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Needless to say, my mind wasn’t entirely on the job as we toiled into the night to get the paper ready for printing in the early hours of the morning.
“How many copies should I say?” Mary asked as we got ready to send the thing off.
“Make it ten thousand,” I said.
Audrey stared at me. “What? Ten thousand? That’s nearly double our present circulation.”
I nodded. “Yes, but we have late orders from shops in Michelstown and Cashel and Clonmel too. That new campaign is big news. Aidan said he’d been contacted by schools in those towns. They want him to go and speak to them.”
“Wow. He’s going to be famous. I saw the girls mob him outside the school hall.”
I laughed. “Yeah, and he’s loving it. Handles it well, too. He’s only fourteen, but he’s already developing a fan base.”
“He has that Justin Bieber-Brad Pitt look that’s so fab,” Mary said dreamily.
“He gets it from his mother,” Audrey said. “Gorgeous.”
I shook my head. “Call me an old woman, but he’s just a spotty, lanky teenager to me. But I see the potential, of course.”
Audrey handed me a piece of paper. “Here, read this, old woman. It just came in so I printed it. An email from—”
“Oliver O’Keefe,” I exclaimed. “What on earth?”
“Read it and find out,” Audrey urged.
“Okay.”
Dear Finola,
Congratulations on the excellent anti-bullying campaign! Great initiative.
I hope you don’t mind me making a few suggestions to help raise money for further development of the website and the whole operation. I want to organise a charity walk between Cloughmichael and Cashel as soon as we can schedule it. I’d be happy to do all the publicity, and also print and distribute posters, flyers and forms for sponsorships. It’ll be a 10-km walk, and we’ll also have tea and cakes and local musicians and singers to perform at the end of the walk. It could be great family day out for everyone in the area. Let me know what you think, and contact me by replying to this email or calling my mobile number (see below)
All the best,
Oliver O’Keefe
My jaw dropped. “What? He wants to do all this?” Then I got it. “Of course, it’s election year. This is a great way to cash in on what’s trending right now. It’s all a ploy to gain voters.”
“Not only that,” Audrey cut in. “There are whispers about town that his son is one of the bullies.”
I looked at the email. “Yes. I know. So...this will make him look like goody two shoes and maybe squash the rumours about his son.” I thought for a moment. “We can’t get involved in this and neither should Aidan.”
“Why?” Audrey asked. “Isn’t it a great way to raise money for the campaign?”
I nodded. “Oh, yes, it would be. But it is also a ploy for O’Keefe to gain new voters. His name will be on every single flyer and poster. That’s a sneaky way to raise awareness for his name.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Mary asked, looking confused. “Oliver O’Keefe is an independent, isn’t he?”
“Officially, yes.” Suddenly drained, I sank down on a chair beside Mary’s desk. “But I heard on the grapevine he’s closely associated with the Irish Democrats. It’s entirely possible he’ll support them in every policy debate in the Irish parliament if he’s re-elected.”
“Oh.” Audrey looked at me and nodded. “I see the problem now. But what are you going to do? I mean this looks like a lovely, generous offer. Won’t it look bad if you say no?”
“Very bad,” I agreed. “But I’m not going to say no exactly. I’m going to tell him we’ll do it, but I won’t tell him when until I find out the date of the election, which we’ll know very soon. Then we’ll do this charity walk afterwards.”
Audrey looked awestruck. “That’s bloody brilliant. It puts the onus on him to do it, but it won’t give him the publicity he wants when he wants it.”
I smiled. “That’s right. But I won’t tell him, of course. I’ll just put it on the long finger. I’m going to talk to him right now. It’s not too late, is it?”
Mary looked at her watch. “Ten thirty. Nah, I’m sure he’s still up. He’s probably waiting for you to call.”
“Great.” I grabbed the portable phone on her desk and dialled the number at the bottom of the email.
It didn’t take long for a syrupy voice to reply. “Oliver O’Keefe.”
“Hello there. Sorry to disturb you so late,” I said. “This is Finola McGee.”
“Good evening, Finola. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.”
“You’re welcome. Anyway,” I breezed on, “I’d like to say a huge thank you for offering to organise this charity walk. It’s a great idea and a very generous gesture.”
“The least I could do. It’s an important campaign. So we’ll do it then?”
“Yes. I thought at the end of the summer?”
“Sounds good. You have a date in mind?”
“Not yet. I’ll have to look at our schedule. We’re busy with a magazine about the movie being made here, so maybe it would be better to have that out of the way first. You wouldn’t want the event to be outshone by the Hollywood crowd and their publicity, would you?”
O’Keefe laughed heartily. “You’re right there, darlin’. Let’s see them off first. Then we’ll get going on this. You’ll put it on the front page? Photos and such?”
“Of course. We’ll make sure it’s the main event.”
“That’s perfect.”
“I’ll be in touch when we have decided on a date,” I promised.
“Wonderful.”
We said goodbye and I hung up, feeling only slightly guilty. “Okay, gang, what’s left to do?” I said to Mary and Audrey, who were staring at me blankly.
Audrey snapped out of her trance. “We’re nearly finished. Just a few adjustments and a correction to the piece about the event. I had Dan write it up, as you were part of the action, so to speak. And I knew you were busy. I found a few typos and one split infinitive.”
“A split infinitive? Tsk, tsk,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll let him know.” Audrey winked. “We’ll finish here, if you want to get going.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed my things and shrugged on my jacket. “See you on Monday. Have a great weekend. Go easy on Dan, will ya, Audrey?”
“I’ll coat it with sugar,” she promised.
I laughed, waved, banged the door shut and ran down the steps, my heart beating and my head in the clouds, my meeting with Colin foremost in my mind. He’d said some things I couldn’t forget. Surely this was meant to be, waiting to happen. I was no longer afraid to love someone. We might have a whole lifetime together or only a few days, it didn’t matter. I knew this was it, the thing I’d been waiting for. Someone to love me.
***
I didn’t notice them until I was nearly at the car—the shape of a group of people behind me. I thought they’d come out of the pub. But there wasn’t the usual drunken banter between them, which was strange. They were silent, and as they drew closer, there was a palpable vibe of hatred. I glanced over my shoulder. There were three of them. I knew something was up and walked faster, holding onto my bag with hands that were suddenly clammy. My mouth dry, my heart beating, I stepped up the pace, but it was useless. They were faster, younger, stronger than me.
The street was so dark I couldn’t see their faces, only hear their laboured breathing and smell sweat and beer. Then one of them shoved me sideways. I stumbled but managed to recover.
Then I was pushed again, and a voice behind me said, “Fucking blow-in bitch.”
“Go back home, ya Dublin whore,” another voice wheezed.
I was pushed yet again, harder this time. I fell, banging my elbow. I could see something being swung in the air. Then everything went black.