Me Mam. Me Dad. Me

by Duffy, Malcolm;

  School hadn’t broken up yet, but me mam made me stay at home. It was the first time in me life I’d ever wanted to go to school.

  ‘Why can’t I gan?’

  ‘’Cos I need you here, Danny.’

  I don’t know what she needed me for. Hadn’t I done enough already? I left a message on Amy’s phone. Told her what had happened and asked her to come and see me after school.

  Couldn’t stay in the kitchen all day, it was too dangerous. They might ask a question, like, ‘What’s the news on the Scots boy at school?’ Or, ‘How was your school trip?’ And to make it worse Aunty Tina was there. The one who knew I knew where me dad lived.

  Went up to me room and lay on me bed. The day dragged like a tortoise’s belly. Me mam didn’t make me lunch or tea, but for once I couldn’t care less. Wasn’t hungry.

  Round about six the front door bell went. It was Amy. She came up to me room and we lay on me bed, staring at the ceiling, holding hands. I knew me mam wouldn’t come in. Not today.

  ‘How’s your mam?’

  ‘Upset.’

  ‘In spite of…’

  ‘Aye, in spite of…’

  ‘And how are you?’

  ‘A bit weird.’

  ‘You’re glad he’s gone, though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You don’t sound glad.’

  Because you don’t know the half of it, Amy.

  ‘Just the shock. That’s all.’

  Amy leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. ‘You’ll get over it, Danny.’

  Maybe.

  ‘Told me mam and dad. They said that if there’s anything they can do to help.’

  ‘Aye, they could invent a time machine and make me mam go back and meet a man who loves her, and looks after her, and never, ever hurts her.’

  ‘You are so sweet, Danny Croft.’ Then she kissed me once more and jumped off the bed. ‘I’ve gotta run. I’m going to Confession tonight. I’ll see you at school.’

  Was glad when bed time finally turned up, but when it did I wished it hadn’t.

  Couldn’t sleep. Me head still spinning round and round, Scotland, Stevie, Callum, the punch, me, Scotland, Stevie, Callum, the punch, me.

  Next morning I heard the letterbox go. Went downstairs and got The Journal off the mat. The headline nearly made me heave.

  ATTACK VICTIM DIES

  I kept staring at it, like it wasn’t real. But it was. I could feel it with me fingers. I took the paper into Callum’s office and sat down at the desk to read. It said that the police had launched a murder inquiry. That was the bit in big black letters. The story underneath was the one I already knew. Callum Jeffries, thirty-eight, was attacked on his way home from The Flying Fox pub in Whickham last Friday night. It didn’t mention the punch or the Scotsman. It said he was taken for emergency surgery, but he died as a result of his injury.

  There was a picture of Callum, smiling, as usual. Mam or one of his lot must have given it to them. I’d never seen it before. Made him look like a normal bloke, not one with spit on his lips and angry fists. People would look at it and say, ‘He looks canny, who could do such a thing?’

  Put the paper in the recycling when I’d finished. I didn’t want me mam seeing it. It would only set her off again.

  The coppers came back to speak to me mam. They were dead serious this time. Me mam didn’t have much to say, but the coppers did. Kept asking questions. Probably the only murder they had.

  ‘I’ve told you all I know,’ said me mam, getting fed up. ‘Why not speak to the people in the pub? Someone must have seen something.’

  ‘We’re looking into that,’ said the woman copper.

  Hoped so. But you never know with coppers. They always make mistakes on the telly. Probably made loads already.

  Then me mam had a question for them.

  ‘Have you found the Scotsman yet?’

  ‘We’re speaking to various Scottish men in the area,’ said the bloke copper, as though Mam had asked a really stupid question.

  I was scared that any second me mam would say, ‘Have you spoken to the Scots boy at school yet, the one that Danny knows?’

  But the question never came. It lay buried. And the coppers picked up their hats and went off to look for Scotsmen.

  Mam sat on the sofa, lank hair hanging down over her white face.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea, Mam?’

  She nodded.

  When I came back she was crying again. I put the tea on the table and saw what she was crying about, a magazine lying on the floor, just one word on the front. Brides.

  Forty-Three

  • • •

  They cremated Callum on the nineteenth of December.

  Before we left Gateshead for the cremation I burned the note from Aunty Tina. It was too dangerous. I also washed the ball me dad gave me in case his fingerprints were on it. I even wiped me sports bag in case he’d touched it. I didn’t want anything that could lead them back to him.

  I’d asked if Amy could come, but her mam and dad wouldn’t let her. We went off in Aunty Tina’s car. I wished I could have gone in the other car with Uncle Martin, Aunty Sheila and Gran and Granda. Every time I looked at her I thought of the note, but Aunty Tina never said a thing. She looked at me funny a couple of times. I think she knew she shouldn’t have done it, but she kept her secret wrapped up in her head, and I kept mine.

  I’d never been to a funeral before. Me mam borrowed a black suit from a friend. Everyone wore black that day, black suits, black shoes, black dresses, black ties, black hats, black everything. It went with the weather. Black clouds, wherever you looked.

  There weren’t many kids at the funeral. I only counted five. No idea who they were. Aunty Tina had left her two behind with Uncle Greg. Said they were too young. Grown-ups try and keep bairns away from stuff like that. Not sure why. They leave the news on, with people being killed, blown up, heads chopped off, massacred. But I suppose it’s different when it’s somewhere else. This was here.

  Callum got cremated in a little room next to a graveyard. We sat in the very front row. I normally like being at the front, like on a roller coaster, or the top deck of a bus, but for once I wished I’d been at the back. Didn’t want to see what was going on. Some of Callum’s lot got up and said canny things about him, like how clever he was, and what a good driver he was, and how he loved his family and nephews and nieces and stuff like that.

  They also mentioned me mam.

  ‘Callum loved Kim,’ said Louise, pausing to blow her nose. ‘He knew he’d found a real diamond when he found her. She made him happy. And I hope she found happiness with him.’

  Nearly laughed.

  ‘He was such a kind, thoughtful man.’

  Me mam squeezed me hand tight. We knew different.

  Not one of them said anything bad about him. Guess you’re not allowed to slag people off at their funerals. When they’d finished talking, the curtains in front of the coffin closed, like at the cinema, and that was it. The end. We trudged out as some American gadgie sang a song called ‘My Way’. I wondered if me mam had chosen it, ’cos the last words were about taking the blows. I’d ask her some time. Not today.

  After the funeral, we all went to Callum’s brother’s house. It was even bigger than ours. It had three garages, a garden that looked like a park, six toilets, and a telly the size of a ping-pong table. They put cartoons on for the kids. I don’t normally watch them, but did today. Was better than standing round waiting for a question. Everyone else just stood in the kitchen with cups of tea, eating little sandwiches, speaking with the volume down, like they were in class.

  I wanted to go in the garden and play football, but Mam said I couldn’t. Not when someone’s died. I wondered how long you had to wait after a funeral to play football. Before a match they just have a minute’s silence when someone’s dead, then start. That’s a much better idea. Don’t know why we couldn’t do that.

  After tea and sandwiches me mam sa
id goodbye to everybody. There was lots more kissing and hugging and crying. A few of them hugged me. Then we got in Aunty Tina’s car and drove back to Gateshead. There’s nothing in the world more boring than a motorway, especially when the traffic’s bad, your mam’s sad, no one’s talking, and you’ve done something you shouldn’t. But that’s what it was like, all the way back.

  Aunty Tina dropped us home. Me mam and her sister hugged for ages.

  ‘Be strong, Kim.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said me mam.

  ‘And you look after her,’ said Aunty Tina, looking at me.

  It was weird going back into the house of a dead man. Every time I turned a corner I expected to see him, smiling, rubbing me hair, giving me money, calling me General. But if ever I found myself feeling a bit sad for him, I reminded myself of one thing – he would never ever hurt me mam again.

  Christmas came, but it didn’t feel like it. We didn’t have a tree, not even a plastic one. It just felt like a normal day with presents. We could have put up the lights Callum didn’t want, but don’t think me mam could be bothered. Got her some skin lotion stuff and a tin with loads of different chocolate biscuits. She’d not have to worry about eating them again. Mam got me a games console and a Newcastle United away kit. Really liked it, but felt guilty about smiling too much.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Danny,’ she said.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mam.’

  It didn’t seem right to be saying merry anything when your mam’s bloke’s been killed, but you’ve got to say it at Christmas. It’s just one of those things.

  Went to see Amy.

  I gave her some more perfume. She got me a T-shirt. Gave her a kiss and a hug. But it wasn’t like last Christmas. A bad feeling in the air. I wanted to spend the day with her, but me mam said I couldn’t. We went to Aunty Tina’s instead. I still felt funny every time I saw her, thinking she’d say something. ‘Did you write to your dad, Danny? Did you send him a Christmas card?’ But she never said a word, and I got the feeling she never would.

  There was a massive meal with roast turkey and stuffing and stuff, but I didn’t eat much. I noticed me mam wasn’t eating either, just pushing the food about on her plate like she didn’t know what to do with it. There was a big shortage of laughing this year. At least there’d be no argument about driving home. Aunty Tina had got us a taxi.

  I thought about me dad, and wondered what he was doing now. Probably having turkey in his flat, watching films on telly. I wondered if Megan was back from Cowdenbeath. I also couldn’t stop thinking about it. I hadn’t hit Callum, but I might as well have done. I’d made the punch happen, I’d put the death idea in me dad’s head. He’d never have done it if I hadn’t asked him. I mean, you don’t drive a hundred and four miles in the dark to go and lamp someone you don’t know for nothing, do you?

  I started to think, hope, that me dad hadn’t done it. I mean, he said he wouldn’t do it, didn’t he? He’d said it loads of times, said it was for someone else to sort out. Maybe me dad had paid another Scotsman to do it, or maybe Callum met a Scots bloke in the street and said something bad to him. Could imagine him doing that. The Scots bloke would then punch him to show that he didn’t like what he’d said. Callum would fall and hit his head. That’s what could have happened.

  Though it probably didn’t.

  Ever since the attack I couldn’t sleep properly. Luckily, it was now the Christmas holidays and I could lie in bed for ages or just crash on the sofa. Me mam couldn’t find the energy to nag me. But when school started, the teachers couldn’t wait to start nagging.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, Danny,’ said Mr Hetherington. ‘Bears hibernate in winter, not humans.’

  Laugh, laugh, laugh.

  ‘Croft, stop yawning,’ shouted Mr Tobin in PE. ‘I can see what you’ve had for breakfast and it’s making me ill.’

  Laugh, laugh, laugh.

  Even Amy was on me case.

  ‘Danny, I don’t get it. I thought you’d be happy. Your mam’s safe now.’

  ‘I am happy about that.’

  ‘So what aren’t you happy about?’

  Shrugged. Too tired to lie.

  Amy looked deep into me eyes, like an optician.

  ‘I’d love to know what’s going on in that head of yours.’

  Forty-Four

  •

  In the middle of all this, something good actually happened. Lanky Dave got expelled. One minute he was at school, the next he wasn’t.

  Amy had gone to see the teachers.

  ‘Seeing as it’s the start of a new year, I decided it was time for a change,’ she said. ‘I did what you asked, Danny. I told them all about Dave.’

  Gobsmacked.

  ‘You were right. It was never going to get any better. I was just being pathetic.’

  I honestly thought Amy would be just like me mam, and let it go on and on and on.

  First time anyone had ever listened to what I’d said.

  Make that the second.

  ‘I told Mr Hetherington, and he took me to see Mrs Brighton. They got Lanky Dave. He lied, of course, and said he’d done nothing. But when they checked his phone they found everything. Guilty on all counts.’

  Was dead proud of Amy, and bought her a massive hot chocolate with cream. But three days after the good news, came the bad news.

  Funny thing about really bad stuff – you just don’t see it coming, like the ball that hits you in the face or that impossible question in class that your brain’s not ready for. It was like that with my bad thing. I think everyone in the world gets one day like that. This was mine.

  I’d been with Amy at the park after school. We were chilling out on the roundabout, just holding hands, talking, laughing. I gave her a kiss goodnight, as always, got on me bike and cycled home up Whickham Bank. But whichever way I went the wind seemed to be blowing into me, like it was trying to stop me getting back. I only thought this afterwards.

  As soon as I turned into our street, I saw it, a car, outside our house. The car looked like one I’d seen before. Couldn’t figure out where. Me heart started hammering away. Don’t know why, it was only a car, but something told me it meant news, bad news.

  I wheeled me bike round the side of the house and went in the kitchen, still asking me brain the same question – who does that car belong to? But me brain was being stupid as usual. Maybe it was too full of Amy. I could hear voices from the front room. It was me mam and a bloke. The other voice sounded like one I’d heard before, but it wasn’t clear enough. Too much door in the way.

  I walked towards the front room. The voices got louder, but the extra volume didn’t help, I still couldn’t figure out who the second voice belonged to. I put me sweaty hand on the handle, counted to ten, and opened the door.

  Mr Hetherington turned to look at me.

  ‘Hello, Danny,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, sir,’ I said back.

  Me mam was sitting next to him. I could tell from their faces they weren’t just having a nice chat. It was serious.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Danny,’ said Mr Hetherington. ‘I just wanted to talk to your mum about your behaviour at school.’

  Behaviour? What did he mean by that? It couldn’t be about Lanky Dave on the stairs, that was ages ago. Any road, he’d been expelled. I hadn’t been answering back at the teachers and me and Amy were careful not to touch in school.

  ‘What sort of behaviour, Mr Hetherington?’ I said, in me poshest voice.

  ‘You just seem tired all the time, Danny.’

  Is that all?

  ‘Aye, get a bit sleepy sometimes.’

  ‘It’s more than sometimes, Danny,’ said Mr Hetherington. ‘I’ve spoken to the other teachers, it’s nearly every day.’

  ‘Sit down, Danny,’ said me mam.

  Did as me mam said and sat on a chair next to them. They were both holding cups, me mam’s best ones. Noticed me mam’s cup was shaking, as though she’d been at
the sauce.

  ‘I know you’ve been going through a difficult time, Danny, but you’d tell us if there was something troubling you?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  The mountain of lies just kept getting bigger and bigger.

  ‘Falling asleep in lessons isn’t normal, Danny,’ said Mr Hetherington.

  ‘Danny always used to be a good sleeper.’

  That was before everything.

  ‘What time does he go to bed?’ asked Mr Hetherington.

  ‘About ten.’

  ‘Maybe it’s worth having a word with the doctor,’ said Mr Hetherington.

  And then she looked at him and said the words that would change everything. ‘I bet he wasn’t like this on the school trip?’

  I swear me heart nearly stopped. The trip was long gone, it had become history, like the Romans. But now here it was, in me front room, dug up, alive, and me mam and me teacher were going to ask me questions about it. Never felt so petrified in me whole life.

  Mr Hetherington looked baffled. ‘School trip? But Danny didn’t go on the school trip.’

  As his words took hold the mouths of me mam and Mr Hetherington flopped open like goldfish.

  I knew there and then that it was all over. They’d want to know what had happened. They’d want to know where I’d gone, what I’d done, who I’d seen. I wanted to die. But me heart had other ideas. Sending blood around and around me as fast as it could.

  Me mam glared at me with a face she could have borrowed off Callum.

  ‘You didn’t go on the school trip?’ she said, her voice growing louder with every word.

  I wanted to lie. I wanted to lie so much, and say that I did go, but how could I do that? Mr Hetherington had been on it, so had the other teachers. Nobody saw me. I was the ghost of the school trip.

  Could feel tears stabbing at me eyes. ‘No, Mam, I didn’t go.’