During their chats, Deirdre told him stories of her kids, sharing her worries about how she treated them, about whether she was being fair. She told him about her childhood, her mother’s cancer, her angry, absent father. After Theo told her of riding his wooden scooter down to the village through the banana plants and past the avocado trees, sending white and yellow butterflies exploding skywards from the long grass, she described the stony fields, full of twisted ferns and crusted cowpats, where she chased herons and walked for hours just to get away from the sickness that had come to roost in her home like a cursed owl.
She told Theo that time was no healer because she still missed her mother. She said that one cataclysmic event had coloured all the rest of her life. She told him she didn’t know if she loved her father, that she hardly knew the man who was away so much and then there but not there after her mother died. Theo clamped his lips together at this. His own memories of his father were still too raw – she was right about time – and he was worried Deirdre might ask the right questions and then he’d have to seek answers. He wasn’t ready to do that yet.
Neville had come up, of course, and Theo had to tell her they were friends. He threw it out quickly, knowing she was about to slag him off. Grace had told them both that night in the pub that her mam had no time for her boyfriend’s charming ways.
“She sees right through you,” she’d laughed as Neville pulled a long face.
Deirdre never brought Neville up again after that one time but she seemed a little disappointed that Theo should be his friend.
There were other taboo subjects. He never told her about the drugs and she didn’t say much about her husband, even though she once took a photo from her purse and held it out, with a strange little-girl shyness, to Theo. It showed a still good-looking man with dark hair and striking cheekbones, but Theo reckoned there was a flinty look to his sharp angles. Deirdre had hinted that Fergal hurt her, telling without telling. Her euphemisms – “Fergal was in a bad mood last night” or “Fergal lost the plot the other day” – didn’t fool him and they weren’t meant to. Somehow, Theo realised, he and Deirdre had become the unlikeliest of friends. Secret sharers and secret bearers. Still she wouldn’t be expecting a call from him today. Their common world was the restaurant, not out here.
“Theo? You alright?” Deirdre sounded flustered.
“Yeah, I’m grand. Well, sort of. I can’t work today, Deirdre. Something’s come up. Can you take my shift? I’m supposed to start at one.”
“Oh, let me think. Sure, that should be fine. Fergal’s out but Grace is around and she can keep an eye on Kevin ’til she goes to work, or Conor can. Should be alright, I guess. Yeah, I’ll do it, Theo. The money’ll come in handy this weekend as well.”
“Great, thanks. I’ll owe you one big-time.”
He breathed out slowly. Time, he’d won some time. Now, what would he do with it? His mind raced ahead.
“Sorry, Deirdre, what did you say? My mind was wandering there.”
“Are you alright, Theo? It’s just… you sound a bit weird. You haven’t been drinking or anything, have you?”
“Nah. It’s just… I’ve been… I’ve got a problem I need to sort. I… Something’s happened to Neville and I need to find him.”
“What do you mean, something’s happened? Did you tell Grace?” Deirdre’s voice had fallen and there was an edge to it now.
“Not yet. I didn’t want to worry her. It’s a long story but I think he’s in trouble. Maybe big trouble. He’s been running with a bad crowd and now he’s missing and I think if I don’t do something… I dunno, I dunno what’ll happen.”
“Where are you? At home?”
“Nah, I had to meet someone in town. I’m on Inns Quay, heading back to Merrickstown now.”
“We’re at the Ilac, not far. Listen, let me come to you. I’ll meet you at the Chesterfield entrance to the park. We can take a walk and then I’ll get the bus back.”
He started to protest – he didn’t have time for this – but she cut him off.
“I need to know what’s going on, Theo. I’ll be the one picking up the pieces with Grace later if that lad has got himself into a mess.” She paused, but then couldn’t help herself. “I knew he was no good, I bloody knew it.”
She almost whispered it and Theo just let the words hang there. What was he going to say? She was wrong and right, but mostly wrong. Neville was good; he just didn’t fit well with the world. He was the wrong shape for the slot he’d been given.
“I’ll see you soon then,” he managed and hung up.
He stood looking at the phone for a minute, then rang Ronan.
He was clutching at straws, he knew, but there was just the smidgen of a chance Ronan might have heard something on the grapevine, or might know someone other than Michael who could get hold of Gerrity. Theo couldn’t fathom it but Ronan was dead popular with the young lads around their area. All cut from the same cloth, he supposed.
“Howya, Ronan? Listen, I need a favour. I need to get hold of Gerrity. D’you know anyone who might have his number? And don’t say Michael cos that git’s being no help at all.”
There was a long pause on the other end. The little cur knows already, Theo thought. He stopped walking and leaned on the railings over the river.
“Do you know where he is? Ronan, do you know where Neville is because so help me God, if you do and you don’t tell me, I’ll swing for you.”
“I dunno, I swear.”
Ronan sounded frightened and for a moment Theo felt sorry for him, sorry for all of them caught up in this shitstorm. They’d been stupid but that was all. For other people, in other worlds, living parallel lives, being young and stupid was just the punch line of a story you told in the pub after a long day.
“Tell me, Ronan. You know something. That’s bleedin’ obvious.”
“I just heard they’d picked him up last night. I dunno where they have him. I know Gerrity’s in town and I hear he’s pissed. But that’s it. I swear that’s all I know, Theo.”
“And you don’t have a number? For Gerrity? Or one of the other lads around him?”
“Ye know I only ever deal with Michael, Theo. That’s the way it works. One contact. You’re the one that met Gerrity, you should have his number.”
There was a touch of the snide in Ronan’s voice now that made Theo clutch the phone tighter to stop himself from throwing it into the river. A shaft of sunlight lit up the gilt on Seán Heuston Bridge. He’d a bit of a way to go yet. He started walking again.
“Thanks for nothing, Ronan. I’ll remember this.”
“If I hear anythin’, I’ll give ye a shout.”
Ronan was like a child, trying to fix things after the damage had already been done but he’d nothing more to give. Theo hung up. He’d have to figure this out some other way.
Deirdre was already standing under a tree beside the wide avenue that led from the Chesterfield roundabout into the park. She looked small and insignificant among the giant sycamore and oak trees. Why had he agreed to meet her? She couldn’t help him. He was wasting time.
“So, what’s going on?”
She’d her hands on her hips and a face on her that said she was taking no prisoners.
Theo spread his hands and shrugged. “Can we walk a bit?”
She sighed but led the way. “Let’s head down here. It’ll take us towards St Mary’s and then I can nip out and get the bus. I don’t have much time if I want to get back in time to work your shift,” she said.
“Fair enough.”
Side-by-side, they moved deeper into the green, away from the roar of the traffic. The mist had evaporated, leaving just the faintest memory of the early chill, like the hollow left by a lover’s head on a pillow. Above the trees, Theo could see the Wellington Monument rising into the blue, a needle on a compass, pointing to a way out. But, if he remembered right, you couldn’t climb the obelisk – there was no stairway to heaven there.
“Okay, now tell me,
Theo. What in God’s name is going on?”
Deirdre was looking up at him. She had to shade her eyes because of the sun but clouds were gathering to the west and a kittenish breeze was playing with the loose strands of her hair. Where to start? How could he tell her just enough without dropping Neville in it?
“Is it drugs?” she asked abruptly.
Theo said nothing. He was too tired to be a smartarse.
“Is Neville dealing drugs? Is the eejit my daughter thinks is God’s gift actually stupid enough to be selling drugs in this town?” she said.
“How d’you know?” was all he managed.
“I might be old enough to be your mother, Theo, but I’ve got teenage kids and friends and I don’t live my whole life behind a sink washing rich people’s dishes. I live in the real world too and I’m not blind. Or stupid. So who’s he pissed off then? Another gang? The cops?”
“He’s pissed off his boss. A real nasty piece of work. Name of Gerrity.”
Deirdre stopped in her tracks. She’d a weird half-smile on her face, but she was also shaking her head and the smile looked like the kind you’d only wear to draw attention away from your tears.
“Not Barry Gerrity?” she said.
“That’s the one. How d’you know?”
Theo had stopped beside her but she wouldn’t look at him. She was staring into the trees, still shaking her head.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she finally whispered and then she started moving again. “Go on.”
The gyres are really wheeling out of control now, thought Theo, and I’ve no idea what’s going on.
“I think he’s taken Neville because he thought he grassed him up. But Neville would never snitch, there’s no way. And I asked Michael, that’s this other guy who I… who Neville knows, and who works with Gerrity, where he was and he just said Gerrity was going to have a chat with him. But Gerrity doesn’t do much talking. If he wants to talk to you, you’d better run for the hills.”
The words came in a rush and Theo could feel the panic that had been dead-weighting his chest shatter, sending chips of shame, fear and anger through him. He didn’t dare look at Deirdre. He didn’t know why exactly but he didn’t want to lose her respect. Bit late for that now.
“I’m trying to get Gerrity’s number so I can, I dunno, tell him that he’s wrong, vouch, like, for Nev, but that’s the thing. I don’t know how to reach him.”
Deirdre had been walking ahead, her steps slowing as he talked and now she came to a stop and turned to face him.
“So, tell me this, Theo, because I can tell you’re in this up to your eyeballs too – no, don’t deny it, I wasn’t born yesterday – what makes young lads like you and Neville get yourselves caught up in Gerrity’s web? You could’ve done anything. Two fine bright young men and you’re throwing it all away.”
Theo just looked at her, standing there, a good foot-and-a-half smaller than him, her slight frame throbbing with fury, her hands out, palms up.
“I dunno. Chances just come along and then you get swept up in it all and it’s hard to get out.”
It sounded feeble even to his own ears.
“Bollocks to that! You have so many other opportunities, Theo. Look at Neville. Parents both doctors, he’s smart, good-looking. And you… you escaped from the killing, you recovered from all of that, and look at you now. You fit in perfectly. You’re a great lad. But you’re pissing your future away.”
She sputtered to a stop, eyebrows raised.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “I can’t imagine a future. I want to but I don’t know how.”
He paused. He should stop. This was too hard, too dangerous. He’d never had to put what he was doing with his life into words. He’d never even really thought about it that much. It just feckin’ happened, right? But here she was again, asking questions, demanding answers. And today was a day of reckoning if ever there was one. He took a breath.
“I don’t take it for granted, don’t ever think I do. D’you think I don’t know I haven’t done anything with my second chance? Give me a bit of credit, Deirdre. I’m very, very thankful that Sheila’s sister found me outside that camp. I’m feckin’ over the moon that a family found me in the bush and taught me how to hide up to my eyes in the mud. For hours, Deirdre, staying absolutely still and listening to the screams as they found other people and butchered them. So, no, I don’t take it for granted. For years, after that, I was still just trying to stay alive, trying to get up every day and keep breathing. Do you know how hard it is to do that sometimes? Just to take the next breath? And I did it. But then, I lost my way. I’d survived, I knew I’d made it, and then I didn’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do after surviving.”
She was silent, staring off into the trees at a clump of red deer, lit up by a sunray like copper pots in a showroom kitchen. She looked at her watch and started walking again.
“Does Grace know what Neville does?” she said after a while.
“I don’t think so but you’d probably have to ask her. I guess she knows he smokes weed, like, and does a few lines. Now and then,” he said, realising even as he spoke that these little lies were pointless.
“Does she…? Never mind, I’ll ask her myself. Jesus Christ, what an unholy mess.”
They’d arrived at the park exit. Theo stood, hands in pockets, head bowed. Deirdre walked out the gate, then back to him, her face set.
“Right, I’m going to get you Gerrity’s number. Don’t ask me how but I think I can. Call him and sort this out. Don’t breathe a word to Grace until you talk to me. I’ve to go now or I’ll be late for work. I’ll text you with the number later. Alright?”
Theo just nodded. How did Deirdre know Gerrity? How in God’s name was that possible? He remembered something.
“D’you know Michael too, Michael Clancy? Only you didn’t ask who he was, when I mentioned him,” he asked.
Now it was Deirdre’s turn to bow her head.
“As it happens, his mother is a good friend of mine. And I’ll tell you, Theo, that’s part of the reason this pisses me off so much. That woman has done everything for Michael and he’s just sunk deeper and deeper. Fair enough, he’s got no father but she’s been more than enough for him if he’d have the cop to realise it. So yes, you could say I know Michael and he’ll be getting a right bollocking on the back of this, mark my words.”
She swung on her heels and started to head across the road to the bus stop. But then she turned and came back again, and without a word, she pulled Theo to her, reaching up to stretch her arms around his shoulders.
“You big, black eejit. Get out of all this, will you? This is not why you came here.”
And then she really did go.
Theo’s phone beeped. It was a text from Precious.
I need to see you. Now.
That was it. No emojis, no kisses, nothing. Not like Precious. He tried to call her but her mobile was apparently now switched off. Dammit. He didn’t know if he could face her. He was too wound up. He needed to walk. He headed back into the park. He would head up to the next exit and then get the bus home. If he’d got Gerrity’s number by then, he’d call him and take it from there. It was already gone midday. Neville had called him nearly nine hours ago. Nine hours was a long time to be scared. A lot could happen in that time; Theo knew that only too well.
When his father came back from school that April day, the buzzing, rain-thickened heat was already being sucked into the ground to make way for the cooler night air and the stars. His father was flustered. He rushed into the house, straight to the kitchen where their mother was cutting up plantains for supper. Theo was doing his homework at the table in the front room, where they also had an old fridge that was never plugged in because there was hardly ever any electricity, a small TV, again barely ever used, and three small sofas with cream crochet antimacassars. The table was by the window and, just after his father came in, Theo saw Clément running up the hill. He’d been playing football
with some lads on the wasteland down near the community hall. His skinny legs were splashed with thick mud. The rains had come early that year.
As Clément drew closer, Theo glimpsed his face. What he saw lifted him out of his seat and sent him racing into the road.
“What is it? What is it?”
He was only seven but he knew something was very wrong.
“Where’s Papa?” Clément gasped as he ran past his little brother, never slowing his frenetic pace.
“In the kitchen.”
But Clément probably didn’t hear him. He was already in the house and Theo remembered thinking he would get a hiding for not cleaning his feet first.
He followed Clément inside but something made him stop in the front room. Maybe he sensed danger, the same way that birds sense storms and fly around them, or elephants and flamingos head inland before tsunamis. A sixth sense for impending horror. He could hear urgent whispers coming from the kitchen, with one word carrying the weight of a curse: interahamwe. His father came out then and saw him standing there.
“Theo, we’re going for a walk in the bush. All together. It’s a new game that Clément thought of. We all have to go now and stay very quiet, as if we were poachers. Shema is coming too. Can you go call him? I think he is in the top field.”
His father smiled but even little Theo knew it was nothing more than a bend in his lips. He ran past the bougainvillea bush, round the side of the house and up the rutted path to the field. Shema was there, bent low as he weeded the beds.
“Shema, come,” Theo called.
But the old man didn’t hear him. He was already a little deaf and so Theo jumped the ditch into the field and, stumbling a little between the rows of sweet potatoes, he made his way to Shema.
“Come, Shema. My father wants you. We are going to play a game, all together.”
Theo remembered how badly he’d wanted Shema to smile and clap his hands at the wondrous idea of them all playing together. When Shema’s face crinkled into a frown and he threw the weeds he was clutching onto the ground with no care, he was disappointed but not really surprised. Even he could feel the storm coming. Shema led the way, quickly, back to the house, tightly gripping Theo’s little hand in his rough, dirty, veined one. Even today, Theo could picture his family standing outside the house as he walked back to them with Shema: his father in a smart white shirt and black trousers, lean and tight like a leopard; his mother in a dress of red-and-green flowers, fastening the cloth that held Angélique around her breasts; Clément standing beside their father, hands by his sides, eyes wide. Behind them, beyond the corrugated iron roof of their house, Theo saw smoke rising from the valley floor, thick and fast and black.
Rain Falls on Everyone Page 12
