No Filter

by Orlagh Collins

  ‘C’mon, Bryony loves a beef. You know that. She was sickened when you won that Citizenship Award and she’s always been a bit green-eyed about Ru. But seriously, Em, it’s not that deep and,’ she says, with a little laugh, ‘that dress photo was funny.’

  ‘You said I should buy it.’

  ‘The dress looked fine, Em. It was way better than the second-hand one you wanted. There was no way Rupert was going to fancy you in that.’

  I’m speechless.

  ‘Actually, does Ru know you won’t be around all summer?’

  ‘Not yet. Don’t say anything.’

  I practically hear her brain whirring. ‘But –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s going to want to know where he stands.’

  ‘D’you think I know where I stand, Kitty? He hasn’t even replied to the text I sent ten hours ago.’

  She sighs loudly. ‘Just saying.’

  I glance at the clock above the Aga. It’s the RSPB bird one I bought at the garden centre for Grandma’s birthday a few years back. It’s supposed to play a different birdcall each hour but it’s exactly midnight and the Tawny Owl neither twits nor twoos. It’s obvious we’re both done here. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I can see how it could have seemed nasty.’

  I really want to believe her. ‘OK.’

  ‘’K, babes. Night night!’ she says.

  And that’s it.

  LIAM

  Smooth moves, Sea Dog

  When will I ever learn? Late night beers with Kenny and an early start to the island with Da is never a good combo.

  ‘What date did you say the results are out?’ Da roars it at me as though a gale-force wind is howling and I’m on another boat altogether. It’s breezy, to be fair, but not nearly enough for him to roar like Captain Birdseye over there. I’m at the wheel less than a few feet from him.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Don’t nitpick, Liam. When are they out?’ His face is pinched against the strong sun. Da’s not a man to be burdened by anything as poncey as sunglasses and he has the lines on his face to prove it.

  ‘Seventeenth of August,’ I say, with a shrug and pretend to concentrate on the GPS.

  ‘You excited?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘You worked hard, son. There’s no shame in looking forward to the rewards.’

  He actually believes I was up there slogging away. I want to tell him I wasn’t always studying, that I was mostly playing guitar, but right now, looking at his smiling, hopeful face, that would be cruel. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’

  ‘All I’m saying is I’m proud of you, no matter what, son.’ He booms this back at me through his imaginary gale. ‘By the way,’ he says, sidling back down the boat towards me like a determined crab, ‘Tony Doyle was asking what you were thinking of doing come September so I told him all about the Quantity Surveying course,’ he says, taking my left hand from my lap and placing it back up on the wheel. ‘He was very impressed. Said he could do with a smart organ grinder up at his place. Worth bearing in mind for your work experience, eh?’

  Why can’t he let it go? ‘I haven’t got in yet.’

  ‘You will, son,’ he says, patting my shoulder before shuffling back up the boat again, his thin, dark hair blowing gently about his head. ‘Isn’t it mad to think Dundalk is only up the road now? The one thing they got right back in the boomtime was the roads.’

  Jaysus, make him stop! ‘Did Mam pack us lunch?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Can we eat it by Deadmaiden’s Cove?’

  He doesn’t answer. ‘It’s about protecting yourself,’ he says.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  He sighs, nodding towards the lumps of tarpaulin-covered crates at our feet. ‘Save you ever having to do some other fella’s shopping.’

  ‘It’s not like you couldn’t knock this on the head, Da.’

  He shoots me a look and I immediately wish I hadn’t opened my mouth.

  ‘Wish it were that simple, son.’

  I look back at his steely, worn face held high and the shame hits me: this job isn’t a choice. Wasn’t I berating Laura for her identical ignorance only yesterday?

  ‘Anyway,’ he says, recovering, ‘with that sort of qualification you could get in with a specialist surveying company, or even have your own practice. You won’t end up beholden to anyone. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘What?’ I ask, even though I heard him perfectly.

  ‘You want to sail your own ship. Don’t be relying on any of them,’ he says, bobbing his head enthusiastically like he’s agreeing with himself.

  ‘Er, yeah. Can I sail over to the cove after we’ve offloaded?’

  ‘As you wish, Captain.’ He smiles at me, satisfied he’s been heard and that I’ll do the right thing.

  We’re getting closer now and the island’s small, stone harbour wall is visible ahead. A group of birds squawk noisily around us, diving deftly into the water.

  ‘Look, Liam!’ says Dad, pointing. ‘It’s them greedy guillemots again.’

  I watch them for a bit, swooping in and out of the water on their white bellies, having the craic and I find myself thinking all sorts of mad, ponderous stuff about life. I’ve to be careful out here; there’s something about being deep in the seawater that will do that to me. Before I know it I’ll be full of big thoughts, contemplating what we’re all doing here – that, or writing lines of embarrassing poetry inside my head.

  Da lifts the tarpaulin cover by our feet, dutifully counting up the crates again, looking up and down from his clipboard all the while.

  The boat is neatly packed underneath. I’ve often wanted to rummage through these boxes and see what sort of gear that Lord fella has sent over to his island gaff each week.

  ‘Nine,’ Da mutters to himself.

  ‘You know we could be carrying drugs or guns,’ I tease him.

  He continues ticking off his list. ‘Hate to disappoint you, but it’s only the usual groceries,’ he says. Still, that doesn’t stop me fantasising we’re really lugging over some sort of contraband that would give the journey some drama. There’s not much jeopardy in bog roll and baked beans.

  ‘How’s it going at the Metro?’ he asks.

  ‘’S’all right.’ As far as summer jobs go, Deli Assistant isn’t the worst way to earn the minimum wage.

  ‘Is that right?’

  I know he wants more. ‘I’m getting good at the oven timings now.’ This is actually true. ‘I didn’t burn any baguettes this week.’

  ‘Sure then yer laughin’!’ he says, tossing his head back. ‘They paying you well?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  ‘Anything to deposit at the Credit Union yet?’

  ‘Soon,’ I say. I’m saving. I’ve signed up to do all the available shifts over the summer. Mam and Da are helping me buy a car for getting to college and back each day. They’ll match whatever I’ve earned by the end of this summer, but only as a loan. I’ll pay them back after college, along with whatever balance we’ll need to borrow from the Credit Union. I hate the idea of taking the money off them but if I don’t have a car then I’ll have to live in Dundalk, which would probably cost even more.

  ‘Where d’you get to last night then?’ he asks, taking over the wheel.

  ‘Kenny’s. I met a guard who knew you.’

  He straightens his back. ‘What d’you mean, you met a guard?’ he asks, peering into the distance. ‘Who was it anyway?’

  ‘Tim O’Flaherty? We were down the beach first. He was looking for someone, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, Tim’s a decent skin,’ he says, studying a bird hovering above. ‘Sure his sister is married to John-Joe.’

  John-Joe was one of Dad’s foremen, his favourite actually. He hit the drink after it all happened. He’s sober now but I’m already regretting bringing up yer man O’Flaherty.

  ‘I met a girl last night.’

  He drops his pen back
into his breast pocket and steps over, shunting me off the steering wheel. ‘Is that a remarkable thing of a Friday night these days?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t really meet her. Her name’s Emerald.’

  ‘You serious?’ he asks, glancing up at me and twiddling dials on the dash at the same time.

  ‘She’s English, I think.’

  ‘Makes sense. You’d be an awful gobshite to give yer daughter a name like that around here. Still though, it’s nice,’ he adds, steering the RIB in expertly along the wall. ‘Yer man, what’s his name? You know the actor? That American lad. He did that, called his daughter something mad. Ah, I can’t remember now, but he’s in that show yer mam loves. Anyway, didn’t he go and call his young wan Ireland, or something.’ He scratches his head. ‘So where did you meet this Emerald?’

  ‘Shelters.’

  He’s staring above my head to the harbour beyond. ‘She on her holliers?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘How long is she here for?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Jaysus, son, what do you know?’ he says, laughing.

  ‘Not much.’ Once again I’m lamenting my choice of chat. Just saying Emerald’s name out loud makes it sound like I made it all up.

  He shakes his head, ‘Good luck with that so.’

  I trail my hand along the surface of the water as we slow down. We’re close to the private port on the island’s western shore now and the silky heads of several silver seals peek up out of the water up ahead. I see a giant of a man I don’t recognise patrolling the wall.

  ‘Is that the new gamekeeper fella?’ I shout up, but I see Da’s already staring at him. In this moment, in Da’s look, and the way his right shoulder hangs in apology, I twig something about power and its current imbalance. The reality that is Da’s lack of choice hits me again. In fact, it wallops me between the ribs.

  ‘Pull her in here!’ Yer man Gerry roars at us like we’ve never moored a boat.

  Da steers in close enough for him to catch the rope. ‘Fine day,’ Da shouts as he cuts the engine. No response, but this doesn’t stop him. ‘Any news on Frank?’

  ‘Heart attack,’ Gerry says, but the way he barks it’s not clear whether he’s talking about Frank or whether this is some sort of threat.

  ‘Ah no,’ says Da, with a sigh. ‘That’s terrible news.’

  I watch the big man rubbing his beard, eyeing us and the boat in quick succession. Da opens his mouth to speak again but Gerry gets in first. ‘You’ll be dealing with me from now on.’

  I glance at Da and I don’t like the look on his face at all, but I start unpacking, hauling crates up the steep, stone steps and stacking them in piles by Gerry’s enormous feet.

  Da follows me up. ‘Grand job, Gerry,’ he says, extending his hand towards the fella’s belly and looking at him right in the eye. I stare at Da’s outstretched palm. Gerry’s looking back at Da but he keeps both arms by his sides, unmoving. A cloud must have sailed over the sun because all three of us are now standing in the shade.

  Thankfully Da pulls his lonely arm back in, but then doesn’t he start patting my back with it. ‘This is my son, Liam. Haven’t got him for long, he’ll be off to college soon.’

  Gerry chooses to ignore this too and looks down, tapping his clipboard with a pen. ‘I’ve got ten crates on my list here,’ he says.

  Da crouches down on his hunkers, scratching his head. ‘But nine is written on the inventory from McCabes,’ he says, searching his pockets a little too anxiously for my liking.

  The black slugs of Gerry’s eyebrows tilt and he ogles Da all sketchily. ‘I’ll call the store. You’ll hear from me if there’s anything missing,’ he says, before turning to his beat-up old Land Rover. I’m that close to sizing up to him, I don’t care how big he is, but then he pulls a rifle from the bowels of the boot and places it on the passenger seat. What a feckin’ mad yoke! In all the years Frank watched over this island, he never found a reason to be packing heat.

  Next thing I hear Da, at it again. ‘Well, we’ll see you Wednesday. Tell Frank I was asking for him,’ he says, hopping back down into the boat again.

  I follow, a bit speechless now. Who does that gun-toting muttonhead think he is?

  Da’s completely silent as we head on over towards the island’s eastern shore. I know better than to say anything. I imagine it’d be a bit crushing having some psycho ignore you that way in front of your son.

  I’m OK with not talking but I want to think of something to make him feel better. My head starts throbbing again so I give up and eventually amuse myself watching a crowd of clown-faced puffins perched on the holes in the rocks.

  ‘I never tire of looking at those fellas parading around the cliff edge, showing off in front of their girlies,’ Da says at last. ‘Sure, they’ll be gone on their holliers again next week. Gone with the guillemots, off for a bit of sun.’

  He starts humming away to himself now and I leave him be. I’m relieved; at least the silence is untangling.

  ‘I met your mother down by the beach,’ he says then, out of nowhere.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Sixth of June it was. The Monday after the Whit weekend,’ he says, pushing at some controls in front of him that I can’t see. ‘I was rambling home down by High Rock that evening, when I spotted her sitting over by the old diving board. D’you know the one?’

  Everyone in Portstrand knows that diving board. I nod.

  ‘She was on her own.’ He’s lost in his thoughts. His chest butts out from his body, not unlike one of our neighbouring puffins. ‘I walked down and caught a good look at her, side on. Her legs were dangling in the water and her hair fell down her bare back like seaweed, for it was long then,’ he says, turning to look at me, as though checking I got this bit of detail. ‘She was so still and perfect. And do you know the best part?’ But not waiting for an answer, he goes on, ‘She was singing gently. Or maybe it was humming she was doing, but truly, son, she was like one of them selkies you read about in fairy tales.’

  ‘Ah, Da!’

  ‘Honestly, she was that beautiful. She didn’t look human.’

  ‘What d’you do?’

  ‘Sure I was, what’s the word … mesmerised? I think I just swaggered towards her, hoping by the time I got to her I’d have found me balls so as to say something.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Didn’t she rise up and dive into the water, just as I got close. I looked on for a bit, waiting for her to resurface, but I was uncertain of what my eyes were seeing on account of the sun. I was beginning to believe I’d imagined the whole thing, when I finally saw her head pop up. She’d swum out fifty metres at least, but eventually she turned around and her tiny head smiled up at me from a distance. She knew I was watching her the whole time. But that’s your mam, knows everything.’

  ‘Did you get in after her?’

  ‘Me hole I did,’ he says, slowing the engine and dragging the rope from under his feet. ‘But I asked around and found her in Moloney’s the following Friday night. Bought her a drink.’

  ‘Smooth moves, sea dog.’

  ‘Listen, son, it’s not about the moves, you’ll learn that soon enough. When love pounces on you like that, it’s little choice you have in it at all.’

  ‘G’wan, Casanova!’

  ‘Old dog, long road,’ he says, tapping his nose. I hold it in as long as I can but then he looks at me; he’s also about to burst. Next thing we’re both laughing. I’m not even sure why, but God, it feels good.

  ‘Pass us that bag of sandwiches,’ he says, rising up and tossing the anchor over. I fling the holdall down the length of the boat and he fishes out the lunchboxes and hands one back to me.

  I’ve never heard Da talking this way before and I’m trying not to appear as drawn in as I am. ‘So was that it? Deal sealed over a Bacardi and Coke?’ I ask.

  ‘Ah no, I had to work hard that night,’ he says through a mouthful of ham. ‘And for a few long months after.’

&
nbsp; ‘Tell me she played hard to get.’ Maybe it’s the fresh air and Da’s mental faces, but I’m giddy now. Any trace of a hangover has lifted and the sunlight on the water is magical. I look over at him and I’m smiling, thinking about how glad I am I came out this morning, despite asshole Gerry, but then I notice Da’s face has changed and his body stiffens like a cold wind has blown through him. His jaw falls loose. I watch as he moves the little plastic tub off his lap and he looks off over the edge of the boat.

  ‘There was another fella with the glad eye for your mam, back in the day,’ he says into the water below. Then he turns and stares right at me. ‘I used to think on that a lot and then, when everything went belly up, I’d wake in the night with acid pulping through my veins that she’d had to give up everything we had that was nice.’

  My heart starts to race. What’s he’s talking about? He picks up another sandwich and examines its crusts all the way round.

  ‘Had I not led her away from him in Moloney’s all those years ago, she’d probably be living the high-life in England now. It’s an awful feeling, worse than losing everything to him in the first place.’

  It takes me a minute. ‘Jim Byrne? Jim Byrne had a thing for Mam?’ I say, trying not to choke.

  ‘Don’t say the name. Please, son,’ he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head into the wind.

  The fingers on his right hand uncurl and his crust drops limply into the water. A pair of sleek grey seals goes after it, swimming right up to the boat, but neither of us can bring ourselves to speak.

  EMERALD

  Looking in the wrong place

  I wander into the kitchen, zombie-like. Grandma has laid all sorts of cereal out on the table. Each day there’s a new one to try.

  I spy the unopened Special K and lazily shake some flakes into a bowl.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Grandma asks, nervously shuffling boxes.

  ‘Not bad, thanks.’ I lie, ’cause it’s easier.

  Really I tossed and turned with total racy-brain, trying not to look at my phone … and failing. It started with some crappy YouTube tutorial on how to curl long hair with a sock, but then Kitty posted a shot of her and Bryony from the changing rooms at Zara. Truthfully, it wasn’t even how unbearably close those two have become in my eight day absence or the fact that I’m miles away from all their fun, it was actually Bryony’s perfect side boob that got me most depressed. I couldn’t stop myself looking; there she was, staring into the lens all coy. What a joke; she knows how good she looks. And like she’d let Kitty post anything where she looked anything less than amazing. Had a major selfie cull at 3 a.m. and went to sleep basically hating myself. Ughh … I’ll never have a spontaneously Instagrammable body.