Between them they made the shack as comfortable as they could, but, as Declan said to his parents that night, it was still a one-room cottage on an earth mound.
‘And damp as a river, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said his mother, and went off to look out a couple of blankets, because even that rascal Colm Rourke could not be allowed to freeze to death in a tumbledown hut that Fintan should have pulled down years ago. Declan’s father said he would help knock a few nails into the ramshackle roof of the place to help keep out the rain.
‘Ramshackle’s the word,’ said Mrs Doyle. ‘That whole family was ramshackle, and the worst of the lot was Romilly Rourke, for if ever there was a Giddy Gertrude—’
‘Does Colm ever hear from her?’ asked his father, because if Declan’s mother once got started on the giddiness of girls they would not have their supper until midnight.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t hold with girls stravaiging off to London,’ said Declan’s mother, coming in with the blankets. ‘It’s a wicked place, London. Colm won’t hear from that hussy again.’
But as if in mocking irony, the very next week Colm did hear from Romilly.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ he said, as he and Declan sat in the shack. They had whitewashed the walls and tacked up some curtains Declan’s mother had donated, and Colm had said Declan was to treat the place as his own. If, for instance, there was a girl he ever wanted to bring here . . .
‘Some chance,’ said Declan, grinning, but he liked the idea of having this place as a kind of second home where his parents would not know what he was up to. He and Colm knew they would not intrude on each other’s privacy.
It was raining and Colm had built a fire in the tiny hearth. They were sprawled on the battered couch and there was a rag rug in front of the fire.
‘I’ve brought some of Fintan’s whisky,’ said Declan. ‘That’ll keep out the cold even more than the fire, although Fintan made me swear on my immortal soul I wouldn’t tell anyone he sold it to me. What with me only being nineteen and not supposed to buy alcohol.’
‘Did you tell him your immortal soul was already in pawn to the devil anyway, on account of Nick Sheehan’s sins?’ asked Colm.
‘I did not. Just as you didn’t tell anyone you have the sin of Nick Sheehan’s death on your own soul,’ retorted Declan.
They looked at one another.
‘We’ve never talked about it, have we?’ said Colm. ‘All these years, and all the good friendship, and we’ve never once talked about that day. Whether we ought to have done something different or whether we could have got him out. Or,’ he said, very softly, ‘whether we ever confessed to any of it.’
‘Do you want to talk about it now?’
‘No,’ said Colm, not looking at Declan.
‘Nor do I. Can I hear what Romilly wrote or are you going to brood on sin all afternoon?’
‘I’ll read the letter,’ said Colm.
Dearest Colm,
Did you think you’d never hear from me again, after I ran out of Kilglenn as fast as if the demons of hell were chasing me? I expect you knew you would one day though, for we were always as close as two pieces of quicksilver that had to come together again in the end.
Oh, Colm, I’m in such terrible trouble and I can’t think of anyone else to turn to. I’m frightened for my life and if you won’t help me I don’t know what will become of me. You always said you’d come to London – you and Declan Doyle both said it – so I’m asking if you’ll come now. Now. At once. Truly, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. If ever you had a loving thought for me, please do what I’m asking you.
I’m praying to all the saints that this will reach you. Yes, I do still pray to the saints, although I don’t think any of them listen to me and I don’t think any of them can help me.
Romilly.
PS. If Declan Doyle comes with you, that would be great.’
As Colm stopped reading and laid down the single sheet of paper, a tiny breath of wind blew into the old chimney, stirring up the fire so that it glowed red, as if dozens of pairs of baleful eyes had suddenly opened and were glaring into the room.
At last, Declan said, ‘Do we go?’
‘To London? I always meant to.’ Colm waited, not speaking, staring into the fire.
At last, Declan said, ‘If you go, I’ll come with you.’
‘Will you?’ It came out eagerly and gratefully.
‘Of course I’ll come. My parents will object—’
‘But,’ said Colm, his eyes shining as they used to when they were much younger and wove wild adventures, ‘couldn’t you just leave without telling them? Secretly.’
‘By dead of night—’
‘And a letter left on the kitchen table, explaining. You’d have to do that. It’s what people always do when they go off to find their fortunes or rescue a maiden in distress. Not,’ said Colm, wryly, ‘that this is a maiden, precisely. But it’s a . . . a quest, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Are we really going to do it?’
‘Yes.’
The immediacy of the adventure – the adventure they had wanted since they were boys and never entirely believed would happen – was suddenly real and thrilling and terrifying.
‘What will we do for money?’ asked Colm suddenly.
‘I can manage the fare on the ferry.’
‘I can, too. Just about.’
‘How far would it be from the ferry to London?’
‘I don’t know. The ferry docks at Holyhead, and I’d say it’ll be a fair old journey from there. We might have to work our way to London, but I’ve heard you can take jobs for just a few hours. Cafes and bars – washing-up and the like. It’d only be for a few days. I’d sleep in ditches for Romilly. God, I’d clean ditches for her.’
‘So would I. Romilly doesn’t say what the trouble is, does she?’
‘No, and for all I know it’s anything from an illegitimate child to involvement with a gang of criminals. Don’t look at me like that, you hear of such things in London.’
‘But will we be able to find where she’s living?’ said Declan, doubtfully. ‘London’s a big old place.’