The Fall Girl (22 page)

‘This is neither the time nor the place to argue,' my father says shakily. ‘Let's just get out of here.'

We drive in silence through the streets of Enniskillen and back out to the Castleowen road.

‘I suppose this is all down to that Lesley Kelly,' my mother says.

‘No it isn't.'

‘Don't give me that. That's her excuse for a skirt you've on, isn't it?'

‘No.'

‘Well, you weren't wearing it when you left the house this evening.'

‘You mean yesterday.'

‘What?'

‘Well, if this is the Sabbath, I left the house yesterday evening,' I say, sticking out my tongue behind her back.

She swivels her cauliflower head and considers me with narrowed eyes.

‘What?' I say after a few seconds when she's still leering at me.

She raises her nose, takes a couple of suspicious sniffs and turns to my father. ‘She's been drinking!'

‘My God, you haven't, have you, Frances?'

‘No way.'

‘Hah!' my mother scoffs. ‘You reek of alcohol.'

‘Someone spilt a pint all over my clothes, Daddy. That's what the smell is of.'

‘Absolute rubbish,' she yells. ‘You're a lying little …' She shakes her head, racking her brain for a befitting insult.

‘Am not am not am not am not,' I say, raising my voice above hers.

‘… tart.'

‘Oh, for crying out loud,' my father shouts, turning down his headbeams, ‘will ye keep your voices down? We're approaching a checkpoint.'

As we drive slowly over two ramps into the glaring light, I feel a mixture of dread and giddy anticipation. A uniformed policeman approaches the car, followed by a soldier in his late teens carrying a rifle with as much ease as a girl of his age would carry a shoulder bag. When my father winds down his window, the soldier shines a torch into the back of the car, making me squint. The policeman examines my father's driving licence and talks into his walkie-talkie. As the torch scans every corner of the car's interior, my mother sits motionless, arms folded and eyes downcast, as if her survival depended on her stillness. Out of the side window I see two more soldiers lying in the ditch with rifles pointing in our direction. I slither down in my seat.

‘Where are you going, sir?' the young soldier asks my father as he withdraws the torch. He sounds just like Keith, Lesley's brother.

‘Castleowen.'

‘And where are you coming from?'

‘Enniskillen. We had to collect the young lassie from a dance.'

The policeman hands the licence back to my father.

‘OK, Mister Fall,' he says. ‘Have a safe journey.'

‘Thank you,' my father says, ‘and goodnight.'

No one utters another word until we've driven over several more ramps and across the bridge that takes us back into the Republic.

‘Thanks be to the Lord God Almighty,' my mother says, blessing herself. She then turns to my father. ‘I don't ever want to have to go through that again,' she whines. ‘Them guns are very threatening.'

‘Don't worry, Rita, you'll not have to.'

‘I hope not.'

‘You won't. I promise.'

Behind them, I'm rolling my eyes at her helpless little woman routine. I just don't buy it.

We travel on in silence until we're only a couple of miles outside Castleowen. By now, I'm getting it hard to keep my eyes open.

‘The gall of you to tell me that you weren't drinking,' my mother says, when she sees me with my hand over my mouth. ‘Look at her,' she says, nudging my father, ‘she's going to throw up.'

‘No I'm not,' I say through a yawn. ‘I'm just tired, that's all. God, am I not allowed to yawn now?'

‘I know by your eyes you've been drinking, Frances Fall. Do you think I came up the river on a banana skin?'

‘No, on a spaceship.'

‘How dare you!' she yelps, reaching back to take a swipe at me.

In an attempt to stop her, my father grabs her wrist and loses control of the steering wheel. The car swerves to the left.

‘Jesus, Jesus, oh Jesus,' my father cries out, jamming his foot on the brake as we judder along the grassy bank, narrowly avoiding the drop into a ditch. Half crying and half laughing, I grab hold of my father's headrest and close my eyes. In the next few seconds, the only thing that crosses my mind is Lesley – will I ever see her again? Then, thump! The car comes to a halt and all three of us are jolted forward.

‘Aaagh!' my mother shouts.

‘Rita, Rita, are you all right, love?' My father's voice is trembling.

‘No,' she cries, holding her hand to her forehead. ‘I hit my head on the dashboard.'

‘Let me see,' he says, trying to take her hand away.

‘Leave me alone,' she screeches. ‘Just leave me alone.'

‘Please, Rita, let me have a look at it to see if you're cut.'

‘Will you just get me home, you silly man!'

‘I'm sorry, Rita. I shouldn't have interfered: I should've kept my eyes on the road.'

She takes a sudden, sharp intake of breath and winces as if she's in agony, though I have my doubts. ‘Yes,' she whimpers, ‘you should have.'

‘There's gonna be changes,' my father says as he turns the key in the ignition. ‘Do you hear me, Frances?

‘Yeah.'

‘I'll not have you putting Mammy through the likes of this again.'

Shite! She has him now. A wee bump on her head and she's a martyr to the bloody cause. Any excuse at all and he gives in to her.

‘Lesley Lesley Lesley – where the hell are you?' I whisper, as I climb out of bed the following morning.

It's half past eleven. What if she's still in Enniskillen? What if she's hurt? Dead! I run across the landing to the bathroom. My head is throbbing. I'm sure my parents are waiting down-stairs to confront me, but I haven't time to listen to them. I have to get out of the house and down to the kiosk to ring Lesley's. There's no way I could talk in peace from the phone in the hall. After scrubbing my mouldy mouth, I swallow
several mouthfuls of tap water and put on the jeans and jumper that have been lying in a ball at the bottom of my bed for almost a week. Then I sneak downstairs and out the front door. It's only then I realize my parents aren't home. The car isn't parked in its usual spot, in front of the sitting-room window. I'd thought that the deadly silence in the house when I woke up earlier on was down to the atmosphere, not their absence. Where could they be? Ten o'clock Mass is long over. In fact, I'm surprised my mother didn't insist on dragging me along. Just as the front door clicks shut, I realize I haven't taken any money with me for the phone, and I've forgotten my key. Nancy has a spare. Although I don't feel comfortable about calling at her house – she's very frosty with me these days – I have to get back in the house, so I hurry down the street and knock on her door. I'm surprised when there's no answer; her car is in the driveway.

‘She's away with your parents,' Susan Scully shouts from across the street. ‘I saw her getting into their car about an hour ago.'

‘Thanks.'

A few doors down, I see my primary school teacher, Master Fitzgibbon, coming out of his mother's house and getting into his car.

‘Hello, Master,' I say, walking towards him. I still him call that. Everyone does.

‘How're you doing, Frances?'

‘Grand. You're not heading into town by any chance?'

‘No. Why? Do you need a lift?'

‘Ah no, it's OK.'

‘Come on. I'll run you in.'

On the way, he tells me I've changed. That of all the children he's taught over the years, I've surprised him most. I like that.

‘Any thoughts on what you're going to do after the Leaving Cert?'

‘Move to Dublin,' I tell him, because that's what Lesley and I have planned. We're going to share a flat and have a great social life.

‘To study what?'

‘Nothing. I just want to get a job.'

‘You haven't considered university?'

‘No way. I've had my fill of school.'

‘Your parents must be a bit disappointed.'

‘It's
my
life, Master.'

‘Indeed it is. But there aren't that many decent jobs on offer nowadays if you haven't a degree in your back pocket.'

‘I don't really mind what I work at. I'm just looking forward to getting away.'

‘Yeah, I can see that.'

‘She's still in bed,' Lesley's mother says. ‘Come on in, love.'

‘So she's home?'

‘Only a couple of hours,' Sandra says, coming out of the sitting-room with her hands on her waist. ‘Where the hell were ye last night?'

‘Don't jump down the lassie's throat,' her mother splutters through a cough. ‘Anyway, Lesley's already told us what happened.'

‘Lesley fed us a cock and bull story and well you know it.'

‘Innocent till proven guilty, Sandra.'

‘Ah, will you cop on to yourself, Mammy. When it comes to Lesley, you've blinkers on. Come on, you, Miss Butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth,' she says, taking my elbow and leading me into the sitting-room. ‘Sit down and give us
your
version of the story.'

‘Stop bullying her, will you?' her mother says, sitting down beside me and patting my knee. ‘If youse missed your lift, youse missed your lift. Youse did the right thing waiting at the depot for the first bus.'

‘Oh, Jesus wept,' Sandra shouts, shaking her head in frustration. ‘I give up,' she says. ‘I've fucking had it with Lesley. She's your responsibility, Mammy, not mine.'

‘Don't worry, she'll calm down,' her mother says when Sandra leaves the room.

I'm flabbergasted. I'd have thought Sandra would be cool over something like this and that her mother would be the one to hit the roof, not the other way around, especially after some of the things Lesley's been telling me about her mother lately. I was beginning to dislike the woman. Something doesn't add up.

‘You'd swear
that one
never put a foot wrong herself,' she says. ‘Since she got engaged, she's turned fierce sensible.'

‘It's true about us missing our lift, Missus Kelly.'

‘Arragh, I know it's not. But if
I
don't stand up for Lesley, no one will. The boys are giving out stink about her; they don't like their little sister getting a bad name for herself. They were the same with Sandra a couple of years ago. Indeed, my own brothers were the same with me, for all the good it did. I still ended up with a wrong one.'

‘Sorry.'

‘What for?'

‘Lying.'

‘Show me a teenager who doesn't tell the odd porky. We all did it in our day. You're a heck of a nice kid. I'm glad our Lesley has you. You'll keep an eye out for her, won't you?'

‘Of course,' I say, delighted with the responsibility.

‘And youse'll be careful when youse are hanging around with lads?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Good,' she says, struggling to get up. I can hear her wheezing. ‘Cos they're all the same – sex flipping mad. You can go on up to her, if you like.'

Lesley is still asleep. Careful not to disturb her, I tiptoe over to the double bed and ease myself down on Sandra's side, laying my head on the pillow. She looks gorgeous lying facing me, still in her black T-shirt, dark tresses splayed across her pillow, one silky leg out over the blankets, skimpy black knickers revealing the beautiful, sexy flesh of her hip. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my face. The thought of going to Dublin and waking up beside her like this every morning fills me with longing.

In her sleep, she scratches her nose, wiggles about and turns her back to me. Without thinking, I put my arm around her waist and nestle into her. It feels natural being so close to her. When I start caressing her tummy, she sighs peacefully. I don't stop until she takes my hand and puts it on her breast.

‘Lesley,' I whisper, checking that she's awake and aware of what she's doing.

‘It's OK,' she says softly. ‘It's lovely.'

We lie like that for ages, just breathing. I'm not afraid or embarrassed. I'm no longer bursting to hear what happened to her the night before. That can wait, now that she's safe in my arms.

‘Wake up, Frances,' Lesley says, pulling back my eyelids.

‘Did I fall asleep?'

‘Yeah.'

‘For how long?'

‘I dunno,' she says impatiently. ‘About an hour. But never mind that; I've something to tell you.' She sounds all keyed up.

‘What?'

‘You have to swear on your life not to breathe a word.'

‘Is it about last night?'

‘Yeah. Now swear.'

‘I do.'

‘Say it, Frances.'

‘I swear.'

She sits up on her knees. ‘I nearly got raped last night,' she whispers.

‘What?'

‘Shut up, will you? Someone might hear you.'

‘Oh Jesus, are you all right? What the fuck happened?' I feel sick at the thought of anyone hurting her.

‘When you were in the loo, this fella, at least in his mid-twenties, started chatting me up. I told him I had a boyfriend. He said, “Who, The Invisible Man?” “No,” I said, “his name is Johnny Connolly if you must know.” He told me he knew him.'

‘And did he?'

‘No, but I didn't know that, did I?'

‘The bastard. So what happened then?'

‘Oh God,' she says, putting her hands over her eyes, ‘you'll kill me for this bit.'

‘Why?' I ask, gently taking her hands away.

‘He told me he'd been drinking in some pub or other with Johnny before he came to the disco and reckoned he was still there. I asked him if he'd go and tell him that we were at the disco – you and me, but he wouldn't, not unless I went with him.' She looks at me, her brown eyes begging forgiveness. ‘I
told him I had to wait for you, honest to God, Frances, I did. And I waited for ages. But he kept saying that if we didn't leave straight away, we'd miss him; he'd be gone. He told me we'd only be fifteen minutes or so and that I'd find you when I got back.'