The Story of Before (22 page)

‘But I’m the one who’s going to get in trouble for telling him, not you.’

‘Nobody made ye go and blab, did they?’

‘No, but . . . you shouldn’t have pretended he already knew.’

He hung his head. ‘I didn’t mean for ye to get in trouble over it. I was goin’ to tell him meself. Swear I was.’ He looked up, still chewing on his sweets. I thought
about his lips on mine.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I mean . . . it’s not your fault. If that’s what he’s like then . . . then I’m glad he knows now. It’s weird the way the
truth can get you in as much trouble as telling lies.’

He half grinned. ‘Yeah. Weird all right.’ He held out a handful of red jelly hearts and I slipped one into my mouth. We were almost at our house.

‘Why weren’t you out with the rest of them on the green?’ I asked.

‘Dunno. I was just . . . keepin’ an eye on me ma.’

‘She’s not in bed again, is she?’

‘Nah. I had to wait till me . . . till me uncle Vic went out.’

‘Why?’

‘Dunno. She’s . . . sort of . . . you know . . . scared of him, that’s all.’

‘Why would she be scared of him?’ I couldn’t imagine Liz being afraid of anyone.

‘Ah, ye know. Goes a bit mental when he’s had a drink and he was knockin’ back the whiskey billy-o earlier on, so I thought I better hang around.’

‘Oh. What do you mean,
mental
?’

‘Ye know. Beltin’ her round the place and stuff.’

‘Vic? Your uncle Vic?’ I tried to picture a scene in my head. ‘But why . . . why does she stay with him then?’

‘Got no one else, has she?’ He swallowed his mouthful of sweets. ‘If he does it again, I’ll fuckin’ kill him.’

My teeth began to chatter from the cold. He offered me another jelly heart. It was warm and soft from the heat of his hand.

‘My uncle Frank died a few days ago,’ I said as I chewed. ‘It was his funeral today.’

‘I wish me uncle Vic was dead.’

He walked off then without a word and as I looked back at him shuffling along, he seemed smaller and thinner than he had before, like he’d shrunk even in the time I’d been talking to
him.

I breathed out a long sigh that hung like a cloud in the cold air. I didn’t want to go back inside. It didn’t feel like our house. It was simply a place where we happened to live: a
collection of walls and floors and furniture. It didn’t matter how many cushion covers Mam made or how much Dad prettied up the garden; something was keeping me from calling Hillcourt Rise my
home.

I stopped outside Bridie’s and very quietly opened her gate. I tip-toed up her drive and crept in behind her hydrangeas where she kept her dustbin. Lifting the lid, I emptied my plastic
bag.
That’ll teach her to hide her coconut macaroons,
I said to myself, as the sheep’s head plopped heavily down into her bin.

When I let myself back inside, Mel and Sandra were arguing over their quiz scores and, surprisingly, Kev was still fast asleep. Mam and Dad came in at nine o’clock, apologizing for being
late but Cissy, they said, had insisted on everyone staying for tea and ham sandwiches. Poor Cissy. Mam said that during the funeral, she’d whispered, ‘I can’t think where
Frank’s got to, Rose. He’s not usually late for mass.’

I didn’t tell them about the sheep’s head or what had happened with David. They’d had enough upset for one day.

But it wasn’t long before everyone heard about the Hallowe’en drama on the green. One evening the next week, I was lying on my bed, reading, when I heard Father
Feely’s voice vibrating up through the house like a swarm of bees.

‘You’re wanted,’ Sandra said, poking her head round the door. ‘Now.’

I groaned and slammed my book shut. I knew what his visit had to be about.

Mam ushered me into the sitting room. Dad closed the door.

‘There you are, Ruth,’ Father Feely said. ‘I thought I’d call in for a little chat. You know why I’m here, I’m sure?’ He stood with his back to the
fireplace, air rushing out of his nose like a hurricane. ‘I believe you had words with young David? You let him in on a little secret, hmm?’

‘It was hardly a secret,’ I said. ‘Most of the grown-ups already knew.’

‘Yes, well, his parents are most upset at the way he found out. Most upset. They’d planned to tell him soon themselves, you see. And now . . . well . . .’

‘I didn’t plan on telling him. It just sort of slipped out.’

‘I see. You seem to have a history of allowing things to slip out,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that so? All that upset over how he broke his wrist, hmm?’

‘But—’

‘Now, now, young lady,’ he interrupted, wagging his finger. ‘That tongue of yours has caused enough trouble already. I don’t have time for any buts.’

‘But I—’

‘Ruth!’ Mam said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Do as you’re told.’

‘David is going away,’ Father Feely announced. ‘To the boarding school in Clonrath. I’ve just confirmed it with the brothers down there.’ He brought the tips of his
fingers together in a pyramid shape. ‘Now, it’s not been an easy decision, let me tell you. Not at all. Sending a young lad away from home. But Mona and Eamon, they, well, we . .
.’ He stared at me with his swivelly eyes. ‘It’s for the best. He needs a change of scene, poor lad.’ Dad coughed and Mam fiddled with the buttons on her cardigan. ‘It
won’t be until the new year,’ he continued. ‘But I wanted to let you know. I thought it might be better coming from myself.’

‘Well, thank you, Father,’ Mam said, as if we should somehow be grateful. ‘It was good of you to call.’

I wanted to say something about the sheep’s head and how everyone had been so mean to me, but I knew it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. Up against His Holiness, Saint David,
I didn’t stand a chance.

Father Feely took a watch on a chain from his pocket and examined it closely. ‘Yes, well, I’ll be off now, if you don’t mind.’ He patted my head. ‘I take it
I’ll see you in confession soon, Ruth. Hmm?’

Mam saw him out. Dad scratched his moustache and looked at the floor. ‘I don’t understand why you had to go and say that to David,’ he said.

‘I thought he already knew! Shayne said—’

‘Lawless! I knew he’d have to be behind it! I don’t want you listening to a word he says, you hear me? He’s trouble.’

I bit down on my lip.
Why don’t you want me to listen to anything Shayne says, Dad?
I wanted to ask him.
Because you’re afraid he’ll say something you don’t
want me to hear? About you and his mam?

‘It’s not Shayne’s fault he’s the way he is,’ I said.

‘Yeah, well, you’re better off away from him. And stop meddling in other people’s affairs.’

‘And you’d know all about them, wouldn’t you?’ I mumbled under my breath.

‘What was that?’

I didn’t think he’d heard, but I couldn’t be certain.

Mam came back into the room. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing,’ I said.

Dad gathered his eyebrows into a thick black line. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Ruth. I really don’t.’ His face was close to mine now. ‘Ever since we
moved in here, you . . . you . . . I don’t know!’ He threw his arms in the air. ‘If you’ve any sense, you’ll keep your mouth zipped in future. Some things are none of
your business.’ He brushed past Mam on his way out to the hall. ‘I’m going for a drink,’ he said. ‘I rue the day we ever came to this shaggin’ place.’ He
slammed the door on his way out.

Mam wouldn’t look at me.‘You can go back upstairs,’ she said flatly, folding her arms. ‘For the night.’

There was no use in me trying to go back to my book. I couldn’t concentrate. I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling, hot tears dripping into my ears. But I was glad Dad had said he was
sorry we’d moved to Hillcourt Rise. It made me feel better about The Kiss. He regretted it, I could tell. We’d both done things we shouldn’t have. But if I wanted him to forgive
my mistakes, I had to forgive his too. I wished he hadn’t stormed out. Even though I didn’t feel everything was entirely my fault, I did have to take some of the blame. I wanted to tell
him I was sorry. I wouldn’t even have to say the word; Dad would know by looking at my face. He’d put his arms around me and hug me tightly and everything would be forgotten. I
couldn’t wait for him to come home. I wanted to do it now.

After I heard Mam putting Kev to bed, I waited a while before creeping downstairs. The sitting room door was open a crack and I peeped inside. Mel was in a kind of trance looking at the telly.
Charlie’s Angels
was just starting. Sandra was staring, studying The Angels, every toss of their heads and spin of their heels. Mam had a paper pattern laid out on the floor and
cut-outs of material spread across her lap. She was in the middle of making a pair of dungarees for Kev. I took my coat from the hall cupboard and a key from the table. None of them would be
budging for at least an hour.

Once I was down the hill, it took five minutes to reach The Ramblers. Its mirrored glass windows glowed golden through the darkness and a smoky, sour stench wafted through its half-open door,
along with a slurred chorus of ‘The Wild Rover’.
No nay never no more . . .
I gulped as much fresh air as I could before poking my head through the door of the pub.

It was packed inside. I could barely see from the amount of smoke. Practically every person in the place was puffing on a cigarette. And the noise was deafening. Shouting and singing and
laughing and ‘Jaysus’ this and ‘bloody’ that. I shoved my way through the dark crowd of bodies, hiding behind a bulky man in a musty brown overcoat. I scanned the murky
room. It didn’t take me long to find Dad. But he wouldn’t have seen me even if I’d stood right in front of him. His gaze was drawn to the large expanse of flesh on show between
the open buttons of Liz Lawless’s black satin blouse.

They were sitting together on a bench. Dad said something and she shook her head, then something else and she nodded. She stared into her glass, as if she found the piece of lemon floating in
the dregs the most fascinating thing in the world. Dad offered her a cigarette and she took one, leaning in to the match he held out then throwing back her head and blowing a long, straight plume
of smoke towards the yellowed ceiling. My stomach felt queasy. And it wasn’t because of the smell of the place. I pushed my way to the door, stomachs, backs and bums squeezing up against me.
When I got outside, I was gasping. I ran most of the way home, up the hill and across the green, only slowing down when I reached the cul-de-sac. When I let myself in, I tip-toed back upstairs,
fell onto my bed and cried myself to sleep.

I didn’t feel the way I usually did coming up to Christmas. I wasn’t excited at all. I felt more alone than I ever had. Mam was running around after Kev all the
time, often falling asleep soon after she put him to bed. And since they’d started in Grangemount, the others barely noticed my existence. Mel had joined the football team and succeeded in
attracting the attention of some girl he’d fancied for ages. Sandra had made loads of new friends and she stayed back after school most days to play basketball. Dad was working around the
clock to keep up with the usual demand for house decoration in the run-up to Christmas, even working weekends. That was one thing I was glad about. The less I saw of him, the better. I could hardly
even bear to look at his face.

Auntie Cissy came to stay the day before Christmas Eve, along with Bertie the budgie in his battered old cage. We weren’t too pleased to hear about the sleeping arrangements. I was to have
the pull-out bed in Mel’s room, and Cissy would sleep in with Sandra. But we put up with it for Cissy’s sake; we knew she would’ve been far too lonely at home without Uncle Frank.
She tried to make herself useful when she arrived, helping to ice the cake and singing ‘Pat-a-Cake’ and ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ with Kev while Mam went about her work. But after
that, she sat in front of the telly looking lonely and sad. Mel grumbled because she didn’t bring any presents for us and Mam gave him a clip around the ear, telling him to keep his voice
down and not to be so selfish. Whether Cissy heard or not I don’t know, but on Christmas Eve morning, she handed each of us a five-pound note and told us to go to the shops and buy ourselves
something nice.

We took Kev with us in his pushchair, wrapped up tightly against the cold in a stiff, quilted all-in-one suit that made him look like some sort of blow-up toy you could burst with the prick of a
pin. The skin on his cheeks was cracked and red and his eyes watered as soon as we brought him outside. There was no one else about as we made our way along the path. Everything about the estate
seemed different: sharper, clearer, fresher. A kind of electric silence buzzed in our ears and gulps of tingling air whooshed into our lungs, waking up our insides. There was no day in the whole
year like Christmas Eve. It held the weight of so much expectation. And even though we didn’t believe in Santa any more, it was still as magical as it’d ever been. The sun hung low in
the sky. Its light was almost blinding. But it wasn’t warm enough to melt the cover of crisp frost that had settled on the green in the night. We each took a turn to run across it, crunching
over the hardened blades of grass and leaving behind a curving line of footprints.