Dad was bewildered. ‘William, it’s a joke,’ Mam put in.
‘Ask me arse,’ he sneered.
We all stood there laughing and hugging. It was a wonderful special moment. I had my family and friends back. I couldn’t have been happier. As I was about to leave, Greta called me outside the main door. She handed me an envelope. I looked inside. It contained £200.
‘Keep it, Jack,’ she said kindly. ‘I thought you might need it for Christmas, with David and all the other expenses. It cost nothing this morning, honestly.’
This was the icing on the cake. I was speechless.
‘I don’t know what to say. Except that I’ll spend it well. Thanks for everything.’ I hugged her, feeling.emotional and unworthy.
‘You’re welcome,’ she said blithely and made off down the road towards the car park.
The others came out and we shared cigarettes. I looked sheepishly at Karen, who had made a great effort to support me. I didn’t know how to put into words my gratitude for her appearance at the court, especially considering her own difficulties. She had turned up despite all that.
‘I heard about you and Mick,’ I said to Karen. ‘You know I would have called you, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.’
‘I needed some time. It wasn’t your fault. I just wasn’t ready to face anyone.’
‘I’m so glad you came. I appreciate it so much. Look, why don’t we have a cup of coffee somewhere and we can talk about it in private?’ I suggested.
‘Sorry, but I have to get back to work. No worries. I’ll call over Christmas and we can have a good chinwag.’ She hugged me again.
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ I finished.
‘Jack, you’re doing really well. We’re all proud of you,’ she said.
We’re all proud of you? Who’s we?
Mam and Dad offered me a lift home but I declined. I had decided to do some extra Christmas shopping. I didn’t want £200 hanging about my person. I walked from Dolphin House on the Quays past the Halfpenny Bridge. Buskers huddled together in the chilly December wind. They were singing carols and doing it rather badly. Nonetheless, I stopped to listen and enjoyed it immensely. A cap was on the ground, held down by a large stone, to stop the wind from taking it away. I threw in my small change. They thanked me. It felt good to be alive.
I walked down the Quays, until I reached O’Connell Street, alive with street-traders competing for customers. The crowds moved like swarms of bees. I allowed them to carry me down Henry Street. The lights flashed on and off and overloaded shoppers jostled to get past me. I made my way slowly down the street. I was in no hurry. I was enjoying the atmosphere and tightly clutched the brown envelope as I strolled up Moore Street.
I veered left into the Ilac Centre, went straight to Roches department store and headed for the Household Section. I searched high and low until I found what I was looking for: a beautiful crystal savings box, just like the one I had broken. I picked it up and felt its dead weight. It was almost identical. I went to the checkout and asked could I have it engraved. I was sent to a private booth and I instructed them to inscribe: David, 20 September 1987. It wasn’t the best job in the world — I’d seen better engravings on wet cement. Still, I wasn’t prepared to wait for a professional to do it. And it was the thought that counted. They gift-wrapped it for me and I put it in a large carrier bag.
Then I headed for the butchers on Moore Street and bought the biggest turkey and joint of ham that I could see. Alice would appreciate that. It was the least I could do to repay her for all the nights she was minding David. After that I wandered around the shops looking at clothes. I had a really hard time buying a pair of trousers and a sweater for myself. They cost £50 altogether. I didn’t feel I was worth £50 and crept out of the shop like a thief. I stopped in a small coffee-shop and bought myself something to eat. Then I set off back to Roches Stores for the last leg of my shopping trip.
The toy department there was a wonderland. Hysterical children were being dragged by the earlobe by overwrought adults along the toy-laden aisles. Dolls walked and talked. Computer games played noisily. A fire engine shot through my feet at an alarming speed, its siren wailing as it fled past. A little boy came charging after it and was promptly walloped across the backside by an irate mam. I smiled to myself. Then I had a thought. I searched along the shelves and picked up a beautiful brand new Thomas the Tank Engine, its newly painted blue and black engine shining in the fluorescent light. I tucked it under my arm. Then I stumbled on a large brown teddy bear, pretty much like the one I had had as a kid. I bought that too. I was just about to leave the store when I caught sight of something in the corner of my eye. I turned back slowly and stood staring. It was the most beautiful tiny doll’s house I had ever seen.
I knelt down to examine the miniature furniture and petite rooms. It even had a library, complete with minuscule books. The walls were papered and displayed framed paintings. I gently lifted one off just to see that they weren’t stickers. Everything was real. Even the chandeliers worked. I turned the light switch on and off in silent amusement.
An assistant appeared at my side and bent down. ‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ she remarked.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful in my life.’ I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
‘Had you got it in mind for a little girl, perhaps?’
I looked at the assistant. ‘Eh. Yes. I suppose so.’
‘How old is the little one?’ she enquired.
‘Thirty — sorry, I meant nine. She’s nine years old!’ I blushed.
‘Oh, she’d simply love this.’ The assistant had me eating out of her hand.
‘Do you really think so?’ I played along.
‘Oh yes! This particular house has sold out. In fact, it’s the only one left, I think.’
That did it. ‘What’s the damage?’ I asked.
‘One hundred pounds.’
‘Jaysus.’
‘Think of her little face on Christmas morning.’
I thought of my little face. ‘I’ll take it,’ I said.
Having spent the entire £200, I headed for home. I was broke and I was delighted.
The following day was Christmas Eve. The last time I was sober on Christmas Eve was when I was thirteen. This year, to my delight, I really got into the swing of things. Mam and Dad had passed on their old Christmas tree in lieu of the new one they had just put up. It was a bit bockady and I had to fill a bucket and surround the base with stones to keep it steady. David was in his element, jumping up and down. I decorated the tree with some cheap bells and tinsel that I had picked up on Henry Street. It was bright and cheerful, just the ticket. I twisted the lights around the branches and plugged them in. Hey presto! They actually worked!
That night, it took for ever to get David to sleep. I read him Mr Men books until his eyes — and mine — started to droop. Just as I was about to sneak out the door, he would pipe up again, and demand to hear a Christmas story. I would have to relay the whole Santa thing again. Eventually, matchsticks couldn’t have kept his eyes open. He turned over and snored happily in his teddy bear pyjamas. On his bedside locker sat a sandwich and a glass of milk for Father Christmas. I took a bite of the sandwich and sipped the milk. I removed the large red stocking that hung on the drawer knob and took it away to fill. As I did so, I put on Bing Crosby. It was the only time his singing seemed appropriate. Now his soft crooning was lulling me into a deeply peaceful state of mind. I was definitely getting older.
Taking all the gifts I had purchased, I arranged them on the floor, then carefully wrapped each one in expensive velvety paper. I reached for some gift tags and wrote their names in my best handwriting, then attached them to their relevant parcels. The dolls house, to me, from me. The fire engine for Joe. The brown teddy for Desmond. I arranged them neatly under the Christmas tree along with David’s gifts.
I looked at them for ages and then realised how stupid I was. I cried
hard. I was still living in an illusion. However, it wasn’t a fatal one. It kept me going. No way was I going to surrender this particular illusion. There was too much to lose. I wiped my tears and sat on the floor, smoking a cigarette. It then occurred to me that I hadn’t once thought about a drink. I was dead chuffed.
Christmas Day came and went. Having dinner in Mam and Dad’s didn’t turn out to be as difficult as I thought it would be. There was a card from Jill on the mantelpiece. She had forgotten my address and sent it c/o Mam and Dad. I was really pleased.
David was hyper from an overdose of presents and chocolate. When we left, I filled two black sacks full of toys and piled them into the back of Dad’s car. Back home, Alice called in with two plates of turkey and ham. She was delighted with the present but insisted that we ate some of it.
In the early evening, I took a stroll with David along Fairview Park. Children, dressed in their new Christmas clothes, raced up and down on new bicycles and roller blades. Little girls pushed new buggies and carried new dolls. We walked along the playground and watched them happily scurrying around. I was enjoying myself. I inhaled the clear pine-scented air, ran my hand along the bushes and felt a rush of childhood innocence. I used to do that when I was a kid. I’d skip along the road, coming home from school, and run my hand through the thick leaves. It felt wonderful. I was reclaiming the simplicity of being able to feel.
When David and I got back home, I opened my Christmas presents. There was some money from Mam and Dad. A packet of Rolo’s from David (Alice’s idea) and the doll’s house. David immediately wanted to play with it. I had a hard time explaining it was not a toy. However, I let him at it, knowing he would soon tire of it. A clatter of kids sat around the room eating popcorn and watching television. I was glad of the company and was quite enjoying the telly myself for once.
When the doorbell rang, little Johnny, Alice’s son, went out to answer it. I thought it was funny. They could have all been my children.
‘Missus, there’s an oul fella at the door,’ he said.
‘Tell him I’ve no money. I can hardly feed the eleven I already have.’
I heard him repeat word for word what I had said and laughed to myself. He returned breathless and confused. ‘Missus, he won’t go away.’
‘Ask who it is,’ I instructed him, getting a bit annoyed. It was probably one of the parents looking for their mislaid child.
Johnny returned again, obviously pissed off. ‘Says he’s a friend of yours. His name is Sam.’
Ah Christ.
I went out closing the living-room door behind me.
A quiff of blond hair perched against the porch door. ‘Are you coming out to play?’ Joe said.
*
‘You’ve grown a beard.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘All the rage, this time of year,’ he smiled.
‘Where’s your sleigh?’ I giggled.
‘Refuelling.’ He motioned to a banjaxed car parked at the kerb.
‘I guess you’d better come in, then.’ Joe stepped into the hall. No sooner had he put his foot in the door than David had twigged it. He came running up the hall without so much as a hint of shyness.
‘Joe! Joe!’ He threw himself at him and Joe lifted him up. It was useless to try not to cry. ‘We have a Christmas present for you!’ He jumped up and down excitedly.
‘We?’ Joe looked at me. I blushed.
David dragged him by the arm. ‘C’mon! C’mon!’ He pulled him into the other room and ran to the tree, hauling out the present. Then he proceeded to open it himself.
‘David!’ I yelled. ‘Let Joe open it himself.’
The other kids clamoured around in a circle.
‘I’m afraid you’ve got an audience,’ I smiled. I folded my arms and stared at him.
He removed the paper carefully and took out the engine. ‘Ah ha!’ he said. Then: ‘I have something for you two as well.’ He handed David an envelope. He tore it open. There was a £20 note inside.
‘What’s this?’ David asked, looking disappointed.
‘It’s for your savings box,’ I said.
‘Boring!’ he sighed. The little bugger.
Joe told me to close my eyes and hold out my hand. I stood there, arm outstretched, hoping he would plonk a great big kiss on my lips. Instead I felt a cold object being placed in my hand.
‘Open your eyes,’ he said eventually.
I looked down. ‘What is it?’ I asked stupidly.
‘It’s a war medal, read it.’
It was a Maltese cross. I flipped it over and it read: Jack. For bravery and courage. Love, Joe.
I put my arms around him, not caring that the children were watching, not caring that David was watching, not caring if my guardian angel himself was watching. I kissed his ear and felt the roughness of his beard scratch me.
‘I thought I’d lost you,’ I whispered.
‘You’ll never lose me — you know that. I just had to do what I had to do.’ He pulled me closer.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Thank you for loving me.’
*
I lost my virginity again on 31 December 1993.
Joe suggested a drive along Dollymount Beach. ‘C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can count the condoms together.’
I could hardly resist. I didn’t lose my knickers because I wasn’t wearing any. I didn’t hear any choirs of angels either, but I was certain I could hear Bing Crosby. Still, Bing Crosby is all right by me.
My journey was complete.
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The House that Jack Built Page 31