knew, now that he was alone, he could not avert his thoughts about it. His knees felt watery and the cold air found his neck. He clasped his collar shut against his neck and his body gave one long shudder. A car passed the mouth of the street. Better get somewhere warm, get into bed, he realised.
The door to Considine’s pub opened and Minogue watched one of the late arrivals look up and down the street. The man paused and raised a hand to his hair. He glanced at Minogue and their eyes met momentarily. Then he crossed to the other footpath and searched both ends of the street. Minogue stepped out, walking briskly and woodenly toward Mrs McNamara’s Bed and Breakfast.
Mrs Mac related that Hoey had gone to bed an hour ago. She had almost finished one sock and was still as keen and bright-eyed knitting as she had been nearly four hours earlier.
“God, you look perished,” she said. “Are you coming down with a cold, is it? I have powder and aspirin inside if you want.”
“Thank you, no. Was Shea looking for me or anything like that?” Minogue asked.
“No, he wasn’t. I thought he wanted to go out awhile, on account he looked a bit restless…” She paused to gather a stitch, smiled and went on. “He had a cup of tea and a read of the paper. He said he wasn’t really up to being himself lately.”
She looked up suddenly.
“Are ye related, by any chance?”
Bewildered, Minogue almost smiled. Had she read something into them, some caretaker or parental thing? Clare people had indeed cornered the market on intuition.
“We watched a bit of Miss Ireland,” Mrs McNamara went on. “He fancied Miss Donegal to win.”
“Same as myself,” Minogue blurted out. Mrs McNamara gave him a knowing smile.
“So you saw a bit of the talent where you were?”
“I left after Miss Donegal. She seemed very nice.”
Mrs McNamara smiled at the sock taking shape. “I recall her ankles being a weak spot.”
Minogue shrugged.
“Ye mightn’t notice, being men, but thick ankles have a habit of making a girl look very flat on her feet. Not to speak, you’ll excuse me saying this now, of a girl having legs like a table. It’s the diet down the country, I maintain. The fat tends to settle.”
Minogue vaguely recalled an adage about Irishwomen having a unique dispensation from God to wear their legs upside down.
“Well. Miss Kerry walked away with it in the end,” Mrs McNamara sighed.
Her tongue moved around her lips as she negotiated a difficult part of the sock. She approached the toe now and Minogue watched her draw out the needle.
“Good for you,” he said. She drew her tongue in and squinted at the television.
“But she had a tan on her that came out of a bottle,” she declared. “How would she come by such a burn honestly in Kerry, I ask you? It’s a cod.”
“I suppose,” Minogue allowed. “I’ll be off now and goodnight.”
“Ye must be very tired. What with all the work ye’re doing?”
Minogue gave her a broad, fake grin.
“Do you know,” she went on. “A woman down the street was telling me-now she does be around the town a lot more than myself-there’s a lot of Guards in the town. Well, so she says, but she’s very quick to pick up on things, don’t you know.”
Minogue said that he did know what Mrs McNamara meant about other people. He paused by the door.
“I wonder if there’s something going on here in town now.”
He rested his hand on the door handle.
“Ennis is always full of life, as I recall,” he said.
Mrs McNamara looked up with a little mischief in her eye. “You know where you are. Down the hall, like.”
The porpoises were smiling as they talked. He knew what they were saying without the need to hear their words. They surrounded him and he wondered if he should swim back to the surface to take a breath. But it was windy and raining there. Far cosier here. How could they talk underwater? Stay here if you like, one of them, he didn’t know which one, told him. Why would you want to go back? It’s better here.
It was neither light nor dark; the water was neither warm nor cold. The water must be clear because he could see anything he wanted. How far can we go before we have to turn back, he wanted to know. Look where we are now, he was told. Without any effort, he was able to stand in the water and look at the cliffs. I wanted to come here, I know, he said, but not like this. I must go home. That’s all right, but you’d be foolish to want that, one told him. You can’t keep me here if I don’t want to stay. In an instant he was in the Shannon. Watch for nets, they said, but he couldn’t see them anymore. Come back to the ocean and…
He was over the water now, clear of it, still, and he knew that wings had grown on his shoulders. Hoey was sitting on the rocks, staring out to sea. His feet were bare and his trousers were rolled up to his knees. I don’t know, said Hoey. What was the question? Eilo McInerny was searching for seashells and periwinkles in the pools between rocks covered in seaweed. Her daughter stood next to her. Naked and unconcerned, she was brushing her hair. See, said Hoey, still staring at the swells of the retreating tide. Although it was Hoey, he knew, it wasn’t Hoey’s face. It was the face of that stranger again, the one with the moustache. In the air now. I’ll fall. No. There was the fire. The stone walls were patterned like a child’s puzzle, a maze. Help little Jane find her way home. He knew the way and he hovered over the blazing cottage. The man was screaming and his body was blackened. How can I see and it dark, he wondered, but he didn’t care.
He looked through the burning thatch and the woman was there. Her body was white, untouched by the inferno. She lay on the floor, her eyes still and calm, looking up at him. It was Sheila Howard. This, she said. He looked away and the people had come. They leaned on the walls and watched the fire. The whole town is here, the whole county, he knew. The crowd was gathered in a perfect circle about the fire. He felt the heat on his wings and he wished for the ocean again. The faces turned up to the sky and he knew them all. Now you know, the porpoises said. I don’t, he said.
He focussed on a corner of the room. The bedroom was full of a milky light, soft shadows. No Kathleen? I’m in Ennis. Fragments of his dream came and left his mind. The unfamiliar smells of the house drew his thoughts away. He realised that he had slept deeply. Was that a radio on somewhere? He was stiff. It was half-past seven.
In the parlour, Hoey looked up from the Clare Champion and did a quick examination of the Inspector’s face.
“How’s Shea?” said Minogue.
“Middling to good.”
“I was about to knock,” said Mrs McNamara from the kitchen. She came through moments later, carrying a tray with steaming scones and tea.
“Are ye sure ye won’t have a proper breakfast, a fry? I have rashers in the fridge.”
“Thanks, no, Mrs McNamara.”
Minogue let the smell of brewing tea soothe him. Mrs McNamara retreated to the kitchen.
“Did you have a good night?” he asked Hoey.
There had been no light under Hoey’s door last night, he recalled. He had dithered over checking on him, but he had fallen into sleep himself while thinking about it.
“I did.”
The Inspector rubbed at his eyes. Hoey did look rested, less cautious. Mrs Mac returned with jam.
“Did ye see outside?” she asked. Fog dense as smoke, still and white, had covered Ennis overnight.
“I did,” said Minogue.
“You can’t see twenty feet in front of your nose now,” she said. “It must have got warm in the night.”
She left with a warning to eat all the bread and scones. Minogue slumped into the chair as the door closed behind her.
