The Middle Place

by Kealan Ryan

  Sometimes, I let myself drift off and leave Danny’s house for a while. Leave all the streetlights behind, the lights from houses as I aim for the darkest spot I know – drifting out to sea or to the woods near my parents’ house. I used to cycle my bike there when I was a kid, and drink cans there with the lads as a teenager, concealed by oak and birch. I also kissed my first girl in those woods when I was twelve – it was a terrible shift. The amount of drool I left on the poor girl. I can still see her face, the disappointed look she gave me for ruining her first kiss nearly turned me off kissing altogether.

  I first came here after my death, as the woods were the darkest place I could think of and I wanted to check out my new night eyes. But now it’s something more.

  I never realised how many memories I have here – I think that’s part of why I’m drawn to the place. I had forgotten about how much time I spent here as a kid. Me and John were down here all the time when the weather was nice. It’s the place where we had our first drink together. We were thirteen and it was Halloween so our parents let us stay out extra late. Three cans of Budweiser each. We both thought we were so cool until I puked on our way down to a bonfire. Then I felt like a bit of a lightweight. John laughed at me as he patted my back. I was well impressed with him because he seemed grand while my stomach was in knots.

  The tree stump that we sat on while having our cans is still there. I sit here alone now, listening to the wind and the rustling of the trees. I love the way they sound and can feel myself swaying with them, even as the wind rushes through me. I can hear John’s voice, telling me about the girl in our class, Helen, that he fancied.

  ‘I hope she’ll be at the bonfire tonight.’

  ‘I’d say she will be.’

  ‘Do you think we should save one of our cans to drink down there?’

  ‘Yeah maybe – although what if one of our parents’ friends is down there or something?’

  ‘Ah they won’t be – we should save one for down there. Or at least half of one anyway.’

  ‘Yeah okay … like show up drinking one?’

  ‘Yeah … God, I hope Helen will be down there.’

  I like the feeling that I’m talking to John again. For a few moments I can almost believe that it’s actually happening, that we’re starting all over again. Except this time I’d make sure that he talked to Helen instead of just waving at her. Instead of me putting him off, ‘Let’s just play it cool, you don’t want to look all needy.’ How many times did I make that same mistake? Holding myself back – even with Pamela. My whole life I’d played it ‘cool’ with girls I liked and never got anywhere with them. How did I not see that this was a terrible method of attracting women? Women don’t like it when you’re all aloof and they don’t know what the hell you’re thinking – that’s just annoying; nobody likes that. They like confident guys who can talk to them – not just wave at them and then ignore them for the night. Helen had liked John, but instead she’d ended up shifting Barry Lynch, who was a tosser – but a tosser who’d actually gone over and talked to her. This time it would be different:

  ‘Go over to her, John.’

  ‘What about Barry?’

  ‘Barry’s a knob, you’re way cooler than that fool – go over to her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Fucking right I’m sure – you’re the man.’

  ‘You’ll be by yourself.’

  ‘So what? You go and make Helen’s night. Go over to her, pal – go get her!’

  Ah yeah, this time it would be different, I think, but then Danny makes a gargling noise in his sleep and I’m right back in his house, just like that, remembering all that he took away from me.

  Seven Months Dead

  17

  The thing that worries me the most since I died is that when Pam dies she could find out that I cheated on her. Maybe it’s a slim chance, but if any of my friends are still alive who knew about it she could easily find out. If she’s still in contact with them that is. I presume she’ll have the same crap powers as me where she could read their minds and if they think of it at all that will be that. And it’s not like your perspective on that kind of thing changes after you die – she’s going to feel just as betrayed dead as she would alive. Maybe if she lives for many years she won’t care about me as much and it won’t really bother her – although that thought is almost as upsetting as her finding out just how much I’d let her down.

  I don’t know why I did the dirt. If I was alive I’d tell you it was because I was drunk or I was getting cold feet with our wedding on the horizon – but the truth is I simply wanted to. I went out that night hoping to pick up some young one. I mean, I was drunk as well, but I didn’t have cold feet. I loved Pam and couldn’t wait to marry her. I just wanted one last fling before I did.

  It wasn’t a good shag or anything, just a drunk night with someone I hooked up with in a bar and would never see again. The thing was, I didn’t feel hugely guilty after it. I felt a bit bad, alright, like the whole thing was kind of unnecessary, but my conscience was relatively clear. It’s only now that I feel like a scumbag.

  It took me ages to blow my beans; I kept losing my stiffy. I wasn’t used to having sex with anyone but Pam, so it freaked me out a little. When it was over all I wanted to do was get out of there – instead I fell asleep. I even had sex with her again in the morning. Cold light of day and no, ‘My God what have I done?’ No getting out of there as fast as I could, but instead hanging around for some more.

  Looking back now, one was as bad as the other – I knew just as much what I was doing drunk as I did sober. I felt like a bit of a snake afterwards, alright, ringing Fred to tell him that if Pam asked he was to say that I stayed in his apartment. I knew he didn’t give a shit, but I didn’t want the other lads finding out, especially John. He would never do it to Niamh and I figured he’d be disappointed in me if he found out.

  I figured right. Fred the fucking eejit went and told everyone before the day was out. John never said anything to me about it, but I could tell that he didn’t like it. When I filled the lads in the next week with all the dirty details, it was just a slight look he gave me. It wasn’t a high up on his horse kind of look – just an involuntary reflex, like a grimace.

  When I told Pam that I’d stayed in Fred’s she accepted it without a second’s doubt. The more I talked to her, the more the reality of what I’d done faded from me; all the anxiety of seeing her, the worry that she’d somehow know. She was just herself. Happy, beautiful Pam – and I was glad I still had her. Bit by bit the worry left me and pretty soon my feeling like a snake left me too, as I knew I had gotten away with it. I started feeling happy that I’d gotten laid but still felt like it was a little unnecessary, which I was glad of too, because it made me think that I would probably never do anything like that again.

  I wonder if I would have.

  I look at Pam now and wonder what the hell must have been going through my mind to risk losing her. I wish I had never done it. Not so much for the act itself, because it meant nothing (sounds like a cliché, but it did mean nothing – to me, anyway). It has more to do with the fact that I let her down – and that she could eventually find that out. That the man she loved, trusted and mourned for wasn’t the person she thought he was. The man she missed and cried herself to sleep over time and time again turned out to be just another cheating asshole who couldn’t be trusted.

  18

  Danny has never done the dirt on his bird. He’s not been going out with her for as long as I was with Pam, but they’ve still been together a fair while. He’s crazy about Michelle and I can see why – even though she’s a bit of a dose, she’s a little lash, way out of his league. How could a big oaf like Danny get a cutie like that? It’s ridiculous. Not only is he a weird-looking fucker – I guess she’s into that – but he’s a moron as well. He says stupid things all the time. Tells crap stories. Honest
ly, I’m surprised that he’s been able to keep this small matter of killing me to himself.

  He was locked up for two days before he was released. Two days. If it was in America or somewhere they’d throw away the key on the bastard until his trial began – but not here. No, the poor fella has endured enough for now, let’s let him run free for the next few months. Really make the dead man’s family suffer. He got away with it in work because he rang them to say he’d crashed his motorbike; the asshole doesn’t have a motorbike. He’d even put on a limp for the first few days back.

  I was kind of impressed, I guess, that he pretty much dealt with it all himself. If it had been me I’d have gone straight to my dad and John, got help sorting out a lawyer and stuff. He confided in no one apart from Michelle and I think he would have even kept it from her, except that she’d witnessed the whole thing.

  These past months have been hard on him, not so much because of the act itself, but because of all the shit that has come with it. The horrible feeling in his stomach when he realised I wasn’t getting up – one punch, you bastard – being dragged off to jail by big thick garda boggers and held there for two days. Longest days of his life, trying to understand how this could have happened to him, trying to figure out how in the hell he could get out of it.

  Mad time for him. He’s been fighting with Michelle a lot. They had always fought, anyway, but now it’s all the time. Inwardly, he’s shitting himself that she’s going to dump him.

  When he’s not fighting with Michelle, he worries about what his dad is going to say when he finds out. He’s tired all the time, not sleeping. Staying up late watching crap on TV, hoping that it will make him tired enough to get a full night, but all it does is make things worse. He’s not selling anything in work and keeps getting shit off his boss because his head’s not in it. The man is in a total daze all day. Looking over his shoulder. Wondering if there is a hell and is he going to it. Thinking of his hearing that’s just around the corner, wondering will it be put off again, hoping it will. How is he even going to bring it up with his old man? This has been the worst Christmas of his life. All the while thinking how it could be his last proper Christmas for quite some time.

  The past several months have been tough for Danny Murray, alright, but now Christmas is over and here comes the New Year. And with each new year comes new responsibilities and challenges. You’ve got two, Danny – tell Dad and go to prison.

  19

  I was never a big fan of New Year’s; I always felt it was a bit of an anticlimax of a night. Mind you, I would like to be around for this year’s. Everyone, whatever they are going through, is with someone who loves them for the countdown. Whereas I am alone with everyone I care about. And one person I don’t.

  10

  The festival buzz in the city is electrifying and although the club they are in is jam-packed, the atmosphere is pure deadly. Fanny and Davey hug like mad in the middle of a hundred others all jumping up and down. Fred has Bulmers all over his T-shirt as he shouts out:

  9

  Michelle looks for Danny in their local – no sign of the prick and she worries that he’s off scoring with some bird outside. Even with all the commotion a lot of guys are checking her out. She doesn’t notice it – accustomed to it by now – she doesn’t notice the next count either.

  8

  I have to laugh at Orla. She’s standing in our living room and has been trying to come up with something profound to say to Pam all night. She wants to say something insightful for when the hugs are over. She’s looking at Pam now, thinking about it; so far the best she’s come up with is, ‘If anyone can take the hard knocks it’s Pam Cosgrave – and you took the hardest, right in the gut. You’ve been on autopilot for over half a year and it’s time to take yourself off it. When you want to cry, cry; when you want to laugh, laugh. Just say goodbye to that horrendous year, and hello to a new beginning.’

  Christ that’s weak.

  7

  Jarlath’s countdown roar is louder than anyone else’s in the golf club. Himself and John’s mam, Cathy, go there every year. They always have a good time and tonight is no exception, even though two of the people who usually sit at their table aren’t with them – my folks used to love going there too.

  6

  Nobody shouts out the numbers in my parents’ house. My mam and dad hold hands, watching the countdown on TV. It hurts so much to see them like this – I wish they were enjoying themselves like John’s folks. If I could only turn back the clock and keep my big mouth shut after Danny had used my lighter. If I’d only kept my big mouth shut, then my parents would be happy now – down at the golf club with all their friends instead of watching some tosser on the telly calling out:

  5

  Tim and Brian seem alright, at least – hopping about the place in a stuffy rocker bar down in Galway. I never actually celebrated a New Year with them as adults. I should have; they are just like my own mates. My two little brothers – not little anymore, of course. Tim even grew to be taller than me. Their bodies are locked together as if they are the only two people in the place. I’d love to be wrapped in their arms with them.

  4

  Niamh and John are kissing already, loving every second – Niamh doesn’t even notice Fred’s sweaty hairy back rubbing up against her on the dance floor as the clumsy fucker keeps backing into them. He has his stained T-shirt ripped off and his horrible naked back keeps touching her bare arms. Ordinarily this would freak Niamh out; she’s kind of pernickety at the best of times and she finds Fred revolting. Right now, though, all she’s noticing is Johnny-boy.

  3

  Danny walks off the dance floor, his eyes filling up. He’s trying to get away from all the happiness. All he wants to do is avoid his asshole friends and I don’t blame him. One of them just slipped off a table before getting the chance to call out:

  2

  Pam smiles at Orla. She could have gone to any number of parties, but she came to our house, as she knew that Pam would want to stay at home this year, mind Robbie and keep it low-key. I love Pam’s smile. It changes her entire face. Even when she’s just smiling normally it looks as if she’s giddy. You can almost see every tooth in her head. She doesn’t do it often enough anymore, but having Orla there in this moment brings one out in her.

  She has slight butterflies in her stomach, though; I’m on her mind but she’s trying to avoid letting it upset her too much. She is holding the memory of our last New Year’s together in this same room. We hadn’t been able to go out with everyone else because we had no babysitter, but we ended up having a wonderful night anyway. Drank about five bottles of wine, chatted and laughed all night – just the two of us – until we nipped upstairs and made the mistake of waking up poor little Robbie. We hugged him till he stopped crying – then couldn’t get him back to sleep for ages.

  Finally, once Robbie was asleep, we went back downstairs to put on some tunes. We wanted to play something deadly for the first song of the new year; after much debate we settled on Led Zeppelin’s ‘Gallows Pole’. Cracking song, not a bit romantic but we’d kissed to it anyway.

  She wishes I was there to kiss her tonight.

  1

  Robbie is fast asleep. I hope he dreams of beautiful, happy things, oblivious to the terrible burden that surrounds him. His life is going to be different to most other boys, but there will be plenty of time for that.

  For now sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite. Wake up happy, Robbie, I love you so much. You are the one and only reason why I am glad I was born at all. If I didn’t have you my whole life would have been for nothing. You are the only thing that keeps me from insanity. Because of you my life had a point. You’re going to grow up to be a wonderful person – you already are – much better than I was. The gentle kindness in you already shines out through your big, beautiful brown eyes. I’m so proud of you. You’re going to do great things and
I’m going to be with you always. Thank you for being my son – thank you for being so perfect. I love you more than anything. Sleep well, my darling little boy – Happy New Year.

  20

  Every New Year’s Day my dad goes swimming with a bunch of his mates in the freezing cold water off Velvet Strand Beach. He’s been doing it for years – not for charity or anything, just for the craic. Mad bastards. Hilarious to watch: fifteen out-of-shape, pasty-skinned old dudes running flat out into sub-zero temperature water. About half of them always turn back at the knees – these are always the new guys who are doing it for the first time. But the core group – the guys like my dad who have been doing it since I was a kid – never flinch. In head first and coming out smiling.

  I went down last year to watch, something I hadn’t done since I was seventeen. It brought back loads of great memories from when I was a kid. It was a nice feeling, bringing my own son to watch his granddad. I remember thinking that I might give it a shot next year or maybe the year after, when Robbie was old enough to take it in.

  My dad’s the only one out of all his mates who doesn’t look woeful with his shirt off. I thought that last year too – all his pals look ten years older than him, skinny arms and legs with flabby bellies. Tough men, though. I think I would have been one of the run up to your knees, come to your senses and turn back guys.