“What was that?”
Gurtha’s hands sweated. He took a deep breath. The plane dipped into grey cumulous clouds. It shook violently, the wings quivering up and down, slicing at nothingness – a knife cutting air. He rested a hand on Miriam’s arm.
“It’s nothing - totally normal. It’s like a boat bobbing on waves of the sea - mild turbulence. I remember flying out of Palma once when a tornado hit the airport. It should have been a short flight thirty minute flight to Barcelona but we flew into a tornado. The plane lost height, climbed, the pilot revved the engines, it shuddered, climbed again then almost dropped onto the runway. They closed the airport after our plane left. We should never have taken off.”
Miriam put her hands over her eyes.
“Is this meant to make me feel better?”
Gurtha laughed.
“I’m only telling you because there’s no need to worry – these planes are built to withstand stormy skies.”
Gurtha looked into her eyes, “Would you like me to share with you what I did – it might help you when you’re flying?”
Miriam nodded.
“Yes please.”
“Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Breathe in, counting to seven and breathe out counting to eleven. Keep repeating it. It gives the body a physical message that you are relaxed. It fools the brain. Your body will begin to think that you are relaxed and not afraid.”
Miriam obeyed. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her breathing.
After a few minutes with her eyes closed, her breathing slowed and she whispered, “Thank you. That really works.”
As the plane dropped steeply through the clouds, Gurtha looked again at the green fields below, the white washed houses with grey tiled roofs, the silvery edge of Lough Neagh. He kept his hand resting firmly on Miriam’s arm until the plane landed. She opened her eyes, smiling as she rubbed them – unaware of smudging her mascara.
“You’ve been an angel. I would need someone like you beside me every time I fly.”
She looked at him with a quizzical sad expression nursing her handbag on her knees.
For a moment Gurtha thought that she was going to ask him to meet her for a coffee or say that she wanted to see him again. She didn’t. Instead she dropped her head onto her chest and began to sob.
Gurtha leaned forward. He hesitated as to whether or not to say anything. He decided to ask,
“Are you OK?”
Miriam looked at him with one of those looks steady and penetrating to your soul.
“Am I not a bit too old for dancing?”
Gurtha shook his head.
“No-one is ever too old for dancing.”
Miriam smiled, “Thank you.” She opened her handbag, found a mirror and a paper handkerchief which she used to remove the running mascara. “I don’t normally cry. But you have a way of making me feel visible, as though I exist. I haven’t felt that in a long time.”
Gurtha patted her arm again and laughed,
“Are you telling me that I have the knack of making a stranger cry?”
Miriam blew her nose on the handkerchief and gave a hearty chuckle. “And laugh.”
♥
After saying goodbye to Miriam, Gurtha drove into Ardoyne, parked at the back of Paddy’s house and called into the shop to buy Paris buns. He opened the door of the shop, a bell tinkled and Laura grinned broadly at him.
“I know what you’re after.” She placed two Paris buns in a brown bag.
“How are you coping?”
“I’m not great.” Gurtha sighed. “If anything maybe I am getting worse. When I am on my own in La Torretta I think I’m becoming an even more compulsive, obsessive thinker. I’ve always been a daydreamer but now I go round and around in circles with the same thoughts of Nuala.”
“Sometimes you have to get worse before you get better.” Laura handed over the Paris buns.
Gurtha laughed.
“It’s worse I’m getting for sure. How’s the old man faring?”
Laura bit her lip and frowned.
“Not so good. Be prepared for a shock. The wild man of Borneo comes to mind.”
“I’ve only been away less than a week. Tell me the worst.”
Laura shook her head.
“You’ll see for yourself. You might have been away for less than a week, but I’m not sure that Paddy has any sense of time any more.”
Gurtha opened the gate, walked up the pathway to the back door and saw that the rose bushes which Nuala had pruned and watered were withering, their yellow petals buried in a circle of overgrown grass. He picked a few petals and held them to his nose. The only smell was that of earthy moss. He dropped them again onto the grass and knocked on the door.
Paddy stood in front of him, unshaven, the locks on the side of each cheek bushy, his hair oiled with sweat and his shirt opened two buttons revealing his grey hairy chest. Paddy looked blankly at Gurtha. There was no smile, no taking a step towards him. Instead Paddy moved his head up and down, scanning Gurtha, his eyes looking puzzled and containing a hint of silent irritation.
“Hello Dad. How are you?”
Paddy’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Gurtha took a step forward, reached his arms out to Paddy and hugged him. He smelt the greasiness of his hair and a stench of urine from his trousers. He pressed him tighter to his chest.
♥
The embrace reminded Gurtha of the one time when Nuala, Paddy and he had gone on holiday to Bangor. The first night, Paddy had told him a bed time story, hugged and kissed him. Gurtha remembered Paddy’s lips soft and moist on his forehead. He had felt the warmth and pressure on his forehead long after Paddy left the bedroom. Paddy never kissed him again.
Without moving inside, Gurtha continued to hold Paddy in his arms, looking down on the circle of baldness on the top of Paddy’s head with two or three hairs that had grown long in the middle. He took a deep breath. There on the back of Paddy’s head was a six inch jagged scar, inflamed and red.
“What happened?” Gurtha dropped his arms and took a step back. His stomach heaved, and then tightened with anxiety.
“I was mugged.” Paddy turned around and hobbled into the kitchen.
“There’s no need to make a fuss. I think there was only a fiver in the wallet. There’s many a man killed for less these days.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?
“What could you have done? I caught a bus to the Mater Hospital. They patched me up.”
There were two china cups and saucers on the wash board by the sink. The kitchen table was covered with Monday’s Irish News.
“What are you doing Dad? You’ve got table cloths – you don’t need to use newspapers.” Gurtha pointed at the table.
“It keeps it clean. A table cloth gets dirty. I’ll take it off if it annoys you.” Paddy pulled the newspaper from the table and stuffed it in the bin.
Gurtha looked around the kitchen.
“Did you get my Marks and Spencer’s parcel? It should have arrived on Monday.”
“No.” Paddy shook his head, sitting down at the table.
“Are you sure it didn’t arrive?” Gurtha looked puzzled.
“No.” Paddy repeated, swatting away a fly which had settled on his hand.
“They bite you.”
“It had cheese, wine and your favourite raspberry jam.”
“Never got it.” Paddy sat unmoving on the chair, watching the fly circle in front of his eyes.
“Let me make you a pot of tea.” Gurtha walked toward the kettle and filled it with water.
“Where’s your friend Molly?”
Paddy shook his head from right to left.
“Lily found Molly dead on the floor beside the toilet. Nuala once said that when Molly died she didn’t want another cat – that was the end of it. No more cats. She didn’t want a cat to be left alone and the two of us dead.”
“When did Molly die?”
“The day that Lily brought me ch
icken soup.”
“That must have been Monday – she said that she would bring you something to eat on Monday and Wednesday. Would you not like to have another cat for company?” Gurtha poured tea into the china cups.
“No. Nuala said that we weren’t going to have any more cats. Who would take care of it when I pop my clogs?”
“I will.”
“You might but I will be in my wooden overcoat before Christmas. I don’t want to trouble you with a cat. Sure you’re never here.”
Gurtha stood up to put wheaten bread in the toaster.
“Of course you won’t be dead by Christmas. Don’t be an old misery guts. You’ll feel better after your holiday. Have you got your bag packed?”
Paddy sat staring ahead without moving.
“I don’t need anything packed. I’m OK the way I am.”
Gurtha filled a suitcase with shorts, tea-shirts and two pairs of Chino trousers, a pair of corduroys and two V-neck jumpers which Nuala had bought for Paddy the Christmas before. He folded two smart cotton shirts – one blue, one white – and rolled up two matching ties. Rummaging in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, he discovered an old pair of black swimming trunks.
Images flashed into Gurtha’s head of his father teaching him to swim many years before. He remembered black moles and pink warts on his shoulders, bandy legs doing the breast stroke, curly black hair over his back, his chest, shoulders and arms.
He poured Paddy a fresh cup of tea, placed a Paris bun and a cheese sandwich on a china plate before leaving him to search for his cap in the front parlour. He knew that he normally kept it sitting like a cat on the arm of the sofa. That’s where he found it - on the arm of the sofa and on the floor beside it the box from Marks and Spencers. Inside the box were the wrappers of three packets of mature cheddar cheese, an empty champagne bottle and a half eaten jar of raspberry jam with a spoon sticking out of it. He looked around the room at the empty fireplace and the bare light bulb dangling above his head.
He returned to the kitchen where Paddy pushed the last crumbs from the Paris bun into his mouth.
Gurtha decided not to mention the hamper but inquire about the fire.
“Dad, why did you not light the fire? It’s cold in the parlour. You’ve also removed the lampshade and the bulb’s not working. What’s going on?”
Paddy munched on his sandwich.
“I didn’t pay the coal bill. They won’t deliver any more coal until it’s paid. I tried to fix the bulb but I couldn’t unscrew it. It’s stuck.”
Gurtha took his father’s hand. The fingers were swollen with arthritis. The skin was waxy to touch – like a plastic hand. He gripped it tightly. His voice quivered.
“You must tell me when you haven’t any money. You know I can pay the bills. You’ll catch your death of cold if you don’t light the fire in the winter. A fire is like the heart of the house. It’s company for you. Tell me where you have another bulb. I’ll fix it for you now.”
Paddy shook his head, looking slightly annoyed.
“There’s nothing wrong with the light bulb. It will come on later.”
Gurtha sat beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“Let’s get you to the Doctor.”
Paddy touched the stitches in his head,
“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m all patched up. I told you that before.”
In the surgery on the Springfield Road, Doctor Bramley wrote a note for Gurtha to take to the accident and emergency department.
“It’s best you take him to the Royal Hospital. They’ll run tests.”
In the accident and emergency waiting room, Gurtha sat in silence with Paddy.
“It shouldn’t be too long. Do you want a coffee?”
Paddy nodded. Gurtha walked to the vending machine, looking over at Paddy as he filled two frothing cappuccinos.
“Be careful. They’re hot.”
They watched as tall, skinny red haired man walked towards them with a coffee and a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. Gurtha and Paddy glanced at one another as the man approached. There was an empty seat on Paddy’s left. The red headed man threw himself onto the chair. He leaned over slowly to place the plastic coffee cup on the ground. He then inspected the cling filmed sandwich in both hands, studying it closely, looking for a way to open it. He turned it over and over in his hands, muttering,
“This fuckin’ … Fuck you …”
A few minutes later he found the end of the cling film which he slowly removed, rolling it into a ball which he threw onto the ground at Paddy’s feet.
Paddy looked at the ball of cling film on the marble floor. The sandy haired man and Paddy looked into one another’s eyes. Paddy made the next move slipping his foot slowly towards the ball of cling film and gently pushing it in the direction of the sandy haired man.
“Paddy Maloney.” A nurse interrupted. Gurtha and Paddy rose to their feet.
“We only need Paddy.” Paddy followed her out of the waiting room with ‘The Irish News’ sticking out of his right pocket.
“Now tell me Mr Maloney, what day is it?” The Doctor looked into Paddy’s eyes which had regained a certain spark.
Paddy pointed to the window, the Doctor eyes followed,
“It’s a great day.”
Paddy glanced at the front page of ‘The Irish News’.
The Doctor turned a page in his notebook and with a fountain pen scratching the surface of a clean page, asked, “It sure is a great day. But could you tell me what day is it?”
Paddy sat upright in the chair, his eyes dark as sapphires,
“If you don’t know what day it is Doctor – I would worry if I were you. It’s Friday 16th August and you know the year don’t you – 2013?”
The Doctor made a few notes on the page.
“Let’s get your chest X-rayed Paddy. You’ve a little tendency to bronchitis, I see, which we wouldn’t want to overlook, would we now?”
Gurtha watched Paddy being wheeled on an iron bed towards him. He was chatting to the Nurse and looked triumphantly at Gurtha. Helping Paddy to dismount from the bed, the Nurse said in a cheerful voice.
“I’m happy to say that we have a clean bill of health for Mr Maloney. He’s as fit as a fiddle.”
♥
Back in Mallorca Todd looked at his watch for the third time. He pulled on a Panama hat, lifted a straw basket and swung it onto his shoulders. He surveyed Stephanie lying in bed on top of the sheets. He felt slightly unsettled watching her arms outstretched on his bed, her tangerine silk nightdress crumpled around her legs. She turned around slowly as though she knew that Todd was looking at her and opened her eyes,
“You’re up early.” She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “We weren’t in bed until three. Aren’t you tired?”
Todd shook his head.
“Not a bit. I’m off to buy those croissants for Barry and Cornelia. I’ll save one for you.”
Stephanie pulled the cotton sheet around her.
“It’s too early to pester them. They’ll still have the dishes to sort out from last night.”
Todd blew her a kiss.
“You know that Barry’s a morning person.”
Stephanie fell back on the bed, mumbling.
“Come back before lunch-time. I’ll be bored otherwise. Can’t I tempt you to stay?” She crawled under the white sheet, peeping out with the sheet covering her mouth and nose.
Todd waved, “I promise I’ll be back for lunch.”
He walked along the seafront in the Port of Soller. Giant seagulls glided silently overhead, each reflected clearly in the mirror-like still water. Todd peered into the water, throwing bread for the fish that surfaced briefly. They gobbled it up, returning to deeper levels where they circled around one another.
He thought of Barry. How odd it was that he could find nothing wrong with him. In Barry’s company, Todd felt paradoxically more alive and more at peace. Why would that be? As a Film Director he had grown used to being critical ove
r the years. It was easier to find faults in objects, places and people than it was to find perfection. A scene could always be improved. He had never been happy with any of his finished films – not even the one which received an Oscar nomination. He agreed with those who criticised him. What was different about Barry?
Todd hated the way anger flooded his own body over the smallest inconvenience – the butter melting in the butter dish at breakfast, Stephanie’s wrinkly neck, her insistence on playing Josephine Baker on her playlist, her irritating loudness, the way she put too much jam on his toast and the time she took to methodically cook the simplest of dinners.
Barry was never angry – at least not in front of Todd. He seemed almost too lazy to be angry. Maybe he had cultivated sloth rather than the virtue of patience. Todd liked the fact that it was difficult to move Barry to action. It made sense that the world could slow down after spending so much time in Los Angeles which felt to Todd to be a world driven by amphetamines. There was no time to think – only to react and people often reacted in anger – sitting on their horns in a traffic jam, trying to jump to the top of queues at the airport, flicking flies away with irritation and impatience. Todd felt in himself a sense of incessant drivenness – a need to do everything quickly and to keep doing something. Barry’s laziness was a foil to Todd’s need to be successful. He found Barry’s slowness strangely attractive. He turned onto the Repic beach.
It was then that he spotted Cornelia standing alone scrunching her hair into a pony tail. She wore a tangerine bikini - the same colour as Stephanie’s slip. She was standing sideways - flat stomach, small breasts hidden within a strip of bikini top and long delicate arms which she held out like a ballerina as he had seen her do many times before. She bent forward touching her toes, stretching then to the side in a yoga posture. She raised both arms into the sky and then clutched them together, twisting to the right when she saw Todd.
Cornelia ran towards him, stumbling slightly on the sand, reaching a small wall which she easily climbed over and stood with both arms stretched towards him.
“How lovely to see you. I thought that I would wash the cobwebs away with a swim before starting work. What brings you here?”
The Secret Wound Page 6