Laethanta Saoire: When It Was Still Just Us Three, by Molly Aitken
Molly Aitken, author. Picture: Christy Ku
But there we were, the three of us – and, of course, our boyfriends of the moment – sailing to Heir Island. The wind was not up to much so we took it in turns to row, some of us making swifter progress than others. We were self-consciously aware of our gorgeousness, our hair sea frizzed, lips chapped, sunglasses flashing. We felt no danger in the boat, despite knowing that it was repaired by one of our dads, and wasn’t he prone to cutting all sorts of corners? The three of us were still so young, only halfway through our degrees at Galway University, and all the wild things still possible.
Nestled between our legs were two fraying Supervalu bags for life. We had wedged them with tubs of beetroot and chickpea salad (drenched in obligatory lemon dressing), a few bars of mint chocolate and ten or eleven bottles of cider. We shared a bottle between us three and by the time we moored the boat, we’d already drunk four. Above the sky was overcast and, of course, none of us had lathered sun cream on before heading out. We were twenty years old, and far too busy for that.
