After that, my eyes were glued only to one of the six boxes. The tears running down my cheeks didn’t help Danny Driscoll, as he used every ounce of his strength to push open the door. They didn’t help him when the smoke from the burning mats triggered his coughing fit. And they didn’t help him when, resigned to his fate, and without panic, he sat down until the coughing stopped. When the call came a short while later, I already knew that Daniel Driscoll, their father and friend, was gone. And the greatest gift of friendship I could ever have offered Em, is that I hadn’t let her see it.
Chapter Thirty-One
TOMMY
It rained the day of Danny’s funeral. It rained and rained and rained and I don’t remember it stopping once the whole day. Like fucking nature was tryin’ to wash away our grief. But no amount of rain could do that. The championship titles, the money, the careers we’d made for ourselves. All of it meant fuck all when it came to losing him. There was a hole in the centre of our world that nothing could ever fill. For weeks we’d been lost. Completely rudderless without Danny there to guide us. Anger, rage, frustration, pain. These were things we were used to. But not loss. Not like this. Grief was like being submerged in the middle of the ocean. Even if you wanted to save yourself, you had no way of knowing which way was up. My only comfort was in not being alone. Not having to pretend to be something I wasn’t, or explain how I felt. Because the people I loved shared my pain.
“Please baby. Just open the door. You’ve been in the bathroom for an hour,” Con pleaded, his voice cracking. The funeral cars would shortly be collecting us all from Con and Em’s house. That was, of course, only if we could get Em out of the bathroom.
“Just go without me,” Em replied, her voice thick with tears. The lads and I were embracing the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy. Getting up, going to work and going through the motions of life as we tried to figure out a new normality. Em though, had completely fallen apart. Danny had been her father, her mother, her rescuer, her salvation. In short, her whole world. And she never got to say goodbye.
“Sunshine, I can’t do that,” Con replied. “I need you. You don’t go, I don’t go.” Upstairs, I could hear Little D screaming, and Em sobbed even harder. Sliding down the wall next to the door, Con gripped his hair in frustration. The agony of losing Danny was indescribable, but he was dealing with his pain as well as Em’s. Torn between caring for his son and consoling his wife, he was lost.
“I’ll take care of the baby,” Evelyn whispered, and squeezed my hand. I smiled at her gratefully and soon after she’d gone upstairs the baby’s crying stopped.
“I don’t know what to fuckin’ do,” Con whispered to me. “She’s going through the motions with Little D, but he’s picking up on her moods and acting up. She cries all the fuckin’ time and won’t eat and I’m fuckin’ terrified. Tell me how to help her?”
Sliding down next to him, I nudged his shoulder.
“Why don’t you go and have a shower and a shave. Get cleaned up. We still have an hour before we need to leave. Let me have a word with her,” I suggested.
“I don’t know.”
“Look, you’ve tried everything else and it hasn’t worked. What’s the worst she can do? Stay in there cryin’? You ain’t leaving the house, you’re just givin’ her some space. If she asks for you, I’ll come and find you.”
“Thanks Tom,” he replied, looking relieved that someone was telling him what to do. I waited for a couple of minutes after he’d gone, before knocking gently on the door.
“He’s gone baby girl,” I said, but there was no reply. Taking a deep, patient breath, I started singing as deliberately off key as I could.
“I know a song that will get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves. I know a song that will get on your nerves. Get, get, get on your nerves. I know a song that will…”
“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” Em scolded, flinging the door open. “Do you how inappropriate you’re being? Today of all days! And your singing is bloody awful.”
“I’ve been inappropriate every day of my life, so why should today be any different? And I was deliberately singing really badly to annoy you, which is really fucking difficult because I’m an awesome singer.”
“Why are you being annoying on purpose?” she asked. Her face was puffy, her eyes ringed red with deep, dark circles beneath them. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look worse, and I’d spent day and night by her side in a hospital bed as she clung to life. It wasn’t hard to see why Con was so worried.
“So you’d open the door and I could join your pity party. Or is it a party for one?” She opened her mouth to reply. Then, with a horrified look on her face, clapped a hand over her mouth and lunged for the toilet. I had a very delicate gag reflex when it came to puke, and after watching her vomit no less than three times, I was holding back the dry heaves myself. Still, I pulled up my big boy pants, and held back her hair. When she was done, I grabbed a couple of baby wipes out of the packet on her counter, and pressed them against her forehead.
“Why did this have to happen now?” she whispered.
“It’s just the stress Em. It happens.”
“It’s not just the stress Tommy. I think I’m pregnant,” she admitted, sniffing.
“Don’t start crying again!” I warned. “Seriously! I’ve held back on the puking, but if you start cryin’ then I’ll start cryin’ and we’ll never get out of here.”
“I can’t help it. I think it’s the hormones.”
“Well, I’d probably cry too if that big eejit knocked me up. Shit, the thought of having to push a melon through a hole the size of a lemon is tearing me up a bit. Or maybe it’s a lime. I mean, you’re pretty small so I wouldn’t like to guess how tiny you are down there. Little D is pretty big though, so maybe you were a lime and now you’re a lemon. Ain’t nothin’ to cry about though. Just a natural part of childbirth. If number two is the same size as number one, you should probably lay off the trampolining, but it ain’t nothin’ to get upset over.”
“I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry at what you just said,” she said, apparently doing both.
“Shit Em. I wasn’t jokin’ about the waterworks. You need to cut that shit out. Between that and the puking you’re gonna dehydrate yourself.”
“I just feel so guilty that’s all.” She slid down to the floor and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. I sat down next to her.
“You’re gonna have to help me out here. What the fuck do you have to feel guilty about?” I asked.
“I’m really happy about the baby, and then I think about Danny and I feel so awful for thinking that way. Especially as it’s my fault he died. If I hadn’t’ve fallen behind with the accounts, he wouldn’t even had been there that night!” I could barely understand her by the end, she was sobbing so hard.
“Everything you just said, was completely fucked up. You know that right? He lived at the gym and those fuckers targeted him. If it wasn’t that night, it would’ve been some other night when he was on his own. Those murdering bastards are the ones responsible. You taking that upon yourself just lifts the burden from them, and that ain’t right.
“And as for the baby, Danny fuckin’ loved Jack and Little D. Don’t you think he’d be over the fuckin’ moon at the thought of you knocked up again? Hell, for all you know this little blessing came straight from him. No way would he want you sitting here breaking your heart like this.”
“You really think that? About this being a blessing from him?” she asked, looking at me like I was offering some kind of lifeline from the grief she was drowning in.
“I do. And you should try and take my advice more often. I’m very wise and I feel like my wisdom ain’t always fully appreciated in our friendship circle.” She smiled at that like I knew she would. Although I was deadly fuckin’ serious about the wisdom bit.
“How are we going to make it through the day Tommy? My hormones are all out of whack, I feel sick all the time and I can
’t go five minutes without crying,” she admitted.
“If you want to cry, then cry. Who’s going to stop you? As long as you keep topping up those fluids, you do what you need to do, but you do it with us, not hiding from Con in the bathroom. Danny was the father he never had and today is fucking with his head. Taking care of you and protecting that little baby in your belly gives him something to focus on, but he can’t do that if you don’t let him. Fuck, you’re the Hurricane whisperer. You know how to deal with him better than anyone.”
“I am the Hurricane whisperer aren’t I?” she replied, chuckling. It wasn’t a smile, but it was a start.
“Damn straight. Today is going to be a fuckin’ knife in the gut, but together we’re going to give him the best fuckin’ send off the old man could’ve wished for.”
“And after that?” she asked.
“We go back to work. We pick up our tools once the insurance company have given us the all clear, and we get to work on re-building what we lost. Driscoll’s has taken a right fuckin’ battering, but she’s still standing. We rip everything out and re-fit it, exactly as it was. And you know why?”
“Why?” she asked, croakily.
“Because many, many years ago, Danny Driscoll was exactly where you are now. Fucking lost in a world of grief and pain. But he got up, put one foot in front of the other and re-opened Driscoll’s Gym. Him doing that, making that decision to keep it going in memory of his wife, saved Con’s life. And Liam’s. And it changed mine and Kieran’s life too. Where the fuck would we all be if he’d let those doors stay closed? So, no matter how shitty we’re feeling, we get today to grieve. And tomorrow, we get up. Put one foot in front of the other like Danny did, and we work on re-opening those doors in his fucking memory. It’s our turn now. Let’s see how many lives we can save. Okay?”
“You’re a good man, Tommy Riordon,” she said, her eyes watery, but hopeful.
“I know Sunshine,” I replied, throwing my arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “I’m the fuckin’ best.”
It was the longest day of my entire life, and that’s counting all those I spent either in a hospital bed, or by the side of it. The night before had been the mass of internment, followed by the full funeral service and finally cremation that morning. That had been Danny’s wish. Said he didn’t want any feckers standing over a plot of earth and grieving over him. Father Pat told us that Danny had scattered Lily’s ashes off the top of a mountain in Killarney. So that’s where we were taking his. The whole gang, kids and all, were flying to Cork and then driving to Killarney where we’d take him to join her. It would be a hell of a trip, but we all needed it.
“Hello there, lads,” a solemn Father Pat said, placing a tray of whiskeys down on our table as he pulled up a seat. The wake had been held at the same place we’d had Con and Em’s wedding reception, and both times it had been packed full to the rafters. Ma had taken everything in hand, and with Evelyn’s help, they’d cooked up an absolute storm. Honestly, I think Ma’s way of taking care of us, was to feed us. Every time I sat down, hungry or not, she shoved some kind of food in front of me. And, hungry or not, I ate it. Because she was grieving too and if that’s what it took for her to feel better, then that’s what I’d do.
My eyes followed Evie around the room as she looked after Ma. A couple of times Ma had broken down through the day, but before Da or I could get to her, Evie was there with a tissue and a ready hug, reassuring her that everything was okay. I caught my Da’s eye every time that happened, and I knew what his smile was telling me. I had a good one there and I should keep hold of her, but I didn’t need Da to tell me that. I’d known from the minute she sat down at my bedside. If I was keeping it together, it was only because of her. She was my rock. The love of my motherfucking life, and I planned to be hers, if she’d let me. Fuck it. Even if she didn’t, I’d stalk her till the end of time. I was romantic like that.
My gaze drifted back to Father Pat as he handed a whiskey to us all. We were all exhausted and it showed. Over the last few hours, mourners, well-wishers, friends and family had slowly departed, until it was just us, Ma and Da and Father Pat. Con and Kieran had brought their babies, but after an hour at the wake, they’d had just about all the cuddles and cheek pinching they could take, and Kier’s wonderful ma had taken both babies back to hers for the night.
“Now that it’s just us, there’s something we need to talk about,” Father Pat said, when we all had a drink in front of us. “I’m not one to break the seal of confession, but since I believe this is more an update on current events, I don’t think Danny would mind. He told me that he’d shared with you all his part in concealing the evidence of Stuart Riordon’s crimes. Well, as soon as he heard that Stuart’s boy had been messing with you, he retrieved the gun and took it down to the police station, where he gave them a full statement under interview attesting to the facts. I spoke to the police this morning, and as well as charging both Stuart and Declan for Danny’s murder, they’re also sticking Stuart with the original robbery and attempted murder charges from the seventies.”
“I tried paying Danny’s private investigator for the drug stuff he dug up on Declan Murphy as well, but he wouldn’t have it.” Con added. “As soon as he found out what they’d done to Danny, he handed it all straight over to the police, so they’re charging the fucker with the drug supply stuff as well.”
“So, it’s safe to say those bastards will be behind bars for a long time,” I guessed.
“It ain’t enough though is it?” Kieran said, sounding pissed off. “I mean, why do they get to walk round still living, when Danny is in the ground? They’ll get out eventually, and then what?”
“He ain’t in the ground,” I pointed out.
“Come again?” Kier said.
“Technically, he’s in a jar. Or an urn or whatever you call it. I mean he’s probably still in the oven now, but he’ll be in an urn soon. Not in the ground.”
“It’s a fucking expression. And what the fuck?” Kier said.
“Just being accurate,” I huffed, taking a swig of my pint.
“Seriously, you’re not ragin’ that all they get is a prison sentence?” Kieran argued. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I wasn’t stupid. I knew he was spoilin’ for a fight. He wanted someone to punish for Danny’s death, and the Murphys gettin’ arrested before we could get our hands on them, pissed him off no end. Putting down my pint with a sigh, I looked him dead in the eyes.
“Even if Stuart and Declan Murphy were rotting at the bottom of an unmarked grave, on the shittiest landfill site in England, it wouldn’t be justice for the life of one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. So yes, I’m ragin’. I’m just not being a big fuckin’ baby about it and throwin’ my toys out the pram, cause there’s people I love, that Danny loved, that need me to be a better man than that.” I shot a quick look towards Em, and then back to Kieran, and the fucker knew exactly what I was talkin’ about. Suitably shamed at his outburst, he gave me a nod of understanding and then turned to give a sad smile to Marie, who’d threaded her hand through his in silent support.
“Liam lad. You should know that your Mam and your other brothers are moving back to Ireland.” Father Pat said. “I heard from one of my parishioners yesterday that they’ll be gone by the end of the month. They aren’t even staying for the trial. I just thought you should know, in case you wanted to say goodbye.”
“Thanks, Father. But any goodbyes I needed to say, I said a long time ago.” Liam replied solemnly. “Truth be told, it’s a relief them leave. Not having to worry about the awkwardness of running into them anymore. And as for Ma, she’s no mother to me. Hasn’t been from the first time she turned her back, and let Da smack me around.” Father Pat nodded understandingly. I don’t think I’d ever met a meeker, more defeated woman than Liam’s ma. She’d married a man who’d kept her firmly under his thumb, then raised sons in his image. Having grown up with a ma who was as strong minded as she was big hearted, I never
really knew what to make of her.
There was silence once more around the table and Father Pat reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a document. He unfolded the pages and took a deep breath.
“I know some of you have an appointment with Danny’s solicitor tomorrow to go through his will,” he said. “But he gave me this letter a few months ago, when he knew his illness was terminal, to read to you when he passed. And I think now’s as good a time as any.”
Not one single person moved a muscle as he started to read.
“If you feckers are reading this, that means I’m dead. I don’t even have to be there to know that if I was able to join you for a drink, you’d be moping around and depressing the shite out of me. I only hope Pat has come through for me one last time with a decent Irish, single malt to toast me goodbye. Pat, I’ll haunt you from the grave if you cheap out on the good stuff!
I never really believed in miracles until I met my Lily, and saw proof with my own eyes. Once you know they can happen, it’s hard not to carry on believing, even when you don’t want to. Whether I was ready or not, whether I expected it or not, each of you kids coming into my life was another miracle, and it’s something I don’t think I ever truly deserved.
As you feckers well know, I was never very good with words. I never told you enough what you meant to me. But my last hope as I leave this earth, is that I did right by you all. That I gave you some small measure of what you gave me. You made me a father and a grandfather, and more importantly, you taught me about the kind of man I wanted to be. I couldn’t be prouder of the men (and women) you grew into, and being a part of your lives while that happened was nothing short of a fucking gift.
The Fire (Hurricane Book 4) Page 28