“I haven’t.”
“Aren’t you going away this summer?”
“Not till August.”
“Ah.”
He was taking no chances this time, it seemed. He would hardly speak to her, never mind start a conversation. The planes of his face were still, shuttered. Not even the kind of smile you would give to an acquaintance. She began to feel silly standing there. What was she expecting? He had talked to her and found her out; found that she was weird and unpredictable. Not worth the bother. Who was she, compared to the packed court of King David?
The sense of failure, like a ball and chain, dragged her heels as she walked on. There was one person who would put up with her. One person who would have her. One person who would tell lies to make her seem normal – for the rest of his life if necessary. Another way to get by. She was a bad girl, bad girl, to have treated him so badly. Maybe her mother didn’t know yet what she had done. Maybe she need never know. No, mummy mustn’t know. We won’t tell mummy. She headed down the path to the back gate, defeated again.
At the top of the slight incline, the doors of the Museum opened. Angus Fraser stepped out and made his way down the path, pausing behind each tree trunk. David Shaw was still sitting where Robyn had paused briefly. This was awkward. He didn’t want Shaw to see him trailing Robyn, but if he didn’t follow her now, he would lose her.
Angus stopped and watched through branches. The dog was chewing something while his master shifted restlessly, glancing along the path after Robyn. The guy lowered his head for a moment. Angus sneered. Ha! a holy Joe. Probably praying she’ll find him irresistible. He had been waiting in his car to catch her leaving her flat this morning. Except that she didn’t leave. She arrived. With an overnight bag.
Bitch! Photographs and fantasies were all very well, but he’d want the real thing very soon.
Great – the guy was leaving, walking away. No, he’s stopped. Turned round. Turned back. Hunkered down beside the dog and rocking on his toes. Make your mind up, boy! Damn. He had snapped a lead on the dog and finally set off in the direction Robyn had taken.
Now what? A surge of annoyance made his head hum. But this might be interesting. He set off to follow the boy, just catching sight of him as he rounded a corner.
The river was quite fast today, despite it being the summer. Nestled at the feet of mountains, Belfast was rarely short of water. Hands thrust into the pockets of her coat, Robyn wandered aimlessly along the embankment. Where had the person she had been yesterday vanished to? What was the good of making decisions for yourself if someone was going to come along and say: Sorry, that won’t do – you have to do this instead. Why bother trying to be anybody? Why bother at all? Why be happy only sometimes if you could stay frozen and never have to feel anything, happy or sad?
Several seagulls bobbed on the water. On the far side, a union jack flew from a lamp post. She walked along in the direction of the flow, the rippling motion almost hypnotic. This wasn’t the way to Gemma’s house. It was back nearer the bridge. She stopped and put a hand on the railings, willing herself to turn, go and be a decent, civilised person and tell Neil how glad she was he wasn’t badly injured; tell him… She started in surprise. David Shaw was leaning on the railings beside her.
“Do you make a habit of materialising suddenly?” she said.
“You just didn’t hear me. Or him,” he nodded at the dog, “which is more surprising.”
Manna’s pink tongue hung from the side of his mouth, shaking in time to his yellow sides, which were heaving like bellows. After one quick glance at her, David didn’t make any attempt at conversation, just stood there looking across the river.
“I’ve a cat,” she said. What a stupid thing to say.
“Him or her?”
“Him. He’s called Onion.”
His mouth twitched. “Onion. I like it. How do you manage to keep him alive in Belfast? Must be a cat graveyard.”
“He’s not here. He’s at my mother’s.”
“Are you not from Belfast?”
“No. I’m from way out west!”
Somehow she had settled her arms on the railings beside him and the silence was OK now. A racing canoe sliced up the river, the rowers straining rhythmically. It reminded Robyn of something.
“I wrote a poem about this river once. For my school magazine.”
“Remember any of it?”
“It wasn’t any good. In my last year at school we were bussed up here for the University open day. Some of us went exploring before the bus took us back, and we ended up here. Almost exactly here in fact.”
“You went to Queen’s?”
“Yes.”
He looked round at her then. He seemed pleased. “That’s where I want to go.”
“I think the Head will want you to go in for the Oxbridge exams.”
He snorted. “He can want all he likes.”
“Don’t you want to have a crack at it?”
“I want to stay here.” He looked across at the gable end of a block of flats where a paramilitary mural glowered over the street below. The eaves above it were painted red, white and blue.
“Do you? Will many of your friends stay?” she asked.
“A lot of them want to go to Scotland; Dundee, St Andrews.”
“Why don’t you want to go too?”
“Because I want to stay here. It’s my home.”
After a moment, she said: “Funny.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s just,” she explained, “that I know a few people who went to university in England. And they haven’t come back. But I feel just like you said. I’m sticking with it.” She nodded across at the mural. “To hell with them all! This is my country too!”
He turned round and leaned back on his elbows. “Sounds like a toast. ‘To hell with them all!’”
She laughed. “A great toast!”
Manna had decided to lie down and David dropped the lead. His mobile bleeped. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at it and put it back again.
“Any career plans?” she asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Nothing definite.”
“Waiting for the Damascus light?”
“I could wait for worse,” he replied.
“Seriously though?”
He spoke carefully. “I’ll do my best with what I’m given, where I’m put, who I’m with.” He shrugged. “God knows the rest.”
Robyn was sure the careers master had never had a reply like that on one of his forms.
“I wish I had your confidence,” she said.
His mood somersaulted suddenly and he grinned. “Yeah, sounded good, didn’t it? I wish I had my confidence too!”
A jogger pattered down the cycle path that bordered the road. A tin can floated by, not far from the bank. Robyn looked around and found a pebble. Her aim was good, but not good enough. David found a stone but just missed the can, ripples dissipating in the flowing water. It was going further away and he had a last try. This time there was a thunk and the can spun and settled again.
Robyn applauded. “Bull’s eye!” They stood again in silence, leaning on the railings. Then she said: “I used to do that from a bridge when I was a child. It was great when the river was high and fast. We used to walk home from school that way and it was great fun. Have you heard of a game called Pooh sticks?”
“I’ve read Winnie the Pooh, remember.”
She stretched over the railings and wrestled a twig from a bush. She intended to throw it into the water but when she turned back, David had walked several metres away and was still walking.
“David?” she called. He turned suddenly and walked back.
“Cramp in my foot,” he said.
“Oh.” She threw the stick. “Next stop Scotland.”
“Next stop that clump of grass hanging over the water.” They watched. The twig caught, jerked and stuck.
“Hey, you’re a prophet as well,” she said. A thought niggled at her. “David, what does ‘shalom’ mean? I mean, rea
lly mean?”
“You’re the language expert.”
“Not on that.”
He thought for a moment. “It’s a deep word. Lots of layers to it. It means peace, but not just peace. It’s not just absence of trouble. It’s the presence of something special. When you say ‘Shalom’ to someone, you’re wishing them to be whole in body and spirit, to be at peace with themselves.” A seagull wheeled over the far bank. She knew by his voice that he had turned his head towards her. “Shalom aleichem means: Peace be unto you.”
“Is there a reply?”
“Aleichem shalom, I think. Unto you be peace.”
She straightened slowly. “What a beautiful thing to wish for someone.”
“Yes. And it’s a word that should never be said without really meaning it.”
His brown eyes were steady when she looked round. “And you meant it?” she asked shyly.
“Oh yes.”
Another racing canoe sliced past.
“Hey, what about your poem? The one you wrote for your school mag?” he asked.
“I told you. It was no good.”
“Tell me a few lines and I’ll write an essay on it.”
“I could call your bluff.”
“Go on.”
“It was called The River,” she said defiantly.
“Original title.”
She almost thumped him and then remembered just in time who he was, and who she was. It was so easy to forget that. “Give me a moment to think.” She searched her memory but couldn’t remember all of it. “Actually, it’s a bit depressing.”
“Go on. I can take it,” he challenged, his voice light, humorous.
She took a deep breath and recited: “Solid city race-boat, Cutting quickly through, And the glassy, oily surface, Heals itself like new.” She stopped, checking to see if he was laughing at her. He was listening, head bowed.
“Go on.”
“Heavy, heavy heartbeats Throbbing by the side Of the river that’s so lucky It can’t feel like human-kind.”
Her embarrassment grew with his silence. Then he said softly: “I stood beside a river once, feeling just like that.”
Robyn was silent.
His mobile rang and he swung away to answer it impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way.” He pocketed the phone. “I have to go. I was to meet up with some of the guys. And I have to get this mutt back home first.”
Manna had recovered from his forced march to the embankment and stood readily enough, his eye searching his master’s face for clues. Robyn pulled the dog’s ears and patted him.
“OK.”
He turned to cross the road. “Bye.”
“David,” she called as he reached the far side, next the brightly coloured swings and slides of a children’s playground. He turned. She waited for a lorry to pass. “The word ‘shalom’. The way you explained it means it’s a holophrastic word.”
“Holo… what?”
“Holophrastic. Look it up!”
His laughter reached across the traffic and she could see the smile still on his face as he jogged away, the dog bouncing along in time to his steps.
11
THE FOUR YOUNG men were on a high as they arrived at McDonalds in the middle of Belfast. Friday teatime and the city was packed. David loved it, loved the feel of it, loved the way it fitted him like an old shirt. He had heard about the black years when the city centre was hollow and dead at night, fear lurking at every corner and in every doorway.
But late night shopping and clubbing were back and Belfast was a buzz of activity. He had adopted the city with zealous determination. Their move from Enniskillen was explained by his father’s promotion, but David knew that in reality it was his parents’ fervent wish to leave the town.
Two of the friends pounced when a table became free while the others ordered their burger meals. Tim Thompson wanted an apple pie as well. Tim always did. There was a shuffling and sorting of straws, chips and the ridiculous pile of paper napkins.
Mumbling round his first urgent mouthfuls, Mullan asked, “So where were you that you were late, Davey boy?” He was an aggressive type with spots and a stiff retro overhang of gelled hair.
“Busy.”
“Chloe-type busy?”
“Chloe’s in Lanzarote,” said Tim quickly.
“Eyeing the waiters, no doubt.” This was Meekin, a suave fair haired lad with fine features slewed by a crooked nose. Mullan crowed. “They’ll be doing more than eyeing her if they get the chance.” David knew he was being baited and didn’t rise to it. He calmly bit his cheeseburger and diverted a descending dollop of sauce with practised ease.
“I know where he was,” said Meekin smoothly.
“Where?”
“Round at Penny Woodford’s house. Didn’t get his trousers zipped in time.”
Only a slight hesitation in David’s jaws showed that this one had brushed closer.
“Wise up, Meekin,” said Tim. “We’re not all like you, dickhead.”
Meekin wiped his fingers on a napkin fastidiously. “No, we’re not all like me indeed. I don’t pretend to be a saint, unlike some. Some of us,” – he looked at David – “were born old.”
Mullan leaned forward. “Is she as up for it as everybody says, guys?”
Meekin raised a blond eyebrow. “You mean you don’t know? You pathetic sod.”
David put down his burger carefully. “Leave Penny Woodford alone, Mullan. You’re the last thing she needs.”
Mullan lifted his hands and waggled his fingers mockingly. “Oooooh! I’m so scared. Going to thump me with your Bible, eh?”
“I’d need a bigger one for your skull.”
“Penny’s a big girl now.” Meekin sighed and paused patiently for Mullan’s sniggers to subside before continuing. “She can look after herself – and whoever else she wants.”
“I said leave her alone.” David’s look was steely. Meekin didn’t read the warning signs.
“Bit late for that, Shaw. Was she wearing red frilly…” David’s long fingers shot out and bunched the neck of Meekin’s shirt in his fist. He bent Meekin across the table, onion scraps and sauce smearing down his shirt as his crooked nose arrived in close proximity to David’s.
“Keep your filthy mind in the sewer where it belongs, Meekin.”
Tim leapt up and pulled David’s shoulders. “Hey! Chill, man. We’ll get thrown out.”
Slowly David released Meekin who slid back into his chair. His face flushed, he took several napkins and brushed his shirt.
“Temper, temper. I was only winding you up. Old man.”
“So. Any plans for next week?” said Tim desperately.
Conversation moved on with determination to the local ice hockey team and what films were showing. David’s attention wandered until Mullan said:
“I saw Robyn Daniels in town a few days ago. Walking along past Marks.”
“Daniels isn’t easy to miss,” said Meekin.
“I thought she would head off home in the holidays.” Tim said. “Chloe said she said something about it in class one day when they were talking about Benedict Kiely. She said she was from the same town as him.” He licked his fingers. “She went home from the Hooley with Fraser, did you notice?”
He opened his apple pie and blew on it before taking a bite. The other three paused in unison to watch as the apple filling burst out the other end and headed for his trousers. David handed him a bundle of napkins before it landed. This was routine.
“Tim,” said David patiently, “that doesn’t have to happen every time, you know.”
“S’pose not.”
“I don’t like Fraser.” This was Mullan.
“Maybe she does,” said Meekin.
“Lucky bugger,” growled Mullan, and burped.
David shook his last chip out of the box. So why was she still in Belfast?
Gemma’s sitting room was large and bright and had once been two rooms. Now it ran from front to back, with a door to a s
mall kitchen that fitted into an extension into the yard. Robyn turned in from the hall and stopped in shock.
“Neil!” she exclaimed.
Neil lay on the couch. Bandages laced his forehead and cheek. Stitches stood proud of a long cut rising upwards from the right side of his mouth. His right arm was held in a sling and he wore a neckbrace.
Her instinct to go to him was curbed by the tableau that he and his sister made. Gemma had answered her knock without a word and preceded her into the room, leaving Robyn to close the front door herself. Now Gemma was standing beside Neil, her arms crossed.
“Gemma phoned you ages ago, Rob.” Neil’s aggrieved tone was clear even though he spoke with care through one side of his mouth.
“I was held up.” Robyn moved into the room and sat on the arm of the couch, at Neil’s feet. “Gemma said you had no broken bones. Is your arm sprained?”
Gemma’s voice had an indignant edge. “I’m supposed to be at work an hour ago. I thought you’d stay with Neil when I had to go.”
“I’m sorry. You didn’t say.”
“I didn’t expect to have to say.”
Gemma was definitely hostile. It was blood versus water. Robyn glanced at Neil. He was fussing with his sling, his chin creased over the neckbrace as he tried to look down.
“Is it very sore?”
“Of course it’s sore. He’s sore all over. And this is your fault.”
Robyn stood up again. “Actually, no, this isn’t my fault. I don’t know what he’s told you. This is Neil’s fault for driving when he was upset. He should have known better.”
“You’ll have to get a mobile,” mumbled Neil. “I mean, who hasn’t a mobile nowadays?”
“Why don’t you just microchip me in the scruff of the neck? Probably be cheaper in the long run.”
“Don’t be like that. I don’t like it.”
Neil reached out his good hand and after a moment Robyn took it reluctantly. He fidgeted. “When I was in hospital last night, I gave them your number to call first. The nurse told me there was no answer.” He looked up. “Were you not at your place overnight?”
Robyn dropped his hand as if it was a burning coal. By the way he winced, his ribs were bruised.
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