The Whole of the Moon

by Kevin McManus

  Sarah and Darragh looked at each other awkwardly. The silence between them was cold and Conor uncomfortably tried to pierce it by saying something ridiculous like, “Sure, it's not a bit like Christmas. Isn't it fierce quiet all together?”

  The three friends all smiled at each other.

  “Right, it's my round,” Darragh slurred. “What are ye all having?”

  Time slipped by as the drinks flowed. Darragh got up off his stool and swayed as he said, “Fuck it, I think I'm pissed again.”

  He smiled and laughed, staggering off to the jacks. He fell over a small table and stools, but picked himself up and turned around to Conor and Susan and roared laughing again.

  “So, Sarah,” Conor began. “How you feeling?”

  “Oh, not too bad. These vodkas are hitting the spot.”

  The pair chatted for a time before Sarah said, “Darragh is a long time in the jacks. Maybe you should go and check on him, Conor. He could be asleep in the cubicle. That happens quite a lot when he's pissed as a newt.”

  “Oh yea. Suppose I better go and check to see if he's still conscious,” Conor said as he walked towards the toilets.

  He returned after a few minutes. “There is no sign of him in there.”

  “Where the feck did he go?” Sarah asked, swallowing her drink. “He could have gone for a sleep in the car outside. I'll go and check.” She wrapped herself up with her long grey coat and cream scarf.

  “I'll go with you. He could have collapsed outside,” Conor said, laughing.

  They went out the side door to the car park. It was full of vehicles and poorly lit. The night was cold and foggy.

  “What kind of car are we looking for?” Conor asked.

  “My car. A Ford Mondeo. Darragh has been driving it for the last few days because he got a bang or something on his own car and has to get it fixed.”

  After some time, they spotted the Mondeo parked in the lower corner of the car park under a tree and next to the wall of Murtagh's hardware shop. Sarah walked over towards it and Conor followed her. As they approached the car, Conor noticed that the light was on inside and the windows were covered in a white frost.

  “He must be asleep inside,” Conor said to Sarah as he laughed.

  Sarah knocked on the window of the driver's door and called Darragh's name. She opened the door and looked inside, Conor stood behind her. Her jaw dropped to the ground as she discovered Darragh in the backseat and a girl with long brown hair lying next to him.

  “Darragh! Darragh, you fuckin' bastard. How could you and with that barmaid bitch, Marie,” Sarah roared.

  Darragh turned around to face Sarah. “Oh, fuck.”

  Marie stared up at Sarah in embarrassment from the backseat of the car next to Darragh.

  “Darragh, you cheatin' bastard,” Sarah screamed. “You fuckin' dirty scumbag.”

  She turned around and cried loudly as she ran across the car park and back into the side door of the pub. Conor ran after her. She held her head in her hands as she walked quickly to the ladies' toilets, wailing. He stood outside the ladies' toilet and waited for her to come out. After standing there for ten minutes and feeling awkward, he went back into the bar to get his pint.

  A few minutes later, Darragh came into the bar and asked, “Where is Sarah?”

  “We went out to see if you were okay. We thought you might be asleep out in the car.”

  “No, Conor. Oh, fuck it,” Darragh replied. “Sarah just caught me out in the car with that Marie one.”

  “I know, Darragh, ya stupid prick ya, I was standing beside Sarah. You should have been more careful. Jesus Christ, Darragh, you've fucked up now. It will take some charmin and sweet talkin' to get out of this one.”

  “Don't I know it?” Darragh replied as he knocked back a half one of whiskey. “Where is Sarah, anyway?”

  “She's in the toilet,” Conor said.

  “Will you go and check to see if she is okay, Conor? Please?” Darragh asked as he lit a fag to calm his nerves.

  Conor headed out toward the side door of the pub and found Sarah standing outside the toilets fixing up her make up.

  “Are you okay, Sarah?” he asked.

  “Yea,” Sarah said. “Is Darragh in at the bar?”

  “He is, yea. He was wondering where you were,” Conor replied.

  “Look, I'm heading home. Well, I'm actually heading over to stay with a friend in Ballygalvin. I just rang her, she's coming to collect me. I said I would meet her outside O'Brien's Pub across the road, I'm not going back into the bar to that asshole,” Sarah said as she put on eyeliner with a pencil and looked into a small mirror that she took out of her handbag.

  “Sarah, Darragh is pissed drunk. He doesn't know what he is doing, why don't you talk to him? I'm sure he's sorry.”

  “I can't believe you are trying to defend him. Look, Conor, I don't really want to talk about it, I'll chat to you again. I better go.”

  “I'll walk you over to O'Brien's, Sarah and at least wait with you until your friend turns up.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Sarah replied, taking Conor's arm as he helped her across the road.

  They crossed the icy street over to O'Brien's Pub and stood outside it for ten minutes until a white Fiat car pulled up.

  “There's Roisin's car now, I better go over to her. I will give you a call tomorrow. Thanks for waiting with me, you're a pet,” Sarah said as she gave Conor a little kiss on the cheek.

  Conor waited until the car drove off, then went back over to Darragh in Sheehan's. Darragh was sitting hunched over the counter staring into a glass of Powers Whiskey.

  “Well, how is she he?” he asked.

  “She's gone off to stay with some friend called Roisin. I think that was her name, Roisin or Rosey or something like that.”

  “Roisin Sheridan,” Darragh replied. “That cow. She works with Sarah in the bank. She's a right bitch—hates my guts. She is always trying to fix Sarah up with lads in the bank. She says I'm no good for her, I'm holding her back from getting promotion. Bloody cow. Rotten bitch.”

  Conor and Darragh drank on as Conor tried to console Darragh and convince him that he would talk Sarah around and that everything would be back to normal in a few days. It was not the first time Sarah had found out that Darragh was two timing her. She always took him back. She always forgave him and gave him one last chance. Darragh had an innate devilish charm, he could always win women over.

  The lights started flickering in the bar to give the nod for last orders.

  “It's 12:30,” Conor said. “I'm whacked. I'm off to bed. Do you want to stay in the spare room in my parent's house? You're not fit to drive home and the roads are like glass.” He got up from his bar stool.

  “Nah, I'll drive home,” Darragh replied.

  “No fuckin' way, Darragh, you'll kill yourself. The roads are as icy as fuck,” Conor pleaded.

  The pair walked outside and Darragh slipped and fell on the footpath.

  “I see what you mean.” Darragh laughed as Conor helped him up. He turned and looked back at the car and thought for a moment.

  “Okay, Conor,” he said. “I'll take you up on the offer of your spare room. I hope your parents won't mind.”

  “No hassle. Come on,” Conor replied as he led Darragh across the road.

  The next morning, Conor woke around eleven, got up and dressed and went across the landing and knocked on the spare room door to see how Darragh was. He opened the door and discovered the room empty. He went downstairs into the kitchen and asked his mother where Darragh was. She informed him that he had got up around nine and had a cup of tea and a fag and headed over to get his car to go home.

  Chapter VII

  Broken Land

  Friday, 30th December 1988

  Conor decided to take it easy at home for a few days and give the drink a break and the liver a chance to recover. He enjoyed time spent with his family with a clear and sober head and they went on visits to friends and relations in the area.
>
  On the day before New Year's Eve, Conor decided to find out how Darragh and Sarah were getting on. He imagined they might have patched up their differences by now. He knew Sarah had forgiven Darragh in the past, but it would take some sweet talking to win Sarah over this time. Finding him in the middle of the act with Marie in the back of the car must have taken the biscuit.

  Conor took a stroll around the pubs in town to check if Darragh was about. He decided to have a quick pint in O'Brien's Pub.

  “How's things, John? Had you a busy Christmas?” he asked.

  “Yea, Conor, not too bad. The bar was busy most nights, I can't complain,” John O'Brien said as he pulled a pint of stout for Conor.

  “Did you see Darragh about the last few nights? Darragh Lonigan?” Conor asked.

  “No, he hasn't been in here in a while, I haven't seen him in a few days. It's not like Darragh. He usually comes in for a few most nights,” John said, giving Conor his pint.

  “Thanks, John,” Conor said as he handed over the change.

  “This one is on the house,” John said. “I meant to give you a Christmas drink earlier, anyway. Better late than never. Happy New Year to you.”

  “Thanks, good man yourself. Happy New Year.” Conor saluted John as he lifted the pint off the counter.

  “Yea, hopefully it will be a better year than this one. I heard that Tom Kearns's funeral is in the morning. I'd say it will be huge. He was well-known and well-got,” John said.

  “They were a long time organising the funeral,” Conor replied.

  “His body was held for a number of days to complete the autopsy and tests to try to discover some clues about who was responsible for the hit-and-run. The detectives from Sligo are looking around the area and have a good idea of the type of car involved. They first thought that it was someone from outside the area who was responsible, but for some reason, the Guards have changed their minds. They now believe the car that hit poor Tom belongs to somebody from this parish. Don't ask me how they know that. The Guards are all over the place all morning, calling to every bloody house in the parish looking for the car that hit Tom. They have drafted in Guards from all over the county. They must have discovered something, some new evidence,” the publican said as he leaned over the bar and spoke in a whisper.

  “I hope they get the bastard who killed him,” Conor said. “He was a gentleman; he didn't deserve a death like that, alone on a cold, dark road like an animal.”

  After finishing off the pint, Conor went back home and decided to drive out to Darragh's house in Rossbeg to see how things were going. He took the route up Bridge Street and out the narrow Rossbeg road. As he drove out of town, he noticed several Garda squad cars at the part of the road where Tom Kearns was killed. Several Guards were standing looking into a ditch where a car had collided recently, probably the car involved in the hit and run. Conor drove on another few miles and noticed another squad car parked in a farmyard and three Guards walking around the farmyard and in and out of sheds.

  After taking a few wrong turns and getting lost and asking directions, Conor eventually reached Darragh's house in Rossbeg. He parked his car at the front of the house next to Sarah's Mondeo.

  There was a light on in the sitting room window. Conor reached behind him and grabbed a brown paper bag containing a bottle of Powers Whiskey that he had bought at O'Brien's for his visit. He got out of the car and walked towards the front of the house, carefully picking his steps through the mud on the path leading to the front door. He knocked on the door and after a minute or so, it opened.

  “Hi, Conor, how are you?” Sarah asked as she opened the door.

  “I'm grand, Sarah, and yourself?” Conor replied.

  “Come in, come in,” Sarah said as she opened the door fully and stood back to welcome Conor in. The kitchen was warm and cosy and smelt of burning turf.

  “Sit down. Will you have a tea or a coffee?” Sarah asked.

  “I'll take a mug of tea,” Conor said as he sat down and took off his coat. Sarah went over to the kitchen area and rattled mugs about in the cupboard.

  After chatting for a while on a range of meaningless topics, Conor asked, “Well, Sarah, how are you really getting on? Any word from Darragh?”

  Sarah was quiet for a while and eventually said, “Oh, I don't know, I haven't seen Darragh since that last night. I only got back here yesterday myself. I got a lift back with Roisin. I stayed with her for a few days. When I got back, my car was outside. I came in and found a note on the table from Darragh. He wrote some shite that he was very sorry and that it will never happen again. He wrote that he was going to stay with his mother and sister in Sligo Town for a while to give me some time and space. He must have taken his car. It's gone from outside anyway. He told me it was fecked after running into a ditch a few nights before Christmas and it wouldn't start. He obviously got it going,” Sarah said as she put turf into the stove.

  “Well, do you think you will patch it up, Sarah, yourself and Darragh?” Conor asked.

  “Ah, fuck him, Conor. I'm just fed up of it. It's going on for years. He is a good guy, but he just is unable to be faithful. I think I have taken him back too many times, I have given him too many chances. He just thinks he can walk all over me.”

  Sarah looked to the floor and then buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Conor at first felt awkward and didn't know what to do. He got up from his armchair and went over to Sarah on the couch and put his arms around her to try to hold her and console her.

  She cried on Conor's shoulder and then pulled back and said, “Oh, I'm sorry, Conor. You must feel caught in the middle, with Darragh being your best mate.”

  “It's okay. Here, have a shot of this stuff,” Conor said as he got up to the table and brought over the bottle of whiskey and two small glasses from the kitchen and placed them on the coffee table on front of Sarah.

  Sarah wiped her eyes with a hanky. She reached into her pockets, took out a pack of cigarettes, grabbed a box of matches from the coffee table and lit a fag. She pulled on the fag as Conor handed her a glass of whiskey.

  “Thanks, Conor,” she said as she sipped on the whiskey.

  The pair chatted on for a few hours about craic at university in Galway. After nearly finishing half a bottle of whiskey between them, Sarah drifted off to sleep beside Conor on the couch. Conor let her sleep for a while and then, looking at the clock, realised it was almost two o'clock in the morning.

  He went to shake Sarah on the shoulder, and as he did, her eyes opened slowly and she made eye contact. She reached out and, putting her arm around the back of his neck, pulled him towards her gently. Their lips came together and they kissed.

  The kiss seemed to last for minutes, but probably, in reality, it was only a few seconds. Then suddenly Sarah pulled back and pushed Conor away. “Oh Christ, Conor, I'm so sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. I shouldn't have done that.”

  Conor turned his face away awkwardly. “It's okay, it's okay. Look, I best be off.” He stood up.

  “No, Conor, don't be daft. You can stay in the spare room. You are not in any fit state to drive home, especially not with all the Guards crawling around the area.”

  Conor went to walk towards the doorway and staggered slightly. “Yea, I suppose you're right,” he said.

  “Yea. Look, just take the bed in the spare room, the place where you stayed the other night,” Sarah said as she directed Conor towards the spare room.

  “Okay. I'll see you in the morning,” Conor replied.

  Conor felt unsure about how to react after what had happened. After opening the door into the spare room, he kicked off his boots, took off his jeans and shirt and got into bed. The room was cold and he shivered as he pulled the icy sheets up around him.

  He found it hard to sleep with thoughts racing through his head. He drifted off for a while, then woke up and looked at his watch. It was 4:30. Something must have woken him.

  He heard a knock on his bedroom door and as he was
getting up out of bed to open it, the door opened. Sarah was standing in the hallway, which was half-lit by a stream of light from the kitchen. She walked into Conor's room, grabbed his hand and led him to her own room and into the double bed.

  Chapter VIII

  After All These Years

  Saturday, 31st December 1988

  The next morning, Conor woke up alongside Sarah to a loud thump at the front door. He looked over at the clock; it was 8:45 am.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Sarah asked as she got up quickly and put on the dressing gown that was laid across a wicker chair beside the bed.

  She walked out into the hall to peer through the net curtains to see who it was. “There's a bloody Garda squad car parked outside. What the feck do they want?”

  A loud knock came at the door again. She came back into the bedroom and quickly put on the jeans that were on the window sill. Then she went to a chest of drawers and took out a pink t-shirt with 'The Pixies' written across it before putting on an old pair of runners. “You best stay here in bed, Conor. It might prevent some awkward questions.”

  “Okay, I suppose you're right,” Conor replied watching Sarah walk into the kitchen to open the front door. In her hurry, she left the bedroom door half-open and he could hear her conversation with the Guards.

  “Hello,” Sarah said. “Can I help you? Is there something wrong?”

  “Detective Jim Mulcahy, miss, and this is Sergeant Sean Burns. We are just carrying out searches on all properties in the area in relation to a recent hit and run incident. Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure, come on in. I'm sorry it took me a while to answer the door—I was in bed.”

  “It's okay, miss. I'm very sorry that we got you up; we realise that it is the Christmas holidays. Do you mind if I smoke, by the way?”

  “No, no problem. I'll get you an ashtray. Sorry it's so cold in here—I didn't get around to lighting up the stove yet,” Sarah said. “Will you have tea or coffee?”