Book Read Free

Johnny Ruin

Page 16

by Dan Dalton


  I hand him his Knight. He made it all the way here, I say. He smiles. I take his hand and step towards the fog, just to look. His hand is small, soft. Mine, callused, rough, wraps around his. He doesn’t seem to mind. Jon arrives, stands next to us, peers into the fog. Spooky, he says.

  Do you know how it ends yet.

  I think so, I say. We’ll see.

  Is it surprising, he says.

  I nod. And inevitable.

  The fog is like a thick cotton up close. Flat, uniform, as if pressed against an invisible glass. It looks more like a cloud, tired of floating, come to rest on the ground. I place my hand flat against it, without pushing. It’s cool to the touch. What do you think, I ask my younger self. He shrugs. You’re not scared. He shakes his head. I wasn’t scared of much back then.

  All you have to do is go through it, Jon says, standing beside me. I ask my younger self what he thinks. He considers it a moment, sizes it up. We don’t have to be home till dark, he says. It’s not dark yet. Jon laughs. He has a point. We can stay a little longer, I say.

  I have stretch marks where I grew too fast. Where the man I was going to be forced the boy I was to grow big, strong. To pretend to the world I am metal and stone. The scars, hidden out of sight on my hips, my back, show just how easily I break. Soft skin, easily torn.

  I ask ten-year-old me if he’s ever hunted for gold bears. He shakes his head, asks if they’re real. Oh, they’re real, I say. They only come out at dusk, hide right at the tops of the trees. I ask him to pick a tree. It’s a perfect night for gold bears, I say. He runs off, head full of possibility.

  I’m forty-two, reading with my daughter. She’s four, and it’s my turn to put her to bed. I suggest Not Now, Bernard. She screws up her face. Not now, Daddy, she says. Since we told her that Sara is pregnant again, her favourite book is one about being a big sister. We settle in, read it together.

  Jon and I, slow, tired from a long journey, follow behind. He hands me his hip flask. Last sip. I take it just to feel warm. It’s still twenty-two degrees but feels colder. Maybe it’s the wind. He asks how I’m feeling. I’m never sure how to answer that. Do people want to know. I figure he does.

  You ever feel like you’re wandering around with a wooden nose, I say. Hoping you’ll be a real boy one day. He stays silent, puts his arm around me. It’s what I needed. I thank him for having my back. He shakes his head, shrugs. I’m your Huckleberry. I let him have it.

  There is V-shaped scar underneath my bottom lip. From that first car crash. The one I don’t remember. I don’t have to. My skin remembers, carries the scar to prove it.

  Maybe that’s what depression is, a scar of the mind.

  Younger me leads us to an old oak whose branches hang low enough to climb. Where’s your brother, I say. I rarely climbed trees alone as a kid, even if that’s how I remember it. He points to where Jon is standing, only it’s not Jon. It’s Pete. Eleven years old. The coolest person I’ve ever known, even when we were kids. Race you, he says, sprinting towards the tree. I run with him, only I’m not me any more either. I’m smaller, lighter, happier.

  I’m forty-three, in the park with my family. Sara and I walk with our youngest daughter between us, each holding a hand. Her feet, unsteady, careful, step forward slowly. Her older sister rides her bike nearby. I look up to see Sophia, walking with her kids. We exchange a smile and a nod.

  There are a hundred lives I’ll never get chance to live. There are choices I’ve made I can’t undo. People I’ll never get to meet. Apologies I’ll never stumble through. Life is consequences.

  I’m ten, climbing a tree in my mind. My brother, a year older, a head taller, climbs next to me, spiralling up opposing sides until the branches become too thin to hold our weight. From here we can see the whole valley. Chimneys. A church spire. The clock tower at the old mill.

  The sun has set, the last embers of daylight glow behind distant hills. If we don’t leave we’ll be late for tea. We don’t move. Not yet. Then Pete stands, unzips his fly, urinates from the top of the tree, hot piss splashing off the branches we’ll have to climb later. He shouts down. Look out below. I stand up, unzip my jeans, join in. We are the lords of our domain, laughing like jesters.

  We’ll leave soon. Once we’re hungry. When we get home, when Mum asks where we’ve been, we’ll blame the night. We’ll say it arrived too soon. She won’t stay mad at us for long.

  We never speak, my brother and me. But I can always find him when I need him. In here.

  Out there, Pete still goes to the football every other week with Dad, still struggles to keep up with his pace, no doubt. Mum goes to see him for coffee on a Saturday morning, for a catch up, for gossip. They go for dinner, my parents, my brother and his wife. It’s not that they prefer him. It’s that I forced them to take sides. In absence. In abandonment. I chose for them.

  Dusk falls. Jon and I sit at the top of the tree, light fading. Above us, bursts of sadness explode like fireworks. Time to saddle up, he says. People to be, places to do. I take out my notebook, ask for a minute more. He leans back against the trunk, hat pulled over his eyes, a toothpick he whittled resting between his lips. Suits me, he says. Besides, I’ve no idea how we get down.

  That thing you read about how people can actually die of a broken heart. It’s caused by emotional stress. What happens is the ventricles rupture. Your heart literally breaks.

  I’ve had my heart broken five times. There’s no scar tissue. The muscle is thin, fragile. Each break bleeds like the first. They never heal, never get easier. The heart does not callus.

  A dog is barking in the distant dark. Closer, my heart beats softly, slowly. A choir of leaves rustle around me. It’s cold. The T-shirts I’m wearing, four of them, do little to keep me warm. I use the last of the light to make a note in my book. I roll it up, tuck my pen into my pocket. And I wait.

  More clouds now. Rain falls in the distance, we watch it move towards us, a swirling crystal column weaving between trees. Millions of droplets dancing on the breeze, shimmering in starlight. It’s quite beautiful. You can be profound about anything if you frame it right.

  Jon asks what I wrote. My eyes refocus, adjust to the dark.

  I’m happy, I say. I thought this was a good place to end.

  Thank You

  My brother, Robin, to whom this book is dedicated. Ta pal.

  My agent, Cathryn Summerhayes, for your belief in me and this book.

  My editor, Philip Connor, for your insight and wisdom, and to DeAndra Lupu, Charlotte Hutchinson and the team at Unbound for all your hard work.

  My parents, Gill and Richard, for your love and support, and for your tireless publicity efforts. My father, Michael, for your enthusiasm and encouragement.

  Maggy Van Eijk for the laughter and everything after.

  Richard Skinner for your kind words and guidance, and to Anjola Adedayo, Kelly Allen, Alison Feeney-Grant, Giles Fraser, Maria Ghibu, Daniel Grant, Sybil Joko-Smart, Adele Lawson, Alison Marlow, Trisha Sakhlecha, Helen Trevorrow, Kate Vick and Katie Khan for your council and friendship.

  All the patrons listed here who made this book possible.

  And finally, Jon, for the music.

  About the Author

  Dan Dalton is a writer and journalist. He lives in north London. Johnny Ruin is his first book.

  Supporters

  Unbound is a new kind of publishing house. Our books are funded directly by readers. This was a very popular idea during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Now we have revived it for the internet age. It allows authors to write the books they really want to write and readers to support the books they would most like to see published.

  The names listed below are of readers who have pledged their support and made this book happen. If you’d like to join them, visit www.unbound.com.

  Anjola Adedayo

  Kelly Allen

  Jessica Amento

  Lee Anderson

  Annette Apostolakis

  Chris A
pplegate

  Dominic Atkinson

  Daniel Awbery

  Luke Bailey

  David Baker

  Rebecca Baker

  Sybil Baleanu

  Melanie Ball

  Melissa Bartlett

  Abbey Batchelor

  Emily Bate

  Alison Bayne

  Poubelle Bébé

  Charlie Bell

  Abigail Bergstrom

  Katie Birch

  Collette Bird

  Mike Bissett

  Owen Blacker

  Dianne Blacklock

  Heidi Blake

  Christian Böß

  Abigail Boswell

  Jane Bradley

  Lyle Brennan

  Miranda Brennan

  Jo Brewer

  Seth Brewer

  Chris Bridgland

  Hannah Bright

  Ryan Broderick

  Max Brodie

  Marie Brooks

  Rachel Brown

  Scott Bryan

  Summer Burton

  Tash Busta

  Sian Butcher

  James Butlin

  Lauren Callaghan

  Cecilia Campbell-Westlind

  Sheila & Brian Carney

  Georgia Carroll

  Nikki Cartwright

  Declan Cashin

  Erin Chack

  Jenny Chamberlain

  Catherine Chambers

  Rosie Chilvers

  Tom Chivers

  Jake Christie

  Louise Christie

  Martin Christie

  Nicci Cloke

  Julian Clyne

  Mitch Cockman

  Helen Coley

  Charlotte Cook

  Hannah Costigan

  Paul Curry

  Cyberdyne Systems Model 101

  Kimberley Dadds

  Katy Dale

  Gill Darling

  Sarah Darmody

  Jasmine Davis

  Nat Dawson

  Marilyn Day

  Ellie Dennis

  MJ Dias

  Ben Donkor

  Tim Downie

  Maeve Duggan

  Rebecca Dunne

  Michael ‘Bear’ East

  Lauren Ebersol

  Robin Edds

  Chris Erikson Jr

  Chloe Esposito

  Aron Estaver

  Anna Everette

  Jen Farrant

  Emmy Favilla

  Alice Feeney

  Issy Festing

  Jamie Fewery

  Cara Fielder

  Molly Flatt

  Anna Frame

  Giles Fraser

  Naomi Frisby

  Yvette G

  Laura Gallant

  Jessica Gallop

  Maria Ghibu

  Janine Gibson

  Jennifer Gibson

  Angela Giles

  Carolyn Gillis

  Claire Goodswen

  Cyril Goodswen

  Gill Goodswen

  Richard Goodswen

  Rob Goodswen

  Josh Goodswen

  Daniel Grant

  Samantha Grant

  Andrew Green

  Luke Green

  Charlotte Griffiths

  Demelza Griffiths

  Mike Griffiths

  Steve Grimwood

  Alessandra Gritt

  Karen Hamilton

  Dan Hanks

  Cleo Harrington

  Sam Haysom

  Linda Heald

  Patricia Healey

  Stuart Heritage

  Carmen Hernandez

  Chris Heywood

  Juliette Hill

  Lara Hill

  Peter Hirst

  Jo Hoare

  Paul Hood

  Dawn Horton

  Julie Houston

  Karolyn Hubbard

  Liam Hudson

  Laura Jacoby

  Hugh Japeen

  Isaac Jay

  David Jennings

  Helen Jennings

  Jamie Jones

  Nicola Jones

  Kate Kamenitsky

  Lizzie Kaye

  Jack and Queenie

  Kennedy

  Michael Kennedy

  Terry Kennedy & Caroline Heal

  Amy Kensett

  Simon Kerr

  Dan Kieran

  Matt King

  Sophie Kipner

  Suz Koch

  Mackenzie Kruvant

  Jean Laight

  Ali Land

  Adele Lawson

  Geoff Leeson

  Jessica Leitch

  Patrick Lenton

  Lucy Lev

  Rory Lewarne

  Luke Lewis

  Richard Lewis

  Amy Lord

  Charlotte Mac

  Sue Machin

  Louise Macqueron

  Alison Marlow

  Elizabeth Masters

  Matthew Maytum

  Judith McCarter

  Lindsay McDowall

  Stuart McPhee

  Kate McQuaid

  Hilary Mitchell

  John Mitchinson

  Rebecca Mogridge

  Des Mohan

  Cal Moriarty

  Joel Naoum

  Carlo Navato

  Lindsey Novak

  Eva Ntoumou

  Carolyn O’Brien

  Shane O’Neill

  Georgina O’Sullivan

  Kelly Oakes

  Sarah Patmore

  Katy Pegg-Hargreaves

  Imogen Pelham

  Neely Pessin

  Dan Peters

  Tom Phillips

  Arianna Pipicelli

  Chelsey Pippin

  Justin Pollard

  Max Porter

  Nina Pottell

  Alex Preston

  Kate Price

  Marc Price

  James Reid

  Holly Richardson

  Amy Roberts

  Emily Roberts

  Howard Roberts

  Jane Roberts

  Margaret Rogers

  Daniel Ross

  Justin Ross

  Lydia Ruffles

  William Rycroft

  Trisha Sakhlecha

  Amna Saleem

  Lucy Scholes

  Kylie Scott

  Alexander Seibt

  Mike Shanahan

  Nikesh Shukla

  Laura Silver

  Catherine Sinfield

  Leilah Skelton

  Richard Skinner

  Cynda Sloan

  Daniel Smith

  Martin Smith

  Patrick Smith

  Sarah Smith

  Jennifer Speight

  Margaret Spriggs

  Michael Spriggs

  Ron Spriggs

  Jon Stone

  G Leigh Thorpe

  Karin Tong

  Helen Trevorrow

  Primrose Tricker-O’Dell

  John Tyas

  Emma Unsworth

  Cara Usher

  Anna Valdinger

  Louis van Kleeff

  Kate Vick

  Ben Virdee-Chapman

  David Wagner

  Maureen & Graham Walker

  Rafaella Wallace

  KeithElena Wallis

  Julian Ward

  Ryan Ward

  Ruth Weaver

  Sarah Webster

  Ken Whalen

  Chris Whitaker

  Holly Wildman

  Ben Wilkinson

  Susan Wilkinson

  PJ Willett

  Laura Williams

  Nat Williams

  David Willsdon

  Fiona Wilson

  Joshua Winning

  Don Wood

  Katie Khan Wood

  Michael Woodson

  Ellie Woodward

  Gemma Wrigley

  Felicia Yap

  Theo Yiannaki

  Jaime Young

  This edition first published in 2018

  Unbound

  6th F
loor Mutual House, 70 Conduit Street, London W1S 2GF

  www.unbound.com

  All rights reserved

  © Dan Dalton, 2018

  The right of Dan Dalton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Quote from The Cocktail Party © T. S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd.

  Text Design by PDQ

  A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-78352-505-8 (trade hbk)

  ISBN 978-1-78352-506-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-78352-504-1 (limited edition)

  Printed in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK)

 

 

 


‹ Prev