Page 46 of The Rebound
Whatever you want to call it, it’s… not as fun as I remember. The games are still here. As are the activities and the chocolate and the man dressed up in a surprisingly decent bunny suit. But it’s not as exciting when you’re older than nine and I’m beginning to understand why my parents sat in the adult corner for the three hours it took for Louise and me to tire ourselves out. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to leave our stall and check out anything else. According to Louise, we’re here to work, which again would be fine if she stopped scaring away anyone who came within five feet of us.
“What’s on the list today?” Tomasz asks, nodding at my planner.
I hold it up, pointing to where I’ve writtensave the whalesin large block capitals.
“Wow. You really are ambitious.”
“She needs to change her fundraising tactic,” I say as he knocks back his wheatgrass and immediately starts coughing. “You only have three seconds to get someone’s attention. Her message is too confusing.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You could help her,” he says.
“I offered. You heard me offering.”
“No, I heard you telling her what you thought she was doing wrong. That’s not helping.”
“It’s my kind of helping.” I glance at my phone as it buzzes with a text from Jess.
Can I get a train from London?
Crap. I’d really hoped she’d forgotten about the “I’m coming to see you” thing.
No,I reply.There’s a whole sea in between.
Don’t you have that sea train?
It’s called the Eurotunnel and it’s between England and France. Don’t visit. The water’s hard here and it will wreck your hair.
I send the text, knowing it won’t be enough. Once Jess gets something into her head like this there’s no going back.
“But we don’t have any here.” A stranger’s voice drags my attention away and I look up to see Louise cornering a frowning woman in a bulky anorak.
“Just last week a bottlenose dolphin was spotted off Nimmo’s Pier in Galway,” Louise says. “All Irish waters within the Irish Exclusive Economic Zone are a whale and dolphin sanctuary and—”
“If it’s already sanctuary then why do they need our help?” the woman interrupts.
“Maybe you could go on some expeditions with her,” Tomasz says as they start to argue. “Or to the speeches she gives at the schools. Spend some quality time together.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “And it’s a kind thought. But the last time we went a day without wanting to kill each other I was five years old. We’re not going to be friends.”
“You don’t have to be friends,” he says. “Friendlier maybe.”
“You try talking some sense into her. She’s not going to listen to me.” I shove my phone into my pocket and pick up a stack of leaflets from the table. “Tell her she needs some stuffed animals. And a poster ofFree Willy.”
“Where are you going?”
“To drop these off at other stalls. I’m no use sitting here.”
I sneak out the back of the tent before Louise can notice. The atmosphere changes immediately when I do. Besides the force field around our little patch, the Easter Fun Day is packed with families and locals from the surroundings towns and villages. Only instead of a few folding tables with homemade brownies and cups of tea, there are dozens of professional stalls selling everything from local honey to bog stones to hand-painted pottery, all with signs telling you to follow them on Instagram. A few even accept Bitcoin.
But it’s nice. Charming, even. And among the slicker setups I spy a few neighbors still selling brownies, though now they come with a list of allergies and a salted caramel option.
I take my time walking through them, dropping off leaflets and saying hello as I make my way to the edge of the forest, where, standing behind a picnic table, is Andrew O’Donoghue, the original organizer of the fair. Back then he’d been a middle-aged busybody. Now he looks like a slightly older middle-aged busybody, in his element as he directs a horde of children toward the petting zoo, which consists of one sheep, two guinea pigs, a very bored looking goat, and someone’s Labrador puppy who’s slipped from its lead. A large chalkboard timetables the day’s activities behind him along with all the raffle prizes.
“Your sister told me you were back,” he says when I reach the front of the line. I’m still feeling a little flush from my recent clothes sales, so go crazy and buy two tickets for fifty cents each.
“I’m just visiting,” I say, examining the table. “Everything looks really impressive, Andrew.”
He falters, thrown by the praise. “Well… yes, thank you. Just because we’re a small community doesn’t mean we don’t know how to put on a show. Will you be entering the egg hunt this year? It’s ten euro.”
