He Is Mine and I Have No Other Read online

  I was still holding her glasses. ‘Oh, these are for you,’ I said, holding them out to her. ‘You forgot them – last night.’

  I wished I hadn’t said that then.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Lani. I’m so sorry . . . I—’

  The hallway was cold. It smelled of wax polish. The old-fashioned lights on the walls gave off a drab light, the maroon-and-white flocked wallpaper was speckled with black mould just above the hall table. There was a green telephone and an open address book. Probably Mary had been organising the next game of golf with the girls, or calling one of her sisters. And now she had a dying dog on her couch.

  Headlights shone through the windows by the front door and swung round to the side of the house. Car doors slammed – one, two – and the back door of the house was pushed open. They were whispering, Mam and Dad, and Paddy and Mary. Not whispering exactly, but talking very quietly, slowly, trying to make sense of things. Their old dog. She was still breathing, but there was no sign of Martin. Off putting someone’s pet hamster to sleep, probably. I saw Mam crouch down beside Blue, stroking her head very gently. I was relieved she was there to take care of things. Blue would understand – wouldn’t she? – how I couldn’t bear to be near her. I counted the wooden tiles on the hall floor. I wondered if Paddy had put those tiles down himself, or if someone had come in to do it for him. I wondered if Leon was in our back garden and, if he was, what he was making of all of this. Dad was walking towards me. I don’t know what that look on his face was. I’d never seen it before.

  ‘Where’s Gran?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s dozing, love. We thought we’d leave her there, not disturb her.’

  ‘But what if . . .’

  I couldn’t say it. He put his arm around my shoulders; I could feel the warmth of his palm, the pressure of the pads of his fingers.

  ‘Ah God, she’s wet the couch,’ Mam said.

  ‘Don’t worry, Deirdre. Don’t worry.’

  Their voices were underwater-sounding. This is all happening very quickly, I was thinking. Because it was. It’s surprising how quickly these things happen – how suddenly time rushes ahead of itself. How much time had passed? Maybe fifteen minutes? Where is that driver now? Now Blue is soiling the furniture.

  Dad was still gripping my shoulder. We stood, facing somewhere between the door to the living room and the hall table. The swoosh of tyres on the driveway again. It was Martin in his green Land Rover that smelled of cow dung and iodine.

  I remembered being out on a farm with him and Mam, seeing lambs have their tails cut by the farmer, the screeching noise they made, and the drops of blood as they stumbled from between his knees.

  Martin entered by the back door too.

  ‘Well, let’s have a look at her,’ he said, lifting Mam gently up and settling down to inspect the damage.

  ‘Looks like she’s broken her back, I’m afraid. Not much we can do. I can put her to sleep. Are you happy for me to do that?’

  He glanced first at Mam, then at Dad and me in the hallway. Mam was white as a sheet, biting the skin around one of her fingers, trying not to cry. She nodded, Dad nodded. I stared at him, thinking how ‘broken back’ makes a sound like splitting bark. I didn’t realise I had to answer.

  ‘Lani?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s fine,’ I said, as if I’d been asked if that was enough milk in my tea, and tell me when to stop. Dad squeezed my shoulder. Mam was standing directly under the light in the living room, a halo around her tilted head making her look like a female Francis of Assisi or Padre Pio or who was it, with her childish pot belly.

  ‘Right so,’ said Martin. ‘It’ll be completely painless for wee Blue, here. Over very quickly. Deirdre, would you like to stay and pet her so she’s not frightened?’

  It was too late for that: she was scared out of her wits, nothing moving but those darting, frightened eyes. Couldn’t they see that? I walked slowly into the room, knelt down beside her and gently rubbed, with one finger, the soft fur between those eyes. She felt surprisingly warm. We held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, and I could have sworn her panting slowed, but that could have been her heart counting down, unwinding. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and I could see the white of them and nothing else. There were little white patches of flour on her coat. Mam put her hand on my shoulder, saying ‘The sooner this is over—’

  My knees cracked as I stood up. Dad, Paddy and Mary followed me into the hallway, and from there into the front room, where Mary had put the gas fire on. It felt as if that room hadn’t been heated in months. It smelt of damp, and the dust burning on the metal bars of the fire.

  ‘I’ll go and make us all a nice cup of tea in a minute,’ Mary said.

  In a few minutes Blue would be dead, and we could have tea and biscuits. I was hungry. Tea and biscuits seemed like a good idea.

  No one said a word after that, not until we heard the door of the living room open and Mam’s footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway, and her sobbing uncontrollably. They all rose from their seats at once and hovered around Mam at the door, Dad taking her in his arms and rubbing the back of her head protectively, saying ‘I know, I know,’ and Mary saying ‘A nice cup of tea – that’s what you need. Tea with sugar: it’s great for shock.’

  She looked embarrassed. I remembered again why I’d come over that evening, and I wanted to remind her. I hated them then, Mam and Mary. All of them. If they hadn’t been playing their stupid cards the night before, and if Mary hadn’t gotten drunk and forgotten her glasses, and if Mam hadn’t insisted that I bring them over that evening, Blue wouldn’t be dead.

  It was my fault. I knew that. I should have had a hold of her collar. Mam sat on the arm of my chair. She was shaking, just as I was.

  ‘Are you okay, pet?’ she asked, stroking the back of my neck.

  Leon’s hand had been there not so long before. Maybe she’d smell him.

  ‘Mary’s getting us some tea.’

  I know, I wanted to say, I’m not deaf. But I said nothing.

  Martin came into the room, his hands clasped. ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Oh no, thank you, Martin,’ Mam said. ‘You did everything you could. Now, would you stay for a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’d be lovely.’ He paused. ‘Do you want me to take her with me?’

  ‘No,’ I said, and everyone looked at me. ‘We’ll be burying her in our garden.’

  ‘Fair enough. Fair enough. I’ve left her in the garage out the back.’

  ‘Thanks, Martin,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll take her down to ours.’

  Blue was almost drowned as a pup. It was Dad who rescued her. He didn’t even ask Mam if she’d mind. Just arrived home with her one Saturday afternoon when Mam thought he’d been into the hardware store in town. We called her Blue because her fur was so black it looked blue in a certain light. And because one of Mam’s favourite songs was ‘Old Blue’, that one Joan Baez used to sing about the dog.

  Mary carried in a large tray with cups, milk jug, teapot, a plate of biscuits and even some sandwiches she’d somehow managed to rustle up.

  ‘Jesus, that’s lovely, Mary. Just what we all need,’ said Paddy.

  His tongue made a clicking noise as he spoke, sticking to the roof of his mouth. My mouth was dry too – terribly dry. There was a foul taste at the back of my throat, the past few hours turned sour. The taste of Leon’s tongue – the watery, sweet taste – had gone.

  There was a smell of sweat from Mam’s armpits, like cat piss. Sister Anne wouldn’t have been impressed, I thought. Sandwiches and biscuits were passed round as Mary poured our tea – strong black tea – into maroon glazed cups.

  ‘Sugar?’ She looked around the room. ‘Shall I just put sugar in all of them? We could do with it.’

  ‘Yes, that’d be grand, Mary,’ said Martin.

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ said Mam.

  None of the rest of us objected.

  ‘That road’s awful dangerous,’ Paddy sai
d.

  ‘Just as long as it’s none of us.’

  ‘With the help of God,’ Mary said.

  Mary had just got back from Lough Derg, praying from dawn till dusk. To save us all. Or just to save herself. It was no wonder she got so drunk the night before. She was skin and bones. I half-expected her to get down on her knees and start decades of the rosary, but then I reminded myself that Blue was just a dog.

  My tea was a little stronger than I would have liked – so strong it left me with more of a thirst than I’d started with, left a kind of starchiness on my tongue. I wasn’t used to it sweet either. It made things seem even more odd.

  Dad had to put his whole weight onto the spade to dig into the stony soil in the back garden. I pulled tufts of long yellow grass out of his way. We put plastic sheeting into the hole. I don’t know why, but we did, and then Dad laid Blue down and we covered her over with compost and soil. I wanted a little compost, to be sure forget-me-nots would grow in the spring.

  My darling Lani,

  I didn’t mean to frighten you. I have been up half the night wondering what to write to you, and now it is four in the morning, and the dormitory is eerily quiet. I wish I hadn’t told you that I’ve been watching you, but then I couldn’t lie to you. I have seen you. I have seen your naked flesh. And the thought of it makes me burn – with shame and excitement.

  I hope you will forgive me. You were very quiet when I left. I’d hate to think that I’ve caused you any pain. I’ve never felt this way about anybody. To think that I may have brought this to an end before it has even begun is too unbearable to contemplate.

  Do you feel like I do? The desperation, the unravelling? I wanted to tear you open, tear myself open. I wanted to crawl into you. I wanted you to hurt me. It does hurt so much, this constant yearning to be with you, inside you.

  I’m sorry. I’m satisfied just to look until you’re ready. I’m a skilled watcher. I know how to let time wash over me, to let everything else slip into oblivion.

  I did feel that you wanted me – the heat of your body. Was I wrong? I don’t know why I asked you if you found me repugnant. God knows, I wouldn’t have wanted you to say so if you did. I just find it so difficult to believe that you, the one I have longed for all this time, have come to me, just like in my dream. It makes me so happy. YOU make me so happy. You have no idea.

  I’m going home for Christmas, but can I see you before then? If I don’t hear from you I’ll know that you’ve decided that you want nothing more to do with me. I hope this isn’t the case, but if it is I’ll respect your wishes and stay out of your way.

  Forever yours,

  L.B.

  The sky was the colour of eggshell, the path running down the middle of the graveyard slippery with black ice. I folded the letter, which I’d read over and over, so that it fitted in my fist and put it in the zipped pocket of my coat.

  I made the sign of the cross before the pale, pink-flecked marble headstone.

  In Loving Memory of

  HERMIONE BRADY

  1946–1983

  She leaves behind her husband

  and loving son

  May She Rest In Peace

  May her soul and the souls of all the faithfully departed rest in peace, I said to myself. It seemed only right.

  He wanted to crawl into me.

  He wanted me to hurt him.

  That little boy, deserted by his mother. It must have felt like desertion – how else could he have understood it? That was why he watched me, so that I wouldn’t slip away as she had. Watched me as the granite cherub on the grave next to his mother’s did.

  Paddy was out the front of his house, raking gravel. The tyre tracks from Martin’s car were still there. Paddy held one hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun and waved down to me with the other, mouthing hello, though all I could hear was a kind of whinnying sound, with the wind blowing.

  Dad was down on his knees in the dirt of the flowerbed at the front of the house, tugging moss from between clumps of rock and heather, his large hands purple with the cold.

  I walked around to the back of the house. The shed door was open, creaking rustily on one broken hinge. The poinsettias I’d put on Blue’s grave were starting to wither already. I’d picked them up at the florist’s while Mam was buying a Christmas wreath for the front door and telling the florist all about Blue, and the florist saying ‘Ah God, that’s awful,’ and ‘God help us,’ and looking over at me. I couldn’t think what else to get: it was too early for forget-me-nots and I thought poinsettias would look pretty if it snowed.

  I’d had to carry Blue home from the fields at the back of the house many times over the years – her fur clotted with snow, packed hard, layer upon layer, so that she couldn’t walk anymore.

  The ice on the tall grass around the grave was thawing in the faint sunlight, saturating the legs of my trousers and my shoes. I crouched down, clutching one hand in the other for warmth.

  ‘I’m sorry I let you die, Blue. I’m sorry I didn’t hold on to you, take better care of you.’

  I pictured her frozen hard in the ground, her eyes wide open.

  The air in the kitchen was oily with the smells of the morning’s fry. Mam was upstairs sleeping. I went about clearing the table, wiping it down, filling the basin with hot sudsy water. Ordinarily I hated washing up, but I didn’t mind it so much that afternoon. It helped take my mind off things, and the sun was shining directly in through the window above the sink, onto the top of my head.

  When I’d finished I put my hand up to feel my hair and it felt like hot ironed silk. I went into the front room to see if Gran wanted anything. I thought I’d better.

  She was reading the obituaries in the local paper.

  Dearest Leon,

  You did frighten me a little, but you mustn’t worry. I haven’t ever felt this way about anyone either, and I don’t want it to end. I won’t leave you, my darling. And I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve no intention of it.

  I have bad news, I’m afraid. Just after you left the other night I was going across the road when Blue ran out in front of me and was hit by a car. I know how much you and her got on. It’s been awful here since. Everyone’s so upset. I’ve made her a grave in our garden, marked by a circle of stones.

  I think about you every minute of every day. I look out my window at night, wondering if you’re watching me. I feel as though you are.

  Write to me soon. Please?

  Love,

  Lani

  He turned up unexpectedly a few days later. I was out getting coal. I felt a hand on my shoulder and my heart freeze in my chest. In my dreams I roll over at the first sign of trouble, belly-up, just waiting to be killed. But that’s not how this went. I felt a cold fire crackle through my veins and swung round, bucket in one hand, cold steel shovel in the other, and caught the corner of his jaw with its blunt edge. He reached up to press his hand against the hurt.

  ‘You scared the life out of me,’ I said.

  ‘And you’ve just nearly broken my jaw.’

  He didn’t flinch as I pulled his hand away from his face to touch his purpling jaw and feel his warm blood between my fingers.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ I whispered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Listen, Lani, I’m sorry. Sorry I frightened you. I only wanted to say how sorry I was. Sorry about Blue . . .’ He sounded strange, couldn’t open his mouth properly to talk. He pulled me to him.

  ‘I don’t ever want you to let go of me.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, and it felt as though he meant it. I won’t.

  He didn’t stay long. He had to be back at the school before they noticed him gone. But the time he did stay, there was no one and nothing else in the world, and though I felt a keen sadness – palpable almost – I was also serenely happy.

  He told me he would keep me close, always. He told me he would watch over me.

  I told him I was his girl.

  Deirdre, 8


  I had special shoes my mammy bought me. Special shoes and a ribbon for my hair, and my mammy said that I was a great girl and that I would be a champion Irish dancer one day. I was doing it every day. I do it every day here, out in the yard. Jump threes, hop threes, side steps. Mother Carmel beats me if she sees me doing it wrong, so I try not to, but sometimes I make a mistake by accident.

  My daddy was a man with no backbone. That’s what my mammy told me. I never saw him myself. He must’ve looked queer. He probably walked like Old Peter, who was bent over so far he talked to the floor. Old Peter came around every day and my mammy would always give him a cup of tea and some bread. His head would be almost touching the table. I liked watching him trying to eat, like he was a dog. Sometimes I felt sorry for him. But most of the time I’d just be practising my hop threes.

  The father of Jack, my youngest brother, would come around as well, and I used to want him to be my father as well, instead of the man with no backbone who never even came to see me. He panted a lot when we were all in bed, me and Jack and the other wee ones. Panted and grunted. He must have been thinking we were all asleep. But none of us were. We were laughing under the blanket. It sounded like he was going to the toilet for a long time.

  One time I came home from school and Mammy was lying on the floor in the kitchen. There was a smell of chicken giblets. It looked like she’d been lying there so long she got hungry and decided to eat her own tongue. The baby was roaring crying.

  She just had a funny turn, that’s all. Me and my brothers and sisters are all going back when she gets better. Jack’s daddy said he would look after her, and I promised him I would look after my sisters, but I’m not really allowed to talk to them.

  I won a silver medal for Irish dancing at the Feis and the nuns made me give it to them to make a crown for the statue of Our Lady. When I win the gold medal I will take it home and give it to my mammy, and she will make me brown bread and jam and butter to celebrate.

  Mar was Tinkerbell in the Christmas pantomime and Eoin was Peter Pan. They were a right pair.