THE ROAD HOME FROM ARKLOW

Zero of the two scheduled children had arrived at Begnachar so Mary had sat the whole of the afternoon watching Antje look busy. The computer was an ancient model with only floppy drives and a Windows 3.1 platform. The current virus caused a delightful cascade of documents before freezing the screen, so Mary couldn’t write reports or send e mails while she waited for ‘those who would not arrive.’

If Antje hadn’t been there, Mary would have left a note that she’d gone down the town to the Buttery, and to call down to her if they had come to see her, but Antje would have felt bound to tell Clíodhna, who would tell Gizelle, who would use that to deny her promotion to Senior in October.

Heading up the coast road, Mary’s gaze flicked over to the sparkling above the waters of the Irish Sea. She’d never really studied the wind farm that was being constructed off the coast of Arklow before. Largest in the world, she’d heard, but she was not sure from where the claim had come. Now the towers seemed quite present, arms turning slowly like those of Chinese ribbon dancers waiting in the wings. And soon they would be churning out power for the people of Dublin, clean and renewable, or so they say. And further off, too far to see is the Sellafield nuclear plant that has made the Irish Sea the most radioactive body in the world. Ted disbelieved her until she made him google it. He was delightfully appalled and she regretted telling him. It became another verse in his party piece about the Irish. Mary smiled cynically, wondering whether the brilliant Irish wind farm might leak electricity into the nuclear soup and turn the bay into a fluorescing advert for she couldn’t think what……It was different when she was disgusted with her people, but she couldn’t say how.

And then past the wall with the STOP THE INCINERATOR whitewashed on it and spelt correctly, too. And the billboard with the wistful matron and the Breastcheck logo reminding all of the free mammograms for every woman over 50 in the Republic. Another honour that, the highest incidence of breast cancer in the EU, higher by far than even Northern Ireland. And maybe that was what Eilis was on about, and maybe that was the visits to London. God knows anyone working in the health sector would know enough not to check into any hospital on this side of the pond. That must be it. Mary felt no pity, nor urge to share her speculation. She felt settled somehow, and at peace.