Fionnuala announced that we were booked in for a family portrait and that we were to wear the same outfits, which I immediately railed against.
“Are you serious? That’s the picture on the wall everyone laughs at.”
She huffed for a while. I had been in her family’s houses and they all has those portraits, like something from an internet fail compilation: everyone in white t-shirts and cowboy hats, or a family of five lying on top of each other like some macabre art installation.
“Denim shirts and jeans. No hats.”
We were shopping for the outfits and I pushed back again. “I think this is crazy, Fionnuala. We’ll look like Garth Brooks’s backing band.”
But I knew in my heart she really wanted to do this so I resigned myself to the ordeal. I actually like denim shirts and headed off to shop alone, but when I got back to the car something was wrong. Fionnuala was white faced and her eyes were darting around.
“What’s up?”
She looked around again, then said: “I saw myself on the other side of the street a while ago.”
“You’ve a look-a-like?”
“Maybe I have,” she said, but she was rattled. “It was very weird.”
We drove home and the kids were chirping like chicks, but Fionnuala was disengaged, staring out the window, and when we got home, she took no part in the fashion parade traipsing up and down the hall.
Later Genghis arrived. The evening was getting darker but there were no lights on and his face was half in shadow as he spoke quietly.
“Did you say it was on Thomas Street?”
“Yes,” Fionnuala replied. “I saw her out of the side of my eye and I looked over and she was walking on the other side of the road.”
“The opposite way?”
“No. She was walking in the same direction as me. When I looked over, she looked back.”
“What was she wearing?” Genghis and Fionnuala were kindred spirits. “Was she bigger or smaller than you?”
I interjected. “What on earth are you two on about? Fionnuala saw someone who looked like her. So what?”
Genghis turned to me and held my stare. “We are trying to rule out something…” He almost said my name. “Something from the old days.”
“What?” I half laughed.
“The fetch.”
I didn’t know what he meant. “The fetch?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Fionnuala. “But I don’t think it was.”
“I saw it. I swear!” She wasn’t lying.
“What the hell is a fetch?” I tried to be blasé but failed.
“It’s when you see yourself. Your doppelganger. It’s an omen of death.”
It’s when you see yourself. Your doppelganger. It’s an omen of death
Fionnuala’s words stopped me. “Death?”
“Death.”
Genghis’s voice was low. “It comes from Irish folklore. It’s one of the faeries. It comes to fetch you.”
“To fetch you?” I didn’t have to ask where.
“There is something, Fionnuala.” Genghis’s tone was warmer. “You said she looked at you? It wouldn’t look at you. Definitely not.”
“But she was following me and that’s a sign. Walking the same direction.”
Genghis left and I failed to lighten the atmosphere with my affable teasing, and the next day Fionnuala’s mood was even more shadowed. The photographer was waiting for us and as we drove into town, she looked fearful and wore sunglasses. I noticed she stared straight ahead and I asked if she was all right. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she muttered.
We drove up Main Street and then across to Thomas Street and Fionnuala stiffened, but as I looked around for Fionnuala 2, I almost burst out laughing. I saw our car driving on the other side of the road in the same direction.
There was a disused shop with a big old long mirror that created a wispy reflection so I stopped and told everyone to look. There we were, in our denim brilliance, peering at ourselves, the kids waving and laughing.
“I doubt it wasn’t your time,” I told my relieved wife later. “Shall I ‘fetch’ you a glass of wine?”
“It’ll be your time if you don’t wipe that grin off your face,” she answered.