Reluctantly Charmed (43 page)

My heart knocked heavily in my chest. Hugh’s arm slipped
down around me, holding tight. We couldn’t move in either direction. I felt heat rise through my cheeks, and my lungs tighten. We were stuck and the walls were falling in.

“Lads, lads!” A thick Cavan accent shot through the crowd. “LADS!” it shouted with more force. “She needs our help! This way.” Elbows, fists, and bums jutted awkwardly in every direction. And then suddenly there was space and I could breathe. I creaked my back up straight and stood tall to see what had just happened. Circling me like a swarm of bees protecting their queen were the crotch grabbers.

“Garda Fitzgerald!” I shouted in shock. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you get wherever you need to get to. Isn’t that right, lads?” There were five of them. They were all out of uniform, but I knew they were guards from their tight haircuts, suspicious glares, and practiced walks of men on the beat—confident and slow. They circled me as an invisible shield, and no one dared pass through.

“Thank you, thank you!” I shouted to them all, anxious to be heard over the din of the chants.

“Well, you helped us . . . well, some of us.” And the circle turned to a rather overweight, embarrassed man whose left hand was hovering over his crotch, scratching awkwardly, while his right hand beat back the crowd.

“Right, right. Sometimes I get the spells right and sometimes I don’t. Sorry it didn’t work for you,” I said, equally embarrassed.

“Maybe next time,” the guard said, still scratching. “Now come on, lads, let’s go.”

They cleared a path for me and I began to walk. Hands were hungrily clawing through the circle trying to touch me. Faces, eyes, pleading, begging for me, crying, shaking, whimpering, “Help me, Kate! Tell me what to do!”

Hysterical screams. “She looked at me! Ahhh, ahhh, she looked at me!”

I fixed my eyes firmly ahead, over heads and faces. I would not look at anyone. I couldn’t let them see into my eyes. I couldn’t crumble. I had to stay strong on the outside at least. I needed to try my best to end all of this. I would not let the fairies win. I would not be the one to start a fairy war.

Johnny Logan’s plywood stage was straining at the center, like a stretched toffee bar, under the weight of all the activity. Green, white, and gold streamers and balloons hung tightly in the breeze. A row of white plastic garden chairs lined the rear of the stage. I saw Mam and Dad on them, both looking orange, and Johnny, who was wearing his mayoral robes and chain for the occasion.

Red Horizon were onstage. Jim was clinging to the microphone and looking pained as he tried to overcome the din of the chants to sing out “The Seven Steps,” their number one hit song.

A roar from the crowd announced my arrival. My shield opened up and created a passageway at the foot of the rickety plywood steps up to the stage.

I turned back to Garda Fitzgerald. “Thank you.”

He nodded firmly. “We’ll wait here for you.” And with military precision, my bodyguards formed an orderly row.

I grabbed hold of the railing, feeling the wood splinter in my hands.

Hugh released himself from me. “Do you want me to go with you?” he whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. I needed to do this on my own. I couldn’t have Hugh trying to defend me, if the crowd turned. I needed to face them alone. Hugh had no idea what I was about to do. No one did. This was my decision and had to be my responsibility.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I repeated to myself as I slowly walked up the
steps. I felt like I was approaching the gallows. My legs were shaking so violently I had to stop to briefly lock my knees to steady myself.

This has to work
, I thought,
this has to work
. There was an excited roar in the crowd, which bounced through it like a Mexican wave. The sense of anticipation was giddy—there was a high. A feeling they were about to witness a moment of greatness. They shuffled from foot to foot, anxiously inching closer to me, a powerful wall of people excitedly repeating my name. Thousands of eyes followed me, swallowed me up.
What if this doesn’t work? What if they don’t believe me?

“Kate, Kate! This is for you.” A tiny voice somehow cut through the crowds, just above a whisper but still I heard it. It was Simon the Anorak. A pale hand reached through the banisters. “For luck.” He held out a cluster of four-leaf clovers.

I took them and shook his hand, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Simon.”

“It’s Larry Watersprite.”

“Sorry. Thank you, Larry Watersprite.” I half smiled. I’d need more than a fistful of greenery to get me through this.

On seeing me onstage, Red Horizon disbanded immediately. Only Jim stood grinning, one eye on me, one eye on the crowd. Johnny Logan shot out of his chair and bulleted toward the microphone. He tried to grab it from Jim, who had stopped singing but greedily clung to it and cleared his throat. You could hear the phlegm catching. He kissed his lips to the top of the microphone, and softly he whispered, “Before Kate gets here—” When he said my name, the crowd flew into shrieks, deafening roars. Jim’s whispers were overpowered, but I could just make out, “—just in case she says anything, I’m not gay. I’ve nothing against gays but I’m not gay. I love girls.”

Johnny wrestled the microphone off him. He went pale and swallowed loudly. He said something about things being “Cool,
man, cool,” and slowly stumbled to the back of the stage into the arms of Red Horizon’s leather-clad crew.

The noise of the crowd was thunderous. “Kate McDaid!” I could see the words coming out of Johnny Logan’s mouth but I couldn’t hear them. Johnny looked toward me, held his palms up to the sky, and shrugged. What could he do? I walked over as steady as I could and took the microphone stand from him. I looked Johnny in the eye and thanked him, knowing that I was going to try to do the right thing for him, for all of them, and, hopefully, for me.

I stood and breathed. Still.
Breathe
. I looked out at the crowd, people stretched as far as I could see, becoming gray dots on the horizon, blending into the distance. Arms waved frantically, and the shouts, oh the shouts, they pumped into the vibrating air. I noticed Fiona and Lily standing in the front row. They gave me two thumbs-up and a nervous smile. “Good luck,” Lily mouthed. I watched as Simon the Anorak muscled through the crowd to stand beside Fiona, the top of his head just reaching her shoulder. I saw her smile at him, nervously, before she coyly bit her lip and looked to the ground, blushing.

This was it. This was my final moment. I was on a razor edge. Either they’d accept the fake Step and that it had come from the fairies, or they wouldn’t and I would be outed as a liar and these thousands of fanatical people could get angry, very angry, at me. It was a risk, but it was one I felt I had to take, whatever the consequences.

I held my arms out in front of me and waved them up and down. “Shhhh, shhhhhh,” I said into the mic, like a teacher shushing a belligerent class. “Shhhhhhhhhh,” I said for even longer this time, closing my eyes, concentrating hard on the feeling of silence. I stood and waited. And eventually it came, a pure stillness. There was not a shuffle, not a breath, not a chatter of teeth or a tear from the eye. There was no sound.

“Thank you.” My voice erupted like thunder. I stood back from the microphone, shocked by the noise I’d just made. Then I leaned into it again. “Thank you for your silence, and thank you for listening to what I’m about to say.”

I took a deep breath. It was now or never.
Please let this work, please let this work
. The eyes of the world and the fairy world were on me. I had to do it. I had to stop them.

“The last seven weeks have been a long journey for me. Me, the messenger, which is all I’ve ever been. These Steps have never been my story to tell. The experience has been an awakening in many ways. I’ve discovered truths about myself, the values I hold dear and the people I love. They have made me look at nature with new eyes and respect. I understand now that every piece of this world is a piece of me and of you.

“Many of you have had similar experiences over the last few weeks. These Steps have caused all of us here today to ask new questions of ourselves, to look for answers we’d never before searched deeply enough for. How many of you have questioned the order of life since these Steps have appeared? How many of you have looked at the world differently? How many of you have looked at the past differently? By being here today, by asking these questions, you’re already finding answers.”

I felt a slight tremor in my hand as I reached for the paper in my jeans pocket. I took a breath.
Don’t crumble, not now
.

I cleared my throat. “And that is what the seventh Step says.” I began to read.

O human friend, we brought you hope,

and brought you into light.

It was within you from the start,

to make you shine and make you bright,

Now you know that we are here,

you know that we are true.

We’ve taught and watched and

worked our words of wisdom upon you.

Every Step of ours, we saw you read

and learn and play.

And all along we wondered,

if we’re among you here to stay.

Alas, we learned, not this time,

you mortals are not ready,

Yet we shall come again when time is old

and good and steady.

We will look into the eyes of children yet to be,

And one day, they and we will

share the skies and share the sea,

Till then, cherish nature, still, o human friend,

Until the years come when we breathe life into this end.

My eyes raced around the faces in the crowd.
Please work, please work, please work
.

There was a hush, a stillness. They were watching me.

I’ll smile
, I thought.
I’ll smile, and maybe they’ll copy me, maybe they’ll feel good about the final Step.
I puffed out my chest and grinned the widest grin I could muster up. Silence. And then there was a crack in the crowd, and a man’s deep voice shouted out, gravelly and loud, “What are you smiling about?”

There was another shout, even louder than the first. “So that’s it, then? Where are the fairies?”

Another one was more aggressive. “Where are the fairies?”

The crowd heaved and seemed to bear down on the stage. I took a step back, scared. I could see red faces and furrowed brows. In the distance, there were fists pumping in the air. They were angry.

“This is bullshit!”

“Where are the fairies?”

I panicked. Had I got this completely wrong? Had I misjudged the crowd and written the wrong thing? Would they only be happy if they saw a fairy?

“We want fairies!”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Back off!” It was Garda Fitzgerald. He was screaming back at the crowd. He turned to face the crowd. “You heard what she said. We’re not ready. The fairies aren’t ready to meet us yet. Not until we are.”

A few heads nodded in agreement. A murmur rippled through the crowd. “We’re not ready.”

“Bullshit! I’m ready!” came an angry shout from the back.

“No, you’re not.”

“If you were ready they’d be here.”

“We’re not ready.”

Garda Fitzgerald said it again. “We’re not ready.”

There was a collective sigh from the crowd, an air of disappointment, but I could sense a change: they seemed to be accepting the message. They weren’t happy, but seemed resigned to the fact that there would be no fairies. Heads were bobbing, shoulders seemed to fall, fists unclenched, and red faces calmed. They eased back and away from the stage. I felt myself relax. This might have worked. They might have bought it.

People turned to each other, looking confused, mouthing the words “We’re not ready” to one another.
We’re not ready
, I thought.
Say it. We’re not ready.

There were grunts of approval and agreement.

It was working. My fake Step was working. I felt my heart quicken as I watched the crowd slowly move away. They were disbanding.

A few of the more optimistic were not giving up.

“I’m going to hunt them down.”

“I’m still going to try and find them!”

Some people looked pleased; others, not so much. But either way, it was over. They seemed to have accepted the Step.

They filed off, occasionally looking toward me, waving halfheartedly. Uninterested in me. Some now and again shouting
thanks
up at me, as an afterthought.

The original Anoraks came close. Simon smiled and nodded confidently, punching the air. “Cheers, Kate! I get it now. I really get it. We’re not ready, we may never be ready.” He looked to Fiona, who was stuck firm beside him, and they both smiled shyly at each other and slowly started walking together away from the crowd.

I relaxed and smiled. I’d done it. I’d beaten the fairies at their own game. They wouldn’t win this time. The relief was overwhelming. I watched happily as the road cleared and the cobblestones reappeared. Cables and cameras were reloaded into shiny vans and all the Anoraks shuffled off, unzipping as they walked.

Mam and Dad, looking like stained floorboards, were clapping proudly. They stood up and hugged me, squeezing me so tightly I thought I’d never breathe again. “We’re so proud of you! You were wonderful.”