by Eoin Brady
“It is the job. Anyway, it’s an excuse to get out into the world and do these things. It’s the push I need.”
“As long as it makes you happy …”
“It makes me money.”
“It sounds like I’m being critical. It’s hard to find flaws with your job. I mean these days who doesn’t want to travel the world and get paid for doing it? Where would you go for the Hollow Ways assignment? What’s the big adventure you’re going to sell them?”
“Patagonia I think, though I’ve not planned it out fully yet. I still can’t believe they got in contact with me. I actually applied to them when I was younger. Told them if they sent me money I’d go on an adventure around New Zealand and tell them all about it. Don’t laugh. I was very naïve.
“How old were you?”
“Oh, about twenty-three.”
He smiled and poured more wine for them. “I look forward to reading about your adventures, Shade.”
“It hasn’t really sunk in yet. Deadlines and stress, I mean how could there not be stress working for Hollow Ways? I’d be working for somebody else but it would mean syndication. Twice the work but my reach would triple through them.”
“Silly question, I think I already know the answer, but for the sake of asking. Will it make you happy?”
“Of course. I don’t see how it couldn’t. I mean my sister thinks I’ve been on one long break from life. The recognition for working with them. The followers.”
Dinner began with lobster caught off the island’s shores on a bed of squid ink aioli, followed by beetroot carpaccio, lamb chop with salsa verde, prune pudding with oat cream and ended with lemon madeleines. Shade took pictures of it all, not allowing Diarmuid to eat until she was content with the angle. At one point she even left the dinner table to catch a picture of the sun setting behind the restaurant.
Dinner provided distraction and guests either side of them sparked up conversations once alcohol had thawed them enough. They both knew the end was looming and dwelling on it made her ignore others around her to focus on him.
“What’s your plan Diarmuid?”
“Well I’m so full I’m going to have a nap, probably by the fire in the pub with a cold pint.
“I mean for life.”
He grimaced and reached for the bottle.
“Okay if that’s too big of a question, where are you bound the day after tomorrow?”
“Home.”
They looked at each other unsure of how to broach their questions. Shade broke first.
“Would you like to stay in contact, Diarmuid?”
He gave her a confused look. “You know I would.”
His answer gave little comfort, as she knew there would be no place in her life for somebody else, not now. Not a place he deserved anyway. It made her sad, but she knew she wanted him in her life. If the physical distance they endured leaked into their emotional lives then they would slowly drift away. Right now though, to end with goodbye felt wrong.
“I’ll follow you on your social accounts, sure,” he said.
That was the way of these things. They would stay in contact, messages would become infrequent, passions would dwindle without fuel until inevitably they would become strangers again.
“Let’s enjoy tonight,” Diarmuid said.
That one sentence told her all she needed to know.
“We could be hopelessly romantic and book a room here same time next year. Meet you again on the edge of the world. What do you think?” he asked.
Her throat started to restrict and she wished more than anything to be away from everybody else – just the two of them. “How romantic. Once greetings are finished with we ask if we’ve any contractible diseases before sleeping together, is it to be?”
“Well I doubt I’ll be travelling to many exotic … oh … you mean the sexually transmitted ones? That kind of guts the romance from it, yeah.”
Shade snorted and put her hand on his after he doled out the last of their wine. “I have drink in my room. Why don’t we skip the pub tonight? A year is a long time. Who will you be then Diarmuid?”
“Hopefully not a balder version of me. It went fast for my dad around this age.”
“You’re right. Let’s just enjoy tonight.” Shade detested being a realist, but not even the drink was helping. It’s best this way, at least there is the possibility that we will remain friends. She knew these new feelings would dissipate with distance. A part of her could not wait to be away from the influence he held on her but it was a very small part.
They both argued over who should pay, but eventually Shade paid for their meal after the hostess joked that if they felt so strongly about it then the both of them could pay for the same meal. Shade relented to Diarmuid’s insistence he pay for their drinks. While she was chatting with the restaurant manager he walked back to the service window of the kitchen and thanked the porter. In that moment she knew there had been some merit to their game. What would it matter what he told her about himself? It is actions that speak clearest about a person’s character. That small gesture confirmed something that none of his own words could have attested to. He was a good man.
As they walked to the suite Shade looped her arm beneath his and carefully stepped onto the rock feature in front of their room. When he was settled she hurried inside and came back with a throw-over and a bottle of wine. She lay her head on his shoulder and he rested his against hers. They spent that bottle of wine watching for shooting stars. The kitchen porter hurried along the avenue with the evenings washing, oblivious to them huddled together in the dark. On his return from the laundry Diarmuid made quiet ghost noises like the wailing of a banshee. The man nearly jumped and ran the rest of the way back to the restaurant, fast enough Shade only hoped he outpaced Diarmuid’s laughter.
Shade wished to stay longer in hopeful patience that they would recapture the magic of the other night, but no stars fell. Tonight all they saw was the red flicker of passing planes. The damp chill in the air drove them inside. The candles she had lit before grabbing the wine splashed the walls with warm ripples of light. A log fire roared in the stove. When she went into her room she found an electric piano set up by the bed.
“How did you manage that now?”
“Katie became good friends with the staff that work here while they were in the pub. They snuck it in when we were at dinner.”
Tomorrow was the furthest thing from her mind. He moved the piano into the sitting room while she sat on the sofa.
“Is it good sense to drink more?” she asked as he poured them another glass.
He smiled remembering their first night after the pub. He pulled a thick envelope from his jacket pocket. “I’ve put all my good sense in here for you to read.”
Shade made to open it but he stopped her with a kiss. “For a time when I’m not here.”
She kissed him back. “Play for me.”
Shade covered herself in the Aran knit shawl and held her wine in both hands as she lay by the fire.
Diarmuid stood over the keys and started to play. Sweet notes filled the room, dancing along with the flickering candlelight. It was the song from the first day when they met on the cliffs, the one he had used to catch her attention in the pub. “That’s our song,” she said.
He smiled but did not look up, he was unaware that Shade had started to undress before him. When she cleared her throat to grab his attention his fingers slipped off the piano, nearly ending the music. He just about managed to compose himself.
“You’re not making this easy,” he said. “Do you think if I started playing Chopsticks now it would ruin the mood?”
She shushed him, lying back on the sofa. Fog crept across the land from the water. The rising milky tide broke over the windows blurring the island from view. Clarity came through closeness. There was only the music, the heat of the fire on her skin, the strong taste of wine and the sense that she would live in this moment far longer than the mere minutes it existed in.
Shade wanted to feed all her senses on this person. The longer she was near him the more he stilled the susurration of her doubts to a distant niggling worry. She wrapped an arm over one of his shoulders and beneath his other arm. Standing on her toe tips to whisper in his ear. “I’m not saying it.” Then she rested her head against his back until their music stopped. Turning into an embrace he kissed her. She accepted that they had long left reality behind. The affection she felt towards him was now fathomless. What combination of words could ever capture this? She knew she should feel uncertainty but there was none of that left now.
During the night they rolled away from each other when too warm and curled back tight when they missed the other’s touch. They danced this way until Diarmuid fell asleep. Shade could not follow. His letter was filled with promise and was safe on the bedside locker. There were no lingering thoughts, no worries about Hollow Ways, about quotas, advertising or any of the normal things that kept her awake. She felt truly content for the first time since she could remember. Tomorrow will come and though we will part, it will be one day closer to an “us”.
CHAPTER 15: HOW TO END A ROAD ROMANCE
Shade sat by the open window in a soft, white bathrobe and listened to the wind. It sounded like the deep sonorous voice of the world. During the night, fog had retreated back to the sea. The part of the bay that she could see was restless. There won’t be any flights from the island this morning. If it’s like this in two days when I’m set to leave, I’m swimming. I’ll never get on a boat in bad weather again. A white wall obscured her view of the mountains and mainland. The fog was so dense it blurred and bleached the sun. Only the rock of the island was visible, creating the illusion of standing above the clouds, that if there were ever gods of isolation and loneliness, then they would be lost somewhere here.
The strong black coffee helped with the headache and quelled the trembling goosebumps that shivered along her skin. She relished the warmth of the mug clasped in both hands. The heat had become painful but she held it tighter still. Unplugged, the keyboard was mute, and Diarmuid’s letter, which kept her company, was now just an ordinary envelope. If magic existed during the night then it was now hiding as words written inside his letter. As she was about to open it, music came from their room luring her back to him.
Diarmuid lay on his back, making exaggerated snoring noises. His eyes were only partly lidded.
“Put the coffee down,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth and went back to snoring.
Shade left it on the bedside table and crept up his blanketed body.
He sprang up and caught her in his arms, bringing her back down with him. “Ha ha! You expected nothing.” He rolled with her, kissing her to the tune of the music. He kissed down her body. She gasped, bringing an end to the laughter. Her thigh stung from his biting.
The song ended and another began.
“Ah,” he pulled the covers from his head. “Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody Number Two.” He winked at her before covering himself back up with blankets.
Shade ran her fingers over his shoulders and through his hair.
His hands dimpled the flesh of her legs as he held her. She gasped when his tongue touched her after a gentle peppering of kisses from her belly button down. His tongue kept pace with the music, when the speed picked up she could not help but laugh. The pressure of his touch was tempo sensitive.
“Pause for effect,” he said when the thrills passed and the piece slowed.
“Don’t you dare! This may well be the classiest head that I’ve ever had. Would you do Flight of the Bumblebees next?”
“Not a hope, my tongues in bits already,” he said, his voice muffled as he tried to multitask. “We’re putting on the minimalist playlist after this.”
Her laughter subsided as he continued after the music ended. The nails of one hand ranged across his back and dug into the flesh of his shoulder, the other hand gripped his hair until it hurt.
Diarmuid lay on the sofa picking at the remains of their breakfast boxes while Shade readied for their last full day together. “Shade I’m going to eat your chocolate pot if you don’t come get it.” There was no response, as he knew there would not be. She could not hear in the shower. She may as well learn now that she eats or goes hungry, especially when it comes to sweets around me.
Filled with chocolate guilt, he fiddled with the letter, trying to remember everything he had put in it. Seems a bit much, it has only been a week after all. It was an odd thing to write; most of it came easy because it was true. Actually admitting to it however, and sharing such intimacies, was the scary part.
Something she mentioned before the play stuck in his mind; ‘I have measures in place to avoid the weirdos. I only ever schedule my posts to go live at most two days before I leave a place.’ He had fixated on it. Finding her will not be impossible. In a way it felt like security; he knew he could find her if the need ever arose. Become one of the weirdos she fears, great plan. He had worked hard on the letter, but she owed him nothing just because he wrote a few words worth of thoughts. How do you tell somebody you have got little sleep the last while as the fear of not knowing them kept you awake? If that’s what she wants then I’ll respect it. That’s my own doubts getting in the way. Why would we do all this then?
Curiosity wore away his resolve. He had fought the urge to try and find her online and read her blog. She said it was like her journal. What would you not give to know the mind of somebody you wanted to know everything about? The prospect of reading the blog was too tantalising. She will know all there is to know about me through the letter. He weighed it in his palm. Awfully small for the job, though feck all to tell. That was part of the reason he feared knowing her, why he knew this could not last beyond the island. In not being himself he could make her happy, felt he could do that. Once she reads the information here though there will be no more charades, no more hiding. It was nice while it lasted.
Pushing aside those thoughts he knew she would be out soon and they would spend the day in each other’s company. The information is public anyway, it’s designed and written with the intention of people reading it. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before I know her. No matter how he tried to rationalise it he still knew that he was betraying her trust.
He logged into Instagram on his phone and searched the geographical tag for Inis Meáin. He nearly dropped his phone when he heard the shower turn off. Shade was making no attempt to hide her shower singing. Remembering how fast she managed to get ready in the hotel he was about to turn his phone off. His heart was beating almost as fast as it was the first time he kissed her. Why wouldn’t it be? This is a betrayal of the trust earned since that first kiss.
If she finds me at this I can just say I was posting from my own account and wanted to see the other pictures from the island. He clicked through the most recent pictures; the first two were from personal pages but already one posted that morning had a couple of hundred likes on it. It had to be her, if she has appeared on Hollow Ways radar then this has to be the one. Turf for Thought. He scrolled through some of her pictures, whisking by images from around the world. Thousands of followers. In most of the pictures she was looking away from the camera. His finger was trembling as he flicked through them. He tried to look casual on the couch but if she walked in she would know something was up by his manner.
Had I known who she was before meeting her I would have never tried to even talk to her. He could only dream of seeing a fraction of the world in his life that she had already put beneath her feet. It was an unsettling feeling, knowing how incompatible their lives were for sharing.
His curiosity had brought him this far but it was still not sated. He clicked the link that brought him through to her blog. There she was looking away from the camera. Cousin It. The plan he came up with if he did find her blog was to just read the “About Me” page and no more.
The lump that formed in his throat when he read the most recent post nearly choked him. “How to End a
Road Romance.” Stiff fingers scrolled down the page to read the content dated the night of the concert.
Heat radiated from his face. I made her feel like that. Why did she not say anything? Maybe she thought me one of the weirdos – I didn’t prove her wrong by looking at her blog. He felt sick and weak. He sat on the edge of the sofa, back rigid, thinking to confront her about it when she came out of the room. What’s the point? I made her feel like this and she never said a word. How could she sleep with me? Revolted he thought back to her emphasis the previous night during dinner on solo travel. Shame and loss were vying for the dominant emotion but there was room enough for both. He felt like an intruder in that room, in her life. The phone screen went dark in his hand. From the sound in the bedroom she was packing her gear and would be out any moment now. Unable to face her, knowing her secret thoughts and how she saw him – Christ her thousands of readers knew how she saw him – Diarmuid made to leave the suite, stopping only to pick up the letter he wrote for her.
He read more as he walked briskly away. Things could get lost in translation but this was too clear cut. Diarmuid skimmed over the post to the parts that were most cutting.
‘Are you lonely?’ I get asked that question so often I wonder is it because I’m usually in photos by myself. Most of the time the question is about fearing being alone. My answer to that is, ‘I once was yes.’ It was something that made me fearful of starting out. But had I listened to that fear and let it take hold even a little, then I’d not be where I am today. You will be lonely when you travel at times, just as you will be lonely if you don’t.
When you set off you’re leaving the familiar behind for new people, places and different cultures. What I failed to think about was the other people like me that were out there exploring the world too. In any walk of life, if you follow your passion you’ll meet like-minded people doing the same thing …
… There is a time limit you are both conscious of. Visas run out, planes are waiting. You travel to meet people. Strangers become friends, grow closer, become intimate. Often with the passage of time most of the people in our lives revert back to strangers. Some remain friends. There could be ‘the one’ amongst them, but that’s not what this post is about. This is about teaching you how to ditch the road romantics that won’t let go …