by Anna Sweeney
‘The inspector told me – Trevor, that is – he told me that Fergus found four of the guns in his home about a year ago. Oscar had travelled on a private plane and managed to avoid being scanned at the airport. Then a few months ago, Fergus removed one of the guns and met up with Darina near Cork city to give it to her. It seems Oscar never found out.’
‘I can’t make up my mind about Fergus, whether to despise him or to feel sorry for him.’
‘I know what you mean. Whatever spirit he had seems to have been crushed.’
Nessa showed Redmond the drawing when they were in the field, and they compared it to the single slab of stone, wedged into the ground and as tall as themselves.
‘Yes, I can see how it makes sense as a headstone,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t picture it before, because I didn’t really know what a standing stone was.’
Nessa turned over the card, to show the impression of Oscar’s face on the other side. It was done in a fluid and sensitive style and Nessa looked at her companion, realising that he held her gaze this time without shying away. ‘What I find very hard to take in,’ she said slowly, ‘is that we know so little about most people. Oscar, obviously, but Darina too. She always seemed to me to be a gentle, diligent kind of person, and not at all capable of what she did.’
Redmond nodded silently and they stood looking at the view, as clouds and sunlight jostled above the foam-rimmed curves of the coastline. Nessa wondered briefly about inviting him to Cnoc Meala, but decided against it. He was also someone she had known and understood too little, and that would not change in one afternoon. After a few moments, they picked their way across the field, caught up with their own thoughts as they took turns climbing back over the wall.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing is mostly a solitary activity, but I could not have written this novel without the generous time and support of all the people I want to thank here.
For valuable help with research: Professor Marie Cassidy, Ireland’s State Pathologist; Detective-Sergeant Brendan Walsh (now retired); and friends in Beara including Sue Booth-Forbes of Anam Cara retreat for writers and artists.
For great critical feedback and encouragement to get me to the final draft: Simon Brooke, Kintilla Heussaff, Ciana Campbell, Alison Warlow, Wendy Barrett, Kate Ruddock, Maeve Lewis, Mary Hyland, Eithne Bentley and everyone in my wonderful book club.
Finally, I want to thank Micheál Ó Conghaile, my Irish language publisher at Cló Iar-Chonnacht, whose advice, patience and hard work made this translation possible; and all at Severn House for doing such a great job, in particular my editor Anna Telfer and publisher Edwin Buckhalter.
GLOSSARY
amadán: fool
blather: from bladar, cajolery
bockety: from bacach, broken, halting, unsteady
boreen: from bóithrín, a country lane or narrow, often unpaved, road
buckshee: a wannabe detective; also, any garda officer who does a job without being paid the proper allowance. Its origins may be both British (and Persian ‘baksheesh’), for ‘something extra obtained free’, and Irish, bog shí or boige shíne, for getting a free drink in a pub, or over-generosity
cig: abbreviation of cigire, inspector/police inspector; used colloquially among the police in Ireland to speak about or to an inspector
garda: a policeman, a member of An Garda Siochána, the official title of Ireland’s national police force, which translates as ‘The Guardian(s) of the Peace’. A police station is called a garda station; and an individual garda (plural, gardaí or gardai) is the lowest fulltime rank in the force, for which ‘guard’ is aso used colloquially
gligeen: from gligín, an empty-headed person who talks too much
mar dhea: as if it were so – used sarcastically about what has just been said
plámás: smooth talk, flattery designed to gain an advantage
rapparee: from rapaire, an outlaw or bandit of 17th and 18th century Ireland, often dispossessed as a result of colonisation
whisht: from fuist, hush, be quiet – used as an interjection