“Huh?”
“Get back here and help push so we can help these ladies get on their way.” Michaél shifts his attention to me. “Okay, Erin, we’re gonna push ye to that hill and when you get a bit o’ speed up I want ye to throw it into second, okay?”
“I do know how to jump-start a car thank you!” I yell from up front.
“Of course ye do. Excuse me for trying to be helpful,” he mutters to Donal, but I hear him all the same.
“When I require your help, I’ll ask for it, Micheál,” I quip, aware that I may have gone too far. Both men are leaning over the tiny car, hands on the back windscreen. Micheál stiffens and makes to stand up.
“Ignore her!” yells Rid. “She’s just pissed that you used her and threw her aside but we’ll take the push thank-you.”
“Ridlee!” I hiss, but the car is moving and I have to grab the steering wheel. We begin to pick up speed. I can see the boys running in the rear view mirror. I throw the long gearstick into second and the car bounces to life with a splutter.
“Yay!” Ridlee and I shout in relief.
“Hey! Hey! Come back! Wait for us!”
I glance in the mirror and see the two lads running after the car, rather pathetically. I look to Ridlee, pleadingly. I know that I should know better but he’s just so damn cute.
“Okay,” she says, “but no sex. Promise?”
“Pinkie promise. We’ll just play with them a little.”
I slow the car down but leave my foot resting on the accelerator so that it doesn’t cut out. The boys catch up. I have to shout over the roar of the engine. “Well, I suppose we have to go for a drive to recharge the battery, if youse wanna come! There will be no hanky-panky and you have to jump in while the car’s still moving! Are ye game?”
Ridlee leans froward, flipping the front seat up so there’s a space for the boys to access the back. Donal looks as though he’s going to stop for a moment, but then he increases his pace and jumps on the small runner before throwing himself into the back. I speed up a little. Micheál is now jogging at a clip. I allow myself a small smile and think, Oh well. All is fair in love and war. He manages the jump, and soon the two men are squished into the back of the Fiat Bambino and we’re on our way to one of the most spectacular sites, as well as one of the most popular suicide spots, in Ireland. We’re off to the cliffs of Moher.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RIDLEE
WHEN SOMEONE TELLS YOU THERE are some pretty cliffs you really should visit when you go to Ireland, it really doesn’t prepare you for what you’re going to see. The Cliffs of Moher are nothing short of spectacular. And dangerous. And scary. And romantic in a rough seas, you-could-slip-and-kill-yourself-with-great-pain kind of way. Apparently several people have taken their final leap from the edge of this place, so the local government’s done what it could to prevent it from happening again, namely putting up signs saying ‘Very Dangerous Cliffs Ahead. Be careful.’ I guess they figure seeing the two-hundred-foot drop, the raging seas, wailing wind, and the freezing cold wouldn’t be enough to warn away someone not planning suicide. Crazy Irish.
We park far from the edge and walk to the cliffs, ignoring all the silly danger signs.
“We haven’t drunk enough to worry about falling,” says Erin. To my Guinness-buzzed brain this makes perfect sense.
Donal walks in my general vicinity but not exactly close to me, which pisses me off. I get the sense that he’s once again acting like nothing passed between us earlier today when he knows very well it did. Why else would he jump into a moving Bambino? I turn my nose up and walk faster.
Erin’s trying to act nonchalant about Micheál being there, but she keeps looking at him and her expression is so hopeful and sad at the same time, it’s sickening. I try several times to get her attention to tell her to knock it off, but she can’t see me. She only has eyes for the Irishman with the half smile and the admittedly great shoulders.
“So, this is your first time at the Cliffs?” Donal says, getting a little closer to me.
“Yep.” I look sideways at him and catch his expression. It matches his wary tone. “Is there something about this place you don’t like or what?”
He turns his gaze to me. “Why do you ask that?”
I shrug. “Because. You look like you’re expecting to see a ghost.”
He looks at the ground and a bitter smile appears for just a few seconds before it disappears again. “No. No ghosts.”
Micheál stops abruptly, his attention shifting from Erin to Donal. He looks stricken. “Oh, Donal, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight when I agreed we’d come.”
Everyone but Donal stops walking. Erin and I are instantly curious about what’s going on. Micheál sounds really regretful. I expect Donal to say something, but he doesn’t. He just keeps on going, right up to the edge of the cliffs. He looks out into the moonlit night, the breeze from the sea ruffling his hair around his head.
“What’s going on?” Erin asks Micheál.
Micheál shakes his head, looking at the ground. “It’s not for me to say.” He looks up with a rueful smile. “Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”
I follow behind everyone, wondering what the big secret is.
Erin and Micheál wander off to the left until they disappear into the dark, leaving me to either follow them and be the third wheel that keeps them from the hanky panky we swore not to indulge in or to join Donal, the guy who obviously wants nothing to do with me tonight, other than to hitch a ride in my car to the edge of a cliff.
I sigh heavily as I choose door number two, stopping when I get to Donal's side.
“Wow.” The view takes my breath away, making me momentarily forget my position as unwanted person in the group. Whoever made those warning signs was not kidding. It is dangerous up here. And gorgeous. Looking down at the moonlit white-capped waves and rock formations way below me, I can almost imagine why people would choose this spot to end it all. I mean, if you’re going to go, let your last sight be of one of the most beautiful places in the world, right?
Donal just stares out into the water, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. When I see him in profile, I think that Ireland’s tourism board should put him on a postcard. This country’d be overflowing with tourists every day of the year.
“Soooo …,” I hesitate, wondering if I even want answers to the questions that are percolating in my brain, “…I guess you and this place have a history, eh?” I shove my hands in my pockets too. It helps ease both the awkwardness and the bone-deep cold I’m feeling. It’s frigging freezing up here on the edge of the world.
“You could say that,” he says with a coarse voice.
“Do you come here often?” I say, trying for a joke, but failing miserably when I see his reaction.
His chin drops almost to his chest. “No. Haven’t been here in a long while.”
“Did you used to come here with a girlfriend or something?”
“I came here once with someone I cared about, yes.”
“Did she break up with you?” I could imagine that would hurt, being dumped in a place so magical. It would make you think all the good had been sucked out of your life permanently.
“Not exactly.” His head lifts up and he takes in a long breath. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
I shrug, trying not to be offended. “No, it’s fine. No problem. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.” I shift so I’m facing a little away from him, looking out into the darkness, trying to ease the sting of his obvious rejection with a careless attitude. A beam of moonlight reflects off the top of the water, making me imagine that God has a big old flashlight and he’s searching for something at the bottom of the cliffs. Something or someone.