Falling Glass Part 37

"What you recommend for these two?" she said.

"Ach, there's only one thing. A 99 with chocolate sprinkles," the icecream man said with finality.

"Okay, three of those."

She watched him make it.

Soft-serve ice cream in a cone with a Cadbury's chocolate flake shoved down the middle and then the ice cream dipped in chocolate sprinkles.

All three of them walked to the beach. A man with a donkey appeared beside them and asked Claire if she wanted a "toty wee ride on it". Claire stared at her mum with a guilt-inducing tremble in her lower lip.

"Can I, Mum?" Claire asked.

"Ach, she's a quare aul girl, easy with the bairns," the man said, patting the donkey on the forehead.

"Okay," Rachel said.

"And me next," Sue demanded.

"Sure," Rachel agreed.

Killian walked along the line of caravans, negotiating his way among stray dogs and cats and even chickens who you would have thought would have been in their run by this time of the evening.

There were kids running around and although most of the men would be having a barney over at the horse auction, Killian knew that he was being watched by several pairs of adult eyes from behind net curtains.

Five hundred years of prejudice had taught the Pavee to be on their guard against strangers.

He walked to the first caravan and knocked on the door.

A girl of about twelve answered it. She was dirty and holding a screwdriver in one hand and the air-intake of a motorcycle in the other.

"h.e.l.lo," Killian said.

"Hi," the wean replied.

"What's that, a two-stroke?"

"Look, I'm busy, what do you want ya big yin?" the girl demanded in a Glasgow accent so broad that it would have made Colonel Pickering think twice about a wager with Professor Higgins.

"I'm looking for the camp boss," Killian said.

"That would be me," a voice said behind Killian.

He turned.

A young man wearing a green trench coat covered with badges and wild flowers. Underneath he had on a navy blue jumper, brown corduroy trousers, combat boots and a long striped scarf. He was pale-skinned with unruly black hair and a pointed beard. He was about twenty-four or twenty-five which would be about right.

"Who are you?" Killian asked in Shelta.

"I'm Donal. I'm the clan chief," Donal replied in the same tongue.

"You're the king?" Killian wondered.

"We don't use that terminology anymore," Donal said.

"Okay. What happened to Dokey McConnell?"

"Dokey's been dead three years now, and the chief before me was topped down on Muck Island a while back. It was an incident. Made the TV. You may have heard about it."

Killian hadn't heard about it, but it didn't surprise him. Travellers died early and usually in violent ways.

"Now, friend. Who are you?" Donal asked.

"I am Aidh Mac an tSaoi of the Light Hands of the Clan of the North," Killian said.

Donal stroked his beard and nodded. "Aye, I know ya. Or of ya. You'll be wanting Katie then?"

"She's here?"

"Yes."

"I'll talk to her presently, no doubt, but I wanted to ask you for your help."

Donal's eyes narrowed. "What sort of help?"

"I've got a woman with me and two kids; we're on the run from the peelers, we need a place to stay for a few days."

Donal didn't hesitate. "You can stay in my rig, I'll bunk with Dovey Carmichael."

"It's only for a few days, mind, until we get things figured out."

Donal laughed. "It doesn't matter. Stay a year and a day if you like. You need money?"

Killian shook his head.

"Third one in, give me fifteen minutes to move my stuff. Weans ya say? Boys, girls, both?"

"Two girls, Seven and five."

"Okay. Give me a few minutes. It's that bluey white one over there."

"I'm really grateful," Killian said, touched by the easy hospitality of this world that he had left so long ago.

"Nay worries mate. If you need any grub, Granny Sheila just made some stew, it's wild good, fresh lamb, if you know what I'm saying, two down there on the right. It'll set you up powerfully. Girls was it, you said?"

"Yes."

"Okay, gimme ten minutes."

Donal offered his hand. Killian shook it.

"I had a feeling someone or something was going to turn up today," Donal said. Like all Pavee Donal reckoned that he was in touch with invisible forces whose power, alas, never somehow extended to racecourses or the dog track.

"Where's Katie's house?" Killian asked.

"The very end, with the best view of the bay," Donal said with a wink.

"I'll say h.e.l.lo while I'm waiting," Killian muttered, oddly embarra.s.sed.

"Do that. She's got Tommy but she's still a bit lonely now that all the weans have flied the coop. I'll get this caravan sorted for you."

Donal went into his caravan and turned on the light.

Killian walked along the caravans and trailers until he reached the last one. It was a standard Ace Amba.s.sador from about 1989. The aluminum had buckled and the paint was chipping. It had seen better days.

He hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" a voice asked.

"An old friend," Killian said.

There was a significant pause and the sound of a gla.s.s clinking before the door opened.

Her hair was long and brown with only a few streaks of grey. Her face was sunburned and her lips thin. She was skinny. Too skinny, but her eyes were clear and she was still very beautiful. You wouldn't have thought that she'd had six kids. Six that he knew about it.

She looked at him. Shook her head. Smiled.

They hadn't seen each other in a dozen years. More.

"You want a drink?" she asked.

"Sure," he said.

He ducked his head and followed her inside the caravan and sat down on a wicker chair. The inside was better than the out. The foam furniture had been reupholstered in leather and the stove and mini fridge looked new.

And the view indeed was spectacular.

All of Brown's Bay, the glens of Antrim, Scotland.

Katie handed him a gla.s.s of clear liquid.

"Thank you," he said and sniffed it.

There was no smell.

"It'll have to be a quick one. Tommy is wild jealous."

"Who's Tommy?"

"You know Tommy Trainer? Betty Trainer's boy?"

Killian shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"He's a bit, shall we say, boisterous, you know what those Trainers are like, they hung his great granda during the war."

Killian shook his head. "I don't remember them. Is he a bother? Does he hit you?"

"Ach, he's just a boy. I can handle him, but he might do something stupid if he barged in here and then he found out about you and me. He might want to give you a going over."

"You think he could?" Killian asked with a twinkle.

"You're no spring chicken," Katie said and laughed.

"I'm only forty," Killian protested and took a sip of the poteen.

It was a pleasant little moons.h.i.+ne as moons.h.i.+ne went, but still it wasn't made for sipping. He knocked it back and it burned his throat.

"So how are you?" Killian asked.

"I can't complain. The kids are all in one piece."

Killian smiled. "Six of them, I heard."

She nodded. "Three boys, three girls, perfect eh?"

"Perfect," Killian agreed.

"Let me fill that wee mug."

She poured him another healthy measure from an old Smirnoff Vodka bottle and he swirled the poteen around in his gla.s.s.

"So what are you doing here?" Katie said.

"I'm in a spot of bother," Killian replied.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

Killian leaned back in the sofa and shook his head happily. "I don't know," he said, getting a little buzzed.

"What happened to your clothes?" Katie asked.

"I went for a wee swim in Lough Erne this morning," Killian said.

"I'll bet there's a woman at the back of this," Katie tutted.

"That's a bet you'd win, as usual," Killian said.

Katie pulled the hair from her face and clipped it back. She got up from her seat and sat next to him on the sofa. She took his hand in hers.