Free Thin Air by Kate Thompson Page A

wouldn’t have been seen dead. He was wasting his time.
    His last stop was O’Loughlin’s. He knew Martina hadn’t been there because he had been there himself. But he needed a small bit of comfort. Just one.
    When Father Fogarty arrived, Joseph put the kettle on and retreated to the sitting room to fetch Thomas.
    ‘He’s afraid of the priest,’ whispered Trish.
    ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ said Thomas, a little too loud. ‘Sure hasn’t he got sin written all over him?’
    If Father Fogarty heard, he gave no indication of it. He was genuinely distraught at Martina’s disappearance. He came as soon as he heard, he said. His anxiety made Aine uncomfortable and she clung to Thomas as he settled himself beside the range in the kitchen.
    ‘You all right, then?’ said Joseph, hovering at the door.
    ‘We are not,’ said Thomas. ‘Come back here and make the tea.’
    ‘How is your mother taking it all?’ said Father Fogarty.
    ‘She’s fine,’ said Joseph.
    There was a pause, then the priest turned to Thomas. ‘She fell off the horse, then, did she?’
    Thomas discovered a hardness within him and felt it growing. He was angry with Joseph for his total self-concern and he was angry with the priest for his youth and his arrogant assumption that he was required here. He didn’t feel like playing the game.
    ‘We won’t know that until we find her,’ he said, and the omission of the word ‘father’ felt like a crime. ‘We’ll know nothing until then.’
    Father Fogarty nodded, effectively silenced. Joseph poured water on to the tea.
    ‘Have we any biscuits?’ he said, rummaging in a cupboard. With an effort, Thomas lumped Aine up on to his lap. He didn’t normally do that and she was a little uneasy about it, but too polite to get down.
    ‘Tell me this,’ he said to her. ‘Did you ever see a rabbit eating a slug?’
    Aine made a face and shook her head.
    ‘And did you ever see a slug eating a rabbit?’
    ‘No. Of course not!’
    ‘But wouldn’t it be handy if they did?’
    ‘Why would it be?’ said Aine.
    ‘Because there’d always be plenty cabbage then, wouldn’t there?’
    Joseph giggled. ‘There always is plenty cabbage, Grandda,’ he said.
    ‘I suppose there is, now you say it,’ said Thomas. ‘All the same you’d wonder, sometimes, wouldn’t you?’ He raised his eyebrows to the priest who smiled awkwardly and wondered if he had missed something.
    Joseph got cups out and poured the tea. Father Fogarty could think of no way to relieve the uncomfortable silence, but was rescued by the arrival of Mickey O’Grady and Anthony Daly, eager to help with the search. Soon after them, Maureen Griffin came with a tray full of sandwiches, as if it was a funeral. After that, Meg and Jamesy Kelly arrived with their two teenage daughters, Niamh and Jeannie. Everyone wore boots and carried jackets. Joseph emptied the teapot and put the kettle on again.
    Some wanted to go straight away, but Thomas suggested holding on until more people arrived and Gerard came back. So they waited, spreading themselves out around the kitchen and catching up on all that was known. Before long Patsy Davitt arrived, then John and Sandra Mullins, and the questions and explanations began again until, to everyone’s surprise, a contingent of English hippies arrived from the New Age settlement on the mountainside. For once, the local people were glad to see them.
    Brigid passed through the hazel without hesitating and climbed out the other side. It was like a test, an ordeal, and she had succeeded in it. She took a moment to congratulate herself, then remembered why she was there and turned to address the crag which climbed steeply away from her.
    The goats had left clear indications of the best ways to go. Their paths, the goat streets and highways, were marked by wear, by dusty little passes between rocks, by the occasional broken tuft or earth-fall. Their droppings were everywhere, some fresh and shining like chocolate