Waiting For Declan

• Bridget Kelly, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2008

I can remember the worst day of my life quite clearly. I was standing on the pier waiting for my love to step off the boat and into my arms. But I was one amongst hundreds, for Declan had gone to war but was due to return home today. I had been standing amongst the crowd for quite some time when I turned away with tears on my face, for I realised that if Dec had not found me now he never would.
I was just walking past ‘Paddy’s Pub’ when I was dragged into an alley by someone with a hand across my mouth. “Don’t be afraid Brigid, it’s only me, Fionn.”
“Fionn thank God you’re back, what happened to Dec?” I choked back a sob.
“It’s all right, easy now. Dec’s still alive, but I’ll be buggered if I know where he is. He told me to give you this.” Fionn placed a small folded piece of paper in my hand. I went to open it but he stopped me.
“He also told me to say he loves you - and whatever you do, don’t open the piece of paper until you’re alone in your bedroom. Good luck Brigid, I hope you find him!”
I looked up at Fionn and smiled. As he left I whispered to myself, ‘I hope I find him too.’
I arrived home. “How’s Declan, Brigid. All in one piece?” Catherine ran off giggling. “He’s fine……….I hope.” I finished the sentence under my breath. I ran up the stairs to my room. I could not wait to open the note from Dec. My fingers were trembling as I lay on my bed and slowly began to open it.
‘Dear Brigid, I can assure you that I am fine. I have not been take prisoner, but I cannot return to Ireland. When I enlisted in the army, I enlisted in a special secret service. By joining this group, I was forbidden to return to Ireland for twenty years. Return to the place where we met for further instructions. Love always Declan.’
I made my mind up there and then. I packed a suitcase with my clothes and some belongings, for wherever Declan was that is where I was meant to be. I would not tell anyone that I was leaving because it would be easier that way.
It took me four days to reach Dublin by horse. When I arrived I made straight for the theatre where we had first met acting, almost four years ago. I entered at the rear of the stage and walked over to the corner near the piano; there was a note there: ‘Brigid. I am currently in France. You need to be there by the 18th September, for we are going to Australia to live and the boat leaves on the 19th.’
The journey to France is rough. I hate the sea. I wonder whether I will like it in Australia. The future is unclear.