Farewell Ink

By Michael McGrath

Farewells are often the most difficult experiences we encounter. Be they farewells to relationships, friendships, or the ultimate farewells as people pass away from this life. In this new collection of short stories set on the east coast of Ireland, MJ McGrath explores the breadth of circumstances that lead us to say goodbye to a person, an idea or a dream. Or sometimes, all of these together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Limerick Writers Centre
• Release date: Nov 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005969110

Michael McGrath

Michael John (MJ) McGrath is an Irish novelist, playwright, poet and short story writer who has had his work featured in publications such as Roadside Fiction, Writing Raw, The Ogham Stone and Literature Today. His first novel The Clock Tower was released in 2017 and this was followed by his debut short story collection All About Town (LWC) in 2019. His debut poetry collection Enjoy the Rain was released in 2021. He is the founder and presenter of the Sleep With MJ podcast on Acast.He works as a second level English teacher and lives in London, U.K.

Book preview

Farewell Ink

Stories by

MJ McGrath

Copyright © MJ McGrath 2022

First published in Ireland by

The Limerick Writers’ Centre

c/o The Umbrella Project,

78 O’Connell Street, Limerick, Ireland

www.limerickwriterscentre.com

www.facebook.com/limerickwriterscentre

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Book and Cover Design: Lotte Bender (www.pamalottestudios.com)

E-book Formatting: Máire Baragry

Managing Editor: Dominic Taylor

ACIP catalogue number for this publication is available from The British Library

For Mam and Dad

Contents

Flying Kites

The Dixie Dollar

Into the Never

A Parting in Wicklow

The Web

Glendalough

Journey to the Pale

A Vision

The Circle and the Sea

Midnight in Mabel Street

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About The Limerick Writers’ Centre

Flying Kites

Willie’s grandfather had flown a kite for him when he was a boy. His eight-year-old eyes marvelled at its jerking movements against the backdrop of sand dunes and the pale blue skies of Banna Strand. And when responsibility for the welfare of this glorious flying machine was placed in his wilful hands, the fate of the world itself seemed to balance on the end of that thick piece of string. For two full hours, the boy stood transfixed as he gazed up at the triangular shape blotting out sky and sun in fleeting moments as it convulsed against the impulses of the wind.

That had been many moons ago. Three decades had passed under those southern skies and the gales of time had blown him gradually eastward. He’d followed the breadcrumbs of employment through Tipperary and Dublin until finally finding himself on the edge of the Irish Sea where he could go no further: the green water framing a bitter set of memories for which he had no boat to cross.

Breezy and bracing. As Willie approached Bray’s Victorian seafront, he repeated that phrase so often used since the time of its construction. Though the wind had indeed picked up as he rounded the corner and took in the wide expanse of the promenade, the low-lying winter sun had mercifully retreated behind the corner of a grey cloud and a dark cloak fell instantly upon the long concrete path before him.

An elderly man sat awkwardly on a bench surrounded by a small platoon of seagulls who hungerly eyed the contents of his brown chip shop bag. Brazenly, they refused to give an inch despite the close proximity of children’s buggies and the heavy footsteps of a jogger. Further down, a large beige dog lay prone upon the concrete as though sunning himself in the cool winter air, tethered to an equally unkempt and carefree owner.

Beyond the blue and red tipped railings, a group of adults and children stood on the stony beach by the edge of the sea. Willie could see that it was they who had been flying the two kites he had noticed on his way down the hill towards the seafront.

Probably a family, Willie thought as he paused and leaned his elbows against the railings. He never had children and wondered what these days might feel like to the man with the kites. To have the warmth of a child’s hand in your own and the unconditional love and trust that such commonplace things provide. Of course, it was not too late for him to find out for himself, but in another sense it was.

Opportunities had risen and fallen like kites in the blustering air above Ireland, and throughout his travels he had seen them soar through the clouds and plummet towards the rocky surface. He had watched their full sails bloom in majestic patterns before their strings entangled and dragged them earthbound in a doomed embrace. And as always, the last of these falls seemed the hardest and most terminal.

Laura’s eyes opened along the distant blue horizon before him and gazed back at his solitary figure upon the promenade. Her memory had followed him though her feet had walked away many months ago. Her face would always unspool itself from thin air when his fortunes fell low and would whisper the sum of his losses to the soft cavern of his ear.

They had enjoyed five years in each other’s lives in Dublin and rolled the dice on many potential endings until finally their number came up. Having seemingly come through many storms in the form of early day kinks, the arguments that followed, and the bickering of later years, it was their genuine adoration for each other had navigated their ship to calm waters once more. It seemed to Willie that here at last was a person who both loved and had the measure of him. Someone who would never put up with anything less than the best version of himself. And because of this, through her eyes, he would always see that best side of himself reflected. He loved her for this.

But time had been a cruel mistress to them both, and as she blew the leaves from their calendar, a distance to him began to grow in Laura’s heart. The quirks in his character which had initially drawn her to him became irksome and trying; his generosity became to be seen as frivolity; comments made in jest were taken easily to heart, and his affections – once a spark of warmth to her skin – turned repetitive and stale. With the passing of weeks and years, the foundations of all that made them a whole eroded unseen beneath the waterline.

Gazing into the wide flat line of the sea’s horizon, Willie felt a single tear slip from his eye and slowly find a trail down his cheek before settling on his upper lip. It was never fair of course, but no one had ever promised him it would be.

Excuse me, Mister? a young voice pierced the salty air and startled Willie from his memories, dragging him back to the reality of a blustery afternoon in Bray. Tracing the source of the voice, he found that he was been spoken to by a young girl of no more than eight years old. Standing boldly on the promenade with a hand casually placed on one hip, she tilted her head to one side in anticipation of his response while her brown hair blew wildly about in the fresh sea breeze.

Can I help you? Willie muttered, still startled by her presence and the invasion of his musings by the water.

The girl smiled in her freckled cheeks and stretched her arm toward him with a closed fist. Turning her hand upward, she opened her fingers and revealed a sparkling two Euro coin nestling in her palm. You dropped this, the girl chirped.

Looking from the coin to the girl’s face repeatedly, Willie finally understood why she had spoken to him and he took the coin from the warm cradle of her hand. Why thank you, little girl, he croaked awkwardly. Sliding the coin into the side pocket of his heavy winter coat, he found that there was already some smaller change there from his trip to the shop that morning. And so, bringing out a one Euro coin, he placed it into the same little hand which had so kindly reimbursed him moments before. And this is for good luck and your honesty.

The girl closed her fingers tightly round the coin and smiled through the misty raindrops which had begun to blow about the seafront. Thanks, Mister, she squeaked, before turning and running back to her mother who smiled knowingly at him.

Watching them stroll away hand in hand upon the long and wide promenade, Willie felt alone once more on the edge of the island – the momentary company already in his past. In time, they blurred with a mass of random bodies and dissolved into the mist, their existence now but shadows of his mind. Tenderly, he placed his thumb on the cool metal surface of the coin in his pocket.

Turning from the path, Willie cast his eyes once more to the sea. Beyond the children’s voices and the trails of swirling kites, Laura’s visage simmered in and out of prominence on the grey clouds which clung to the edge of the water.

Their last conversation had been brutal but honest. In the final truth of his words, he had opened the exit door of his heart and she had walked through it. Rather than letting her go with dignity, he followed her foolishly and traced her footsteps through their memories. The imprints sank deeply along the warm