by Simon Bourke
“Ah, that doesn’t count, Sinéad. Don’t be so silly.”
He took her hand and they walked over to where the sergeant was holding court. Everyone was equipped with a torch and instructed to fan out at regular intervals, thirty feet wide. The plan was to walk in unison, each person carefully scanning their area as they went. If the first search didn’t turn up anything, they would move to another part of the woods and carry out the same procedure. The sergeant had carefully plotted their routes, and appeared confident that they could cover every inch of the forest in just a couple of sweeps. He positioned Sinéad somewhere in the middle of the line, himself to her left and her father to her right.
“Right,” he said loudly. “We’ll start walking from here. Stay in line and proceed slowly.”
This message was relayed across the line like Chinese whispers, and the search began. Sinéad shuffled forward, and promptly tripped over a log or a stone, she didn’t know which. Scrambling to her feet, she picked up her torch and went on, but within seconds she was spread-eagled on the forest floor once more. It was hopeless; the forest was too dark. Even with the other lights bobbing along beside her, she couldn’t make out where she was going. How on earth could she search for her child when she could barely stay upright? The whole thing seemed impossible: this vast expanse of wood and grass, and her little boy somewhere in the middle of it all. She dutifully marched on, however, casting her eyes downward as she picked her way carefully through the terrain, and as she went, she called out her son’s name over and over. Everyone was calling out his name; it was weird to hear this late-night cacophony in honour of her errant son, all those voices uttering that one syllable again and again: “Seán! Seán! Seán! Seán!”
Most of them had never even met her boy, yet here they were echoing his name like druids in a pagan ceremony. If Seán was in the woods, the sound of his name being chanted over and over again by a group of strangers would terrify him.
For the first time since her ordeal had begun, she realised, she wasn’t in a state of blind panic. She couldn’t afford to be panicked now; the sergeant had said she must walk slowly and be part of the team. Up to this point she hadn’t been sure exactly what she was doing; her desire to be reunited with Seán had caused her to act with little or no thought. God, what must people have thought of her during the past few hours? She hadn’t even looked in a mirror before leaving the house. What was she wearing? She had no idea and it was too dark to see. It was beyond her how Bulldog Bartley had stayed calm when confronted by this wild-eyed madwoman. But there were deeper issues at play here than her bedraggled appearance. She knew why Seán had run away. She had brought a strange man into the house, into their house, and it had scared him. He wasn’t ready for that yet. His whole life had consisted of just him and his mammy, but now that was changing and she was the one responsible. This was all her fault. She just hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life regretting it.
10
Before she’d met Daryl there had been a couple of other men, but nothing serious; one or two dates, a drunken kiss at the local nightclub, but that was it. Her son was the only man in her life, and she was devoted to him and his happiness. As time passed, however, she began to feel lonely. She hadn’t had a real boyfriend in over six years. There was a void in her life, one that couldn’t be filled by her son, no matter how lovable he was. But what man would want her with all her baggage? Because, like it or not, when it came to the dating game that’s what Seán was, baggage. Some people had a drink problem, others intimacy issues; she had a seven-year-old boy. Working in a bar meant several suitors on a nightly basis; drunkards offering her the world, despite not being able to afford another pint. She smiled at them and told them to go home to their wives. Occasionally someone promising did enter the pub, and her eyes would light up. Hello, she’d think as the handsome man walked in, alone and unattached. Only for him to go straight to the table occupied by a trio of young, footloose and fancy-free ladies, girls the complete opposite of her. She was twenty-five, and already in danger of being left on the shelf. Then she met Daryl Cassidy.
He wasn’t like the other men who propositioned her on a nightly basis; he had a full head of hair, for a start. He and his friends had been passing through Dooncurra on a stag do. They’d come in early on a Saturday evening, a whole busload of them piling into the little pub, noisy and high-spirited but mostly harmless. Unprepared for this influx of thirsty customers, Sinéad had done her best, but she couldn’t keep up. She’d hurried this way and that, pulling three pints at once, getting orders mixed up, giving out the wrong change and generally being run off her feet.
Although they seemed like a good-natured bunch, she’d felt a little threatened by them. She’d been the only woman in the bar and there had been about twenty of them, jeering and leering as only a group of drunken men can. Each lascivious comment had been laughed off, the culprit reprimanded and called a cheeky sod, but deep down she’d been scared and wondered whether she should ring Brian, the landlord. A man was needed to take control of the situation.
But she resisted. They were on a stag do, a mystery tour, so surely they wouldn’t be here for long. One round of drinks and they’d be on to the next place, wasn’t that how it worked? Alas, no. They’d stayed for a second round, and then a third. And, as the drinks flowed, she had watched the number of empty glasses on their tables grow and grow, and the ones on her side of the bar dwindle until hardly any remained. If they stayed for another round or if anyone else came in, she wouldn’t have enough pint glasses to serve them. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she would have to go out and clear their tables. As soon as she’d approached, the catcalls began; sleazy remarks, hilarious wisecracks, a proper bunch of comedians. If it had stopped at that she could have suffered it; what she couldn’t abide was someone taking liberties, laying their hands on her. As she’d collected the last of the glasses and made to return to the bar, one of the men had grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey, love, I’m the best man; don’t I get preferential treatment?”
“You’re not the best man in here,” she’d replied, much to the delight of the rest of the group.
They’d hooted and brayed with glee, chastising her suitor for his lack of tact. He hadn’t seen the funny side. Red-faced from being ridiculed in front of his mates, he’d grabbed her firmly and tried to pull her onto his lap.
“Come on, now, don’t struggle, just sit up on me, that’s the girl.”
She’d tried to wrestle free but he’d held her even more tightly.
“What’s wrong with you, for fuck’s sake? I only want a kiss and a cuddle.”
He’d redoubled his efforts and succeeded in toppling her into his lap. A great cheer went up from his friends. His honour had been restored; surely he would let her go now.
“Now, there’s the girl. See, wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Let me go, you eejit,” she’d growled, continuing to struggle. Why hadn’t she called Brian when she’d had the chance? The ‘best man’, buoyed by the cheers from his friends, had put his arms around her and tried to force her head towards his.
“Come on, one little kiss is all I want.”
Sinéad had looked to his entourage for assistance but none was forthcoming. They’d seemed to be enjoying the show and were eager to see it to its conclusion. She’d been about to call over old Frankie at the bar when her assailant suddenly relinquished his grip.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO THIS POOR YOUNG WAN, YA LITTLE CUNT?”
She’d spun around and seen a tall, lean man lifting the ‘best man’ from his stool. He’d grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and frogmarched him out the door, returning moments later with a face like thunder. His expression had changed when he saw Sinéad.
“I’m really sorry about that, love. Did he hurt you? Fuckin’ gobshite thinks he can do whatever he wants.”
Sinéad had dusted her
self down, aware that a button in her blouse had popped open during the skirmish.
“I’m okay, thanks. We deal with idiots like that all the time.”
The man had studied her for a second.
“Well, he won’t be coming back in here again, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Thank you,” she’d replied. “It’s nice to see at least one of ye has some manners.” The rest of the party had looked away sheepishly.
After that the tall man had sat at the bar, apologising again for his pal’s behaviour. They’d got chatting and she’d liked what she heard. His name was Daryl; he was from Stoneyford, not far from Dooncurra, and worked in a factory with the rest of the stags. He was 27, lived alone and was single. His last relationship had recently ended and he was ‘taking some time for himself’. Aren’t we all, Sinéad had thought. The factory job was only temporary; one day he hoped to start his own business. So far so good; she liked ambition in a man. He had one brother, one sister and a niece that he doted on. Good with kids too, it got better and better. All he had needed to do was ask. And, after a couple more pints, just as the party were leaving, he did.
“Fancy meeting up sometime?”
“Okay,” she’d replied, as casually as she dared.
“Here, next Friday? Without all these gobshites?”
“It’s a date,” she’d confirmed.
And then he’d gone, waving a shy goodbye as he’d ushered his friends outside. She had watched him go and felt her heart skip a beat. There he went, her knight in shining armour. She was already smitten.
As much as she liked Daryl, and she liked him a lot, she had still been reluctant to introduce him to Seán. She and Daryl had been getting on great, meeting up a couple of times a week for the past three months, but still she worried. When she’d told him she had a son, he’d taken it in his stride. ‘I love kids,’ he’d told her. ‘When can I meet him?’ ‘You might love kids’, she’d replied, ‘but have you ever dated any of their mothers?’ He didn’t understand the complexity of the situation. To him it was just a matter of buying Seán an Action Man and kicking a ball about with him in the back garden. Yes, at first Seán would be thrilled by someone buying him presents and playing football with him, but once he realised that Daryl wasn’t just his friend but his mother’s too, then they’d have a problem. He’d never had to share his mammy with anyone and now this strange man was here, sitting on their couch and sleeping in their house, becoming a part of his life. She knew she had to try to make him understand, but how could you explain such a thing to a seven-year-old? How could you tell him that his mother didn’t want to stay on her own forever, that she would like to meet a man of her own? That this idyllic childhood of his may be about to change forever? The truth was he would never understand, and no matter how good Daryl was with kids it would still be difficult.
She made tentative plans to introduce them. A trip to the park, perhaps? Neutral territory, so Seán wouldn’t feel threatened. Daryl took the idea and ran with it. ‘I’ll bring a ball, or maybe even a kite.’ Her heart melted at his enthusiasm; surely nothing could go wrong. They arranged a date; a Sunday a few weeks from now. She’d explain to Seán that Daryl was her friend, a close friend who was very important to her. She would let them spend some time together, see if Seán took to him. After a fun-filled day they’d say their goodbyes and she would press her son for an opinion: Did you like him? Would you mind if he came round sometime? If he answered in the negative, then they would have to rethink. But surely Seán would love him; how could he not? Daryl would play football with him, maybe get him an ice cream. She’d probably have to prise them apart at the end of the day. That had been the plan. But, of course, that plan had since been laid to waste.
Daryl had brought his brother, Chezz, to the pub with him on that fateful night. And as her shift came to an end, they’d suggested going back to hers for a nightcap; stupidly, she’d agreed. They’d got some cans to take away, stopped at a chipper for some food and returned to her house to eat, drink, and be merry. After a couple of glasses of wine, though, Sinéad had had enough. She’d been knackered and just wanted her bed. Daryl, of course, had been keen to accompany her but that was never going to happen, at least not until he’d met Seán. She’d bade them goodnight, her parting words: ‘I don’t want to see ye here in the morning.’
Now, almost twenty-four hours later, she was out looking for her son, who was presumed missing. This was what happened when you brought strange men back from the pub. Daryl’s explanation had seemed plausible enough at the time, but maybe there was more to it. Seán could be a temperamental little so-and-so, but tipping an ashtray over a stranger? Firing drink all over the place? She had taught him better than that. Then again they had been drinking, maybe their words had been misconstrued by her sleepy-headed boy? Perhaps he’d felt threatened, lashed out? All of this ran through her mind as she stumbled through the woods, but none of it would matter if they didn’t find him. The who, what and where would lose all relevance if her boy was lost. If they did somehow find him, all would be forgiven. She would never scold him for anything ever again. He could eat chocolate ice cream for breakfast, dinner and tea, watch cartoons from morning till night, never have to tidy his room until the day he moved out. Most importantly, she would happily die a spinster if it meant laying eyes on her child again. She would promise never to have another boyfriend – well, at least not until he was eighteen. It would just be the two of them from here on in. That was a promise.
They’d been walking for almost two hours when a shrill whistle from Sinéad’s left brought everyone to a halt. Apparently the sounding of this whistle meant they all had to convene in the centre for a briefing from Sergeant Barrett. This was the first she’d heard of it; that’s what she got for not paying attention at the start. She followed the crowds regardless, making a mental note to send them all ‘thank you’ cards when this was over. Her father appeared by her side and walked with her in silence. When they reached the gathering, flasks were being handed around and she found herself accepting a mug that was thrust into her hands. She listlessly sipped at the hot broth, realising it was the first thing she’d eaten all day. Why were they stopping? This was hardly the time for soup and idle chat. Once everyone was present, the sergeant addressed the crowd.
“Judging by my instruments, we’re about halfway through the forest,” he began.
Instruments? What instruments? She really should have listened at the start. The items in question were a compass, a map and a few other things she didn’t recognise. Sergeant Barrett went on speaking.
“We’ll take a break here for ten minutes and then resume the search. He can’t be far now.”
With that, he stepped down from his pedestal and made a beeline for her. During the sergeant’s speech her father had moved off somewhere, so she found herself alone with the man tasked with finding her son.
“How are you, Sinéad?” he asked.
“I’m fine; anxious to get going again, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll start searching again in no time. He surely can’t be far now. My guess is that he entered the forest from the far side and got lost somewhere between there and here.”
“I hope you’re right, Sergeant, I really do.”
He touched her gently on the arm. “We’ll find him,” he said, with a little less certainty than before.
She downed the last of the hot soup and looked for someone to return the cup to. A thin man wearing glasses approached. “I’ll take that, thanks.”
She handed him the cup and stood there awkwardly, waiting for the inevitable questions.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thanks. I just want to get going again.”
“Of course,” replied the man. “I’ll go tell the others.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” she blurted out as he turne
d to walk away.
“Don’t mention it, Sinéad,” the stranger replied. “I’m sure you’d be out here searching if it were my boy who had gone missing.”
I wouldn’t bet on it, she thought guiltily as he hurried off to get everyone organised.
11
Seán had been drifting in and out of sleep for hours. He awoke, startled, from vivid nightmares where beasts pulled at him with razor-sharp claws, dragging him down into lairs of unspeakable horror. Momentarily, he relaxed; he was safe. It had only been a dream; he was back home in his bed, warm, cosy and safe. Then reality closed in on him: the cold night sky and tall dark trees told him that he wasn’t safe, that he would never be safe again. He was out here all alone with no one to protect him. He covered himself in leaves and burrowed a little hole in the ground to hide in, but he was still an easy target. Soon they would come. The night was still young. He sobbed himself back to sleep. With any luck he wouldn’t wake again.
12
It had been at least two hours since they’d stopped for a break, maybe more. There couldn’t be much more of the woods to search; soon they would have combed its entirety. What would they do then – go back and start all over again? She couldn’t expect all these people to stay out here any longer. They would make their excuses and leave, until it was just her, Patrick and her parents.
Soon the search would be called off for the night. There’s no point in carrying on at this hour, they’d say, we’ll resume in the morning. Resume all ye like, I’m not stopping till I find my boy. She would roam these woods night and day for the rest of eternity until she found him. There was one problem, though: the batteries on her torch were starting to run out. There wasn’t much chance of her finding Seán, or making her way through the forest, without some light to guide her. She had first noticed it half-an-hour ago, but rather than slow things down she had dimmed the light and carried on. Now it was flickering on and off continuously. It was only a matter of time before it failed completely. Without a torch, she might as well be back in the cabin with her mother. She could walk right past Seán and not even notice.