by Craig Jones
14
‘So he’s not just some bloodthirsty creature like the books and movies would have us believe?’
Mooney shook his head at Robinson’s question.
‘There’s part of me that thinks they started those stories. You know, to paint a picture of something dark and sinister? Something that mortal man must avoid at all costs?’
Robinson found himself nodding in agreement. Why bother developing a mysterious smokescreen when a plausible masquerade could be created with the flourish of a pen?
‘So, the boy? Where does he fit into all this?’ asked Robinson. He had plied Mooney with enough Guinness throughout the night to have earned himself some answers.
‘It’s his son. You know that, surely?’
Nealon’s Bar has all but emptied and Mooney’s face was like a grinning, red balloon.
‘I thought it was like Batman and Robin, not that he was really his father?’
Mooney scrunched his face up, confused by the question.
‘I’d assumed he’d taken in a young, I don’t know, apprentice, or whatever they’d call it,’ Robinson clarified.
‘No, no, no, no,’ slurred Mooney. ‘The mother was a Skerries girl. Fionnuala Allen. Tragic, tragic girl. Moved here after she married a local lad. Really took to the town and the town took to her. Her husband, he was a Patrick too, but we all called him Paddy, was our fishmonger, took over the business from his dad.’
Mooney paused and took a slurp from his drink.
‘Poor bugger collapsed and died behind his counter. Heart attack. She found him too, broke her heart it did.’
‘So how did she end up having Martin’s child?’
‘Well, he saved her life. A couple of years on, she tried to commit suicide. Threw herself into the sea at high tide. Our friend must have seen her from his island and plucked her out.’
Mooney made pincers out of his fingers, lowered them into the top of his drink and mimicked picking something out. He sucked the foam from his fingers before continuing.
‘I guess a kinship developed—that became a friendship that I can only guess became love. And then a few years down the line she was clearly pregnant. There was a bit of concern, but what could be said or done?’
‘Last orders at the bar, please,’ the barmaid called, drawing both Mooney and Robinson back into the room. Robinson looked around and realized they were the last people left.
‘Another one?’ he asked.
‘No, no.’ Mooney had to place both hands on the table to get to his feet. ‘Enough’s enough for one night. Good to do business with you.’
The pair shook hands before heading for the door, bidding the staff goodnight. As the door was closed behind them and the bolts snapped into place, Robinson reignited the conversation.
‘Do you not find it a bit ironic, though?’
‘Find what ironic?’ Mooney asked, distracted as he fumbled inside his jacket for his cigar and lighter.
‘That our ungodly neighbor would name his son Christian?’
Mooney suddenly sobered, let his cigar fall to the ground, and shoved Robinson in the chest, slamming him back against the pub door.
‘You be damn careful who you call ungodly, because you sleep with the devil yourself now. And don’t you forget it.’
Robinson raised his palms up in surrender.
‘Sorry, Connor. The booze, you know? I’m sorry.’
‘You’ll watch your mouth is what you’ll do.’
Robinson nodded, and then bent down to retrieve the mayor’s cigar, dusting it off and passing it to him. Mooney flared up his lighter and puffed until the cigar tip glowed the same orange as the street lights. A thin plume of silver smoke worked its way out and into the night air. Mooney exhaled, spewing more smoke into Robinson’s face.
‘The amount of favors he’s done for the town? Done for me personally? You have no idea. Do you know we had a drug dealer turn up in this town once? Selling to the school kids? Trying to get them hooked? Yeah, those are the type of problems he’s solved for us.’
Robinson kept his head lowered. He’d brought this rant on himself, and if he didn’t want to blow the business deal then he was going to have to take it on the chin.
‘You like living here?’ Mooney drawled. ‘Of course you do. And I’ll tell you this, if living here in our perfect town comes at the cost of a few sleepless nights brought on by guilt, then so be it. There’s a price to pay for everything, and I think we pay a fair price for our safety and the safety of our children. Do you disagree?’
They began walking along the road, away from the pub and any prying ears inside.
‘You know I don’t. I’m sorry, Connor.’
‘Aye, well don’t be asking too many questions. You know what you need to know. Just remember, we’re all as implicated as each other. You made your choice when you got such a cut price house on the bay.’
Robinson bit his tongue and chose not to react to Mooney’s jibe about how much over the odds he had paid for his home.
They walked in silence for a while until they reached a fork in the road. Mooney stopped, taking a deep drag on his cigar before stubbing it out on the top of a refuse bin and popping it inside. He turned to face Robinson and, without a word, extended his right hand. Robinson reciprocated and they shook firmly.
‘Come and see me tomorrow and we’ll get a contract drawn up,’ he said.
‘Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry if I…’
‘Ah look, maybe I shouldn’t have let my mouth run away from me. I can’t expect to tell half a story and then not tell the rest. But just be careful. What if the bar had been full of strangers? They’re welcome in our town, but they’re not welcome to our secrets. That’s why they’re strangers. Understood?’
‘Understood. Good night, Connor.’
‘Good night to you, too.’
Robinson watched the big man walk away from him along the deserted street. He looked at his wristwatch and was surprised to see how far past midnight it was.
The witching hour, he thought as Mooney turned the corner and out of sight. The Mayor lived up in the prestigious Greenlawns section of town, near the two windmills. They, together with the renovated mill, had played a vital role in attracting tourists to the town, and the prosperity had spread through the shops, pubs, restaurants and businesses throughout Skerries.
Robinson began his trek to his own house that overlooked the Head. It stood on its own, with a large garden, four bedrooms and a kitchen that dwarfed any others he had ever seen. He strolled purposefully, kept his head down as he cut through a side road and out onto the front; the cold wind coming in off the sea stole inside his jacket and turned the skin under his shirt to ice. With a shiver he fastened his suit and pressed on, watching the chain of islands to his right being visibly battered by a fast, harsh tide. The crashing of the waves was all he could hear, drowning out even the noise of gulls as they flew across the sand. He finally reached his front gate and stepped through into his garden, rescued his keys from the bottom of his trouser pockets and opened the two deadlocks on his front door.
He entered his home and flicked the light switch, bringing the hallway to life. He locked his door and checked that he had done it properly. Twice. He took off his jacket and hung it over the bottom of the banister, walked into the lounge and closed the curtains. He left the room immediately and carried out the same task in the kitchen before heading up the stairs, undoing his tie as he went. He moved from room to room, making sure the blinds were closed in each one before finally entering his own bedroom at the front of the house. Before he could close the blinds, he had to move his binoculars and he placed them on his bedside table. He stood for a second with the blinds toggle in his hand, looking out across the sea to Shenick Island. Its tower was silhouetted against the moving reflection of the moon in the water. It stood in perfect darkness, so he assumed that the door was closed over and locked tightly shut for the night. Martin and Christian had no task to fulfill for their
Lord and Master on this night, and so had no reason to be prowling through the town.
Robinson pulled at the cord and the blinds slipped together, sealing away the outside world beyond the window. He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached between his knees under the mattress, drawing out a battered shoe box. He placed the box on his thighs, used two hands to gently remove the lid and placed it on the bed beside him. He paused. Turned and looked towards the door. Paused again. He took a deep breath and lifted the crumpled sheets of tissue paper that he used to protect the contents of the box. Once they were removed he picked out the photo frame. He knew he shouldn’t do this after drinking but he couldn’t help himself.
The tears ran down his face, single drops initially but as his gaze raked over the picture, he lost control. He held off the sobs but he could not control his blurring vision. The woman looking back at him had the same curly hair as him, looked tall and slender. A smile played across her mouth as if she was sharing a private joke with the person behind the camera. Robinson knew that to be true.
15
Alfie watched Sinead as she paced from side to side. She held his tennis ball in her hand but even if she had thrown it, he would not have chased it with his usual enthusiasm. He was worried about his mistress. She was normally smiling but this evening she was not. He circled a little bit, sniffing the grass at his feet until he was sure it was clean, and laid himself down, tucking his front paws under his chin and wiggling his hindquarters until he was comfortable. Alfie had to close his eyelids because the sun was low, almost touching the horizon and quite bright when it peeked out from behind the clouds that crowded together in the sky. The dog let out a tiny whimper, just to let Sinead know that he was still there, and she dropped to one knee next to him and tickled him behind his ear. He liked that and he stretched out, showing her his belly, begging to be scratched.
‘I like your dog,’ said the voice from directly behind her.
She jumped. Alfie barked and tried to leap to his feet, tripping Sinead and she fell onto the grass, the ball rolling away from her and down the hill, but the dog ignored it. Alfie gave another bark, a short aggressive sound, and then his tail began to wag uncontrollably from side to side.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Christian, reaching out a hand to help Sinead to her feet. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. That’s the last thing I wanted…’
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ she said, brushing grass and leaves from her jogging trousers as she stood up straight. Christian pointed out a stain on her hooded top, the same light blue as her trousers.
‘Don’t worry about that.’ She smiled. ‘I’m just glad you came.’
She looked him up and down. As ever, he wore his jeans and black jacket but he had added a woolen hat, pulled down over his ears, hiding his floppy hair. He kept his chin tucked into his chest, his eyes drawn into narrow slits.
‘So am I,’ he replied. ‘Is there somewhere we can go?’
‘Yes,’ she said, taking him by the hand. ‘This way, come on.’
She led him quickly away from the field, past the largest of the two windmills and along the road to the second one. When they were nearly level with the smaller of the tourist attractions, she let go of Christian’s hand and ducked through where the black metal railings had been pulled apart and jogged to the small red door of the windmill that could not be seen from the street. Alfie obediently followed, intrigued by the scent the boy gave off. It was different than his mistress’s, but he still liked it. Sinead removed a small key from her pocked and unclipped the padlock, holding the door open until both Christian and Alfie had squeezed inside. She then followed them in and pulled the door closed.
‘How did you get a key?’ he asked.
‘My dad, of course. Not that he knows I have it.’
Christian was surprised to find that the inside of the windmill was not entirely different than the Martello Tower he lived in on Shenick Island; there were two rooms downstairs and two up. The only differences were the spiral staircase in the middle of the structure and the remnants of the milling mechanisms. He walked around slowly, running his hands around the smooth curves of the inside walls, Alfie tracking his every step. Sinead made sure the door was properly sealed and then sat herself down on the sawdust floor. When Christian had finished his tour of the building she gestured for him to join her. As he moved across the room to her he removed his hat, shook his hair into its usual mess, and jammed the hat into his back pocket. He sat down so their knees were almost touching. There were two small windows built high into the walls above them, and they let in enough daylight for them both to know that the sun was still in the sky.
‘How can you be out in the sunshine?’ she said without preamble.
He took a deep breath, went over the words in his head that he had prepared all day long.
‘At this time of day, the ultraviolet light of the sun is not as strong. As long as I do not do this too often, I’m fine. It’s part of the bonus of having a human mother.’
Sinead nodded. ‘I know. I know your mother was from Skerries. My father told me. Well, not so much told me, but I overheard him talking. His friendship with your father is one of his favorite topics of conversation. Okay, it’s his favorite topic, if truth be known.’
‘That’s good to hear, you know. I had no idea Mayor Mooney was your father until you told me the other night. It was that same night that my father described him as his friend. It was the first time I’d heard him call anyone that. It made me feel good, because I often think he’s lonely.’
‘He has you.’
‘Yes, but...’
She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it.
‘He has you,’ she repeated.
They talked quickly, intensely. He asked her about school, about what it was like there, the sports she played. He asked questions about her love of hockey, of karate, and was pleased to find that she too had an interest in science. If she had been talking to one of her classmates then she would have been dismissive, would have mocked the teachers and the high grades she achieved, but with Christian it seemed natural to be honest and to describe every facet of her life with color and verve. Alfie pushed himself in between them, one front paw on Sinead, the other on Christian and began licking their hands.
‘Alfie!’ Sinead laughed, pushing the dog away, and then covered her mouth with her hand. ‘We need to be quiet.’
‘We? I think it’s you who needs to be quiet.’
They both smiled, suppressing their sniggers. The squares of light that the small windows cast moved gradually up the walls as the sun began to vanish and the shadows in the room began to stretch. Sinead settled Alfie next to her and then turned to face Christian, a serious expression painted across her face in the dying light.
‘What would you have done, the other night, if they’d have carried on with the fight?’ she asked.
‘Just what I did,’ he said quietly. ‘Nothing more. I promise.’
‘But you could have… You could have killed them?’
‘No. No.’ He let his eyes drop to the floor. ‘I’ve never killed anyone, Sinead. Ever. And I never will.’
She looked at him and nodded, encouraging him to go on.
‘I’m just the same as my father. I have the same abilities. Well, most of them—they will continue to develop as I get older—but I have never had to take a human life. I can’t shape-shift like my father, but that will happen. In time. But my father, he has sworn he will never let me kill.’
‘Is that because of your mother?’
He looked her right in the eyes.
‘Yes. My father says I must not kill because of my mother.’
Sinead let the words hang in the air for a few moments.
‘What was she like?’ she asked softly, not sure if she should be pressuring him with questions so soon.
‘I don’t know. I never met her. She died a few minutes after I was born. Then later, my father came to take me away and he brought me up
over on the island. Weird, huh?’
‘No, no, I don’t…’ She paused. ‘Was your father not at your birth?’
‘No. He couldn’t be. The blood? It affects him differently than it affects me.’
‘Oh,’ she said, suddenly cold. He tilted his head as she shivered.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it’s just now the sun’s gone…’
‘What?’
‘Well, it’s cold in here without the sun.’
He jumped to his feet and poked his head out of the windmill door.
‘Sinead, I’ve got to go. The sun—I’ve got to get back to the island.’
‘But—’
‘No, I have to go. My father, he’ll… I’ve got to go.’
Christian pulled his hat out of his pocket and ran from the windmill and through the fence, tugging it on as he went. Sinead, as she watched him go, suddenly decided she would not let him run away from her like this, not when he had shared so much for her. She quickly pulled Alfie’s lead out of the double pocket of her top and snipped it onto his collar.
Christian ran as fast as he could, avoiding the main roads and, although using his flying abilities would get him home faster, he was all too aware that to draw attention to himself in the daylight would cause indescribable problems for him and unanswerable questions for his father. He headed for the furthest point of South Beach, where he and Sinead had sat the previous night; it was less likely that there would be people that far away from town. As he sprinted across the road towards the sand, he slowed when he saw Sinead and Alfie standing in front of him.
‘What—?’
‘I knew you’d have to go the long way round, she said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Sinead, I have to go. I want to stay with you but I have to go.’