The darkening waters of Galway Bay reflected the rain-laden sky overhead. ‘Damn this bloody weather,’ exclaimed Saureen, as she came aboard at the last moment. Above the whistling wind the captain’s voice came over the loud speaker: ‘Passengers are warned that the crossing may be choppy. I recommend that everybody remain below. The usual precautions are being taken.’ ‘An understatement, if ever there was one,’ Saureen scoffed, scarcely heeding his words. ‘Come hell or high seas, I must get to Aran tonight. What if Peadar and Eileen haven’t reached there? Their boat may have been wrecked; they may be marooned somewhere along the island’s exposed rocky shore; they may have been washed into a cave in the cliffs. Maybe they’re alive and calling out for me.’ Her woven, multicoloured cape drawn tightly across her shoulders, the astrakhan coat that reached to her ankles and the tight tasselled woollen cap that covered her head and ears, shielded her from the worst of the cold.
