Boys Don't Cry

by Fíona Scarlett

  It was funny how my cancer made other people change. I could see it at school too. With people who I thought were my friends, who now kept their distance, not knowing what to do around me. Afraid that if they played with me, they’d make my cancer worse, or maybe even catch it themselves. Worse than even that, some of the kids who hated my guts, like Billy bloody Redmond, would now hover around me because their Mas said they should feel sorry for me. Offering to carry my bag, running to hand my copy up to teacher, giving me their best sandwich in their lunchbox, but still keeping their chocolate biscuit for themselves mind. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, be the same, I was now different to them. Principal Kelly even made a big show of greeting me every morning, signalling out my difference, highlighting me in luminous yellow for all to see. I just wanted to be all blended in, like I used to be. Why couldn’t anyone let me be me any more?

  ‘You’re late,’ Jasmine said, grabbing her bag by the door, ‘and ya never called in yesterday after either,’ she said, but linking my arm with hers all the same. ‘Hey, where’s your gear? Soccer try-outs are after school, remember.’ I did remember, but what was the point in all that, I’d have to miss days with the chemo and all.

  ‘Ah Jasmine, sure everyone knows I’m shite.’

  ‘No, no they don’t.’ At least she tried to make herself sound even a little bit convincing. She kept it up a bit longer, tried to bump up my confidence, all Jasmine style, and I just couldn’t keep the grin from my face.

  ‘Oh, all right then, yeah everyone thinks that, but sure who gives a shit about them, it never stopped ya before,’ and I didn’t want to tell her the real reason why. I didn’t want to be the one who kept bringing chemo back into the conversation. That belonged to Wednesdays, between twelve and four, in the hospital, not out here on The Yard with Jasmine.

  ‘How about I come to cheer you on anyway,’ I said, ‘be there as your good-luck charm, not that you need it like or anything. I don’t even really know what you’re so worried about, sure you and I and even Ned’s mangy cat knows you’ll make the team.’

  ‘But we don’t know that, what if I mess up, what if I slip and end up giving an own goal, what if I don’t score the most as usual and bloody Fintin McGrath ends up as primary striker,’ her bitterness from him taking that crown three years ago still raw.

  ‘Ah here, as if,’ and she kept the head down, not wanting to jinx her luck. ‘I’ll practise some penos with you at break if you like, you know, to warm up that golden boot of yours.’ She broke into a grin and gave me a big hug about the shoulders.

  ‘Ha, look, your best friend is out again,’ and there at the school gate was Principal Kelly, on the lookout. His face all twisted looking, which I supposed was him trying to be friendly, when he saw me. He even added in a wave. As if it wasn’t bad enough. My personal meet-and-greet.

  ‘Jaysus, you think he’d lay off already, is he going to be doing this for the rest of my school life, sure I’ve only three bloody chemos left.’

  Jasmine laughed at my side.

  ‘Good man, Finn, great to see you. Good man.’ He stood aside to let me in as if I was the president or something.

  ‘Sir,’ I said, keeping the head down.

  ‘No hello for me, sir?’ Jasmine asked, smirking away.

  ‘Less of that attitude, Jasmine, unless you’d like to keep us company in my lunchtime detention this afternoon,’ said Kelly, his bushed eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Jasmine said, keeping her head down next to mine. ‘Dick,’ she whispered, but only after giving a good glance over her shoulder to make sure Kelly wasn’t in earshot. Not too impressed that her link to me didn’t give her automatic freedom of speech like she thought.

  ‘Listen, I didn’t get the homework done last night, so I’m just going to say I was around at yours, yeah, helping you get over the chemo.’ I couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘She’s on to you, Jasmine, you say that every week.’

  ‘She’s only on to me because you keep doing yours. Like what’s the point in having cancer if you’re not going to milk the perks, that’s what I say.’

  We really laughed then. Maybe she had a point.

  Joe

  The head on me when I wake up. I squint myself into the brightness of the kitchen, run the tap and drink right there from the spout. I rummage around in the top press, searching for any kind of painkiller that will put an end to the ceaseless fucking hammering.

  ‘Good night so?’ Ma asks, her face all fuming, arms all folded. I’m flashed back to Sabine when I made a complete and utter tit of myself, and my head just hammers harder.

  ‘Ah Ma, don’t, I’m bleedin’ dying.’ I lie on the couch, close my eyes and try not to move a muscle, each twitch a sharp dart into my brain and behind my eyes.

  ‘Up with ya,’ she says, hitting at the ends of my feet.

  ‘Ma, seriously, just leave us a while, yeah.’

  ‘I said fucking up.’ She is at me again, pulling at me, to get me the fuck up. I slowly inch myself into sitting, keeping the pressure on the head with my two palms pressed in deep, to stop it busting right on out. I make myself open the eyes that I know are rightly hanging out of my head.

  ‘What the fuck are ya doing sniffing around Murphy,’ she says, navigating the ground in front of me, her hands wringing around each other, slipping on and off the dulled gold band of her wedding ring finger, twisting it around and twisting it again.

  ‘Don’t be worrying, Ma, I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘But you don’t, that’s the fucking point, Joe. You haven’t a clue how he works, how he operates, Jesus, I can’t have you mixing yourself into any of this shit too,’ and her fingers are rubbing at her temples now.

  ‘Ma, no, honestly, I’m not.’ I have to try to make her see, that it’s not as bad as she thinks it is, that I won’t be owned like Da was, that it will be different for me. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ I say again, making myself get up, making myself go to her, to try to make her see.

  ‘No, Joe, no. I fucking watched on as he did it to your Da,’ she says, ‘well to absolute fuck if you think I’m letting him do it to you too.’ She grabs her bag, but it hovers before getting to her shoulder. ‘And, school?’ she says, her voice wavering but still steel-laced. ‘Where does it feature in this grand plan of yours.’ Her arms are folded again, tight towards me.

  ‘Ah Ma, don’t,’ I say, sitting myself back into the couch, letting the soft support of it cushion the thump of my skull.

  ‘Don’t, what?’ she says, getting herself closer. ‘Ask why you haven’t gone back, ask why you’re determined to throw your life away,’ her hands are out of their fold now and clasped together, palm to palm, fingers to fingers, as if in prayer, held at her nose.

  ‘Look,’ she says, sitting herself on the edge of the couch beside me. ‘I didn’t say anything after the suspension.’ I close my eyes, not wanting to be part of this, just concentrate on the comfort of the infinite eyelid blackness.

  ‘But you still haven’t gone back, and it’s been over a week.’ She has her hand on my knee now, just for a second.

  ‘Mr Broderick, he wants to help,’ she says, ‘honestly, he does, he’s even offered to call here at weekends, for grinds, to help you catch up.’ I sit myself up straighter, look right at her.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ she says, her hands back to pleading again.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Yeah, no, I’m not going back,’ I say, standing despite the pain shooting through the tip of my head, holding my ground, firm.

  ‘Not going back?’ she says, her turn to stand now too, facing me off. ‘You entitled little prick,’ she says. ‘What I wouldn’t have given for …’ and she trails off. ‘And for what? Fucking Dessie Murphy.’ She throws her laugh at me, swinging her bag higher on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m late for work,’ she says, pounding her path to the door, Sabine there on her way out.

 
; ‘Ah howya, love, listen, do us a favour and see can ya knock any sense into that bleedin’ son of mine,’ and she’s gone.

  ‘She’s right you know.’ She’s standing at the door, taking me in, looking at me with something that I have never seen before, and I think it could be fear, there’s something familiar in the catch of her, the way Ma used to stand sometimes with Da, and that is the one fucking thing that I never ever wanted to see in her.

  Finn

  Feeling sick again, it was always worse at night. My head was really busted and me stomach was in bits, and tomorrow was a long way off when you felt like absolute crap.

  Lying now, eyes opened, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Joe put up about the place to liven it up, so he said. Lying there trying to decide should I make my way to the bathroom, or would it pass, or if I moved at all would it make it worse, that maybe if I stayed really still the shooting pains running up and down my legs and arms would stop.

  Ma was still up, I could hear the TV, and the kettle was on making herself another cuppa, to keep her awake. I didn’t know if she slept at all any more; she was always there when I woke up, or if I found it too hard to make it to the bathroom on my own. I didn’t want her to worry, or fuss, but it would be nice to sit with her for a bit.

  I made my decision and swung my legs over the rail, made some attempt at getting up, but that just made it worse, the sting of the movement, the brush of the sheet sending a flame of heat right through my body. I wasn’t too sure I could do this now. I leaned back towards the bed, half in, half out, trying to make up me mind like, not quite sure of it.

  I was just about to get back in, decided to just stay put, give Ma the night off and not be fretting her as usual, when I heard the bang on the door.

  ‘Annie.’

  The door was still banging. It was Da shouting; Joe was up and at the window.

  ‘Get back into the bed, Finn,’ he said, opening the bedroom door a crack, not going fully out. I pushed myself to the side of the rail again, this time unable to hide the pain from my face, or my voice, the quick movements pushing me over the edge.

  ‘Jesus, Finn, you OK?’ Joe said, coming over now, trying to help, but his hands on my shoulder just made it worse. Pushed the pain further in.

  ‘Help me out, I want to see what’s going on,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know, Finn, I don’t think you should.’

  ‘Help me out,’ I said while turning myself over, trying to get my legs to the rail, missing the rungs in the dark. ‘Gentle,’ I said, as Joe put his arms around me, guided me to the ladder, letting me do the rest myself. Knowing that I didn’t want to be treated like a baby, or an invalid, or that I was different, or that I had changed, or that I would never be the same again.

  We both got to the door now, and Ma had let Da in; he was pacing, asking for me, and Ma was trying to get out of him what the hell was going on.

  ‘Finney,’ he was shouting now, making his way closer to our door. Joe stood in front of me, protecting, arm at my chest, blocking him from me, me from him.

  ‘Wait, Frank. Don’t. Tell me what it is, tell me what’s going on,’ Ma said, trying to get him back, away from the door.

  ‘I don’t have long, Annie, let me see him. I want to talk to him first.’ Ma ran, her back now concealing our view, covering the crack in the door.

  ‘I’m not letting you near until you tell me,’ and Ma was filling the room now, with the voice of her.

  ‘He was undercover, Annie,’ he said, ‘fucking undercover,’ and he held on to her, pleaded with her. ‘They know it was me, they’ll be here soon, I won’t be getting out of this one, not this time.’ Ma’s shoulders dropped, her hand loosened on the handle, and she pushed Da in the chest, moved herself closer to him.

  ‘Frank, you fucking promised. Promised that you were finished with this,’ still pushing. ‘You promised.’ She was crying now, her fists were being held by Da, he was trying to get her to look at him. ‘How could you do it, you’re leaving me. To deal with all this. On my own. On my fucking own, Frank.’ He had his arms around her now, she was crying into his chest. I opened the door before Joe had a chance to stop me, I stooped right in under his arm, and Da and Ma pulled me into them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Finney, I am,’ he said, and Joe was still at the bedroom door. Just looking, not moving, or making any attempt to join us.

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,’ and Joe let out a laugh, Da’s head locked on him now, like a viper ready to pounce.

  ‘What the fuck’s your problem?’ Da asked, still holding on to us, but his grip was getting tighter, another shoot of pain, and something else. I closed my eyes, silently pleading with Joe to just stop, stop what he was doing, pushing Da’s buttons.

  ‘Well, as long as you’re sorry, that’s fucking all right so,’ he said, still at his position, still not moving. Da made his way over to him, clenched his fists right by his side, his anger pulsing out of the vein at his neck, all targeted at Joe, who still held his position, staring Da out of it, silently daring Da to make his move, which came as a full-forced flick of his head butted into Joe’s face. And the gasp of Ma, and the spray of Joe, and the ragged rough breaths of Da while Joe’s blood pumped, Da’s impression bright and dripping for all to see.

  We heard the footsteps in the corridor, the ‘Open up, it’s the Gardaí,’ the barging, full force on the door, and we all watched as Da was pushed to the ground, hands cuffed at his back, dragged from our flat, just like that. Joe moved then, to put an arm around my shoulder, to hold Ma’s hand.

  That was the last time I ever saw me Da.

  Joe

  She still hasn’t entered fully, still half standing there at the door, the wariness dripping off her, trickling right into the place, into me. That’s harder to stomach than the embarrassment of last night, that wariness, that fear, of her not knowing how to just be around me. I’m opening my mouth to say sorry, but it won’t mean anything, it won’t show any of how I wish it wasn’t me who made her feel like that in the first place.

  She comes in past me, over to the kettle, taps the side of it with her palm, checking, pulls two mugs from the press, empties the coffee granules straight from the tin and pours the still warmed kettle, handing me my mug.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say anyway for something to say, and take a sip from the coffee, putting it straight back down again, the unbearable watering of my mouth and tongue taking everything in me not to retch it back up.

  ‘Ah here, just sit back down would ya.’ She starts rummaging in her bag as I make my way back to the couch, sink my head back into the headrest, close my eyes trying not to move. I can hear the clink of glass, the gush of the tap, the clink of metal stirring, and a pint glass is guided into my hand, sprays of fizz splashing up at me, forcing my eyes open to look.

  ‘Alka-Seltzer,’ she says, ‘he’s your only man.’ She’s staring at me, willing me, and I am holding the glass just barely, away from me; she begins to laugh. ‘Trust me, down in one.’ She lifts my arm, bringing the glass to my mouth, and I do just that, down it in one.

  ‘Jaysus,’ I say, the acidic fizz of it sloshing the stomach but at least I’m not retching, well, not yet.

  She comes and sits down beside me then, close but not touching, yet close all the same.

  ‘What is it he wants you to do?’ she asks, but it’s level and calm. She looks at me then, still close but not touching.

  ‘A run,’ I say, barely a whisper.

  ‘A run?’ she says. I can feel her tense, see it in her, in the lock of her jaw and the straightening of her back.

  ‘Yeah, a run, a drop,’ a little louder this time, a little stronger.

  ‘Joe, seriously, a runner, sure Dessie has runners younger than Finn swarming the place.’

  ‘Not a runner, just a run, one run, a once-off,’ but she isn’t listening, she’s up and pacing again.

  ‘He keeps them young, so he doesn’t have to pay them, they’d do it for a fucking Happy Mea
l, Joe.’ Her pacing has stopped now; she’s standing firmly in front of me.

  ‘It’s a once-off,’ I say again. ‘One time,’ I repeat, but she just sits beside me, places both hands on my leg, the one closest to her.

  ‘Listen to me, Joe, this doesn’t make sense.’ She brings her hand to my face, trying to get me to turn to her. ‘Why does he need you for a run?’ Her hand is still resting, right on my cheek, willing me to look at her, the warmth of it, the trust of it, trusting in me and I reach my hand up, to take hold of hers, mine stretched right over, imprinting hers. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she says again. I turn to look at her now, wanting to keep her warmth locked in tight.

  ‘A once-off,’ I say, and her hand drops right down, leaving mine lingering, ghosted of her touch, her warmth abandoning me, for good.

  Finn

  Jasmine said it was all over school. That everyone was talking about it. That Da was a murderer, that he shot a Guard. I didn’t understand any of this. What it meant. When we would be allowed to see him.

  Did they let you visit a murderer? Last time he was in for possession, but he was out in three months, we were allowed to visit once a week. I didn’t know if they would let you do that with murder.

  I was not even really sure if it was murder at all, and I think that the rumours were all wrong, because Ma said the Guard wasn’t dead, that he was just in a coma, and Joe told her it was just as good as, but I wasn’t sure if that was really true.

  It was self-defence anyway; Da was going to get shot, so he had to shoot first. I told Joe this, but he just walked out of the flat and slammed the door behind him without saying anything. Again.