by Susan Stairs
‘Shush now, Mona. You’re upset,’ Father Feely said.
‘Upset? Of course I’m upset! My son has been accused of deliberately throwing himself out of a tree, his face is disfigured and we’ve received no apology, and now his . . . his . . . attacker appears to be getting all the sympathy. It beggars belief!’
Shayne moaned again.
‘Look,’ Dad said. ‘I should take the lad home. He’s not in any fit state for this.’
‘Oh yes, off you go,’ said Mrs O’Dea. ‘Avoid responsibility at all costs.’
‘Responsibility? He’s not my responsibility. I’ve nothing to do with all this.’
‘But he was in your house all evening, wasn’t he? Eating at your table, I believe? In your care?’
‘Rose asked him to stay for his dinner. It’s hardly a crime.’
‘Oh, did she now? It’s all getting very cosy between the Lambs and the Lawlesses, isn’t it?’
‘Come on,’ Dad said, looking at me. ‘We’re going home.’
Mr O’Dea came up behind me, waiting for me to move away from his precious piano. I touched one of the keys, smiling inside as a clear, high note sounded out in the room. Dad pulled me by the arm, gesturing at Sandra and Mel to follow. Father Feely ushered Shayne towards the door and David sank back into his armchair, closing his eyes.
When we got out into the hall, we heard the rumble of conversation starting up and Mrs O’Dea’s high-pitched voice crying, ‘And look at my sheepskin! It’s absolutely ruined!’
‘You should’ve kept your mouth shut,’ Mel whispered in my ear. ‘You’re in for it when we get home.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I said. ‘You can’t blame me when I was only telling the truth.’
‘But how do you know what the real truth is? You weren’t there.’
‘David didn’t fall by accident. I just know it.’
Father Feely saw us out. He stood at the door making little grunting sounds as we squeezed past his stomach.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t have a better outcome to all of this,’ he said, joining his hands together. ‘But with the help of God, we’ll find a resolution.’
It looked like the whole of Hillcourt Rise was waiting for us to appear: Tracey was wheeling Fiona along in her pram, with Valerie by her side; Geraldine and Nora had taken their conversation out to the Farrell’s gate; Paddy was in his drive, looking under the bonnet of his van, scratching his beard; and Clem was on his hunkers in the Farrell’s front garden, pulling weeds up from the lawn. Sandra and Mel ran up to Tracey and Valerie. Shayne followed but leaned on the pillar when he reached the gate, looking like he was going to puke again.
I hung back with Dad and tucked myself in behind him, tracing my fingers over the red bricks around the O’Deas’ front door while I listened to Father Feely’s mumbling. I could tell Dad was eager to get away from what was turning into a sermon but Father Feely kept going on and on about ‘forgiveness’ and ‘God’s love’ and the ‘power of prayer’, barely taking a breath between sentences.
Then he started talking about David, saying stuff I was sure he wouldn’t have if he’d remembered I was still there, hiding in behind Dad. He spoke about how Eamon and Mona were such loving parents and about all the sacrifices they’d made for David over the years and how things had been so difficult for them before it was arranged and how their lives had been transformed after it came about. It?
‘You know, it can’t have been easy for them,’ he said. ‘Ten years is a long time to wait. Thought they’d never have a family. Never. And then it was touch and go at the start, with him being nearly a year old when they got him. And they’ve always had high hopes for him, you know. Very high hopes. Poor David has a lot to live up to.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And, of course, with the girls being Mona and Eamon’s own, well, you know, he’s bound to feel a bit . . . put out. What I’m trying to say is, we should perhaps make allowances for him. At least sometimes.’
So that was what ‘it’ was. David was adopted.
Mr and Mrs O’Dea weren’t David’s real parents at all! But they were Tina and Linda’s. How strange was that? Back in our old school, there’d been a brother and sister who were adopted. Despite trying not to, I thought of them as different. Sometimes when I looked into their eyes, I could tell there was an uncertainty there, like they weren’t really sure who they were.
‘. . . heartbroken about his wrist,’ Father Feely was saying to Dad. ‘Heartbroken. Months of practice down the drain and him so eager to do well. That boy has been nothing but a pleasure to his parents from the moment they took him home, let me tell you. I didn’t know them at the time, of course. They weren’t living in Kilgessin back then. But I know the lovely convent sisters and they assured me Mona and Eamon were the most deserving and appreciative of adoptive parents. Most deserving. That the Lord blessed them with the twins not long afterwards is surely evidence of his faith in their abilities.’
He went on and on. Dad kept saying ‘Hmm’ and ‘Is that so?’ I wondered if David knew. Or if Mr and Mrs O’Dea had managed to keep it a secret from him all these years. But I could hardly step out from behind Dad and ask. Surely it was something he’d have mentioned if he knew about it? Boasted about it, even? He was forever complaining about ‘Mother O’Dea’, so if he knew she wasn’t his real mother, wouldn’t he have been keen to let us all know? And even if he didn’t, he must’ve questioned it sometimes. With his bleach-blond hair and skin that easily tanned, he looked nothing like either of his parents.
Father Feely was rambling on about ‘making allowances’ again and about how Shayne should’ve apologized for punching David and that it was impossible to believe that David had thrown himself out of the tree. Then he finally took a breath and Dad interrupted. ‘To be honest with you, Father,’ he said, ‘I know what you mean but . . . well, I’m not responsible for the boy. Shouldn’t you be saying all this to his mother?’
‘Yes, yes, I will, of course,’ he said. ‘Indeed and I will, to be sure. As soon as she gets back. Young Lawless has always been trouble and the mammy . . . well, she’s—’
‘Look, I’ll let you go, Father,’ Dad said, irritated. ‘I’m sure you’re needed inside.’
With another grunt and a shuffling of his feet, Father Feely reluctantly closed the O’Deas’ front door. I could tell Dad was really annoyed as I followed him up the drive. He took big, hard steps and held his arms rigidly down by his sides, his hands formed into tight fists. Shayne fell in behind us, still clutching his stomach as we walked onto the green, where the others were chatting to Tracey. I could hear Sandra giving her a detailed account of what had happened. Tracey was all ears but she kept glancing back at Geraldine and Nora, who were waiting, arms crossed, for the full story. As were Clem and Paddy, who were only half-heartedly going about their jobs. They didn’t really need to be fixing engines and weeding gardens on a Friday evening; it was just an excuse to be close to the heart of the action.
Dad pounded his feet over the grass, sending clumps of green cuttings into the air. He had lots to be angry about. I was listing off all the reasons in my head and wondering what we were going to say to Mam, when suddenly he stopped, turned and let out a roar at the group of neighbours who’d gathered outside their houses for a gawk. ‘Go on back inside, the lot of you! Show’s over!’ he yelled, flapping his arms.
I stopped dead, hardly believing my ears. That couldn’t be my dad, could it? I’d never heard him shout like that before. Well, except maybe once, back in the South Circular, when Mel snuck a tin of blue paint in from the car to decorate the go-cart he’d made from bits of an old chair, and he’d spilled a small lake of it all over the sitting room carpet. But that had been inside and was just between ourselves. This was outside. In front of everyone. Dad looked so mad. His eyes were blazing slits under his black eyebrows and his whole face looked like it was on fire.
He stormed on over the green with his head down and we didn’t need to be told to hurry up and follow him home.
But I couldn’t resist having a look over my shoulder. I saw Tracey bumping the pram over the grass towards her house, with Fiona screaming her head off inside. Clem and Paddy had joined their wives at the gate, along with the other neighbours who’d obviously heard Dad’s outburst, and they stood huddled together with their arms folded, rolling their eyes and nodding their heads in our direction.
I glanced over at the O’Deas’ and spied Father Feely’s fat head poking through the gold velvet curtains then disappearing back into the sitting room. And then I saw a movement at an upstairs window. It was David. Up close against the glass, silent and stiff like the blackbird on top of his piano. His eyes found mine and held them for a moment. Even from that distance, I could see the flowering bruise on his cheek.
‘You were long enough,’ Mam said when we got home. ‘Little man’s just gone up. Dead tired, he was.’ She began cutting slices from a block of banana ice cream and sliding them into the bowls of raspberry jelly she’d set out on the kitchen table. ‘How did it go?’ She looked up and saw Dad’s face. ‘I see. Not great, then.’
Sandra got in first, ‘Ruth said that David—’
‘That’s enough,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll tell your mother all about it later. Just have your dessert and get yourselves ready for bed.’
There’d be no arguing with him tonight. We sat down and started to eat. Mam scraped the last of the ice cream into my bowl. ‘Anyone for more jelly? There’s plenty. Shayne?’
Shayne shook his head and pushed his bowl away, untouched, rubbing his hand over his stomach.
‘Shayne got sick,’ Sandra said. ‘All over the O’Deas’ rug.’
Mam put her hands on her hips and looked at him with a frown. ’You did, did you? And what was all that about?’
‘Dunno. I just don’t feel well.’
‘Have you a sore stomach?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hmm.’
She picked up the laundry basket from behind the back door and went out to the garden. Dad followed. After a few minutes, they came back inside. Mam started folding the clothes she’d taken in off the line and sorting them into piles. Dad snatched the newspaper from the table and disappeared into the sitting room. Mel scraped Shayne’s dessert into his own bowl and noisily slurped the jelly off his spoon. I noticed Mam had forgotten to wipe the smear of tomato sauce from the wall and it had started to harden into a dark red lump.
‘I think I’ll go home now,’ Shayne said, squeaking his chair over the lino as he stood up.
‘Mick and I were talking,’ Mam said, folding a pair of Dad’s underpants. ‘And if you want to stay here for tonight, that’d be all right.’
If she’d said the world was ending we’d hardly have been more shocked.
‘Here?’ Mel asked. ‘Why? Where’ll he sleep?’
‘I just don’t think we could let you go home to that empty house and you after getting sick and all,’ Mam continued. ‘You can sleep in Mel’s room. Mick’ll bring in the fold-out bed for you.’
Sandra’s mouth fell open and her ice cream dripped off her spoon. None of us had ever had a friend to sleep the night. And the fact that Shayne Lawless was the first was almost too much for her to take in. Mel squelched his jelly through his teeth and let it dribble out the sides of his mouth. Shayne turned away. If anything was going make him vomit again, it was that.
‘Is that all right, Shayne?’ Mam asked. He nodded. ‘Now, finish up and go get yourselves ready. You heard what your father said.’ She handed Shayne a pair of Mel’s pyjamas from the pile. ‘Take these. They’re not ironed but they’ll do you for tonight.’
It was far too early to be going to bed on a Friday night and really embarrassing in front of Shayne. But he was too ill to complain and even seemed relieved to be heading upstairs. Dad came up and pulled the fold-out bed from the hot press, dragging it across the landing into Mel’s room with a lot of huffing and puffing.
Sandra and I sat on her bed. She’d spread two nightdresses out on the eiderdown. ‘Which one do you think I should wear?’ she asked me.
‘Oh, definitely the lilac one,’ I said, not caring in the slightest.
‘Why?’
‘It’s Shayne’s favourite colour.’
‘Really?’ she asked, her face all serious. ‘How do you know?’
‘He told me. “Ruth,” he said, “I do so love a girl in lilac. Nothing gladdens my heart more than to see a young maiden in—”’
I was stopped short by a pillow in the face.
‘Shut up!’ she said. ‘I hate you. And you know what? You sound just like David O’Dea.’
‘I do not!’ I said, even though I’d actually felt like him when I was saying it.
‘And it’s all your fault we have to go to bed this early. You had to blab, didn’t you?’
‘I was only telling the truth. Someone had to. And thanks for pretending you knew nothing about it, by the way.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t know if he fell on purpose, do I? None of us do. We weren’t there, were we?’
‘Come on, you know right well what David’s like. And I had to do something to make his mam and dad see. They think he’s some kind of saint. You know they do! And anyway—’
‘Shut up, Ruth. I’m sick of hearing about it. Just leave it.’ She sat down at the dressing table then turned sharply, her hair swishing round and whipping her face. ‘And get off my bed.’
She started to brush her hair with long, forceful strokes, something she never usually did before going to bed. Then she sprayed a cloud of 4711 all over her neck. It was obvious she was hoping to go in and talk to Shayne. But Mam came in to say goodnight and told us she’d left a basin in Mel’s room in case Shayne got sick again and under no circumstances were either of us to go near him. And Dad peeped his head round the door to say more or less the same thing. Mam asked him did he think Shayne had thrown up because he was more used to the muck Liz Lawless dished up than the proper meal he’d had with us. She said you’d only have to look at Liz Lawless to know she used Smash instead of real mashed potato, and frozen peas and fish fingers instead of fresh veg from Pat the vegetable man and nice fillets of plaice from Boylan’s. Dad said not to be ridiculous, that she’d no way of knowing what Shayne ate at home and he was sure he’d seen Liz making mash when he was round painting her kitchen. They started to go downstairs and I heard Mam saying that if he did, it must’ve been all for show because you couldn’t be peeling potatoes every day and have nails like hers. Sandra hopped into bed and flicked through her latest copy of Jackie for a few minutes before sighing deeply and flinging it onto the floor. She was asleep in minutes.
I’d decided I wouldn’t say anything about David being adopted. At least not yet. It was something I wasn’t supposed to know and I felt I’d said too much that evening already. But as my mind wandered through all sorts of thoughts – what we were missing on telly, or the way I couldn’t get the taste of banana ice cream out of my mouth even though I’d brushed my teeth – the word ‘Adopted!’ kept appearing in my head in a starburst shape, like ‘Pow!’ or ‘Bam!’ or ‘Ka-Boom!’ in a comic.
Adopted. The word kind of changed the way I thought about David. He might’ve been someone completely different if he hadn’t been given to Mona and Eamon. Or maybe he’d have been exactly the same. Who knew how things would turn out if even the tiniest thing about our lives was changed? If I’d been given away when I was born, would I be me, I wondered? The me I knew. Or would I be another person altogether?
I tried to think about David as a tiny boy like Kev, asleep in a strange cot in a strange room, the very first night the O’Deas brought him home. Where was his real mam? And his real dad? Did he have real brothers and sisters who would’ve taken care of him if he hadn’t been given away, the way we took care of Kev? And how did he feel when Tina and Linda came along? Caught forever between the solid pairings of his parents on one side, and his twin sisters on the other. A sort of stranger in his own family. A bit like me.
; TWELVE
Shayne appeared to have made a complete recovery the next morning and was well able for the toast and boiled egg Mam made him for his breakfast. He sat at the table, stuffing his mouth and wiping his fingers on the front of his T-shirt. While he’d been asleep, Mam had taken his jeans from Mel’s room and sewed patches over the rips and holes, and although he’d have to have been blind not to notice, he didn’t say thanks or mention anything about them at all. Mam wouldn’t come right out and ask him to stay longer, but she said a few things like: ‘I hope you’ll be all right on your own’ and ‘You know where we are if you need us’. And when she announced we were having sausages and mash for dinner and apple crumble for dessert, she searched his face for a reaction but there was none.
We didn’t see much of him the rest of the week. Dad said he saw him in Mealy’s later that day, buying a packet of Tuc crackers and a Choc Ice, and that Shayne ignored him when he asked how he was. He did much the same to me one evening when I saw him cycling back from the village with a bag of chips and a bottle of Cidona under one arm. It was hard to tell if he was avoiding us, embarrassed by the whole vomiting thing and wearing Mel’s pyjamas, or if he was, as I suspected, simply making the most of having the whole house all to himself. I pictured him stretched out on the brown couch in their sitting room, eating Rice Krispies straight from the box and guzzling Liz’s whiskey, watching horror films late into the night when we were all fast asleep. Mel asked to go down to his house a couple of times but Mam said ‘under no circumstances’ and if she caught any of us sneaking down while Liz was away, we wouldn’t be let out for the rest of the summer holidays.
It didn’t take long before the whole estate knew what had happened in the O’Deas’. Once Geraldine and Nora found out, it may as well have been on the Nine O’Clock News. Mam gave out to Sandra for relaying everything to Tracey but Dad said not to be too hard on her, that Mona O’Dea would’ve made sure she let everyone know anyway. He had to tell Mam how he’d let a roar at the neighbours. She was definitely not pleased but said she understood – to a certain degree – even though the whole thing had nothing to do with us. It was all Liz Lawless’s fault, she said. If she hadn’t gone and left Shayne on his own, Dad wouldn’t have been the one bringing him over to the O’Deas’ in the first place.