Page 7 of The Women at Ocean's End

‘Are you ready now?’ he asked and there was no missing the impatience in his voice.

‘Sure,’ she said. She should probably be grateful for the help, but all she felt was a growing uncomfortable dislike for this stranger who seemed to judge her badly from the get-go.

Between them, they carried the goat and placed him gently into the hastily made bed. For his part, the goat seemed resigned to whatever might happen from here on in. She wondered if perhaps he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness. His eyes, opening and closing, were no longer fixing on her, instead they had a faraway quality to them which she knew, even without any medical experience, could not be good.

Quite a lot of what Ros needed to take care of the kid she found in the old pantry in the cottage. Her predecessor, Max, had a supply of baby bottles with newborn teats, formula food which was still miraculously in date and a selection of worn-out pillows and old blankets to wrap him up and keep him warm. What she didn’t have was the medical experience or confidence to go about resetting the goat’s injury. That would take a vet, but she could take care of him and make him comfortable until the vet arrived.

When she walked into the kitchen, having heard the huge jeep execute a speedy three-point turn, she felt relieved to be in the quiet and comfort of her little cottage. Now she wasn’t sure what to do first, whether it was better to light a fire and keep the kid warm – did he need heat? Or should she sort out food for him? She found the only thing she could do was sit on the stone floor and look at the little goat. He lifted his head slightly, angling it so when he opened his eyes he gazed at her, solidly, beseechingly. God, was it possible to feel your heart melt with a swelling of love for one beaten-up little animal? A little ball of sadness caught in her throat.

‘You should still have your mother to look after you, but I’m going to do my very best for you, I promise,’ she whispered and she traced her finger gently along the floor between them.

It was just silly to cry over a kid goat. Ros knew that even as the tears raced down her cheeks, but she wiped them away, realising she wasn’t crying about the goat, this sadness was more deep-rooted than that. These were tears of connection; the fact that another living creature needed her and the only other time in her life that had been the case was with her mother.

Four years ago, sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago, but now it felt as raw and uneven as if she was still holding her mother’s hand, praying for a miracle. She’d learned the hard way that miracles didn’t come by prayer alone. Her mother’s cancer had moved along at its own hectic pace and all the wishful thinking, positive vibes and holy rosaries hadn’t a hope in heaven of saving her once it got a grip.

Other gamekeepers who had stayed here in the cottage had kept pets before her. There had been a succession of cats and dogs, two donkeys and a noisy cockerel, but no-one had ever kept a goat so far as she knew. Could you even keep a wild goat? She had no idea.

Not for the first time, she realised that she knew so little about wildlife in a practical way. Oh, of course, she had great textbook learning, but actually having hands-on experience – that was harder to find. Against the odds of losing her mother and keeping herself in college, she’d graduated with top marks, but it seemed her timing was off. There were no jobs in the Parks and Wildlife Services for people heavy on qualifications but light on experience. Self-doubt niggled at her heart, fearing she was not really up to the task she’d offered to take on at the end of last summer. Her predecessor, Max Toolis, had been diagnosed with cancer; she was an easy solution. Max had gone to stay with his sister in Galway while undergoing treatment. If he’d been the sort of man to offer his help had she needed it, she might have been on the phone to him every other day asking silly questions. Maybe it was lucky for her that Max was the opposite of that.She’d known that if she called him, he could easily have talked to the higher-ups and had her whipped out of the cottage before she had time to unpack her few belongings and settle in for the long winter.

Thank goodness for Google, that was all she could say at this point. It was down to online searches that she knew by heart both the English and Latin names of every flower and weed she came across on her daily walks about the island. For all she had learned studying environmental science, it was surprising how little she actually knew when it came to doing the job of a ranger. She had spent many long nights on her laptop with the crackling fire for company, learning as much as she could about the wildlife she was meant to be protecting.

Ros sighed, but she couldn’t do everything alone. She’d need to get a vet to take a look at the little goat, set the bones properly. She rang the practice in Ballycove, which was the nearest to the island. It didn’t take long to discover she was talking to the vet’s wife, an animal lover too. Aida Bauer gave her great hope, telling her a story of how her husband managed once to save a baby fawn. ‘Just keep him off his legs, plenty of fluids, and my husband will call next week, when he’s booked to travel across for a herd inspection,’ she promised.

By lunchtime, Ros had found several sites online with stories of how goats healed in the wild and went on for many years with bones that set well enough to carry them into old age. It bolstered her optimism. As the day wore on, she found herself smiling for no particular reason. It seemed there was no escaping the warmth that had begun to fill her heart since she’d picked him up and made the journey home. It was nice to have somebody – okay, a kid goat – to look after. It was terrific to think that she could care for him and make a small difference to another life on the island.

Her mobile phone vibrating on the table jolted her from her contentment. She recognised the number immediately.

‘Keith? Hello. Ros here,’ she said because she still didn’t expect him to remember her name. Keith Duff was a middle-grade civil servant who’d somehow ended up in the Parks and Wildlife Service and couldn’t wait to leave.

‘Ros.’ He said her name as if reading it from a clipboard. She suspected that he did a double-take each time as if to check there wasn’t a spelling mistake. She knew he thought she was as unlikely a candidate to be a wildlife ranger as Boy George was to become a cosmonaut.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked. He would have no interest in the goat currently residing in her porch.

‘Ah, it’s more about what I can do for you, I think…’ He cleared his throat as if he just wanted to get this phone call over with. ‘I’ve had a call from Max Toolis, I don’t suppose he’s been in touch?’

‘With me? No, not recently.’ Max was the least likely person she had ever met to pick up the phone for a friendly chat. ‘How is he? Is his treatment coming along well…?’ Because even though he’d been a distant character when Ros had arrived here first, she hadn’t disliked him. She assumed that he’d had his fill of students holing up on the island for the summer months and counting every blade of grass for post-doctoral work that would make no real difference to how Max would do his job.

‘He’s almost at the end of his treatment, so that’s good news, I suppose.’

‘Of course that’s good news,’ she said because it had been a very long road for the old man. ‘And has he gotten the all-clear?’ She found herself taking a deep breath; surely they wouldn’t have put him through months of chemo and treatment just to tell him at the end there was nothing more that could be done for him?

‘He says it’s all done bar the shouting. So, I suppose that means they got the bugger cleared up. Of course, he’s not the same man he was before.’

‘But he could be, given time to get his strength back.’ Lots of people recovered fully, more and more of them, it seemed to her, these days. Ros felt that familiar ripple of sadness press over her again when she thought of her own mother.

‘Well, it’s neither here nor there, because he’s applied to take early retirement.’

‘Oh, that’s unexpected.’ She didn’t mean to blurt it out, but when Ros had thought of Max returning to work over the last few months, she’d pushed those thoughts aside swiftly. The truth was, she didn’t want to leave the island. Actually, she didn’t want to leave this little cottage: it felt like home, even though it was always only meant to be hers until Max returned.

‘So, I’m only letting you know as a matter of form. The thing is, we won’t be advertising the position for a few weeks yet, because we have to wait until he makes it all formal. And you know the way these things go; for now, he’s on the sick pay and sure, why would he give that up just to let the state have an easy time of it?’ Keith made a sound that landed somewhere between a gassy snort and a laugh at this. Ros tried not to sigh, but the joke wasn’t funny. ‘Anyway, I suppose I’m just checking that you can stay on there until we find a permanent replacement? It’ll take HR a while to get things firmed up enough to run an advertisement.’

‘Oh, that’s grand.’ She had to level out her voice before she went on, but she was flooded with an unfamiliar wave of relief. It was as if she’d had some sort of reprieve from the inevitable. ‘Of course, I’d be happy to stay for as long as you want me here,’ she said and she found herself moving over towards the back of the kitchen and peeking behind the door to see a set of curious rectangular pupils staring up at her.

‘Well, it’s not forever.’ Keith said this as if to assuage his own misgivings. ‘So don’t worry, you’ll be away to carry on with real life before you know it, but it’ll be a few weeks at least.’

‘Weeks, months, honestly, there’s no rush, don’t worry about Pin Hill. I’ll take care of things here,’ she said softly and it was a physical relief when the phone went dead in her hand. She stood there for a moment, taking in the cottage around her, feeling overcome with a sense of tugging loneliness at the certainty of having to move on at some point in the future. It wasn’t much of a place, not really. It was dated and cold and filled with other people’s belongings, but then, since her mother had passed away and she’d had to give up their home, every place she’d stayed had been someone else’s really. Here at least it felt as if this was just a little more hers than anywhere she’d been in years.

She made herself take a deep breath. It was ridiculous to be upset at the idea of moving on. After all, there was nobody on the island to keep her here, beyond a frail goat, and she would have to let him go in a matter of weeks anyway. Except… what was it? It felt as if therewassomething here to stay for, something more than just a job or people she could call friends. Pin Hill Island had somehow crept under her skin and into her heart, even though she’d known she shouldn’t let it happen. It was already too late. This leaching sadness was all about having to move on eventually, when all she wanted was to stay here forever.

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