by Susan Stairs
‘That’s absolute rubbish!’
‘But why would he lie?’
‘He’s winding you up! I thought you were more intelligent than to be taken in by something like that!’
The sergeant sipped his tea, his ordinary eyes watching us over the top of his mug.
‘Even if that isn’t true,’ I said, ‘you were with her down in The Ramblers.’
‘I was sitting beside her. That’s all.’
‘I know what I saw!’
He came over and leaned in to me, gripping the edge of the table. ‘I’ll tell you what you saw, shall I? Then maybe you’ll shut up and we can get on with finding your brother. What you saw was that woman in bits, after being beaten about by her own son. Terrified of him, she was! What was I supposed to do? I only went down for a quiet drink. I didn’t arrange to meet up with her!’
I searched his face for something that would show me he was lying. But I couldn’t find it.
‘Shayne?’ I said. ‘You mean . . . Shayne?’
‘Yes! Shayne! Precious Shayne! Why do you think I warned you to stay away from him?’
‘But . . . what about . . . his uncle Vic? Shayne said he was beating his Mam. That’s what Shayne said. He said—’
‘He said! He said! Forget about what he said! Just discount whatever he told you, all right? You can’t believe a single word out of his mouth!’
‘And . . . and Christmas night?’ I asked him. ‘When you went for a walk?’
‘What about it?’
‘He said . . . I mean . . . You did call to their house, didn’t you?’
‘I went out for a breath of air! If he told you anything else, he’s shaggin’ well lying! And all that stuff you told your mother about the woods? A load of shit! A complete heap of crap! What do you take me for, Ruth? What sort of man do you think I am?’
‘But if it’s all lies – if Shayne’s been telling lies and hitting his mam and everything – why did you never tell me?’
Dad thumped his fists on the table. The sergeant’s mug tipped over, the tea splashing out in a pool that spilled over the edge and dripped down to the floor. ‘BECAUSE I’M YOUR FATHER!’ he screamed into my face. He slumped down in a chair and put his head in his hands. ‘And I brought you to this place! This godforsaken . . . Jesus Christ. I don’t know! I don’t know.’
Sergeant Pearce stood up and carefully lifted his chair back in under the table. ‘So. You’ve been angry with your father for quite a while, Ruth. Is that right? He was doing something he shouldn’t have been, that’s what you thought, and you . . . maybe you wanted to . . . hurt him in some way for that? When he asked you to look after your brother, perhaps you weren’t as . . . as careful as you should have been. Hmm?’
Dad raised his head. ‘Tell me that’s not true, Ruth,’ he said, looking into my eyes.
‘It’s not! It’s not true! I swear! I’d never do anything to hurt Kev! I was looking after him. I was!’
The sergeant took a dishcloth from the sink and threw it over the pool of tea on the table. ‘We have to look at the whole picture here. And we won’t know how deep the water is until we dive in, isn’t that right?’ He walked around the room, then stood behind me. ‘What you’re saying, Mick, is that the Lawless lad is violent towards his mother. Am I right in thinking that?’
‘What? He . . . Yes, yes, I suppose that is what I’m saying. I—’
‘You’re quite sure about that?’
‘Yes! I . . . Look, that’s not what’s important! Find out what’s happening to my little boy!’ Then Dad reached out his hand for mine. ‘Look, Ruth. I know I should’ve told you about all this before. But I thought things would settle down. And maybe I thought you were too young to deal with it all, I don’t know. I just wanted it to go away. I wanted you to have friends, to be happy here. That’s all I wanted. For you to be happy here.’
I gripped his fingers tight in my own. I could see it in the way he looked at me, the way his eyes were sort of pleading and sad and . . . helpless.
It was the truth.
He wouldn’t lie to me now. Not today. Not when Kev was missing and the guards were here and Mam was . . .
Oh God. What was happening? Where was everything that I thought was true? I knew things, didn’t I? I was the one who understood. I sensed stuff. I noticed everything. I watched more closely than anyone else. I . . .
Shayne. I had to find him.
Mel appeared, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt and looking anxious. ‘There’s someone at the door.’
The sergeant nodded at the guards and one of them went out into the hall. A soft hum came filtering down to the kitchen. It was Father Feely. He bustled in, bringing with him the smell of cabbage and candles. And slipping in silently behind him was a pale and frightened-looking David O’Dea.
‘Good of you to come, Father,’ the sergeant said. He looked at David. ‘Young O’Dea, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ Father Feely answered. ‘It is indeed.’ He ushered David into the middle of the room. ‘This is a terrible business. A terrible business altogether. I was just out there having a word with all the neighbours and this young man came out to me. He has something he’d like to tell.’
Dad fired the questions at David. ‘What? What is it? Do you know something? Did you see someone? Do you know where Kevin is?’
‘Hold on, Mick,’ the sergeant said. ‘Let the lad talk.’
David clicked the stud on his wristband and kept his head down as we waited for him to speak. Father Feely coughed. The sergeant sniffed. Then we strained to hear as David lifted his face to Dad’s.
‘You should’ve just left it,’ he said in a cracked whisper. ‘Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you just . . . leave it?’
‘Leave what? What are you on about?’ Dad asked, clearly puzzled.
I knew. I didn’t need David to say it. It was written all over his face.
‘What you said after the fight. To me and Shayne.’
‘You’re over here complaining about that when . . . when all this is going on? I don’t believe it!’ Dad was raising his voice. ‘I don’t bloody well —’
‘Now, now, Mick. The lad is only trying to help,’ Father Feely said.
‘Trying to help? Over here with his tittle tattle, you mean!’ He prodded David’s shoulder. ‘I don’t have time for a troublemaker like you. You get me? I stand by everything I said. You’re nothing but a little . . . a little . . . You and Lawless! Gurriers, both of you. One’s as bad as the other. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of a crisis here, in case you hadn’t shaggin’ well noticed.’
David looked at the floor and cleared his throat. ‘Shayne followed Ruth into the graveyard.’
Dad’s eyes went flat and still. He held onto the back of Kev’s highchair.
‘We . . . we went into the churchyard after the fight,’ David continued. ‘Shayne wasn’t saying anything. He was really quiet. But I knew he was mad. It was like he went into a kind of . . . trance or something. He even let me cycle around on his bike and he never does that. Then he climbed up into the tree and just sat there, looking out over the wall.’
‘Go on,’ the sergeant said when David paused. ‘Tell us what happened next.’
‘Well, he was just . . . sitting there, not moving and then . . . he jumped down out of the tree like he was in a real hurry and he started running to the gate. I cycled over and asked him where he was going and he said . . . he said . . . Ruth had gone into the graveyard with that little . . .’ He stopped and swallowed hard.
‘That little what?’ Dad asked. ‘That little what? If you’ve something to say, just shaggin’ well say it!’
‘Now, Mick, give the lad some time,’ Father Feely said. ‘He’s doing his best.’
‘Time? He’s had a couple of hours and he’s only telling us this now? How much more bloody time does he need?’
The sergeant touched Dad’s arm. ‘Take it easy, Mick. Now, David, what was it Shayne said?’
&
nbsp; ‘He said . . . Ruth had gone into the graveyard with that little . . . that little . . . bastard. And then . . . and then . . . he got down from the tree and ran in after her.’
Father Feely blessed himself and muttered under his breath. The sergeant nodded his head slowly. Dad slapped his hands against his sides and whimpered. ‘Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.’
‘And you didn’t see him, Ruth?’ Sergeant Pearce asked me. ‘You definitely didn’t see anyone except this . . . this . . . man?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
‘You’re quite sure about that? There’s nothing you want to . . . get off your chest, is there? There was no arrangement to meet up with young Lawless? No agreement that you’d see each other there?’
‘NO! I already told you!’
‘Well, I suppose we’ll have to look into it, have a word with him. You haven’t seen him since, I take it?’ he asked David.
‘I waited a few minutes,’ David said. ‘Then I just went home. I . . . I don’t know where he is.’
‘If he thinks he’s being smart,’ Dad said, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll . . . I mean it, if he thinks this is funny . . .’
‘Don’t be jumping the gun, now, Mick,’ the sergeant said. ‘Shouldn’t you go up and check on Rose?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Father Feely said. ‘I believe Dr Crawley came earlier? Best thing, Mick. Best thing for her. The poor . . .’
His voice faded as he followed Dad upstairs. The sergeant spoke quietly to the two guards. I strained to listen but all I could make out was ‘careful’ and ‘time’ and ‘search’. David kept his eyes to the floor. I could tell he felt awkward. ‘I think I should go home,’ he announced after a minute. ‘I mean . . . if that’s all right . . .’
‘You go on, lad,’ the sergeant told him. ‘Garda Murphy will escort you. We might be needing to talk to you again. In the meantime, if you think of anything else, you will let us know?’
David nodded and shuffled out into the hall with his head down. I followed after him and saw he was holding his wrist, the one he’d broken, his fingers pressing hard into the flesh like they were trying to find their way through to the bone. The sergeant was still talking to Garda Murphy in the kitchen, and while we waited for him at the door, David gave me the same kind of look that had been in Dad’s eyes: pleading, sad and helpless.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I tried to tell you. I—’
I caught his arm. ‘What you said in the letter – it’s all true, isn’t it?’
He looked at where my fingers gripped him. He nodded. I let his arm drop. It was like my skin had been scalded. I slumped against the wall.
Shayne had pushed him out of the tree. He’d made him take Kev’s pram.
What else had I got wrong?
‘Did you ever climb up on our roof? And hide in the corner of Kev’s room?’
David frowned and shook his head. He didn’t know what I was talking about.
‘And the blackbird,’ I said. ‘On the green. Did you . . . kill it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did? But why? Why?’
His voice was thin and high. ‘I didn’t want to! I hated doing it but I . . . I had to. I saw Shayne from my window. The bird was all weak from the cold and he kicked it around like a football. He laughed at it struggling on the ground. Then he just . . . he just went off and left it. It was cruel to leave it in pain. I had to put it out of its misery.’
Something burst inside me. It was like I’d woken up from a deep and crazy dream. I searched his face.
‘You know, don’t you?’ I said.
And he nodded, before walking out the door.
They didn’t notice I was gone for a while. It gave me just enough time.
I imagine Dad sat with Mam for a few minutes, glad she was in some other world, and hoping that when she woke up he could look into her eyes and smile and tell her everything was all right. Father Feely probably stood at the end of the bed, whispering prayers under his breath for Kev’s safe return and reassuring Dad that Sergeant Pearce was doing his very best. I imagine Mel and Sandra, for once sitting quietly together on the couch, afraid to speak, barely breathing, aware that the life we knew was in the balance and that one tiny movement could tip us over the edge.
I wondered what was going through David’s mind as I saw him walking across the green with Garda Murphy. He was smart enough to know it was over. That this was the end of Hillcourt Rise as he’d known it all his life. But he’d already made his bid for freedom, made the leap to a wider, open world. Things had changed for him when he’d left for Clonrath.
Only then could he stop acting. Only then did he feel safe to tell the truth.
And what about all those who had gathered on the green? I glanced over at them as I came up out of the cul-de-sac and ran tight in along the shadow of the wall. None of them saw me, so close was their grouping under their hoods and their umbrellas, and so great was their interest in what David had to say. But he ignored their call for detail and continued walking over to his house with his head bowed and his steps unsure and faltering. The way they were supposed to be.
I was somehow aware of the depth of the ground under my feet as I ran – of the layers of concrete and rubble and sand. Of clay and rock and boiling liquid reaching down for miles and miles to a solid mass of something hard and dense and black. I wanted to understand it, to feel the weight of my bones and my flesh against it. To remember what the world I’d known had felt like. Very soon, I knew I’d take off. I’d lift up into the air and float for . . . who knew how long? I might never touch earth again.
His bike lay on the driveway, mud packed into the ridges of its tyres. I looked up at the front of the house, at the gaping black squares of the windows, the peeling paintwork, and the cold, damp emptiness that seemed to ooze from every brick. The side-passage door had swollen in the rain and it shuddered out of its wooden frame when I shouldered it, slapping back against the wall when it gave way. Fingering the knobbled surface of the pebbledash, I remembered the way I’d felt when he told me about The Kiss. The way it had seemed so . . . so right and so . . . real. So true. How could that have been? What had made me so sure? It was like I’d closed my eyes and just accepted I was blind.
The tap in the kitchen was flowing, rushing onto the pile of dirty dishes and splashing over the worktop in a fan of sprinkled drops. I reached in and turned it off, seeing sodden butts floating in an overflowing bowl. I watched them for a moment, the way they whirled around in circles, bobbing about like tiny swollen bodies in a flood. My world was getting smaller now, shrinking down. Shrivelling. Soon it would disappear. There’d be nothing of it left. I’d have to make a new one, build it up, grab at things that had no meaning, things I wouldn’t recognize from any place or time. Everything made sense to me, and nothing did. I walked out of the room, across the carpet of roses, and began to climb the stairs. One, two, three . . .
I reached the landing and looked up at the steps that led to his room. Only then did I get scared. I knew they’d all be close behind me, but I couldn’t let them be the ones. This was my task. No one else could do it. Not Mam. Or Dad. Or the others. Not David or the sergeant or Father Feely. It wasn’t their job. I had to be the first.
That was how it was meant to be.
It seeped out from the room, through the gap under the door and down to reach me as I climbed. Silence. Thick and cloudy and dead. Far too much of it. It settled around me like a cloak and, for the last few steps, I almost allowed it to weigh me down. It would’ve been so easy to just lie there and wait for them to find me. But I dragged myself on and stood outside his room, pressing my face to his door.
When I pushed down on the handle and slipped inside, I entered the place of endings. This room at the top of his house, looking out over the green and beyond to the mountains, was as far as I could go.
I’d never escape.
This was where I’d be stuck for the rest of my life. No place on earth would ho
ld me as close, however far I travelled. I’d always be there. Always. Nothing would ever change that.
I wanted to know so many things. A hundred whats. A thousand whys. But I didn’t know what to believe any more. Had I made my own path, or had I followed one laid out for me? Was every twist and fork already on the map? Every bump and bend?
Or did the corners only exist because I turned them?
The stench of secrets. The hidden smell of happenings. I walked across the floor and stood under the window, looking up to the sky. Whatever was written in the stars had been read. The words were a story. My story.
The only one I would ever tell.
TWENTY
I’m not sure why I lifted the lid. I suppose it just seemed logical at the time. I remember sitting down on his bed for a moment and trying to figure out what I would’ve done if I were him. Because I know the truth now, I’m not sure if I recall exactly what went through my head. The real gets mixed up with the imagined. I think I realized that there wasn’t anywhere else, no other place he would’ve used. And I know I was certain that the answer was there, in his room. I was sure of it.
I tried to be him. I conjured myself into his clothes, under his skin, replaced my bones with his. I lay down on the bed, the smell of him sneaking into me, the shape of his body accepting the sinking weight of my own. This was what it was like. This was the place.
This was the only place.
I got up and flicked the switch by the door. The weak yellow bulb in the ceiling smeared the whole place with a misty, dreamy glow. It showed up cloudy, softened versions of what I knew to be there. The grubby bedclothes, the threadbare rug, the chipped and hacked-at headboard. And the huge monstrosity of his radiogram, the bulk of it dwarfing everything else in the room. On top of the side that held the turntable was the small, square photograph of him with his uncle Joe. Only now, uncle Joe’s face had been scribbled over in careful, detailed whirls, the lines so many and so close that his features could barely be seen.
I thought about the way he’d shown me how Dad and Liz had ‘kissed’. Were his lies only lies because I believed them? And would I have been standing in his room now if I hadn’t?