Oisin
gone but not forgotten
This is a draft of something I've just started working with and thought I'd ask for you're constructive criticism before I bother wasting any more time with it. If you think it's worth continuing, I'll post it here in chapters. Remember being cruel can sometimes be kind. Thanks folks.
Janet Wilkins stood on the front step and watched the bright red Ford Escort grind to a halt on the loose gravel drive, behind her Land Rover. This must be Mister Parks, the gentleman from Birmingham. He had certainly made good time since disembarking the morning ferry.
Instinctively, Janet wiped her hands on her jeans and patted her hair into some sort of shape before making her way over to greet the new arrival. He was bending under the open tailgate, lifting out his luggage by the time she was alongside him.
‘You’ll be Mr Parks then,’ she said holding out her hand, “ I’m Janet…” She froze as their eyes met.
‘Andy, please.’ Andrew took her hand and smiled back at her.
‘Can I give a hand?’ The arrival of Janet’s daughter broke the moment. She too froze momentarily when Andrew turned to her.
‘And this is Niamh, my daughter.’ Janet broke the stand off. ‘Niamh, would you show Mister… Andy,’ she smiled and corrected herself, ‘to his room, while I put the kettle on?’
‘It’s okay, I can manage,’ Andrew told them, dragging the largest bag out of the car first.
Niamh ignored him and grabbed a smaller holdall. ‘Camera stuff?’ she asked. ‘My daddy liked taking photographs.’
They both followed Janet into the house. The kitchen was a large, well equipped, country style, including a dining table. As they entered an old man, nursing a mug of tea, rose to his feet to greet them.
‘And this is JP Brennan,’ Janet introduced the old man.
‘He’s Mammy’s uncle and my great uncle,’ Niamh enlightened Andrew.
Again there was a moment of pause as the two men’s eyes met. ‘You’re welcome to Easkey.’ JP smiled at the younger man. ‘We hope you’ll enjoy your stay.’
‘Come on Mr Parks.’ As soon as Andrew dropped the heavier bag Niamh had snatched it up together with the camera bag and was now encouraging it shape up. ‘I’ll show ye where you are.’
As instructed, Andrew followed the pretty young redhead out into the hall and up the stairs.
‘Thanks,’ Andrew told Niamh as she humped his bags onto a double bed, ‘but you didn’t have to.’
Niamh merely shrugged then moved to the window. ‘See that?’ She pointed out a traditional, slate roofed cottage on the far side of the courtyard. ‘That was oul’ JP’s place till he built this and got Mammy to run it for him.’
‘And what about your dad, the photographer?’
Niamh stared at him long and hard. Her wide blue eyes paled a little with sadness. ‘He died.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Andrew stammered with embarrassment.
‘It’s okay.’ Niamh brightened a little. ‘It’s three weeks you’ll be staying then?’
‘Yes. But I intend travelling around a bit. Thought this would make a good base.’
‘Well if you’re looking for a guide, I’m your girl,’ she chuckled, ‘But you’d better make the best of me while you can cos I’m off to uni in a couple of weeks.’
‘Trinty?’
‘No. Much nearer your neck of the woods, Keele.’
‘Niamh,’ he called to her as she was making her escape. She halted abruptly and faced him again. ‘What is it about me?’ He read her quizzical look. ‘Am I growing another head or something?’ Her face remained blank. ‘The way you looked at me when I arrived – surely you’ve had English guest here before.’
Niamh’s expression relaxed. ‘’Course we have, it’s just… Well, we don’t get too many young men coming here on their own. We usually have families and couples.’
‘Oh, is that it?’
Now Andrew relaxed a little Niamh decided to satisfy her curiosity. ‘Do you always holiday on your own?’
‘Not always.’ Andrew told her. ‘This is sort of… a sort of working holiday – a project. I’m trying to write a book on the development of rural west of Ireland. I’m researching the history, culture, geography, myths, legends and social development. I chose Easkey as a base because while it’s seemingly away from everything, it isn’t. From here I can research everything from the Blackpool-ish Bundoran, Yeats’ Sligo, through the surfing and fishing around here and Strandhill, to the Megalithic relics of Carrowmore.’
‘Wow!’ Niamh’s eyes lit with exaggerated amazement. ‘You are going to keep yourself busy, aren’t you? So, as I said, you can’t do better than use me as a personal guide. It’s a history degree I’m after at Keele. Is that what your degree is?’
‘Degree!’ Andrew laughed. ‘I haven’t got a degree. I’m much too thick for that. The nearest I’ve been to a university is passing Aston campus on my way home from work.’
Niamh appeared even more confused. ‘Sorry but it seems strange that you should be doing something like this, all on your own, with no academic background. Is there no one who would come with you?’
‘Niamh!’ The door shot open and Janet appeared. ‘Will you stop giving Andrew the third degree and let him get sorted.’ She smiled at Andrew and then scowled at Niamh. ‘I am sorry my daughter has a curiosity that’s much too keen for her own good at times.’ She addressed Andrew again. ‘There’s a cup of tea downstairs for you when you’re ready.’
The arrangements turned out better than Andrew could have dreamed. His accommodation was better than average and having Niamh to show him around made his research a lot easier. Besides a veritable well of local knowledge, she was also a very willing assistant; helping set up photographs, suggesting the best locations, points of contact etc. Within a couple of days they had forged a close affiliation. Despite Niamh being a very attractive 18 year old with a wonderful personality, and Andrew an acceptable 24-year-old male, while the relationship was close, there were no sexual undertones. But there was something – something strange that Andrew felt but couldn’t put his finger on. And it wasn’t just Niamh, at times he’d sensed something similar with Janet.
It was when Niamh was helping to set up a shot of a barrow grave at Carrowmore, suggesting the best lighting direction, when Andrew asked about her father. ‘Did you help your dad with those pictures of the Split Rock your mother has in the lounge?’
That look of sadness reflected in Niamh’s eyes again. ‘I was never able to help my father with anything. He died when Mammy was pregnant with me.’
If Andrew could have found a direct route into that grave he would have taken it right then. ‘I am sorry. I must remember not to raise the subject.’
‘It’s not taboo!’ She lit on him. ‘It’s just well… it’s difficult to explain… Now, I suggest we wait till the sun’s dropped a bit to get the best effect.’ Her face lit with mischief. ‘So how about buying me a drink now and come back later?’
‘Suits me,’ Andrew laughed, folding up the tripod.
To be continued...
JANET'S STORY
Janet Wilkins stood on the front step and watched the bright red Ford Escort grind to a halt on the loose gravel drive, behind her Land Rover. This must be Mister Parks, the gentleman from Birmingham. He had certainly made good time since disembarking the morning ferry.
Instinctively, Janet wiped her hands on her jeans and patted her hair into some sort of shape before making her way over to greet the new arrival. He was bending under the open tailgate, lifting out his luggage by the time she was alongside him.
‘You’ll be Mr Parks then,’ she said holding out her hand, “ I’m Janet…” She froze as their eyes met.
‘Andy, please.’ Andrew took her hand and smiled back at her.
‘Can I give a hand?’ The arrival of Janet’s daughter broke the moment. She too froze momentarily when Andrew turned to her.
‘And this is Niamh, my daughter.’ Janet broke the stand off. ‘Niamh, would you show Mister… Andy,’ she smiled and corrected herself, ‘to his room, while I put the kettle on?’
‘It’s okay, I can manage,’ Andrew told them, dragging the largest bag out of the car first.
Niamh ignored him and grabbed a smaller holdall. ‘Camera stuff?’ she asked. ‘My daddy liked taking photographs.’
They both followed Janet into the house. The kitchen was a large, well equipped, country style, including a dining table. As they entered an old man, nursing a mug of tea, rose to his feet to greet them.
‘And this is JP Brennan,’ Janet introduced the old man.
‘He’s Mammy’s uncle and my great uncle,’ Niamh enlightened Andrew.
Again there was a moment of pause as the two men’s eyes met. ‘You’re welcome to Easkey.’ JP smiled at the younger man. ‘We hope you’ll enjoy your stay.’
‘Come on Mr Parks.’ As soon as Andrew dropped the heavier bag Niamh had snatched it up together with the camera bag and was now encouraging it shape up. ‘I’ll show ye where you are.’
As instructed, Andrew followed the pretty young redhead out into the hall and up the stairs.
‘Thanks,’ Andrew told Niamh as she humped his bags onto a double bed, ‘but you didn’t have to.’
Niamh merely shrugged then moved to the window. ‘See that?’ She pointed out a traditional, slate roofed cottage on the far side of the courtyard. ‘That was oul’ JP’s place till he built this and got Mammy to run it for him.’
‘And what about your dad, the photographer?’
Niamh stared at him long and hard. Her wide blue eyes paled a little with sadness. ‘He died.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Andrew stammered with embarrassment.
‘It’s okay.’ Niamh brightened a little. ‘It’s three weeks you’ll be staying then?’
‘Yes. But I intend travelling around a bit. Thought this would make a good base.’
‘Well if you’re looking for a guide, I’m your girl,’ she chuckled, ‘But you’d better make the best of me while you can cos I’m off to uni in a couple of weeks.’
‘Trinty?’
‘No. Much nearer your neck of the woods, Keele.’
‘Niamh,’ he called to her as she was making her escape. She halted abruptly and faced him again. ‘What is it about me?’ He read her quizzical look. ‘Am I growing another head or something?’ Her face remained blank. ‘The way you looked at me when I arrived – surely you’ve had English guest here before.’
Niamh’s expression relaxed. ‘’Course we have, it’s just… Well, we don’t get too many young men coming here on their own. We usually have families and couples.’
‘Oh, is that it?’
Now Andrew relaxed a little Niamh decided to satisfy her curiosity. ‘Do you always holiday on your own?’
‘Not always.’ Andrew told her. ‘This is sort of… a sort of working holiday – a project. I’m trying to write a book on the development of rural west of Ireland. I’m researching the history, culture, geography, myths, legends and social development. I chose Easkey as a base because while it’s seemingly away from everything, it isn’t. From here I can research everything from the Blackpool-ish Bundoran, Yeats’ Sligo, through the surfing and fishing around here and Strandhill, to the Megalithic relics of Carrowmore.’
‘Wow!’ Niamh’s eyes lit with exaggerated amazement. ‘You are going to keep yourself busy, aren’t you? So, as I said, you can’t do better than use me as a personal guide. It’s a history degree I’m after at Keele. Is that what your degree is?’
‘Degree!’ Andrew laughed. ‘I haven’t got a degree. I’m much too thick for that. The nearest I’ve been to a university is passing Aston campus on my way home from work.’
Niamh appeared even more confused. ‘Sorry but it seems strange that you should be doing something like this, all on your own, with no academic background. Is there no one who would come with you?’
‘Niamh!’ The door shot open and Janet appeared. ‘Will you stop giving Andrew the third degree and let him get sorted.’ She smiled at Andrew and then scowled at Niamh. ‘I am sorry my daughter has a curiosity that’s much too keen for her own good at times.’ She addressed Andrew again. ‘There’s a cup of tea downstairs for you when you’re ready.’
The arrangements turned out better than Andrew could have dreamed. His accommodation was better than average and having Niamh to show him around made his research a lot easier. Besides a veritable well of local knowledge, she was also a very willing assistant; helping set up photographs, suggesting the best locations, points of contact etc. Within a couple of days they had forged a close affiliation. Despite Niamh being a very attractive 18 year old with a wonderful personality, and Andrew an acceptable 24-year-old male, while the relationship was close, there were no sexual undertones. But there was something – something strange that Andrew felt but couldn’t put his finger on. And it wasn’t just Niamh, at times he’d sensed something similar with Janet.
It was when Niamh was helping to set up a shot of a barrow grave at Carrowmore, suggesting the best lighting direction, when Andrew asked about her father. ‘Did you help your dad with those pictures of the Split Rock your mother has in the lounge?’
That look of sadness reflected in Niamh’s eyes again. ‘I was never able to help my father with anything. He died when Mammy was pregnant with me.’
If Andrew could have found a direct route into that grave he would have taken it right then. ‘I am sorry. I must remember not to raise the subject.’
‘It’s not taboo!’ She lit on him. ‘It’s just well… it’s difficult to explain… Now, I suggest we wait till the sun’s dropped a bit to get the best effect.’ Her face lit with mischief. ‘So how about buying me a drink now and come back later?’
‘Suits me,’ Andrew laughed, folding up the tripod.
To be continued...
