False Mermaid

Cormac’s tune began again, and she let it play. You’re not a person who gives up, he had said. But neither am I. There was no doubt about the first part, much good it had done her so far. All she could do was to hold out hope that the second bit was true as well. Still, she could never blame Cormac for finding someone else, if he did. Someone who fit his life much better than she ever would. No promises, they’d agreed. Cormac had troubles of his own, without getting sandbagged by hers.

An instant message suddenly appeared on her screen:

—Are you there, Nora?

She could hear his voice in the words, and her heart jumped again. She turned down the music and picked up her mobile. He answered on the first ring.

“Cormac, I meant to call. I’m so sorry—”

“Everything all right?”

How could she tell him the truth? “Everything’s fine. You’re up early.”

“I was going out for a row. Just thought I’d see if you were around.”

“How’s your father?”

“Actually doing what he’s told—for once.”

“I’m glad. Where is his home place, exactly?”

“Just up the road from Glencolumbkille. A very remote spot. Hard to believe, really. I didn’t know places like this still existed.”

“Sounds lonely.”

He hesitated. “I actually like it—the wind and the waves. You know me—the wilder the better.”

“Speaking of which, thanks for the tune. I was having a listen when I got your message just now.”

“So it came through?”

“Like you were right here beside me.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “That was the general idea.”

“What do you call it?”

There was a slight pause, and she imagined him looking up at her from beneath dark brows—nervous, hesitant, unused to rituals of self-revelation. “What if I tell you the next time we meet?”

“So mysterious. What was it that ancient Greek said about the Celts?”

“‘They speak in riddles, hinting at things, leaving much to be understood.’”

“Some things never change, apparently.”

His voice turned serious. “Still got your hazel knot?”

She felt for it in her pocket. “Right here.”

“Good—hang on to it. I feel bloody useless over here.”

“Cormac, please don’t—”

“Nora—” He was on the verge of saying something more but demurred. “You’re probably knackered. I’ll let you get some sleep. Mind yourself now—and sleep well.”

“Good night, Cormac. Thanks again for the tune.”

She hung up, and placed one hand over his picture on the screen. To her surprise, an instant message popped up beneath her fingers:

—Oiche mhaith.

Followed almost immediately by another:

—P.S. I like hearing you say my name.

She recalled the first time she’d spoken it aloud, in the conservation lab at Collins Barracks in Dublin. They were standing over an exam table, discussing the fate of the red-haired girl from the bog, and in her agitation she had touched his hand, addressed him by name for the very first time. “Cormac,” she said aloud into the darkness.

They were both treading across no-man’s-land, unsure where to put a foot down. She reached into her pocket for the hazel knot, studying the faint wrinkles in the greenish bark, the dark brown marrow of its angled ends. A charm against mischief, he had said. A protection. She couldn’t tell him how it had rescued her from danger this very night. Nor could she ask the host of questions that tumbled around inside her brain—how long did the charm’s peculiar powers last, and just how far did they extend? What if she wasn’t the one who needed protecting?

9

Cormac leaned forward, pulling hard on the oars, pushing against the aft seat with his legs. Another twenty minutes and he’d be completely spent. It was just after seven o’clock, but the sun had been up for nearly three hours, and glorious light fell against the wall of black clouds that obscured the western horizon.

The conversation with Nora had unsettled him, but at least she seemed pleased with the tune. He should have told her the name—what had stopped him? He poured his frustration into the rowing, pushing himself against the limits of his own strength, feeling the strain in his shoulders and thighs. The distance between him and Nora seemed to grow in that brief conversation, and for the first time he understood that it might be a span he couldn’t leap. But he’d made the decision, booked the ticket. It was too late now to turn back. With each oar stroke, he tried to wipe away his fears of the future, to concentrate on the task at hand.