The Belfast Girl on Galway Bay by Anne Doughty

Author:Anne Doughty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-08-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Tiny puffs of evening cloud were turning to blue and grey as we hurried back along the beach. They began to drift across the orange and gold radiance the westering sun had spread out across the whole width of the horizon. Sunset itself would be spectacular. But we couldn’t stay to watch, nor share the soft hush of the early evening, for Patrick was already late. Back at the hotel, there was the spirit store to unlock, supplies to be checked out for bar and dining room, while in Lisara, Mary and Paddy would be waiting for me, supper ready and long since put in the oven to keep warm.

Returning by the direct route was so rapid, there was little time for talk.

‘I’ll come and find you as soon as I get back,’ he promised, as he pulled in behind a red car drawn up on the verge beside the cottage wall.

I knew he wanted to take me in his arms again but we’d both seen Michael Flannigan strolling up the road. As he moved closer, his eyes firmly fixed upon us, his goat on its long tether stopped and nibbled in a leisurely way at the roadside grasses.

We exchanged a wry look, clasped hands below the level of the dashboard and got out together. Moments later Patrick was speeding back across the far ridge.

‘Ah shure good, girl, there you are. We was just speaking of you. I said ye’d not be too long.’

Mary was smiling broadly as she drew me over to the fireside. An elderly man sat in her chair. In his ancient duffle coat and Wellington boots, he looked like many a neighbouring farmer, though he could easily have been a passing tramp. Whoever he was, Mary’s unexpected animation told me he was important to her.

‘Isn’t it great now that Professor McDonagh is here for a day or two, Elizabeth, and you so interested in the old stories,’ she said enthusiastically as she introduced us.

The professor stood up, shook my hand and enquired politely after my own professor at Queen’s whom he said he knew very well professionally but not personally. His eyes were a pale blue, his hair thinning and gingery, his face creased with age and worn by wind and sun. It was his voice I noticed particularly, soft but very pleasing, full of a gentle humour, a voice you could listen to for a long time without growing weary.

‘Come on now, it’s time we had our supper,’ said Mary, with unaccustomed firmness. ‘Elizabeth, astore, would you fetch me the cloth from the bottom of the cupboard?’

It was a memorable evening, Paddy in great spirits, Mary more talkative than I had ever known her. I was so heartened and encouraged by the happy atmosphere round the fire that I offered some fragments of stories I’d heard as a child. I was amazed at how much I was able to recall. Before he went back to his hotel, Professor McDonagh asked me if I’d like to join Paddy and himself on their visits to the local storytellers.

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