There’s No Place Like Here

17

Jack paced alongside the red Ford Fiesta, feeling a mixture of impatience, frustration, and anxiety. Occasionally he would stop, stare in the passenger window, and will the door to open so he could grab the file and hungrily scoff the information on the pages. Then he’d calm down and pace again. He looked around, not wanting to venture far from the car in case Sandy Shortt returned and drove off without him.

He couldn’t believe Sandy was the woman from the petrol station. They had passed by each other as though they were strangers, but just as when he’d been speaking over the phone, he had felt something when he saw her, a bond that linked them. At the time he had thought it was because they were the only two in the place so early in the morning, but now he knew that connection was more. And now, here again, he had come across her in a hidden place. Something was drawing him to her. What he’d give to go back to that moment so he could talk to her about Donal. So she had come to Glin after all. He knew she wouldn’t have let him down, and she had driven through the night just as she’d promised. Finding her car in this desolate spot only raised more questions than he already had. If she was in Glin, where had she been on Sunday when they were due to meet?

He looked at his watch. Three hours had passed since he’d come across the car and there was still no sign of her. A more important question reared its ugly head: Where was she now?

He sat down on the dilapidated curb by the car and did what he had become accustomed to doing over the past year. He waited. And he wasn’t going to budge an inch until Sandy Shortt came back to her car.

I followed the group through the trees, my heart beating so loudly I could barely hear Bernard, who was chatting to me constantly about his previous years’ acting experience. I nodded now and then when I felt his eyes on me. Disappointingly, there had been no reaction to Donal’s name when asked; just shrugged shoulders and mumbles of “I don’t know.” But a reaction had stirred within me as soon as Helena mentioned his name to the others because hearing it made it all become real to me. I would be seeing people I had been searching for for years.

I felt as though all my life’s work led up to this moment. Nights of no sleep, distancing myself from possible friends and caring parents had left me living a solitary life I had been content with, but it was a life haunted by friendships and relationships with people I’d never met. I knew everything about them: their favorite colors, their best friends’ names, their favorite bands-and I felt that with every step I took I was closer to meeting my long-lost friends, my missing parents, uncles, aunts, and family. Recognizing these emotions alerted me to the island I had become. None of those missing people I thought of so fondly would even know me. When their eyes fell upon me they would see a stranger, yet my eyes would see anything but. Though we had never met, family photos of past Christmases, birthdays and weddings, first days of school, debutante balls were firmly imprinted in my memory. I had sat with crying parents and been shown photo album after photo album, yet I couldn’t remember a day when I had shared a couch with my own family and had done the same. The people I lived for didn’t even know of my existence and I hadn’t acknowledged that of the people who lived for me.

I could see up ahead where the trees ended. The stillness of the woods was dissipating and instead there was lots of movement, noise, and color. So many people. I stopped walking with the group and shakily held out my hand to hold on to the trunk of a pine.

“Sandy, are you OK?” Bernard asked, stopping beside me.

The group stopped walking and turned to look at me. I couldn’t even smile. I couldn’t pretend everything was OK. The master of lying was caught in a web of lies I’d weaved myself. Helena pushed her way from the front of the group and rushed over to me.

“Go ahead, all of you. We’ll meet you later on.” She dismissed them, and when they didn’t move: “Go on!” Slowly they turned round and reluctantly left the shade for the light.

“Sandy.” Helena softly placed her hand on my shoulder. “You’re trembling.” She put her arm around my shoulders and held me to her. “It’s OK, you’ve nothing to fear here. It’s perfectly safe.”

It wasn’t the safety of the place my body shook for. It was the fact that I had never felt as if I belonged anywhere. I had spent my life detaching myself from anyone who wanted to be close, dissociating myself from friends and lovers because they never answered my questions, nor tolerated or understood my searches. They made me feel like I was wrong and, without them knowing it, maybe even a little crazy, but I had a passion to just find. Finding this place was just one big answer to a life-long question that had caused me to sacrifice everything. I’d hurt so many people who loved me in order to help those whom I couldn’t see, and now as I was just about to see them I was afraid to let them in, too. I used to think that I was a saint, just like Jenny-May Butler on the nine-o’clock news; I thought I was Mother Teresa with a missing-persons file, making sacrifices to help others. In reality I’d sacrificed nothing. My behavior suited me and only me.

The people in this place were the people I had clung to. When I grabbed my bag by the door of my family home in Leitrim it was for these people. When I ended relationships and turned down invitations to nights out it was for these people.

But now that I’d found them, I had no idea what to do.