I’m pretty sure you’re not losing your mind,’ I said. ‘
‘Then what’s wrong with me, Pat? What’s wrong with me?’ He was frantic now, thoroughly convinced that everything had come down to this one thing: that he was losing his mind, that he was going insane.
‘You’re being haunted.’
There. I’d said it. The words stopped us both cold, and we crouched there on the wet grass, staring into each other’s faces with equally shocked expressions.
Then Dom laughed. So did I. It was that or do something far more hysterical.
‘Oh,’ gasped Dom. ‘What a relief! And there I thought it was something serious.’
The night seemed to close around his words, and our laughter died. We looked around us, suddenly too aware of the watchful shadows, of the dark path back to the house, the cold sand where the sun never shone. I put my arm around my brother and pulled him up by the shoulders.
Dee would be asleep by now; I just knew that. Ma and Dad would be asleep. Me and Dom were the only living souls awake – the only living souls. We both shivered, and I tightened my grip on Dom.
‘Let’s go inside,’ I whispered.
CHERYL
THE NEXT MORNING I woke alone. I lay motionless, listening to Dom’s quiet breathing in the bunk above me. At some stage during the night he must have crawled back up the ladder and gone to sleep in his own bed.
It was very early, the sky a Virgin Mary blue against the windows, the birds chattering the tail end of the dawn chorus. Perfect day. I rolled stiffly to the edge of the bed and got up. Every bruising moment of the night before was an ache that had me slow and wincing, careful as an auld fella.
Dom was fast asleep, his face pressed to the side-bar of the bunk, his hair a mess of tangled curls hanging over his eyes. The shark-tooth necklace was snagged up on his pillow, the heavy fang shining dully. If Dad saw it he’d give out yards – Dom wasn’t meant to sleep with it on. I tucked it under his loosely curled fist. His knuckles were raw, and I covered his hand with the blanket so that I wouldn’t have to see them. I didn’t wake him. He looked so untroubled and the room seemed so innocent, washed in morning light and buoyed by birdsong. I left him alone and slowly made my way downstairs, trying to figure out how to deal with things that just didn’t seem real anymore.
It was a surprise to find Ma already in the kitchen. She was rattling about at the sink, and I could tell by her posture that she wasn’t in good form. She sensed me by the door and rounded on me immediately.
‘What in God’s name did you two think you were up to last night? Your Dad’s had to go down to the shops at all hours of the morning! Didn’t even get a cup of tea or a slice of toast! And you know Conner’s bringing Nan back today . . . What’s wrong with youse?’
I felt a moment’s confusion. Then my eyes fell on the empty bread bag and the two empty milk bottles sitting in a scatter of crumbs on the kitchen table. I groaned and clutched my head at the memory of Dom and me staggering in from the garden in the dead of night, the two of us launching a famished and barely conscious assault on the bread and butter. I remembered us glugging down a whole bottle of freezing-cold milk each, and my sinuses ached at the recollection.
‘You need a new block of cheese as well,’ I said, not meaning to sound smart-arsed but realising, too late, that I did.
Ma glared at me, furious, and I half expected her to stride across the kitchen and hit me with the wooden spoon she had in her hand. Then her eyes widened and her attention zeroed in on my jaw.
What happened to your face?’ She was over in a flash, grabbing ‘my jaw and turning my head to the light, all frowns and sharp concern.
‘I fell off the bed last night,’ I lied, smooth as butter. ‘It woke Dom up.’
‘And then you thought you’d help yourselves to the groceries?’ Still clutching my jaw, she squinted up at me. When had I got taller than her?
I didn’t even hesitate. ‘We woke up starving,’ I said, looking her in the eye. ‘Couldn’t get back asleep without something to eat.’
‘You aren’t the bleedin’ famous five, Sonny Jim! There’s no midnight feasts in this house!’
‘Sorry, Ma.’
‘We’re not made of money.’
‘Sorry, Ma.’
‘Is it sore?’ She was looking at my jaw again, really examining it.
‘Yeah.’
She sighed through her nose and then let me go, dismissing me from the kitchen. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Get washed and dressed. You know that lot are always early when they’re bringing Cheryl home.’
I headed back to the stairs, hardly believing my lucky escape. She was letting me get away with it! I paused at the door. ‘Ma? Will I wake Dom?’
She glanced over at me, the stern wintry light falling on her face. She looked tired this morning, and unusually old. It had been a tough night for all of us. ‘How was he last night?’
In other words: Any asthma? I thought of that desperate choking noise coming from my brother’s throat, and looked her in the eye again. ‘He’s alright,’ I lied, and then, little closer to the truth: ‘I think he might be coming down with a cold. He could probably use a lie-in.’
She nodded, obviously worried. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, let him have a little sleep.’ She pointed the wooden spoon at me. ‘But you, mister! Up and get a wash. You smell like baked monkey.’
That made me laugh, and I trotted upstairs to have a wash and to check on Dom, who was still sleeping like a baby.
MA WAS RIGHT about Dad’s brother arriving early. I was hardly back downstairs and tucking into my cornflakes when we heard the heavy rumble of a big car pulling up the beach road. Ma froze, her face a mask of pure disbelief.
She claimed that they did it on purpose, hoping to catch her in curlers and a nightdress, stubbing her fags out on the dirty dishes. That way they’d finally be able to tut at their baby brother and pity him for the slag he’d married. I’m not sure they were that malicious, but they definitely considered Ma to be beneath them. And they definitely treated Dad as if he were retarded and couldn’t wipe his own arse without their written instructions.
Whatever the reasons, this was probably the least considerate of their unscheduled drop-offs. It was barely half-eight on a Saturday morning, for God’s sake!
Ma threw her dish towel into the sink. She held her hands up on either side of her face, her fists clenched, and released a grit-toothed ‘urrrgh!’ of frustration. Then she slammed her palms down on the counter and gripped the edge tightly.
In the nine months since Nan’s freefall into senility, Dad’s three half-sisters and four half-brothers had minded her for the sum total of three weeks between the lot of them. And never, ever, for more than two days at a time. This last week had been the longest Ma had gone without having to take care of her mother-in-law, and it had taken our home burning to the ground for Dad’s family to offer even that paltry assistance.
I watched my ma hunch over her hands. She was breathing deeply, trying to quell her sudden rush of anger. She was gathering it into herself, shoving it down somewhere unseen. I imagined it simmering away inside her, never quite extinguished, never quite exposed, and I had one of those bright, rare moments of awareness when you see someone familiar in a new and startling light.
As the big engine sound pulled up outside the garden wall and died, I thought of Dad’s family. I thought of their big cars and their stay-at-home wives and the money they all rolled in. I thought of our little house, and how Ma and Dad had moved Dee back into their room so that Nan could have Dee’s room to herself. I thought how Ma and Dad didn’t go to the pictures on a Friday night anymore; how Ma had given up her night class, how she brought Nan to the bathroom three or four times a day, how she bathed her, how she hadn’t hesitated to take her in. I thought about how she sometimes answered the same question over and over and over again, all day long. (What’s for tea, Olive? What’s for tea? What’s for tea, love? What did you say was for tea? ) I thought ab
out how gentle Ma was with Nan, and how shocking her statement in the kitchen had been. (I think I hate her, Dave. ) Because Ma had never, ever – not once – spoken impatiently or in haste to Cheryl in all the time she’d been in our care.
I had accepted all this. I had taken it all for granted. Because I had assumed this was what women did; that it came naturally. Now, sitting at the breakfast table, looking at my mother and realising how much she had given up, I felt sick suddenly at how under my radar she was most days.
I searched for something to do or say.
‘Will I make a pot of tea, Ma?’
No!’ she snapped. She paused a moment and then added a ‘little more gently, ‘Thanks, love.’
The latch rattled, and Ma glared through the window as the gate opened.
Oh. It wasn’t Conner. It was Martin. I felt myself relax a little bit. Of all Dad’s siblings Martin was the one least likely to breeze in and act the overlord. He was only eight years older than Dad; he had been only three when his father married Cheryl. The rest of Dad’s family were the same generation as most of my friends’ grandparents. They’d never had much time for my dad. Most of them had already moved out and started families of their own by the time he arrived on the scene. I think they considered him a bit of an embarrassment: the squalling brat their father had conceived late in life with a woman most of them considered to be a housekeeper at best, a gold-digger at worst.
Of all of his brothers and sisters, only Uncle Martin had shared any kind of childhood with Dad, and, I must admit, I sorta liked him. He was kind to Nan, when he was around, and though he still spoke in that high-falutin’ manner, he was capable of holding an actual conversation rather than giving a continual series of lectures. He was an interesting man, actually, and a genuinely nice guy. He came through the gate carrying Nan’s suitcase, and I saw Ma’s shoulders soften slightly at the sight of him.
‘Your dad’s upstairs lying down with Dee,’ she said. ‘Go and tell him that Nan is here.’
On the way up the stairs, I heard Ma open the door and her curt greeting of, ‘Martin.’
Then Uncle Martin’s cultured voice, straining against the weight of the suitcase: ‘How are you, Olive? She’s asleep in the car.’ The rest of their conversation was reduced to murmurs as I rounded the turn in the stairs and went up to the landing.
Dad was awake, Dee asleep beside him in the bed, her head in the crook of his arm. He looked up from the pillow and gave me a weary smile as I peeped around the door. ‘They’re here,’ I whispered. He sighed and nodded, and I left him to it, closing the door as quietly as I could so as not to disturb Dee.
I entered our room just as quietly, expecting Dom to be asleep in the top bunk. It brought me up short to see him standing by the wardrobe. The heavy wardrobe door was open, revealing the long mirror within, and Dom was gazing at his reflection with a strange kind of concentration. Frowning, he traced the contours of his face in the glass as if working out a puzzle in his head.
I thought of that child leaping into my brother and my momentary fear that it had possessed him. With a dry feeling in my throat, I closed the bedroom door and stood with my back against it. Dom didn’t notice me at all, raptly engrossed as he was in examining his own reflection.
As I watched him, he closed his eyes, took a long deep breath and held it. He stood there a moment, one hand resting on his expanded chest, the other on the mirror. Then he released his held breath and his whole face lit up with delighted surprise. He opened his eyes, breathed in, released it again, and gave himself one of his sunny grins.
‘Well,’ he said to himself. ‘How about that?’
‘Dom?’ I asked.
Slowly, as if his thoughts were miles away, Dom turned his head. He gazed at me blankly, and then his eyes widened with sudden comprehension.
Oh!’ he said. He looked at me, then back to his own reflection, ‘then at me again. As if registering for the first time our identical faces. Then he smiled at me – the same broken-hearted, adoring smile that I’d seen on the face of the goblin-boy – and I felt myself press harder against the wood of the door.
Lorry!’ he said. ‘Look how big we are!’ He spread his arms ‘as if to demonstrate our recent spurt of height and breadth. He lifted his hands and flexed the fingers, marvelling at their length. Then he clenched a fist in front of his face and grinned at it with savage glee. ‘Look at us!’ He shook his fist. His face was full of love, and fierce, protective triumph. ‘Look how strong we are! No one can ever take you away now!’
My left hand crept across the surface of the door and closed around the reassuring globe of the handle. I could feel my pulse beating in my wrist. In my throat. In my temples. The urge to scream, to simply let go and scream, was so strong that I clamped my free hand over my mouth. My tears ran between my fingers and I tasted their salt on my lips.
Whatever reaction Dom had expected from me, this obviously was not it. He took a step towards me, his face filled with anxious concern.
‘It’s alright now,’ he assured me. ‘There’s no need to be afraid anymore.’
‘Dominick,’ I whispered, my hand curled beside my mouth like a frightened old lady’s. ‘Please. Stop messing.’
At my use of his name he paused, his hand still held out as if to comfort me, his head tilted. Then his expression changed, his hand withdrew and he took a small step back. I saw fear begin to rise in his eyes as he took stock of me again. As he perhaps saw me properly for the first time – as he realised I was not who he thought I was.
His mouth formed a question that never came. My grip on the doorhandle tightened.
‘Dom?’ I said.
Then the handle turned beneath my hand and I was shoved forward slightly as the door was pushed from the outside. I stifled a little shriek of surprise. Dom’s eyes snapped to the door. There was a moment’s pause and then Dad’s voice, muffled, came through the wood: ‘Boys? Can I come in?’
I met Dom’s eyes and moved aside on numb legs as Dad shoved the door open against my weight. He peered around the doorjamb at us, obviously puzzled at my blocking the way.
‘You alright?’ he asked.
I nodded, my eyes not leaving Dom, who was staring at our dad as though he were some frightening stranger.
‘Dom!’ said Dad. ‘You’re up! Good. You feeling better?’
Dom nodded creakily. His eyes were bigger than ever, filling his face.
Dad looked him up and down. His mouth twitched. ‘Alright. Get dressed, will you? And come on downstairs. Your uncle Martin’s here with Nan.’
‘Yes, sir,’ whispered Dom.
Dad cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘Sir?’ he said dryly. ‘Well. That’s different.’ He glanced at me. ‘Don’t dawdle, Pat, okay?’
He shook his head as he shut the door. I heard him say ‘sir’ to himself, and he chuckled as he made his way down the stairs.
I put my back against the door again and stared at my brother. Though my heart was still tripp-trapping like an over-wound clock, Dad’s arrival had changed something. I now realised that I wasn’t alone. One shout, one heavy bang on the floor, and my dad would come running. I belonged here. That thought gave me a thin thread of courage.
Dom, on the other hand, seemed suddenly filled with vulnerable confusion. He backed away from me, shaking his head, and raised his hands as if to stop me from speaking. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t find the words. As he retreated across the room, he managed only a string of broken sounds or syllables that went nowhere.
‘I.. . . ’ he said. ‘Wha . . . who . . . ?’
Finally, he backed himself against the wall at the end of the bunk and stopped there, his hands up, his eyes glittering. In the garden, the gate creaked and we heard Dad and Martin’s voices as they went to get Nan from the car. From the room across the hall, Dee’s sleepy voice began a tremulous calling: ‘Mam? Mam? Maammyyy?’
Dom’s fear became more and more apparent as these sounds crowded in. He pressed his fist
against his lips in that way Dom had, his eyes darting around the room, as if trying to figure out where he was.
‘Look,’ I said. My pounding heart made even that one word shaky.
His eyes snapped desperately to me.
‘Look,’ I repeated. ‘You need to get dressed. Can . . . can you remember where the bathroom is?’
He nodded. The unshed tears in his eyes shivered with the movement.
I held my hand out, signalling him to stay where he was. Had he made a move towards me, I think my heart would have burst, or I would have dropped down dead of a brain haemorrhage. Dee’s insistent calls were becoming panicked. I heard Ma shifting something in the kitchen and I called down to her, my voice perfectly level and strong, ‘I’ll get her, Ma. You’re alright!’
There was a moment’s silence downstairs, and then: ‘Thanks, love!’
‘Dee?’ I called, amazing myself again at how strong my voice was. ‘I’ll be in to you now. If you wait a minute, like a good girl, I’ll give you a jockey down the stairs.’
After a small pause came a tearful little, ‘Okay, Pap.’
‘Good girl. Just hang on a mo. Okay, pudding?’
‘Okay.’
I hadn’t once broken eye contact with the . . . with Dom. My hand was still held up, to keep him in place. Now, I spoke again to him, and a weird calm came over me. I was surprised to find myself rather commanding under its influence. Dom seemed to be comforted by this, and he listened willingly to each of my instructions.
‘You need to go have a wash. Can you do that?’
He nodded, his fist still pressed to his lips.
‘Wash your teeth and comb your hair. Alright?’
He nodded again.
‘I’m going to lay your clothes out, and then I have to go downstairs. You come on down when you’re ready and just . . . just . . . sit in a corner. Alright? Don’t . . . don’t touch anyone . . . don’t talk . . . just sit. Okay?’
He nodded and I sidled further into the room, keeping as much distance as possible between us. Without taking my eyes off him, I took Dom’s clean clothes out of the drawers and put them on top of the dresser. I looked at him significantly so that he understood they were his. He just stood there, his eyes jumping from me to the door, to the clothes, to the mirror.
Taken Away Page 8