really, or who weren’t Irish and thought they should have something to do with running the country, or thought that the Irish needed any kind of help with anything at all.
The others tended to nod agreement with Ronan, or if they disagreed, to keep fairly quiet about this: Nita noticed this particularly, and suspected that they had felt the edge of his temper once or twice. She grinned to herself, thinking that he would have a slightly hotter time of it if he tried it on her. She rather hoped Ronan would.
It was amazing how long a couple of pieces of chicken and a few Cokes could be made to last; fortunately, the people running the shop didn’t seem to care how long they stayed. Eventually, though, everybody had to leave: buses to catch, people to meet. One by one they said goodbye to Nita, and headed off, Ronan last of them. “Don’t get lost looking for leprechauns, now, Miss Yank,” he shouted to her over his shoulder as he made his way off down Bray’s main street.
Nita snickered and turned away, looking at the 45 bus pulling up across the street, and thought, Naah...I’ll walk home. It was only eight miles, and through extremely pretty countryside.
Except for the first part, the climb up one side of Bray Head, it was a long, easy walk down, taking Nita about an hour to get down to Greystones. She strolled down into the town. It was a more villagey-looking street than Bray’s, more compact. There were a couple of banks, a couple of food stores, small restaurants, a newsagent where you could get magazines and cards and candy. Various other small shops ...a dry cleaners’. And that was it.
Nita did, however, notice as she walked through more of something she’d seen in Bray, though she’d been a bit distracted then. There were a lot of stores that were doing “Going Out Of Business” sales, or were closed already and had “To Let” signs up in them. It’s what they said: the same kind of money trouble here as back home, though maybe worse. Apparently the cause of it here hadn’t been because of banks lending out a lot of money for bad mortgages on houses. Instead the banks had given way too much money to big building companies and developers, and when the banks had gone bad, the Irish government had promised to spend an insane amount of money to save them. The kindest phrase Ronan had found for this situation was “circlejerk”, and there had been a lot of others less kind. “No money, no work, we’re all going to have to emigrate again,” he said: “we’re all screwed.”
Nita sighed, stored it all away for later consideration, and kept walking. Where the stores gave way, Greystones started to be surrounded by big old houses, and estates of smaller ones. And then the fields began again—in fact, they began almost as soon as you had left the town. Nita strolled by the tiny golf course, looked down to Greystones’ south beach beyond it; walked past a cow with a blank expression, chewing its cud. “Dai stiho,” she said to it. It blinked at her and kept chewing.
The road climbed again, winding up through Killincarrig. Everything does have names here, Nita thought. It’s amazing. Really must get a map out. There may be one in the manual…
There was. She consulted it as she went up the road. At the top of the road, another crossed it at a T-intersection: she turned left. That way led toward Kilquade and Kilcoole and Newcastle with its little church.
The road climbed and dipped over a little bridge that crossed a dry river, then made its way along between high hedges. Birds dipped and sang high in the air. The sun was quite hot: there was no wind. Nita slogged around and just let her brain go a bit quiet, taking in the scenery, waiting to see what would present itself.
There came a point where there was a right turn, and a signpost pointing down between two more high hedges, toward Kilquade. Nita took it, making her way down the narrow road. The houses here were built well away
The others tended to nod agreement with Ronan, or if they disagreed, to keep fairly quiet about this: Nita noticed this particularly, and suspected that they had felt the edge of his temper once or twice. She grinned to herself, thinking that he would have a slightly hotter time of it if he tried it on her. She rather hoped Ronan would.
It was amazing how long a couple of pieces of chicken and a few Cokes could be made to last; fortunately, the people running the shop didn’t seem to care how long they stayed. Eventually, though, everybody had to leave: buses to catch, people to meet. One by one they said goodbye to Nita, and headed off, Ronan last of them. “Don’t get lost looking for leprechauns, now, Miss Yank,” he shouted to her over his shoulder as he made his way off down Bray’s main street.
Nita snickered and turned away, looking at the 45 bus pulling up across the street, and thought, Naah...I’ll walk home. It was only eight miles, and through extremely pretty countryside.
Except for the first part, the climb up one side of Bray Head, it was a long, easy walk down, taking Nita about an hour to get down to Greystones. She strolled down into the town. It was a more villagey-looking street than Bray’s, more compact. There were a couple of banks, a couple of food stores, small restaurants, a newsagent where you could get magazines and cards and candy. Various other small shops ...a dry cleaners’. And that was it.
Nita did, however, notice as she walked through more of something she’d seen in Bray, though she’d been a bit distracted then. There were a lot of stores that were doing “Going Out Of Business” sales, or were closed already and had “To Let” signs up in them. It’s what they said: the same kind of money trouble here as back home, though maybe worse. Apparently the cause of it here hadn’t been because of banks lending out a lot of money for bad mortgages on houses. Instead the banks had given way too much money to big building companies and developers, and when the banks had gone bad, the Irish government had promised to spend an insane amount of money to save them. The kindest phrase Ronan had found for this situation was “circlejerk”, and there had been a lot of others less kind. “No money, no work, we’re all going to have to emigrate again,” he said: “we’re all screwed.”
Nita sighed, stored it all away for later consideration, and kept walking. Where the stores gave way, Greystones started to be surrounded by big old houses, and estates of smaller ones. And then the fields began again—in fact, they began almost as soon as you had left the town. Nita strolled by the tiny golf course, looked down to Greystones’ south beach beyond it; walked past a cow with a blank expression, chewing its cud. “Dai stiho,” she said to it. It blinked at her and kept chewing.
The road climbed again, winding up through Killincarrig. Everything does have names here, Nita thought. It’s amazing. Really must get a map out. There may be one in the manual…
There was. She consulted it as she went up the road. At the top of the road, another crossed it at a T-intersection: she turned left. That way led toward Kilquade and Kilcoole and Newcastle with its little church.
The road climbed and dipped over a little bridge that crossed a dry river, then made its way along between high hedges. Birds dipped and sang high in the air. The sun was quite hot: there was no wind. Nita slogged around and just let her brain go a bit quiet, taking in the scenery, waiting to see what would present itself.
There came a point where there was a right turn, and a signpost pointing down between two more high hedges, toward Kilquade. Nita took it, making her way down the narrow road. The houses here were built well away
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