At around three in the morning, after he had made a sizeable impact on the bottle of vodka and when his legs could hardly hold him without the threat of buckling, he decided he might as well try out the whiskey. He pulled the chair over clumsily before the dresser. It took two attempts to get his drunken body standing up so he could reach the stash. He felt around the dusty top, blindly and drunkenly having an idea that it must be there, when suddenly the most terrifying snap grabbed his hand.
Pain shot through him so quickly, he didn’t have time to register the mouse trap on the end of his fingers. It sent an electrifying current of fear and shock through his whole body. It knocked him back, throwing his already wobbling frame off balance. He felt himself, hands waving in the air, his whole body like a wind sock, being blown out against forces of alcohol and gravity that were too fine for his fuzzy brain to conquer. He seemed to fall, in slow motion, the chair moving away from under his feet, the soles of his feet, pushing against it and then, slowly, slowly, his body sailing like a grotesque puppet to the flag-stoned floor.
He thought he heard the crash of his head on the stones, imagined he felt warm blood seep about the cold stone. He knew that he was going to be sick, very sick. And then, as a heavy weight pounded against the back of his head, someone switched off the power and Niall fell into unconsciousness. The worst thing was, not a living soul knew about it.
11
Dan
Dan caught the last of the fresh sea breeze before the downpour began to spit in tiny spiteful daggers from the hooded clouds overhead. He wasn’t sure what he thought of this place yet. So far, all he’d seen was rain, green fields, and grey skies and seas that might easily be mistaken for each other, such was the depth of colour in them both. The people were nice. He’d only met a handful, but Mr Singh, the shopkeeper and the doctor’s widow, Mrs O’Shea – their welcome was genuine. He could sense it and it warmed him when he’d picked up enough provisions to do him until the following morning. All the same, he probably couldn’t have picked a more depressing day to arrive back in Ballycove after taking a short trip back to the city for little more than distraction and printing supplies, There was a storm pulling in over the Atlantic. He could feel it, in that shop, when the sergeant had arrived in to ask about the missing boy.
‘That’s right,’ he confirmed gruffly for Mr Singh, ‘Jo’s grandson, a city boy, he has no idea of what a strom in Ballycove can do. Mind you, it’s probably half the reason he’s missing. If he’d known what he was about and made some friends, he mightn’t be sitting with his legs dangling over the sea wall in an oncoming gale.’
‘Poor Jo and Lucy.’ Mrs O’Shea shook her head. ‘She’s taken over from my husband, you know, in the surgery,’ she said filling in blank spaces that really made no sense to Dan who’d only just arrived.
‘That’s nice,’ he said rather uselessly and then caught the shopkeeper’s eye.
‘Her husband was the GP. Poor Doctor O’Shea – unfortunately he passed away and we were all so sorry, but we’ve been lucky enough to get someone to fill in. Of course, we all still miss the old doctor,’ Mr Singh said diplomatically.
‘Thank you, dear,’ Mrs O’Shea said before turning her attention to the sergeant. ‘So there’s still no news?’
‘They think the boy has gone into the sea?’ Mr Singh whispered.
‘It looks that way. Last time he was spotted was sitting on the wall opposite his grandmother’s cottage. You know what those winds were like last night: one swell and he’d be washed out in a flash.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Dan said.
‘I don’t know how a kid can sneak out a doorway and no-one notices until hours later. It makes you wonder, and the mother a doctor too. It goes to show you…’ The sergeant might have been up for a bitching session about some of the locals, but remembering Dan was standing there made him stop up short. ‘Well, let’s hope that he moved off beforehand and he’s met up with some kid and lost track of time,’ the sergeant said although his expression was enough to know that he thought this was unlikely. ‘It’s a lot of time to lose track of, since last night, mind,’ he grumbled before heading off into what remained of the storm.
‘Is there a search party?’ Dan asked as his few groceries were run through the checkout.
‘There won’t be tonight. It’s too dangerous to put a boat out in that and, let’s face it, if he’s out there, he’s already lost.’ The shopkeeper sighed.