Galway Confidential

34

The Galleon restaurant in Salthill is one of the oldest in the city and has served over a million people in its time. The owner, Ger, was as down to earth as it gets. She greeted me warmly and I introduced her to Rachel.

She seemed to click instantly with Rachel, said to her,

“Jack has been coming here for years and always orders the same thing.”

Rachel gave me a fond look, said,

“Consistency is to be valued.”

I liked her more already.

Ger gave us the window table; we ordered a glass of wine for Rachel and a pint for me. When the waitress came with menus, Rachel said,

“I’ll have the Jack usual.”

This consisted of:

  Sausages.

      Mashed spuds.

          Onions, fried and mixed in the potato.

              And lashings of gravy.

Heaven.

Rachel raised her glass, tried,

“Sláinte.”

“Sláinte amach” (means back at ya).

I said,

“Good pronunciation!”

We were on a second drink when the food came, and Rachel gasped, went,

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Why I come here.”

Rachel ate like a good un, and clearly enjoyed the food, I was relieved.

On finishing, she said,

“I met your brother today.”

You think you reach a certain age and nothing can surprise you, but I was shocked to my core. I managed a feeble,

“What?”

She said,

“I was on my way home and this good-looking man stopped me, said he was your brother and gave me an envelope for you.”

She rooted in her bag, pulled out a white envelope, written on it was,

“The late Jack Taylor.”

She said,

“I think the late must be some sort of code between you?”

Where to begin and what to tell her?

I opened the envelope and a black sheet of paper filtered out. Silver writing said,

Jack, I didn’t kill the priest, I’m still in nun mode. I like this new lady of yours, and I won’t kill her yet.

Just kidding. Lighten up, bro.

On a more serious level, stop searching for me. It’s very annoying, and I’d hate to wipe you off the board when you just finally found a woman, so back off, big guy,

Your brother in matters ecclesiastical.

Raftery.

Rachel leaned over, put her hand on mine, asked,

“Is everything okay?”

Where to begin?

As my mind whirled round trying to find a point of entry to the whole sorry saga, my overwhelming feeling was sorrow that I’d have to end whatever budding relationship I might have with Rachel as Raftery was already threatening her.

I asked,

“Where did you meet him?”

Her face now held the beginning of anxiety. She said,

“I was walking the dog in Eyre Square and he just walked up to me. He was very gracious, very polite, and I didn’t get any sense of oddness about him.”

I called Ger for the bill, to Rachel’s surprise. She asked,

“No dessert?”

I snapped,

“No.”

It came out like a lash. She reeled back as if I’d struck her. Ger was concerned, asked,

“Was everything all right?”

“Fine,” I said.

We got outside and I stood for a moment, wondering if Raftery was nearby. I hailed a cab, held the door for Rachel, and closed it. She was astonished, asked,

“Are you not coming?”

“No,” I said.

And walked away.