Page 178 of The Missing Sister

‘Sort of,’ said Jack from the front seat. ‘It’s me and my sister’s first time down here, but Mum used to live here, didn’t you?’

I saw Niall glance at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Whereabouts would that have been?’

‘Between Clogagh and Timoleague, but it was a long time ago now,’ I added hurriedly. I knew how local gossip could begin with a whisper of someone’s arrival, and be trumpeted around in the space of a few hours.

‘I’ve cousins in Timoleague,’ he said. ‘What’s your family name?’

‘I... well, it was O’Reilly.’

‘Sure, there are a few O’Reillys down in those parts. What was your homeplace called?’

‘Cross Farm,’ I said.

‘Ah, I think I know of it, so, and I’d be betting we have kin in common. Everyone does down there.’ Niall turned to Jack. ‘So, ’tis you and your sister’s first time here, to see where your mammy grew up?’

‘Yes. We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we, Mary-Kate?’

‘We are,’ she agreed.

‘You’ll be staying in one of the grandest spots on the coast, but if you fancy a trip out, I’d recommend you see the Galley Head Lighthouse, which isn’t so far from your mam’s homeplace. Then there’s the friary in Timoleague, o’course, and you should go to the Michael Collins Centre in Castleview.’

As Niall regaled my children with what to see and do, I gazed out of the window in amazement, not only at the number of cars, but at the roads themselves. We were on some kind of dual carriageway and the surface beneath us was completely smooth as we drove along. Journeys home from Dublin, even in Bridget’s daddy’s big comfortable car, had been bumpy to say the least. It was obvious that West Cork had finally joined the twenty-first century.

‘There’s the airport,’ Niall was saying. ‘The new terminal was only opened a couple of years back, and ’tis grand altogether! I often pop in on my way back from Cork City for a coffee, so.’

As we arrived at Innishannon, I was relieved to see that the main street of the village hadn’t changed much.

‘Oh look, Mum!’ said Mary-Kate. ‘The houses are all painted in different colours! It’s so pretty.’

‘You’ll be seeing a lot of those around these parts, and other villages in Ireland too,’ cut in Niall. ‘’Tis something bright to look at when the rain’s tipping it down in the winter, or on any day of the year.’

We entered Bandon, which Niall duly announced was the ‘gateway to West Cork’, and again I recognised some shops that still had the same family names painted above their doors. Then finally, we were off and out into the lush and unadulterated countryside I remembered so vividly. Gentle slopes on either side of us were peppered with grazing cows, and I caught sight of fuchsia bushes coming into bloom. The only change was the number of bungalows that had replaced the old stone ruins of cottages.

‘Wow, it’s so green here,’ said Mary-Kate.

‘Well, it is called the Emerald Isle,’ I smiled, looking down at my ring.

‘Am I ever going to get that back from you, Mum?’ she teased me.

‘Of course you will. I just needed it in case anyone I met from the old days didn’t recognise me.’

‘Mum, you look exactly the same now as you did in that black and white photo of you when you got your degree,’ said Jack.

‘Flatterer,’ I said. ‘Look! We’re at Clonakilty Junction. There used to be a train line down here, which serviced West Cork. My older sisters used to get on it if they were off for a day of shopping or a dance in Cork City.’

‘My daddy used to cycle up if there was a big GAA match at the Park,’ said Niall.

‘You cycled all the way we’ve just driven?’ Mary-Kate asked.

‘And many miles more too,’ Niall confirmed.

‘I rode everywhere on my bicycle when I lived here; it was just the way we got around back then,’ I added.

‘Sure, we all had calves the size of body-builders in those days, didn’t we, Mrs O’Reilly?’ Niall laughed.

‘Please, call me Merry,’ I said, not bothering to correct my surname.

‘Now then, look to your left, at the car up on that plinth. This is the village where Henry Ford himself’s parents lived, before they followed half o’ Ireland across the Atlantic to America.’