Breeda Looney Steps Forth by Oliver Sands

Author:Oliver Sands [Sands, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: stories from ireland to make me cry, intelligent womens fiction ireland, Irish book club, book where a woman rescues herself, irish womens literature for 2020, single woman black comedy, story about a woman beating loneliness, ireland literary, quirky women's stories, book club irish fiction womens reads, stories from ireland 2020, books set in small town ireland, heartwarming stories from ireland for book club, intelligent fiction for women, contemporary womens fiction 2020, stories for smart women, stories about loneliness, stories about searching for meaning
ISBN: 9780648744801
Publisher: deGrevilo Publishing
Published: 2020-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The tide had ebbed far out, and the rippled sand it left behind shone warm and golden under Breeda’s bare feet. She hadn’t meant to come here. She hadn’t even thought of the place. But after leaving Mona Sneddon’s, Breeda had found herself heading south, instead of northwest back to Carrickross. And she had kept driving, until she saw signs with a place name she’d not seen in decades.

Breeda raised a hand to her brow and looked out beyond the shoreline. A thin grey cloud hung on the distant horizon and she played with the notion it was the coastline of England. She lifted Mona Sneddon’s postcard to her face and inhaled the slightly musky scent. Mal Looney was across there somewhere and his only child was going to find him and make things right.

She closed her eyes for a second, a smile playing over her face, as she pictured her younger self, sitting proudly atop her Dad’s shoulders.

‘Who’s the apple of my eye?’ he’d shout up to her, as they’d strolled this very beach.

‘I am!’ she’d squeal, knowing what was coming.

‘Who?’

‘Me! Breeda Looney!’

She’d pummel his chest playfully with the back of her bare sandy feet until he’d bite a chunk out of an imaginary apple, and then toss it up to her to take a bite too. Young Breeda had felt invincible up there on Mal Looney’s shoulders, queen of the world, safe and loved.

She turned and strolled slowly back in the direction of her car. The beach was hers this afternoon, utterly deserted but for a few hunkering seagulls which grumbled out of her way as she cut through them. Scanning the grassy dunes off to her right she wondered if the caravan park still existed back there on the other side. She thought of the little yellow caravan they’d owned back in the day, the thick brown stripe around the middle, so very seventies. It had been simple and basic, a perfect little getaway for school holidays and long summers. There was never a need to go abroad – not that you’d ever get Mal Looney on a plane — flying was an accident waiting to happen, he’d always said. Breeda took in a deep lungful of air and let the memories wash over her. Near the caravan had been the toilet block where a seven-year-old Breeda had got stuck in the cubicle with the stiff bolt. Too timid to bang on the door she’d instead waited quietly until her dad had come searching for her hours later. And further along there’d been the old amusements with the breakneck waltzer and the penny arcade. And the red-roofed sweetie shop where Breeda and the wee girl from the caravan two doors up (Maura? Moira?) would blow their winnings from the one-armed bandits on white chocolate mice and sherbet dips.

Those few summers Breeda and her parents had come here had allowed her to run free, to be a bog-standard kid. Their modest little caravan and this sweeping beach

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