Sprinting from Granny's house, I stopped at the turnoff to the narrow-hilled lane that led up and down to my Aunt Margaret's house.
Resting my hands on my knees, I inhaled great lungsful of replenishing air.
I recovered to a soundtrack of bees buzzing as they hovered over the flora and fauna that framed the lane
The rustlings of wildlife fleeing from my footfall made me wary. I knew that, in time, I'd become accustomed to these noises, but at that moment, they instilled in me a low-level anxiety, which caused me to up my pace.
At the pinnacle, I looked down on the yellow cottage. It looked like a little buttercup floating in a sea of green.
Aunt Margaret was Granny's fifth child. She and her husband Jim lived in this cottage, less than a half-mile from The House in The Hollow – stone-made-twins.
......
A black bundle bounded towards me, barking uproariously, his tail wagging joyously. I scooped him up, "Hello Breifne," were the only words I could manage while trying to avoid his excited licks. I set him down, and knowing his boundaries, he sat respectfully, allowing me to enter the house without any more of his doggy greetings.
"How-a-ya, Gerard," said Aunt Margaret, wiping the laminate cloth that covered the table. I responded with an unenthusiastic, "Hiya," while scanning the tiny room. "Where's our Maria?" I asked.
"How would I know?" she answered curtly.
"She said she was coming to see you."
"Well, I don't see her here, do you?" She put down the wet cloth and looked me over with appraising eyes.
When I didn't respond, she enthused, "Well, tell us, any scandal from over the water?"
"Erm, no – I've gotta go. I need to find Maria and give her a message," I said, heading for the door.
"Wo-wo-wo – hold on ya-wee-pup-ya – what message, from who?" she asked, making a grab for me.
But, being as swift and nimble as a ferret, Aunt Margaret didn't catch me. I respectfully popped my head back through the door, "Sorry, it's a secret," I said, shunting back onto the lane before she had time to throw any more questions at me.
......
By the time I arrived back at Granny's, my t-shirt was wet with sweat. Granny was hanging washing on the line, her head be-decked with neat ridges of rollers, "Is Maria here?" I asked. "Didn't you say she's over in Margaret's?"
"She's not there," I said, trying to keep the lid on my fretting.
"She'll not be far, Son. The farmworkers will be back from dinner; she's probably up there," she said, nonchalantly pegging a vest to the line.
......
Climbing over the gate, I had a compulsion to return to the lagoon. Looking up at the clear blue sky, I asked, "Where is she, Crow?" But my friend wasn't around to answer or give me comfort and reassurance, so I ran through the woods, hoping to find Maria before she succumbed to some Papal foreseen Prophecy.
......
Maria's dress, strewn across a branch, stopped me dead in my tracks. Nervously, I took it down and forensically examined it for any violent signs: rips, dirt, blood.
Finding nothing, I sprinted for the lagoon, bringing the dress with me.
"Ta for bringing my dress – is someone chasing you?" asked Maria, wading in the water in her underwear.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets And Styes
Non-FictionI was seven the summer I travelled to Ireland with my brother and sister. Determined I was, to discover the identity of the tall-man, a ghost who appeared to Dad when he was my age - making Dad proud was a priority. Soon upon arrival, the whispering...
