Other photographs reveal the same thing. Omission after omission. Emma is there, over and over again, dressed in pretty dresses with ribbons in her hair. As a fairy in the Christmas play. Like a miniature bride on her Communion day. God, he remembers the way she loved those white lace gloves, and the little bag that hung around her wrist, all satin and beading. His brother and sister are like bookends, he thinks. The pair of them: the oldest and the youngest. It’s the one in the middle that’s missing. Much too often. And his story, too, is missing. Like him, it lurks on the outside. It’s one that has never been properly told, never properly seen. A story that once took place, and is still taking place, beyond the image. On the margin; on the edge.
Funny the way these were the words they had kept using to describe him. The hospital just outside London, the one he’d managed to get away from before anyone noticed he was gone. Danny remembers their questions, some of them solemn. All of them to do with boundaries, and borders and being outside. His ‘frame of reference’, one psychologist offered, and the phrase delighted Danny. He liked the way everything came together: he’d wanted to talk about the photographs, and the man with the pointy head wanted to talk about frames, frameworks. It had a nice kind of symmetry to it.
Danny knows that someday very soon now, he will restore himself to the centre of things. It’s been twenty-something years, but he will get back to the core of his own life. It has taken planning and willpower and money. A lot of money. And it will need more planning, and persistence, and, curiously, courage. No more fuck-ups, like the one three years ago.
It is time to gather up the pieces for the last time and remake the jigsaw, to line the photographs edge to edge, so that the real picture emerges.
6
IT COULDN’T BE. It simply could not be. Lynda rummaged in the drawer again, opening jewellery boxes, closing them, tossing them onto the top of the bedside table. She had to be losing her mind. She checked again. It was the same blue box, velvet, heart-shaped. The one she always used. But it was empty. The neat, vertical cut into which she slipped her diamond ring at night before going to bed, was empty.
She couldn’t stop looking at it. She turned it over, shook it and let it fall onto the duvet. It stared back at her, yielding nothing. She sat on the side of the bed, feeling her legs heavy, about to give way. ‘Think, Lynda, think,’ she said aloud. She lifted the small box off the bed now and held it in both hands, pressing down on the tiny silk pillow inside. Maybe the ring had slipped underneath, somehow, and lay there, silent. Hiding from her. She pressed down again, using both thumbs. Nothing.
She reached over and pulled the drawer of the bedside table from its moorings. Then she tipped the entire contents onto the duvet and began to search through them, opening and closing boxes she hadn’t used in years. Bits of old necklaces fell out, single earrings, a few tarnished brooches that had belonged to her mother. She ran her fingers through whatever she found. At the same time, she tried to think back over the past few days.
Today was Friday. Yesterday was Thursday. She hadn’t worn the ring since Wednesday. She’d removed it and her wedding band and placed them both carefully into their separate boxes on Wednesday night. That much she was sure of. Rings off, hand cream on. The usual routine; nothing out of the ordinary. She could see herself, sitting on her side of the bed, just as she was now. She’d taken longer than usual that night, waiting for Robert to come home.
And yesterday, she’d been taking cuttings and potting plants all morning in preparation for her horticulture students today. So she hadn’t put her rings on because she hated the texture of gardening gloves. Part of the pleasure of it all was plunging her hands deep into compost, firming the plants into their new containers, the delicate roots clean and snug. She loved the optimism of all the gardening rituals of spring. She even loved the grit under her fingernails.
Slowly, she replaced all the jewellery boxes into the drawer now, fitting it back onto its runners again. At least her head was clear. She was able to piece together the last few days with surprising accuracy. It was three weeks now since the rubbish had been dumped in her garden; three weeks since she had begun to understand that Danny was back in their lives again. Lynda had used the time to get ready.
Without saying anything to Robert, she had become alert and vigilant. She had decided to behave as though someone was watching her. Her movements, even inside her own home, were more guarded. She varied her daily activities as much as possible. Sometimes, she’d go through all the routines of locking up and putting on the alarm. She’d leave the house, then, full of purposeful efficiency. Once inside the car, she’d drive quickly around the block and come straight home again.
She wanted to catch Danny in the act – whatever that act might be. She wanted to be the one wielding the element of surprise, this time. Right now, she didn’t fear him physically. Perhaps she should, but each day that he didn’t appear made her feel stronger. She was ready for him, finally; would be almost happy to meet him. Draw him out of the shadows and into the light.
Everything that was happening to her was part of yet another spiral. Lynda understood that now. This was how Danny operated, how he’d always operated, it seemed to her. But it would take something dramatic to make Robert believe that the threat from his brother was as real now as it had always been. Every time she’d tried to talk to him, to get him to see what she saw, he became impatient. ‘Leave it, Lynda,’ he’d say, his face creasing in annoyance. ‘You’re getting things out of proportion again. This isn’t like before. We’re on top of it.’
The flat tyres, the rubbish in the garden – these things were nothing to worry about, as far as Robert was concerned. We’re on top of things. This is not like before. He can’t touch us this time. Robert’s mantra: denying the menace of Danny. Despite what had happened in the past. Or perhaps because of it: the memories of the last time were still painful ones. But Lynda was convinced. This gradual escalation of destruction had Danny’s prints all over it.
First something small, just as it had been three years before. There had been the innocent smashing of a vase on the day he’d arrived. One of Robert’s favourites, it had belonged to their mother.
Danny had been all apologies. ‘Jesus, Robert, I’m sorry. It’s the illness. It affects my balance, sometimes. All the medication . . .’ And he’d shrugged, his face grey, ghostly. Then it began in earnest. Lynda could see it clearly now, of course, but she couldn’t have back then. Within a couple of days, Danny needed money. His requests had been apologetic. ‘Wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t crucial,’ he’d say with his small, sad smile. ‘Haven’t been able to work much, recently. You know. The tiredness . . .’ He’d let his voice trail away.
Robert had been visibly horrified at Danny’s appearance. His brother had simply turned up on their doorstep, less than a week before. No letter; no call; no warning. Just the element of surprise. He’d looked haunted; gaunt and unkempt. Lung cancer, he’d told them. And, coughing harshly, said he’d prefer to take his chances in Dublin rather than Liverpool. At least he had family here, ‘even if you’ll never forgive me for Emma’.
It had been an emotional evening, the evening of his return. Lynda remembered how she had left him and Robert, talking late into the night. The following morning, Robert had taken her aside, quietly. ‘It’s serious, Lynda, no doubt about it. It looks like he has about six months. I know what he did, and I don’t excuse it. I can never forgive him for that. But he is my brother, and there’s no one else but us. Can you bear it, us having him here for however long it takes?’
Lynda didn’t even need to think. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It won’t be easy – particularly for you. But if you can let go of the past, then so can I.’ She’d been shocked, too, at how ill and grey Danny had looked. Like a homeless man, rootless and wandering.
‘Not let it go, as such,’ Robert had said, after a moment. ‘But I think I can let it lie, for now.’
Lynda had almost welcomed the opportunity t
o take Danny in. It might, in its own strange way, allow her to atone for her affair with Ken. Robert had never known about it, she was almost sure of that. He may have suspected, but he’d let that lie, too. They both had. This return of Danny’s would help her make her own amends for a betrayal that her husband might never even have known he’d suffered.
Robert had smiled at her then, grateful. ‘Thanks, Lynda. I know my father would never have let him across the threshold again, no matter what. But this was my mother’s house, too. I’d like to do it for her sake.’
Lynda watched as all the familiar griefs made his face sag. Are we ever going to be finished with this, she remembered thinking at the time.
‘I think Mum would have wanted him looked after,’ Robert had said to Lynda. ‘No, I’m sure of it. He can have the sofa bed in my office downstairs. There’s plenty of room. He has hospital appointments almost every day. I’ll deliver him, if you can collect him, even a couple of mornings a week.’ And he’d held her; they’d held each other close for a long time. Lynda felt that, at last, the same river had just been crossed by both of them.
‘I’ll do whatever I can, Robert, you know that. We’ll look after him together.’
Robert held onto her; his grip on her hand now was almost painful. ‘What should we tell Ciarán and Katie?’ he asked, after a moment.
‘The truth,’ she’d replied promptly. ‘We’ll tell them that their uncle is seriously ill and we’re going to look after him. They’re old enough to help.’
She remembered saying that now. The truth. If only she’d known. But that time had been a dress rehearsal for today. She’d never let Danny fool her again. She’d be waiting.
Back then, it had taken just three weeks for her to find out that Danny’s illness was a lie. Quite by chance, Lynda had discovered traces of make-up on the clothes she’d taken from Danny’s room to wash. He’d kept protesting that no, he didn’t want to be any trouble, he didn’t want her picking up after him, he was perfectly capable of using a washing-machine himself.
But one morning, after Danny had already left for the hospital with Robert, Lynda had gone into the office to leave him clean sheets and towels. She’d spotted a pile of crumpled clothes at the end of the sofa bed. On impulse, she picked them up. She’d have them washed and dried and back again before Danny even knew they were gone.
She went straight to the utility room and began to sort the laundry before putting it into the machine. Something around the collars of Danny’s shirts began to stain her fingers, making them look grey and powdery. At first, she didn’t know what it was. She was puzzled. There was something vaguely familiar about it . . . She rubbed her fingers together. She knew she’d seen this shadowy stuff before.
Finally it hit her. A long-ago memory, from her days in the college drama society. This was make-up; theatrical make-up. Thick, putty-coloured.
The implication stunned her. It couldn’t be, surely. Danny was so thin and ill-looking. The pallor was only part of it. But anger had already begun to surface. Jesus – if this was another one of his tricks . . .
She replaced the shirts on the floor of the office where she’d found them and said nothing to anyone. But that evening, she’d watched Danny closely. He was thin, yes, but the gauntness was an illusion. The hollows on his face were expertly done; the pallor was a masterstroke; so were the dark shadows under his eyes. But she needed to be sure of what she was seeing before she said anything to Robert. In case she couldn’t trust the evidence of her own eyes.
After dinner, Lynda announced that she’d take a lift with Robert and Danny on the following morning. ‘I’ve a pile of stuff to do in town,’ she said. ‘I might as well go in with you two. I’ll get the Dart home when I’m finished. Maybe Danny will be ready by then and we can come home together?’
She saw the way he looked at her. The quick glance, the quicker calculation. Lynda was struck by how powerful her sudden new knowledge was. It allowed her to interpret what she saw before her in a radically different light. She was surprised at how it energized her, made her feel fiercely protective towards her two children. Although Danny was no threat to them, surely. But, suddenly, she didn’t want either Katie or Ciarán in their uncle’s presence. He tainted all around him.
‘Sure,’ Danny’d said. ‘I’d like that. Thing is, I can never guarantee what time I’ll be finished at.’ He shrugged then, a little helplessly.
Nice touch, thought Lynda.
‘Sometimes,’ he added, ‘these clinics go on for ages. I’d hate to think of you hanging around.’
‘Mum,’ said Katie, interrupting. Lynda didn’t correct her. ‘Can you pick me up the German text-book I need? O’Connor’s are sold out.’
‘Sure,’ said Lynda. ‘No problem. Just write down the name for me.’ Right now, she thought, I’d buy you anything you wanted. ‘Ciarán?’ she said. ‘Do you need anything for school while I’m in town?’
He shook his head, his mouth full of roast potato. Wish you wouldn’t do that, she thought. But I’m saying nothing, not in front of Danny. This family’s ranks are now closed. She turned to Danny. ‘You still have Ciarán’s old mobile?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah.’
She was satisfied to see he was looking uncomfortable now. ‘Then there’s no problem,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll keep in touch by text. I can wait for you. I’m in no hurry tomorrow.’
Early the next morning, Danny looked greyer than ever. He was agitated, twitchy. He insisted he needed to leave at once. He’d forgotten that today was the day he had to be fasting, to have his bloods done.
‘Come on,’ said Robert to Lynda. He was anxious. ‘We’d better skip breakfast. We can always pick up something later.’
Lynda turned to Katie. ‘You’re last out. Make sure you lock up and put on the alarm.’
Katie looked up to heaven. ‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Ciarán, your gym stuff is in the hall. Don’t forget it. If they send you home, I’ll bring you back. I mean it. You’re not missing school again.’
Ciarán nodded. ‘Yeah. I know. You already told me.’
‘Have a good day, both of you,’ she said. Then she followed Danny and Robert out to the Jeep.
When Robert pulled up at the hospital entrance, he and Lynda waited until Danny had gone inside. Just as Robert was about to pull out into the traffic again, Lynda said, as though she’d just thought of it: ‘I might as well get out here, too. Save you stopping again. You go on ahead.’
‘But it’s miles from the centre,’ he protested. ‘Let me take you to Dame Street, at least.’
But she shook her head. ‘No. It’s ages since I’ve been up this neck of the woods. And it’s a lovely day. I’ll walk. Talk to you later.’ She leaned over and kissed him. ‘Take care,’ she said. His expression made her feel guilty, all over again. She knew he believed Danny, that he wanted to forgive him. Despite all that had happened, she knew that he felt in part responsible for what had become of Danny’s life.
The prodigal son. Shouldn’t he always have a welcome home, always have the fatted calf? And what about the one who stayed at home, Lynda often wondered. The faithful, patient one. Danny had had too many homecomings, of one sort or another. Too many fatted calves over the years.
Leaving others nothing but the bones.
Lynda was surprised at how easy she found it to lie to all of the consultants’ secretaries. About her brother, ill and confused and mixing up his appointment dates. Would it be possible to check when his next one was? Date of birth? Of course. All correspondence to this address.
There was no Daniel Graham listed anywhere. Two hours after she’d arrived, Lynda left the hospital. Outside the gates, she hailed a taxi and went straight home. On the way, she called Robert.
At first, he didn’t believe her. Then he seemed to freeze. ‘Jesus, Lynda,’ he said. ‘I gave him five hundred euro this morning to keep him going. Felt sorry for him.’
Lynda was puzzled. ‘But that’s not the end of the world,’ sh
e said.
‘No,’ said Robert, slowly. ‘But I took it from my stash in the office. Danny was in the shower, so I just nipped into the room while he was gone.’
‘Go on,’ said Lynda.
‘He walked in on me just as I was putting it back into the safe. I turned around and suddenly he was there. I got paid for the job in cash yesterday. I was going to lodge it today, but—’
‘But he distracted you,’ Lynda finished for him. ‘This morning. He distracted both of us.’ She could see Danny’s face even now, pale, avid. The lips twitching from time to time.
‘Thing is,’ said Robert. ‘I don’t think I locked the safe after me. He was in such a state all I wanted to do was get on the road. Christ.’
Lynda drew a deep breath. ‘No wonder he was in such a hurry. I think you’d better come home. If he’s there, I don’t want to confront him on my own.’
‘You’re not to,’ said Robert, sharply. ‘Wait for me in Cronin’s coffee shop. I’ll be there within the hour.’
By the time they’d got home, the damage was done. The safe was empty. Danny had disappeared.
‘How much?’ asked Lynda.
Robert looked distracted.
‘How much, Robert?’ she persisted.
He looked ashamed. ‘Thirty grand. And that’s not all. After you called, I checked my wallet. My credit cards are missing.’
‘Call the police,’ Lynda said, at once.
Robert looked at her. She could see all the familiar hesitations, all the family loyalties, all the old humiliations.
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