At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (latest novels to read TXT) 📕

seat. Charlie got in beside me and Carrick shifted the passenger seat forward so that Charlie’s legs could fit in.

‘You not going up front?’ I asked.

‘Nah, it’s safer back here … I think.’

‘Everyone strapped in?’ Carrick asked. I quickly buckled my seatbelt and gave him the thumbs up in the mirror. ‘Right then, off we go.’

The car left the kerb at such a speed that I felt like I was back on the plane, being thrust back into my seat by the sheer G-force of Carrick’s acceleration. We were off and away, leaving nothing but noise pollution and the smell of burning rubber behind us. Before I even had time to feel embarrassed at the distressed looks of the people milling around the streets, Carrick took a corner like a rally driver and we were quickly out of sight. As my body slid across the leather seat and my shoulder collided with the inside of the door, I was struck by the thought that I hadn’t said goodbye to my mother or to Ned. I hadn’t even rung him when I got off the plane like I’d promised I would. Hopefully, I wouldn’t die here, but I decided to send them both a text, just in case.

I didn’t take in much of the surroundings as we zoomed past them at breakneck speed. It wasn’t that Carrick was a bad driver, in fact, I would say he was better than most by the way he handled the car at high speed, but I do think that he was on a mission to violate as many traffic laws as he possibly could in one single journey.

We passed a brown sign, which I didn’t read due to it being nothing but a brown and white blur, but I assumed that it was the ‘Welcome to Westport’ sign, because as soon as we passed it, Charlie began fidgeting and looking down into his lap.

The atmosphere inside the car was growing more and more tense the closer we got to Charlie’s parents’ house. I wondered what they would be like. From what I’d heard so far they weren’t the easiest of people to warm to, but maybe I’d be pleasantly surprised.

‘Attention, tourists,’ Carrick said, clearing his throat before he continued. ‘If you look to your right, you’ll see the picturesque Clew Bay with its fine examples of sunken drumlins. What is a drumlin? I hear you cry. Well, I’ll tell yer. The word “drumlin” is derived from the Gaelic word “drumin”, meaning mound. So, in other words, they’re those fancy little hills that stick outta the water and look like boobies in a bathtub.’

‘Have you ever seen boobies in a bathtub?’ Charlie asked.

‘Oh, far too many to count, Boyo, unlike the drumlins, of which there are three hundred and sixty-five. One for every day of the year.’

‘Do you get much work as a tour guide?’ I asked, sarcastically.

Carrick sent me a wink in the mirror and continued to tell me about how the bay had been the focus of the seafaring O’Malley family, especially Grace O’Malley, the famous pirate queen who had ruled over the bay and terrorised the sailors going to and from Galway during the reign of Elizabeth I. I didn’t know how much of it was true, as with much of what Carrick said, but it took my mind off my potential car-related death and so I was glad of it.

Just as he was finishing up his story, we slowed and he pulled the car over to the kerb. He’d parked us in a bus stop, the butt of the car sticking out into the road. A car horn blared from behind and several old ladies at the bus stop began tutting our way, each and every one of them in plastic rain bonnets, tied beneath their turkey-like chins with white strings.

‘And that concludes this portion of the tour. Excuse me, will yer – I just need to pick somethin’ up,’ Carrick added before unbuckling and quickly hopping out of the car.

As soon as he was gone, Charlie turned to me and sighed. ‘I can only apologise. He really is a very good driver when he wants to be.’

‘It’s okay. I only accepted death about three times.’

‘Only the three? Well then, I needn’t have worried.’

The bay was beautiful, the type of picturesque view that’s always found on postcards and souvenir fudge tins.

‘So, how does it feel being back?’ I asked, watching the old ladies who were whispering to each other and looking straight at us.

‘Oh, fantastic.’ He attempted a smile, but there was no truth in it. ‘Was that convincing?’

‘Needs some work.’

There came a tapping of long, claw-like nails, hardened and yellowed with age, on Charlie’s window.

‘Christ,’ he said under his breath, donning a smile and winding down the window.

‘Bless my eyes, is that Charlie Stone I see?’ the woman said with a hint of flirtatiousness.

‘Mrs Kelly, how’re yer?’ he replied, on the charm offensive.

‘Oh, call me Roisin. Yer not a lad anymore.’ She giggled.

‘Nice t’see yer, Roisin. Yer lookin’ well.’

The woman’s face suddenly puckered and I braced myself for what I knew was coming next.

‘Terrible business with your Abi.’ She tutted and shook her head, crossing herself and looking at him with an expression of pity that I knew he’d hate. ‘Is that why yer haven’t been back home, so?

Another face appeared in the space beside the first, equally as wrinkled and weathered and with a matching rain bonnet. ‘Charlie Stone, you get more handsome every time I see yer. You’d better stop hoggin’ all of those good looks, else there’ll be none left for the rest of us.’ She giggled, holding a hand to her heart, her eyes darting to me. ‘And who’s this?’ All attention turned to me and I pressed myself harder into the inside of the door, hoping to defy science and slip through the metal and out onto the other side.

‘This is Nell. She’s a friend from England.’

‘A friend, is it?’ the first of the women