Part 30 (2/2)

Tess leant back, disappointed somehow.

'Do you believe it?' Orla asked.

Tess was tempted to explain that it was impossible; that she knew for a fact that no one could change their shape after the age of fifteen, but she refrained. Instead she said: 'I don't know. The old people were full of stories like that, weren't they?'

But Orla surprised her. 'I don't care,' she said. 'I believe it. It was a fairy hare and that's why I was glad you rescued the goat and her kid. They might have been fairy goats.'

'Well they weren't,' said Tess, feeling like a killjoy. 'They were just ordinary goats.'

'How do you know?' asked Orla, a hint of pique in her voice.

'Because there's no such thing as fairies, that's why. They're just old stories. From a time when people ...'

'When people what?'

'When people were ... less sophisticated, that's all.'

Orla was silent for a moment. Then she said, 'More stupid. That's what you mean, isn't it?'

'No. Not really,' said Tess.

But it was.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

OUTSIDE, THE DOGS HUFFED and then barked in earnest, their voices trailing off around the side of the house. Tess jumped up and looked out of the window, but all she could see on that side of the house was Uncle Maurice straightening up from the turf pile and heading around to see who was there. Colm, still cradling a sod of turf, followed on behind.

'Who is it?' Orla asked.

Tess shrugged and went out to the landing, Orla close behind her. The window there was above the front door, but it was already too late. Whoever had come was directly below, now, and too close to the house to be seen.

There was a knock at the door. Tess stood at the top of the stairs and listened as Aunt Deirdre answered it. She hoped that it wouldn't be Kevin. Not yet.

But it was. Tess knew it even before he spoke, by the length of the silence while he waited for Aunt Deirdre to say that she had been expecting him. When, instead, she said, 'Well? What can I do for you?' Tess heard him stammer into life.

'Oh ... Oh, well ... em ... I was wondering ...'

'What were you wondering?'

Tess cringed. She knew she ought to try to rescue the situation and she was on the point of going down when Uncle Maurice came around the side of the house and took over the proceedings from his wife.

'What's going on?'

There was no way, now, that Tess could help. She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.

But Kevin was thinking on his feet. 'I was wondering,' he said, 'whether you might be having a problem with rats? There's a lot of them about this year.'

'Are you from Pestokill?' said Uncle Maurice.

'No. I work for myself.'

'Oh yeah? And whose rats have you got rid of so far?'

'Oh, loads,' said Kevin, vaguely. 'Mostly in Dublin. I thought I might be more use down the country.'

There was a silence and Tess could imagine Uncle Maurice examining Kevin, weighing him up.

'Where's your gear, then?' he asked.

'On my bike.'

There was another long silence, and Tess felt she could almost hear her uncle's mind, calculating away. She knew what the next question would be before it came.

'How much?'

Kevin didn't hesitate. He had already discussed it with Tess over the phone. 'A hundred quid. Results guaranteed.'

There was another silence from Uncle Maurice, but it was shorter this time.

'How long will it take?'

'Not long,' said Kevin. 'I have a special technique. If you take me on, you'll have no rats here tonight.'

'And how will I know if they're gone?' he asked.

'How do you know you've got them?'

'Hmm,' said Uncle Maurice. 'Smart, aren't you? I'll tell you what. I'll give you a chance, all right? No money up front, though. I'm not thick. But if all the rats are gone from the house and buildings by this time tomorrow, you'll have your hundred quid. How does that sound?'

'Sounds fine,' said Kevin. 'I'll start now, if that's all right with you?'

'Fine by me. What do you need?'

'Just for you to put the dogs away. I'll do the rest.'

Tess turned back to the window and watched as Kevin scrunched across the gravel to where his bike was leaning against the wall. She noticed that the white cat had appeared again and was sitting on a low branch of the apple tree beside the feed-shed.

Kevin began to rummage in a small, dingy rucksack. At the corner of the house Colm, still clutching the sod of turf, stood staring at him, open-mouthed. Kevin winked at him and pulled out the thing he had been looking for. It was a small tin whistle.

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