Set in Stone

by Catherine Dunne

  Lynda looked at him, shocked. He was very sober. His eyes were clear. As he stood, his coordination was fine. Lynda looked at each of the young men in turn. What sort of circus was this?

  Suddenly, Ciarán keeled over and slumped against the green armchair. Almost at once, he began to snore.

  Jon stood and put up both his hands, warding off the attack that Lynda could see Robert was about to make. ‘Lynda, Robert, hear me out.’ His poise astonished her and she found his use of their Christian names offensive. They were not equals here. He was a guest in their home, one who had just abused their hospitality.

  ‘I tried to stop him, truly I did. It started off with a few beers, and I was fine with that.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to buy some, but he kicked up a huge fuss. Said there were loads here and I could get some for another night.’ He shrugged, his lips trembling. ‘I think he’d already had a few joints by the time he got home because he was acting all weird. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call us, if you were so worried?’ Robert’s voice was harsh.

  Jon looked at Robert. Lynda could see all the things he wouldn’t say, couldn’t say. He’s not a babysitter, she thought, Ciarán isn’t Jon’s responsibility. His voice was low, calm. ‘I wasn’t worried, exactly. I thought something had happened, and maybe a few beers would help him get it off his chest, whatever it was.’

  ‘And?’ Robert prompted.

  ‘I don’t think that I should—’ Jon began.

  ‘Forget any misplaced loyalty,’ said Robert. ‘What’s going on with him?’ His voice was almost a snarl. Jon stood up straight, met Robert eye to eye.

  ‘We played some music and shared a couple of joints. There’s no point in lying to you about that. We did nothing wrong.’

  Robert interrupted him. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me what you talked about, what was going on with him.’

  ‘He kept going on about wanting to get out of college. He said that you wouldn’t understand.’

  Robert made a gesture of impatience. Lynda put her hand on his arm. ‘Let’s hear Jon out,’ she said quietly.

  ‘The next thing I knew,’ Jon continued, ‘this girl Larissa was on the doorstep. Ciarán said he’d met her last weekend at a club – Zeitgeist, I think – and that she was really good fun.’

  ‘Good fun?’ asked Robert bluntly. ‘What does that mean?’

  Jon looked uncomfortable. He glanced in Lynda’s direction.

  ‘Go ahead, Jon,’ said Robert. His voice was cold, his anger contained for now. ‘You won’t shock us.’

  ‘Look, it all started out harmless enough. We’d a few drinks, then she arrived. I made myself scarce.’

  Lynda interrupted him. ‘Why did she run away from this house like a bat out of hell?’

  Jon looked surprised. ‘Did she? I didn’t know. I went upstairs after she arrived and stayed in my room until about half an hour ago. I didn’t even know she’d left at that stage.’ He pointed towards the hallway. ‘I came down because the front door was open and there was a gale blowin’ through the house. Doors were slamming everywhere. I’ve done nothin’ wrong,’ he said again, his tone suddenly defensive.

  ‘Why, if you were so concerned, did you leave the door flying open?’ demanded Robert.

  ‘Because Ciarán insisted I did. Your woman had thrown a strop but he said she’d be back. I could see he was in a bad way and I didn’t want to make things worse. Look, I haven’t done anything here.’

  Robert pointed to the empty whiskey bottle. ‘I suppose you haven’t had any of that, either? Or the dope?’

  ‘I told you, I smoked a couple of joints, yeah, but Ciarán drank the whiskey. Him and Larissa. I’m not your son’s keeper.’ Jon was becoming agitated. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes blazing. ‘Ciarán was the one who wanted to party. Try stopping him when he gets started! When he really wants to do something. But obviously, you both hold me responsible.’ He stood his ground, just as he had on the day Lynda met him first. He looked her in the eye, then Robert. ‘I’ll pack my stuff and leave, if that’s how you feel. I won’t be where I’m not wanted or trusted.’

  ‘You have nowhere to go,’ Robert said, evenly.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for reminding me of that,’ Jon retorted. ‘Then I’m no worse off than I was a few months ago. I’ll find a hostel. I don’t need anybody to tell me I have no home to go to.’ And he turned to leave the room.

  Lynda felt her anxiety rise like sap. ‘Wait. Jon. Wait. Nobody’s trying to blame you. But something has happened here tonight and we need to get to the bottom of it. He obviously can’t tell us anything right now.’ She gestured towards Ciarán. ‘We’d appreciate anything you know about how he was feeling, anything at all about what happened here this evening.’

  ‘Lynda . . .’ Robert began.

  She turned to face him. ‘No, Robert, you listen to me now. I’ve tried to explain to you before about Ciarán’s rages. Just because he’s been better-behaved in the last couple of months doesn’t mean that the problem has gone away. This,’ and she gestured towards her son’s slumped body beside her, ‘is not a total surprise to me. I’m asking Jon – as a gesture of friendship – to tell us anything that might help us help Ciarán. That’s all.’

  Jon nodded slowly. ‘I’ll tell you what I know. But I don’t think I’ll be much help.’

  Lynda felt tiredness engulf her. ‘Well, either way, you can’t leave at this time of night and in that storm. I’ll make tea and we’ll talk.’

  ‘What about Ciarán?’ said Robert. ‘We should try to sober him up, shouldn’t we? Make sure he’s safe to go asleep? We can’t leave him in this state.’ His anger was abating. Lynda could see it drain away, leaving him as exhausted as she suddenly felt.

  ‘You and Jon get him up on his feet, try to get him walking. I’ll make the tea and we’ll get him to drink some. Other than that, I don’t know what we can do.’

  ‘How much did he have?’ Robert turned to Jon. His tone was conciliatory. Lynda was glad. Jon wasn’t guilty of anything: Ciarán was the one lying insensible on the ground.

  ‘He and the girl polished off the bottle of whiskey. Before that, he had about three beers and a few joints. I don’t know how many. And I don’t know what else. I was in my room from just after Larissa arrived.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Maybe about half-past eight, nine o’clock?’

  ‘What was he thinking?’ said Lynda. ‘He knew we’d be back.’

  ‘Not thinking at all,’ said Robert grimly. ‘That’s what seems to be the problem. Give me a hand here, Jon.’

  Together, they hauled Ciarán to his feet. His body was limp, his face pale and shadowed. Something struck Lynda. She turned to Jon. ‘What did you mean when you said you didn’t know “what else”?’

  Jon looked at her blankly.

  ‘Just now,’ Lynda insisted. ‘You listed the beer and the whiskey and then said you didn’t know “what else”. What did you mean by that?’

  He looked away from her.

  ‘Jon, whatever it is, we need to know. This is our son, and he’s in trouble.’ Robert’s voice was beginning to crack.

  ‘We won’t say where we got the information,’ Lynda said. ‘Please, Jon. This is more important than you know.’ Lynda could see reluctance written all over his face. ‘That’s a promise.’

  ‘You’ve been very good to me,’ said Jon. His eyes were translucent against the pallor of his face. ‘I can’t say for sure tonight, but I know that Ciarán takes coke. And ecstasy. On a regular basis.’

  Lynda could hear the intensity of the silence that gathered itself around them. Something seemed to have stopped, and remained suspended in the air.

  ‘And just how do you know that?’ asked Robert, sharply.

  ‘Because I’ve seen him buy it.’

  ‘And you don’t? You don’t indulge, yourself?’ Robert was trying to keep Ciarán upright, but he was losing the battle. Even with Jon’s help, Ciarán ha
d become a dead weight. His body kept on sliding towards the floor.

  ‘I can’t afford to,’ Jon said, simply. ‘I don’t have the cash. And if I did, if I turned up to even one modelling job stoned, or hungover or with a runny nose, that’s it. No more work.’

  Ciarán began to moan. ‘Let him lie down, Robert, and turn him on his side. I think he’s going to be sick.’ Lynda dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl and a towel. She ran back to the living room and dropped to her knees beside her son’s prone form. ‘Get me some water, Jon, will you?’

  He obeyed instantly. She turned her face to Robert as they both knelt on the floor. ‘There’s no point in interrogating Jon,’ she said, keeping her voice to a whisper. ‘Anyway, what he does or doesn’t do is not the issue. It’s Ciarán we need to deal with. So drop it for tonight, okay? We may have to bring Ciarán to Casualty if he doesn’t come round very soon.’

  Robert nodded. ‘Okay. I hear you.’

  Jon returned and poured a pint glass of cold water into the bowl at Lynda’s knees. She soaked a corner of the towel and began to dab at Ciarán’s temples. Then she moistened his lips. They looked cracked and dry. By now, his head was turning first one way, then the other, his moans intensifying.

  Jon went back to the kitchen and reappeared by her side, this time with a tumbler filled with water and ice. ‘If we lift his head, I think I can try to get him to drink some of this,’ he said.

  Robert positioned himself behind Ciarán’s head and lifted it, letting it rest back against his knees. Jon eased a plastic straw between his lips. ‘C’mon, buddy,’ Lynda heard him say. The tenderness in his voice brought a lump to her throat. Just then, Ciarán’s eyes opened. The pupils were hugely dilated and Lynda wondered what he was seeing. Suddenly, he lurched to one side, retching. Lynda placed the bowl under his mouth, just in time.

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ muttered Robert, holding his son’s head. ‘I thought he was in a coma.’

  A good twenty minutes later, Ciarán struggled into sitting and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked bewildered. ‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘You tell us,’ said Robert. Now that the crisis seemed to be over, Lynda could see the fury gathering across his face. She reached out, put a hand on his arm.

  ‘Not tonight, Robert. It’s almost one a.m. It’s been a hell of an evening, one way or another. Let’s leave it till the morning.’

  Robert nodded but said nothing.

  ‘I can’t remember what happened,’ Ciarán said. His pupils were still huge. ‘Am I in trouble?’

  ‘Come on, mate,’ said Jon, gently. ‘We’ll go up the stairs together. Things’ll be better in the morning.’ He reached out and took firm hold of Ciarán’s arm. He draped it around his own shoulders and half-pulled, half-carried him towards the stairs.

  Robert began to follow but Jon turned to him. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve got him. I can manage him from here.’

  Lynda watched as both boys made for the door. ‘Will you help me remember?’ she heard Ciarán whisper, as he shuffled along.

  ‘Sure. Sure I will. Just let’s get you upstairs and into bed. Then we can talk.’

  Lynda turned to see Robert’s face fill with grief. As though he had just lost someone. She put her arms around him. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘It’ll be okay. Thank God he had Jon with him.’

  Robert wiped his eyes quickly, with the back of one hand. ‘For small mercies, at least,’ he said. ‘And now, I need a drink. Will you join me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lynda. ‘I’m weary. Weary and empty.’

  Robert handed her a tumbler of whiskey. ‘Here. There’s none left of the good stuff.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t think I’d notice.’

  The following morning, Lynda’s head felt light with lack of sleep. Something hot and sandy scratched across the back of her eyes. She had heard Ciarán and Jon murmur long into the night. Jon had made frequent trips downstairs for water and ice. Lynda, unable to sleep, had got up several times, and knocked on Ciarán’s door. She felt like an intruder.

  Sometimes, Jon answered, his finger to his lips. Over his shoulder, she could see Ciarán, his face to the wall. He was restless, mostly. Even the room felt unquiet. Other times, the door remained closed, resolute. Once, she had eased it open to see Jon lying on the floor beside Ciarán’s bed, a sleeping bag thrown over him, a cushion under his head. She’d been about to go in search of a spare duvet, but something told her to leave well enough alone. She’d stepped back onto the landing then, pulling the door silently to.

  Ciarán came downstairs at about ten o’clock. His eyes were red, his skin dry and blotchy. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he said, as he came into the kitchen. Jon followed him. Despite the late night, Jon looked rested and alert. Lynda was struck by how polished he seemed, particularly compared with Ciarán. She put her arms around her son without a word. He began to sob, the way he used to when he was five. He clung to her. Jon waited, a discreet distance away.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ Ciarán sobbed. His face was distraught. ‘I need to try and work out what happened last night. Right, Jon?’ He turned to Jon, who was hovering at the doorway. ‘I can’t remember anything after the joints. I don’t even know anyone called Larissa. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t know what’s happening to me.’ He looked back at Lynda now, his eyes wide and terrified. ‘I just don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know if I did anything to her. Jon said she ran out of the house, like I’d scared her.’

  ‘Sit down, Ciarán,’ said Lynda. When she looked again, Jon had disappeared. She felt grateful to him for his discretion. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

  He nodded, his expression eager for forgiveness. There was no rage, this time, no aggression. Now there was only fear.

  ‘Even if last night had never happened,’ Lynda said, aware of the need to tread carefully, ‘there are things you need to talk to us about.’

  ‘Like what?’ his face was bewildered.

  ‘Whatever it is you’re taking,’ said Lynda bluntly. ‘Drugs can make you paranoid.’

  ‘It was only dope,’ said Ciarán. He looked away from her. And there it was again, the old evasiveness. Why lie about it now, she thought, wearily.

  Just then, Jon came back into the kitchen. ‘I’m really sorry to interrupt,’ he said, ‘but I have to go. I have a photo shoot in an hour.’ He paused. ‘Maybe Ciarán might like to come with me?’

  Ciarán nodded, his face brightening. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I would. We can keep on trying to figure out last night. Right, Jon?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Jon. He smiled at Ciarán and Lynda felt soothed by his presence. His affection for Ciarán had been obvious throughout it all. Even Robert had been impressed.

  ‘He’s a good lad, young Jon,’ he’d said as they finally fell into bed. ‘He really cares for Ciarán. I’m sorry if I was a bit hard on him earlier.’

  Lynda had hesitated. It was nothing she could explain to Robert, nothing she could even articulate to herself, but something about Jon’s ownership of Ciarán’s distress had disturbed her. She approved of their friendship, of course, was grateful for it – but something about the way Jon had taken over made her feel uneasy. It seemed as though there had been a kind of smugness to his being in charge. She shook the thought away. Jon was loyal to Ciarán; they looked out for one another. That was all.

  She’d reached over then and kissed Robert. ‘Don’t worry about being hard on him,’ she’d said. ‘He’ll get over it. Everyone’s emotions are running high. We’ll gather our forces tomorrow.’

  ‘No matter what happens,’ Robert had said, ‘I’ll be home by seven at the latest tomorrow night. We can’t let this slide. We’ll have to confront Ciarán. Christ only knows what’s waiting in the wings if he did any harm to that girl.’

  He’d put his arms around Lynda, kissed the back of her neck. ‘I love you.’ He’d slept, curled around h
er, keeping close. She’d held his hand in hers. But his words had haunted Lynda all night. If he did any harm to that girl. Even when she’d slept, fitfully, the girl, Larissa’s, face was always before her eyes. Ciarán’s memory loss terrified her. What if it was caused by something he wanted to deny, something that was too impossible to admit?

  Now, this morning, Lynda felt that it would be a relief to spend some hours on her own, without the constant reminder of Jon and Ciarán, Ciarán and Larissa, everywhere she looked. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she said now. ‘You could both do with a change of scene. But I want you home by seven, at the latest. Robert will be here by then. And we will all sit down together and talk this through.’ She wanted to make sure Jon knew he was included.

  Ciarán shuffled himself into the jacket that Jon handed him. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And maybe I’ll have a handle on it all by then.’

  Lynda felt a sharp pang of grief. He looked so lost. And he seemed to have got thinner, smaller. It was something she noticed only now, as he zipped up the oversized jacket.

  ‘Either he is a superb liar,’ Robert had said to her earlier that morning, before they came downstairs, ‘or he was genuinely so out of it that his memory is a blank. I just don’t know what to think.’

  She sat at the table after Jon and Ciarán had left. They’d refused a lift. Jon said the walk to the Dart would do them both good. She wished Robert was home. Her life felt precarious, more fragile than it ever had before. As she looked around her, she saw a house of cards, ready to topple if there was even one more tremor.

  By midday, Lynda had had enough of the silences of the empty house. She couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate. She needed to call Katie, now that last night had happened. A weekend in Toulouse was impossible, with Ciarán the way he was. They couldn’t leave him on his own. And Katie deserved to know the truth. She was old enough not to be fobbed off with excuses. Lynda reached for her mobile and discovered that it was out of charge. She took the house phone and dialled her daughter’s number. To her relief, Katie answered at once.