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By Root 2535 0

the first moment when he went out into the street. Was it just his imagination? A case of nerves? He considered that, of course. But he didn’t think so. Yet it had been a perfect Dalkey morning. The dawn mist had given way to a light, salty haze. As the sky cleared to a soft blue, little clouds came floating in, white as the spume from the sea. Tom had even felt a sense of cheerfulness as he came out of his house and began to walk down the street. Seeing one of his neighbours, he had wished him good morning, just as he would on any other day. But though the man had answered something, it had seemed to Tom that there was an awkwardness in his manner. A few moments later, he had seen one of the fishermen mending nets in front of his cottage give him a strange look; and as he went farther, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched from both sides of the street. It was an eerie sensation, as if he had suddenly become an unwelcome guest in his own village.

Then he had gone into MacGowan’s house and found that his friend had disappeared. He had looked around Dalkey and asked several people, but no one seemed to have any idea where MacGowan had gone. It was very strange. After a while Tom had returned to his home and stayed there for the rest of the morning. At noon, he went round to MacGowan’s again, but there was still no sign of him. On his way back this time, he met a couple of men and a woman in the street. Though they acknowledged his greeting, he noticed the same awkwardness. One of the men tried to avert his eyes, and the woman said, “I thought you were in Dublin,” in a tone of voice that suggested she thought that Dublin was where he belonged. By the time he reached his house again, he was in a sombre mood.

There were only hours to go: a warm afternoon, a long summer evening, the slowly gathering dusk, and then, at last, blackness. And in the middle of that blackness, the terrible trap at Carrickmines. The thought of it oppressed him. He wished he could put it out of his mind. More than once, as he sat in his house alone, Tom wondered whether he had been wrong. MacGowan had vanished; was it because he was afraid? His neighbours seemed to be no longer his friends; did they know something he did not? Should he go back to Dublin, after all? But two things prevented him. The first was shame. If he turned up at MacGowan’s brother’s house again now, wouldn’t he look like an idiot? The second might have been bravery, or it might have been obstinacy. But hadn’t he taken a decision to stay here in Dalkey and face the danger, he reminded himself? He wasn’t going to back down now.

The afternoon passed slowly. He tried to keep himself occupied. He washed down the horses and found chores to do indoors. Nobody came by. He paced about restlessly in the yard. By mid-afternoon he felt like going to the little church, but he forced himself to wait. He’d go at the usual time, not before. He went into the barn and cleaned out all the carts, not because it needed doing but to fill some more time, until, at last, he felt the hour approaching. And he was standing in the yard, gauging the light and just about to leave, when glancing out towards the common, he caught sight of something by one of the rocks. It was hard to tell what it was. A dark sheep, perhaps—many of the Dalkey sheep had dark fleeces. A trick of the light?

Or something else. A girl’s black hair?

The dark-haired girl. Why should she have come into his mind? It was absurd. His imagination was playing games with him, and he knew it. He shook his head impatiently.

She would have a good view of his yard from out there. She’d have seen all his movements. Was there someone watching the other side of his house? Anybody in Dalkey could be doing that. He stared at the dark patch beside the rock, seeing if he could discern a face. He could not—and the reason he couldn’t, he told himself firmly, was that there was no face there to be seen. He took a deep breath and turned away, refusing to let himself look at the spot anymore. He began to walk out of the yard. It was