Previously, on Soap Opera Sunday
Part One: I'd just arrived in Galway, Ireland after 24 hours of travel and met a group of cute Irish boys in a pub.
Part Two: They take me on a whirlwind tour of all the hottest pubs in Galway, complete with a beer at every stop.
Part Three: The lovely evening of wandering ends in steamy perfection, followed by an equally lovely morning of chivalry, and I still can't find that darn number...
Part Four
Having parted ways with my Irish charmer, I set about exploring the city in earnest, (it was hard to focus on the landscape with Liam around) and waiting for it to be late enough to call home without waking my mother and sending her into a panic. I was sure she would already be worried about me - surely my father's friend had called him as soon as she realized I had vanished shortly after arriving.
At last it was after seven am, my mother's time, so I bought an international calling card from a news shop and called home.
Imagine my surprise to discover that my mother knew less than I did about my disappearance.
"Dad hasn't called you?"
"No, he usually calls as soon as he's arrived, but I haven't heard from him yet."
"Weird." I told her
some of what had happened, specifically the part about losing the phone number. I can't remember where I told her I'd spent the night, but I'm sure I didn't mention Liam.
I thought maybe my father had given her a list of telephone numbers, but she had only the number of the couple in Dublin with whom both my father and I would be staying in a couple of days. Which would do us no good at the moment, since he wasn't due to arrive there until following afternoon.
"Well, when you father calls, what should I tell him?"
"Just get the number from him and I'll call you back later today."
The plan seemed simple, he would call, like he always did, she would get the number of my would-be hostess, then I would call home, get the number, and sleep in the bed that had been waiting for me since the day before.
I spent the afternoon walking around the city, stopping to scribble furiously in my journal, or sit on a stone wall and watch the people moving up and down the streets, alone, or in brightly colored groups of twos and threes. Everyone seemed know everyone else, people smiled and greeted one another warmly. I felt welcome, as just one more visitor to this old city, a part of something bigger.
After finding some dinner, I called my mother again, but still there had been no word from my father.
"I'm starting to get a little worried," my mother admitted.
I brushed it off, and found a youth hostel to stay in that cost only seven pounds for the night. It was crowded and loud, full of students who were on their way somewhere.
The next day brought only further silence from my father, and since he usually can't be out of touch with any member of his immediate family for longer than six hours or so without a phone call, we were beginning to be concerned.
This time I took the number of the couple in Dublin. After busying myself with bookshops and people watching, I called the number shortly after my father's flight from London was due to arrive in Dublin.
"Nell?" The gentleman on the phone sounded elderly, but authoritative, "This is Ciaran's daughter?" he demanded.
"Yes," I said, "has my father arrived?"
daughter." Then returned his attention to me. "Where are you? Are you in He covered the mouthpiece and called to someone in the next room, "It's her, it's Ciaran'sGalway? Where've you been!"
"I'm- I'm here, Galway," I stammered, feeling suddenly like a reprimanded child.
"You must go down to the station at once, the police station, your father's just gone round to report you missing."
"What?"
"The police station. He'll be arriving any minute."
The next few moments were a blur, but somehow I managed to get off the line and ask directions to the police station. It wasn't far from where I was, so I walked the few blocks feeling very nervous - what kind of trouble was I really in? I'd done everything I could, right? The gentleman on the telephone had unnerved me.
I walked into the station, not sure what I was looking for, whom I should speak to, but before I could figure it out, my father entered the lobby right behind me.
After embraces and indignant explanations, it all became clear. Of course he had known I was missing, he had in fact, been worried sick, but instead of calling his wife and enlisting her help from all the way across the Atlantic, he had decided not to call and tell her that he had lost her only daughter in a foreign land. No sense in her worrying needlessly from all the way across the Atlantic! So while I was calling several times a day, waiting for him to call, he had been intentionally
not calling, the whole time.
Having reached the end of our two day comedy of errors, and explaining it all as best we could (well, except for the Liam part), the two of us finally set out for the south, and then the east, in what was an uneventful, but wonderful, remainder of our trip.
- - - - -
Extra Bonus! My father reads my blog (hi Dad!) and has been dying to weigh in on my Irish adventure with his supposedly "true" account of what "really" happened. I made him wait until the end, so keep an eye out for his comment today, it'll be the one that nearly blinds you with sardonic wit!
- - - - -
Soap Opera Sunday was created by
Twas Brillig and
Walking Kateastrophe.
Our host this week is Thalia's Child - click
here to read other exciting soapy episodes in the lives of bloggers across the sphere!
