Good day reader. If you ever enjoy the privilege of driving on the scenic route north between Patrickstown and Hillgalkey please be sure to savour it. Savour the views of Lough Cuan, savour the trees and savour the fresh air! Don’t be in any rush and don’t break the speed limit. Otherwise you will miss the place about to be described. Just after you pass the ancient stone gatehouse at the entrance of the Mountaled Estate there is a turnoff to the right. It runs all the way down to the Lough shore. One halfway down this laneway, upon the left-hand side, is a humble yet attractive whitewashed cottage. It commands sweeping, majestic vistas of the Lough and is exposed to all the climatic tumults which blow in from that glorified inlet of the sea. Next you can see the wide expanse of forest green; the core of the working estate. Finally, above these trees, some fifteen miles away rise’s the trademark outline of the Múghdorna Mountains, undulating atop the horizon with old Domgard himself looming like a triangular cone at the heart of the range.
The cottage had stood there since time immemorial. Long ago the thatched roof had given way to one of slate and concrete but it nonetheless retained its enduring charm and picturesque simplicity both inside and out. It had a single resident. She was forty-eight years. Her height was middling, her body more gaunt than slim and her features had a childish cuteness rather than a genuine beauty. Behind a pair of spectacles with precisely round rims were two brown eyes that radiated with an almost overbearing sensitivity. Her hair was a disorganised bundle of long ginger wire while her clothing tended to be of a modest, dark, earthly vein. Altogether her countenance was one of positivity it mingled with, and was restrained by, a nervous, apologetic demeanour. Una was her name.
She had lived in the cottage since her divorce. Five years past her husband had confessed that he was having an affair with a work colleague some fifteen years his junior. He had made the woman pregnant. Una packed her bags and returned to her home village of Hillgalkey, living in the rented cottage ever since. It was now well and truly home. Her mother and married sister lived a short walk away just outside the village and she was a regular visitor to both their homes. This was the height of her social life along with night shifts at Saint Domgard’s Nursing home. Una knew from a young age that her vocation was to care for the elderly and she had easily secured employment there shortly after she had resettled in the village.
Scarcely a day passed when she did not think of Clive, her one time husband. Paramount in these jumbled thoughts was the associated emotional pain: a humiliating pain that continued to penetrate her even now. She was not angry. Nor did she hate Clive for it was not in her nature to hate. Rather, the emptiness inside of her, caused as it was by Clive’s unfaithful decision, afflicted her as if it were a tangible, biological infection. The long, lonely nights at work coupled with the equally lonely days of quiet at home served not to enrage or frustrate her but fill her heart with a bitter taste of raw upset. Religion brought some solace. She was a member of Second Presbyterian’s choir. Yet even the joyful activity of giving praise on Sundays at times made her unhappy for Una was attending the same church in which she had been married eighteen years earlier. When she stood singing in the Gods, looking down upon the congregation, her mind tracked backwards to that mildly overcast Saturday in September when, clad in white, she trotted up the aisle to become Mrs Una Bradley.
Therefore while she had left Clive he never truly left her. He lingered in her mind. Clive manifested when she was alone, when she was with her family and whenever she walked past the church on her way to work every evening. His legacy ran so deep within her that she even retained ties with her former mother in law who, ashamed at her son’s treatment of Una, kept the woman close to heart. Every February fourteenth she sent her ex daughter in law a Valentine’s Day card; an act of kindness that, indirectly, served as an apology of sorts for what her son had done. In addition old ma Bradley had, over the years, passed down precious pearls of wisdom. Near the end of the month, when bills are due to be paid, have the money ready in good time. Label empty jam jars accordingly: electricity, gas, rent – and fill them with the exact amounts. That way you can easily hand over the cash at the post office and to your landlord promptly on the payment date. Una readily took the advice to heart and lived by it to the letter. Housekeeping tips were gleefully exchanged as well as all pertinent gossip. The mother kept Una informed of Clive’s happily married life and the frolics of his son; the son Una may have had if fate had been kinder. Despite her esteem for Una it humoured the mother to provide her with titbits concerning Clive’s new life. She had, after all, been privy to both sides of the divorce story. Una’s wistful lament at Clive’s unfaithfulness never contained any self-assessment, never subscribed any personal blame. Clive had just had an affair and that was that whereas Una was innocent. His version alluded to a semi-neurotic woman, who while loyal, careful and sensible was prudish and devoid of adventure and fun. No self-respecting man would settle for such a second-rate wife. Thus the mother happily sat on the fence and calmly kept friendly, yet secretive, relations between the once-married pair. However the most heart-wrenching reminder of Clive’s intrusion in Una’s life was the jewelleried object he slipped onto her finger on their fateful wedding day. Since that day she had not once taken it off. That day by the altar Una had made a promise, a promise to forsake all others and she would abide by it eternally no matter the cost. Thus her marriage band, a no-frills ring of plain, simple gold, she solemnly retained.
Her nearest neighbour, a charming old Englishman, was a character. Una would encounter him on his walks nearly every other day and he would tease and amuse her with his countless stories. Edward (for this was his name) had crossed the Irish Sea decades before. He had met, fallen in love with and married a local girl and now he spent his twilight years in his own cottage, not far from Una’s, as a widower. Edward had all the grace of a true old-world gentleman: he always dressed impeccably in public and carried his trusty walking cane. One glorious spring evening, about a decade into the second millennium, Una met him on the lane.
“I am going to town!” he announced when she saw him. “Care to walk with me?”
“I’d be delighted,” said Una happily.
“Off to work then are you?”
“I am,” she answered. “Are you out for a walk?”
“On my way to the evening Mass,” replied Edward.
“Oh, how lovely,” said Una diplomatically. Religion was not a topic to be discussed in that time and place.
“Are you keeping well Edward?”
“Couldn’t be better!” he exclaimed. “This is my second stroll today. I went round the shore this morning before lunch!”
“Edward!” laughed Una. “You could be in the Olympics!”
“Haha! Geriatric Olympics,” chuckled Edward. “You’re looking at a future Gold medallist!”
“I think you could probably outrun me Edward!” said Una.
“What? Outrun a fit young woman like you? Nonsense! I’d be gasping for breath before we got to the road!”
Una joined him in a hearty laugh and further banter ensued. Suddenly Edward stopped, raised his hand and beckoned her to be silent. In front of them, in the middle of the laneway, stood a bird. Of the same shape yet not as large as its cousins the crows, the slick black and white bird watched them with its big dark eyes. It was a magpie. The bird tilted its body slightly and as it did Una caught a glint of metallic blue glisten on its fine, long tail. Edward took a step forward. The magpie hopped off and flew away into the trees.
“On we go,” said Edward.
To her surprise Una noticed Edward make the sign of the cross. She was about to ask why but Edward spoke.
“If we were in my native land I would have had to pinch you Una!” he laughed.
“Pinch me?”
“Yes. It’s the tradition in England. If you spy a lone magpie, nip whoever you are walking with to keep away bad luck. Its only a little fable my love, I won’t pinch you.”
“One for sorrow as they say,” offered Una.
“Aye, yes indeed,” said Edward who began to softly sing:
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a tale never to be told
Eight you live
Nine you die
Ten you eat a bogey pie!
Una giggled uncontrollably.
“Oh Edward! You must have learnt that rhyme as a boy!”
“There’s more,” he said, finishing the poem:
Eleven for health
Twelve for wealth
Thirteen beware it’s the Devil himself.
Una had a day off and drove with her sister Lisa into Patrickstown for lunch. From the window of the restaurant on Cathedral Hill they looked down over the old town.
“Patrickstown hasn’t changed,” commented Lisa who was almost a doppelganger for her older sister. She, however, exuded an inert confidence, complemented by her trendy attire and modern hairstyle, which Una lacked completely.
“It’s a quiet old place,” agreed Una.
“Reminds me of you,” teased Lisa.
Una looked at her defensively.
“I’m only joking,” said Lisa. “You’re not old.”
“But I’m quiet,” said Una with amusement.
“Nah, you’re a chatterbox but that’s a good thing.”
“Mrs Philips, one of the residents, said that!” laughed Una.
“See? I’m not the only one.”
The two sisters looked back out over the town.
“Una, me and mum were saying, you should start going out a bit more.”
“What?”
“It just seems to me that all you do is go to work.”
“Well, I go to church too!”
“That’s not what I mean Una. I mean you could come with me to the pub some night. Meet new people.”
“Oh I don’t know about that.”
While not adverse to socialising, Una, like her mother and father, was socially conservative and unlike Lisa adhered to the principle of total abstinence from alcohol. However she recalled, with considerable embarrassment, her wedding reception. While Clive’s family drank merrily and danced the night away her parents had sat with quiet stoicism, arms folded, beholding with haughty expressions the ungodly spectacle societal requirements had obliged them to attend.
“So Friday night then,” said Lisa. “Me, you and Michaela. We’ll go to Devlin’s. Yeah?”
Una shook her head.
“Why not?” asked Lisa imploringly.
“I just don’t feel like going out yet,” answered Una meekly.
“Come on Una,” said Lisa firmly. “What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem.”
Una was about to add something further but hesitated. Lisa picked up on it.
“Una?”
“It’s Clive.”
“Clive?”
“If I were to go out to a pub or a restaurant I would think of him.”
Lisa tried to be as politely indignant as possible.
“Una, for God’s sake, forget him! He’s a loser!”
“It’s not easy to forget.”
“I know it isn’t but it’s been four years!”
“Five,” said Una, correcting her.
“Doesn’t matter, you can’t keep letting him control your life!”
“I know it’s not healthy but I can’t help it.”
Lisa tried a different approach.
“Look at it this way,” she began with a mischievous smile, “if you came out with us you could meet someone else.”
As Lisa had planned, Una blushed.
“Oh Lisa!”
“If you don’t make an effort you could end up an old maid, a recluse! You’re not too old to get a new man Una.”
“I know Lisa but I’m not really thinking of that.”
“So are you in?”
Una declined.
“Maybe next time.”
Lisa sighed.
“Well if you change your mind you know where I am.”
The following Friday at sunset Una tried to relax in her conservatory. She had now changed her mind about going out with Lisa to the pub yet felt too embarrassed to contact her sister and tell her. So she spent the evening in the conservatory reading and, from time to time, glancing out over Lough Cuan. As always the sight was beautiful but having no one to share it with made her loneliness more acute. Her eyes strayed over to the boundary of the estate. A row of tall Sycamores grew on its periphery Although spring was well advanced Una could still discern, through the leaves, clusters of nests high in the utmost branches. Around them flurried a number of birds going to and fro. At this distance she could not tell what breed they were but she guessed they were magpies. She counted twenty and wondered what Edward’s rhythm attributed to that amount. It was now too late, as far as Una was concerned, to telephone Lisa and arrange to meet so she had an early bath and went to bed.
She opened the curtains on Saturday morning and saw a magpie sitting in the middle of the garden. It did not flinch or move despite the suddenness of her appearance behind the window. Instead it beheld her with its black eyes, as if scrutinising her with great, penetrating care. Una must have felt unnerved because she rapped the pane, hoping it would scare the bird. It didn’t budge. Then, of its own accord, soon after her attempt to banish it, the magpie flew away in the direction of the Sycamores. The moment it did so a long buried memory filtered back into her mind. How or why Una came to recollect it at that very moment she did not know but it was a very sorrowful thought. For a woman to undergo a miscarriage is a traumatising ordeal. Una was no exception. It affected Clive as badly. He became more quiet and surly after the event as if his thoughts lingered elsewhere. Ultimately though it was a weight off his shoulders. As he later admitted, by that point he had begun his extra-marital affair. The addition of a child in his life with Una would have made it harder for him to leave her. She still remembered the showdown word for painful word. How did Edward’s rhyme go again?
One for sorrow
Perhaps there was some truth in it after all.
Grace was Una’s best friend at the nursing home. The pair frequently covered the long nocturnal hours of the dreaded night shift. Una did not mind however. She had been to school with Grace and the two had been close friends ever since. Grace was privy to the Clive saga and knew of Una’s inability to let her latent love die. Their favourite resident was old Mrs Philips. Like Edward she was a character though one with fire. She was ninety yet had the wits of a twenty year old. Bullshiters be warned: nothing escaped her attention for somehow she knew all the local and international news and she could sense a lie before the liar even opened his or her lips. Nothing could get past her and she could accurately sum up a person with the briefest of glances. For example on her first day working in the home Una had come into Mrs Philips room, introduced herself and chatted away about nothing of importance before offering to help the old lady to the lounge to sit there for a while. Despite Una not having mentioned Clive, halfway toward the TV room, Mrs Philips said;
“Forget about him dear, he was never worth it in the first place.”
Una arrived for work on Saturday night to hear the sad news that Mrs Philip’s had fallen ill during the night. Her condition was stable for the moment but the doctor had advised that the family be informed and should gather around her to wait for the end. Una peeked into Mrs Philips’s room and exchanged a few soft words with the woman’s two daughters who had been sitting with her all day.
“Poor old Mrs Philips,” she said to Grace as they sat on their break later on.
“I know, it’s not looking good,” said Grace with a shake of her head.
“I’d have thought she’d out live us all!” laughed Una softly.
“You wouldn’t have put it past her.”
“To be so sharp and alert at ninety years of age,” commented Una.
“That’s been said many times before Una,” said Grace, “but you’re right. She’s a remarkable woman. I’ll miss her.”
“So will I.”
Mrs Philips made it through the night and when Una went home at dawn to go to sleep the old woman was still hanging on. Sunday was her day off and on her way to her mother’s after church she called in and Grace reported that there had been no change. Then on Monday evening Una arrived for work and to her mild surprise Grace was not sitting at the reception desk reading the paper as she normally was whenever Una arrived for her shift. So she put on her uniform in the changing room and went upstairs to see if she could find her friend in the ladies lounge. On the upper landing at the corner she bumped into someone: it was Reverend Greer her pastor. For him to be at the home at such a relatively late hour meant only one thing: there had been a death.
“Una!” he said, calling back as he descended the stairs. “The ambulance is here, excuse me!”
“Poor Mrs Philips!” said Una aloud.
True enough, a horde of staff members had assembled at the door to Mrs Philip’s room. She rushed over and looked through the stack of heads. Mrs Philips was sitting upright! Eyes open. Alert! Alive!
“She just collapsed!” said Mrs Philips. “She just collapsed!”
Una stepped forward and peered inside. Prostrate upon the floor, unmoving, facing upward with an icily pale complexion, was Grace.
When the numbing shock had in part worn off Una heard the full story. Grace had gone in to check on Mrs Philips and as the woman herself had said; she just collapsed! The doctor judged that the death had been caused by a sudden cerebral aneurysm. It was not an inexplicable phenomenon but very rare for a woman of forty-five. For the next few days Una was caught up performing extra duties and attending Grace’s wake in the funeral home. Grace had a husband and three young children and it was their well-being that Una thought of first. Overall it was a stressfully hard time for her, sensitive and caring woman that she was but she threw herself back to work with renewed dedication. Mrs Philips meanwhile had recovered and was back to her old self, holding forth as she was want to do. One day, a week after Grace had been laid to rest, Una was changing Mrs Philip’s sheets when her attention was diverted to the window. A small shadow passed by it, momentarily cutting off the sun light. She paid no heed to it but minutes later Una was seized with the disconcerting notion that she was being watched. There, on the outside window ledge, sat a magpie. Its marble-like, pitch, unblinking eye looked at her with the same unemotional scrutiny as before. Una was not a superstitious person but seeing the bird, combined with knowing of the tragic event that had occurred in the very room she now stood days before served to unnerve her.
“Shoo!” she snapped.
The bird disobeyed. It remained still.
“Shoo!” repeated Una. “Go away!”
In response the magpie merely tilted its head. Frustrated, Una threw down the bed sheets and marched to the window. Still the bird did not move. Only when Una rapped the pane did it leap off the ledge. She went back to work. A minute later Una again felt its presence and, looking out, saw the same magpie perched on a nearby branch a few meters away. This time Una closed the blinds and forgot all about the strange bird.
Her shift concluded at six a.m. The rising sun cast golden edges on just about everything as she journeyed home while the murmour of birdsong gave the dawn-scape an added ambience. When she reached the top of the shore lane all became silent, the amber glaze from the sun promising a bright day ahead. Once again her thoughts turned to Grace and her grieving family but not for long. Bounding out of the bushes on the right came another magpie. Una stopped. Instinctively, and although she could not claim it with absolute certainty, she somehow knew this was exactly the same one that she had seen in her garden and at Mrs Philip’s window. Weary and eager for bed though she was Una become wary once again. There was something distinctly odd about the creature’s appearances that now unsettled her. It seemed to transcend coincidence for this would be the third occasion its path had crossed her’s. Then cold reason prompted her to continue. What would Clive make of the fact that she was afraid of a magpie? It would give him something to laugh about and further justification for getting rid of her. But Clive was not there and he would never hear of the incident and with this sensible realisation Una put her best foot forward and continued. Again the magpie did not move. She came within a yard of it and it did not flinch in the slightest! On she went in a very flustered state. Magpies were known for their cheek. She had heard of them teasing dogs and cats but not to fly away when a human being came as close to it as she did was truly amazing yet disconcerting. Glancing back Una noticed that it had turned its head to watch her continue on her way down the lane.
“Silly little bird!” she muttered, quickening her gait.
There came an airy flutter from behind her. Another quick look told Una that it had gone! On she went. Barely ten seconds passed when the same magpie emerged from the greenery to the left. It planted its feet firmly in the middle of the laneway. Una did not stop this time. Veering right she gave the bird a wide berth and passed it for a second time. As she did it emitted a coarse call. Una made a small leap forward in alarm but did not stop. She heard it repeat the call three more times. This last call was still echoing in Una’s ears when she heard a beat of wings and saw a pair of magpies perched on the fence not far ahead! These were on the left side on the laneway yet when she came to pass them she saw a second pair, sitting in the fence to the right whose presence had been obscured to her line of sight by an expansive bush just in front of them. Una took a deep breath and continued walking. A little further on a gust of cool wind rushed up from the Lough which added to her discomfort. It caused some prickly leaves to leave the ground and jab against her bare shins which made her winch. She stopped and ran her hands over where she had been nipped but when she looked up again she saw three more magpies. They were in a neat row to her left, perched, like the others, on the old wooden fence. A cold fear now seized her. She was tempted to run all the way back to her cottage. Instead Una trotted onwards. Behind her the bird then croaked its cry again and, turning around, Una saw the magpies. They had assumed a V-shaped formation at ground level and each one looked at her with their deep dark eyes. There was an ominous quality to their behaviour that now made Una’s heart beat faster. She backed off but as she did the lead magpie hopped forward. So startled was she, Una almost fell backwards but she regained her grip on the rocky ground and trepidatiously edged away from them. One by one the magpie’s aped their leader and came closer. Una’s walk became a run and as soon as she started she heard a cacophony of wings burst into action. She dropped to her knee and felt a pulse of air surge over her. When she looked up she saw the eight magpies. They raced up to the treetops, dipped slightly then banked away to the right and swept toward the bounds of the estate where she had seen them rook days before. Una dusted herself off and walked home.
After a hot bath and a cup of tea her sense of calm was restored. The more she rationalised the incident with magpies the less afraid she became. They were, were they not, very strange birds? Rude and assertive they had ganged up on her merely to annoy the woman. Perhaps she ought to report the incident to a wildlife journal or the nature office run by the estate? Better not she finally decided. They would think she was mad.
Una soon forgot about the event and gave it no thought for some days. It was nearing the end of the month and as per mother Bradley’s advice Una had, punctually as always, filled the three jars with the requisite amounts of money stipulated on the bill slips. Electricity: £58.98. Gas: £71.19. Rent: £400. Home heating oil: £266.53. She went to the Provincial Bank branch on Castle Street and withdrew via the cashier (Una had no ATM card) a grand total of £796.70. With the money safely stored in a brown envelope in her bag she walked happily to work, did her shift, walked home and before she went to bed neatly divided the right amount of cash into each jar. Before heading to work on the following afternoon she would put the money into four separate envelopes and pay them over the counter at the village post office. Una took immense pride in her routine though it was tainted with a latent pain due to its indirect association with Clive. Nonetheless she persisted in the outdated monthly ritual primarily due to the gushing esteem she retained for her once mother in law.
In the morning Una rose and got ready. She had just finished her breakfast when, suddenly, she realised she was somewhat cold. Only then did she notice that the window above the kitchen sink was ajar. On the adjacent sill, where Una always kept them, sat the money jars. They were empty. The money was gone. Una could have cried. She hobbled over to sink and peered outside. There was no one in sight. Whoever had stolen the money was long gone. Una had heard of the occasional opportunistic thief operating in the area but she never thought she would fall victim. It was a cruel world however and Una chided herself for leaving the money out in plain sight for all to see. There was once a time when Hillgalkey folk could have left their doors and windows unlocked without worry. Those were simpler times.
Despite her loss Una knuckled on. She reported the theft to the police who promised to prioritise the matter but to pay the bills on time Una had to borrow. Her parents and Lisa generously paid the bills for her but there were inevitable recriminations and a near-bitter row occurred in her mother’s parlour the following Sunday.
“Una,” said Lisa pointedly. “I pay all my bills online. It’s faster and you can do it anytime day or night plus you don’t have all the hassle of going to the bank or the post office
“I can’t use a computer Lisa! I don’t know how.”
“Well,” sighed Lisa, “I’ve offered to show you!”
Mrs Snow, their mother, raised her old yet alert eyes to the living room ceiling.
“Una,” she began, “if only you had not left the money by the window for all the world to see! That was very foolish dear!”
“I know mummy,” said Una, her eyes red, “I will know next time.”
Mrs Snow looked unconvinced.
“Tell her Fred,” she said to her husband who attention was firmly engrossed on the television. “Tell her about the burglars. Do you remember the time they nearly got Mrs Hanna’s plasma screen TV? You looked over the hedge and they ran away.”
“Keep quiet you lot I’m trying to watch the cricket!” blurted her father indignantly.
Mrs Snow tutted and retreated to the kitchen to start the washing up.
Lisa shrugged. Sometimes she genuinely felt there was no hope for Una who, still bitterly disappointed at the theft, was at pains to defend herself.
“Clive’s mother told me it was the best way to keep house bills organised,” she said, knowing what Lisa would say in response.
“Fuck me,” whispered the younger sister so that her father would not hear her. “Clive this Clive that. I don’t know Una, I really don’t know,” said Lisa with frustration. With that she went into the kitchen to help her mother leaving Una and their father alone.
“Not a good idea to leave valuables out Una,” grumbled her father, not taking his eyes of the match.
“I know daddy,” she said apologetically.
“Best you don’t do it again.”
“I won’t,” promised Una.
“Good, now go and help your mother.”
Edward was on his knees in the garden. Una saw that he was weeding. Her natural concern for the elderly flared up as she became instantly worried whenever someone of advanced years engaged in any physical activity.
“Are you doing some gardening Edward?” she asked brightly.
“Ah!” said Edward, noticing her for the first time. “I am. Would you care to lend a hand young woman?”
“I don’t think I’m dressed for it!” tittered Una.
“Well then, surely you’re dressed for a cuppa, no?”
Edward beckoned her to follow him inside to his warm kitchen. The tea was made and the chat varied from the weather, weeding to work. As Edward held forth on the antics of a seal he had spotted by the shore Una noticed a series of bruises on his right hand and forearm.
“Edward,” she said, interrupting him. “Whatever happened?”
“Pardon me dear?”
“Your hand,” she said, pointing to it.
Edward held it up and gave it a quick, unconcerned glance.
“Oh, nothing! But it is an interesting story,” he said, mentally recollecting another tale. The day before yesterday he had awoken at his habitual ungodly hour and came to the kitchen door. Within he heard a mild commotion. Surely it was a burglar! There was only one way to find out. So Edward fetched the poker from the stove and kicked open the kitchen’s threshold. The place was a mess. Pots and pans were strewn over the floor along with his bag of dry oatmeal and various other utensils and foodstuffs. The window was wide open with the silky white curtain fluttering madly like a flag. And sitting at various points of the kitchen were seven fat magpies! Seven! Edward admitted that he actually laughed out loud when confronted with them
“They were sitting there like the lords and ladies of Hillgalkey Castle from olden times!”
Mirthfully taken aback though he was Edward soon recollected himself and yelled and shooed the birds out the window they had come in.
“But,” sighed Edward, “I’d got rid of six of them apart from one big bully. He wouldn’t go! He got near to me and pecked and snapped into my hand and arm the bugger did. Cuse’ my French, my dear.”
“Edward! Are you alright?”
“Oh goodness, yes! It takes more than a measly magpie to stop me. Well, despite my minor wounds I grabbed the brush in the corner and tried to whack him with it! But he had done his damage and away he flew to join his mates outside. Coward!”
Una was thoroughly perplexed.
“I’ve never heard of magpies acting like that before but its funny you should mention it. Just the other morning when I was walking home eight of them seemed to be following me down the lane!”
“Aye, they are a funny old bird as I’ve always rightly said.”
Una’s waning bravery was not bolstered by Edward’s ominous tone.
“It was at the third hour,” he began again, this time with a grave, far-away gaze in his eyes. “It was at the third hour after noon. The day was Good Friday. The good Lord hung dead upon the cross and all across the world from north to south, from east to west, every bird in every land stopped singing. Stopped singing as a mark of respect. Every bird, except that is, the magpie. The magpie did not stop. He continued to sing while the world wept. And so you see that is why the magpie is a favourite of you-know-who. That is why the magpie is not to be trusted and, most of all, that is why the magpie is bad luck.”
Una bit her lower lip. This was food for thought. Suddenly Edward grinned and smiled once more.
“Aye, there are funny old birds but I like em’. They have, it must be said, some good traits. Why a mated pair will stick together through hell and high water. They mate, build a nest together, hunt together and raise their chicks together. Then when one of the pair dies magpies from all around converge and join with the grieving spouse to sing the deceased’s praises. Sounds uncanny doesn’t it? But it’s true. I’ve witnessed it many's a time.”
Edward got up to brew the tea while Una bowed her head. It pained her tremendously to think that a simple bird who adhere to loyal fidelity more than an intelligent human being like her ex-husband.
“She has a child-like innocence about her yet is very old fashioned. I don’t think there’s a word that could properly describe her,” said Lisa
“Neurotic?” suggested Michaela.
Lisa sighed softly.
“That’s one word you could use.”
The two women were seated in a comfortable corner of the Coachman’s Inn (est.1805), Hillgalkey’s most popular watering hole.
“Well, it’s good she has agreed to join us tonight.”
“Yes,” said Lisa. “As far as I know it will her first night out in months.”
“Months?”
“Umm hmm.”
“My God.”
“I know. I told her she could become a recluse if she didn’t make the effort and hopefully I’ve got through to her.”
Michaela, young, glamorous and well-dressed raised a cheeky eyebrow.
“As long as she doesn’t repel the guys.”
“Hey now,” smiled Lisa. “This is my sis we’re talking about. That said though, she’d had no chance getting a man.”
“Is she really that bad?”
“It’s not that she’s bad Michaela, its just she doesn’t know any better. She’s a good soul; just very naïve. It even comes down to the way she dresses: like an old woman! I wish there was something I could to help her!”
“Well you invited her out tonight, right? That’s a start.”
“Yeah there’s only so much I can do.”
Lisa took a sip of her wine before continuing.
“One good thing is her job. She’s happy there.”
“Where was she before that?”
“Civil service. It stressed her out. She had no confidence there. At least now she’s doing what she loves, caring for people.”
“Yeah that’s good,” said Michaela. “What about her ex?”
Lisa had inherited her mother’s tendency to raise her eyes at the mention of a dodgy subject.
“That’s not so much a story but a novel in itself.”
“Lot of baggage from what you’ve told me,” laughed Michaela.
“An airport full of baggage,” said Lisa with a frown which subsequently became a smile. “Oh, it’s a joke!”
“I can understand she’s upset but to carry a flame like that for so long.”
“That’s the truth of it,” agreed Lisa. “It’s not healthy but Una is Una. She dealt with it in her own way.”
“I don’t want to sound nosey but am I right in saying she still has the ring?”
“You are. She still wears it. I’ve told her to throw it away a million times.”
“Seems like she’s clinging on.”
“And the sad thing is that she does cling on even though he left her for someone else!”
“That is sad.”
“Like talking to a brick wall sometimes. She’s stubborn.”
“Talk of the devil,” said Michaela, trying not to look guilty at having obtained segments of juicy gossip for Una had arrived. Lisa rose and the two sisters hugged.
“Drink?” asked Lisa.
“Apple juice please,” said Una happily.
“Una!” said Michaela. “Don’t you fancy a wine or a cocktail?”
“No thank you Michaela,” she answered, “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Sit down Una, I’ll get it,” said Lisa, moving off toward the bar.
“So how have you been Una?” asked Michaela when the older woman had settled into her seat.
“Fine thank you Michaela. It’s nice to be off work isn’t it?” said Una pleasantly.
“I’m glad it’s Friday,” said Michaela, surveying Una with apparent amusement.
“What’s your job again?” asked Una politely.
“I’m a solicitor,” answered Micheala confidently.
“Oh that’s right, it must be a busy job!”
“Generally it is, yes. And you work over in the nursing home Una?”
“Yes I love it there,” beamed Una.
“That’s important, to love your job. Can’t say I love mine,” said Michaela.
“At least a solicitor’s well paid. I imagine it is anyway.”
Michaela neither confirmed nor denied Una’s belief, she just raised her eyebrow again. The younger woman’s countenance seemed to exude a mirthful cheek.
“I like your ring by the way,” she said nodding at the band on Una’s left hand’s middle finger.
Una turned from orange pink to grey at the very mention of it.
“Oh, thank you,” she stammered.
“Are you alright?” asked Michaela with faux concern; she already knew why Una had become upset.
“Yes, sorry. It’s just this ring brings some painful memories to me Michaela.”
Michaela had enjoyed the bait and her ability to feign sympathy for Una but she had not done yet.
“It’s alright Una, Lisa told me about what happened in your marriage with Malcolm, was it?”
“Clive.”
“Sorry, Clive.”
“It just wasn’t to be,” explained Una, wiping away a tear.
“I suppose it wasn’t.”
“It’s the hurt more than anything else,” added Una.
“And the loneliness,” said Michaela.
“Oh its awful.”
“Every night sitting there on your own. It can’t be easy.”
“You’re right again,” said Una oblivious to Michaela’s ploy. The solicitor liked to look down on people. “It’s nice to have someone new to talk to,” continued Una happily.
“It is,” smirked Michaela, taking a long satisfied sip of her white wine.
Una was looking for something. She shuffled out of her room, down the hallway and into the kitchen. Outside the pitch night was breached only by the brilliant stars and a lunar glow that lit the tiled floors in the pale moonlight. The jam jars were still empty and, frustrated, Una headed to her small sitting room. Searching around she paused and gasped. There was a male figure at the window with his back to her. He wore dark flannel trousers and a cream sweater; the same cream sweater Una had bought Clive for Christmas in 1992.
“Clive?”
He did not turn at the utterance of his name. Una stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Only then did the figure turn. The head seemed to enlarge as it pivoted her direction. The fair skin turned black. Its eyes and hair darkened in turn. The nose morphed into a long, hard shape: a beak. Clive had become a magpie. Una trembled from top to bottom as the beak parted in the middle and arced back, ready to peck her head off.
Waking instantly, the shock caused her to roll quickly to one side. She rolled too far. Una’s right elbow hit the cold wooden floor with abrupt force. The pain took a few seconds to register but when it did it was numb and agonising.
It necessitated a visit to the doctor. Luckily there was no serious damage done to her elbow however Una was advised that both the pain and bruising would linger for some time and she was prescribed strong pain-killing drugs to combat it. The injury also meant she had to recuperate at home for a number of days. During those long days the sky was blighted by a permanent grey overcast. A steady drizzle sprayed cool showers of rain earthward day and night and all the while Una rested. Her days were spent on the couch and her nights in bed. A lot of the time she found herself fingering her golden wedding ring, her sad thoughts straying back through time, endeavouring to locate a happy memory. They were few and far between. The ring brought no solace but inwardly Una could never accept this. Whenever her mother arrived to make her lunch Una would slip the ring back into her bag to avoid any reprimand should Mrs Snow see the object. During the long afternoons alone in the cottage Una thought more and more. Her former husband was the subject of her thoughts. Had he not made her a promise of their wedding day? Had he not chosen to forsake all others? He had. Surely God as the impartial judge and arbiter of mankind could see that right was on her side? No doubt he could but Clive would not take her back. Or would he? Una was a woman of faith. If she trusted in God she would be with Clive again. There had to be a reason why she could not forget Clive. Clearly God wanted them to be together! Clive had just made a stupid mistake and must be forgiven. The wry tricks of the young woman who had replaced Una in his affections had led him astray. Satan was subtle. He could make people do such recklessly passionate things like tempt a married man or woman. Now it was up to Una to redress the balance. All she had to do was explain it to Clive. He was an intelligent, understand soul; he would understand. His new wife would be divorce but they could keep his son and she would be its new mother. Yes, that is what they would do. Thus after a week on the sofa Una had decided what she would do. She would go to Clive.
Una was loath to drive. She disliked it with a passion. Her personality manifested itself in her style of driving. Where possible she stayed at a strict thirty miles per hour or, if she feeling more confident, might “risk” increasing to forty. She gave way to other drivers whenever possible even if the rules of the road did not oblige her to do so. This frequently irked the less-considerate motorists who angrily followed in her slow wake and pointedly overtook her at the earliest opportunity. Therefore her safety consciousness had the potential to be as hazardous as an unsafe driver with much less scruples than her. For her trip to Beanchar she procured the loan of her mother’s car, an ageing white monstrosity whose modest size suited her. After all what would people think if they saw her at the wheel of Lisa’s land cruiser? It would be embarrassing. Una told her mother she was going shopping in Ardstown which was on the main road to Beanchar. When she had hold of the keys and fired up the car’s engine Una realsied with surprising self-loathing that she had lied for the first time in living memory. Her mother need not know however. She would be adamantly opposed to Una’s intended venture to Clive’s hometown.
Off she went, maintaing a slow yet steady speed that alternated between thirty and forty mph. Una had always enjoyed this drive. When they had been courting Una used that road every week on her visits to see Clive who for some reason was always reluctant to make the effort to come the other way to Hillgalkey. Una recalled his excuse that there was nothing to do there but yawn in that wanna-be metropolis by the loughshore. As she drove she thought back to the countless tiems she had been up and down that route often returning home to the village after two A.M. or later from another late night with her then boyfriend. She knew every inch of the road. Halfway between Hillgalkey and Comar were a series of undulating dips akin to a roller coaster. Una dropped her speed for she had heard that there had been several accidents on that part of the road over the years. A bizare rumour pertaining to UFO’s and the inexplicable disappearance of several vehicles was also something of an urban legend in those parts but she did not believe it. In the incline beyond the most prominent of these tarmaced drumlins the ground was severly burnt, no doubt due to a recent accient. Indeed any car that had to break suddent going down this rise would find it hard to stop on time if there happened to be an obstacle in the way. As Una cruised down over the scorch marks her jaw dropped. A black and white form skipped out of the hedge on the right-hand side of the road, darting straight across. Without thinking Una wrentched the steering wheel to the left toward a tree at the roadside. The creature bolted on its four short legs, suddenly aware of the car’s presence, and leapt into the field opposite. Una shrieked as her mother’s car slid at her application of the break, spun and collided with the base of the tree. When she opened her eyes she was facing the slope she had just descended: the impact had turned the car around. Smoke seeped up from the bonnet with a power reminiscent of a running stream. Painfully Una unclasped her seat belt and with difficulty uncoiled herself from the harness. Then she unlocked the door, kicking it open with the sole of her right shoe. Stumbling out she stood up straight. The back of her neck felt as if it were on fire: whiplash. Una backed away, intending to get close to safety incase the engine exploded whilst remaining visible to any oncoming cars so that she could try to warn them of the danger. But she did not move quickly enough. The outline of a heavy jeep surged over the rise to her right. Una raised her arms. A horn blared violently. She hobbled backwards as a streak of metalic black hurtled past her face, encasing her in a waft of choking air. There was a horrific sound of steel impacting steel. She saw the rear of her mother’s car spin toward her as the jeep screeched to an uneasy halt not far away. Una felt another pain, this time on her stomach, as she left the ground.
She was lying on something odourously damp. In front of her she saw the smoke from her mother’s car rise through the branches of the tree. The roof of the car could just about be discerned from where she lay in the field while all around her the soft baying of contented cows could be heard. Before she lost consciousness Una raised her left hand to behold the token that had brought her to this dismal state. The ring looked sullen but for a moment it reflected a sparkle of distant sunlight. Meanwhile the badger that had distracted her continued on his merry way across the farmer’s meadow, oblious to the chaos and misery he had inadvertently caused.
Miraculously her injuries were not serious. The jeep had knocked her mother’s car against her body which sent Una hurtling into a patch of stale manure. Thankfully its driver was unharmed yet deeply shaken. Apart from minor bruising and severe shock Una was adjudged to be alright, physically at least. The family were in a state of emotional uproar when they heard the news of Una’s accident. Her mother blamed herself for allowing Una access to the now written-off car due to her daughter’s infrequent driving and naive approach to it. Her guilt was lessened however because of Una’s speedy recovery which gave her leave to criticise her for not preparing to drive properly.
Questions were asked. Mostly by Lisa. Why had Una been on the road that day? Where was she going? Her overriding sisterly instinct told her Una had not been going to rumage through the boutiques in Ardstown’s mall. When Lisa confronted her she admitted the truth and all hell broke loose.
“Why the hell would you go to see him?” cried Lisa, slamming her palms on the kitchen table. Una had no good answer and bowed her head.
“Don’t tell mummy,” she sobbed.
Lisa shrugged. It was like talking to a three year old child.
“For pity’s sake I’m trying to help you Una.”
She paused before resuming her restrained tirade.
“You could have been killed because of it!”
Una sobbed uncontrollably in response. Despite this Lisa’s resolve to try to shout some sense into her older sister did not wane.
“The man in the jeep could have been killed too!”
“I know!” wailed Una.
“You don’t listen Una, never have. You come across as caring but really you’re as head strung as they come! Dear God, as the yanks would say you’re one big train-wreck! Look at you!”
Una did not object. She listened in grave silence.
“The way you behave, the way you dress. You have no one’s respect!”
“Lisa, please!”
Her sister again banged her hands on the table yet Una’s plea stopped her from continuing her rant.
“God!” she said, holding her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry Una.”
Lisa went over and put her arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
Una said nothing. Her younger sister’s cruel words were still sinking in. She accepted her apology and if truth be told would probably have said sorry to Lisa herself for causing such distress.
“What are we going to do with you Una?” lamented Lisa.
“I don’t know. I can’t let go of the sorrow.”
Lisa sighed heavily and closed her eyes tightly.
“How about you come away with me and Adam?” asked Lisa, her voice much calmer this time.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you Lisa,” spluttered Una.
“Come on, you might like it.”
“Where are you going again?”
“Lake Garda.”
“Where’s that?”
“Northern Italy, near Verona and Venice.”
“Sounds lovely. Won’t Adam mind?”
“Don’t worry about Adam. He won’t.” ‘At least,’ thought Lisa privately, ‘I’ll make sure he won’t!’
“I’ll think about it,” said Una neutrally.
In the end she did not go. Una had taken enough time off work already and although it would have been perfectly acceptable to her laid-back, understanding superiors for her to go on long-term sick leave Una opted to return to work less than three weeks after the crash.
“You had a close call from what I hear!” snapped the old woman lying in bed.
“Mrs Philips! How are you?”
“Never mind me girl, what about you?”
“Oh, I’ doing well.”
“What on earth are you doing back in work already? You should be home with your feet up at the fire!”
“Now I could have taken more time off Mrs Philips but I would have been bored stiff.”
“Then milk them for all they’re worth girl! Take the time! They aren’t paying you anything extra by being here!”
“Oh don’t worry Mrs Philips I will be fine. I’ve forgotten all about what happened.”
Mrs Philips looked thoroughly dissatisfied and said;
“If I’d been in a car smash I’d have take two years off!”
Una laughed.
“Oh I know you would Mrs Philips but I just had to get back here. I love my work and I love talking to everyone here.”
“Well,” said Mrs Philips, eyeing her haughtily, “I’d reconsider. Go and tell them you need at least a six month holiday.”
Una subtly dismissed her suggestion by asking;
“Is there anything I can get for you Mrs Philips?”
The old woman’s eyes lit up.
“Yes! Fetch my laptop please,” said the old woman, pointing to a black satchel on top of her bedside chest of drawers.
“Laptop?” asked Una warily, walking over to collect it.
“Yes, I had my daughter go buy me one. With my own money of course.”
Una lifted the satchel suspiciously. She felt uncomfortable around technology she didn’t understand.
“Don’t just stand there girl, open it!” ordered Mrs Philips.
“How?” asked Una.
“Unzip the bag.”
Una fumbled for the zip at the side and ran it along to the opposite end of the rectangular leather bag.
“Good,” said Mrs Philips, reaching into the pouch. She removed the slim, notebook computer, set it on her lap and opened it up. Una watched in a mixture of amazement and apprehension.
“What’s wrong dear?” asked Mrs Philips. “Have you never seen a computer before?”
“I have,” gasped Una. “In the civil service, though I never figured out how to use one.”
Mrs Philips was indignant.
“What?” she cried. “A young woman like you doesn’t know how to use a laptop?”
“I just don’t have much confidence in them,” explained Una with a smile.
“I got this machine a fortnight ago and already know how to use it and you’re telling me you can’t?”
Una shook her head, pressing her lips together in a long, flat smile.
“I am ninety!” exclaimed Mrs Philips. “If I can use one then surely to goodness a girl like you can! How old are you?”
“Forty-two,” answered Una.
“So young,” said Mrs Philips softly. “Come here Una.”
The younger woman was surprised. This was the first time that Mrs Philips had used her Christian name.
“As you know I nearly died. When I recovered I promised myself I would live life as God wants me to. He wants me to enjoy the time I have left. I had a new lease of life. My grandson told me about his laptop so I thought, ‘what the hell’, if he can buy internet tickets to see Tottenham Hotspur play then I can log online and buy new pajamas! No?”
Una nodded frantically, unsure as to what Mrs Philip’s imminent point in her tale would be.
“The thing is Una, you’ve had a brush with death and now you have a chance at a new lease of life. You need to let go of the past and go forward with confidence! Now I’m neither your mother nor your granny but I’ve been around the block as they say and therefore I can tell you this: forget about him. Move on.”
“I will,” said Una thoughtfully.
In Una’s mind there had always been unfinished business pertaining to Clive. The car accident had painfully and grudgingly convinced her that reconciliation with him in any form whatsoever was not to be. If God had any new opinion on the matter Una never pondered what it was. One thing was for certain: she seemed destined never to see Clive ever again. An emotional flame within her seemed to extinguish. She could move on if she really tried!
“Guess what Mum?”
“Oh, hello Una,” said Mrs Snow who sat in her sitting room reading the paper.
“I’ve booked to go on a cruise!”
“A cruise?”
“Yes! A Nordic cruise. I leave on April twenty-sixth.”
“Wait a minute Una,” said her mother, noisily closing the broadsheet. “You are planning to book or you have booked?”
“Oh I have, I have!” beamed Una excitedly.
“Well, have you thought it all through?” asked Mrs Snow full of concern.
“Yes I fly to Southampton then catch the boat from there.”
“And you are going all by yourself?”
“Yes, well I have no one else to go with,” admitted Una, her enthusiasm audibly waning.
“It’s a pity you don’t have anyone to go with.”
“I know that,” said Una, holding back her frustration at both acknowledging this sad, lonely fact and listening to her mother’s negative tone.
“There is Lisa off on holiday, you could have gone with her Una!”
“Yes but I didn’t, did I?”
“There’s no need to be sharp Una,” reprimanded her mother.
“I thought you’d be happy for me; being independent and taking a holiday.”
“Well I am. But it’s a big step to go off all that way on your own Una.”
“I know it is. But I will be alright. I’ll come home safe just you wait and see.”
Mrs Snow looked unconvinced.
It was the eve of her departure. Una walked down the lane. She was on her way home from work and her mind recalled the dawn on which she had seen the bizarre magpies. How silly she now felt as having been scared of them! Una had been a different person back then. To her amusement one such bird now alighted onto the fence not far ahead.
“Hello mister magpie. I hope your family are well,” chuckled Una unconcernedly.
The creature cawed coarsely as she passed by it.
“That’s a nasty cough you have,” she laughed, skipping along.
She came to Edward’s house and noticed another magpie perched on his roof. The old man hobbled out with his cane upon her approach.
“So you’re off to the fjords?”
“I am,” said Una brightly. “First thing tomorrow!”
“Wonderful! Can I come?” joked Edward.
“You’re more than welcome Edward!”
“I’ve been all over the globe but never up there,” sighed Edward wistfully.
“Maybe one day you will.”
“Aye, I’d like that but I’m an old man unlike you my dear.”
“How’s your arm Edward?” asked Una, remembering his injuries.
“It’s grand,” he said, extending it and flexing the limb. “Good as new.”
“Any sign of the magpies?”
Edward looked at her suddenly with a haughtiness Una had never witnessed in him before.
“No!” he said quickly. “They’ve been in my house and my very dreams too much of late. You stay away from them young lady. Do you hear me?”
“Edward,” questioned Una. “Are you alright?”
“I’m perfectly all right m’girl!” he snapped in reply. “Get you home and to bed. There’s a storm brewing.”
He pointed out across Lough Cuan. True enough the sky heralded an imminent, torrential downpour. Una turned to say something to Edward only to see him disappear inside his front door and slam it shut behind him. At that same moment it began to rain; a hard, cold rain which unleashed wet droplets like they were aquatic bullets. The woman would have to worry about Edward later. She hurried away down the lane in the direction of the shore. Already the ground had churned to mud inhibiting her progress. The wind from the Lough blew up a wind similar to the one that had waylaid her weeks before. This time it was stronger and imbued with a frigid nip. With gritted teeth Una struggled on home. As she made her way home she noticed, from time to time, a number of magpies sprout atop fences, hedges and trees. They all seemed to be observing her. Una scarcely gave them a thought: her objective was to get home as dry as possible.
The entire cottage reverberated from the oncoming gale that swept in from the Irish Sea. Its windows rattled and the air that breached the narrow chimney played havoc with the fire Una eventually managed to light. However her priority on that fateful night was packing her new suitcase. She had arranged for a tax to call at seven A.M. sharp to collect and ferry her to the airport for her flight scheduled for noon. With her packing done Una settled down for a late and simple supper followed by a bath then bed.
Again she was searching for something. What is was she knew not but it was definitely familiar to her. It wasn’t in the bedroom, wasn’t in the bathroom, wasn’t in the kitchen. Then Una realised she was asleep. What she was witnessing were her subconscious thoughts. She stirred suddenly in her sleep but kept dreaming, curious to see it play out. Something else was about to happen, was it not? Then, with a start, she remembered. It had been an oversized magpie. An oversized magpie wearing one of Clive’s old sweaters and no sooner had this recollection sprung to mind when she saw the same creature, standing with its back to her at the end of the hallway that the dream had accentuated in length thus imposing an acutely surreal quality. Una tiptoed towards it.
“Clive?”
In answer the thing spun one hundred and eighty degrees to face her. As before it was wearing the clothes her husband used to sport. The head, feathers and elongated beak were the same while the black eyes pulsated like they had their own hearts beating within them. She stepped furtively towards it. It cocked its head from side to side with fearsome rapidity. The eyes bulged in recognition upon seeing her. A few poised seconds passed. Then it hopped down the hall. Towards her. Una stood firm. It was just a dream she told herself. Yet it felt all too real. She closed her eyes, excepting her face to be pecked off at any moment.
“Leave me be.”
The voice was a wheezing croak; chirping and high pitched. Una opened her eyes. He beak was inches from her nose.
“Go away,” it said.
“Clive.”
“Leave him be.”
There could be no doubt now. The words came from the beak.
“Leave it be!”
“Clive!” she wailed in fright.
The beak opened wider and let out a shriek to match Una’s cry.
Moments later she was awake. From outside the first shafts of the coming dawn peeped through the curtains. Una was unable to fully envisage the disturbing dream but as she got up and made the final preparations to leave the memory of it loomed ominously in her mind. By six A.M. she had got everything ready: suitcase, passport and money. She had one hour to kill until her taxi arrived. Breathing more easily now Una went outside to savour the rising sun. She walked to the end of her front path and peered down at the Lough with its calm silver waters. Then she turned her gaze to the mountain’s far away. Obscured by thin low-hanging cloud she could only discern the highest summit. Next she looked to the nearby forest and saw the birds fall out to begin their day. For a long while Una stood there, a serene, relaxed complexion on her careworn face. She slipped off her wedding ring and fingered it, enjoying the warm golden touch against her right palm. Eventually she bade farewell to the view she loved, knowing that it would be at least fourteen days until she would see it again.
Upon reaching the front door she heard a familiar noise. Spinning around she saw a bird. It was the same cock magpie she had seen countless times. He watched her carefully. There was something intrinsically seemly about its presence this time. With a deeply worried look Una then noticed something glitter at the magpie’s feet. It was a brief spark of gold, refracted by the morning light. She felt her fingers on the left hand, then those on her right. Her ring was gone! In an instant the magpie stooped, grabbed the band of gold in its beak and was in the air before Una could even move.
“No!” she cried.
The magpie disobeyed her. Already it was high above the opposite field, heading in the direction of the sycamores half a mile away. Una ran down the garden path, over the lane, climbed over the fence and ran across the field in pursuit. She could still she the avian thief. It had not altered its course but Una did not take her eyes off it. The ground underfoot became increasingly damp and the flat plimsolls she wore soon became wet and dirty. The magpie vanished into the high leaves of the closest sycamore and was gone. With a cry of despair Una watched it go and stopped breathlessly at the foot of the tree. But she would not tarry here she promised herself. She had to get the ring back. It was her wedding ring! Had it been stolen by the minions of Hell she would have plunged herself into the abyss to rescue it. And so Una began to climb the tree. Now Sycamores are not easy to climb. Normally their foothold-providing branches stretch out well above the height of even the tallest person but this old one had a thick, sturdy protrusion at five and a half feet from the ground. Una reached for it and, with her long thin fingers digging into the bark, managed to painfully pull herself up onto the branch. From there it was easier. Up she went, carefully selecting what branch to use by first ensuring that it was strong enough to support her. With diligence she made her up fearlessly, aiming to stick to the same side of the tree that the magpie had entered. If she knew her lore correctly it had taken the shiny ring to decorate its nest which could not now be far away. Pausing for breath she glanced upwards and found what she was looking for. The nest was composed of twigs, dirt and leaves. It was larger than she expected; tall and shaped like a dome. An odour of bird droppings tainted the air but did not dissuade her: she had come too far. Trepidaciously she scaled the last few feet and came level with the magpie’s dwelling. The opening on it was dwarfed by the size of the nest which now appeared larger from this new angle. It was less than an arm’s length away. There was no movement within or indeed any sign of life. Everything was quiet yet the very air seemed filled with a poised watchfulness. Una inched along the branch on which she stood until she was less than a foot from the dark entrance to the nest. Leaning forward she looked inside. In the dim light there was little to see. Coarse grey and brown twigs formed the interior while insulation in the form of sheep’s wool was placed sporadically around it. But it was not these facets that caused Una to gasp. There, in the very middle of the nest, was a bundle of sterling notes! The many heads of Her Majesty had been crinkled and stained with muck and magpie feces. Had she the time to gather and count them Una would have discovered that they amounted to figure just shy of eight hundred pounds. But she hadn’t much time left. She peered further into the nest and found what she was hunting. Her ring lay just under the inner lip of the nest’s opening. Reaching in she tenderly picked it and held it up to the rising sunlight. It was unbesmirched if a little grubby but she had her ring back. Her outfit had no pockets so she had no choice but to enclose her right palm tightly around it and begin climbing down the tree. It was harder getting down than it was getting up. The cluster of leaves and branches right beneath her obscured the long drop to the ground and while only a mild sufferer of vertigo the sheer physical exertion needed to save the ring had taken its toll on Una; a toll she had only begun to feel. She set foot down on the next branch and froze. A magpie was at her feet. It looked her up and down like a security guard that had caught a thief shoplifting. For the first time since setting foot into the tree Una felt afraid. Alarmed she stomped her foot down on the branch in a bid to get rid of it. The magpie did not move. Una wasted no time and continued climbing down. The bird looked curiously at her as she descended past its eye level. She heard it cry out and seconds later a pair of fellow magpies fluttered into the tree and landed on a nearby branch.
“Go away!” yelped Una.
They just looked back at her with no trace of fear or caution. Then a fourth bird alighted beside the pair followed by a fifth and a sixth. Una quickened her speed and moved away from them but as she did two more magpies appeared before her.
Eight you live
She cried out in shock. It caused her to slip. A mere three foot she fell, landing on more sturdy branches further down. Her right hand somehow kept a firm hold of the ring. It had still not occurred to her to put it on. Whimpering Una forced herself to her feet and despite slipping again on the damp branch she instantly seized one just in front of her to balance herself. Before she could recover high above she heard a wild commotion. The magpies were all a flutter. In unison they flew into the air and descended after her! She turned and scrambled down to the next level. The birds came in her wake. A stale unpleasant odour came with them as, one by one, they surrounded her. Their wings flapped with furious speed, their eyes bleed with demonic fury and their beaks opened wide. Una covered her face with her left arm and tried to beat them away with her right. She felt them being pricked and bitten by many sharp mouths. The air from their beating wings came at her from every side and through barely opened eyes she saw them peak and bite her while their jocular cries rang around the sycamore. With one last effort she took a step down to a lower branch but they were around her again in an instant and the magpies resumed their assault with renewed vigour. It was too much. Una could not defend herself, preserve the ring and escape the tree safely at the same time.
“You can’t have it!” she cried, flailing her arms madly. At this her bare lower legs were attacked with the same lack of mercy. Instinctively Una kicked. The action caused her to wobble backwards. Her neck struck a thin branch that snapped when exposed to her body weight. Her assailants stabbed at her already bloodied face as she went. Gravity took over. Una fell onto branch after branch, smashing each one as she went. Then there were no more branches. She was plummeting earthward with nothing between her and distant ground but the morning air.
Opening her eyes for the last time he saw nine birds. Nine.
Nine you die
They had surged gracefully out of the tree and into the air to watch her. Una thought she saw four more join them. Thirteen. Her descent ended abruptly.
People have been known to survive drops of thirty feet or more. Una was not to join this lucky minority. The cock magpie swooped down and landed upon her unbreathing chest. It noticed something attractive and shiny on the middle finger of her left hand. Her ring was back on her wedding finger; slipping it back on had been her last ever act. The bird hopped off her chest over to her hand and applied its beak to the ring. It did not take long for the cleaver magpie to tug it off her finger and onto the dewy ground. He raised his head to his comrades flying overhead and uttered a croak of triumph. Then he leant down and picked up the ring for the second time that morning before alighting from the ground.
Four days later, on a day of drizzle, they buried her in Hillgalkey’s Community Churchyard on the road to Comar. Why she had been up the tree at all would remain an intriguing yet painful mystery to Lisa and her mother and father. Reverend Greer delivered a gracious eulogy from the pulpit, praising Una for her life of service to the elderly, generosity to others, her contribution to the church and her warmth and friendliness. Amazing Grace, her favourite hymn was belted out with aplomb by her friends in the choir. At the graveyard the Reverend bestowed the final prayers before the grieving mourners dispersed in silence. Edward, Mrs Philips, her colleagues from the nursing home and even Clive’s mother had been in somber attendance. However the man himself was nowhere in sight.
As the two gravediggers began filling in the grave a solitary bird was perched on an iron railing bordering the yard. The lone magpie watched as they worked until at last it beat its wings, leapt skyward and flew up into the distant trees.
© Ciaran McVeigh 2011.
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