by Cethan Leahy
It began when we started writing. It seemed important to read more to improve our writing. And, man, I fell for it. Movies were okay, but I spend the majority of my day watching people. With books, I could see inside people instead.
I loved nothing more than reading, which was a problem, as it was a love I had no control over. I was completely at the mercy of Adam’s reading habits. Since I could not turn pages or lift books or anything, I had to stand behind Adam as he read. This was initially fine. Adam and I read at the same pace and had similar tastes in stories.
Unfortunately, when he became ‘Adam & Aoife’ they began swapping books, and she had terrible taste in books – nothing but nonsensical fantasy; novels which all seemed to have the same plot about castles and magic, chosen boys and their quest to be as amazing as everyone says they are. On the way boy meets girl, who is good with a bow and arrow and protecting her family from the evil Celtic-sounding-named one, and who realises this young man’s potential and bleurgh.
One day, I requested we read something else and Adam nodded. He held up the next book and considered it. ‘It’s supposed to be good.’
‘We’ve read about nothing but bloody wizards for the last month. Can we read something with real people in it?’
‘I don’t have any of those at the moment.’
I think he sensed my annoyance.
‘Shall we write something instead?
‘Are you going to continue ignoring my suggestions?’
‘What do you mean?’
We had started writing a story a few days earlier and he had resisted my points and ideas for no reason. This wouldn’t bother me except that they were plainly more interesting than the sentimental, gooey rubbish that he was presently writing. Awful muck, but he persisted in writing it! It was offensive to read and I know he was only writing it because he thought it was something he should be writing, since he was in a relationship. As I was in a bad mood, I decided to bring this to his attention.
‘Sentimental?’
‘Yeah, it’s all about the main character fancying a girl. It’s lame.’
‘The stories can’t be depressing all the time.’
‘They should be if the alternative is as bad as this.’
Adam went red at this remark. ‘Well go write your own story so! Oh yeah, that’s right, you can’t!’
‘You don’t want to get on the wrong side of me, ADAM.’
‘Or what? Are you going to float ominously at me until I die? I’m trembling.’
‘We’ll see if your girlfriend will still want you after she reads your terrible story.’
‘PISS OFF! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?’
My imaginary heart burned with a real pain, a righteous anger. He despised me. I had helped him move on, forced him out of this horrible room, and now he was leaving me for his new life of friends and sun and books about warlocks throwing clouds at each other.
I saw his face. He regretted making that wounding comment.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay.’
It wasn’t.
‘Do you want to look at the story again?’
‘Sure.’
We worked on the story for the next hour and Adam went to bed satisfied with it. It was less terrible, it’s true.
When he fell asleep, I went to town, but I felt too stricken to enjoy it. I couldn’t hear the buzz of the lamps or the revelry of the night owls.
Stupid Adam.
Thirty-One
In school, during sex education, Adam was told of the importance of protection. (The official line was that the best protection was abstinence, but the SPHE teacher giving the talk had long abandoned any illusions that a herd of teenage boys had any self control, so he thought they should at least wear a condom.) Adam, having not been in a relationship of any length to my knowledge, decided it was prudent to have a condom on his person in case the situation suddenly called for one (I thought he was being wildly optimistic). He even bought a new wallet since his old one didn’t have a secret sleeve to hide it in, and so his one stolen condom hid in this pocket until one evening in December.
One Saturday evening he left the house, shouting goodbye to his parents, but instead of going towards the city he slipped around the house to his back yard. A moment later he snuck past the end of the house and walked quickly towards a green area with a little enclave of trees. Sitting in the centre was a fully erect tent. Aoife popped her head out.
‘It’s me,’ she said.
‘Hello, I’m excited to be here at “the cinema”.’
‘Oh, there’s a strong alibi. How did you explain the sleeping bags?’ she said pointing at the two underneath his arm, as he pushed his way into the tent.
‘I hid them in the shed last week.’
‘How cunning.’
They kissed.
Aoife moved back, which made a clinking noise.
‘What’s that noise?’
She pulled out a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew and two glasses. ‘My parents have a large collection they never touch. I don’t think they’ll miss it.’
‘Handy, we have none in my house.’
‘Not big drinkers?’
Since the incident, Adam’s parents had made sure that there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in the house, in case it would someday be used to facilitate a second attempt – the literature described it as ‘a known depressant’.
‘Yeah. But don’t worry, I did not come empty-handed,’ he said patting his bag. (Spoiler: it held some cheese and two packets of salt and vinegar Taytos.)
And so they prepared. Two sleeping bags were zipped together to form one mega sleeping bag and they arranged Christmas lights inside the tent.
‘Why the lights?’ said Adam.
‘When I go camping, I want to look up and see the stars. Except you can’t see them in the city, so these will have to do,’ said Aoife. He kissed her on the cheek and complimented her cleverness. The way to the woman’s heart must be through the brain as this was met with a kiss on the lips, mouths open.
Adam pulled back and then took the cheese out of his bag. He had gone for a variety. Block of cheddar, EasiSingles and some Cheesestrings. He offered them on a plate.
‘Cheese and wine, this is what grown-ups do,’ said Aoife, peeling off a layer of Cheesestring with her front teeth.
‘Yes, I’m sure they do it in tents in the woods too,’ said Adam, laughing nervously. He felt he was on the cusp of a seminal moment and didn’t know whether he needed to chase it or wait for it, or maybe even run away.
‘If they don’t, they should.’
They kissed again. This time it went on longer, with hands travelling underneath several layers of clothing. (Erotic atmosphere or not, it was still December in Ireland.) When they stopped again, Aoife opened the wine, a 2014 Chilean red, and poured it unevenly between the two glasses. They raised their glasses and clinked them. Adam laughed at nothing, took a sip and nearly gagged.
‘You, sir, are not the wine connoisseur you made yourself out to be.’
‘I am afraid that I have deceived you, my dear.
‘I could never love a man who does not love wine. For that man has no soul.’
Aoife took a gulp and also did not seem keen. At least, I could assume so, as a little bit came back out, pouring down the side of her lips.
‘Good year?’
‘Quiet, you.’
They both took another sip.
‘The taste is better when you get used to it.’
‘Have you had wine before?’
Adam scratched his neck and decided to not lie. ‘No. This is my first time. You?’
Aoife put down her glass. ‘Only once. Oh, I have my iPod. Should I put on something romantic?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘You have something romantic on it?’
Aoife scrolled through her list. ‘Define “romantic”.’
Adam stole a kiss on her cheek, and she retaliated with her mouth and things es
calated. She dropped her iPod. Adam spilled his wine, spoiling his T-shirt. (He would later throw it out to avoid detection.) Aoife’s solution to this was to remove the T-shirt and, so that he didn’t feel embarrassed, she removed hers as well.
‘Hey, do you want to?’ said Aoife.
‘Sure, why not,’ he said nervously.
‘Do you have a thingy?’
‘I thought it was pretty obvious. Oh wait, you mean …’
Adam crawled back to his jacket and pulled out his wallet. At last! He found the secret sleeve that held the thingy – the square of silver foil.
‘A gentleman is always prepared!’
He tried tearing the foil, but the sweat on his fingers meant that his fingers slipped with each attempt. Eventually he decided to tear it open with his teeth – perhaps he hoped the effect would be that of a wild, insatiable animal, ready to ravish its prey. Aoife laughed instead.
He pulled the clear plastic thingy from within and then looked at it. With horror, he realised that he didn’t know how to use it.
‘Is there a particular side you have to use?’
Aoife looked at it. ‘I don’t think it matters, unless it’s one of those fancy ones.’
Adam froze, probably recalling deciding between ‘Double Strength’ and ‘Ribbed for Her Pleasure’ from his parents’ drawer. He’d decided on Double Strength, since safety comes first and he didn’t really want to think about the other one. (He didn’t appreciate my remark that his parents had a well stocked and varied selection.)
‘Do you have data?’ said Adam. ‘I’ll google it.’
‘My mother watches my Internet history like a hawk. There is no way you’re looking it up on my phone.’
‘Well then, mmm, chancing it is probably not a good idea …’
‘It’s not.’
‘Sorry about this. I should have read the instructions.’
‘It’s okay. We could just do other stuff; other stuff is fun.’
I’m going to stop describing now as I don’t know the logistics and, to be honest, I stopped watching. After they were finished, they lay there in their combined sleeping bag, their faces illuminated by their rows of mock stars.
‘Other stuff is fun.’
‘Told ya,’ said Aoife.
In the distance, there was a difficult to identify noise, maybe a scream, maybe a car. Adam jerked up and looked towards it.
‘Banshee!’ said Aoife.
‘A what?’
‘A banshee? Surely you know what a banshee is?’
Adam coughed. ‘Is it a fox?’
Aoife laughed and began to explain what it was. Back in the time of fairies and mermen and little green men jealously guarding their gold, the oldest families of Ireland had a ghost that was passed down from generation to generation. This ghost was always a female and it either looked like a beautiful dainty thing or a wizened old hag and it never spoke. It only screamed.
‘What did it sound like?’
‘Well, according to one book, one Frenchman copied it down on paper when he heard it in Argentina, visiting his friend. You can play it on the violin!’
‘Why does it appear?’
‘The banshee only appears for one reason. It’s there to tell you that a relative is going to die.’
‘Like a warning?’
‘No, a certainty,’ Aoife said gravely, before she broke into a smile. Adam didn’t smile though.
‘Aoife, do you believe in the supernatural?’
‘Like banshees?’
‘No, I mean, like ghosts.’
She thought about this for a moment.
‘I don’t know. Sometimes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I think there are many things we don’t understand and because we don’t, we pretend they don’t exist. People prefer it.’
They were silent for a moment. I saw his arm crush her belly gently.
‘What about you?’ she said.
‘What about me?’
‘Do you believe in ghosts?’
Adam’s eyes groped in the darkness, looking for me but I don’t think he found me. He didn’t answer her question and, instead, kissed her again.
I wandered away. I could see that he didn’t miss me, didn’t need me. I didn’t know what to do so I went somewhere else, somewhere familiar. It wasn’t until later that I realised I had walked away while he was awake.
***
Philip didn’t sleep in his own room. In secret, he slept in his brother’s room, which remained the same as it was when Chris officially checked out.
Chris had been the kind of guy who would be polite about everything. If something seemingly inconsequential bothered him, he wouldn’t bother other people with it. In retrospect that was the problem. But Chris made it seem so effortless. He wore his charisma like a shield, deflecting all the world’s troubles. Perhaps, Philip thought, it was the same shield that trapped everything in. Maybe he was trying to understand someone he apparently did not know at all.
I don’t remember going to his house. I wasn’t thinking and found myself standing outside and saw that a light was on. There were no Christmas decorations, the only house in its row with no tree in the window. I passed through the kitchen, where his parents were eating take-out, and went upstairs to Chris’s old room, where once again I found Philip. This wasn’t the first time I had been here.
He was sitting on the bed, holding his brother’s old school blazer. Carefully he examined every pocket and fold in it. He held it up to the lamplight. It was lightly worn in places, but was well kept. Philip looked at it for a few moments and then, in a moment of violence, stood up and attempted to rip it apart. Starting at the collar, he pulled and pulled. It made a minor rip, and with the slight tearing noise, his strength appeared to vanish and he dropped it. He began to cry, the kind of full-on tears that only happen when you know that no one is watching. He kicked the blazer away and lay down on the bed.
I drifted back outside. Night had begun to lose its allure. What once was exciting and vibrant had become tired and rundown. It was the same streets, the same people, the same rot. I didn’t understand these people. I lived outside their lives, their hopes, theirs dreams. They have such big emotions. Anger, fear, love.
No one loved me. I hoped Adam would, but he didn’t. He tolerated me, at best. He loved Aoife, or at least was in the beginnings of such a state. Now I knew what it looked like, I could see that I didn’t have that.
People make a mistake about love. They think it’s a gift, something that enters your life to lighten the load. It’s not, though. It’s a sense of obligation that ties two people together. This isn’t a gift. It’s an anchor and if you aren’t big enough, anchors can make you sink.
I returned to the tent and waited outside. They were being cute and listening to songs from her iPod, made worse by the tinny sound of their speakers. Their silhouettes made curious shapes. All shifting shadows, like some multi-limbed beast from some hell dimension.
A rumble in the air signalled the arrival of rain. It fell and they laughed like idiots as it bashed against their flimsy tent. They were happy.
I missed the old days, when it was just me and Adam. It wasn’t, like, amazing, but at least I had someone I could talk to, someone to feel connected to, and we were getting on pretty well for a while. It’s not fair that other people could take that away from me.
It was at this moment I decided that things had to go back to the way they used to be. That meant Aoife and his other friends had to go.
Thirty-Two
Of course, as a non-physical being, my options for separating Adam and his friends were limited. The problem with cunning plans of destruction is that they require a cunning plan of destruction, of which I had none. I thought it over for a few days. That he didn’t ask why I was so quiet, or appear to notice my lack of engagement, further convinced me that my decision was the right one. We were never going to be pals with them around.
My first cunning plan was pretty simple. I would position myself
at the top of the stairs, hiding behind the banister, and the moment he stepped on the rickety top step, I would shout ‘Boo!’ If I did it loud enough, he would be frightened, miss his footing and fall down the steps and break his leg at the bottom. This way he would be stuck in the hospital again with me. It was even possible that if we were in there long enough Aoife and his friends would forget about him all together.
In practice, however, that did not happen. One morning I made a most horrifying howl, but instead of a terrified tumble, he barely grunted and continued down to the kitchen.
‘Blaa!’
I pulled a face while he made a sandwich in the hope that he would accidentally cut his hand in half instead of the bread. He just looked at me and shook his head. (This was an optimistic plan anyway since his mother had hidden any cutlery sharper than a banana as a precaution.)
It was clear pretty quickly that this plan to injure him wasn’t going to work.
‘Adam, are you going to town?’ called his mother from upstairs.
‘Sure.’
She pounded down the stairs and handed him a list from the fridge door. ‘Could you pick these up?’
‘This is, uh, a comprehensive list.’
Adam grabbed a bag for life and strolled out the door. ‘You’re in a weird mood, Casper,’ he said as I attempted to scare him onto the road into oncoming traffic. I can’t say I liked this new nickname, but at least he was noticing me.
‘You know, being a ghost I’m supposed to scare things,’ I said, but his attention had already turned to his phone. From a seat outside the café by Barrack Street (how many cafés are there in this town?) Linda waved him down.
‘Hey, dreamer!’ she said, covertly rolling a rollie in her lap. That could be the answer! Maybe Aoife didn’t like smokers? Granted I never saw her disapprove of Linda’s smoking but I’m sure it can’t be pleasant to kiss a mouth reeking of ash and nicotine.
‘You should get into smoking,’ I said.