18

There were times, thought Conor, when his job in the library wasn’t all that brilliant. This morning he’d spent several hours on the farm before driving in to work in Lissbeg and fifteen minutes trying to get his bike to start before driving home in the rain. So now he could do with crashing out and doing nothing. But instead he had to drag himself up to shower and get sorted while the rest of his family ate pizza in front of a game show. When he came down again in his good suit his brother, Joe, shook his head in disbelief. Was anyone paying him overtime to get all dolled up and drive to Carrick? Conor shrugged and didn’t answer. All he had received was a brisk text from Miss Casey summoning him to some class of an event in the council building.

“What’s the idea of inviting you anyway?” Joe, who was slouched happily on the sofa in sweatpants, cracked open a can of beer. “I mean you’re not going to fit in with that lot, are you? No matter how much product you stick in your hair.”

Their mum gave Joe a push. “You leave your brother alone, he looks grand. And why wouldn’t they ask him to a party? They’re probably grooming him for a great future.”

Conor leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t say that’s likely, Mum, but thanks anyway.”

It was well known that Orla McCarthy thought the light shone out of her sons. In fact, she’d have been the joke of the parish if people hadn’t been genuinely impressed by the way that Conor and Joe had taken over the farmwork when Paddy, their dad, had injured his back. Frequent pain and constant frustration made Paddy McCarthy a difficult man to live with, but what else could they do but pull together and cope?

As he drove to Carrick in the rain, Conor told himself Joe had a point. God alone knew why Miss Casey had asked him to come to this party, which didn’t even seem to have anything to do with the library. Still, he supposed he’d find out when he got there.

Hanna met Conor in the foyer of the council building at seven and they shared the elevator to a seminar room where, judging by the array of bottles and glasses, a full house was expected. Teresa O’Donnell must have managed to call in a serious number of favors. Seeing Tim Slattery on the far side of the room, Hanna steered Conor over to him, cheerfully announcing that though she’d texted him after hours, he’d been happy to turn up. Obedient to the instructions that she’d given him in the elevator, Conor smiled and said there was no such thing as a nine-to-five job. Tim nodded in approval, clearly marking him down as someone who could be called on to be useful. And with any luck, Hanna told herself as she steered Conor away again, that would counteract the unfortunate effect of their previous chat about the bull calf.

Conor hadn’t realized that before anyone got a drink they were going to have to sit round listening to a speech. There were rows of chairs laid out before a podium, and when Teresa O’Donnell the Tourist Officer arrived they all sat down while she introduced a toothy guy who turned out to be a government minister. There was a big fuss about sitting the minister in the right seat. Then there was another fuss about getting the O’Donnell woman a glass of water. Then, to a smattering of applause, she got up at a lectern and talked. Conor didn’t really notice whether or not anyone else was listening. He tuned out himself after the first few minutes and only a poke from Miss Casey’s elbow brought him back to earth. Teresa O’Donnell, with a big smile on her face, seemed to be galloping towards the finish line.

“. . . so, that’s the Hands On Hands Off app! A direct response to central government’s recommendations for targeted budgeting in the regions, it’s designed in the local area, will lessen our tourist spending by a factor of ten while offering an exciting, twenty-first-century experience to the Finfarran Peninsula’s consumers. I’m confident that everyone here will agree that that’s a win-win situation.”

She stepped back from the lectern to a round of applause led by the minister. Then, reaching for a sip of water, she looked around for questions.

“Please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m dying for feedback!”

The minister smoothed a manicured hand across the back of his head and glanced around at the room. “Well, I’m interested in the name that you’ve chosen for the application. Can you tell us more about that?”

Conor thought that the name was the last thing that mattered. Surely the app itself, which sounded pretty dumb, was what they’d want to talk about. But the O’Donnell one was off again.

“Of course I can. The name defines the core concept. ‘Hands On’ because it delivers an empowering, personalized experience to the user. ‘Hands Off’ because it facilitates direct interaction between the individual and their tourist area of choice. By providing the app we replace an outdated, generalized interface with the ultimate in niche marketing. And it comes with its own brand image. It’s the HoHo Experience.” Teresa made air quotes with her fingers. “‘The Finfarran Peninsula App. Download It And You’ll Be Laughing.’”

Conor only just managed not to laugh out loud himself. But, shooting a glance at Miss Casey, he couldn’t read her face. So he kept quiet.

As soon as the minister nodded and made a note, hands shot up around the room. Hanna could see that three of them belonged to Gráinne, Phil, and Josie who manned the desks in Carrick’s and Ballyfin’s tourist offices. Ignoring them, Teresa pointed to her own assistant who was sitting in the back row. The girl jumped up immediately.

“I wondered if you could expand on the Cost Benefit Analysis.”

It was ten full minutes before Teresa drew breath and the minister raised his hand again.

“So ultimately this app would replace the existing local tourist offices?”

“Ultimately, yes. Indeed. Absolutely.”

“They’d just be closed down?”

“And replaced with a system which, as well as reflecting central government targets, would bring immeasurable levels of improvement to the area. The fact is that we have to keep up with the times. Research has found that the average visitor to Finfarran is highly digitally aware and smart-phone savvy.”

People, she said, wanted immediacy, fun, and excitement. They wanted cultural tourism delivered in a dynamic package. But above all, they wanted control.

“And if we want them to click on Finfarran when they choose their holiday, that’s what we have to provide.”

Ten minutes later Hanna found herself in a corner with Tim Slattery. Over his shoulder she could see that most of the guests, who were all local councillors or council employees, were using the occasion to down as much free alcohol as they could. At the far side of the room the girls from the tourist office were standing in a corner muttering. On the other side, in an alcove, Teresa was monopolizing the minister. Hanna noticed Tim’s eyes occasionally flickering in their direction. But that was hardly surprising. It wasn’t often that government ministers bothered to travel from Dublin to Carrick.

As they waited for Conor to bring them their drinks, they talked shop. Tim was eager to expand the county’s stock of nonfiction titles. Hanna told him that more nonfiction was badly wanted in Lissbeg: she’d had three requests in the last week for the new Peter Ackroyd. And wouldn’t it be good, she said, to reopen the library in Ballyfin and return the de Lancy collection to the building that was built for it? There was a moment’s pause in which Tim’s eyes flicked away again toward the minister. Hanna looked at him sharply.

“I’m not missing something here, am I?”

“What kind of something?”

“This HoHo idea isn’t going to affect us, is it? I mean, there’s no question of Lissbeg Library being closed?”

Tim threw his hand up emphatically, revealing a large purple wristwatch on a tartan strap.

“Over my dead body! Of course not.”

But an edge of concern still niggled at the back of Hanna’s mind, and she laid her hand on his arm.

“You’re sure?”

Tim raised his eyebrows in mock reproach, and, ashamed of herself, Hanna laughed. Then, lest she might have offended him, she apologized. At that moment Conor appeared through the crowd, balancing wineglasses. Wriggling like a contortionist, he reached their corner without mishap and Tim and Hanna, abandoning their conversation, concentrated on sipping wine with their elbows clamped to their sides. It was as bad as Tim had predicted so, as soon as it was decently possible, Hanna said that she must go. Conor said that he’d best be off as well.

“We’ve got the vet coming in the morning.”

As soon as he’d spoken he blushed, remembering Hanna’s instructions in the elevator. But, seeing his scarlet face, she could only smile at him. No matter how hard you might try to advance his career prospects, you could take Conor out of the farm but you couldn’t take the farm out of Conor.