The Story of Before Page 9

  I carefully undid the green string that had been wound around it many times and tightly knotted into a bow.

  ‘Now! What do you think of that?’ he asked, when the paper fell away.

  In my hands was a small collection of fireworks. I’d never seen fireworks in real life before but I knew that’s what they were. They looked like the sticks of dynamite the Coyote sometimes used when he tried to blow up the Roadrunner.

  ‘Uncle Con got them for us,’ Dad whispered. ‘Make sure you don’t tell anyone where they came from, though, or he might get into trouble.’

  Uncle Con was our cousin Trevor’s dad. He went to Belfast a lot because of his job and was able to get stuff that we couldn’t get in Dublin.

  ‘Are we going to set them off now?’ I asked.

  ‘Might as well,’ he smiled. ‘We’ve waited long enough for this Uncle Joe.’ He took them from me and walked over to a clear spot on the far side of the bonfire, gesturing to Paddy and Clem. ‘Make a good space now. And keep the kids well back.’

  My eyes searched for Shayne. For a moment I thought he’d gone home, fed up with waiting. But then I spotted him, curled up in the armchair while David stood behind him looking at his watch and shaking his head.

  Dad wasted no time. In seconds, the first firework zipped high into the sky above our heads, exploding with a crack into a perfect globe of a million sizzling sapphires. Each one blazed brighter than the stars for a few brilliant seconds before fizzling out into tiny plumes of smoke that disappeared into the night. Then, after another whoosh, a gigantic umbrella of sparkling rubies and emeralds opened up and rained down through the velvet black of the sky. One after another the fireworks shot up and burst into bloom, suspended in the air above the rooftops of Hillcourt Rise. When Dad shouted ‘Last one!’ everyone clapped and cheered. Kev woke and Mam took him in her arms, and with the final bang he buried his face in her neck and began to cry.

  Dad was beaming when all the kids ran up to him to say thanks. Then Paddy shook his hand, patted him on the back and said, ‘Good job, Mick, good job.’ And Mam laughed when Nora tried to cheer Kev up by tickling him under his chin and making faces that only made him scream even louder. Sandra was sitting on the ground with Valerie, Tracey and the twins, shouting everyone down and thinking she was great because it was her dad who’d put on the fireworks display.

  I looked over and saw that the leather chair was empty. Mel and some other boys began lumping it over until they reached the bonfire, where they managed to lift it a few inches off the ground and topple it into the middle of the blaze. At first it seemed to kill the fire, deadening the orange light and silencing the sound of the snapping sparks. But then the flames began to feed on their fresh supply of fuel and they roared into life. They licked at the black skin, curling and peeling it back to reveal a skeleton of sponge and springs and timber, which they gorged on until the entire chair was swallowed up.

  Everyone moved back from the inferno, but I stayed as close as I could bear. There was something scarily exciting about the way the chair disappeared, how the flames reduced it to nothing. Fire was the surest way to get rid of things. You could throw something in the bin, but it could be rescued; break it into bits, but still be able to put it back together. Fire was for stuff you were certain you didn’t want any more.

  I stood with my back to a tree, my heart racing with the thrill of being so close to something so destructive. Then, quietly, from behind me, Shayne came walking towards the bonfire he’d spent so much time putting together. His eyes caught mine as he passed, glistening sharp and wet in the firelight. He stopped only a few feet from the blaze, arms dangling like twigs, legs thin as broom handles in his oversized boots. He threw me a look over his shoulder, then slowly, deliberately, I saw him draw his beloved snake from the pocket of his waistcoat. He cradled it in his hands, stroking his fingers along the full length of its body. Then he took it by its tail, twirled it around in the air and let it go, sending it deep into the heart of the flames.

  NINE

  After Hallowe’en night, no one saw Shayne for ages. Mel said he heard he had a contagious disease – chicken pox or measles or something – but Mam wouldn’t allow him to call down and find out, in case it was true and we all ended up catching whatever it was that he had.

  ‘I don’t want any of us getting the measles,’ she said. ‘Especially Kevin. What if it spreads to the Farrells? And Geraldine only after having the new baby?’

  It was a girl. Fiona, they called her. Every afternoon, on our way home from school, Tracey moaned about how much she cried or how often she had to be fed or what the stuff in her nappies smelled like. Sandra always tried to come up with similar complaints about Kev, but Tracey wouldn’t be outdone. Fiona, she argued, was the Most Annoying Baby Ever.

  I couldn’t stop wondering about Shayne and why we hadn’t seen him around. I started imagining that Uncle Keith had taken him off on a job down the country, or that Liz had decided to bring him on a holiday somewhere warm where she could sip cocktails all day long and happily show off her bosoms in a skimpy swimsuit. But I knew it was far more likely he was lying in his little attic room, covered in crusty spots and vomiting into a plastic bucket on the floor beside his bed. I nearly felt sorry for him. I kind of felt bad that Uncle Joe hadn’t turned up like he was supposed to. Shayne must’ve been really upset about it, getting rid of the snake like that. I was glad it was gone though; now there was no proof that I’d lied about throwing it away. Having the tongue wasn’t of much use any more but I decided to hang on to it all the same. I didn’t need to be inspecting it as often as I had done so I took it out of my jewellery box and placed it at the back of my underwear drawer.

  One morning on our way to school we were early enough to catch David at the bus stop and I asked him, casually, if he’d seen Shayne or knew why he hadn’t been around. He stared at the sky. ‘Can’t say that ah do, chile,’ he said, clicking the stud on his wristband. ‘Ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ that there cotton-pickin’ nincompoop for, oh, nigh on ten days, ah reckon.’

  ‘Haven’t you called down to him or anything?’ I wanted to know, choosing not to comment on his latest accent.

  ‘See, now, that’s the thing. That’s the darnedest thing. Mother O’Dea, she been plain nasty this past few weeks.’ He held up his hands. ‘Fingers played down to the bone. Down to the bone, ah say. Why ah—’

  ‘So you haven’t seen him, then?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Now looky here! If it ain’t the omnibus, come to take me for some schoolin’.’ He hopped onto the bus when it pulled up, swinging the briefcase he used as a schoolbag and nodding to the conductor, who managed a weak smile. ‘So long, now, chile! Remember me to your momma,’ he sang as the bus pulled away.

  We stood and watched as he waved like a queen from the upstairs back seat.

  ‘He’s so funny, isn’t he?’ Sandra said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s funny all right. Funny peculiar.’

  Later that evening, while Mam was feeding Kev, I told her I was nipping into Bridie’s for a while. I couldn’t last any longer wondering why Shayne hadn’t been around.

  ‘Dinner in fifteen minutes,’ she said. ‘Don’t be late.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Steak and kidney pie.’

  No need to hurry back then, I said to myself as I slipped out the door.

  I noticed Bridie’s curtains were still open but there was no sign of her in the front room. She was probably in the kitchen, making herself supper. She never seemed to eat dinner, it was always ‘supper’, or ‘something light’, like a mushroom omelette, or a salad of ham and sliced boiled eggs and tomatoes that she cut into little crown shapes using the gadget she got with her Green Shield stamps.

  I ran silently on my toes all the way to the Lawlesses’ with a freezing wind in my face. The house was in darkness when I arrived, blinds closed and curtains drawn, but somehow I knew it wasn’t empty. I noticed the top pane of glass in Liz�
��s bedroom window was broken. A scrap of a plastic bag had been stretched across it and stuck down with ragged strips of brown tape. I was thinking about knocking on the door, studying the curly pattern of scratches around the keyhole, when a loud noise made me jump. It was the unlocked door to the side passage banging against its frame in the wind. I felt strangely secure as I slipped through it and began to feel my way along the pebbledashed side of the house. It was much darker away from the orange light of the streetlamps and I had to be careful not to trip over the bits of leftover timber on the ground, the pieces that hadn’t made it into the bonfire. When I reached the back door I moved my fingers over its peeling varnish until I found the handle. It turned easily and the bitter smoky-fruity-bleachy smell flooded up my nose as I stepped into the kitchen.

  A spooky glow lit the room, heightening the edges of everything with a silvery fuzz. It was cold. Freezing. The whole place felt damp. I crept through the open door to the hall and stood beside the stairs where the light was stronger and coming from above. Shivering now, and almost wishing I hadn’t come, I heard the sound of shaky breathing and when I looked up, a dazzling beam shone straight into my eyes.

  ‘What d’ye want?’ It was Shayne, his voice calm and low, with no sign of fear, or even surprise, that I’d snuck into his house.

  ‘Stop blinding me with that torch and maybe I’ll tell you.’

  He aimed the light onto the floor, where it showed up a circle of the crimson, rose-patterned carpet. I blinked a couple of times before I could see him properly. He was sitting hunched and pale at the top of the stairs, looking thinner than before. His feet were bare and his St Christopher medal swung against the dirty front of his vest. He rubbed at his face with the back of his hand.

  ‘Have you got the chicken pox?’ I asked.

  ‘Do I look like I have?’

  ‘Or measles?’

  ‘What’re ye on about? I don’t have the chicken pox. Or measles. Or anythin’.’

  ‘Why haven’t you been in school, then?’

  He stood up and came down to the hall. ‘Shuddup,’ he whispered. ‘Ye’ll wake me ma.’

  ‘Is she the one who’s sick?’

  ‘No. She’s not sick, she’s . . . well . . . she’s . . . Yeah, maybe she is sick, I dunno.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her? Why’s she asleep? And why don’t you just switch on some lights?’

  He swivelled the torch in his hand, the beam bouncing wildly off the walls. ‘Jesus! Twenty questions. And what the hell are ye doin’ here anyways?’

  I followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Mel said you were sick but Mam wouldn’t let him come down in case he caught the disease.’

  ‘I don’t have a bloody disease.’

  ‘I know that now, don’t I? But I didn’t two minutes ago and now I—’

  ‘Wanted to make sure I was OK? Very nice of ye, I must say.’

  ‘I don’t see why you have to be so mean about it.’

  ‘Ye couldn’t have just knocked on the door, could ye?’

  ‘Would you have answered?’

  He bit at the edge of the torch. Lit from below, his nose was a dark triangle and black rings sat under his eyes. A tiny piece of the black rubber rim came away in his teeth and he spat it across the room. Outside, the side door walloped against its frame, breaking the silence that hung between us. He set the torch on the table, opened a cupboard and took out a box of Rice Krispies. I asked again why he didn’t just turn on the light.

  ‘’Cos me uncle Keith’s gone,’ he said, lifting a bottle of milk from the fridge.

  ‘Oh,’ I said after a pause, not sure how that answered my question. ‘Where?’

  He poured his cereal into a brown bowl then sloshed in the milk, spilling pools of it onto the counter.‘How would I know?’

  ‘You mean . . . gone? For good?’

  He nodded.

  I watched him crunching, barely finishing one mouthful before spooning in another. ‘What’s that got to do with the lights?’I asked.

  ‘He paid the bill, didn’t he? Me ma said we have to go easy now he’s gone. She doesn’t want them to cut us off again.’

  That must’ve been why the house was so cold. I’d heard Dad moaning when we’d had to get a fill of oil to heat the radiators. And he was never done complaining about the cost of electricity. But I guessed he always found the money to pay the bills because our house was always warm and bright. I wondered why Liz didn’t go out and get some sort of a job instead of lying in bed, but I didn’t say anything. I picked up the torch and shone it around the kitchen. Plates and bowls crusted with dried food were piled in towers on the draining board and the sink was filled with dirty glasses and mugs. An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side on the counter, wedged between an open tin of beans and a frying pan holding half a shrivelled sausage on a bed of thick, grey grease.

  ‘Why did he go?’

  ‘Dunno. They had a big scrap up in her room. Took all his stuff and hasn’t been back. She’s been in bed mostly since, so I get to stay at home.’

  ‘Doesn’t she mind you missing school?’

  He crunched for ages then shook his head. ‘She can’t make me go.’

  ‘When did he leave?’ I asked.

  ‘Hallowe’en.’

  ‘But I saw him in his van on Hallowe’en night with your mam. When we were waiting for your. . .’ I trailed off. He slurped the last of the milk from the bowl.

  ‘After that. Thanks to yer da’s little fireworks display.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Ye don’t get it, do ye?’ he sneered. ‘Me ma thought me uncle Joe had come back when she saw the fireworks. She went crazy when she found out it was yer da, and me uncle Keith went mental. Said he was sick of it. Said it was “Joe this” and “Joe that” the whole time. Then he smashed his fist through the window and threw all his stuff in a bag.’

  ‘You can hardly blame my dad for that.’

  He screwed up his face. ‘His fireworks were crap, so they were. Everyone said so.’

  ‘You’re just jealous.’

  ‘Think what ye like.’

  ‘It’s true. Just because your uncle Joe didn’t turn up. You should be grateful, not blaming my dad that your uncle Keith’s gone. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘Ye think he’s great, don’t ye? Ye’d swear he was bloody Superman the way yer goin’ on. And me ma said he was a rubbish painter too. Look at the state of it.’

  I waved the torch around. Dad’s paintwork did look shabby in places. Behind the sink was flecked with splatters of dirty water, and I made out a pattern of black scuffmarks beside the back door, as if someone had kicked at the wall.

  ‘That’s nothing to do with him and you know it,’ I said. ‘Paintwork doesn’t keep itself clean.’

  ‘Yeah . . . well . . . believe what ye like.’

  ‘She got it done for nothing, didn’t she? And all because of a stupid snake.’

  ‘All because you lied about havin’ it, ye mean.’

  ‘I gave it back, didn’t I?’

  ‘Too late, though. If ye’d given it back earlier yer da wouldn’t’ve been down here paintin’, would he? Did ye ever think of that? And me ma said he was aaawful slow. Said he could’ve been finished in a day if he’d wanted –’ he narrowed his eyes – ‘but for some reeeason . . . he took aaages . . . like he was draaaggin’ it out.’

  I didn’t like what he was saying. Liz’s blobby bosoms came into my head. And the way Mam had accused Dad of staring at them in The Ramblers.

  ‘I . . . I have to go,’ I said. ‘My dinner’ll be ready.’ I felt guilty for mentioning food, even though he’d been mean to me. Bad and all as steak and kidney pie was, it was a lot better than a bowl of Rice Krispies in a cold, dark, dirty kitchen.

  ‘Right,’ he said, slapping his bowl on top of the tower in the sink and clattering his spoon in after it. ‘Anyways, it was just as well me uncle Joe didn’t turn up. I didn’t want him to see
the tongue was missin’.’

  I felt even worse when he said that. I almost blurted out that I still had it, that it was safe at the back of my underwear drawer. But there was no point. It was no good to anyone now.

  I stepped outside, stuffing my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan. He shone the torch down the passageway as I left, dipping my face down to escape the biting wind. Then he whispered loudly after me, ‘What’re ye havin’?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I called back.

  ‘For dinner. What are ye havin’ for dinner?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Steak and kidney pie.’

  He said nothing, just shone the torch directly into my face for a couple of seconds then switched it off and everything went black.

  December came and by Christmas Eve the excitement in the house was high, but, as usual, it was flattened out a bit by the arrival of Auntie Cissy and Uncle Frank. We always knew what our presents would be. Each year, without fail, they gave me some kind of storybook, and Sandra got a doll that fell apart by Stephen’s Day. Mel, being their favourite, always received an expensive set of Dinky cars that none of us was allowed to touch.

  Frank was, like Cissy, tall, thin and pale, and he never wore any colour but brown. His trousers flapped about his ankles and slid up his legs whenever he sat down, revealing large portions of white skin, curiously free of hair. He did everything very slowly. Even when he blinked, it took ages for his paper-thin lids to wash over his chocolate-button eyes. And when he ate, his teeth – also brown – chewed in a circular way, like a cow’s, forever and ever, until he finally swallowed his food with a huge gulp that made his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Mam referred to Frank as ‘The Drip’, and said it had to be more than simply a coincidence that fixing them was his profession. ‘And always touting for business,’ she’d complain. ‘Does he ever go anywhere without that blessed ladder strapped to the roof of his car? Sure if we wanted him to take a look at our gutters, wouldn’t we just ask?‘ Dad said Frank had to be like that because roofs and gutters weren’t things you thought about every day and if people weren’t reminded, they’d never get them seen to at all. There was never any harm in him taking a quick look, he said.