"Care to chance your arm in Dublin?" The voice on the other end of the phone was bright and cheerful in the midday office gloom. "Somehow I've been given the job of organising a weekend away. Would you like to come?"
Donna gazed at the pile of papers on her desk, each one shouting it's own insoluble problem.
"Yes, I'd love to. When is it and how much will it cost?"
Karen quickly told her the details, chatting happily away; unaware that Donna was only half listening. Donna knew that she needed something to look forward to in her life now Nick had gone. He would never know the turmoil he'd left behind.
"So, if you put the cheque in the post, I'll see you at the Ryan Air desk a week on Friday at 12.15 p.m."
"That sounds great!" Donna thanked her. "See you soon."
There was a crowd of young women and luggage waiting in a circle in front of the airline check-in desk. Donna nearly fell over them.
"You should have warned me there would be so many coming with us!" she hissed to Karen as she handed her ticket to the girl behind the counter. Karen grinned and turned to greet another newcomer, leaving Donna to tag along with the crowd. They all made their way up through the security screening and into the excitement of the duty free.
"You've time for something to eat if you like," Karen told Donna in the departure lounge. "There'll be no food on the flight and I know how hungry you get!"
Donna grabbed a bacon sandwich and some chamomile tea, but she only had time for a few mouthfuls before the flight was called. The young women made their way in a noisy crocodile through the gate and down the stairs, almost blown away by the wind as they walked across the tarmac to the waiting plane. Soon they were high above the clouds, sunlight streaming in through the windows, throwing dark shadows on the ocean as they descended after only a few minutes into Dublin airport.
When they reached the hotel, some of the group were ready for a rest. Donna was frustrated. Although she was tired, if she slept now, so many opportunities would be lost.
Karen looked at her. "Drop your bags in your room and meet me down here in 5 minutes"
It was easily done. Donna's room was on the second floor overlooking the main street. As they walked out into the street, the pavements were heaving with people. The roads were packed with cars and no-one gave much thought to pedestrians. Eventually they forced their way down to Trinity College and into a quiet haven of tranquillity
"Do you recognise it?" Karen asked. "Michael Cain was here in `Educating Rita'."
Donna looked round at the red brick and imposing Tower. She loved that film and the square did look familiar.
"This way" Karen beckoned her towards the library as she stopped to take a photograph.
"Why the library?"
"You'll see."
"As they entered the building, signs directed them towards the Book of Kells, something Donna had always wanted to see. The dim lights and beautiful illustrations covering the walls made her forget her fatigue. She walked round the displays slowly, savouring the explanations and new experiences.
"Those poor monks", she murmured to herself as she read of the continual burning and rebuilding of Kells monastery.
"Yes, they did get tired of the constant sacking," said a voice at her elbow. She looked round, acutely aware of the tall figure by her side. The man's face was not smiling as she stole a glance at him. He seemed to be remembering a time long ago. He wore a green tweed suit smelling strangely of Christmas spices. His hands touched the glass as if he were trying to read the portions of manuscript with his fingers.
"It was the way, then," he continued. "Once the Vikings knew you had valuables, you were a sitting target for their raids. Iona had much the same trouble."
Donna felt herself blush under his severe gaze. She mumbled something, trying to move on. She went over to the Ogham stones in the middle of the exhibition, trying to make sense of the markings on the dark grey granite. The man did not follow, but she could feel his gaze upon her. Thankfully, Karen joined her at that moment; together they discovered how vellum was produced, then gazed in wonder at the ancient manuscripts from Kell.
They climbed the stairs into the Long Room, which held more ancient books. Donna had to stop for a moment. She could feel heat pouring out from the books and she could hardly breath. She covered her confusion by appearing to study the oldest Irish harp in its glass case. She had never seen an instrument so covered with decoration.
"The decorations all mean something" The man's voice was barely a whisper at her side. "Would you like me to translate for you?"
Donna looked at her watch, too agitated to meet his gaze. "I'm afraid there's no time. It's 5 o'clock and I wanted to get some postcards"
She fled down the stairs to the gift shop, hiding behind the racks in the hope that he wouldn't try and follow her. Karen was waiting by the door as she made her purchases.
"Fancy a drink?" she asked.
"No, I'd better go back and rest before dinner."
Karen looked concerned. "Will you be all right?" Of all her friends, only Karen knew the truth about her illness.
"Oh yes," Donna nodded, "I'll be fine." For now, she thought to herself, but I wouldn't make any guarantees for tomorrow.
The bed at the hotel was hard, but the covers were warm. She lay on her back, trying to ease the aching in her spine. Soon she drifted off to sleep. She dreamed she saw a man's face hovering above her. He had short dark hair, like a monk's, but without the tonsure. The face moved from beside the window, air behind it shimmering against the wall. Donna could feel how much it wanted to enter her soul and claim her.
"No!" she screamed. "I'm not yours!"
Breathing heavily, she opened her eyes and realised she'd only been dreaming. Night had fallen while she slept. She sat up and slid her legs over the side of the bed. They were shaking, the terror of the dream still gripping her. She could smell a familiar scent like nutmeg and cinnamon as she stood up and walked across the room. It grew stronger as she neared the window and started to pull the heavy curtains together. As she glanced down into the street below she saw a red carriage drawn by a solid chestnut pony. Donna watched as a tall man, with distinctively cropped hair, climbed into the cab and it moved slowly off towards the main street.
The group of friends were well into their second drink by the time Donna reached the hotel bar. Snippets of conversation and raucous laughter filled the air. Donna sipped her tonic quietly; thankful for the ice helping to cool her sweating body.
Soon they all spilled out into the street and began searching for somewhere to eat. Most of the world seemed to have congregated in Temple Bar that night. Eventually they found a restaurant that could seat them all and when they finished eating, they set of on a pub-crawl searching for Irish music.
They heard guitars and fiddles coming from an upstairs window, so they climbed up the stairs and found themselves in a long room, crowded with drinkers, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Donna stood by the door as the others battled their way to the bar. The noise and heat was too much for Donna, so she found herself a perch on the next flight of stairs where she could breathe more easily and still hear the music.
She didn't notice the man from the library until he sat down beside her; pulling out a ball of silver foil from his pocket.
"You left your shells behind in the restaurant," he said, presenting her with a black bundle of washed mussel shells. "They'll go well with the ones you collected at Porthcurnic. I always think the black of mussel shells sets off the colours in Cornish stones."
Donna was too shocked to refuse them as he placed them gently in her open palm.
"How did you know?" Donna could not understand how he knew she'd wanted to take them with her at the end of their meal, but had been too embarrassed to put them in her pocket in front of the other girls.
The man laughed and his face took on a new warmth, dispersing the cold fear he had projected before.
"You sat looking at them all night, yet could not pluck up the courage to ask that they be saved. I merely saw where you envisaged their place in your stone garden." "Your father is a fine craftsman, " he added as an afterthought.
