Free Thin Air by Kate Thompson Page B

sweets, some older and paler and crumbly. If there was any smell from them it was too subtle for Brigid’s senses.
    She followed the steepest trail. It was a climb rather than a walk, but although her shoes were inadequate the footholds and handholds were plentiful and it wasn’t dangerous. Twice she stopped for a breather, looking down into the darkness of the thicket below. Once the raven passed across the rock-face and its shadow brushed her body; a touch that was somehow more intimate than a kiss. A tingle of energy moved up her spine. She climbed on.
    It was tough; another ordeal, another achievement. At the top she made sure of her footing and turned around, seeing at last what the goats saw, what the ravens saw, what she had come up there to see. Beneath her the valley and the lake were spread out like a map.
    Some of the hippies knew Martina but some of them didn’t. More photographs were found and handed around. Martina on Specks. Martina on the beach at Fanore with Popeye, hiding behind a towel with a starfish on it. Martina looking cold and miserable at a horse sale. There was a strained silence as the photos went around, and then everyone talked at once.
    When Gerard came back he had to leave his car halfway up the boirin. He recognised most of the other cars as he walked among them, and when he saw the priest’s his stomach lurched. The first thought that entered his head was his attempt to seduce Trish, and he thanked God that he hadn’t forced himself upon her. Only as he reached the back door did another thought occur; that the priest might have come to administer the last rites. A cold flood of panic washed through him and was followed by nauseous guilt. At the back door he paused and listened. It sounded as though there was a party going on in there.
    Aine was being entertained by Niamh Kelly, who was down on all fours in the sitting room pretending to be a bull. A sudden hush fell over the kitchen and she crept out to the hall. Her father was standing in the doorway opposite, his face very pale. There was a mumble of voices.
    ‘How’re you, Ger. Any news?’
    He shook his head, and it seemed that everyone in the room began to breathe again. They all moved backwards or sideways to make a kind of circle. The table was covered with knapsacks and flasks and half-finished cups of tea but it was cleared in seconds when Joseph dug out the Ordnance Survey map for the area. Then the huddle closed in around it and Aine could see no more. She turned back to Niamh but she had joined the throng and was clearly not playing any longer. Suddenly alone and frightened, Aine went back to the sitting room and turned on the television.
    Thomas took a general’s role, giving lots of orders and declining to do any of the footwork himself. No one objected. The young New Agers bent over backwards to be helpful, as though their purpose in life was to atone for the original sin of being born English and they had been presented with a rare opportunity. One of them, a bearded young man called Sam, raced off to town to get parts of the map photocopied. The others stayed and offered everything they had: themselves, their dogs, their horses, bits of rope, a method of sending smoke signals if anyone should find Martina.
    Gerard stayed quiet and let his father make the decisions. When Trish came in, he ignored her. More people arrived. Everyone had suggestions. Everyone was heard. Sam came back with the maps and they were distributed. People formed themselves into small groups, and Thomas teamed Joseph up with Father Fogarty to search the lake-shore. Both of them were surprised to find themselves included among the searchers, but neither of them had the neck to beg off.
    It took a surprisingly long time for everyone to get organised and out. Trish had her own idea and Thomas agreed to it. Gerard elected to go to the island, and when Thomas suggested he should take someone with him he chose Popeye. Sam offered him a copy of the