The brighter road curved around to the left and Connor paused. His lungs were burning from the exertion and cold air. He began to switch between a brisk walk and short bursts of jogging. He pressed his hands into his eyes. There were no tears, but he felt exhausted. He wanted to sleep, crawl into bed and never emerge. Up above him in the distance he could see the top of the Anglican cathedral. He began to breathe easier. He knew where he was now. Sort of. He wasn’t entirely sure how to get there but at least he had an idea of where he was heading. At the top of the steep hill he began to jog again and then he was running up Huskisson Street, looking over his shoulder and making silent deals with God that he would get inside unobserved.
The house was in darkness. Relieved, Connor slowed to a walk, trying to catch his breath. He rested against the railing for a moment before he pulled out his key and opened the door as slowly and quietly as he could. He stepped inside and with the steady caution of a burglar closed the door behind him with the quietest of clicks. He crept past the bikes and was just at the bottom of the stairs when he got a sudden heavy blow to the side of his head. He crashed against the wall and before he could begin to steady himself someone had their hands on his throat pressing him down to the floor. It was Robbo. Panting and dripping sweat onto Connor’s face. There was the stench of booze and cigarettes. Robbo pushed him under the jaw so that his face scraped across the floor and was pressed into the wall. Connor didn’t try to fight back but let out an involuntary whimper.
Robbo’s face was glistening in the street light that spilled into the hall.
‘Right, you little faggot. You are going to fuck off and you’re never going to come back.’ Each word exploded with a spray of spittle. ‘Do you understand me? Do you?’ He shook Connor, banging his head against the skirting board.
‘Yes.’
Robbo pulled him to his feet by the throat and pushed him back against the wall. Connor didn’t know what to say or do. It was as if he had been attacked by a wild animal. He just wanted to get away. His knees buckled and he slumped forward.
‘Here’s your shit. Now fuck off.’ Robbo reached behind him and threw a bag at Connor’s feet. Looking down he recognised it as his rucksack. He began to understand what was happening.
‘You want me to go now?’
‘Yes. Just fuck off out of it.’ Robbo had opened the door and was standing to one side.
Connor stepped forward but then stopped.
‘But I haven’t a coat.’
Robbo’s face contorted as he reached forward and grabbed Connor’s rucksack, throwing it out onto the pavement. Then he grabbed Connor’s arm and tugged him towards the door. ‘Just piss off or I will fucking kill you, you disgusting little faggot,’ he growled.
Connor resisted, reaching out and trying to hold on to the bikes. ‘I’ve no coat!’ he wailed. His voice sounded high and shrill in the still of the night. Robbo shoved him back and tugged an old worker’s donkey jacket off a wall hook. He threw it out onto the street where it landed like a stain on the pavement.
‘Well now you do, so just feck the fuck off!’ He lunged at Connor who managed to step back so that Robbo just got hold of his hair. The larger man hauled him forward and then kicked his legs as he pushed him out of the front door and down the stone steps to land with a heavy thump beside his bag and new coat. The door slam echoed down the street.
With no plan or thought, Connor raised his throbbing head and felt for the jacket. He put it on. It smelled of mildew and cigarettes, but it was heavy and warm. Some T-shirts and a jumper had fallen from his rucksack, so he gathered them up and closed the top of the bag. He could feel tears coming now but he didn’t care. As he heaved his bag onto his back, he was thinking about how much money he had. There was still most of his Christmas bonus in his wallet and, if Robbo hadn’t found it, one of his father’s fivers was in the side pocket of his bag. He put one foot in front of the other and he began to walk and cry. By the time he reached the corner of Hope Street he was howling and it almost felt like a relief, a weight lifted. Things couldn’t get worse.
X.
Happiness was somehow sweeter when it was tinged with guilt. At least that’s what Ellen Hayes felt as she sat with her parents at mass on Christmas Eve. The priest had said special prayers for those that had been lost that year and Maureen Bradley’s crying could be heard echoing through the chapel, but all Ellen wanted to do was sneak glances at Martin Coulter sitting with his parents further up the aisle. Once, when he had caught her looking and flashed a smile, she nearly squealed out loud with delight.
After the mass, people gathered outside St Joseph’s, buttoning coats and tightening scarves. Seasons greetings were exchanged, enquiries about how many people they were having to feed the next day were made, and who was going where, but the atmosphere was subdued. The usual jollity would have seemed out of place. A few people rushed to catch Maureen and Frank as they hurried away, heads bowed.
‘It must be hard. The first Christmas will be the worst.’ Frank thanked them for their thoughts and putting his arm around his wife headed for the steps.
A hush came over the dispersing congregation as Dee Hegarty was escorted from the chapel by Dr Coulter and his son. Head bowed, she looked like the accused being led from court. As the trio passed Ellen and her parents standing awkwardly, unsure of how to react, Martin broke away and headed towards them. His father continued to guide Dee down towards the cars.
‘Merry Christmas!’ Martin said brightly as if unaware that he had just being helping a grieving mother from the church. He shook hands with Dan and Chrissie. Ellen was struck by how adult he seemed.
‘Poor Mrs Hegarty,’ Chrissie said. ‘Your family have been very good to her.’
Martin glanced over his shoulder as if to remind himself whom Mrs Hayes was referring to. ‘Yes. Very hard for her. She’s coming to lunch with us tomorrow, otherwise she’d have been by herself.’
Chrissie made an appreciative sound, as if he’d shown her a photograph of a puppy.
‘Have you many yourselves?’ he asked.
‘Just my sister and brother-in-law down from Fermoy and we’re taking Dan’s father out for the day.’
Martin nodded, as if he knew or even cared who these people were.
Ellen became aware she was just standing there staring at him with a huge open-mouthed smile. She caught her father’s expression, which suggested he feared she was ill.
‘Will you be around tomorrow afternoon?’ Martin asked. It took Ellen a moment to realise that the question was aimed at her.
‘Yes. Yes, I’ll be there.’ She gave a breathy laugh.
‘Right. Well, I might pop over so. Break up the day.’
‘Well, you’ll be very welcome,’ Chrissie said with an air of finality. She obviously wanted to get home. They said their goodbyes and Martin made his way quickly down the steps to his father waiting by the car, made conspicuous by its newness.
The Hayeses walked home in silence, all occupied with their own thoughts. It was just as they entered the square that Dan cleared his throat and asked, ‘So the dance went well then?’
A blush appeared on Ellen’s cheeks. ‘It did. Yes, thanks.’ She looked at the ground, barely able to contain her all-consuming secret joy.
She had been so nervous on Thursday night. She had worn the yellow dress bought for a cousin’s wedding the year before. No one in Mullinmore had seen it, so she didn’t care that it wasn’t new. Her mother had lent her a silky cream shawl with yellow flowers that sort of matched and, Ellen imagined, made her look older. From about quarter past seven she had paced the living room because she didn’t want to crease her frock by sitting down. Every few minutes she would check the narrow mirror in the hall to see that she still had enough lipstick on and that none of it had attached itself to her teeth.
She was slightly disappointed when her father had stuck his head up the stairs to shout, ‘Ellen! Martin is waiting for you down here.’ Not for the first time in her life, she c
ursed living above the pub. She had wanted Martin to walk into the living room and be dazzled by the overall effect of her dress, not see her emerging hunched and squashed from the small door at the bottom of the back stairs.
She forgot everything when she saw him. He looked so … well, the first word that came into her mind was ‘clean’. His face was freshly shaved and his hair swept back off his forehead. The extreme whiteness of his stiff-collared shirt meant that standing in the middle of the pub, he looked like an angel or gleaming apparition. When he saw her, he smiled and held out his hand.
‘You look gorgeous.’
Those were the first words out of his mouth. Ellen reassured herself that this must be a date, a real date. No boy would tell you you looked gorgeous if they weren’t interested.
‘You look very handsome yourself.’ She sounded confident enough, but Ellen could feel the heat of her face flushing.
Martin gave a shallow bow. ‘Why, thank you very much.’ He held his arm out towards the door with exaggerated formality. ‘Shall we?’
‘Have fun, you two,’ Dan called from behind the bar.
Old Mr Hurley lifted his head from his pint. ‘Oh, to be young.’
‘You look beautiful, pet,’ said a lady Ellen didn’t know sitting at the table by the door.
The dance wasn’t quite what she’d imagined. The crowd might have been a bit older than her but the whole thing resembled what she imagined a school dance would be like if you didn’t have to smuggle in the alcohol. After an hour men were dancing on chairs wearing their ties as headbands, their shirts flapping open. The women had begun the evening with a little more restraint but soon enough some were slumped in corners with friends trying to encourage them to have a sip of water, while every bathroom cubicle appeared to be occupied by high-pitched sobs.
Throughout the evening, however, Martin remained the perfect gentleman. He never left her side and introduced her to his friends. Yes, she got a few strange looks, but it wasn’t nearly as awkward as she had feared. He wouldn’t hear of it when she offered to pay for her round and on the dance floor he kept his hands respectfully around her waist. If she ignored the shirtless scuffles and women outside the hall being sick, it was the perfect romantic evening.
For the short walk home Martin slipped his suit jacket over her shoulders and put his arm tightly around her to keep her warm. Outside the pub she could see a small light through the frosted glass. Her father must still be clearing up.
‘Thanks for a lovely night.’
Martin put his hand under her chin. ‘No, thank you.’ And then he lowered his face and gave her a brief soft kiss. When he pulled away, Ellen didn’t know what to do. She longed to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him more, but she restrained herself. She didn’t want to look like one of the slutty girls pushed against the wall at the end of the dance. Instead she shrugged off his jacket. ‘Goodnight so.’
Martin took his coat and draped it over his arm. He looked a little nervous. ‘Would you, would you like to go out again sometime?’
Ellen felt like she had won a competition or got lucky on the slot machines. The coins were cascading noisily, lights were flashing.
‘Yes! I’d love that!’ She bit her lip, aware that she had inadvertently used the word ‘love’. Martin didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling and then he bent down and gave her another kiss. It was firmer this time, his lips opened slightly, but there were no tongues. Ellen felt relieved. She resolved to find out more about French kissing. She would ask Trinny.
Martin pushed his hair back off his face and said, ‘Goodnight.’ Then he was walking away putting on his jacket. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of women screaming. It wasn’t clear if they were fighting or laughing. Ellen didn’t care.
Christmas Day began well enough though even in his absence, it was dominated by Connor. Her aunt Brenda kept asking Chrissie how he was getting on in Liverpool despite it being very obvious that this was upsetting her. Then the talk of building sites triggered her grandfather to recall every story he knew about labourers being killed or maimed. Gory details of scaffolding poles going through brains, or arms being ripped off in cement mixers seemed to be playing on a loop in the old man’s head. Ellen overheard her parents having a whispered conversation in the kitchen. ‘He means no harm. He’s just a gaga old fella. Don’t mind him.’
Ellen was keeping one eye on the clock wondering when Martin might call over. She jumped to clear the plates the moment it looked like everyone had finished, and brought out the spoons and bowls for the plum pudding, trying to encourage her mother to get the meal over with as soon as possible. Chrissie was happy to oblige because it had been decided that after lunch they were going to phone Connor. She had suggested calling several times before but Dan had managed to dissuade her. He felt they should let the boy settle in and besides, there was no way of knowing when would be a good time to ring a house full of working lads. Today however, even Dan had to agree, seemed appropriate.
He went out into the hall and looked up the number. Chrissie was pressed close, poised to seize the phone as soon as Connor was on the line. There was some discussion about codes and then Dan carefully dialled the number.
‘It’s ringing,’ he informed everyone.
‘Hello! Hello, yes, I wanted to speak to Connor Hayes please.’
The person on the other end was speaking. Dan furrowed his brow.
‘When?’
A short pause while the question was answered.
‘Well, have you a number for him?’
‘A forwarding address?’
Chrissie had begun to whimper by her husband’s side. Dan was very still.
‘All right. Well, if he calls tell him his family want to speak with him.’
He nodded his head.
‘And to you. Goodbye.’ Very slowly he replaced the receiver. No one spoke for a moment. Chrissie already had tears in her eyes.
Dan spoke softly. ‘He’s not there. The fella on the phone says he’s moved out.’
‘Where? Where has he gone?’ asked his wife with an edge of hysteria in her voice.
‘They don’t know.’
Ellen’s grandfather, still sitting at the table nursing his port, called out, ‘He’ll be down the pub. He’s a young lad. The pubs are open in England.’
‘They said he’d gone. Moved,’ Dan barked at his father.
Now Chrissie was sobbing in his arms. ‘Oh Dan, where is he? What’s happened?’
‘He’s probably on his way back here. To see us. For Christmas.’ Her husband didn’t sound wholly convinced but Chrissie looked up at him hopefully.
‘Do you think so?’
‘That’s probably it.’ His voice was steadier, more certain.
Chrissie went back to the table and was drying her eyes with a paper napkin. ‘Would he not have told us?’
‘Ah, it’s a surprise or he just wasn’t thinking. You know how scattered he is.’
Chrissie sat and studied her napkin for a moment.
‘When will he get here? There’ll be no ferries today and if he left yesterday, there’ll be no buses for him here today. Do you think he’s just stranded in Dublin somewhere?’ This idea provoked horror.
Dan was sitting beside his wife and took her hand. ‘Don’t worry, love, he might have got a lift, or, sure we don’t know. He’ll probably walk through that door any moment now.’
As if on cue the doorbell on the street door rang and Chrissie leaped to her feet holding her napkin to her face. She let out a little yelp of excitement.
Ellen also jumped up. ‘I think that’s for me. Martin said he’d call over.’
Her mother slumped back into her chair.
Sure enough, when Ellen got to the bottom of the stairs, Martin was waiting outside the door. He was holding a small package wrapped in Christmas paper. He held it out.
‘Just wanted to give you a little something.’
Ellen wished people were passing in the street to witness th
is magical moment, but the square was deserted.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t know we were—’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s nothing. Just something small.’
Ellen took the parcel. It was soft. She ripped at the paper; to reveal a silky scarf, which she unfurled. The design was some green leaves on a cream background and then what looked like stirrups or horses’ reins.
‘It’s lovely.’ Ellen pressed the fabric up to her face. It smelled of perfume. For a moment she allowed herself to consider the possibility that this gift had belonged to Mrs Coulter, but she quickly banished such thoughts. It was a lovely present from … could it be that this tall man looking so handsome in his heavy navy coat over a bright red jumper was her actual boyfriend? She smiled and thanked him again, before realising that Martin was looking at her expectantly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’d ask you up but …’ She considered what to tell him. To mention Connor was to bring up the subject of the crash and she knew that she didn’t want to do that. ‘There’s some Christmas drama going on upstairs. Relatives. You know yourself.’
‘Of course. Yeah, always the same.’ He paused. ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’
‘That would be good, yes. I’ll just grab my coat.’
She ran up the stairs hoping that Martin wasn’t staring at her bum. As she pulled her best coat off the rack and put her new scarf on the ledge, she shouted, ‘I’m going out.’ Without waiting for a reply, she raced back down two steps at a time and slammed the door behind her.
They walked across the square and down towards the river. There were a few kids with new bikes on the street and Mrs Kilpatrick from the library out with her dog, but other than that Mullinmore seemed to be exclusively theirs.
Martin described what he had got for Christmas. They laughed about some of the more drunken antics the night of the dance. By now they were passing the weir and up ahead was the old railway bridge. Ellen had walked this way many times before but never with a boy. Would Martin take her as far as the bridge? They both fell silent as if each of them was waiting to see if the other suggested they turn back.
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