The Journey Home

‘You can’t beat it,’ he said. ‘Going home.’

Katie’s eyes stared ahead, her lips moving each time they passed a road sign. The driver pressed a switch on the dashboard and country music began to play. In Dublin with Shay, Hano remembered mocking the corny three-four playing of the Irish country bands. But now, as the headlights swept along the low bushes and stone walls bordering the road far below him and Katie curled warm against his side, the awkward lyrics were magical. Stories of wedding rings and lost love letters, of crossroad meetings, of blankets laid beside rivers. He closed his eyes, never wishing the journey to end. The driver sang along to himself. They passed Bawnboy and Glengevlin in silence and were only miles from Dowra when Katie tugged his hand urgently.

He looked down but she seemed afraid to speak. Her fingers were pulling at his jacket as if trying to tear it off.

‘Here,’ Hano said uncertainly. The driver stared across at him.

‘You sure? It’s the arse end of nowhere.’

Katie nodded slowly and the man shrugged his shoulders. He braked and bumped the wheel up against the loose gravel. The air rushed in, freezing when Hano opened the door. Katie jumped and he followed her down. The driver reached under his seat and threw another large bar of dark chocolate after them.

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