The Far House

Chapter 3: Jeepers, creepers

The landscape of the lane changed the further we ventured: carefully tended, fewer trees, bathed in sunshine. "It's so pretty down here," said Ryan as he darted towards the 21st dollar that nestled at the apex of a slight hill. He came to a sudden halt before reaching it, "Oh my," his words mouthed, not said. He crept back and sidled beside a large tree, beckoning me to come with a whisper, "Come take a look Paula," a huge smile on his face.

Awe-struck, we surveyed the scene, peeping from behind the protective cover of the tree. What we looked upon was more Disneyland than Ireland. The house had been fashioned into a little fairytale castle, complete with turrets. A white-pebbled pathway led from the ornate front door to a little bridge that jumped over a glistening stream. While my eyes took in the visual splendor, my mind struggled to understand how I could have lived here all my life and not be aware of this spectacle. Ryan's mind thought alike, "How could you not know this is here? It's like living next door to a theme park and not realizing it." I didn't have time to answer – a soft voice and a grunting sound from behind took us by surprise – “Jeepers, them dollars from America did the trick.” I screeched like a baby! Ryan threw a protective arm round me.

"Jeepers, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A smartly dressed little man, with a tiny pig on a lead stood before us. “You’s are both very welcome to the Grogan's. Tis been many years since we've had youngsters at the house." Although old, his face still carried the remains of a gentle, handsome youth; his body lean and lithe belied his age. He held his hand out to me, “Pleased to meet you miss, I’m Paul, Paul Grogan.” A firm handshake, accompanied by a warm smile eased me; Ryan relaxed his hold. He turned to Ryan, “Jeepers, creepers, would ya look at his peepers.”

He was referring to Ryan’s eyes, the palest green I’ve ever seen, but I’ll not bore you with a flowery description, suffice to say they’re phenomenal. Ryan held out his hand, “Pleased to meet you sir, I’m Ryan kirk.”

“Jeepers, she was right, you’re a Yankee alright.”

“Who’s right?” asked Ryan.

“Granny Grogan, my sister down below, come and say hello,” he said, pointing towards the house. He continued, “Granny Grogan wrote a note: ‘throw down a dollar on the path, see if he’ll come and we’ll have a laugh.’ Ryan threw me a knowing glance, then asked, “Was it you who locked us in the room with the doll?” His expression changed, he dropped his head, “T’was me, a mistake I made, while fixing Granny Grogan’s baby game.” He cowered and pleaded, “Please don’t mention that, she’ll screech and scold and scribble I’m bold!” Ryan moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder, “Hey bud, we won’t say a thing to anybody, trust us.”

He looked up, sharply,  “Will you’s be my friends?” he said, with an excited expression.

“Sure we will. Let’s go and meet your sister, we can all be friends together,” said Ryan, guiding him towards the house.

“Jingo, Granny Grogon, will write bingo!”

I interrupted, “Erm, we have to get back to school.” His face saddened. “But don’t worry, we can come back later,” I said, not sure if I wanted to.

“Jingo, come back after three, we’ll have Yankee biscuits and tea,” he said while waving us goodbye – his rhyming speech beyond weird.

We power walked back towards school, Ryan bemused but enthused by the mad old fella, me anxious, “We’re going to be late, they’ll all start tongue wagging about where we’ve been,” I said, breaking into a worried trot. Ryan chased after me, grabbed my hand, “Slow down Paula.” I pulled forward, but Ryan wouldn’t budge, “Please Ryan, stop messing!”

“I’m not messing. Live dangerously for one afternoon, let’s play hookey, go get a coke somewhere – we need to talk.”

“I can’t mitch school – my Mother will have kittens if she finds out!” He started to laugh, “Look at your shocked little face; I’ve only asked you to skip a few hours school, not have my baby.” My face flushed, but I forced myself to talk through it. “We can’t go into town, everyone will ask why we’re not at school.”

He nodded his head, “This place is funny, we got no where to talk in private, yet two mad hatters can live in cloud cuckoo land and no one notices.”

He was right; this town’s the height of hypocrisy I thought. I changed my tune, knew where we could go, “Balina’s, a tiny village about a mile away, we’ll be less likely to meet someone I know there.”

Like most tiny villages in rural Ireland the shop doubled as a post-office. After the bright sunshine it was like entering a cave. The smell of boiling meat made me think seriously of becoming a vegetarian – rank. A stern looking woman stood at the counter, sorting through post, she eyed us suspiciously. "Just these please," I said, putting down the cans of coke and grappling for the money in my bag. Her eyes bore into Ryan as she took my money, "You're not from these parts young man, where in the world are you from?" I tensed, why be so nosey? Ryan looked at me, then her, "I sorry, my engleesh no very fine," he said, convincingly. I struggled to contain my smile, fortunately a shout from a back room distracted her – "Nothing from America for the Grogan's this month Eileen, that's odd...

"QUIET Michael! We have customers," she shot back. The haste with which she handed back my change told me she wanted rid of us before the man revealed more.

Outside, we climbed over a low stonewall surrounding a field and sipped our drinks to the sound of Cows chewing the cud. Ryan opened his shirt and lay back on the grass, “I didn’t think I’d be topping up my tan in Ireland.”

“This is unusual, believe me, we’re normally battling through wind and rain.”

“Lay back with me Paula, get some rays on your face.”

“I’ll pass, I burn really easy. A red freckly face will definitely give our game away.” Ryan chuckled, and then let out a loud sigh, "You know what Paula, you're the first girl to act normal round me, no giggling or flirting. I like it, it's kinda nice." His words delighted me, but I deliberately didn't show it, instead I steered the conversation back to what brought us together, The Far House. "I reckon those shopkeepers know about the Grogan's, I bet they're opening their post..."

...we talked non-stop, discussing all sorts of Far House theories until my watch beeped 3.30, home time, except this meant Far House time. Ryan leapt up, "We got a tea date with Granny Grogan and her loopy brother," said Ryan, while buttoning his shirt.

We set off, excited about what more we’d discover together, in the surreal world of The Far House.