Page 3 of Bracing The Storm

Does it even matter?

“I understand that,” I say, even though I don’t understand the principles of marital bliss. Never been married, not planning on ever doing it. Too many hassles and all that. Besides, divorce isn’t cheap, which is probably what the man’s thinking, and why he’s so hellbent on catering to his missus’ whims. “Can you take me back to the airport then and I’ll find another driver? Or maybe call one, if one’s nearby?”

“There isn’t one nearby. We don’t usually drive this way. People around this area havecars.” He winks. “It’s usually the tourists, the rich, and the city people that need us, but I’m not complaining. It puts food on the table.”

“And that makes the wife happy,” I mumble. “So, what am I supposed to do now? You can’t just leave me stranded here.”

“Don’t worry, love. I happen to know someone who lives in—” He says the name of the village, which, admittedly, sounds nothing like how it’s spelled in that letter or how I pronounced it.

Gleann Searúill.

The pronunciation is so strange, if I were to repeat it I would probably sound like I’m choking on a piece of bread and trying to cough it all up, and failing in the process.

It’s definitely not supposed to be pronounced Glenn Cereals, which is what I communicated to the driver and why we’re in the middle of nowhere. Wearein some sort of Glenn, just not the right one.

I groan inwardly. What was I thinking coming here?

How will I ever learn to say the name of a village that isn’t even on Google Maps, let alone understand the locals with their “goo” instead of “go” and their “dine” instead of “down”?

“He’s a nice chap. I’ve been driving him to and back from the airport for years,” the driver says, oblivious to my doubts. “It’s a small world.”

“Not where I come from, it isn’t,” I mutter.

“I’ll sort this out for you, love.”

Holding my breath, I listen to him as he barks out lots of words into his cell phone. All I can make out is a name that sounds like “Paddy” and where his laughter starts and ends. He disconnects the call as abruptly as he started it and tosses his cell onto the passenger seat before he turns to face me. “He’ll be here within the hour.”

Who is this mysterious nice chap, I want to ask but refrain from it. Even if he told me the name I doubt I’d understand it. “Thanks. Obviously, I’ll pay you for your time while you wait with me.”

He grimaces. “I’m afraid I can’t, love. Can’t keep the wife waiting.” He looks at the watch around his wrist for effect. It’sone of those smartwatches that counts your steps and reminds you to drink more water.

“You can’t just leave me here on my own.”

He hands the letter back. “It’s not too far. He’ll be here before darkness falls. Don’t you worry.”

Like being told not to worry has ever stopped anyone from worrying!

I open my mouth to shout, beg, barter—whatever it takes—then close it again as I catch him peering out the windshield at the setting sun and grimacing again. I follow his line of vision, suddenly concerned.

“He’ll be here before it gets dark,” the driver mumbles. It sounds a bit like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything as he mutters under his breath, “Let’s hope so.”

Let’shopeso?

My fear returns full-force. Why? What happens when it gets dark around here? According to Google, there’s lots of creepy stuff lurking about. What does the guy know that I don’t?

The thought of being stranded in the middle of nowhere isn’t comforting at all! I know my fears are probably unfounded, but one can’t be careful enough these days.

“Can’t you stay? I’ll pay you double,” I offer, even though I doubt I can afford to waste money left and right when it’s supposed to last me a couple of weeks— or as long as it takes me to sort this whole inheritance thing out.

“I really can’t, love. But Paddy?—”

“—will pick me up shortly. I know.” I shake my head as I fight the urge to start begging. The driver gets out and retrieves my baggage—a suitcase and a backpack that’s seen better days. Apart from the stuff in my handbag and a laptop that’s so old I doubt kids nowadays would even know how to turn it on, it’s all I’ve brought with me.

“Here.” I hand the driver his fare plus a generous tip because generosity is my thing. I may not always be kind or considerate but at least I’m a giver.

The man’s face lights up as he takes the money. “I’m sorry I can’t take you farther than this.”

“Don’t worry about it. You go and do whatever it is you need to do. I’m sure I’ll be taken care of.” I shoot him my most reassuring smile and watch him settle in the driver’s seat.

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