The next morning, Mrs. Mulligan crossed the street in her good dress, coat and hat, lengthily thanking me for pitching in for Ted.
She chattered all the way into town. I merely threw in the odd "yes" or "no" or "uh-huh" or a little laugh, not really listening to her goings-on about village gossip, illnesses and the weather.
And her sons, of course. Jack, the elder, was no great use on a fishing boat and generally a bit on the maladroit side but surprisingly good at his own trade, carpentry. He had taken over the family workshop after his father's death a few years ago. Billy, the younger, was a little older than me and worked at the local fishing port. We had become rather good friends and occasionally went out together. I liked his humour and easy-going nature. He never seemed to take anything seriously and always managed to find something funny in any situation. The village girls were crazy about his dazzling blue eyes and ready smile.
His mother sighed, "I wish Billy would calm down a bit and find himself a nice girl to marry, too. Jack is so happy with Eileen and the little ones."
I refrained from commenting on this. I couldn't really imagine adventurous Billy settling down just yet. Jack was quieter and homelier by nature, he had never needed to sow his wild oats as Billy did. But that was something I was certainly not going to discuss with Billy's mother.
While she was seeing her doctor, I went to buy a few spare parts for the boat I had promised to get for Grandpa and lazily drifted through the downtown streets for a while afterwards, enjoying the unexpected freedom from my usual duties, until it was time to pick up my passenger and drive back home.
I found Grandma in the garden, tending her vegetables, when I rounded the corner of the house to stow my purchases in Grandpa's little tool shed. "Good that you're back, Mick!" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on the old skirt she usually wore for gardening. "You can help me now that you're home anyway. I think it's about time that we dig up that withered rose bush, even though it breaks my heart. Those little pink roses always smelled so sweet. But it hasn't had any blossoms for several years and I think it's finished. Grandpa keeps promising me he'll take care of it but he never gets around to it, and besides, you know, his bad knee and his back …"
"All right, Grandma. I'll get a spade. Just let me change clothes first."
"Sure. There are some sandwiches for you on the kitchen table. Thought you'd be hungry."
"Lovely. Thanks." I was indeed famished and wolfed the sandwiches down in no time before I changed into my working clothes and went back outside to help Grandma with her rose bush and various other assignments she gave me.
In the early afternoon, the skies darkened and gusts of wind rustled the leaves. Not much later, the first raindrops spattered my face. "Looks like that bad weather is a little early", Grandma said with a wary look at the steel-grey skies and began collecting her garden tools.
Within minutes, both the wind and the rain picked up and turned into a full-blown thunderstorm. The trees and scrubs were shaking madly in the gale. I ran to lock the door of the tool shed and the henhouse and was soaking wet by the time I closed the back door behind me.
"Hurry off and get changed before you drip all over the kitchen floor", Grandma ordered. She was putting the kettle on to make some tea. "I hope John and Jack are safely back in port by now", she added, peering out into the torrential rain. "I hate having one of you out in that kind of weather."
Two hours later, Grandpa and Jack still hadn't shown up. The tempest had subsided, but the wind hadn't died down entirely and the rain kept beating down relentlessly.
Grandma grew quieter by the minute, her usual loquacity falling victim to increasing anxiety.
"Guess they got stuck at Pete's", I suggested, not really believing my own words. Every now and then Grandpa would have a few pints at the port tavern after a long working day, but Jack wasn't much of a drinker, and Grandpa, although he'd never have admitted it if asked, always made sure he came home as early as possible if the weather was bad so Grandma wouldn't be too worried.
"I'll skin them alive if I find out that they did", Grandma growled through gritted teeth, clenching her fists. "If only that rain would stop so I could go out and find them."
"I can go if you want me to", I offered, half getting up as I spoke, hoping for a chance to escape the anxious tension that was beginning to take hold of me, too, the longer we waited. Searching for Grandpa, actually doing something, would be better than sitting around, even if it meant venturing outside in the pouring rain.
"You stay right here, young man", Grandma objected decidedly, almost panicked. "Please don't go", she added in a softer tone of voice.
I sat back down on my chair hastily and reached for her hand. She had small hands with protruding blue veins, wrinkled and work-worn, but her grip was as strong as ever. She held on to my hand as if never to let go again, squeezing it hard for reassurance.
The noisy old wall clock ticked off the passing seconds mercilessly. Minutes. Another hour.
Grandma had begun to shiver and wrapped her old cardigan tighter around herself. "I don't like that", she murmured again and again. "I don't like that at all."
Apart from that, we waited in silence, listening for any sound that might herald the desired arrival, but there was nothing except the patter of the rain and the howl of the wind and the odd rumble of thunder in the distance.
At some point, she had extracted her cold little hand from mine and taken up her knitting to keep her hands busy. I couldn't think of anything sensible to do, so I just sat on my hard-backed kitchen chair, nervously fiddling with a corner of the waxed tablecloth, picking at a half-healed cut on the back of my hand until it was bleeding again, twirling a lock of hair around my finger.
The rain diminished, then ceased. I pushed back my chair determinedly. "I'll go and see where they are", I announced and went to get my shoes and a jumper.
I was halfway up the stairs when a few loud bangs on the front door made me jump. I stumbled back downstairs, almost tripping over my own big feet.
Could that be Grandpa? Had he lost his keys? Why didn't he come in the back door?
I tore open the door and found myself eye to eye with Tom Edwards. He was one of the lighthouse keepers over at the headland, a tall, bearded man, normally the epitome of calm.
Not now, though. He appeared shaken and out of breath and swallowed hard before he spoke. "Good God, Mick, you're here", he blurted out. "I thought you were … was your grandpa out on his boat alone today?"
"Uh, no, Jack Mulligan was with him. Why? What's the matter?" I tried hard to keep my growing fear out of my voice.
Tom ran a hand over his eyes. "They just found the Seahorse, my lad, or what's left of her. Storm threw her on the rocks outside the port entrance. I'm so sorry, son."
"And … and Grandpa? Jack?"
"Your grandpa's been very lucky, he's alive. They're trying to get him off the boat now that the rain and storm are over. Don't know about Jack, though. Nobody's seen him."
My mind was totally blank for a moment, then my first impulse was to run off on the spot and see for myself that Grandpa was alive. A movement behind me reminded me of Grandma's presence. She had ventured out of the kitchen with slow, halting steps very untypical of her, eyes large and pleading in her pale face.
"Mary", Tom said flatly. "So sorry about the boat. I'm afraid it's wrecked beyond repair. But John's alright, what's much more important."
I moved towards her, wanted to hold her, but she warded me off with an outstretched arm. "I want to see for myself", she said. "Let's go."
"But Mary …", Tom protested.
"We are going. Now. Are you coming along or not?" Off she marched, a small, resolute figure. I had never seen her walk that fast. Tom and I barely managed to keep up with her.
The sun was back out, glittering off the newly calm surface of the sea as if nothing had happened.
A bunch of people had gathered by the port to watch the rescue crew. We had not yet quite arrived there when we heard subdued cheers. I sped up and broke into a run.
The crowd had parted to let two figures pass through. I only had eyes for the smaller of them. Walking on his own two feet, wet and battered, blood smeared down the side of his face and without the cap he always wore, but alive.
"Grandpa!" I shouted and hurried to embrace him, seconds before Grandma flung herself at him. "John! My God, John, I thought you'd … where's that blood coming from? What on earth happened? Why didn't you turn around earlier? Didn't you realize the weather was changing?" She pushed him back and hit him in the chest twice with her small hard fists. People gasped audibly. "You scared me to death!"
I grabbed her hands before she could strike him again. "Go easy on him, Grandma. He needs a rest, and a doctor, I think. You can scold him later."
Grandpa hadn't said a word yet. He looked up at me, his usually sparkling blue eyes slate grey and empty, jerked his thumb into the direction where the Blue Seahorse lay, or what was left of it, and shook his head in desolation, shoulders sagging. "Our boat, my lad, our beautiful seahorse lady", he said in a terribly toneless voice. "Now I have nothing to leave to you when I go."
"Don't worry about that, Grandpa. You're still here. That's what counts. We can always get a new boat."
"Yes, yes, we can", he mumbled absent-mindedly.
I didn't have the heart to ask him about Jack.
"Now let me have a look at you, Mr. Walsh", said an authoritative voice from behind. Dr. Logan had pushed through the crowd with his black doctor's bag. "Can you walk to the harbour master's office? We'll have some more privacy there."
He reached for Grandpa's arm to steady him, but Grandpa shook his hand off angrily. "I can walk on my own, thank you very much." I couldn't quite suppress a little grin at this show of bravado.
Grandma and I followed them into the small building, watching closely as the doctor examined Grandpa and tended to the laceration on his forehead. He had slipped and hit his head when the boat ran aground, knocking himself out for a while. When he came to, Jack was gone. Grandpa had assumed he'd scrambled off the boat while he himself had been unconscious and somehow made it up the rock face to get help.
"Where's he after all, Jack? Home with the family already? Anyone seen him?"
I remembered Tom's words Don't know about Jack, but I wasn't sure if he had been found, dead or alive. I looked at Dr. Logan for help.
"They are still searching for him, Mr. Walsh. Obviously, he was thrown off the boat. We don't know anything definite yet. Let's hope for the best."
Grandpa's face twisted in sheer agony. Slowly, he brought a trembling hand to his forehead. "No, no, please, tell me he's all right. He'll come home, won't he? Please say he will."
"Grandpa", I said softly, "there's nothing we can do right now but hope and wait."
"And pray", Grandma added somewhat sternly.
"Yes, that, too."
We took Grandpa home. The crowd on the pier had largely dispersed with just a few diehards staying behind to wait for the search crew to return.
Grandma made Grandpa eat a bit of soup and have some hot tea, but he was too shaken and exhausted to manage much. We all went to bed early, although I was sure none of us slept.