by Craig Jones
18
Sinead pointed out each of the white lines marked on the grass and explained what they meant. Christian, his brow furrowed, concentrated on trying to remember their names as well as their relevance to the sport itself.
‘I still can’t believe you’ve never seen rugby,’ Sinead said from their seats in the shadows at the back of the rugby club’s stand. ‘Especially as we’ve gotten quite good at it recently, although we were really rubbish for years. You do consider yourself Irish, don’t you?’
‘I guess so,’ he pondered. ‘This was where I was born. And my mother, she was Irish. But Father? He’s Welsh. Are Wales better than Ireland at rugby? If they are then I’ll be Welsh. If not, then I’m Irish.’
Sinead scrunched up her face as she considered her answer. Christian took a moment to look across the rugby pitch again, trying desperately to recall the information she had shared with him. The grass looked black, the lines more defined than they would be during the day.
‘Well, my heart tells me Ireland,’ she said, a beaming smile suddenly igniting her face. She dropped her voice low, the grin gone but her radiance still evident, ‘But my head tells me Wales. Anyway, it’ll make it more fun if we support different teams.’
‘Make what more fun?’ he asked naively.
She nudged him. ‘Us being boyfriend and girlfriend.’
‘Is that what we are?’ he asked, slowly leaning towards her until their foreheads were pressed together.
‘I’d like to think so,’ she whispered, and they kissed.
Over the last few weeks, they had stolen more and more time together. Christian was pleased that Martin had not questioned him about his whereabouts; he hoped his father had accepted the situation for what it was. The concerning aspect for Christian was that Martin was communicating very little at the moment. It would have played on his mind more had he not been aching to spend every second with Sinead. They were incredibly discreet, like using the rugby club late in the evenings when there were no matches or training sessions. Apparently it was working, because nobody, not her mother, father or friends, had questioned what she was doing. She simply dressed as if going for a run and that was cover enough. Even Owen Flannery had left her alone. If Claire O’Callaghan, her best friend, had asked or tried to pry then she may have let something slip, but thus far Sinead was pleased to not to have directly lied to anyone.
They broke apart but continued to hold each other close, looking into each other’s eyes, both smiling and feeling like they were a million miles away from their reality. Christian glanced out across the field once more and Sinead followed the line of his profile, noticing how his skin no longer looked so pale and how the tired bruise-like marks under his eyes had faded. She smiled to herself as she saw him point to each line, his lips moving but not making any sound.
I’m good for him, she thought proudly. And he’s good for me.
‘Right,’ he suddenly exclaimed, popping up out of his seat. ‘You’ve taught me about rugby. Now teach me about karate.’
‘Okay,’ she said, nervously rising to her feet. ‘Well, uh, it’s an ancient martial art. More about defense than attack. Look, it’s easier if I show you.’
She took his right arm in her left and moved it across his body in an arc, then back again.
‘Did you feel that motion?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied, entirely serious.
‘Okay, well repeat it a few times, slowly.’
He did as he was told.
‘Now, I’m going to slowly bring my arm towards you, like a punch, and you are going to slowly make that movement with your arm and block my punch. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
She nodded and brought her left fist gradually back towards her ribcage and then, without increasing the pace, moved it forward, knuckles first, towards the centre of Christian’s chest.
‘Now,’ she said.
He brought his right arm across his body, gently impacting with Sinead’s just above her wrist, deflecting it away from his chest.
‘Now do that when someone is coming for you at a hundred miles an hour, and you’re a karate expert.’ She paused. ‘Or at least on the way to becoming one.’
Christian nodded, his gaze deep and thoughtful.
‘What is it?’ Sinead asked.
‘It’s just,’ he stopped, unsure how to go on. ‘It’s just, well, that,’ he gestured between them, ‘that’s how I always see things. When I fly, when I move, it’s like the world around me slows down. When Owen tried to jump on me, it was like I had minutes, not seconds, to get out of his way. It’s only started happening recently and I do not know how I bring it about, but that’s what happens.’
Sinead tilted her head, unable to comprehend what having those powers would feel like.
‘Are you teasing me?
‘No, I swear. Look, let me show you.’ He took her by the hand and led her down to the grass on the side of the rugby pitch. He stood in front of her, his feet apart, his arms by his side, his hands clasping and unclasping as he sought total relaxation. He breathed in deeply through his nose and slowly out of his mouth.
‘What do you expect me to do?’ asked Sinead.
‘Try to hit me.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I know, but try anyway.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you—’
‘It’s what I meant.’
She gave him a beseeching look. ‘Christian.’
‘At least try.’
‘Christian!’
‘Come o—’
He heard her right hand contract into a ball. He felt the muscle in her shoulder tighten. He saw her knuckles turn white. He smelt the sudden release of adrenaline deep within her. And as the fist accelerated towards his chin, as her pelvis pivoted and her knees extended, he waited. He waited until he could see the glimmer in her eyes that told him, no, she did not want to, but she had put too much into the punch to pull it away. He waited. And he waited, and when he could see the tiny imperfections in the skin stretched across her tiny bones in her hand, he simply tilted sideways, to his right, and her fist disappeared over his left shoulder. With a gasp she stumbled forward and into his arms. He couldn’t help but grin as he helped her regain her balance.
‘So what do you think?’
‘I think that’s amazing,’ she stammered. ‘Can I try again?’
‘If you think you can do any better,’ he challenged with the biggest smile on his face Sinead had ever seen.
Doing something fun, like a normal kid, she thought.
‘Yeah, it is fun,’ Christian said. ‘Come on; let’s see if you can get me!’
She had no time to analyze what she was sure was his response to her thought. Had she said it aloud? She could not be sure, but she did not bring it up. She didn’t want to interrupt what they had going.
Kicks, punches, swings, jumps; he ducked and sidestepped and blocked them all. After forty-five seconds she stopped, breathing in short, ragged bursts. He stood motionless, his demeanor unaltered.
‘You…you…’ she wheezed, her hands on her knees, back bent as she tried to refill her lungs. ‘You’re amazing. You’re like…Neo… Like The Matrix…’
‘What is The Matrix?’ Christian asked.
She placed her hands on her hips as she finally straightened up. ‘You’ve never seen The Matrix?’
He shook his head, a little bewildered.
She snorted and walked off the rugby pitch, waving at him to follow. ‘Come on. You are going to love this.’
Sinead could not believe that he had never seen a movie.
Upon introducing him to films, she had thought she would have to tell him to be quiet, to keep still and pay attention, but he had sat on the edge of the bed from the moment the DVD had loaded with a look on his face she was sure she’d had when she went to Disney. When she was seven. He hardly blinked as if he had been afraid the spell would be broken and the film would end if he took his eyes from the screen.
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She had been worried that he would make fun of her room, with her cuddly toys and makeup and hair products, but as soon as she showed him the television he had been hypnotized. She was deeply ashamed that his first movie experience wasThe Matrix when she had so many classic films in her collection, but he had been insistent this was the one that he wanted to see, the one she had said was like him.
She had sat and watched him rather than the screen the whole time, and she felt more pleasure in seeing his wonder become reality than she ever had from simply watching a film herself.
She knew it was a massive risk bringing him to her house, but after what he had shared with her, she could not help herself. They had stolen across the fields that her family’s back garden opened up on and she had pointed out her bedroom window to him through the thick hedge. After telling her parents that she was not feeling well and was going to her room, she had opened the window and he had lifted himself up with no effort at all, using the windowsill as a step into the room.
During the movie, she was almost brought to tears by his reaction to the scene where Neo deflected every punch thrown at him. He virtually bounced in his place on the bed, his fingers tangled together, his lips almost splitting with his grin. He glanced across at Sinead. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs broke the spell.
‘Are you feeling any better?’ called Sinead’s mother just before the door handle began to turn.
The blood drained from Sinead’s face. It took her half a second to register that Christian was no longer sat on the bed, that the window was now slightly open, and the dent in the duvet where he’d been was gone. The door opened.
‘You look better, love,’ her mother said. ‘I’ll make you some soup.’
She left the room, leaving Sinead confused but finally able to exhale.
Christian clung to the red roof tiles just ten feet or so above Sinead’s head. He hoped the darkness of the night would mask his hiding place. He was considering his next move when the voice whispered in his ear.
‘Come on, son. Let’s go home.’
Martin took Christian by the hand and led him upwards and into the low clouds; once out of sight, he headed for home. Neither of them spoke as they flew but Christian feared the worst, expected to be on the receiving end of his father’s wrath like never before. They dropped down from the clouds about a kilometer out into the Irish Sea and flew back west, side by side. They landed on the island and walked in silence towards the tower.
Unable to take the suffocating quiet any longer, Christian blurted, ‘If you are going to shout at me, just do it now.’
‘I’m not,’ said Martin. ‘I’m not going to shout at you. I have done a lot of thinking.’
They reached the door and Martin carefully unlocked it, pushing it in.
‘Son, it has been bad enough existing as an outsider. I have never stopped to consider what it is like for you, what it is like for you to feel like neither an insider nor an outsider, and for that I am sorry. I shall try to be more understanding.’
Somewhat surprised, Christian murmured, ‘Thank you, Father.’
Martin put a heavy arm around his son’s shoulders and held him close for a moment.
‘Are there more out there? More like us?’ Christian asked, gesturing out towards the rest of the world.
‘I think there must be. Hiding, or living like we do,’ Martin replied. ‘But the world has changed. Where there is no belief, there is no fear. And where there is no fear, there is no safety.’
‘But we are not truly feared, are we?’
‘Do you really believe that, son?’
Christian hesitated before he shook his head, thinking of Sinead’s tears after his run-in with Owen at the beach. He stood silently for a few seconds, and his father thought the conversation was over until he spoke up.
‘Do you ever think about the one who attacked you? Do you think he is still alive?’
‘Yes, boy, I did think of him often, but not so much anymore. I used to think I should go back there, show him what he had created, and force him take me under his wing. But to go back near that village, it would hurt so much. And would he even still be around? I doubt it.’
‘But if there were more of us, Father? Would we not be more like a family then, like a community?’
‘Yes. Maybe. But you forget one thing about our kind.’
‘What?’
‘We will always need to feed.’
19
The following morning, the worst thing possible was waiting for Sinead as she walked towards school; Owen Flannery, the bruise around his eye faded to yellow, was sat on the wall, waiting for her at the end of her street. She subconsciously pulled at the hem of her navy and red skirt, making sure it fell to the top of her knees, and was pleased that her red puffer jacket was done up as far as the zip could go. It was no longer the cold she was most concerned about keeping out. It was the prying eyes of the rugby-playing thug who, it seemed, had now degenerated into a stalker.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ she said curtly as she breezed past him, pulling the strap of her bag higher up her shoulder to emphasize her indifference.
He jumped down off the wall, collected his own bag and jogged to catch up.
‘I’m sorry,’ he huffed. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’
She stopped dead in her tracks. When she faced him, her expression was steely. Before Christian, she would have kept her head down and walked away as quickly as possible, but her time with the kind, collected boy had increased the belief she held in herself.
‘Sinead…I’ve been horrible. I’ve lived up to my own hype as nothing but a bully. And I miss our friendship. That’s all I wanted to say.’ He retreated and began walking away from her. ‘I’ll leave you alone now.’
‘Owen,’ Sinead said with a sigh. He stopped. She was unable to see the smile that played across his mouth. ‘It’s one thing you not liking Christian, then you not respecting me enough to let me make my own choices, but what you’ve done, it’s taken some of my closest friends away from me. I haven’t seen Claire outside of school in weeks, and that’s because of you.’
And that freak, he thought.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘You’re wrong about him, you know?’ she stated. ‘You may think he’s like his father, but he’s not. And if you were ever truly my friend, then you need to accept that he’s right for me. He makes me happy.’
Owen stood with a hangdog expression on his face, unable to meet Sinead’s eyes, which burned with more life than he had ever seen in them before.
‘I know,’ he repeated, and she believed she could hear, at last, honest sincerity in his voice.
‘You know he could have really hurt you that night, don’t you? And he chose not to?’
Owen nodded.
‘I thought we were friends. We’ve been in the same class for years and I would hate it if your jealousy got in the way of that. It’s not like you couldn’t have your pick of girlfriends, is it?’
He finally smiled, a hint of his usual arrogance creeping up.
‘Well, there is that.’
‘Great. So leave us alone, okay?’
She turned her back on him and started walking towards the school. He tucked himself in beside her, keeping a respectful distance.
‘We could still hang out together.’
‘Owen.’
‘No, not you and me. All of us. Him, too—Christian. If you’re so sold on him then he can’t be all bad.’
‘He’s not any kind of bad’, she said.
‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just a turn of phrase.’
They walked in silence for a while, more schoolchildren joining them from the side roads as they took each step. A few of the younger children said their hellos to Sinead but avoided making eye contact with Owen; such was his reputation within the school environment. The roads and pavements were dry—it hadn’t rained in a few days. Gradually more cars drove past them, heading bot
h into centre of Skerries itself and out of town towards Dublin. The sky remained grey and lifeless, much like the early morning mood of most of the children as they plodded to their daily grind.
‘Why don’t you bring him with you?’ said Owen. ‘We can all hang out together.’
Sinead slowed down and turned to face him.
‘And let me have the chance to say sorry?’ he added hopefully.
Sinead shook her head. She knew Owen well enough to tell when he was up to something, but for once it seemed as if he actually meant the words that came out of his mouth.
‘Look, you’re right,’ he added. ‘He could have kicked my butt all over town. He could have… Well, we know what he could have done if he really wanted to, and just the thought of it’s made me lose sleep. A lot. You think I’ve slept well since then? Every noise outside my window and I think they’re coming for me. I’m scared, Sinead, and if saying sorry and treating you both with the respect you deserve takes that away…’
He was sweating. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated. Sinead knew he couldn’t be faking that.
‘You really want to apologize?’
‘Yeah. And so do Dave and Frank. Jeez, Dave is even talking about running away just to get out of town.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Ask him when you see him.’
They reached the road that veered off towards the school and they both stopped.
‘Will you think about it?’ he asked. ‘Talk to Christian about it? Whatever you decide, I need this to be the end of it. We’ve got our exams soon and I don’t want this hanging over me or the lads.’
Sinead adjusted the strap of her bag again and looked at Owen with a thoughtful expression.
‘Will you at least talk to him? Tell him what I said today. And look, if all our parents get involved, if his father gets involved, we could be in a whole heap of trouble.’
‘I’ll talk to him’, she conceded. ‘But only to put an end to all this.’