by Susan Stairs
When they arrived, Mam took the presents from Cissy and did her usual trick of pretending we couldn’t have them until the morning. After listening to our protests, she ‘gave in’ and handed me the bag. Frank and Cissy’s presents were the only ones we were allowed to open before Christmas Day. Cissy seemed to put a similar amount of effort into wrapping our presents as she did into choosing them. She didn’t use any tape, just bundled a sheet of paper around each one, the way they wrapped the meat in Boylan’s.
‘Stories for Girls. Thanks, Auntie Cissy,’ I said, flicking through the newspapery pages of tiny words and spidery black and white drawings.
‘Thanks for the doll,’ Sandra said. Then she whispered in my ear, ‘It’s exactly the same as the one they gave me last year.’
She was right. It was a cheap version of a Sindy with ridiculously long legs, both of which were bound to fall off before teatime. Mel was delighted with his haul, as usual, and sat cradling his box of shiny new cars.
Uncle Frank insisted on having a look at the roof, so while he went outside with Dad, Mam poured a glass of sherry for herself and Cissy. After a few minutes, Dad returned. Frank trailed behind with a long face.
‘Well, the gutters are sound as a pound,’ Dad said. ‘Nothing for Frank to do there.’ He laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but rolled his eyes at Mam behind Cissy’s back.
‘That’s great news altogether,’ Mam said, in spite of The Drip’s disappointment. ‘Will you have a glass of whiskey, Frank? And a mince pie?’
‘We left the ladder up, Rose,’ Dad said. ‘Frank wants to take a good look at the roof before he goes. Thought a couple of slates might be a bit loose, didn’t you, Frank?’
After he took a sip of whiskey and swallowed a bite of well-chewed pie, Frank nodded, then no one said anything for ages. I was so bored, I started reading Stories for Girls. Sandra began undressing her doll. Mel opened his box of cars, then thought better of it and carefully closed it again. I wished Kev wasn’t asleep; at least he’d liven things up a bit. I was trying hard to make myself concentrate on a dull story about an injured sheepdog when, from somewhere outside, we heard thumping, followed by a muffled clatter, then something smashing to the ground.
Frank looked up from his whiskey glass. ‘Sounded like a tile falling,’ he announced cheerfully.
Dad went over to the window and peered through the blind. ‘That’d be a bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’ he said. ‘Can’t see anything, but I’ll go and take a look.’
‘Maybe it’s Santa and the reindeer!’ Mam said, smiling at us. ‘Checking up on you three before tonight!’
Before we got to the front door, we heard shouting.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ Dad was yelling when we got outside. ‘Get down off my roof now! Do you hear me? Now!’
‘What on earth’s going on, Mick?’ Mam asked.
‘It’s that bloody Lawless kid, I know it. Up Frank’s ladder if you don’t mind! Would you shaggin’ credit it? He’s after knocking down a loose slate! What sort of a . . . He could’ve killed someone.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Mam said. ‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘He was forever messing on my ladder when I was doing that job for his mother. You don’t know the half of it. This’d be his idea of a joke.’
‘Is he still up there?’
‘Not for long he’s not. I’m going up after him.’
‘Sure what good is it going up to him? Let him come down himself. He can’t stay up there for ever.’
‘I’ll shaggin’ well throw him over my shoulders and carry him down if I have to.’
‘Be careful, Mick. Do you hear me? Take it easy.’
‘Jesus, woman, what do you take me for? I’m up and down ladders every day of the week. I think I know what I’m doing.’
‘But you’ve had a few drinks.’
‘All the better to steady my nerves then.’
Mam had her arms folded across her chest and a stormy look on her face. ‘That little . . .’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Nothing but trouble.’
Cissy joined us. ‘What’s going on? Is everything all right, Rose?’ she asked in her sleepy, flat voice. I’d often thought if tortoises could talk, they’d sound exactly like Auntie Cissy.
‘Fine, Cissy. Everything’s fne,’ Mam said. ‘Go on back in to Frank. Finish your sherry and then we’ll . . . Jesus Christ! Oh my God! Mick!’
Like all of us, Mam was watching as Dad’s foot slipped from the third step of the ladder. He managed to hang on for a second or two but then he lost his grip. He let out a low moan when he hit the ground. Mam ran over to him. ‘Don’t, Mick, don’t,’ she said, when he tried to get up. ‘Lie still.’ She told Cissy to go inside and phone Dr Crawley from Churchview Park. Cissy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes grew all cloudy, so Mam told her to leave it and asked Sandra to phone instead. She ordered Mel upstairs to get a pillow and a cover for Dad, and instructed me to stand at the bottom of the ladder and wait to see if Shayne came down.
Dad lay on the driveway covered with Sandra’s frilly-edged yellow eiderdown. Cissy stood beside him saying ‘Oh God’ over and over and clutching at her throat with her bony hands. Then Frank finally came to the door, glass in hand, and slowly surveyed the scene.‘You’ll be needing a few slates replaced, then?’ he said, and took another sip of his drink.
‘Go back inside and sit down, Frank,’ Mam snapped. ‘You too, Cissy. There’s nothing we can do till the doctor gets here.’ She stroked Dad’s hand and told Mel to go inside and keep them entertained. ‘Is there any sign of him coming down yet, Ruth?’ she asked.
I ran my eyes up the length of the ladder, along the roof’s edge and across to Bridie’s. All I could see, perched on top of our chimney, was the dark shape of a bird. Shayne was nowhere to be seen. He’d managed to escape without us noticing. He’d probably jumped down to the garage roof. From there it would’ve been an easy enough drop to freedom. Before I could tell Mam he was gone, Dr Crawley arrived. He made a big deal of getting down on his hunkers and he prodded and poked at Dad for ages. Mam kept asking him questions but he answered none of them until he’d finished his examination. Then he stood up and declared there was no major damage done and that Dad would be as right as rain with a few Disprin and a bit of rest.
‘Oh, thank God,’ Mam said, tucking the eiderdown tighter around Dad, as if he was going to be sleeping the night out on the driveway.
We couldn’t get rid of Cissy and Frank for ages. They seemed to think they had to stay longer than usual because of Dad’s accident, even though Mam kept saying things like: ‘Looks as if it could get icy out there tonight’ and ‘God, I can’t wait to get into my bed. I’m exhausted’.
‘You’re not going to let him get away with it, are you?’ Cissy kept asking. ‘Surely you’ll go and have a word with the lad’s mother?’
‘Look,’ Mam said. ‘It’s more trouble than it’s worth. That woman wouldn’t listen. We’ve no proof who it was anyway. And I won’t have our Christmas destroyed. Let’s be grateful Mick is all right and leave it at that.’
‘I wouldn’t stand for it,’ said Cissy.
‘Shouldn’t be allowed to happen,’ said Frank.
‘We’d have been down to complain straight away, wouldn’t we, Frank?’
‘That we would. Straightaway. Sure you could’ve been killed going up after that . . . that . . . hooligan.’
‘Well, if you hadn’t been so anxious to find something wrong with our roof in the first place . . .’ Mam said, her voice sounding cross and impatient.
Frank stiffened, picked up his glass, drained it in one gulp and thumped it down hard on the table. Then he stood up and buttoned his jacket. ‘Well. We’ll be off now. Are you right, Cis?’
Cissy looked wounded as she fussed about with her hat and gloves. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she sniffed. ‘Hope you’ll feel better soon, Mick.’
Mam and I saw them to the door. When we went back insid
e, Mel was sitting with his legs crossed like Uncle Frank, the empty whiskey glass to his lips, and Sandra was nodding her head like Auntie Cissy. Dad told them to stop because his back hurt when he laughed. Mam tried to look angry but we all knew there was a smile hovering on her lips. ‘Go and check on Kev, Ruth,’ she said. ‘Bring him down if he’s awake.’
I went upstairs and tiptoed in to the room. It was almost dark, sort of dusty-grey, and I was sure I could sense he was awake. But when I looked in the cot, he was fast asleep. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the rise and fall of his little chest and heard the short, shallow sound of his breathing. The faint sound of a choir singing ‘Silent Night’ filtered up from the telly downstairs and I softly hummed along, running my finger over the curve of Kev’s cheek. He looked so peaceful. I was glad he’d slept through all the commotion earlier on.
I heard Dad laughing and the others talking. I strained to hear what they were saying but their voices were just a low hum mixed in with the sound of the telly. I wished Kev wasn’t asleep. I wanted to take him downstairs and have fun with him. I tickled his neck and under his arms and he started to squirm and stretch. He always got cranky if he woke up too quickly, so I looked out the window to give him time.
Through the slats of the blinds, Christmas trees twinkled from the halls and sitting rooms of Hillcourt Rise. I thought about what might be happening in the houses. I imagined all the Farrells running around like mice, and Geraldine flicking them away with a tea towel while she tried to stuff the turkey. And in the Vaughans’, Valerie, cool and unexcited, reading some boring book by the fire. I wondered where Shayne was now. And what about David? An icy quiver ran down my spine as though I could sense someone’s eyes on my back. But not like when I imagined the man watching me from behind the wallpaper. It was different to that. It was closer. More alive.
I turned to look at Kev. He yawned, then kicked his legs like crazy and let out a muffled little squeal. I reached in to pick him up.
Then I froze.
In the dark, shadowy corner by the wardrobe, something moved. I was sure of it.
My eyes were inches away from Kev’s. I tried to look up without lifting my head, without whatever – whoever – it was knowing I’d seen. But Kev grabbed my hair and yanked it hard. I pulled against his grip, wincing at the pain, trying to see into the corner. But it was no use. He wriggled about, twining my hair even tighter through his sweaty fingers.
I reached in to prise his fists open. My face was faming now. Only seconds had passed though it felt like forever.
I was almost free from his grasp. I jerked my head back.
At that instant there was a scuffing and a scrambling and the last glimpse of something bolting out the door.
It was a body. A person. Someone.
Someone had been there all the time. Someone had been watching Kev. Watching me.
Fear held me back for a moment. Then anger took over and I whipped Kev from the cot. I held him close and went out to the landing.
The window at the top of the stairs was wide open.
I scanned the flat roof of the garage, my ears straining for some sort of sound: the thump of feet hitting the ground or the noise of footsteps on the driveway. But only silence hung in the air.
I knew what had happened. Whoever had been crouched in the corner watching Kev was the person who’d climbed up Uncle Frank’s ladder. It would’ve been easy to get in through the landing window from the garage roof. The latch was broken and Mam was forever asking Dad to fix it.
Who was it? What did they want? What did they want with Kev? They were there to scare him.
To scare us.
Dad had said it was Shayne. But he was only guessing. He hadn’t seen enough to be certain. It might’ve been him. But it might not. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone up to check on Kev? If I’d left it even a few seconds later?
I squeezed Kev tighter. He struggled against me. My eyes stung and a wave of dread washed through me. The same dread I’d felt when Kev had gone missing from outside the shop. When David had . . . David. It could’ve been him.
I sped downstairs and pushed open the sitting room door, bursting to tell what had happened. But something about the scene that met my eyes made me stop. Mam was poking at the coal, sending sparks up the chimney, her face all gold and soft in the firelight. She smiled when she saw me, winking at the open tin of Quality Street that sat on the floor beside her like a box of precious jewels. Dad was stretched out in his favourite chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand and his feet resting on a cushion he’d placed on the coffee table. Mel and Sandra were kneeling beside the couch, heads bent over something on the floor. As I stepped closer, I saw that the box of Dinky cars had been opened and not only was Mel playing with them, he was allowing Sandra to handle them as well. And there was a cartoon on the telly.
I handed Kev to Mam and she snuggled her face in his neck. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. Not now. Probably not ever. It was bad enough that Dad had fallen and could’ve been seriously hurt. I didn’t want there to be any more upset. Kev was safe. There was no harm done. I wasn’t going to mention it to anyone. I didn’t want to think about it again. I curled up on the rug in front of the fire and I didn’t say a word.
TEN
I wondered often about that night and who it might’ve been in the room. In the weeks and months that followed, I studied Shayne and David’s faces closely whenever I saw them, hoping for some telltale sign. Sometimes I was sure I could detect a glimmer of guilt in Shayne’s eyes if I happened to mention Kev’s name, but it was hard to tell. Other times I could swear David’s actions were a cover for some sort of shame. But I was just guessing. Every move he made or word he uttered seemed to be an act, so it was impossible to know.
David went to Grangemount, the secondary school a couple of miles away. Each afternoon he had to do at least an hour of piano practice when he came home and Shayne would usually wait for him on the green. As spring turned into summer, and the evenings grew brighter, there was rarely a day when I didn’t see them together. Most boys David’s age wouldn’t have been keen to hang around with someone in primary school. But David was strange anyway, so no one questioned it.
I wasn’t sure how deep their friendship ran, though. One afternoon, I saw them wrestling, rolling around on the grass. They might have been play-acting but it was difficult to tell. Some of the punches they were throwing seemed fairly hard. And another day, not long after we got our summer holidays from school, they had a stick-fight in among the trees, grunting and lunging at each other until Shayne flung his weapon down and stormed off on his bike, pedalling down the hill with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Later that evening, I saw them swinging out of a cherry tree on the green, laughing and joking, so I guessed that whatever had happened between them earlier had been forgotten. Then Bridie came out of her house and trotted up the path towards them, waving an oven glove and shaking her head. ‘Get down out of that, the pair of you!’ she shrieked. ‘You’ll snap those branches! Go and find some other tree to swing out of!’ She stood waiting for them to obey. ‘Did you hear me? Off you go now. Off!’ They slid to the ground and ran off towards the shops, David in front and Shayne trying hard to keep up.
The next day, the news of what had happened was all over the estate. They’d found another tree to swing from all right: the huge copper beech that stood in the middle of the churchyard. Though it was enormous, it wasn’t a difficult tree to climb. Its branches began barely two feet from the base of the trunk. Once you stepped up, there were plenty of places to get a footing and you could find yourself high above the ground in minutes.
It was Bridie who told me. She was beside herself, seeing as she was the one who’d told them to find some other tree to swing from.
David had fallen and broken his wrist.
That, she said, was the end of the ‘prestigious piano competition’ he’d been practising for since the start of the year.
‘Will his wrist not be healed up before the competition?’ I asked. I was sitting in her kitchen, enjoying tea and coconut macaroons.
She gave me a look. ‘It’s tonight, dear. The competition is tonight.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I thought about it for a moment. ‘He was a bit silly climbing trees the day before a big competition, wasn’t he? He should’ve known something like that might happen.’
‘Maybe, dear. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was all that Lawless lad’s idea in the first place. Poor David is at his beck and call. Morning, noon and night.’ I wasn’t as sure about that as Bridie seemed to be, but I didn’t say anything. David could do no wrong as far as she was concerned. My opinion wasn’t going to change her mind. She sipped her tea. ‘Of course, what can you expect when she’s off out gallivanting with that new fancy man of hers? Not a care in the world and no idea where that lad is from one end of the day to the next.’
The ‘new fancy man’ had been on the scene for a few months. ‘Uncle Vic’, Shayne called him. He drove a maroon Mercedes with a sunroof and tinted windows and had gold-rimmed glasses like the ones Kojak wore. I’d spotted him in Mealy’s one evening buying a box of Milk Tray and forty Silk Cut. He smelled of leather and spicy aftershave.
‘And I suppose you’ve heard the latest from that quarter?’ Bridie continued, carefully placing her cup back on its saucer. ‘About the holiday?’ She knew from my face that I hadn’t. ‘Herself’s heading off to Spain on Friday, if you don’t mind. With the fancy man. And leaving that child all alone in the house for the week.’
‘Shayne?’
She nodded. ‘On his own. No adult supervision.’ She pushed the biscuit tin closer to me. ‘Where would you hear the like?’
I took another coconut macaroon. I thought about Shayne being able to do what he liked for a whole week. But I didn’t feel jealous. Not at all. I just felt sorry for him.