‘This is my mother,’ said Dad. He got up and crossed the room to hunker by Nan’s chair. He spoke gently to her, snagging a thread of her attention somehow. ‘Mam? This is Margaret Conyngham, from the back house.’
Nan blinked at him, then her eyes wandered in fits and starts to where the old biddy stood with her hand extended, a patient smile on her face. The two women looked at each other for a moment. Then I saw a jolt of unexpected recognition hit the old biddy. Her smile fell. ‘Oh my,’ she said. She sank into a stiff crouch by Nan’s knee, and took Nan’s hand. She pressed it gently and gazed up into Nan’s face.
Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘How have you been?’ ‘
Nan just kept staring with wary concentration. Eventually the old biddy nodded, cleared her throat and looked down. She spent a silent moment gazing at Nan’s hand, which lay twined in her own. She seemed to be struck by this: the sight of two old ladies’ hands, all naked joints, paper-thin skin and fine blue veins.
How strange to suddenly notice one’s hands,’ she murmured. ‘‘How fragile they look.’
She carefully placed Nan’s hand back in her lap and straightened. Then she smoothed down her skirt and blinked, slowly looking around the kitchen at things only she could see.
‘God bless us and save us,’ she said quietly to herself. ‘Isn’t life a kick in the trousers?’
Dad went to ask something, but before he could speak the old biddy shook herself and laughed and filled with sunshine again. She turned a beaming smile on my mother, her teeth too perfect to be anything other than dentures. ‘You have a phone call, dear! Best not keep them waiting. They’re calling from Dublin!’ Ma raised her eyebrows in pleased surprise and began to escort her to the door.
‘Me come?’ asked Dee, hopping down from her chair.
The old biddy held out her hand. Dee ran to take it, and they accompanied my mother up the garden path, disappearing together into the bright spring morning. The kitchen – filled with light now – was momentarily silent in the sparkling aftermath of the old lady.
Then Nan snorted in amused disgust. ‘That wasn’t May Conyngham,’ she said.
‘May Conyngham?’ cried Dom. He ran to the door, staring up the garden path as if trying to get another look at the old biddy. ‘May,’ he whispered.
‘Imagine, Fran!’ Nan said to him. ‘Imagine that old dear trying to pass as May.’ She gave a sunny little laugh. ‘Oh, what a hoot!’
Dad sighed in exhausted frustration. ‘Come on, Mam, let’s get you in by the fire.’ Martin rose to his feet, with the intention of helping get Nan settled.
Dom dithered by the door, tense and wide-eyed, his attention torn between Nan and the garden where the others had disappeared. He was looking more than a little crazy. I went to stand by him.
‘Dom,’ I murmured. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
‘Stop calling me that!’ he hissed.
He watched as Dad and Martin manoeuvred Nan up and out of her chair. His eyes smouldered with rage as they took her by the arms, apparently infuriated by the sight of the two big men on either side of a fragile, confused old lady.
‘Where . . . where are you taking me?’ she asked as they hustled her into the sitting room.
Dom went to shoot after them and I grabbed his arm to stop him. It was like grabbing ice. His flesh was so cold that my fingers sizzled. I let go, crying out and clutching my hand. He came to me immediately, leaning close to comfort me. ‘It’s alright, Lorry,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t leave you.’
His breath was like dry ice on my face; his fingers burned as they touched my arm. I pulled away from him. How cold was he? How cold could anyone get without . . . ?
Dad called from the other room. ‘Stop fluting around, you two, and clear the table.’
Dom turned to glare through the door at him. ‘What will they do to her?’ he said.
‘Dom,’ I whispered. ‘Just go upstairs. Please? For me? Just go upstairs and wait while I clear the table.’
He shook his head, his eyes on the sitting-room door. ‘I’m not leaving you with them. Not anymore.’
He was standing with his back half turned to me, his shoulders hunched, his fists raised slightly. My fingers were still tingling from where I’d grabbed him. My cheek burned from where that icy breath had come from his mouth – from Dom’s mouth – and frozen my skin.
‘Dom,’ I said suddenly, ‘eat your breakfast!’
I didn’t know where that had come from; the words sounded ridiculous even as I said them. But Dom was so cold. He was cold as a corpse. And I wanted him warm. I wanted him alive. And people who are alive eat, right?
Dom turned to me in surprise. Then he laughed. It wasn’t a Dom laugh, by any means, but it wasn’t a scary-movie-creature laugh, either. It was a genuine laugh, a kind of a delighted laugh.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘All right, Lorry. I’ll eat my breakfast.’
Jesus, that made me want to punch him. ‘I am not Lorry,’ I ground out. ‘I’m Patrick, and you’re Dominick. You’re Dominick Finnerty. Got it?’
He gave me a very level look, and sat down. ‘Eat your own breakfast,’ he said, taking up his knife and fork.
It became a battle of wills to finish the congealed mess on our plates, and I was pretty sure we’d both be dead of heartburn by the end of the day. But I crammed it down so that he’d cram it down, maintaining eye contact all the time. When we were finished, he helped me clear the table and then stood behind me, emanating cold, while I washed the dishes. All his attention was focused on the sitting-room door. I could hear Dad and Martin in there, chatting; the TV was on.
‘Why are you just standing there?’ I hissed, my elbows deep in suddy water, goose flesh in scattered patches up and down my back. ‘Why don’t you just go upstairs?’
I’m looking after you,’ he whispered. ‘I’m watching your ‘back.’ He glanced at me briefly, looking me up and down with his dark eyes. ‘I’m keeping you safe, Lorry. Until you’re back in your right mind again.’
Then he turned his attention back to the door, his shoulders hunched, his weight balanced evenly between his two feet, standing vigilant and ready should anyone try to get past him to me.
YOU CAN’T FREEZE A TOMATO
AS SOON AS I could get the dishes done and my hands dry, I shooed Dom up the stairs and out of everyone’s sight. I felt like I was herding a ticking bomb round the house. I felt like any minute now, everything would blow up. I needed time. I needed space. I needed to think things through.
We were almost at the top when Dad’s quiet voice called up to us: ‘Lads.’ He was peering at us from the turn in the stairs. ‘Martin’s leaving. Stay with your nan while I walk him to the car, will you?’
Damn.
‘Dom’s not feeling well, Dad. He was going to lie down.’
Dom’s voice came flat and deliberate from the stairs above me. ‘No, I wasn’t,’ he said. ‘You’re the one who needs to lie down.’
Dad looked from one to the other of us with a confused frown. ‘What’s up with you two? You’re like the hormone sisters this morning.’
Normally that would have made me laugh, but I was stretched a little thin for chuckles today. Instead, I blinked down at the old man, trying to give nothing away, hoping he’d relent and let us escape upstairs. Exactly how creepy we looked, standing one above the other in the gloom, staring down at him with our identical faces, I can only guess. Pretty bloody creepy, I’d say.
Dad’s eyes lifted to Dom, and my heart sped up a bit as something crossed his face – some fraction of understanding. ‘Whu . . . ?’ he said uncertainly. His eyes widened, his pupils spread, and he stared past me to where Dom stood, cold and silent, on the stairs above us.
I took a step downwards. Can you see it, Dad? I thought. Jesus, Dad! Try and see it!
But he only frowned and shook himself, scrubbing his hands through his hair, and let his eyes slip away from us. ‘Whew,’ he said. ‘Weirdness.’
My heart fell. Oh Dad.
He turned his back on us. ‘Come on down to your nan,’ he said. ‘Just for a minute while I walk Martin to the car.’
‘Dad!’ I called, and he looked back. ‘Are you leaving today?’
‘Yeah. After dinner.’
‘Stay ’til tomorrow, Dad. Please.’
If I’d said that in front of Ma, she’d have lost the rag with me, entirely; told me to get a grip and stop acting like a baby. Dad just grimaced in helpless sympathy and spread his hands. ‘Can’t, bud. Sorry. Justin needs me.’
We need you! Dom and me! We need you!
‘Just ’til tomorrow, Dad? Just one more day?’ Just one more night?
He locked eyes with me, and for a moment I thought he’d stay. Then he gave a shrug of those expressive shoulders and tilted his head in apology. ‘Sorry, bud. I’ll stay a bit late and watch Dr Who with you, if you like?’
I nodded. Dom, standing behind me like a black hole, said nothing.
Dad half laughed. ‘Jesus!’ he said ‘What are you like? All you need is a river of dry ice and a full moon and we’ll have the total Hammer House effect. Cheer up! You’d swear I was heading off to war or something.’ He clapped his hands as if to cleanse the air. ‘Come on down now! Sit with Nan for me.’
Then he was gone.
Dom stayed silent, and when I started back down the steps he made no move to follow me. ‘Come on,’ I said, without looking at him.
‘Wouldn’t you rather I went upstairs?’
The bitterness in his voice made me glance around, and I caught a diluted glimpse of what had creeped Dad out. Dom was almost lost in shadows, his face and his hands ghostly highlights, his eyes black-light pinpoints in the gloom. I wondered if I’d looked the same when I was standing there. Of course I had – we were twins, weren’t we? I shuddered. Imagine staring up at two of that; it was amazing the old fella hadn’t run a mile.
‘Just keep your mouth shut and don’t touch anyone,’ I said and made my way to the sitting room without waiting to see if he’d follow.
He didn’t, not right away, and I had time to do two prowling circuits of the cramped room, my hands in my hair, before I found enough composure to sit. Nan was sitting on the sofa, drowsing already. The TV was on, the sound turned down. The fire was low and hot in the grate.
I chose the threadbare armchair facing the door and sat waiting. My arse had hardly hit the cushions before I was fighting the urge to leap to my feet again. It felt like I was trapped in an airless room without windows or doors, and I wanted to pace. I grabbed the arms of my chair and dug in hard, forcing myself to sit still, because I could walk myself to the moon and back and still not escape this.
He came in quietly. Dom and not at all Dom. My brother’s lazy, C-shouldered slouch squared off somehow and tilted forward now, so that he led the way with shoulder rather than hip; Dom’s under-the-eyes, affectionately mocking smirk replaced with dark-eyed speculation – like someone sizing you up from behind partially opened shutters.
His attention was almost immediately snagged by the TV. At first he just blinked at it, trying to figure it out. Then he was over and touching it – the flickering screen, the sides, the back – tentatively at first, then with genuine, almost scientific interest.
‘Gracious,’ he murmured. Bill and Ben were on, those crazy twins. Dom tapped the glass of the screen and peered at the figures moving across it. ‘A laterna magicka of some sort?’ he whispered. ‘A picture show in miniature?’
He turned shining eyes to me, his enthusiasm for TV overwhelming everything else.
‘Sit down,’ I snapped. ‘Just sit down, and shut up, and let me think.’
He glowered again and turned back to the telly. He peered into it one more time, pressing his face to the glass the way people do at aquariums. Then he reluctantly went to sit at the opposite end of the sofa from Nan. He regarded me with tightlipped concentration, his hands folded in his lap, far too grim and upright to be Dom.
Dom. Where was he? Had I lost him?
It happened all the time, didn’t it? All the time. People were snatched away, and they didn’t come back. Gary Halpin’s brother, for example – snatched away at the age of seventeen. Smeared along the side of the Tonlegee Road, his bike a scattering of parts. Grandda Joe – he just fell down dead. Alive one minute, dead the next. Nan – still here, but snatched away nonetheless. It happened all the time, and holy water and Latin and all that Hammer House of Horror bullshit didn’t bring them back.
I had to get that thought out of my head somehow, so I slammed my palms down onto the arms of the chair, raising twin puffs of dust and making Dom jump.
Nan muttered but didn’t wake up.
‘Where’s Dom?’ I said. ‘What have you done to him? How do I fix this?’
His face darkened. ‘There is no Dom, Lorry. There never was a Dom. Why can’t you remember? The old lady remembers.’ He gestured at Nan. ‘The little girl knows. Why don’t you?’
I gripped the arms of my chair very, very tight.
‘I want. To talk. To Dom,’ I said.
He looked me up and down, pity not quite winning out over anger. ‘What have they done to us, Lorry?’ he asked quietly.
‘There’s no they. There’s just us. There’s just Ma and Dad, Nan and Dee and us!’ I leant forward, appealing to whatever I could find of my brother in there. ‘Dom,’ I hissed. ‘Wake up. Please! Fight him, Dom. Please.’
He tutted in frustration and looked away. This made me want to hit something, so I clamped my teeth shut and sat very still for a moment, throwing bolts and turning locks all down through my body, not looking at him. Eventually, I was tied down enough to speak to him again. He was watching me with frowning impatience.
‘Dom,’ I said.
He grimaced.
‘Dom! Why is this happening? Why?’
‘Why?’ He spread his hands in exasperation. ‘Are you only asking that now? All that time in the grey, were you not constantly asking why? I was! Why did they hurt me? Why did they take you away? Why did they send me to that place?’ He searched my face, finding only incomprehension. ‘You didn’t want to go, Lorry. They took you from me – but you didn’t want to go. Don’t you remember? Say you remember!’
I shook my head. His face fell, his desolation and sense of loss so obvious that I actually felt sorry for him. He lowered his hands. He looked so betrayed.
‘How could you have forgotten?’ he whispered. ‘You were screaming. You tried to hold on to me, but they pulled you away. They had to do it again and again, because each time they dragged you off, you’d get free and come running back to me. They were big, though. Big men, so much bigger than us. And there were more of them than you could fight, and eventually they took you away. I was hurting so much that I couldn’t help you.’
He put a shaking hand to his throat and his eyes focused inwards, remembering. ‘Then the pain stopped, and the choking, but I couldn’t move my arms and legs anymore. I kept thinking, Please let him hold my hand. I wanted so desperately . . . ’ His voice hitched and he had to take a second. ‘I wanted so desperately for you to hold my hand, to give me a hug. I couldn’t understand why they took you away. And then they sent me into the grey, and the world was gone. And after a while the soldier came, another big man, just like the others, with his anger and his noise, and he was in the grey with me and I was running and running. For years, it seems. But I never forgot!’ He glared up at me then, his eyes black as night, and this time he was accusing me, all the pity gone from his face. ‘I never forgot, Lorry. I spent all that time remembering and waiting and where – were – you?’
‘I was here. I’ve never been anywhere but here! Listen to me. Maybe . . . maybe you were alive once . . . ’ His eyes widened at that and he glared at me. ‘Maybe there was a Lorry too, once. But I’m not him! And you’re not my brother!’
‘Take that back,’ he whispered.
He was gripping the sofa with tremendous pressure, his face and body rigid with anger �
� or perhaps with terror; it was hard to tell. I was stunned to see mist beginning to rise from his shoulders and hair.
‘Take it back,’ he cried.
‘Dom!’ I whispered, pointing to his hands. Blossoms of frost were beginning to radiate from his clutching fingers, spreading in glittering patterns across the fabric of the sofa.
He didn’t seem to notice. All his attention was focused on my rejection of him. He had begun to shake with rage. There was a rim of hoarfrost developing around his lips, where his angry breath was condensing. It was his anger; his anger seemed to be dragging the heat from the air. I could feel it now, emanating from his corner of the room like a door opening onto a black void. The angrier he got, the colder it became.
You can’t freeze a tomato. My dad’s voice came to me sharp and clear, as if he were in the room. He’d told me that at Christmas. You can’t freeze a tomato. Somehow the freezing process bursts all the cells in a tomato’s flesh and, though it looks alright while frozen, it damages the way the tomato is held together. And when it’s defrosted, the tomato falls apart.
Stop it!’ I said, beginning to panic for the damage this might ‘be doing to my brother’s body. ‘Stop!’
‘She knows me!’ he screamed, pointing at Nan. ‘Explain how she knows me!’
When he lifted his hand, it left a perfect five-fingered frostprint on the sofa cover.
‘Calm down!’ I shouted.
He made a dive for Nan. I think his intent was to shake her awake.
‘Lady!’ he shrieked. ‘Tell him! Tell him you know me!’
‘Don’t touch her!’ I dived for him and wrestled him away from her, yelling in pain as my hands made contact with his frigid flesh. I dragged him backwards and we landed on the floor, my arms wrapped around his chest. His attention switched instantly to me and we were suddenly grappling with each other again, scuffling on the dirty floor like street thugs. ‘Calm down!’ I yelled. ‘You’re hurting yourself! You’re hurting Dom!’
It was like wrestling frozen stone; there was no yield or give to his flesh at all. I just hung on, my arms around his chest, as he struggled to get away from me. I don’t think he intended to hurt me or even to fight me. But I had grabbed at him, and our blood was high, and he just wanted to get away. He elbowed me hard in the ribs and it was like being hit with a sledgehammer made of ice.
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