by Kealan Ryan
‘I know, I can’t believe it either.’ The smile hasn’t left her face.
‘Come here, baby, or should I say Mammy?’ The two of them burst out laughing again and embrace some more. ‘My boys can swim!’ John shouts and she gives him a playful little slap on the shoulder, then dives in for another hug.
***
John can’t wait to tell his dad. Any time anything of major significance happens, his dad is always the first person he tells – good or bad, he needs Jarlath’s opinion or feedback or advice or whatever. We all adore Jarlath, obviously, but he can be a hard man at times and isn’t always the easiest to please. He’s always expected a lot from John – more so than from anyone else – so I guess John has always looked for his approval as a result.
When he drives up to the house he can see Jarlath in the garden, working hard at something. Not a day goes by that this man wouldn’t be working.
‘Hey, Dad, what’re you at?’ John says as he gets out of his car.
Jarlath looks up at John with a grimace on his face. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he wanted to kick the shit out of you, but that is just his work face.
‘Your mother says she wants a wider driveway, so I’m digging back the grass. I’m going to knock that pillar down, bring it maybe four or five feet in, build it up again, then tarmac the whole thing,’ he says as he gestures with his massive hands, all the time looking at what he is planning as if he can see it right there in front of him.
John smiles. ‘Well Jesus, Dad, I can give you a hand with this; I can get you a good deal on tarmac as well.’
‘Okay, yeah. I was going to talk to you about it, anyway.’
John shuffles his feet. ‘Cool …Well, I have something I’d like to talk to you about, as it happens.’
‘Oh yeah?’
John can’t contain his excitement and he gives his dad that same smile Niamh gave him. ‘Me and Niamh are having a baby.’
Jarlath looks him straight in the eye and gives him a delightful little grin. He turns and places the shovel against the wall nice and neat as John waits. He rubs his big mitts off his legs, cleaning them before sticking the right one out for John to grab hold of. They shake hands, smiling at each other for a few seconds before John throws the left arm around Jarlath’s shoulder, which he welcomes. Out of only a handful of times that the pair of them have hugged, this one is the longest. They clap each other on the back before going back to just a handshake and Jarlath says in his deep, quiet voice, ‘I’m proud of you, lad.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
John is already feeling good, but when he sees a slight shine in his dad’s eyes – which he has never seen before – this makes him even happier. Jarlath had a best friend who was killed in a car crash. He had told John that he cried the night he heard about it, but John hadn’t seen it. He’d only talked to John about it around the time of my death, so John would know that he understood his pain. But a happy tear, no way – he didn’t think it possible.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he says again.
‘You’ve made me very happy. Come here, sit down,’ Jarlath says as he leads John over to the garden wall. ‘My God, Niamh is pregnant, eh?’
‘Yep,’ says John, the same big smile on him as before.
‘Well fair play to her, that girl was born to be a mother.’
‘I know; she’ll be great.’
Jarlath nods. ‘Oh she will, she’s a good woman – there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for you. I still remember the first time I met her.’ John knows the story well but lets his dad continue. ‘She was to meet you here but you and your mother got delayed some place.’
‘Auntie Moira’s.’
‘Oh that’s right! Ha, ha, the old hag.’
John shakes his head, chuckles. ‘Jesus, she had us there all night, waiting on the cat to get better. I think in the end it just had a shit or something and was grand.’
‘Crazy as a loon, that one. Anyhow, Niamh was to call around and you guys weren’t here and didn’t she show up anyway. I saw this little young one coming up the driveway and I say to myself: what the hell am I going to talk to this one about? Little slip of a thing, she was.’
‘I know, gas the pair of you ended up going on the session.’
‘Well, she came in, fair play to her, and I made some sandwiches. All we had in the house was vodka so didn’t we start having highballs.’
‘I know, sure I rang to let her know we wouldn’t be back, but at that stage you guys were well on your way.’
Jarlath starts to giggle. ‘Well Jesus, didn’t we end up having a great night. When I think of her walking up the driveway all smiles and me wondering what the heck I was going to do and sure enough the two of us turned out to be the best of friends.’
John nods as his dad continues. ‘A great talker, she’s not afraid to give her opinion – we had some great chats that night. Some arguments too. But nice arguments, she’d always be so pleasant even if she disagreed with you. You were going on and on about her and I thought there is no way she could be as good as you say, but then I met her and I could see what all the fuss was about.’
‘Thanks, Dad. She loves you.’
Jarlath waves away John’s words. ‘She’s a great wee girl, that’s all, and now she’ll have a baby of her own.’
‘Yep.’
‘Well done a mac. You know you’ve heard this before from every clown who has a baby. How great it is, how it changed their life, how everyone should have one. The words probably don’t mean anything because you’ve heard them so much they’ve been diluted.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Jarlath leans in towards his son as he continues. ‘Well, the truth is there are no words to describe what it’s like; that’s why the words don’t mean anything. You have to live it to get it. You know, I wanted to have a little girl when your mother was expecting you. Most guys get all macho, wanting a son, but I wanted a girl to protect. I figured a boy didn’t need as much or something, I don’t know, sounds silly now. But when you were born you were so tiny I could fit your whole body in one of my hands,’ Jarlath says as he stretches out his long fingers. ‘I couldn’t believe anyone could be so small.’ John chuckles a bit. ‘But you were perfect. A full head of hair on you. And I wanted to protect you forever. I told myself that I’d never let you out of my sight. I could be a bit of a wild man before you came along, but after that day I said no more. Your mother wouldn’t have allowed it, anyway.’
They both laugh.
Jarlath fixes his gaze on his son now, eager to get his point across. ‘But I’ve seen what a fine man you’ve turned into, from that tiny little baby. You can’t understand how proud that makes me. But you will understand soon enough, because now you’ll have one of your own. You’ll know what I mean when the baby is born; you’d be willing to set yourself on fire for it. And in thirty odd years when I’m long gone you’ll know what I mean now when you have a first grandchild of your own to look forward to.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ John says, looking down at the ground as they share in a moment of silence. ‘Thirty years from now you’ll still be kickin’ it though.’
‘Yeah, maybe, old and grey.’
‘Well older and greyer,’ John says, joking.
‘Funny.’
Jarlath stands up, smiling, and takes hold of the shovel again. ‘Now go in and tell your mother.’
John pushes himself away from the garden wall. ‘Are you coming?’
‘I’ll be in in a bit. I just want to finish up this small patch first.’
‘Okay, thanks again, Dad.’
When John reaches the front door of the house, he looks back at Jarlath digging up chunks of earth. He watches his big shoulders stretch, the sun shining off the steel of the spade, he watches his dad do what he has done his entire life – make a better home for his family. John smiles and ho
pes he will be able to do the same.
36
With Michelle’s pictures finally gone, Danny takes on a new outlook in life. His cell is bare and he likes it like that. He doesn’t want any photos or posters that remind him of what he’s missing. Those shitty blue walls look terrible to me, but Danny starts to get used to them, starts to accept them. He even stops watching so much TV. He lies there, looks at the ceiling and thinks about his situation and what he’s done. He starts thinking about me.
He has never really done that before. Instead it was all about the predicament he was in and how bad it was for him. Or at least that’s what I thought. Perhaps I was too blind to see that I was always in the back of his head; he just didn’t have the courage to let himself go there. Now that’s all he does. He replays that night over and over, each time wishing he’d acted differently. He thinks of my face, but more so he thinks of Pam’s face the day he saw her in the courtroom – contemplating the utter destruction he’s clearly brought to her life. He thinks about the guy shouting at him outside the courthouse and the other one pulling him away – Tim and Brian. But when he finally lets himself think about my son, that’s when I can feel him going to some dark places.
I gave up my lame haunting techniques, by the way, after the first few months of him being in prison – though I still stay with him most nights. Tonight, he’s trying to think if there is any possible thing he can do for my little boy when he gets out. Stupid things are coming into his head, like setting up a trust fund or sending him random gifts. After an hour of this, he realises that there is nothing he can do. Stay away, disappear, kill yourself – that might be the only thing he’ll appreciate one day. It’s gone three in the morning when he starts drifting off to sleep with Robbie on his mind.
I watch his eyes getting heavy and let him fall into a deep slumber like I’ve done each night for the past few months. I think of Robbie too and watch him in his cot. His cute little nose, his sweaty fringe clinging on to his wet forehead, his beautiful mouth, slightly open, dishing out steady, barely audible breaths. I could watch him all night and wish I could protect him forever. He has changed so much already since I died. I miss being there properly for all his little milestones, and will miss so many more.
An almighty dart of pain and anger hits me. At the exact same moment, Danny bursts awake in his cell. Pumping sweat, he nearly falls off his bed. ‘Are you there?’ I swear he’s looking right at me. I always watch him from the back corner wall opposite his pillow and that’s exactly where he is looking now. ‘Are you there?’ He cries again as he jumps to the other side of the cell.
What the fuck? He looks terrified; I’m half-terrified myself. Can he actually see me? He rubs his eyes, hoping he is still asleep in a nightmare. He looks up at the blue nightlight that stays constantly on in all the cells in Mountjoy. He never much liked it before, would prefer sleeping in utter darkness. But he’s glad of it now.
A third time he asks, ‘Are you there?’
‘I’m here.’
And for the first time in five and a half months the nightlight goes dark.
***
‘It’s really quite common.’
Danny looks blankly at the psychiatric doctor as if your man is the dumbest fucker that ever walked the earth. The med room is not exactly a relaxing setting, anyway, but this bloke isn’t helping matters. Dr Brady puts on his best I’m-a-kind-guy grin and says, ‘You’d be surprised how common something like this is, actually.’
Grin, grin, pat on the shoulder. Patronising wanker.
‘What, talking to ghosts is common? Maybe for Mystic Meg or some fucking gypsy – no sane person ever talks to ghosts.’
‘No, no – not a ghost, Danny. It’s common to experience all sorts of trauma after going through such an extreme event as you have done. Post-traumatic stress manifests itself in all sorts of ways – it can be voices, reliving the event, feeling like someone else is in the room, etcetera.’
‘It’s not post-traumatic stress; that thing happened over a year ago, for Christ’s sake.’
That thing – thanks, asshole.
‘The symptoms can start immediately or after a delay of weeks or months even.’
Danny shakes his head, once again eyeing up the doctor. Doctor Brady is way too old to have a step haircut. He suspects that the blond streaks in his hair are highlights too. I’m going to take advice from this guy? he thinks as Brady flicks his fringe away from his eyes with a sudden head jerk. ‘They usually appear within six months of the traumatic event, but for you, given that being here in prison is a constant burden of stress, it’s not surprising that something has finally cracked.’
‘What, so my mind is cracked – thanks, Doc, break it to me gently why don’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, Danny, what I mean to say is that you are in a very stressful situation – you are alone with your thoughts a lot. The mind can turn on you; it is a very powerful and complex thing. Let me ask you, have you experienced any muscle or back pains?’ he asks, bringing his pen to his clipboard.
‘I guess – around my shoulders is tense the whole time.’ Danny rubs his neck as he speaks.
‘Have you experienced diarrhoea?’
‘Apart from shitting myself when I first came here, no.’
The Doc lets out a little chuckle and Danny gives him that same blank (I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-listen-to-this-idiot) look.
‘How about headaches?’
‘No.’
‘Feelings of panic or fear?’
‘Well yeah! I thought there was a fucking dead man in my cell last night; panic and fear were pretty much at the forefront.’
‘Right. Well apart from that?’
Danny looks at the doctor. ‘You look like Richard from Richard and Judy – has anyone ever told you that?’
The doctor frowns. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m in prison, you do realise that, don’t you? I’m not from Sheriff Street or just some junkie who doesn’t give a bollocks. I’m surrounded by fucking animals that would sooner piss on me than speak to me. That might decide to kill me for some sort of sport or initiation thing, I don’t know. I’m despised here and I am totally alone – so yes, doctor, I am terrified from time to time.’
‘Okay, I understand your frustration, but I am only trying to help. I need to ask these questions so I can help you to get better.’
‘Look, maybe it was just a fucked-up nightmare or something,’ Danny says dismissively.
‘I know you don’t believe that, Danny. I’m told you were quite terrified when they brought you to the psychiatric ward last night – do you remember that?’ Terrified is not the word. He could barely walk.
‘Of course I bloody remember.’
I can’t believe I’ve finally haunted him. This is wonderful – I’m the greatest ghost in the world!
‘Okay, well you don’t want that to happen again and again, do you? You need to talk to me, Danny, so I can help you.’
‘What am I supposed to say? I feel like a fucking whack job. I believe that the guy I killed was in my cell last night, for Christ’s sake. Now I know that’s crazy and if someone told me the same thing I would say they’re crazy. I know all this. I know it’s not true, but at the same time I know that he was there last night. I know that saying those words makes me sound nuts; it’s a horrible feeling believing something and knowing the fact that you believe it makes you crazy. Does this mean I’m losing my mind – am I going to end up some vegetable in one of those padded cells you’ve got here?’
‘No, Danny, I can help you.’
That’s what you think.
‘How?’
‘Tell me what happened last night. What made you scream for help?’
‘I just told you,’ Danny says, irritated.
‘You said you saw a figure in the night after waking
up from a nightmare.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Danny interrupts. ‘It wasn’t some figure and it wasn’t a nightmare.’
‘Tell me then. Tell me what it was,’ Doctor Brady says, resting his clipboard on his lap for the first time. This poor eejit does actually want to help. Danny’s still not rating him but leans forward, anyway, and looks directly into his eyes.
‘I could see his son,’ he blurts out.
‘In your cell?’
‘No. Would you just listen to me?’
The doctor stays silent and gestures for Danny to continue. ‘It was in a dream. I knew it was his son because he was standing over the boy, watching him sleep. It was a nice image. It was bright and shining in my dream, but then the image got swallowed up and I was someone else watching myself sleep in my cell, someone who was intent on killing me. I could see through burning red eyes that wanted to rip me apart.’ Danny swallows a gulp of nothing, trying to get an ounce of saliva back in his mouth. ‘Now I know all that was a dream. It scared the crap out of me and I woke myself up out of it. But then I thought …’ He hesitates.
‘Please go on,’ says Brady.
‘It was as if I knew he was in the cell when I woke up. The man I killed. The room just felt different. It was as if the back wall was darker than it should have been. So I called out. And then I heard his voice.’
‘What did the voice say?’ Brady asks curiously.
‘He said, “I’m here.”’
The med room is silent for a moment before the doctor pipes up. ‘Is that all he said?’
‘I just started screaming then.’
‘What about the room, Danny? You said the light went out.’
Danny puts his head down; he can’t look the doctor in the eyes anymore. ‘Everything went dark and that’s when I saw it.’
‘It?’
‘It was as if he was coming out of the walls. He wasn’t like a normal man, he was cloaked in the darkness of the room and he was glaring at me. I started pounding on the cell door for help and every time I turned around that shadow figure was still there, glaring at me. It didn’t make another sound. That was the most terrifying thing about it. I heard him in my head when I first woke, but when I saw him he just glared at me. I’d whip my head away again or close my eyes, but every time I turned to face him, there he was. Motionless.’