The dog that didn’t deserve a name was back below the decaying staircase, hunched down as if it was waiting for them to move. Its mouth was curled upwards and its nose looked wet. It eyed them both, it seemed. Nancy began to walk Hurley towards Donn’s car. The keys were in the ignition, as usual.
‘Elian, tell Donn I’m taking the car. Tell them we’ve gone to hospital.’
‘I want to come,’ said Elian.
She half saw him closing the door behind him. The ordered way they were discussing this, somehow hearing each other’s enunciations above and beyond Hurley’s cries suddenly struck Nancy as funny. She kept her eyes on the dog as she opened the rear door and guided Hurley through the gap. Elian got in beside him.
Hurley was getting louder, possibly. Nancy turned the keys and backed out of the driveway, turning at the gate. She messed up her three point turn and just about missed the wall before speeding down the driveway.
Drive on the left, drive on the left, she thought, before turning right into the road. She didn’t know the way to Coleraine, but she knew the general direction. With the sound of the engine making Hurley fade into the background she wondered if he had run out of fear, run out of energy or was fainting. It hadn’t seemed like a lot of blood loss, but shock. Did shock kill nowadays? Elian said nothing. Maybe they should have phoned for an ambulance. She’d done it wrong, she always got it wrong. She could make it not her fault. She could, if only Hurley would stop screaming.
She drove on. Her hands started to shake as if all the action she had suppressed in front of the dog was happening all at once, the running she didn’t do, the throwing things that she couldn’t do. Her throat started to tighten and she counted her breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth, the techniques they’d been taught at counselling to deal with Hurley. But this wasn’t him. She couldn’t hear him now.
She adjusted the rear view mirror to look. His head was back on the seat, his face pale and eyes open. His chest was still going up and down. Elian was just looking at him.
A car horn blared and she swung back on to the left. Drive on the left.
‘Hurley, are you feeling any pain?’ she asked.
His eyes fluttered but stayed open. If he died, if he died – then what? She would never go back to Michigan, that was for sure, and would never see Elian again either. And that thought didn’t bother her one bit. She hid it and focused on the road. At least it wasn’t raining.
Drive on the left.
The farm was lit upstairs and down when they returned. Donn and Agatha would never have as many bulbs burning at once.
Bernadette.
Elian had got Hurley through the front door and still she couldn’t force her hands from their grip on the steering wheel. It was only the thought of Bernadette coming out and being trapped in the car with her that did it. She forced herself to leave the car and climb the steps to the door. Inside the house there were two girls and a man she half-recognised from photos, and Bernadette.
‘Bit of a day,’ said Bernadette, and grimaced.
‘Yes,’ said Nancy. She’d planned to say lots of things, nice things, about how nice it was to finally be together, planning trips and food, and now that ‘yes’ had exhausted everything she wanted to say to her.
Bernadette said, ‘I’ll make some tea.’
I was going to do that, thought Nancy. She bit her lip and nodded. Her nieces sat side by side on the sofa. Hurley tried to take up a place on the rug in front of the fire, but Elian slid him into place next to the oldest girl. She shifted away from him. He laid his head back on the creamy antimacassar and closed his eyes. She nudged her sister to move up, which she did, and then she moved away some more. For all that they reminded Nancy of her and Bernadette, she wanted to smack them both and send them to bed. Horrible prissy little girls. She couldn’t even remember their names. She and Bern weren’t ever like them. Those girls who shifted away from Hurley like he was a bad smell had no spark in their eyes at all. Their father was speaking softly to Elian, next to the piano. Nancy couldn’t hear what they were saying but she understood the gestures. She looked at Hurley, eyes still closed.
‘Where’s Donn?’ she asked, her voice croaky.
Elian said, ‘He’s just popped out.’ He made a stopping motion with his hand so she didn’t ask anything else. That’s when she knew that he taken the dog out to shoot it. ‘Agatha’s in bed.’
She wanted to go home. She just wasn’t sure where she wanted that to be right now.
Bernadette came in with a tray. The teapot had been cleaned. She set it down on the dining table and sorted out the cups and handed glasses of juice to the three children. Nancy imagined how much sugar was in it, but said nothing. Hurley opened his eyes to take his and closed them again, but held onto the glass.
‘Did you have a good journey?’ asked Elian.
Bernadette laughed. ‘I don’t think you can ever have a good journey when it involves the Irish Sea. It was almost worth it, just so we didn’t have to hire a car. I always worry about the excesses and all that nonsense. And you never know what the children are up to in the back.’
Nancy looked at Bernie’s daughters. She could tell exactly what they’d be up to. Pinching, sniping and moaning. She tried to raise herself into the conversation.
‘Yes,’ said Nancy, ‘a car is useful. We could all go over to Portstewart one day, maybe. Go to Morelli’s and the Giant’s Causeway.’
‘Maybe,’ said Bernadette. She didn’t look at Nancy. ‘We have lots of plans too.’
Nancy smiled. She was going to be friends with Bernadette by the end of their holiday. Maybe for now they could just get on like people who used to know each other well, and that would be enough.
‘So, what’s the view on his leg?’ asked Bernadette.
‘It looked really bad, but they’re not too worried. Largely cosmetic, he’ll be fine. He’ll need a check up.’
‘Good. An early night perhaps?’
Bernadette’s eyes weren’t even on her when she asked questions. She was signalling something to her older girl, some keep quiet or sit still order to two children who looked incapable of making noise or moving independently. She decided to wait to see if Bernadette repeated her question.
She didn’t. It had been forgotten in her little silent exchange.
‘Sorry, what were we saying?’
Nancy smiled, ‘I can’t remember either. I think I’m going to get Hurley up to bed.’
She stroked his shoulder. He handed her his juice, which she left on the tray, and he followed her out of the room.
‘Night, Hurley,’ said Elian, not leaving his new talking partner.
Nancy tried to help him up the stairs but he leaned on the banister more.
‘I’ll make up the bed in our room. Will you be all right?’
He nodded.
‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth.’
He nodded.
‘I’m so sorry about what happened, Hurley. I should have done something, made Donn tie the dog up.’
He shrugged.
‘Go and collect your things. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She went into the bathroom, just for a bit of space and listened to the girls coming upstairs, complaining about sharing the room, crying about sharing the small bed. She cleaned her face and brushed her hair.
Hurley was waiting on the stairs outside the bathroom.
‘My bed’s not ready,’ he said.
‘No. I’ll do that now.’ She carried his bag to the room and put it on her bed.
Nancy struggled with the rusty clasps and hinges, but finally got the bed unfolded for when he came in. He slowly sat down on it and they both cringed at the screaming metal.
‘Just try not to move around too much,’ said Nancy.
‘I can feel the metal.’
‘We’ll see how we get on. After tonight.’
She hoped Elian would offer to swap, if anyone needed to.
Downstairs the front room was empty. She fou
nd them all in the parlour, Bernadette at the head of the table, Elian and Adrian flanking her, and an almost empty bottle of white wine in between them.
‘Open another, would you, Nancy? This one’s all gone. We couldn’t wait all night.’
Nancy found the bottle in the fridge, among many other bottles, and unscrewed the previous cork from the corkscrew. She looked around at the many boxes of provisions, the multipacks of crisps and the family packs of Twix and Mars bars sticking out of them. How was she going to hide this from Hurley?
She scraped off the foil and reapplied the corkscrew but the cork would not budge. She refused to ask anyone in the room to help her, but strained against it until Elian came to see what the hold-up was.
‘Here you go,’ he said, as it popped. ‘What do we do about all this junk food? Didn’t you say anything to them about what Hurley can eat?’
‘It’s their food, not ours. I didn’t even know they were coming until we got here. What could I say?’
He took the bottle back in and left her to find her own glass. When she sat down at the table and was pouring her wine they heard the gunshot.
‘Poor Donn,’ said Bernadette. ‘He always said that would be his last dog.’
Elian kept his head down and waited for the conversation to resume on a different subject. He couldn’t hide that he was glad and Nancy hated that. She forced her attention away from him, back to Bernadette.
She seemed so much the same, bright blue eyes which smiled when her mouth did, but distant, like she wasn’t really there. The weird thing was that Nancy felt the same. Nancy had never felt guilty for leaving home. She was sick of making excuses for Bernadette. It was too embarrassing to be around those hospitals and other locked places. Nancy had wondered about this inevitable reunion for so long but hadn’t expected Bernadette to be so confident, so self-contained. She didn’t really need Nancy at all.
In the end they had to go to bed without seeing Donn and having to commiserate with him. The longer he didn’t come back in the house, the more Nancy thought that maybe the shot wasn’t for the dog. What if he’d just killed himself and they were all just sitting around drinking wine? What if he’d killed his dog and they were all sitting around drinking wine?
She lay awake as Elian slept, as quiet and contained as he ever got. Hurley was curled up on the fold out bed at the foot of theirs. She crept downstairs, automatically avoiding the creaky midpoint of the steps.
In the parlour she was disappointed to see Agatha was up, too. She was talking to herself. With horror Nancy realised that she was praying, her eyes closed and hands pressed together. Nancy pulled the door to again and waited outside. Maybe she should just go to bed. Or maybe Agatha realised she was there and would finish. She couldn’t decide if it would be worse to wait or to leave. She lingered, deciding to give her a couple of minutes. The murmuring stopped and she peered through a slight gap. Agatha was looking at her.
She opened the door fully and closed it behind her. ‘I was thinking, before you go, you’ll have to show me how to work the immersion heater.’
‘I will.’
‘We only have a shower at home. One click and it’s heated, two minutes and you’re done. They’re not comfortable with baths yet. They see it as lying in your own dirt.’
Agatha tutted. Nancy wished she hadn’t said it.
‘Do you want any tea?’ asked Nancy.
‘Not at this time of night.’
The fire was nearly out, just a few embers glowing at the bottom. Nancy passed through to the kitchen and got a glass of water before joining Agatha at the fire.
‘All ready for your trip?’
Agatha nodded, staring into the end of the fire. ‘I’ll pray for you.’
It sounded like a threat. Nancy wasn’t sure how she should respond.
‘Thank you.’
They sat quietly for a while.
‘Did you ever regret leaving the convent?’
‘I didn’t have a choice. Donn needed someone to keep house until he was married. I did think he would get married but God had other plans. It’s not for me to question them.’
Nancy thought about the uncles and aunts who had escaped the house. Some of them had escaped the country too, but not Beth, Donn and Agatha. One other sister, Shona, had left home to keep house for a second cousin, a priest in Cork. She was there for eight months before she stole the week’s collection and ran off to Canada with a married man. Agatha didn’t speak to her, but Nancy’s mother wrote. She’d visited her a couple of years ago and then Nancy on her way back. Others had gone to Australia, one to London. One uncle, Ryan, had just gone. No-one seemed to know where he was, her mum said.
Nancy realised that Agatha was looking at her.
‘I thought you may become a nun.’
‘I never really considered it.’ Nancy shifted in her seat and drank most of her water.
‘Maybe you should have. I think it would have suited you.’
Nancy smiled awkwardly.
Agatha shook her head. ‘That sister of yours, I pray for her most of all. Those poor wee bastards. Condemned to –’ Agatha threw her hands in the air.
She meant Bernie. Nancy remembered how they always called their aunt Sister Agatha, but only behind her back. When had they stopped that?
‘I’d better get up to bed,’ said Nancy.
Agatha looked exhausted all of a sudden. ‘Look after Donn, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
Nancy put her mug on the table and turned around to leave.
‘Promise me.’
‘I promise.’
She didn’t hear Donn come in, but she heard him climb the stairs and close the door to his bedroom. His steps sounded like those of an old man. Knowing he was inside made all of the following noises, the shuffles outside, the cries of animals, more disturbing. They reminded her of something, some other night, but the feeling was vague and she didn’t want to grab it properly. If she did she would never sleep again.
7
Then
Sunday mornings were different here. At home Mum didn’t mind what we wore and I was always happiest in my jeans. I’d just grown out of my favourites, with the Muppet patch on the back pocket, or Mum said I had, but I squeezed into them a few times after that. It hurt, right across my stomach, but I didn’t want to give them to Florence yet. One day they disappeared and I had a new pair, but no Muppets on them. That’s what I normally wore, with day-glo legwarmers. Mine were pink and Nancy’s were green. She asked me to swap when we unwrapped them at Christmas but I didn’t. I was so happy that I had something she wanted and it was the first time I decided to keep it instead of swap like she wanted. After that she spent weeks telling me how rubbish pink was, but I didn’t mind.
For church here I had to wear a nice, clean skirt. It was a dark red ra-ra skirt, and it matched Nancy’s, but she hated us matching and I hated skirts.
‘No leg warmers,’ said Mum, and we stripped them off. It was too warm for them anyway, but Nancy complained.
‘I’m not listening,’ said Mum.
Sister Agatha washed our faces with the same mouldy smelling flannel, which Nancy felt she was far too old for. Florence smiled when Sister Agatha told her she looked like a little angel and gave Nancy a knowing look.
‘NB,’ Nancy whispered to Florence.
Florence didn’t know what it meant but she knew it was bad and clung to Mum.
We got into Donn’s car, Florence on Mum’s lap, and drove to church and parked in the car park across the road. On the way in there was no talking. You were allowed to nod, but not smile, not that I nodded at anyone. Sister Agatha did nod at every single person she passed. I wondered how she could know all these people and be on her own all the time. She led us to the second row and shepherded us in so she could sit on the end and continue to nod. She didn’t dress any differently for church, just black blouse, black skirt and black jacket, same as always. I wondered why she didn’t have special Sunday clothes, or
maybe every day was a Sunday when you were so miserable.
The priest was different to ours too, but a bit more exciting. He liked to scare people about hell and swung his arms around when he was in the pulpit. Our priest at home was a vegetarian who liked to talk about animals and love. I didn’t mind listening about hell and devils, but Mum always twisted around and made a fuss of Florence so she couldn’t listen and ask awkward questions. Sister Agatha made us sit near the front, but Donn always sat in the back row. There were always lots of men in the back rows and I wondered if it was a secret rule about men who weren’t married. Tommy was often there.
Everyone was smart, even us, and sang loudly, even when they shouldn’t have because they were really bad. The girl behind us kept stroking Florence’s hair even after her mother smacked her hand. It echoed around the church in the quiet bit. It was always cold and always dark in there, but I didn’t mind that. It made the candles stand out more, especially the one in the red glass which showed God was in, I think. The small, high windows rarely had sun to show you the pictures, not like our church with its floor to ceiling stained glass and weird pointy bits.
‘A sixties architectural abomination,’ my dad had said.
‘It’s got under floor heating,’ said my mum.
I never liked going up for communion here. If you put your hands out the priest gave you a funny look. You had to kneel at the bar around the altar in a line and he’d do a circuit, popping the wafer into everyone’s mouths for them. Sometimes I’d hold my hands out and sometimes Nancy did. I was always pleased if we both did because then we looked as if we knew the right way and they were getting it wrong. I didn’t think there was anything sinful about my hands, even if they weren’t entirely clean. Then the grim, cropped altar boy would give you a sip of the wine, but not let go of the chalice, and then you had to get up and go back and kneel. In our church there were padded cushions but here there were hard wooden plinths to rest on and my knees would ache. If I got up too quickly Sister Agatha would poke me until I knelt down again. I tried to wait for Nancy but her knees seemed harder than mine. When I sat down again they were always red, but then I could watch the men who came forward from the back of the church. I smiled if I saw Donn, but he never looked at us. Maybe he was a bit scared of Sister Agatha too.
The Insect Rosary Page 5