Authors: Jean Grainger
Whenever he was ever asked what criteria he used for choosing a project location Bert always gave the same answer: he had to like the people in general. Aside from that, he just arrived in a location, blended in as much as possible and took it from there. The thing was to watch and listen. The next steps always evolved over time, requiring no great effort on his part. He decided to take a stroll. He
loved
this climate. In Texas, buildings were either sweltering hot or air conditioned. He had tried installing a top-of-the-range climate control system in his property. It was supposed to make the building feel cool, and not air conditioned, but he wasn’t happy with it. He’d lived all his life in Texas so it surprised people how much he disliked the weather there.
Returning from his walk, he spotted Ellen dealing with something at the front desk. He really liked her company, plus she wasn’t trying to hit on him. Perhaps Ellen would like to do something today.
‘Hello Bert, what have you planned to do today?’
‘Well Miss Ellen, I was just going to ask you the same question. It seems a pity to waste the day sitting around a hotel, though I have been known to take protracted snooze periods. Gee I’m turning into a real old-timer ain’t I?
‘Well,’ Ellen replied ‘I will totally understand if you don’t want to, but today I am going to try to find the house where I was born and I wondered if you would like to come with me.’
Bert looked into the eyes of a woman he had known for such a short time but to whom he felt a close connection. ‘Miss Ellen, it would be an honour.’
Patrick gazed out of the window of the public bus serving the route from Killarney to Cork. He felt a combination of excitement and trepidation. Was he about to make a complete fool of himself? He had called Cynthia last night and had suggested meeting for lunch in Cork. She had seemed happy to hear from him, but maybe he wasn’t reading the signals right. He never had much luck with women back in the States. He always seemed to say the wrong thing; with Cynthia, however, things were different. True, he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about most of the time, and she looked a little bit crazy if the truth be told, but he just couldn’t shake off the feeling that if he didn’t do something, say something, the opportunity would pass and he would regret it forever.
He thought about his old man, an alcoholic dreamer who always was just on the brink of a fortune that never quite materialised. One of his many pieces of advice to his son was “the opportunity of a lifetime must be taken in the lifetime of that opportunity.” While from an early age Patrick O’Neill had vowed always to do the complete opposite of anything his father suggested, on this one occasion, old Patsy O’Neill’s advice might be exactly right.
Corlene wondered how on earth things had turned out this way. She had it all: looks, personality, charm, wit, and yet she was drawing blanks everywhere. She had been so sure the tour would deliver the answer to her prayers; instead it had proved to be a total washout. Her credit card was maxed out; she’d had an email from the landlord citing non-payment of rent for three consecutive months as the reason for her eviction, and now here she was, miles from anywhere, penniless and alone and it seemed, homeless to boot.
With a deep breath she lifted the phone and dialled a number. A recorded message instructed her to dial the code next to the advertiser’s name and listen to the message. Following the instructions to the letter, she heard the advertiser’s gruff voice say:
‘Strong farmer, mature, w.l.t.m. woman, aged 20 to 60, with a view to marriage must be interested in farming. Killarney Area only’
He was her last hope – none of the others had replied to her messages. Time was of the essence; this guy seemed as anxious as she was to cut to the chase and get hitched. At least she wouldn’t have to invest months in him only to discover that he had some “commitment issues”, as had happened too often in the past. No, this sounded perfect, a big landowner who wanted to marry, wasn’t fussy about age and all that. Not, of course, that Corlene looked anything like her age; it was just that for some men these days it seemed nothing less than a teenager would do.
‘Well hi there,’ she began ‘my name is Corlene and I am…well let’s just say I’m not twenty-one. I thought your ad sounded really intriguing and I am definitely an outdoor kinda girl. I prefer to do almost everything outside,’ she giggled suggestively. ‘Call me on 064 6671300, room 104 if you would like to chat some more.’
Twenty minutes later the phone on the bedside locker rang.
‘Hello – Corlene here,’ she simpered.
‘Right Caroline. Come down to Pajo’s pub on New Street at seven o’clock this evening till I get a look at you. Maybe we can do business,’ a gruff heavily accented voice muttered.
Corlene only caught about one word in three, so she decided the safest thing was to agree.
‘Why certainly’ she replied ‘Mr …?’
‘Just ask for Pa,’ growled the voice and hung up.
Dylan woke to the sound of the phone ringing. ‘Hello,’ he said groggily.
‘Hey Dylan, it’s Laoise. Howyadoin’?’ Dylan sat bolt upright in the bed.
‘Laoise! Hi! Eh…good to hear from you…’ He paused…he was completely tongue-tied.
‘Listen I’m in Killarney, so I was wondering if you wanted to, like, hang out or something? My Mam had to do some shopping, so I came down with her. She’s supposed to be teaching me to drive but she’s got so nervous all of a sudden she now says she’s won’t allow me to drive us back home later after all. I dunno. What’s her problem? I’m a brilliant driver. Dad had to stand in at some music committee thing in Cork today. He told me what it was, but I wasn’t listening.’
Dylan swallowed, he couldn’t believe his luck. Was he dreaming?
‘Sure… great …yeah, that would be totally awesome. Just gimme a few minutes to get ready and I’ll…’ he stammered. Dylan was struck dumb yet again.
‘Hey Dylan are you still there? Don’t worry dude, I’m not coming up to molest you or anything,’ she said, giving a cute chuckle. ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to make yourself decent and then I’m coming up OK? So what’s the room number?’
‘Eh…it’s 105’ replied Dylan amazed, delighted, and terrified all at the same time.
He dashed into the shower, no time for make-up, no time to fix his hair. There was a knock on the door. He ran to open it.
‘Hey Dylan, wow you look different without the Goth make-up and the mad punk hair. Cool room! Where’s your Mam?’
Dylan smiled at Laoise and admired the confident breezy way she approached life.
‘Dunno, don’t care. Probably still face down after a night in the bar’ he replied with a grin. ‘Hey it’s so cool to see you again. We don’t have to do the tourist thing today. I got a day off to do whatever so…’ his voice trailed off. Jesus, he thought, he was trying to sound cool but so far it wasn’t working. He never let
anyone
see him without his hair and make-up done, and without these props he felt kind of naked.
Laoise said she was starving and suggested they get some breakfast.
‘Breakfast is included here so let’s just go downstairs,’ he suggested.
‘Cool’ she replied.
As he made for the bathroom again, Laoise said, ‘Hey the Goth thing is cool, don’t get me wrong, but you look fine without it too y’know? Let’s just go yeah? I’d eat a nun’s arse through a convent gate.’
Dylan exploded laughing. ‘Jesus,’ he laughed ‘you are something else! OK bossy boots, let’s go get some of this cholesterol-laden, pig fat breakfast you all love so much here.’
As they ate Laoise told Dylan some more about the music course she wanted to do now that she was finished school. Her Mam, Siobhán, wanted her to go to college and get a proper degree. It wasn’t because she had anything against music, Laoise explained, it was just that she had spent her whole life around musicians. She knew how tough it could be to make a living and she wanted an easier life for her daughter.
‘My older sister Éadaoin is in London and she’s doing great. She’s just got a job in the West End in a musical,’ Laoise explained through a mouthful of toast and sausages. ‘And my brother Cathal is a bass player with
Unprecedented Incompetence
.’
Dylan looked puzzled.
‘Never heard of them? Jeez, do you live under a stone or what? They’re really big here, and in England too, so he’s never at home. My Mam is scared he’ll get into drugs, but I keep telling her he’s too stingy to pay for them. I know she gives out but someone has to be the sensible one. If it wasn’t for her, we’d probably have the electricity cut off. My Dad is a bit of a dreamer y’see. He loves piping and it kinda like, takes over his life. That’s why he took to you I think. Like, none of us wants to play the pipes. So anyone at all who shows interest he jumps on them.’
Dylan felt he could listen to Laoise forever. Her accent was so cool, and even though didn’t understand a lot of what she said, he knew he was in love.
‘I think the pipes are awesome, I dunno what it is about them, they make me feel sad and happy and excited all at once.’ Dylan realised Laoise was looking at him quizzically and trying to suppress a smile as he spoke. He felt a deep blush begin to rise up his neck.
‘Jaysus,’ she laughed, ‘you have it bad alright. Why don’t you learn them so, if you are like, that into it? Hey! Why don’t you do a piping course here? I think it’s not too late to apply. Dad has loads of practice sets you could borrow.’
The way Laoise described it, it seemed like the most logical thing in the world to do. Suddenly, Dylan felt like he had at last found somewhere he belonged. The logistics involved in moving to Ireland, aged seventeen and with no visible means of support didn’t occur to him. He just knew two things for sure. He really,
really
, wanted to play the pipes and he never, ever,
ever
, wanted to leave Laoise.
Concentrating hard, Dylan waited for the number to answer. ‘Fees and Grants, How can I help?’
‘Er … I…I am…and eh…I want to like to stay and maybe do a course here…I mean at your school... and I was wondering if it’s like very expensive, or if you have to be like Irish or something?’ Dylan’s palms were sweaty and he realised he wasn’t making any sense.
‘OK,’ said a voice said in an accent that sounded a bit like Conor’s, except it was a female. ‘Let me get this straight. You are an American who wants to study at this institute and you want to know how to apply. Is that correct?’
‘Em yes Ma’am. That’s exactly what I want to know,’ Dylan replied, greatly relieved at being understood.
‘And what instrument did you have in mind?’ asked the voice.
‘
Em, the uilleann pipes,’ Dylan replied, feeling really stupid. Laoise was staring expectantly at him, so he put the phone on speaker.
‘Right,’ said the voice, ‘there’s a beginner’s piping course starting next week and there are still one or two places available. You’re lucky because this particular pipe master is in great demand.’
‘Awesome,’ replied Dylan, finding it hard to believe that this was actually happening.
‘Indeed,’ the woman said with humour in her voice. ‘Well, firstly, you print off an application form from the college website, which you submit to the assessment committee. We don’t require any previous qualifications, but knowledge of an instrument and previous performance experience would be an advantage. The normal procedure is that if you qualify, you will be invited for interview, and if that goes well, you will be offered a place. In terms of fees, the course is six thousand euros per year for non-Irish students.’ The voice, while brisk and businesslike, seemed friendly.
‘When is the closing date for applications?’ Dylan asked beginning to feel an excitement that he had not allowed himself to feel up to this point.
‘One moment, I’ll just check that. I’m not sure exactly, as each course has a different closing date.’
Dylan heard a series of clicks, followed by ‘Oh dear, the closing date was last Tuesday and interviews are being held today.’
‘Oh,’ said Dylan, crestfallen ‘I guess I’m too late?’ ‘Well yes, I’m afraid so…’
Suddenly, Laoise grabbed the phone from him. ‘Hi,’ she said, ‘sorry for butting in like this, and I know you have to stick to the rules and all that, but honestly he really,
really
wants to play the pipes. If he doesn’t get this chance, he’ll have to go back to America and no one there has ever even heard of the pipes, not where he lives anyway, and he would be like a totally
awesome
piper. Can he please come for an interview? We can be there in like…’ she looked at her phone to check the time ‘an hour and a half…please?’ Laoise was crossing all her fingers as the woman on the other end deliberated.
‘I’m afraid this is a very heavily subscribed course. I’m sorry, but what you are asking is impossible for this year. I mean we don’t even have an application form or any paperwork as yet. We would require evidence of education to date and so on.’
‘I know,’ said Laoise, ‘but if you give him this chance we will arrive with all the forms sorted and everything. It will be like, perfect I swear.’
‘Does this young man actually live here? It’s not just a simple matter of enrolling in a course you know. He would have to sort out his visa, and have someone here who would vouch for him…’
‘Totally!’ interrupted Laoise. ‘My Mam and Dad are going to sign for him or whatever.’
‘And their names are?’ asked the voice in a weary tone. When Laoise told the woman who her father was, suddenly everything changed. The interview was arranged for that afternoon and all they had to do was download the forms and fill them in.
‘You are totally
awesome
. Thank you, thank you,
thank you
…’ Laoise said, and she hung up.
‘OK sunshine,’ she announced ‘Let’s rock. We have to be in Cork by one,’ she said, pulling a car key out of her pocket. ‘My Mam will murder me if I take the car but needs must, this is like totally an emergency.’
‘Are you serious? Oh my God! You are amazing. Do you think this might actually work? The fees though Laoise, they’re six thousand dollars or euros or whatever. I don’t have that kind of money.’