The Celtic Riddle

"You're saying he's too old for her, and you're right," I said. As tedious as a middle-aged man fussing about his age would normally be, this conversation about age struck me as rather interesting, suddenly. Could it be, I wondered, what with all this drama about Jennifer and her older man that I'd overlooked something rather important? How old would the lost child have been, I wondered. Because it would have had to be the child, wouldn't it? The mother, father, father's sister, and grandparents were already dead. Eithne said her parents had been married for thirty-four years. Byrne had been away a year before that. That meant his sister's child couldn't be any younger than about thirty-six, maybe more. Thirty-six to forty, say. Could Padraig be the lost child? It was possible, I supposed. You'd think that Eamon Byrne would have objected to his daughter taking up with his sister's son, assuming he wasn't in favor of a severely limited gene pool. But maybe he didn't know. He didn't seem to have known about Deirdre, perhaps because the family feud of his youth meant the families were not well acquainted. They'd inhabited quite different towns. Was it possible, I wondered, that the child was alive and had tracked the family down?

"And anyway, I don't want her to get hurt," I heard Rob say. "It's just a vacation kind of relationship, admit it."

I turned my attention back to what he was saying. If he thought in my weakened condition I was going to agree with everything he said, he was sorely mistaken. "And you, I suppose, are setting a good example for her in that regard? Alex may be the soul of discretion where his roommate's comings and goings are concerned, but Jennifer knows perfectly well you've been creeping out very late and returning very early in the morning. And she doesn't believe the police business excuse, either!"

"I wish you hadn't said that," he sighed. "You didn't have to. I know. You're saying I'm a jerk and a poor excuse for a father." He sounded dreadful there in the dark.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have said that. And no, I don't think you're a poor excuse for a father, or a jerk. I mean, look at Jennifer. She's a lovely young woman, and very sensible. You should take credit for that. As for Maeve, she also seems very competent, and pleasant." Faint praise, I know, but it was the best I could do. "I gather the relationship is pretty serious," I added.

"Don't think so," he said quietly. I waited. "Two reasons: She's not really a widow. Her husband is still breathing. There's been no divorce in Ireland until very recently, so she bills herself as a widow for the sake of convention. He lives in Belfast."

"So maybe now she'll get a divorce."

"I think she's a little conflicted-is that the word?- on the subject, either because she doesn't entirely approve of divorce, or because she still has some feelings for him."

Oh dear, I thought. We both digested that for a moment.

"And the second reason?" I asked.

He sighed. "The second reason is that I'm not entirely sure that is where my heart lies. I'm not sure where it does lie, but I don't think it's there."

I wasn't sure I understood the details of that statement, but I did understand the sentiments expressed.

"And that fancy pants lawyer?" Rob said into the darkness.

"Don't think so, either," I replied.

"Reasons?" he said.

"One, I don't think I'm his type somehow, and two, I'm not sure that's where my heart lies."

"Mmm," he said. We sat in silence for a few moments.

"I've been meaning to ask you something for a while," he said, suddenly. "You can say no. But I was wondering if you would consider being Jennifer's legal guardian should anything happen to me. Her grandparents are getting a little frail for the job. You are the only person I know I would really entrust her to. She's eighteen, so she's almost beyond the need, but I think she could use some guidance for a while yet. You can think about it. I'm a policeman, remember, so the chances of being called upon to do this are higher than average."

"I don't have to think about it," I said. "If I had a daughter, and I confess lately I've wished more than once that I did, I'd be pleased if she turned out like Jennifer. So yes, I'll do it. You do realize, though, that if I'm your fallback, as it were, then you'll have to stop following me into these dicey situations."

"You're right, I will," he chuckled.

"What do you think will happen, here, I mean, and now? Be honest," I said.

"Are you sure you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"I expect whoever it is will either leave us here to rot, or come back to dispose of us."

"Wonderful," I said. "I'm sorry I asked." We both sat contemplating that lovely thought for a while.

"Where are we, do you think?" he asked. "Still in the Dingle?"

"Yes," I replied.

"North? West?"

"South-ish, I think."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because we're in a clochan," I replied. "And that's where most of them are."

"A what?"