Free Thin Air by Kate Thompson

on top of it jump back into the water, it let go the gold ring for it was mightily afraid of the water and wouldn’t step into it at all. So Oscar got safely away from the island with the hag’s bracelet. And do you know who the horse turned out to be?’
    ‘James Bond,’ said Joseph, from behind his magazine.
    ‘You shut up, you,’ said Aine. ‘It was Aengus, wasn’t it Grandda?’
    ‘’Twas indeed. And when I saw Specks at the fair in Ballinasloe I said to myself, “Now. That horse there mightn’t be Aengus at all, but it might be. And if it is, wouldn’t I be the fool who didn’t make some attempt to buy him!”’
    Aine laughed delightedly. ‘And is he Aengus?’ she said.
    ‘What do you think?’ said Thomas.
    The front door banged loudly and, a moment later, Gerard’s car could be heard starting up and pulling off along the boirin. Thomas stood up.
    ‘Is that why the hole on the island is blocked with stones?’ said Aine.
    ‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘That’s another story altogether.’
    ‘Tell it!’ said Aine.
    ‘Go on,’ said Joseph.
    But Thomas was back in the dreadful present, and the other story was a grim and frightening one, even for him.
    Brigid passed a small cairn of flat stones. She peered briefly in among them but not too closely, afraid of what she might see. Far from finding the mountainside easier to. manage this time, she was more frightened than ever. She had a feeling that she was being watched and kept looking out for the goats. But this time, they were nowhere to be seen.
    She stepped on a huge flake of limestone which wobbled noisily. The hare she had seen earlier, or perhaps another one, appeared from nowhere and loped off towards the hazel. Its coat shone red-gold in the sun. When it got to the edge of the woods it sat up on its haunches in the shadows and was camouflaged; one vertical line among many. Brigid kept her eye on it for a while, but the grikes demanded her attention and when she next looked up it was gone.
    But it had calmed her, because of its familiarity perhaps, or because it had distracted her from the morbid thoughts that were scratching away at her consciousness but which she was not yet prepared to confront. By the time she reached the edge of the hazel woods she had one thought only and that was to cross through them and climb up the crag beyond, from where she could look down into the valley below.
    Rathcormac was barely more than a village, but it had eleven pubs. Gerard visited them all. One or two of them were open for the desperate cases and the odd morning coffee, but most of them were still closed. It wasn’t a problem. Gerard knew all the publicans and none of them minded opening their doors to him, even though one of them had clearly got out of bed to do it. Some of the bars were still as they had been at closing time the previous night, the tables covered in overflowing ashtrays and sticky spills. Others were neatly swept and clean. All of them smelled of sour beer and fag-ends. By the third or fourth one, Gerard was beginning to find the smell nauseating.
    Trish finished her breakfast and washed the few dishes, then turned the two fillies out into the paddock to stretch their legs. The boxes were in dire need of mucking out, since Gerard always did the bare minimum when she was away, but she decided to go and find out what was happening at the house first. Joseph was in the kitchen. He pointed with his chin at her frayed jeans and thick sweater.
    ‘And on the cat-walk now, we have Patricia Kelly in the hottest Paris fashions …’
    Trish ignored him and went on into the sitting room to talk to Thomas.
    None of the publicans had seen Martina. Most of her friends had moved away from the area, but those she still hung around with had been in town. By the time Gerard had checked the most likely pubs, the situation was looking grim. But he went on to the less likely ones and asked there, and even brought the photograph into the ones where Martina