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  I could try to leave a letter, a capsule that would better weather time than I will. What would I say? I was here? We will never speak or meet but for a brief instance we have shared this experience. I’ve sent my thoughts through time, I’ve written them in ink and by reading them you’ve given them life in your mind. From your perspective I’ve done my stint, my path is past. But the view from where I sit, looking towards you, I’m at the junction of many choices. Don’t worry so much, listen to your elder.

  Shade snorted a short laugh and realised she could not put any of this up on her blog without being rightfully called out as pretentious.

  I suppose we can worry all we want but it did nothing for the old watch stationed here, or Synge, or me, nor will it you. You are here and we are sharing a moment through time.

  Shade wrote her thoughts down before she forgot them. When she finished capturing the moment as best she could she put it away for later editing. She began the piece with the sentence “I want to share something with you.” It was how she introduced introspective articles, so her readers would know what to expect. Plenty of eye-rolling she imagined.

  By the time she arrived at the cliffs she had already amassed over a hundred photos. Watching large gulls soaring below her made her dizzy. Sluggish waves unchecked since America struck the cliff and evaporated into stinging spray that peppered her cheeks. Her hair was starting to frizz.

  Parts of the rock rippled like the surface of water frozen in stone. Pink, long-stemmed flowers danced between gaps in the rock that were bridged by long strands of cobwebs, glistening with sea spray. She avoided those routes, the dark beneath the rock seeming all the more sinister for hiding the creators of those webs.

  Shade found a clearer route closer to the cliff. Piles of rock pushed back from the edge, heaped up by waves during winter storms making a natural amphitheatre, the ocean the stage. This place must look almost exactly the same as it did a thousand years ago. Shade jumped from one rock to another, confident in the grip on her new hiking boots. The lack of a defined route had cost her time, causing her to rush to make it around the island before the shop closed. By her guess at the map she was already too far round to turn back.

  Slippery green algae forced her away from the cliff edge. Lunging to cross a distance Shade’s heart stopped when the rock she was aiming for yelped in indignant protest at the prospect of being stood upon. In an instant she saw hands shoot out to steady her and a bottle of beer drop and shatter. She tried to stop herself in mid-air, throwing off her landing. She fell hard on her backpack. There was a horrible, expensive sounding crunch.

  “I’m so sorry,” she stood up and back from the man that appeared out of nowhere. He was pale with shock, though it soon passed and a healthy blush replaced it.

  “You scared the shite out of me.” He followed her eyes to the bubbling contents of his bottle darkening the stone. “No harm done. I wasn’t expecting anybody else out here so late in the evening, especially not for someone to come flying at me. Caught me off guard is all.” His smile robbed the comment of any potential harm. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Sorry, the grey jumper – and you were sitting so still …”

  “I was listening to music, half asleep until something blocked the sun.” His headphones had slipped off during their meeting.

  “Did you cut yourself?” He put down a notebook to pick up the broken shards of glass, cupping them gingerly in his hand. Shade helped, kicking the smaller pieces into the nearest crevice. She glanced at the page but his handwriting was illegible.

  The man stepped near the edge and let the pieces fall into the waves below. “Doubt there’s much fear of somebody cutting themselves while swimming down there. Well, at least, the glass will be the least of their worries.”

  Shade pulled off her backpack and went through the inventory. Her camera had a noticeable indentation on the side of the lens but aside from that she could not see anything worth getting upset about. The potatoes had left an impression on her back. She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.

  “Is anything broken?” He asked.

  For a split second Shade wished she still had the can of pepper spray that she carried across the States.

  “Not that I can see.” Shade let her suspicion of him relax a little when he sat down in his old position and tucked his feet beneath himself. He pulled his hands into his sleeves and closed his notebook. “What about you?” she asked. “Have I caused you any damage?”

  “I’ll need clean underwear but that’s about the extent of it.”

  Unsure of what to do with his hands he rubbed them together to generate heat. Shade was still sweating from the walk. How long have you been sitting out here? A thick Irish accent coupled with his clothes and a bag that clinked with empty bottles made her assume he was not a tourist. “What has you all the way out here alone? Are you not worried about drinking in such a place? I don’t like the thought of walking across this way even when sober,” she said.

  “Finished work in the dún so came out to listen to a bit of music before the madness that will be tonight. The whole island will be in the pub later. I’m not at all fond of crowds though, so I came out here to drink some courage.” He put a headphone on and smiled. “Sit down and have a listen to this.” He wiped an ear bud on his jumper and handed it to her. “Actually, I wouldn’t offer such a thing to a stranger but that bottle wasn’t my first.” His smile faded. “But it was my last.”

  Shade was always curious, and the opportunity to speak with a local was too appealing for her to refuse. The best part about her job was the people she met on the road. She sat down on the rock but far enough away from him that should the need arise, she could widen the gap in an instant.

  He was unkempt, unshaven and wore a grey jumper and cap pulled down over his blue, nearly slate-grey eyes. He smelled of beer, sweat and sawdust. Before she could ask any questions he pressed play and the music began. An ethereal echo preceded the introduction of piano. He appeared rapt in the piece, or at least comfortable in her presence. He sat still as the stone.

  Over the ocean the sun illuminated the tops of dark clouds in search of a weak point. A few beams breached through in slanted pillars above the water. I’m going to have to talk to him when this song ends. Shade chanced a look at his device but the screen was dark.

  “Look at that!” He pointed to the clouds in the distance that had fallen out of the sky as if they had buckled beneath the force of the probing sunlight. The veil of rain grew thick and darkened as it encroached upon the land.

  “Should we go?” Shade asked.

  The man considered it a moment. “We have time.”

  “It’s a beautiful song. What’s it called?”

  He pressed a button on his device bringing it to life, the time stood out in bold.

  “Shit! Is that the time?” Shade took out her own phone, confirming the time before he could answer. She handed the headphone back to him, prematurely ending the song. “The shop closes soon.” She gave as her excuse for leaving but something made her turn back. “Are you sure you want to stay here with that coming in?” She nodded at the sky of rain that was definitely getting closer.

  She angled the camera hanging from her neck towards him and took his picture without him noticing.

  “I’ve got time,” he said with much less confidence than he had a moment ago. “Nice meeting you …?”

  “Shade. Do be careful on your way back. See you.” Shade nodded farewell and focused on not slipping on the wet rock. Her side had started to smart since the fall.

  Before she reached the shop the rain had long overtaken her. Her camera was full of useful images but it had come at the cost of being late. There was no sign of life inside the shop, she knocked on the glass but nobody answered. Dejected at the prospect of a dinner consisting solely of tea and bruised potatoes she walked home.

  In the twilight she tripped over something inside the door of the cottage. Thinking it Nip she apologise
d profusely. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she could see she had knocked over a bag, spilling groceries all over the floor. The woman in the post office must have dropped it off. With the promise of food, Shade set about making dinner. She tipped the potatoes, muck and all, into the sink and ran them beneath the tap, then put them in a pot to boil. Before taking a single bite she first fed her camera. She ate more than her fill thinking to line her stomach before heading to the pub.

  CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU SMILING?

  Shade took a detour to the pub as shadows lengthened ahead of her. Water from summer showers ran in rills along the roadside. Twice she was forced to step off the path, once for a man on a moped pulling a donkey by a rope behind him, the second time for a horse standing guard in the middle of the narrow road. It turned out to be friendly, the toll a reasonable tuft of long, fresh grass that was out of reach, and a few scratches.

  Her camera absorbed everything, from the different varieties of stone walls and wild flowers to the way the setting sun accentuated every feature of the Cliffs of Moher. The old cargo pier and resting curraghs. A group of teenagers basking cat-like on a picnic table, an electric kettle, a five litre bottle of water and a half empty box of tea bags between them. The first day was over but Shade already had enough material to flood her social media accounts with images for weeks to come.

  Houses clustered around the few street lamps that flickered into life, like moths. On the mainland the shoreline began shivering with light. Nip ran ahead of her. He paid little notice to Shade as he played with the other dogs that waited outside the pub while their masters drank.

  It took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light within. A merry fire gnawed on fresh logs. The few people present sat against the wall watching a gaelic football match on the television. Like Nip, they did not regard her while in the company of their friends. Nobody stood behind the long bar.

  As Shade approached the counter a head leaned out from the line of locals. The man closest to the fire left a half pint of Guinness to sweat as he made his way behind the taps.

  “You have the best job in the world,” Shade said.

  He had a patient manner and when he spoke, did so unhurriedly. “Quality control is part of the job. You can never be sure with the first glass out of a keg.”

  “Certainty only comes with the third I’m sure.”

  He smiled. “What can I get for you?”

  Shade ordered a Guinness. “I heard there was music on tonight.”

  “There will be a bit on later, should be busy enough. A bit of banter at least. There’s a play on in the dún this week; it has drawn a decent crowd to the island. The usual stock from Inis Oírr are over too.” He put the almost full glass on the counter to settle before topping it up. Creamy currents rose until all but the head was black. Shade took a close up video of her first pint on the island.

  After she paid for her drink the bartender returned to his seat. On the way he changed the soundtrack from background rock to traditional Irish music, to the ire and groans of the regulars.

  Shade brought her pint to an empty table at the other end of the pub and took out her notebook. She documented her experiences of the island so far, along with her impressions. The farmer she had bought potatoes from wandered in and she paid for his two pints. The photo diary of buying the potatoes and cooking them for dinner was a nice addition for the blog.

  As the night wore on the pub filled to capacity and beyond. After her third drink Shade was comfortable enough to chat to those that had taken up seats at her table. Whenever she joined a conversation the people switched to speaking English and stayed there.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from America, or Ireland even.”

  “I’ve lived on the Chantham Islands for most of my life.”

  “Getting a bit of travel in before you settle down? Always a good idea.” One woman said.

  Shade nodded, it was better than explaining that she had already settled down into a life of travel.

  Tentative musical notes interrupted the clamour, testing the crowds readiness. A woman set a pint down in front of her. “It’s rounds now,” she said. “Save us all having to go up at the one time. Are you in?”

  Shade nodded her agreement to the deal, though with the pint already before her there was little option but to accept. She counted out how many were in on it. There were five drinks ahead of her before it was time for her to stand a round. She crossed off the early morning hike on the to-do list in her mind. The crowd hushed in a wave of respectful silence that was soon filled with music. The sharp notes of a tin whistle started out alone. The player’s fingers leapt along the instrument as if it were piping hot. When he finished the room clapped and conversation sparked back up as if nothing had interrupted it.

  “Are you from the island yourself?” The woman sitting across from her asked. She must not have heard the earlier conversation – Shade could barely make out what the person right beside her was saying with all the noise.

  “I’m only visiting.”

  “That’s some camera you’ve got, could I have a look at it?”

  Shade hesitated only for a second before passing it over, strap first.

  “What do you do yourself?” another asked.

  “I’m a writer.” She flinched the moment she mentioned it but technically it was true.

  “What? Like, books? Or are you a journalist?”

  “Oh, should I know you?” another asked.

  “I don’t know, the bus driver on the way to the ferry said that Inis Meáin was about fifty years behind the times and I’m only twenty-five …”

  “He was being conservative with that estimate,” another woman said and they all laughed.

  “I’m more of a travel writer – articles and blogs, that sort of thing.”

  “Can only imagine the inspiration you’d get from this place. Sure one of the first things you see on arrival is a brief history of Synge’s stint here. Good spot for it. Especially if you want some peace and quiet.”

  “I’ve often said the poor internet connection would drive me to murder,” the woman holding her camera said. “Suppose that wouldn’t work in a story though as say, motive for actual murder. You’d be too sympathetic towards the villain sure.”

  “These are fantastic,” the woman holding the camera said having gone through most of the photos of the island. “You’ve been here a while by the amount of them.”

  “Only arrived this morning. Would you guys mind writing a bit about this place, your favourite things about it, stuff to do, that sort of thing?” Shade held out her notebook on a fresh page and without pause the women passed it between themselves. They filled several pages, laughing at the comments made by their friends. One in particular had them all in stitches.

  “If old Martin takes a liking to you he’ll offer to show you his old fossil back at his place.”

  “Old fossil!” They broke into uproarious laughter.

  Shade went to pay for her round. As she waited she took pictures of the crowd and the musicians, though she was too drunk to focus on anything in particular – reckless photography. The musicians sat in front of a table crowded with drinks, offerings of thanks and incentive to keep the music flowing. By the end of the night a kegs worth of beer must have gone their way.

  “Diarmuid is going to play us a tune on the piano now.”

  Shade looked over the shoulder of a woman beside her at the bar. The woman who introduced Diarmuid had so far entertained the crowd with violin and harp. She wore a green dress that did for her body what the sun did for the cliffs earlier. Her long, luxuriant, natural red hair framed a laughing face full of freckles. Her lipstick was such a deep red that the shade must have been called Bartenders Bane.

  The group of musicians started joshing the man stuck between two fiddlers. His blush was a furnace. He looked towards the door and Shade imagined he was comparing the embarrassment of making a run for it over actually playing. It would have taken him the length of time to re
ach the door in this crowd as it would to play a song. He tried waving them off but a call came from the gathering. “You drank the pints, the deal’s made. We’ll have that song from you.”

  “Fair enough,” Diarmuid gave a solemn nod at that and a cheer followed as he made for the electric piano. There was a collective drink taken followed by an encouraging hush.

  Shade could tell he was nervous. She ferried half the pints back to the table. He did not look up at the gathering. On her way back to get the rest of the drinks he started to play. The first drawn out note felt familiar, the second one made her stand still. It was the song she had listened to on the cliffs with him. Shade stared. What awkwardness there was before he started playing bled away through his fingertips. It was a mask. He hid behind the music letting it draw attention away from him. His body swayed with the melody, his eyelids drooped, though she half expected that was more from the drink than any visceral emotion brought about by playing.

  He wore different clothes and he was clean shaven, black hair, long enough that it started curling at the ends. She would never have guessed this was the same man she had spoken with on her walk.

  Once his fingers slipped away from the keys he seemed less grand, that aspect now hidden away, but like the music, could be conjured up again. When he finished, the room took a breath wondering if it was over, then a few claps brought out the rest.