to his grandfather too and heard him choke up with emotion as he wished him a Merry Christmas over and over again. As their only grandchild, John knew the sacrifice they had made to let him go the year before. John couldn’t wait to tell his mom that they were well and sounded great.