I’m not sure who, but for a split second I feel like I’ve
met him before. Today Conor is clean-shaven, and is wearing a tight white t-shirt, clean jeans and brown Caterpillar boots.
His wavy blond hair that was unruly and dishevelled before, today is kept under strict control by a dash of hair gel, and
hisshort-sleeved shirt now allows a rather pleasant view of a pair of taught, tanned biceps that his Aran sweater, on our first
visit back in January, had sadly kept a well-guarded secret. ‘It was grand out there, waiting with everyone else who’s wanting
to come and live with us all on Tara.’
‘You’re a bit confident that you’re going to be chosen,’ Dermot says, raising an eyebrow. ‘This
is
only an interview.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Ah, but if you don’t have confidence in yourself, who else is going
to?’ Conor winks at me, and I look away as I feel myself begin to blush.
‘Indeed,’ Dermot continues. ‘So then, Conor, what makes you think you’re a suitable candidate to be chosen to come and live
on the island?’
Conor’s face becomes serious. ‘I was born and raised with a view of Tara constantly in my sights for the first eighteen years
of my life. And in that time I spent many a happy hour on the island walking, fishing, even courting on occasion, as my old
grandfather used to call it.’ His blue eyes flash towards mine for a split second. ‘I’d be confident in saying there’s only
a couple of other people that know Tara better than me.’
‘And who would they be?’ Niall asks, picking up his pen. ‘Just for the record.’
‘Eamon for one, since he’s lived there most of his life. No one knows Tara better than Eamon, that’s for sure.’ Conor turns
his eyes to me again. ‘And your aunt would be the other one, Darcy. I remember her coming over to visit; it was clear to see
she loved that island.’
Conor’s last comment compels my eyes to remain gazing back into his longer than they probably should. MomentarilyI’m reminded of the waves that crash against the rocks around Tara – so many shades of blue in one place, yet clear and inviting.
Hurriedly I avert my gaze when I realise it’s lingered there a bit too long, and pretend to study something on Conor’s application
form.
‘You said you had the island constantly in your sights until you were eighteen, Conor,’ I hear Dermot say while I try to regain
my composure. ‘What happened then?’
‘What happens to so many of us when we’re young – the call of foreign shores, I’m afraid Dermot. Is it all right for me to
call you Dermot?’
Dermot nods.
‘I wanted to see the world. So much to Mam’s upset, I packed a bag and went travelling.’
‘How long for?’ Niall asks.
‘The next ten years.’
‘Ten years? What did you do for ten years?’ I’m amazed that someone can just up and abandon their life like that. I think
what I’m doing is bad enough, and I’m only moving across the water to Ireland.
‘Oh, all sorts,’ Conor smiles. ‘Take me too long to tell you now. I’ve been many things to many people me.’
I look down at his application form. That would explain the vagueness of the career section, then.
‘Why the desire to come back home now?’ Niall asks. ‘If you’ve been travelling for so long?’
Conor’s expression changes so suddenly it’s like he’s swapped it with one of those theatrical masks that has both a tragic
and a comic face. ‘Me mam passed away, just this last January,’ he says, his head bent. ‘But she had a good life, andwe saw her last Christmas out together before she passed peacefully on New Year’s Day, not long before you folk came across
to visit Tara for the first time.’ A pair of blue eyes now filled with sorrow look up at us. ‘I’m an only child, so it was
up to me to sort everything out – in fact, all my family’s gone now since Mam’s passed on, so I’ve
met him before. Today Conor is clean-shaven, and is wearing a tight white t-shirt, clean jeans and brown Caterpillar boots.
His wavy blond hair that was unruly and dishevelled before, today is kept under strict control by a dash of hair gel, and
hisshort-sleeved shirt now allows a rather pleasant view of a pair of taught, tanned biceps that his Aran sweater, on our first
visit back in January, had sadly kept a well-guarded secret. ‘It was grand out there, waiting with everyone else who’s wanting
to come and live with us all on Tara.’
‘You’re a bit confident that you’re going to be chosen,’ Dermot says, raising an eyebrow. ‘This
is
only an interview.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Ah, but if you don’t have confidence in yourself, who else is going
to?’ Conor winks at me, and I look away as I feel myself begin to blush.
‘Indeed,’ Dermot continues. ‘So then, Conor, what makes you think you’re a suitable candidate to be chosen to come and live
on the island?’
Conor’s face becomes serious. ‘I was born and raised with a view of Tara constantly in my sights for the first eighteen years
of my life. And in that time I spent many a happy hour on the island walking, fishing, even courting on occasion, as my old
grandfather used to call it.’ His blue eyes flash towards mine for a split second. ‘I’d be confident in saying there’s only
a couple of other people that know Tara better than me.’
‘And who would they be?’ Niall asks, picking up his pen. ‘Just for the record.’
‘Eamon for one, since he’s lived there most of his life. No one knows Tara better than Eamon, that’s for sure.’ Conor turns
his eyes to me again. ‘And your aunt would be the other one, Darcy. I remember her coming over to visit; it was clear to see
she loved that island.’
Conor’s last comment compels my eyes to remain gazing back into his longer than they probably should. MomentarilyI’m reminded of the waves that crash against the rocks around Tara – so many shades of blue in one place, yet clear and inviting.
Hurriedly I avert my gaze when I realise it’s lingered there a bit too long, and pretend to study something on Conor’s application
form.
‘You said you had the island constantly in your sights until you were eighteen, Conor,’ I hear Dermot say while I try to regain
my composure. ‘What happened then?’
‘What happens to so many of us when we’re young – the call of foreign shores, I’m afraid Dermot. Is it all right for me to
call you Dermot?’
Dermot nods.
‘I wanted to see the world. So much to Mam’s upset, I packed a bag and went travelling.’
‘How long for?’ Niall asks.
‘The next ten years.’
‘Ten years? What did you do for ten years?’ I’m amazed that someone can just up and abandon their life like that. I think
what I’m doing is bad enough, and I’m only moving across the water to Ireland.
‘Oh, all sorts,’ Conor smiles. ‘Take me too long to tell you now. I’ve been many things to many people me.’
I look down at his application form. That would explain the vagueness of the career section, then.
‘Why the desire to come back home now?’ Niall asks. ‘If you’ve been travelling for so long?’
Conor’s expression changes so suddenly it’s like he’s swapped it with one of those theatrical masks that has both a tragic
and a comic face. ‘Me mam passed away, just this last January,’ he says, his head bent. ‘But she had a good life, andwe saw her last Christmas out together before she passed peacefully on New Year’s Day, not long before you folk came across
to visit Tara for the first time.’ A pair of blue eyes now filled with sorrow look up at us. ‘I’m an only child, so it was
up to me to sort everything out – in fact, all my family’s gone now since Mam’s passed on, so I’ve
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