Lifesaving for Beginners (29 page)

I say, ‘I’ll go.’

Maurice looks at Minnie, then back at me.
‘What’s up with you two?’
Wary now, as if he finally senses something awry.
Genius, my arse.

‘Nothing.’

I move towards the kitchen door.
‘I was leaving anyway.’

Minnie follows me.
‘I’ll see you out.’

‘No, no don’t, it’s too cold, I’ll see myself out.’

Minnie sees me out.
At the door, she says, ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’
As if, at some stage in the not-too-distant future, I will be sure.
Just not right now.

‘I think you should meet her.’

And now Minnie’s hallway feels as dark as mine.
I think about going back.
Going back to my hallway with the red flashing light.
I don’t want to.

I open the hall door.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘I really do, Kat.
I think you should meet her.
I think it would be good for you.’

I don’t ask her why.
Why she thinks it would be good for me.
Instead, I say, ‘Go on, you’ll catch your death.’
Already the rain is advancing into the hall.

‘I’ll come with you, if you like.’
Minnie’s hand is on the slight swell of her belly.
I don’t think she is aware of the gesture.
There is something intimate about it.
Like an overheard conversation between lovers.
It warms you and, at the same time, leaves you with a feeling of loss, even though nothing has been given.
Nothing has been taken away.

I nod and wave and run towards my car.

This is what I am good at.

Running.

This is where I excel.

Auntie May looks almost exactly the same as Mam, especially when she smiles or cries.
Not that Mam ever really cried.
Just at movies, mostly.
Like
Up
.
And
Toy Story 3
.
Toy Story 3
nearly broke her heart clean in two.
That’s what she said.
Clean in two.

Auntie May is crying.
So is Faith.
They’re hugging each other and crying.
I don’t know why we’re here.
Faith said we were going to a hotel.
But then, on the bus from the airport into the city centre, she decides we’re going to Auntie May’s house.
She just decides.
All of a sudden.
She doesn’t even phone to let anyone know we’re coming.
She just decides, and the next thing is, we’re on a train.

I stand beside the tank and watch the fish.
They’re all goldfish.
May says she loves the colour of them.
Goldfish have really bad memories.
That’s why they swim round and round all the time.
Because they forget they’ve done it before.
Like about a million times already.

Auntie May stops hugging Faith and says, ‘You look frozen, the pair of you.
Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?
I would have met you at the airport, you know that.’

Faith nods.
‘I’m sorry, I just .
.
.
I’ve a hotel booked.
For me and Milo.
We’re just staying the one night.’

‘Nonsense.
You’ll stay here.
With us.’

‘No, really, it’s—’

‘Where’s this hotel?’

‘I don’t know.
Marlborough Street, I think.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Holy St Joseph, is it raped and murdered and dumped in the Liffey in a suitcase you’re after?’

I look at Faith.
I really want to stay here.
In May’s house.
And it’s not just because I don’t want to be dumped in the Liffey in a suitcase.
It’s because .
.
.
well, it’s nice in May’s house.
Like, it’s dead clean and the kitchen smells like lunch or dinner or something.
Shepherd’s pie, maybe.
I love Mam’s shepherd’s pie because she doesn’t put peas in it.
I wonder if Auntie May puts peas in her one?

I didn’t tell Faith about being starving because I promised.

May looks at me.
‘You’d like to stay, wouldn’t you, Milo?’
She puts her hands round my face and shakes her head.
‘Cut out of your mother, so you are.’
Then she kisses my cheek and it feels dead gooey, but I have to wait till she turns back to Faith before I can wipe it off.
Lipstick, I reckon.
Ladies are mad about lipstick.

‘You can’t be dragging the boy to a place like Marlborough Street.
Your mother’d lambast you, God rest her.’

Faith doesn’t say anything for a while and then she says, ‘I know, May.
I know about Mam.
About me and Mam.’

May lowers the kettle back onto the counter.
She looks at Faith.
She says, ‘What do you mean?’

Faith looks at me and then May looks at me too.
I can see them both, in the reflection of the fish tank.
Behind me, May picks up my bag.
‘Milo, love, you can sleep in Finn’s room.
He won’t be back from college till Friday.
Come on.
I’ll show you where it is.
You can see the sea from there.’

Faith says, ‘May, there’s no—’

May says, ‘I won’t hear another word about it, Faith.’
She sounds exactly like Mam when she says that.
Her voice is quiet and soft but you know for a fact that there’s no point arguing.

I’ve stayed in Auntie May and Uncle Niall’s house before.
But not in Finn’s room.
I slept in the attic on a sofa bed and you can’t see the sea from there.
You can only see the sky.

May says, ‘I’ll put fresh sheets on that bed later, Milo.
The Lord knows when that dirty pup changed them.’
She puts my bag on the bed and looks inside a cupboard.
‘There are a few books in there.
Treasure Island
.
Have you read that one yet?
Your mam always said you’re a great one for the reading.’

I shake my head.
I say, ‘No, not yet.’

‘And there’s a chess board, I think.
You can play chess with your Uncle Niall later.’

I know how to play chess.
Dad taught me the last time he came down.
He says it’s the thinking man’s game.

‘Good boy, Milo.’
May stops at the door.
‘I’ll .
.
.
I’ll call you down in a bit, all right?
I’ll make lunch.
Something nice.
Pasta, maybe.
Carbonara.
You like that one, don’t you?’

My mouth waters.
Auntie May is nearly as good at cooking as Mam.
And I ate everything I had in Damo’s tree house.
The Easi-Singles and the packet of ham and the three strawberry yoghurts and the two slices of bread and the packet of crackers and the Kit Kat.
I tried to keep the Kit Kat for last, like you’re supposed to, but it was too hard in the end.
I stayed there until the first bus, which came at 06.35, which is twenty-five to seven.
I was so stiff and cold, I nearly fell off the rope ladder.
Once, I threw a pebble up at Damo’s window but nothing happened.
Damo’s mam says that Damo is as lazy as sin and not even a nuclear bomb landing on his head would get him out of his pit.
I didn’t think he’d wake up.
Not really.
I just did it to pass the time.

The bus driver looked suspicious when he saw me but he didn’t say anything.
Not even ‘hello’.
He just gave me my ticket and my change and went back to looking at his newspaper, at a picture of a woman in her togs, and he didn’t drive off till nearly twenty to.

I say, ‘Yes, I love carbonara.’

May says, ‘And do you like garlic bread?’

I nod.

May says, ‘And I’m guessing you wouldn’t say no to a bit of chocolate cake?’

I shake my head.

‘With a blob of ice cream on the top?’

I nod.

‘Vanilla do you?’

I nod again, even though the truth is that I’d prefer chocolate ice cream.

May claps her hands together and rubs them.
‘We’re in business, so.’
I know she’s going to hug me.
I just know it.
And then she does.
She has a different smell to Mam.
Not a bad smell.
Just different.
But she feels pretty much the same.
Sort of warm and squashy.
Her hair tickles my face.
She has a tight hold on me.
She says, ‘You’re a great boy, Milo,’ when she stops the hug and stands up straight.
Her eyes are really bright.
The same blue as Mam’s.
I hope she doesn’t cry.
Then she ruffles my hair and then she leaves.
She doesn’t cry.

Donabate is still in Dublin but it looks like the countryside, on account of the fields.
There’s a caravan park beside Auntie May’s house.
That’d be legend.
To live in a caravan.
When you get bored, you can just hop in your caravan and drive away.

We pass an ice-cream parlour when we come out of the train station but Faith says, ‘No,’ because we’re going to get a taxi to the house and there’s no way the driver will let a messer like me into the car, with ice cream dripping everywhere.
We end up walking all the way to Auntie May’s house from the train station and not one single taxi passes us by, only three normal cars and one man walking a really skinny dog.

It’s freezing and the wind would cut you in two.
That’s what Mam used to say.
But then she’d say, ‘At least it’s dry.’
Before Dad went away, he called her his weather girl because she was always talking about the weather and looking at the sky to see what would happen next.

The farther I walk, the heavier my bag gets.
Faith’s bag has wheels but she has to lift it over tree roots that cut through the path every so often.
I’m glad when Faith stops to light a cigarette.
I cup my hands round my mouth and blow into them a couple of times.

Faith says, ‘Are you cold?’

I say, ‘No,’ because I promised I wouldn’t complain.

‘Do you want me to put your bag on my back for a while?’

‘No, thanks.’
You don’t get girls to carry your bag, no matter how tired you are.
No way.

The road to Auntie May’s house is the longest road I’ve ever been on.
Dead straight with no end in sight.
It just goes on and on.
Then, all of a sudden, it ends.
Right in front of the sea and then we’re at the house.
It takes about five hours to get there, I reckon.

After dinner, Uncle Niall plays chess with me.
He’s the type of adult that lets kids win.
He pretends to be dead annoyed when I say, ‘Check,’ or ‘Checkmate’.
He clutches his head as if he’s got a really bad pain in it and he says things like, ‘You jammy little git,’ except he’s smiling so I’ll know he’s only messing.

Auntie May and Faith are looking through photo albums.
I’ve seen them before, those photographs.
There’s loads of Mam in there.
Mam and May.
On the beach.
Mam and May in bumper cars.
Mam and May at the Tower of London.
Mam and May on a boat.
With their arms round each other and scarves wound round their heads.
They’re always laughing.
I say, ‘No, thank you,’ when May asks if I’d like to look at the photographs.
I’m glad I’m playing chess with Niall, even though he’s the type of adult that lets kids win.

Faith says, ‘I’m just .
.
.
I’m so angry with her.
I don’t even feel sad anymore.
I’m just .
.
.
I’m furious.’
It’s weird because Faith doesn’t sound angry.
Her voice is really low.
She sounds tired.
She probably is tired.
I’m tired too.
Sleeping in a tree house is not as legend as you’d think.

May nods and says, ‘Anger is all part of it, you know.
Part of the grieving process.’

‘No, I’m angry with her for not telling me.’

May puts her hand on Faith’s shoulder.
Squeezes it.
‘She called you her lucky charm.
The doctor told her she’d never be able to carry a baby to full term.
But after they adopted you, your mother got pregnant twice.
She couldn’t believe it.’

May turns to the next page of the album.
‘Lookit!’
she says, nodding at a picture.
‘Look at the pair of you there.’
She’s smiling at the picture and Faith smiles too.

It’s Niall’s turn and he takes ages to make a move so I walk over to the couch and look at the picture that May is pointing to.
I’ve seen that one loads of times.
Mam has it in a frame in her bedroom.
Her and Faith.
On the beach in Donabate.
I know it’s Donabate and not Brighton because of the sand.
They have their backs to the camera, walking away.
Faith is carrying a bucket full of shells and she comes up to Mam’s knees.
Mam has to bend to reach her hand.
Faith is wearing nothing except a nappy.
Mam’s in her bare feet and has one of Dad’s shirts on over her togs.
They’re both smiling.
You can see the smiles in the sides of their faces because they’re looking at each other.