The Western Writers Centre

A hazy stream of heat shimmered above the surface as Norma eventually turned into the long term car park at Shannon Airport. It was August and the unexpected heat had sent Ireland reeling into the tropics. Norma eased the BMW into the parking space near the courtesy coach.

Twelve thirty. Just enough time to check in, and get to the duty free before the flight to Beauvais. She would make a quick call to Gerry. This was her birthday weekend - the second weekend in August. They had planned to go to the summer house in Ballyheigue as they did every year.

That was, until the phone call.

Her schedule was cleared for the Friday afternoon and the Monday morning as it had been every year. Even some of her long standing customers in the interior design business now knew she was unavailable that weekend.” The lion(ess) sleeps tonight” She knew what her staff said behind her back. But she also knew that those who worked there were good and they too recognised that she was the best in the business. Gerry always arranged his schedule to suit hers- he was so accommodating. They had met through work and were together eight years now. As a computer engineer his work frequently took him out of the country but birthdays and family celebrations were sacred to both of them. He was in Berlin this week and had allowed the company to persuade him to stay on to sort out another problem. He was just too easy going. She had told him several times but nothing changed.

The heat in the parked car was becoming unbearable now and last night’s forecast said Paris was in the mid thirties. Ballyheigue with its empty beach and luxury summer house never seemed more inviting. What madness had caused her to accept an invitation to Paris in the middle of August? Did she have a choice?

A late night phone call from her younger sister Cassandra three weeks ago left her puzzled. An invitation to visit her in Paris. “Please, please try to make it.” An invitation from Cassandra was usually a charming but steely demand. Ever since she was three years old Cassandra had the charm to make people do what she wanted. Mom and Dad had treated her like the china doll youngest child. It was Norma who pushed her into completing a B.A. degree in French and Spanish. She recognised that she needed the extra push to go ahead. Norma always felt she lacked the drive and ambition to succeed in a tough world.

She had taken a rather junior job in a fashion house. Yet the poised and stylish Cassandra always seemed to get places. Then her sudden decision to accept a company job in Paris last April had surprised them all. Norma felt that the style and polish of the French capital would suit her. It seemed like a natural home for her. She had planned to visit her. However Cassandra was always so busy. The e-mails had gushing accounts of the style of Paris –the blossoms on the Champs Elysees, the bateaux on the Seine. Any suggestion that she might visit her were quickly set aside to business commitments or else not referred to at all. At least that meant she was well settled and living independently. And then a sudden invitation to visit her! An unease had crept into the back of her mind. Her sister’s insistence that she come. And that weekend! Cassandra would have known very well what her plans were for that weekend. She would also have known that it was the one weekend that she would be free for some time.

The African driver of the airport coach nodded as she sat down. How life in Ireland had changed! It was hot and sticky on the bus. Thankfully a few minutes took them to the terminal building. The navy linen trousers and top she had changed into before she left the office were beginning to look crumpled and hot. At least the airport building was air-conditioned. Norma glanced impatiently at the long queues for the Ryanair flight to Paris. How come they had not introduced automatic check-in? No wonder they were falling behind! With an eagle eye she scanned each queue and joined what she considered the fastest moving.

Earlier than expected she found herself at the departure gate. The Chanel and Dior had been extremely good value and would be useful as Christmas gifts for her most valued customers. Gerry could never understand how, even on holidays in the middle of summer, she was conscious of these good value gifts. But then he was not the one running the business. He never could. She was first attracted to his easy going approach to life. She had come to do an interior lay-out for the computer firm where he worked. Her suggested designs were exotic and futuristic. The front lobby was greys and blues with a water theme.

“Look, girl, we need chairs for our customers and a desk at reception,” had been his comment. “Less of the foll-dolls and more of the practical” and he smiled at her.

She was disappointed at his primitive taste but in her business she had learned that a customer’s taste could not always be led on to a more refined class and, in the interest of her business had to be accepted as such. She envied the Renaissance artists who had customers or patrons with taste!

As with all her works she came back to the building several times to check for details. He seemed to be always there working and always pleasant and natural.

There was the Saturday she had gone to finalise details for the outer lobby and he was in his office. They had gone to eat together and she could recognise a kindred spirit in a passion for work and perfection. Meetings- they could never call them dates- were whenever it was convenient for business for both of them. It was the early days of her growing business and she had so little time for non business meetings. Much to the surprise of her family the friendship had developed. Cassandra thought it highly amusing that her older business minded sister had a “boy-friend”. They had moved in together about a year later. Yes, they would get married…some day. Gerry was anxious to set a date but they never seemed to find the time. Having a base and a home was important for him. She knew he would love to have children- but always was willing to be guided by the demands of her business. She would really have to give more consideration to what he wanted. Even this weekend he had no hesitation “Of course you must go to see her,” had been his very definite re-action.

Much to Norma’s relief the doors opened at twenty past two.She made her way to the aircraft. At least the air conditioning there would be more comfortable. Once seated she could feel the distinct French atmosphere already coming round her. The reserve, the superior sense of style seemed to her to be a way of life for the French. Ahead of her a French couple were seated. She was stylish, understated, he was quietly confident. She felt certain that Cassandra fitted into the French way of life. Why had she so insisted that she come to Paris now? Since she went it had been e-mail after e-mail with the occasional text. Her work had been in the Paris area and there always seemed to be weekends away- she never knew who she went with. As sisters they had never really been close to each other in their private lives. Norma’s impatience with her long tales of beauty make-overs had usually worn thin before Cassandra got near the end of her story and her lack of interest in the outcome left both sisters unsure whether the end of the story was ever told. But Norma was quite sure she did care for Cassandra in the things that really mattered – she had a qualification and the economic future was beginning to look bright.

As they touched down at Beauvais a black thunder cloud had just erupted in the mid afternoon sky. She had always felt that Beauvais was such a miserable entry point to one of the most stylish cities in the world. It was really no more than a shed in the middle of a field. Was it a reflection of the stylish Paris attitude to the economic alien tourist? Even the airport coach ticket could not be purchased beforehand and the ticket booths were on the outside of the building. Definitely no compromise for the tourist!

The sun broke through as they passed the ripe grain fields on the way into Paris. Good! She had planned to take Cassandra on the luxury boat trip this evening with dinner at whatever exclusive restaurant she would suggest. Then tomorrow the Louvre ….Now that she was here she would really taste and enjoy Paris with her little sister. As they reached the outer suburbs Norma felt the anxiety tighten in her chest. What was she worried about? Her kid sister had gone to Paris and invited her for the weekend. She had arranged to meet her at the airport coach stop. She would enjoy this evening-Paris, the atmosphere, the flashing lights of the Eiffel Tower. The roundabouts might be chaotic, but the streets of Paris were always orderly and tasteful. Even with the niggling sensation in her it was wonderful to be in Paris.

There was no mistaking Cassandra as the bus drew to a halt- dark shoulder length hair, white cotton shirt and short red skirt. She stooped to quench a cigarette as she approached the bus. Norma felt a strange tug of love and tears as she caught sight of her.

“Norma, it’s good to see you. I’m so glad you were able to come” Cassandra greeted her warmly with a hug.

“It’s great to be here,”

“The taxi rank is just over there. This damn city has been so hot this summer. Let me take that,” she said, as she took Norma’s bag and moved ahead to the line of taxis.

Perhaps it’s the heat of the city that caused the irritation in her voice, thought Norma.

“The apartment is very central- company one. Sophie is away for the weekend. She shares with me” Cassandra filled in as they got into the taxi.“Rue Soufflet, s’il vous plait” Cassandra really seemed so much at home here.

“So, how has Paris been? You don’t know how lucky you are to live in such a beautiful city” Norma began as they settled into the taxi.

“Oh, yes. It can be beautiful but it’s another city. Sorry, now. I must take this call.”

Norma noticed the irritation in her voice as she spoke urgently. ‘Non’ and ‘Jamais’ were all her feeble French could understand.

Moments later a very cool Cassandra was pointing out some highlights of Paris in the distance.

The apartment was close to the Pantheon. The gate, the walls smelt of history and style. An old man lay on a seat in the courtyard under the shade of the vines.

As Cassandra closed the front door the traffic sounds of the city faded. Norma stood in the living room with its curtains drawn shut to protect from some of the heat. It felt claustrophobic. The dark green couch was covered with fashion magazines and newspapers. Tidiness was never one of her sister’s qualities. Cassandra had gone to get two cups of coffee while Norma, exhausted from the stifling heat had collapsed on the couch. Last week’s edition of The Connacht Tribune caught her eye. Why would her “French sister”, as she saw her now have that?Her eyes gradually became accustomed to the half-light. A fan whirred silently in one corner. Photos on a heavy dark mantelpiece caught her eye. She moved over to examine them. There was the one of the two of them as children in the back garden of home with Norma’s arm draped protectively round her.

Just then Cassandra returned with the coffee and croissants. While she welcomed the food Norma hoped they could get through it quickly and get out to taste the real Paris. She sat on a high-backed armchair near the fireplace. Cassandra sat down on the edge of the sofa.

“So is this far from where you work?” asked Norma.

“Not far”

Suddenly Cassandra burst into tears. Norma sat bolt upright in the chair opposite in amazement.

“Oh, Norma, I need your help.” So this is why I was invited, thought Norma.

“I need to talk to you so badly.” whispered Cassandra.

“Of course I’ll help you. Do you need money? How much? How soon?”

Norma’s mind did a mental calculation on how much she could raise immediately.

“It’s not about money.” Cassandra’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Norma was at a loss. How else could she help? She knew she did not do the empathy thing well nor did she ever want to. It was too like a weakness. She struggled to find words.The fan in the corner continued to whirr.

“Oh, Norma, so much has happened since I came to Paris” Norma tried to focus harder.

“What happened?” was all she could ask.

“You see, when I came to Paris last April I was pregnant.” Norma looked at her sister in amazement. Cassandra leaned forward on the sofa.

“Oh I did have the job when I came. I had to get away from Ireland. Then there was the morning sickness, the loneliness, the new job. It was horrible.”

“But the e-mails” Norma interrupted, ”They were so full of excitement about Paris.”

“I know. That’s the best about e-mails and texts. Written words can avoid showing the feelings that the voice can’t. I could not look for sympathy. I was going to do this on my own”

“But, the father?” Norma hesitated.

“Makes no difference now. It’s all over now,” Cassandra whispered.

“You should have told me.” But deep down Norma knew that then or now this whole situation was way beyond her.

“You were always too busy. Then at the beginning of July the pains came one day at work. I did not know what was happening. I miscarried.”

Norma almost breathed a sigh of relief. So where was the problem?

“It’s been dreadful since-the loneliness, the disappointment.”

“But surely counselling was offered.” Norma suggested. “One of my clients has a friend who is a counsellor. I’ll get in touch and arrange something.”

“Oh yes. I attended.”

“That must have helped” suggested Norma.

“I don’t need counselling. I just need to talk to you”

“Oh my God” thought Norma, “What am I going to do? This is’nt my field.”

“How can I help?” was all she could say as she furiously searched for words or an idea that might make a difference.

A ray of evening sun came through a corner of the curtains. The drone of the distant traffic was the only sound to break the silence.

“Cassandra, I wish I’d known. I’m so sorry. I know I’m not great on the communication bit but I’m trying.”

“I know. I’ve tried to get on with my life. I have not been able to work since. The company want me back to work but I can’t. I’ve told them I’m leaving Paris. I needed to tell you so that you might understand and the sense of isolation might be less. Paris can be a beautiful city but it’s lonely. It’s the people who make the difference”

Darkness was beginning to creep into the living room. Cassandra opened the curtains. In the distance the sunset lights of the Eiffel Tower were beginning to spark into life.

“Come on,” she said, “It’s time for food. There’s a McDonalds round the corner.”

As they sat on the plastic seats outside Mc Donalds with the Pantheon in the background, and the city of Paris spread around them Norma and Cassandra had much to consider.

MARY KENNY

[Mary Kenny was a participant in the NUIGalway Creative Writing course conducted recently by Fred Johnston as part of the Adult and Continuing Education programme at the university. Further details of this and other courses can be obtained at adulteducation@nuigalway.ie ] 

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PARISNOIA

There I was, staring out of that plane window. Why would Stacy invite me to Paris so suddenly without telling me the reason? I smiled. Perhaps her husband Thierry jumped to his death from the Eiffel tower.

I thought about the few things I knew about my sister’s time in Paris. She waS in the upper management of a large bookselling company, so much for living your dream. She was so god-damned stubborn – almost as stubborn as I was; I smiled again. Perhaps there was a reason for us not meeting more often. We were too much alike. Stacy and I, we always want to get on with what is most important to us. We don´t want to explain a lot to someone who is not on our level. As for myself, I´m a private detective - what matters to me is getting on with my job.

She didn’t tell me a lot, but she summoned me for a damn good reason, that much was certain. She knows I catch up pretty quickly. She knew good enough it would only take one short phone call to get me on a plane from Dublin to Paris if she just kept it short enough and pushed the right buttons. We´re both good at that. A French friend of hers would pick me up at Charles de-Gaulle Airport. Francois… well, I would easily find him. French fries all look the same.

*

I couldn´t have missed my French welcoming committee, he was wearing a large signwith “ADAM O´HARA” on it, well thank you, that´s my name. He wore a suit, but no tie, and the harsh face under his well-trimmed brown hair looked as if he went to the dentist for fun. Hardly the kind of friend I imagined my sister Stacy to hang out with. We shook hands, but it was more a gesture.

                 I was already on the case. Before I got into Frenchie´s car, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I investigate, I´m used to think in pictures. They just come to me when I´m at the crime scenes, all I have to do is close my eyes. Right now, there wasn’t anything stable yet. A spoken sound from Francois made my mind come back and got me into the car. I should have learned French when I was younger. We drove off into the crowded streets of Paris.

I was trying to calculate my way to the facts which Frenchie here did not give me. This thing is like playing chess with your mind, and I was an experienced player. His English went far enough for him to tell me that we would go to Stacy´s apartment first. It´s always nice to know what comes next, but more important is usually what comes last. Right now, I didn’t know anything about what happened, so I made an early decision to keep my cool and wait what my sister would come up with. What´s gotten into her? I made good use of my time and took a nap. The car was stuck in traffic right now, but we would be there soon enough. My mind went down in a troubled bunch of traffic noise, trying to become the answer to all my questions. Stacy´s face, circled by hair dark as my own, telling me silently what this was all about. There was something about Paris these days… the lights went out.

*

A French accent brought me back to my senses.

 ”We are there.”

Rue du Champignon, thank you very much. I stretched my hurting bones when we got out of the car. I was just too tall for taking a nap in the backseat. I grabbed my suitcase and took a short look around. Nice neighbourhood, Stacy sure could be proud of herself. Must be a small fortune you need to keep you coughing in such a nice place in Paris. Neat houses, good windows, almost no dead cigarettes on the sidewalk. I made my first step towards the house to get nearer to the truth I was here to find.

There was a lift, but we took the stairs. Damn, Francois really behaved as if he never went on vacation. He pushed the doorbell, and even the ding-dong from inside sounded as if it was expensive. I made a note to myself to pick another day job in the next life.

Stacy opened the door wearing a dark business suit which hampered her female attractiveness a little bit, but boy, she looked confident. She was older than me, but she will always be my little sister.

“Hello, Adam.”

She paused a little before hugging me, just the little that convinced me that something really WAS going on. Her eyes looked too serious to conceal that she was worried about something. Something big. She exchanged some brief sentences in French with Francois, then looked at me. Boy, you could really see life had been good to her. Until now.

I always keep my cool.

“Where’s Thierry?”

I would have expected her husband to hang around.

“He’s . . . . absent.”

She looked down. I was watching her closely. She was a businesswoman now, and very good at not showing any tension, but she couldn’t make a fool out of me. I´ve been doing this shit for too long. This kind of silence told me tales. Her man must be dead. I KNOW that look. It is my job to know.

“So, Stacy, what’s up?”

 ”You’ll see. First I want you to see something.”

             I should have known that damn foolishness of hers. She wasn’t exactly the sweetest talker on god´s earth, and I knew squeezing the truth out of her wouldn’t be easy, but I was at least going to give it one go. “Don’t you want to tell me what this is all about first?”

                  She almost would have coughed up the answer instinctively, but Francois stepped in to dispel my investigating magic.

               “Look, we are really in a hurry, Please, Mr O’Hara, let’s go now.” I smirked and looked at Stacy.

              “Perhaps your friend here is right, is he?”

              She smirked back. I saw her choking before she spoke.

              “Francois is not a friend. He is my colleague.”

*

I always respect people when the y call me Mister. Okay, they didn’t tell me anything, but at least I got to sit in the front seat.The three of us didn’t talk much, so I decided to run over the facts a last time. That´s the crap with investigations, you need something to start with. Not having any information, I went along with the theory that my sister´s hubby died. Who could have killed him? Was it suicide? If things are normal, you don’t call a detective from Ireland if you have a doctor in town. I addressed my sister.

“Won’t you at least tell me where we are going?”

“We are going to the Eiffel Tower before getting down to things. Just to enjoy the view, you know. We still have some time to kill.”

I caught her eyes in the middle mirror before nodding. A view to a kill… I should have swallowed that thought in the plane about Thierry jumping to death from that steel tower. He might have been pushed a little. I thought about it. Stacy and her husband appeared to have been swimming in money these past few years, and I knew one thing about that kind of money and crime. They do not mix in public, but they are never really far apart.

*

Paris looks beautiful from the Eiffel Tower. There must be a restaurant in this giant pile of steel for a reason. The wind brushed my hair while I looked around. It´s a long fall from up here. I could almost imagine his body smash way down there after the long fall. There came the questions again. French hubby Thierry was a sportive guy, Stacy wouldn’t have gone for anything less. He could have pulled off some stunt I could not think of right now. How did he get past these steel fences? Maybe they chased him. Forced him to go past the tourist barricades. Perhaps even forced him to jump. These weren’t pleasant thoughts, but it was my job to have them. It´s like the fools always say, somebody has to do it. That´s me. And even if it´s my job to say very openly what I think, I keep the darkest thoughts to myself. I looked over to Stacy. At least she was kind enough to tell me that her husband was in the same business as she was. Perhaps someone killed him to get to Stacy. Maybe they were both in something bigger than they could choke. Biting things off is a dangerous business. That´s why I never tried too hard to earn big money. It´s still a risk to swim with the sharks.

Some of these things don´t change, as much as you would like them to. Love and money do not mix. If Francois is a colleague of Stacy´s, he could have something to do with the shit, too. I took another long look down. Without a parachute, there wouldn’t be much left to recognize a man after that fall. Was there a reason for them wanting that effect in this particular case? I was well aware that my thoughts were running zig-zag with the rabbits, but that’s what you do when you are a private eye. I looked down to Paris once more.

The tinkling noises from construction works here and there, the Seine, Notre Dame, everything was there, but it felt wrong. It was a charming view, but for me it was still strange not being able to see the skyline of Paris without – well, without the world-famous Eiffel Tower, because I was standing on it. The wind blew the charm of it all away when Stacy approached me with that sincere look of hers. Paris.

“Adam, if I could ask you to promise me something, would you?”

              If she wouldn’t have been my sister, this would be the part where I would have lectured her about heaven and hell. I smiled anyway.

             “What is it?” My slim, tall figure allowed me to look down on her.  She took a deep breath before she could meet my eyes again. 

              “We will go somewhere in a few minutes. When we arrive, you must do something for me. Will you?” It was clear that she wouldn’t tell me exactly what it was before we arrived ’somewhere,’ wouldn’t or couldn’t. I swallowed my pride in face of the loss she was experiencing. Anyway I’m at the top of my game when things get nasty.

              “Count on me.” 

              We exchanged one last look, then nodded at the same time. I assumed that she wanted to bring me where her suspect was. She probably wanted me to see the person to blame, see if I came to the same conclusions. Damn, we were alike, more than I thought all these years. Francois signalled departure, still acting like a piece of wood. I didn’t blame him. We are all trapped in this thing called life. Before leaving, I thought I noticed a big bird at three o’clock, but when I turned my head, there was nothing.

                   It was time to go.

*

When we were back in the car going “somewhere” I tried to let go, tried to forget that this was about my sister, came back to be the pro I was. Whatever she would ask me to, I would do it. I just hoped it was something I COULD do. Frenchie at the steering wheel englished to me that we would be there in about five minutes. It was time to empty my mind and get ready for the road ahead. I didn´t pay too much attention about the streets and the people on the sidewalk, before I noticed that there were lots of them as if there was a big event ahead. You got that right, I said to myself. When we were close, a lot of people turned into crowds of people, and Francois took a few sharp turns to get to a guarded car park at the back of a large building, the guard recognized him and opened the gate.

“So we are at the bookhouse? I turned to Stacy.

“Yes, and we don’t have much time. It was a lot of trouble to get you here, will you just play along with the gag?”

Some gag that was. I hoped Stacy had in mind that I don´t work for free.

 ”I will. Let’s just get it over with, Okay?”

She nodded before saying: “And you even kept your long hair!”

She has always been the strange one. I focused myself as we were entering the building, rushing through some office areas before entering a room about the size of classroom. When we entered, a few costumed people turned around. I was stunned. These were people costumed as the main Harry Potter characters! Only the one impersonating Alan Rickman as Snape was missing.

The truth hit my brain as hard as a jackhammer. The new Harry Potter book was presented in Paris these days! I gave Stacy a look that would have easily scared others.

 ”Tell me this is NOT what I think it is! And tell me quick, I’m impatient!”

For the first time, Stacy got out the sweet side of hers. “Look, Adam, our original ‘Alan Richman lookalike died the day I called you. I couldn’t get someone else in time. And you look just like him. Will you do me that little favour? This is important to me. You promised!”

With those few sentences, the whole city of Paris came down on me like a ton of bricks. How could I have been THAT far away from what was really going on? At that moment, I swore to never let something like this happen again – but now it was time to come back to the present. I glanced back at Stacy.

“Your company will pay me my normal fee for this, you understand?”

She nodded quickly and handed me the costume, suppressing a thankful smile. I’ve never been into Pottermania that much – until now. I started changing. I sure hoped that none of my clients back in Dublin would see me like this - could be bad for business – but well, what do you know? I could as well play along with the one gag that I, Adam O´Hara, had first considered a crime. Perhaps I could tell my clients that I’ve been on a case here.

I sighed. It is like they say. Nightmares are, in the end, no more than dreams.

MICHAEL STITZ

[Michael Stitz is a writer and designer from Cologne, Germany. Recently he stayed in Galway, Ireland for a few months together with his future wife completed the Creative Writing Course given byFred Johnston as part of the Adult and Continuing Education programme and NUI, Galway]

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 mail@mulrooney.portland.co.uk

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These stories remain (c) the authors. The Western Writers’ Centre is not liable for the content of the works published in this portion of the site.

- Shall we their fond pageant see?: Jennifer Johnston, with Western Writers’ Centre Manager, though no relation, Fred Johnston.

Renowned novelist and playwright, Jennifer Johnston, read to a packed house at Johnston’s Hostel, Kinvara, last evening. She was led in by music from Clare Sawtell (cello) and Mary O’Sullivan (accordeon and vocals). Among the packed audience were Galway writer-in-residence, Michael O’Loughlin, Galway City Arts Officer James C. Harrold, Lelia Doolin, Margaretta D’Arcy, Kinvara poet Brian Wynne, Western Writers’ Centre administrator Marvelle Maguire, and others from local book clubs. There was a feisty and engaging question-and-answer session. We were all of us actors in a play by Chekov, Jennifer Johnston remarked. A good deal of the discussion centred on the act of writing and how stories developed. The novelist read a short story and extracts from her most recent novel, ‘Foolish Mortals.’ The event was sponsored by the Arts Council and Galway County Council. Our thanks too to the owners of Johnston’s Hostel, Kinvara, Co. Galway.

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