by Susan Stairs
You can write back to me if you want but it’s all right if you don’t want to, I won’t mind.
Vale ( = goodbye in Latin) for now.
David (O’Dea)
P.S. I wrote out the lyrics to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ (Queen) for you. Shayne told me you liked it. They’re the actual correct words. One of the fifth years got them from a song words magazine. It’s good to see the actual correct words because where they say ‘Bismillah’ I always thought they were saying ‘Wish me luck’ (!)
I opened out the separate sheet – the double centre pages of a copybook – where he’d written the song words. I read them through then put them back in the envelope. My chest was sizzling inside, the heat rising up through my neck and all the way to my face. I looked at myself in the dressing table mirror and saw my cheeks were faming red. The silence in the room was suffocating. I felt like I was caught in the middle of a bunch of balloons.
I didn’t believe him. It was all lies.
There was no way Shayne would’ve pushed him. He wasn’t that bad. And David was hardly that desperate that he’d have covered for him. No one would be so stupid.
It was all a big joke. I could picture him, grinning all the while he was writing, with Brother whoever-it-was sitting at the top of the hall smiling down at him, thinking he was writing out his Latin verbs. David would’ve enjoyed that, fooling a teacher into believing he was such a goody-goody when really he was a sly and spiteful liar.
And the way he started off the letter all happy-go-lucky like I’d be interested in how many friends he had and all that stuff. Real friends, he said. I couldn’t care less. And why would I want the words to the song anyway? I could’ve written them out myself if I did. I knew them off by heart. I didn’t need him to be doing it for me.
And then trying to convince me it was Shayne who was being mean to him when it was really the other way around. And what made him think I’d believe that Shayne had forced him to take Kev from outside Mealy’s? I’d seen his face that day. I knew what he was like. He thought he knew everything, but I didn’t believe a word he’d said. The way the letter was written didn’t even sound like him. It was far too . . . normal. I tore it into pieces, shoved it back in the envelope along with the song words and hid them at the back of my underwear drawer.
At dinner that evening, Sandra was killed quizzing me about the letter. ‘Mam says you got a letter from David O’Dea. Why would he be writing to you? What did he say? Does he hate Clonrath? Is he—’
‘Stop,’ I said. ‘It was just a letter. He probably only wrote it because he’s so bored he didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Bored? I thought he’d be doing loads of stuff!’
‘Well, it is called boarding school, don’t forget,’ Mel said, laughing at his own joke.
‘But why did he write to you?’ Sandra asked me.
‘How should I know?’
‘Unless . . . unless you wrote to him first? In secret . . .’
‘Why would I do that?’
She shrugged. ‘Only you’d know that.’
‘Well, for your information, I didn’t. OK? And you’re just jealous you didn’t get a letter.’
‘Yeah, I’m really jealous weirdo O’Dea wrote to you. I’ve far more exciting things to be concerned about.’
‘If you’re that uninterested why were you asking me all the questions?’
She sniffed, tucked her hair behind her ears and stuffed her mouth with a large forkful of macaroni cheese. We had Dad to thank for such a tasty dinner. Since he’d started the job in Kildare, Mam had begun making us things he would’ve turned his nose up at. She cooked a dinner especially for him when he came home later – usually pork chops or a mixed grill, which he ate on his own with a pot of tea and a tower of bread and butter.
‘If Ruth doesn’t want to tell us what was in the letter, that’s her own business,’ Mam said. That was a laugh, seeing as she’d been trying to find out herself earlier on.
‘Yeah,’ said Mel, sniggering. ‘It’s your own private business, isn’t it? Just between you and O’Dea. Maybe it was a love letter. Wooooh.’
‘You could be right there,’ Sandra agreed. ‘Why else would she be keeping it all to herself?’
‘Now stop that, the two of you,’ Mam said, clearly annoyed. ‘Leave your sister alone. None of that nonsense.’
‘I just thought it’d be nice to know how he was getting on,’ Sandra sulked. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what boarding school is like.’
‘Well, keep up your teasing and you might find out sooner than you think,’ Mam told her, getting up from the table. ‘Now, you’re on the washing up if I’m not mistaken, miss, so make sure you do a good job, all right? And no messing.’ She lifted Kev from the highchair and brought him upstairs for his bath.
As soon as Mam was out of the kitchen, the others started again. Sandra kept wondering out loud about what had been ‘going on’ between David and me, and how had she not spotted it? Mel went through every possible reason he could think of for David writing, watching my face for some sort of reaction to each thing he suggested. I ignored them both and got on with the drying up.
Later, I went up to my room and addressed an envelope to David. I took out my ladybird-patterned notepaper and thought about what to say to him. But every time I had an idea that sounded right, a second later it sounded stupid. In the end, I decided not to reply at all. The last thing I wanted was David under his blankets at night, re-reading my letter by torchlight, sniggering at how he’d managed to stir up trouble even when he wasn’t anywhere near Hillcourt Rise. I had a better idea.
I had to talk to Shayne.
SEVENTEEN
I found him outside Mealy’s the following afternoon. He’d propped his bike against the wall and was standing beside it, one foot resting on a pedal while he messily licked his way through an Iceberger. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth when he saw me.
‘I want to talk to you,’ I said.
His tongue skimmed his lips for smears of ice-cream. He stuffed the last of the Iceberger into his mouth and began wheeling his bike away. I walked beside him, noticing he was almost a head taller than me now. We passed Boylan’s and rounded the corner into the lane. When we were halfway up he stopped.
‘So?’ he asked.
I breathed in hard, giving myself a few more seconds to figure out if I was doing the right thing. What good would telling him about the letter actually do? Maybe it’d be better to leave it and not say anything at all. He leaned his head to one side and started chewing on a yellow jelly he’d pulled from his pocket. I let the bag of groceries I’d bought for Mam slip to the ground.
‘I got a letter from David,’ I blurted, the words tumbling out before they’d even formed in my head.
He chewed for a while before he spoke. ‘Oh yeah? Nice of him. Never bothered writin’ to me, the spa.’
‘I didn’t ask him to. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to write.’
‘All excited, were ye?’
‘No. I’m just saying I was . . . you know . . . surprised.’
Aidan Farrell came belting into the lane from Hillcourt Rise, slapping his thigh and yelling, ‘Giddy up! Giddy up!’ He shut up when he saw us, walking past with his head down, embarrassed that we’d seen his little display.
‘So. What was O’Dea sayin’?’ Shayne asked when he’d gone. ‘Bet he hates the place.’
‘No, he likes it. Made loads of friends and all, he said.’
‘Ha ha, sure. Ye wouldn’t want to believe anythin’ he says. Probably shittin’ himself every night, bawlin’ his eyes out for his mammy.’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. But . . . well . . . he did tell me something that I don’t believe . . .’
‘Yeah? What was that?’
‘That you pushed him out of the tree.’
He turned his head and spat, leaving a line of yellow-tinged phlegm on the ground. ‘Fuck’s sake! Ye know why he’s doin’ this, don’t ye? Just loves
stirrin’ shit.’
‘He said you got mad because he climbed the tree quicker than you, and you pushed him.’
‘Fuckin’ O’Dea. I’ll bleedin’ burst him when I see him, I will.’
‘Please don’t say anything. Just leave it. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.’
‘Bet he knew right fuckin’ well ye’d go and tell me. Loves pissin’ me off, so he does.’
‘What really happened that day?’
‘I dunno, do I? I wasn’t as high up as him. Maybe he fell, maybe he threw himself, I dunno! I don’t fuckin’ care, OK!’
He kicked at the wheels of his bike then bent to pick a few pebbles from the ground, twisting his face up and firing them over the wall.
‘I better go,’ I said. ‘I’m not even meant to be talking to you.’
‘Who said?’
‘My dad. After you threw the can at our car. He said I wasn’t to be hanging around with you.’
‘That’s the reason he gave ye, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
He flung more pebbles into the air, trying to clear the telephone wires that criss-crossed over the lane above our heads.
‘Ye know why he told ye to stay away from me, don’t ye?’
I shook my head.
‘He’s mad ’cos he knows I seen him and me ma again and he’s afraid I’ll be rattin’ on him. They’re at it, ye know, the two of them.’
The ground felt hard and cold under my feet. ‘At it?’
‘Yeah. At it. Ye know . . . I seen them.’
I put my hands on my hips, trying hard to ignore how I felt inside. ‘What exactly did you see?’
‘What do ye think?’
‘I don’t believe you. My dad’s not even around here much now, anyway, so he wouldn’t have the time. He’s working way down the country. He’s gone before we get up and it takes him ages to get home. He doesn’t even have dinner with us any more he gets home so late. You’re making it all up.’
He laughed out loud and pushed his face close to mine. ‘Keep tellin’ yerself that, why don’t ye? Takes him ages to get home, does it? Takes his time down the woods around Westgorman, ye mean. Yeah. That’s where they go. I seen them. I seen them all the time. Where do ye think I go on me bike when I’m mitchin’ from school? He’d be home for his din dins a lot earlier if me ma wasn’t waitin’ for him up the back roads every evenin’.’
For a second, I thought he’d punched me in the chest. I could hardly breathe and I felt all woozy, the way I did when I went too high on a swing, or slid head first down the stairs so fast I got carpet burn on my stomach.
It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.
While we were eating our macaroni cheese or our beans on toast, was Dad really ‘at it’ with Liz Lawless in the woods in Westgorman?
This was the something bad. I knew it.
It was like a wave. I could see it. Rolling towards us in the distance, gathering speed and strength as it approached. Coming closer and closer. Very soon it would rise up over us and come crashing down, washing everything away for good.
Everything we owned. Everything we loved. Everything we were.
I started walking fast down the lane. Shayne followed and caught up, pedalling slowly beside me until we reached the estate. I kept my head down and didn’t say a word.
‘Ye needn’t be blamin’ me,’ he said.
‘Just shut up and leave me alone.’ I started running across the green.
‘I was only tellin’ ye!’ he shouted after me. ‘I thought ye should know. Isn’t it better ye know the truth? Isn’t that why ye told me what O’Dea said in the letter?’
I stopped dead, almost toppling over myself. I swung around.
‘Is it?’ I yelled, not caring if anyone else could hear. ‘Is it really?’
He was cycling on the road now, sailing along with his hands swinging down by his sides and his hair waving out from his head. He grinned over at me and I ran towards him, standing on the edge of the green as he swerved over and pulled the brakes. ‘Well, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?’ he snarled, showing his teeth. He reached over and grabbed my arm, pressing his fingers into my flesh. ‘Ye know I’m tellin’ the truth. And ye know I was right to tell ye, don’t ye?’
‘Let go of me!’
He gripped even tighter and laughed as I tried to free myself. It was only when I stopped resisting that his fingers relaxed their hold and I broke away. I rubbed at my arm as I galloped across the green, feeling the row of half-moon-shaped marks his nails had left in my skin.
When I got home, Dad was out in the back garden with Kev, clipping dead bits from the creeper that grew up one side of the tree. Kev stood close beside him, trying to imitate every move Dad made. I watched them through the kitchen window while Mam rummaged in cupboards and clattered around in the cutlery drawer. Dad lifted Kev up and sat him on a branch of the tree, holding his body tight in his big hands to make sure he wouldn’t fall. Kev kicked his legs and his wellies fell off and he laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Dad turned around and saw me looking, and he pointed at Kev and grinned, as if to show me what a great time they were having and what a truly wonderful dad he was. When he took Kev in his arms and began swinging him up in the air, I had to turn away. A horrible taste came into my mouth and I thought I was going to get sick.
‘Have you got those eggs, Ruth?’ Mam asked me as she poured a mound of sugar into a glass bowl of melted margarine.
‘Eggs?’
‘Yes. Eggs. They did have some in Mealy’s?’
Only then I remembered I’d left the bag of groceries in the lane.
‘I . . . um . . . I don’t know what I did with them.’
‘You what? What are you talking about? Where did you put them?’
‘I . . . I must’ve lost them.’
‘Lost them? Sure how could you lose half a dozen eggs?’
The back door opened. Kev pushed his way in through Dad’s legs.
‘I . . . I don’t feel well, Mam,’ I said, watching Dad wipe his feet. ‘I think I’ll have to go up to bed.’
‘But what about this cake? I can’t make it without eggs.’
‘Ask . . . ask Bridie for some. She always has loads.’ I made my way out to the hall.
‘What’s up with her at all, at all?’ I heard Mam say to Dad.
‘Ah, just let her lie down,’ he said, wiping his feet. ‘She doesn’t look the best. Like a ghost, she was, looking out the window. Fierce pale altogether. Fierce pale.’
When I heard Dad leaving the house the next morning, I lay in bed and prayed that he’d surprise us all and be home in time for dinner. I imagined him coming in the door and Mam being all delighted he was home so early, and fussing about when she realized she’d have to hurry up and get his chops under the grill. But that evening his chair sat empty at the top of the table and I watched the others stuffing their food in their mouths while I picked at mine and tried to force it down. I didn’t care how delicious macaroni cheese was; if Dad could only be home to eat dinner with us, I’d gladly have put up with liver.
I started watching out the sitting room window in the afternoons, to see if I could spot Liz making her way out of the estate and down the hill to wait for the bus to Westgorman. I saw her once, belted into a shiny black ‘wet-look’ mac that made her look like one of the sea lions in the zoo. She wore her knee-high boots and wiggled her bum as she trotted alongside the green, but she was too far away for me to see if her face was dolled up like she was going on a date.
I knew deep down I wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff about Dad and Liz inside for ever, no matter how hard I tried. It was bad enough hearing about The Kiss and seeing them in The Ramblers together and knowing the real reason behind Dad’s ‘breath of air’ on Christmas night and all. But this news about them being ‘at it’ in the woods was another thing entirely. The something bad was coming closer, and even though I couldn’t stop it crashing down, I felt I should at least send
some sort of signal that it was on its way.
The Friday we got our Easter holidays, I expected Dad might try and be home early and that I’d bring Kev down to meet him at the bottom of the hill and I could at least pretend everything was normal. But when Mam told me there was no need to lay a place for him at the table, a wave of dread rose up from my stomach and down again, and I had to hold on to the back of a chair. ‘Is Dad not coming home early? It’s Friday,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as steady as I could.
‘I know, but he’s not able to manage it this evening,’ Mam said. ‘He has another job to look at when he finishes up today. Strange on a Friday evening. But sure if someone wants a price for a job they need doing, you don’t tell them you have to be home for your dinner, do you?’
‘So what time will he be home at then?’
‘God knows. It’s some place even further out he has to go to, he said. So it could be all hours by the time he gets back.’ She saw the look on my face. ‘I know you miss Dad. I do too, love. But he has to take the work where he can get it. This job he’s pricing, he said it’s a big one. He said he might even have to take someone on if he gets it.’ She wiped her hands down her apron. ‘But I have a little treat for you all.’ She smiled. ‘Fish fingers. And chips. And Angel Delight for after.’
I was puzzled. ‘I thought you said fish fingers were muck?’
‘Did I? Sure what harm can they do once in a blue moon?’
‘You did. You said they were the sort of thing Liz Lawless would have.’
‘Well . . . maybe I did. But there’s a difference in having them the odd time and having them every day of the week.’
‘But how do you know how often she makes them? How do you know anything about her?’
‘Well . . . I know what I see. I have eyes. That woman spends more time on her face than she does standing at a stove, that’s for certain. And sure you’d only have to look at young Shayne to know he’s not fed properly. All pasty and hollow-eyed, he is. I’m surprised he even has the strength to be riding that bike around the place day in and day out. Chips for breakfast, dinner and tea, no doubt. And as for school, sure Mel says he’s forever skipping off after lunch and going off on his bike. God knows what he gets up to. But sure it’s not as if she cares. I mean . . .’