No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [30]
Sam decided to walk. He reckoned town was ten minutes on foot and, as he was still a little light-headed, he deemed it better not to risk driving – this in a man who, one night six months previously, had driven from Boston to New York having pushed five hundred bucks’ worth of heroin into his system that day. He was halfway to town when it struck him that he cared about his welfare now, which reminded him that he had indeed come a long way. I hope it lasts.
He reached the top of the town and looked down at the sloping street that led to a church with a steeple. The sky above was a deeper navy than that over the water and yet it seemed as bright. Stratus clouds passed quickly above him towards the sea. Below, everywhere was busy with cars beeping and people waving as they popped into and out of the colourful shops.
While Sam sauntered through his new world, Mary parked half a street away in her father’s yard and entered the kitchen to be met by Pierre, who was in foul form, having borne the brunt of Jessie’s frustration.
“Oh, that woman!” was his greeting, and Jessie wasn’t far behind.
“I heard that,” she said, red with anger. “Arse-crack!” she bellowed, following him to the storeroom at full speed. It was a term Jessie used at least three times a day.
Mary went into the dining room where her dad was behind the bar. “Have they been like this long?” she asked, laughing.
“All morning – they’re like feckin’ caricatures,” he said. “Are you OK?”
“Thanks for the flowers, Dad. He would have liked them.”
“You’re both welcome.” He patted his daughter’s back. They had been through hell over the years but as long as she was OK he would be.
The place was busy enough, and within seconds of her arrival Ivan was sitting up at the bar ordering his usual seafood salad. “Don’t you ever want to eat something else?” Mary asked.
“No,” he said. “What about you? I hear you’re meeting Adam for a drink. Is there something I should know?” He was chuckling.
“Shut up.” She grinned, then became serious. “I can’t believe he’s leaving.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, playing with the redundant menu.
“Penny says he’s definitely going. He’s got a job managing some restaurant in Cork and they’re selling the hotel.”
Sam was too hungry to survey the many restaurants and planned to eat in the first he found. He didn’t have to walk too far. The menu was plastered on the front door and it looked good. Better still, the aroma coming from inside could only be described as mouth-watering. The place looked homely – pottery and luscious plants filling the window and ornate furniture bedecking the entrance. Once inside, he wasn’t disappointed. Faces and events from another era lined the walls, mingled with a few paintings. The dark wooden tables and red velvet sofas suggested warmth and, even on a bright day, the burning candles didn’t seem out of place. He melted into his chair, having already decided to start with the crab salad and to follow with the house omelette. Someone had left a newspaper on the seat. He began to read what he thought would be local Irish news but which turned out to be international, with much criticism of the Iraq war. He put it down just in time to see his basher neighbour behind the little bar. “You’re kidding me,” he mumbled.
“Crap!” Mary disappeared.
Ivan bent over the bar and looked at her crouching on the floor. “What are you doing?” he asked, intrigued.
“Frigging American,” she mumbled. “Of all the frigging places. I have to go.” She stood up again and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ivan glanced around and spotted the blond boy. Interesting. He refilled his coffee cup, then went over to Sam’s booth. “Excuse me?” Ivan said. “You’re on your own?”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed.
“Not from around here?” Ivan noted.
“New York.”
“Ah,” Ivan nodded, “you’re the new fella by the pier who Jerry Sullivan nicknamed ‘Uncle’?”
“Yeah?” Sam shook his head, amazed.
Ivan laughed. “I bumped into Mossy first thing.”
“I don’t know Mossy.”
Ivan grinned. “You will.”
“Man, this is one small town.”
“You’ve