copyright©2025
I Don’t Believe It
Paddy, our boss, and his wife Ursula decided to take us on a full-day excursion around Ireland. What a treat, I thought to myself. Paddy had recently bought a new Mercedes, one the entire village quietly envied. The four of us drove from Bagenalstown, through the Wicklow Mountains, all the way to the Powerscourt Waterfalls, where at last a fresh mountain breeze caressed my face. The mountains stretched along the foothills for several kilometers, and standing amidst such colossal grandeur, one felt as insignificant as an ant. On every hillside, dark purple heather was in full bloom, while a crystal-clear river meandered quietly through the valley below. By the waterfalls, tumbling from a high cliff and winding between enormous boulders below, grew sharply yellow shrubs that looked like golden rain, yet when crushed in the palm, they smelled of coconut. Never in my life had I witnessed such beauty.
Next, we went to Glendalough, an ancient monastic settlement with half-ruined monasteries, where a profound silence reigned over everything. In the middle of a meadow lay a graveyard adorned with Celtic crosses, where all four of us paused in awe, drawing strength from the place. Before us, the mountains bowed, a truly breathtaking view from the cemetery.
“This is where I want to be buried someday,” I said dreamily, breathing deeply of the fresh air.
“If you work for me, you’ll be here soon enough,” Paddy laughed heartily. What a joker.
We descended along a narrow path beside the forest down to the lake, where benches awaited. The entire opposite slope was awash in purple and yellow flowers; I felt as if I had stepped into paradise. I could not get enough of this splendor.
Paddy then invited us to a nice lunch at a hotel, but he was so nervous that when he tried to sweeten his coffee with sugar, the lid slipped off and the entire contents spilled into his cup. The three of us burst out laughing. Paddy’s face turned bright red, he didn’t know where to look and frantically tried to figure out how to get the sugar out of the mess.
From there, we drove to Powerscourt House, a gigantic chateau styled after Versailles with several different gardens. We wandered around in a daze through Japanese and Italian gardens. It was a beautiful warm day. On the horizon before us rose two mountain peaks, dramatic against the Renaissance elegance of the parks and palace. On the grounds of one garden stood an animal cemetery. We found a grave inscribed “HERE LIES ELLA THE DOG” and nearby another marked “OUR BELOVED COW BETTY”… We couldn’t stop marveling. I noticed Paddy standing over the cow’s grave, deep in thought.
Then we continued to a place called Bray. It was a small town with a seaside promenade lined with rows of colorful tiny houses that looked as if made from candy. I hardly felt like I was in Ireland—the sea and the beach reminded me more of the shores of France. Paddy had previously boasted that he raised carrier pigeons at home. A few of them were on the promenade, and when he spotted them, he dashed after a pair, convinced they were the ones who had recently flown away from his pigeon loft. That man was never short of fun.
We collected a few shells and let the salty breeze play around us. I felt so free that, had I wings, I would surely have flown away. Soon it was time to return home along the coast. The sun was just setting. But Paddy was not finished with his adventure yet. He took us for a drink in Carlow and then to a pub in Leighlinbridge, where he was born and still lived.
In his company, I resisted drinking alcohol, but Paddy was relentless and insisted I see him not as my boss, but as a friend. He ordered wine for everyone, and lively conversation began. To my dismay, I discovered that Paddy and Ursula shared the same zodiac sign as me: Aries. That explained why Paddy was so absent-minded and why every time he burst into Roosters trying to help us, he only managed to scatter all the orders and make a terrible mess of everything. We managed better without his help.
“You know what’s been bugging me?” Paddy asked suddenly, looking as if about to pose some tricky philosophical question.
“How did that cow fit into the grave?” he said, seriously, evidently preoccupied with this since we left the cemetery.
The three of us looked at each other in astonishment and then began to laugh, even Ursula.
“Paddy, that’s probably because they chopped her into pieces first,” I said, amused.
My answer did not satisfy Paddy; he continued pondering how the poor creature could have fit in there.
“So, what about you and Jack?” Paddy asked me out of the blue. I felt as if struck by lightning.
“Oh, fine,” I replied hesitantly.
“Wait, how fine? What’s going on with him?” he pressed.
Paddy knew Jack and had already told me a little about him. He said Jack always owed money at his bistro, but because they knew each other, Paddy always turned a blind eye.
“Is he still borrowing from you?” Paddy asked anxiously. I had told him before, to which he reacted rather sharply. He lectured me that it wasn’t right and that any man who shamelessly borrows money from a woman is a complete scoundrel. He disagreed and simply got angry. He told me if Jack ever borrowed from me again, he would personally kill him.
“Well, I have to admit, he hasn’t stopped,” I said apologetically.
I saw Paddy shift in his chair, as if sitting on hot coals. He shook his head. I felt ashamed, like a child who never learns.
At that moment, my phone rang. It was Jack.
“Is that him?” Paddy asked firmly, well aware of who was calling.
“Yes,” I said, about to answer when Paddy stopped me with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t you dare pick up!” he ordered sternly.
I froze. Why is he asking this of me? I thought. Another person telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. I was quite annoyed but let the phone ring.
“You must really love him, huh?” Paddy asked, and I saw pity in his eyes.
I was silent for a moment, trying to put into words the feelings I had for Jack.
“Yes, I love him,” I said contritely.
Paddy just sighed and then continued.
“I know you care for him, but don’t you think he’s just playing with you? Correct me if I’m wrong, it’s none of my business, but I care about you and I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly. That disarmed me. Suddenly, I felt torn—one foot on Jack’s side, the other among those who truly cared for me—and I didn’t know who was lying and who was telling the truth. I knew Paddy wouldn’t lie. That only made me feel more humiliated.
“You always defend him, Teri,” he added gently.
“I’m not defending him. I know what he’s like. Sometimes he’s awful, but other times he’s kind to me,” I said in my defense. It was a poor defense. Paddy saw right into my soul, and that terrified me more than anything. How could he see between us? And why was he even looking?
“Don’t answer his calls. That’ll only show him how much you cling to him. Make him suffer. Turn off your phone,” he said seriously. Marketa and Ursula exchanged glances, then looked at me. Neither said a word. After a moment, I switched off my phone just to be left alone, but all the while I was nervous about having to explain to Jack why I hadn’t answered. It wasn’t fear. Or was it?
Of course, I told Jack everything—about the trip, my experiences. Then I fell silent. My conscience wouldn’t let me rest. I told him what Paddy thought of him. I spoke of how much it bothered me what people said about him and how others talked behind his back. I also confided how sorry I felt that I couldn’t defend him. It upset me that everyone hated my boyfriend. He just listened quietly, as if turning something over in his mind. Finally, he smiled and said that in such a small town, rumors tend to spread quickly.
“None of them really know me. Don’t listen to them.”
That was all he said in his defense. Don’t listen to them.
On Sunday, I went to Mr. Long’s for lunch again. He was behind the bar, smiling at me as soon as I stepped in.
“So, pet, how are you?” he said with a grin from ear to ear.
“Pretty good, and how about you?” I replied cheerfully.
“Well, as you can see, working,” he chuckled.
I told him about my trip and mentioned my boyfriend.
“No way. Who is he?” Mr. Long asked curiously.
“Jack Kennedy, but you probably don’t know him,” I added hastily.
Mr. Long was polishing glasses. Suddenly, he straightened up, looking as if he had just heard the end of the world. A tense silence hung between us.
“Well, girl, if it’s the same Kennedy I know—and I know everyone in this town—then watch your back,” he said, nodding knowingly.
“Why? What did he do?” I asked, but then Jack’s words came to mind: Don’t listen to them, which made me doubt what Mr. Long had just said.
“I don’t know what he did, girl, but he’s got a bad reputation. Just be careful; I wouldn’t want him to hurt you,” Long finished and went back to polishing his glasses.
That shocked me. Even Mr. Long, who liked me so much, was now against me? This couldn’t be a coincidence. This village is full of gossipmongers, I thought. They want me to believe Jack is a villain. I would never listen to them again. I thanked him and went home.
copyright©2025
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