The Tour (2 page)

As he walked towards the coach park, Conor reached into his pocket for the pile of post that Katherine O’Brien had handed him earlier on. The postcards were from people who had been on his tours earlier in the season, thanking him for making their trip so enjoyable. The letter, postmarked Philadelphia, lay underneath a sheaf of postcards. Conor recognised the handwriting of the person who had scratched out his old family home address and had replaced with the Dunshane Castle forwarding address. He stopped and stared hard at the envelope. There were only two people in America who would know his old home address in County Cork. Neither of those people had been in touch with him in well over twenty years. He ripped open the envelope, certain that the letter was from Sinead, and not from his brother Gerry, who had appalling handwriting. Heart thumping, he read:

Dear Conor,

I know it must seem like a bolt out of the blue hearing from me after so long. I don’t really know where to start. I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch before, but maybe you’ve heard from Gerry. I don’t know I’ve not seen him in years. Things didn’t work out with him, as you probably know. It all seems so long ago now, you and me and Gerry, in

Passage West. Anyway, I’m writing to tell you that I’m coming home. Well, that is,
we
are coming home, me and young Conor, your nephew. He’s seventeen. I know I should have told you when he was born but anyway, here it is. I have a son, named after his uncle, and we are a one-parent family. Gerry knows about Conor. I did have an address for him at one point and I wrote to him telling him he had a son, but apart from a postcard acknowledgement, I never heard from him again. I often think if I’d stayed in Ireland instead of coming to the States with your brother, things would have worked out better, but I guess that’s all water under the bridge now. We had some fun times though didn’t we?

Anyway, I’d love to get back in touch with you. My email address is [email protected]. I’m sure Ireland has progressed into the age of technology by now!

Hopefully, talk soon,

Lots of love,

Sinead xxxx

Conor sat into the coach. He had never expected to hear from her again. He had sent Christmas cards and things over the years but had never received a reply. Gerry was his only sibling, and their parents were long since dead. Despite Conor’s best efforts, the two brothers had lost touch. The idea that maintaining contact between them might have achieved something positive caused Conor to feel even more guilt and pain. He had loved Sinead, more than he had ever loved anyone before or since, but she had chosen the better-looking brother Gerry, and that was that. It was wrong to want your brother’s girl, even if he had seen her first. Gerry was always a bit wild, especially after their mother died, and Conor had become accustomed to taking care of him. Gerry had a reputation for being a useless layabout who felt the world owed him something, but Conor always believed that that was because Gerry was orphaned at a young age. Conor’s policy at the time Gerry took up with Sinead was to let on that he was thrilled. After all, it wasn’t as if there had been any understanding between himself and Sinead. They had only gone out a few times.

Before Gerry and Sinead became an item, Conor had decided that she was the only woman for him; he had even confided in Gerry about his feelings. He hadn’t intended to hurt Conor, he knew that. It was just that Gerry always behaved like a child: if he saw something he wanted, he just took it. Conor should have declared his feelings to Sinead sooner, he knew that. While he was dithering, was waiting for the right time to tell her how he felt, Gerry had snuck in before him.

Conor always believed Sinead was well aware of how he felt about her, yet she still she picked Gerry. Maybe she thought she could make him happy, since no one else could. It seemed from the letter though that that it all went wrong anyway. Did he want Sinead back in his life now he wondered, after all this time? He really didn’t know. A huge part of him was excited at the prospect of seeing her, the chance to say…well what? What could he say? What he should have said twenty years ago? And she has a son. That meant Conor had a nephew. It was a lot to take in.

Chapter 2

‘Conor! You look well,’ said Carolina Capelli, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she and her fellow tour guides waited for their groups in the Arrivals area at Shannon Airport.

‘Carolina! How are you? Who are you with this week?’ ‘Mad Mike Murphy,’ she threw her eyes to heaven. ‘I’m over the moon.’

‘Oh God help you, you’ll have your work cut out for you so!’ Conor chuckled.

‘I think I sorted him out last week when he was
helping
me into the coach by grabbing my bottom. I told him I was going to speak to his wife, explain how
helpful
he always is to me the next time she came to drop him off. He nearly died.’

Conor laughed. Carolina and he had both had the misfortune to meet the scary, chain-smoking Mags Murphy.

‘No more than he deserves,’ Conor said. ‘I reckon she’d murder him if she found out though.’

Carolina was a twenty-eight year old Italian. Never in a million years would she have been interested in Mad Mike who was fat and fifty, had chronic halitosis and a very cavalier attitude to personal hygiene.

‘How many have you this week Conor?’ asked Carolina, sighing theatrically.

‘Three? Five?’

‘Nine,’ Conor replied. ‘I know, I
know
’ he smiled, reacting to her look of envy.

‘The tour operator doesn’t allow any more than ten people in my groups. It’s a very expensive way of taking a tour around Ireland, but people seem to prefer it, plus the fact that we can get to places that the big coaches can’t reach. I know how you feel though. I served my time on the 52-seaters back in the dark ages too, but I fell on my feet with this crowd. I’m my own boss and it’s great.’

‘I won’t pretend I’m not jealous Conor! I’ve got forty- seven Italian dentists so it’s going to be a busy week. Oh look, here are some of mine now. I’d better look lively.’

Conor smiled at Carolina as she went to gather her group who were beginning to trickle through the large glass doors. Soon, he himself was busy dealing with the first of his passengers, their faces registering relief as they spotted Conor holding aloft the welcome card bearing the tour operator’s name and logo. As he directed them to the toilets, the ATM and the newspaper stand, he instructed them to make their way out to the distinctive looking Mercedes coach in the car park, where he would join them as soon as he was sure everyone had arrived.

‘Good morning and welcome to you all’ he said, as he gathered his group of nine beside the coach. I’m sure you’re all tired after the long flight, so I’ll just get the bags loaded onto the coach and we’ll be off to the hotel. You can freshen up or have a bit of a rest and then we’ll get together again later on for dinner and have a chat about the great time ye are going to have for the next week.

‘My name is Conor O’Shea, and for some sins that you have obviously committed, you are stuck with me driving and telling ye all about our lovely country. If you have been here before and you suspect a bit of Blarney on my part, there’s a small “keep your mouth shut” fee available.” The group laughed and immediately relaxed.

Ellen O’Donovan’s sparkling blue eyes belied her eighty years. She was fit and healthy, her hair cut in a flatteringly soft style that framed her face. She had often been told that she looked more European than American, whatever that meant. Observing her as she stood patiently, waiting to board the coach, Conor noticed how fresh she looked for someone who had just arrived on an overnight flight from New York. She was dressed in an elegant pair of navy blue tailored trousers and a beige silk blouse; around her neck, she wore a simple gold cross and chain.

Ellen walked slowly down the centre of the coach and chose a seat opposite a couple. She nodded and smiled politely and then closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She had made it, against all the odds and against the advice of everyone she knew. She was finally here. Ellen leaned back against the plush leather seat, twice the width of the plane seat she had endured for the past six hours. This really was a lovely way to travel, she thought to herself. The dark green coach had large reclining seats facing each other. Between each set of four seats was a table, complete with power points and drinks holders. The halogen reading lights overhead could be adjusted to suit individual passenger’s requirements, while the large coach windows facilitated wonderfully panoramic views of the world outside. The entire interior of the coach was upholstered and carpeted in rich tones of green and gold. At the rear of the vehicle was a compact but perfectly functional bathroom. Under the dash at the front of the coach was a refrigerator, filled with complimentary water and soft drinks. Ellen had never been on a coach like it. Her peace was interrupted by hushed yet urgent whispers from the couple on her left.

‘Just turn it off, Elliot, please,’ the woman muttered to her husband. Without glancing up from his laptop, the small, dark-featured man with a distinctive New York accent said: ‘OK, OK, I will, I just need to check something with LA… I’ll only be a minute. Get the driver guy to hold on for me OK? I’m going outside to get a better signal. The connection on this laptop dongle thing is terrible. I’m going to have to use my cell to call ‘em.’

‘We can’t keep everyone waiting Elliot,’ she whispered anxiously.

Undeterred, Elliot was already off the coach, pacing up and down on the footpath, talking animatedly into his mobile phone.

‘He is very busy at work at the moment…his company is involved in investment projects. I’m Anna Heller,’ she said to Ellen with an apologetic smile.

Ellen smiled warmly. The woman looked as if she was of German or Scandinavian extraction: she was tall, her blonde hair was cut in a chic bob, and she had perfectly manicured nails. She was dressed in what to Ellen looked like designer gear and she carried a handbag that Ellen guessed had cost an awful lot of money. She looked out the window: Anna Heller’s husband was still pacing up and down outside. He too was dressed in what looked like very expensive clothes, his left wrist brandishing a Rolex Oyster. While he was handsome enough in a way, Ellen thought he was unusually short. An awful lot shorter than his much younger wife. Probably wife number two or number three, Ellen reckoned.

As she surveyed the assembled passengers, Ellen’s attention was drawn to two women sitting in the front seats, both wearing what looked like hiking gear. Ellen judged them to be in their mid to late fifties. The one sitting nearest the window was tall and wiry, with sharp facial features and a cropped, utilitarian haircut. Her companion looked considerably more feminine, with a more rounded figure and a kind face. The sharp looking woman was glaring at Elliot Heller with barely concealed fury.

‘Have you been on a coach tour before?’ she asked Anna Heller pointedly.

‘Well em, no…eh, I mean we have taken day trips, when we were on vacation, but we eh...’

Anna was interrupted mid-sentence by her interrogator. ‘This is my twelfth trip with this tour operator. One of the reasons I travel with them so often is they have a policy of not waiting for latecomers. If a person cannot make it back to the coach at the pre-arranged time, well then they just have to make their own arrangements. It’s not fair on fellow travellers to make them wait for those who are too disorganised or too selfish to be on time.’

‘Oh, that’s a good policy I guess’ Anna replied, acutely aware of the implication that Elliot was just such an individual.

‘By the way, I am Dr Dorothy Crane and this is my travelling companion Juliet Steele. We are from Des Moines, Iowa.’

Juliet turned around and smiled bleakly at the rest of the group. ‘Hi,’ she said shyly.

The next passenger to board the coach was someone Ellen had noticed in the Arrivals area. Like her, he too seemed to be travelling alone. He was, she thought, in his mid- to late sixties, possibly older. He was small and fit looking, longish grey hair flopping onto his face and curling over his collar in a manner which Ellen considered somewhat bohemian for a man of his generation. His skin, leatherlike from lifelong exposure to strong sunlight, was offset by a pair of large brown eyes radiating warmth and intelligence. He was dressed in beige chinos and a dark green shirt bearing golf and country club logo. He sat on the outside of a double seat, smiled and addressed the group in general:

‘Hi, I’m Bert Cooper from Corpus Christi, Texas. Wow! It sure is fresh here ain’t it? I left ninety-six in the shade, so this is just great.’

Everyone except Dorothy Crane smiled and introduced themselves in turn. Ellen looked up as the next two members of the group boarded the coach. One of them, a boy of about sixteen or seventeen, had jet-black spikes of hair sticking out on one side of his head; the other side was shaved tight. His neck featured an elaborate spider’s web tattoo, his face was plastered in white make-up, his eyes lined in heavy kohl pencil. Piercings too numerous to count adorned his ears, nose, upper lip, eyebrows and chin. Hanging from his thin frame was a black leather jacket, decorated with a skull and bleeding eyes, and below that, black skin-tight jeans torn to shreds. To complete the look, his wore his trousers tucked into black Doc Martens, which were laced to the knee.

The woman following immediately behind him seemed to be travelling with him, as, unprompted, the boy heaved her large ‘Chanelle’ bag onto the overhead luggage rack. Ellen saw Anna’s face register the obvious fake.

‘Just sit down there, Corlene,’ the boy said in a surprisingly gentle voice, indicating towards the seat he had requisitioned. Corlene, however, had other plans.

‘Well isn’t that just perfect,’ she screeched in a high- pitched southern drawl, aiming for the seat beside Bert Cooper. ‘I love a window seat and you obviously want the aisle, so you and I are perfectly suited. I’ll sit inside, and you can take the outside. I’m very flexible.’

She batted her ridiculously long false eyelashes in what, presumably, she thought was a seductive manner, but, in fact, only succeeded in causing Bert to recoil in terror. His southern chivalry, however, prevented him from refusing her offer.