Novel Extracts

Synopsis

This is a mystery novel with an undercurrent of dark comedy. It is told in first person and tells the story of a shy, reclusive, unnamed narrator as he tries to regain possession of the only book he has ever had published. It is set in the not too distant future where his country is ruled by two authoritative entrepreneurs who are also brothers. These dictators have decided his book was too rebellious and had to be censored, burning all copies in their possession. The only copy left falls into the hands of an underground rebel group who he begins to work for. During this work, he changes from the shy man he once was and falls in love with one of the female rebels. He realises that with his writing, he could actually do some good and make a change in people’s lives. Before long the rebel group are arrested and it is revealed that the female rebel the narrator fell in love with was actually a double agent for the state. However, she is also in love with him and arranges for him to avoid a death sentence and instead be sent to a re-education camp. On his way there, he is intercepted by one of the ruling brothers who disguises himself as the captain of the ship. The female double agent tries to rescue the narrator but is killed in the process of doing so by this brother. The narrator then confronts the brother and asks him why he has done all this. The brother explains that he was just as much a prisoner of the system as the narrator was and he too wanted to escape. Before being killed, the brother pleads with the narrator to read his journal, as it explains everything. This then leaves the opportunity for a sequel, while tying up all loose ends.

Chapter one

‘Quickly, he’s waking up.’

The voice echoed down to me as I slowly came around. I felt as if I was trapped at the bottom of a dark well. Where was I? When was I even? I tried raising a hand to my head but I couldn't find the strength to move. My entire body felt as if it was waterlogged. 

‘Relax.’ Said the voice.

Was I paralysed? What had they done to me? An internal alarm bell began ringing at the thought of being stuck like this forever. 

‘Take it out now.’ The voice said. It was a man’s voice, I knew that much. I could feel his coarse hand patting my arm. I could feel it. Thank god I could feel it. I wasn’t paralysed. I must have been drugged. I was drugged. That was about the last thing I remembered happening. That would explain the nausea I was experiencing. Up and down, up and down, my stomach churned. Something was stuck in my mouth too, something long and hard, dear god what was it? I heard a coughing and spluttering as they pulled whatever it was out of my throat. Was that me making those sickening noises?

‘He’s breathing normally.’ A rougher male voice said.

They must have given me too much of that drug. I could still taste it at the back of my throat. It was a horrible dry, metallic taste. Or was that the taste of whatever device had been in my mouth? There were too many questions spinning in my head. Maybe they had given me an overdose by accident? Why else would they be trying to save my life?

‘You’ve been rescued at sea. We think your ship was attacked. We were lucky to take you onboard in this storm.’ It was the first man’s voice again. Something in his voice told me he was reading from a script; it sounded rehearsed. How could I have been lost at sea? I was supposed to have been held prisoner on a heavily guarded ship which had been granted safe passage from West Britain to a realignment colony in New Oz. An outright attack like that would mean war between regions, something that hadn’t happened since 2032.

‘There are many questions we don’t know the answer to yet either. Just know this, you're among friends. My name is Captain Hargreaves. I was a resistance fighter just like you, back in my younger days. Now I’m just a captain of this ship, a fine ship all the same. We were on our way to The Island when we received your distress signal. By the time we arrived, all were lost except you. You wouldn’t believe the shock I received when we opened up the box and found you inside. You of all people, I still can’t believe it.’

I yelled at the top of my voice, but I heard only a gurgle escape.

‘Shhhh, relax. We have plenty of time to talk. We’re sailing for New Cork now, you’ve probably heard of it before. It’s a small outpost on the east coast of Bergonia. We’ll pick up our final passenger contingent there and then sail for The Island.’

No, this can’t happen. Only those who have given a lifetime of service to West Britain go to The Island; an idyllic paradise with white sandy beaches and palm trees, where the sun washes down on you 350 days of the year. The only catch is that you must agree to have yourself cut off from the rest of the society. No communication devices, no entertainment devices - nothing. Just a sun drenched island where coconut juice is on hand from the nearest tree. Where you can read, play cards and socialise until you pass away. It’s a reward the Good Brothers give to all those above the age of sixty-five. But I couldn’t go there. I still had a life to live, I needed to get back to West Britain. I wasn’t even that old yet, I was only forty years of age. I needed to see Veronica again. She was why I‘d agreed to all this in the first place. Without her, there really was nothing left. All the sacrifices we'd made would have been for nothing. 

‘You’ve got to stay still. You’re still coming out of a drug-induced coma. You’ll only injure yourself if you keep doing this.’ The Captain’s voice called down to me.

I saw a fuzziness appear in the darkness of my vision. I forced myself to focus on it until it grew into a harsh light, willing it to become brighter still. There was a tingling sensation in some distant part of my body too, I think it was my toes. My nostrils began to stir at the sharp smell of bleach. I gripped something on my right side - I think it was a metal bar. I pulled myself up. I reached out with my other hand and felt someone’s shirt collar and dragged myself up further.

‘Stop. You’ll just make this harder on yourself.’ The Captain called. I was sure it was his shirt that I’d gotten a hold of. But I wouldn’t listen to him. I couldn't. I had to get out of here. I had to get back to Veronica. We had a plan. We had to stick to the plan. It was the plan that would bring us back together. Did she think I was dead now? Had word reached her already? I had to contact her, I had to tell her where I was. She’d know what to do then. 

‘If you don’t stop, we’ll have to put you back under.’

The light was becoming brighter, too bright. Its whiteness was all I could see now. I was becoming stronger. I could feel my legs. I swung them over the side of whatever I had been laid out on. And my tongue, I could feel my tongue. It felt so big and lumpy in my mouth, had it always been this size? I tried to speak, I tried to explain why I had to get up.

‘Gurrgghh…Blaaacchhh… Cllluuuwwww…’

Dammit it hell, I couldn’t form a sentence, let alone a word. I wanted to tell this man that I needed to send a message to Veronica, to tell her I was ok.

‘Give it to him, quickly.’

I could feel a pair of strong hands on my shoulders. They tore both of my hands from what I was gripping and pushed me back down with a thump. It was a metal table I was on, I could feel it now. Then another pair of hands was on each of my ankles, locking in my legs. I twisted and turned, trying to free myself, but the hands were like thick, meaty vice grips. 

‘Pleeesss…’

‘Please?’ The Captain’s voice asked.

I nodded my head, or at least I think I did.

‘Please what?’

‘Ferrrr...’ My tongue was coming back to life but I couldn’t gather enough breath to form a word. 

‘You’re tired. Please rest. I promise you, when you wake up, you’ll feel much better. We can talk then. We have time, don’t worry. Too much time even. It’s eight days until we dock at New Cork and another two weeks at least until we reach The Island, if the weather is in our favour. You need your strength now more than anything.’

It was useless. I couldn’t convey the importance of what I wanted to say. I was being sucked back into that dark well, dragged under.

‘No, don’t give him anything. He’s calmer now. Just strap him in. We don’t want him falling off.’

I heard the velcro straps before feeling them. One on each ankle and each wrist and one around my midriff and forehead  Even if I wanted to move now, I couldn’t. 

‘We’ll talk more when you’ve come around. I meant what I said, you’re among friends.’

I wanted to believe him, I really did. But I wouldn’t allow myself to do so. I wouldn’t allow myself to be taken on a fictional journey. The undeniable truth was that I had no friends, not any more. Those that I had known were on the run, in prison or most likely dead. Either this man was mistaken, or he was a liar.

Synopsis

Cairdeas: The Irish for friendship is a humorous novel that tells the story of six Irish men who come from very different paths of life, but whose lives become entangled through a series of strange and hilarious events.

Set mainly in Donegal and Dublin, the early chapters are an introduction to each of the characters, just as their lives are being turned upside down. We see that although most of them are well meaning, they possess some negative traits that stop them from being entirely good people. Macker is a former priest who is now a functioning alcoholic and drug addict. Fergal is a kind man struggling to break free from his controlling wife. Oisín is a lonely man who has rejected modern society and isolated himself in a remote part of Donegal. Tony is seeking revenge against Oisín after he exposed a secret of his. Paddy - Fergal’s supposed father - is also a man consumed with revenge after Colm slept with his wife. While Colm is trying to become a better man and face up to the wrongs he has done after being involved in a client's death during a tragic skydiving accident. 

As the story progresses, we follow Macker and Fergal when they bump into each other. Macker learns how to be kind again and Fergal gains the courage to leave his wife. Colm and Oisín then cross paths, reflecting on their past and learning from their mistakes. While Paddy and Tony team up on their shared mission of revenge. These storylines culminate in a final meeting between all of the characters where their individual problems are momentarily resolved, only for a new shared problem to arise in the form of two police men that they have inadvertently killed.

Chapter one

‘Look... There’s something I want to tell you,’ Tony slurred, hunching over the small, ring stained table in between them. They had been lucky to find this quiet spot tucked away in a remote corner of a bustling Baker’s Corner. It was their usual haunt after a long day of dodging lectures and assignments in the nearby college of IADT.

Oisín, with his eyes squinting, tried to focus on Tony’s lips as he talked, avoiding at all cost the thought of rushing out the side door and vomiting in the street. He couldn’t do that again, the bar man had told him he’d be barred for life if he did. 

‘What is it?’

‘Ah forget it actually, I’m hammered.’

‘No, no, no, no, no, no… No… No…No... No, I want to hear it.’

‘Ah another time maybe.’ Tony leaned back in his seat, deciding against his initial instinct. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. The whole evening had been spent trying to come up with ideas for a new play, not dissimilar to every other night they spent in the pub. The drink must have really been getting a hold of Tony if he’d been about to reveal one of his darkest secrets, something that he’d never been willing to share with anyone who wasn’t a medical professional.

‘You can’t do that. You can’t just set something up like that and then leave me hanging.’

‘I’m just shit faced.’

‘Sure look who you’re talking to.’

‘Ah nah honestly, it’s a bit weird what I was going to say.’

‘Sure we’ve been talking about weird things all night. If anyone heard half the stories we were brainstorming they’d think we’re fuckin’ mentalers… Go on for it, please.’

‘Ah you’ll laugh at me.’

‘Tony, you’re my best mate, of course I’ll laugh at you.’

‘There you are then, let’s just forget about it.’

‘Ah go on, I’ll laugh about it but I won’t tell a soul either.’

‘Honestly, I don’t know what I was talking about, let’s just change the subject.’

‘Ah stop that, I know you’re talking shite. Let’s hear it.’

‘No, honestly I don’t remember-’

‘Tony, Tony, Tony, Tony… Let’s hear it.’ Oisín repeated his best friend’s name in alternating tones, adamant that he wanted to hear his story.

‘Ah jesus, I’m just drunk, I’ve no idea why I thought it would be a good idea to say this.’

‘Well it’s cause you’re drunk - and with good company obviously - that you feel comfortable to talk... So go on, I’m waiting.’

Tony looked at Oisín, weighing up his drunken courage against the fear of the unknown. With a swig from his pint, he decided to go for it. 

‘I have a tail.’

‘Ok… go on.’

‘Well, that’s it really.’ Tony answered, confused.

‘That’s it? You’re not telling me any more?’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Well a beginning, middle and end is usually how it goes.’

‘You want to know how I got it?’

‘Well yes, I thought that was a given. I’m going to need more than just “I have a tale”.’

‘I don’t know if I can share that yet, it was a big step even admitting this to you in the first place.’

Oisín poured himself the last bit of beer from their shared pitcher, unsure of what the big deal was, ‘When are you going to tell people?’

‘What? Tell people? Never. I’m never fuckin’ telling people.’

‘What? So you’re not planning on doing anything with it?’

‘Doing anything with it? What do you mean?’

‘Well you have it now, so why not see what you can do with it. People would love it I’d say.’

‘Are you crazy?’

‘Not at all, how long is it even? Is it short or long?’

‘That’s irrelevant, I’m not telling you that - or anyone else for that matter - people would see me as a freak.’

‘Ah look, I have a similar fear too - that social anxiety almost - you know that fear of other people’s onions.’ Oisín burped as he spoke.

‘Opinions?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Allodoxophobia?’

‘Ally’s dog has a phobia?’

‘Yeah, the fear of hearing other people’s opinions.’

‘Well, I’m not really sure some dog's fear is relevant-’

‘Look it doesn’t matter anyway, I’m not telling anyone. You have to keep this to yourself too.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘I’m not messing Oisín, you have to swear to me.’

‘You can trust me Tony, cross my heart and hope to die… But I still think you should tell people.’

‘Oisín, I’m serious, no messing here.’

‘My lips are sealed... But people would love to know.’

‘Of course they fuckin’ would, that’s the problem. I don’t want them to know, it’s personal, they should never have to know it either.’

‘Ah here, we’re writers... It’s our job to show people a different way of thinking.’

‘Well some things just shouldn’t be written about.’

‘But this isn’t just our job, it’s our vocation. We’re wordsmiths - we’re experts in the use of language.’

‘It doesn’t mean we have to write about everything.’

‘I disagree, as the middle ground in literature, we need to. Otherwise the fringes are going to take over this whole industry.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Look at politics right now, we could be heading down the same path if we’re not careful. Me and you, we’re not as far right as the grammar Nazi’s and we’re not as far left as the post-structuralists, we’re somewhere in between. The people need to hear our voice.’

‘And how could writing about my tail help to solve that?’

‘Well it’s something you’re obviously very attached to.’

‘Obviously I am, that’s the fuckin’ problem.’

‘So it’s personal then?’

‘Too fuckin’ personal.’

‘That’s where the best type of writing comes from.’

‘Look, there’s no way I’m going to be writing anything around this… Not yet anyway.’

‘Have a think about it. From where I’m sitting you’ve already piqued my interest.’

‘I honestly thought you’d be more shocked than this.’

‘Shocked? About what?’

‘Well, it’s not exactly normal.’

‘Normal? Neither of us are fuckin’ normal.’

‘You look more normal than me.’

‘You and I both know that looks can be deceiving.’

‘So tell me yours then.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘What makes you not normal?’

‘Tell me more about your tale first.’

‘Ah come on, I told you that much already, surely that should be enough?’

‘Nah, I need more than that before I tell you mine.’

‘You’re such an asshole you know that?’

‘Well, get us another pitcher there and I might spill the beans.’

‘Another one? I bought the last four.’

‘I’m a poor student here,’ Oisín hiccupped. 

‘So am I.’

‘I’ll get you back when I’m rich and famous.’

‘Rich and famous for what?’

‘We’ll take your tale to the big stage.’ Oisín declared, throwing his arms out wide and raising his voice.

‘Oisín shut the fuck up.’ Tony ordered through gritted teeth, pulling Oisín’s arms down, ‘I’ll throw the next fuckin’ round in your face if you don’t keep your mouth shut.’

‘Ok, ok, ok, sorry, sorry, sorry.’

‘I never should have said anything.’

‘Ah here come on, you can trust me, don’t worry… There’s other ways we can get famous.’

‘How?’

‘Well how about this play tomorrow?’

‘The competition you mean?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Ah come on, you know who always wins that.’

‘Who?’

‘The youngest, hottest girl always gets chosen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know Harry Weinberg?’

‘The head of our course?’

‘Exactly - he’s got the casting vote in the competition?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Nope… So now you know.’

‘Ah for fuck sake, that creep.’

‘He does it every year.’

‘Just to snake up close to the young women?’

‘He plays it off as if he’s trying to give a voice to the next female generation.’

‘The snakey bollox.’

‘We wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘Well fuck him anyway, we should still try.’

‘With one night before the deadline?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a long shot.’

‘Better than no shot at all.’

‘Any ideas on where to start?’

‘We need to write something that’ll get his attention.’

‘What could do that?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’

‘There you are.’

‘But another beer would be a good start.’

‘You scabby fuck... Go on then. But if we don’t win this, you still owe me these pints.’

As Tony walked up to the bar, Oisín pulled out his rolling tobacco to skin up a rollie, spilling bits of tobacco into the puddles of beer that had formed from their sloshing pints. His drunken eyes paused to hold up a skin in front of him, checking to see which side was the sticky side. This brief moment of intense concentration led him to regret his missed opportunity. He had just passed up the perfect chance to open up to Tony and tell him his secret too. He cursed himself for being so Irish, right down to the many freckles on his pale skin. Every single person on this small island was doomed to experience it at  least once in their life; only ever being able to have the craic. Irish people were the one race on this Earth who could only joke and laugh about their emotions. It took an immense effort - usually fuelled by drink - to lift that lid on the sarcophagus of inner thoughts and feelings. But if Oisín couldn’t even open up at this point of inebriation, when his best friend was willing to listen to him, then when could he ever open up? He swore to himself that he wouldn’t let the next chance slip by, if he ever remembered any of this.

At the bar, Tony ordered another pitcher, confused about what had just happened, but glad that he’d finally gotten his secret off his chest. It may not have been the reaction he wanted, but he was glad he’d finally shared it with someone after so long. He just hoped Oisín would keep his mouth shut. Hopefully the man was so drunk that he’d never even remember this conversation in the morning.