Skin Paper Stone

by Máire T. Robinson

  *

  As Kavanagh headed towards Stevie’s place, he remembered the peculiar feeling he’d had on his way to Alex’s that someone was following him. He had promptly forgotten about it once he had plonked himself down on Alex’s sofa. Now it came back to him, the sensation of being watched. He glanced back and saw a small, shadowy figure duck into a doorway and light a cigarette. I’m being paranoid. Just keep going, he told himself. But he had the sense that he had seen this figure before, a panicky feeling of déjà vu overcoming him. Kavanagh picked up his pace. It’s grand. Just get to Stevie’s. He looked back, but the dark figure had evaporated into the night.

  The rain continued to hammer down. Umbrellas were defeated in this weather. Some brave souls tried to ignore this fact as their umbrellas were whipped inside out. Icy droplets continued to pelt from a sky that roiled with looming slate-grey clouds. Traffic had slowed to a turgid pace as the cars and buses snailed alongside gutters overflowing with dull grey water, leaves and pieces of floating debris: cigarette butts and crisp packets. Kavanagh pulled out his phone and called Stevie. He thought it was about to ring out again. Then he heard her voice on the other end.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Stevie? Hey, it’s me. Is everything okay? I’ve been trying to call you.’

  ‘Sorry I missed you. I’m just …’.

  ‘Are you home? I’m heading that way now. I thought I could call in to you for a bit.’

  Silence on the other end. He thought the line had gone dead. Then he heard the faintest intake of breath.

  ‘Hello? Stevie?’

  ‘I’ve been studying.’

  She sounded strange, distant, barely audible. Her voice was flat and lifeless.

  ‘Okay. Can I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know…. Look, I have to go now.’

  ‘Stevie?’

  Something wasn’t right. He called her back but her phone rang out. He would call over to her. If he could just see her, even for a few minutes he could reassure himself that she was okay.

  *

  There was a loud knock on Alex’s front door. Kavanagh must have forgotten something. Alex made his way to the hallway and turned the latch. He squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the black shapes of the men standing on his doorstep. Instinct told him to close the door, but it was too late. As he went to slam the it closed, the door kicked with force from the outside. Next thing he knew he was on his back, the metallic taste of blood filling up his sinuses. It took a while to register the pain. But then it came. Oh, Jesus.

  He heard the voice of the man standing over him.

  ‘So this is Kavanagh’s friend. We meet at last.’ He heard the figure close the front door behind him. Then to the men: ‘Take the plants and load them in the van. Take everything.’ He heard the sound of footsteps thundering past his prone body.

  There was a voice above him. He tried to make out what it was saying. How long had he been lying here? Time was gloopy. He was wading through the marsh of it.

  ‘I said where’s the money?’

  He tried to reply but blood was filling up his mouth; a sharp pain in his temple; a weight on his chest; a snapping sound like kindling.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find it. Don’t you worry yourself about anything.’

  Chapter 38

  A light was on in Stevie’s house. Kavanagh knocked and waited, but she didn’t come to the door. The wind howled and the drizzle gave way to a deluge. He shivered on the doorstep.

  ‘Stevie?’ he called through the letterbox. ‘Can you let me in?’

  Finally, she opened the door a crack. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. There were dark shadows under her eyes. She looked at him wordlessly and didn’t open the door any wider. He was suddenly uncertain of everything between them.

  ‘Can I … is it okay if I come in? Just for a second. I know you’re busy. I won’t stay long. I promise.’

  She opened the door for him and stood back as he came in. He went to kiss her and she accepted the kiss, but didn’t return it.

  ‘Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in days. I was worried.’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just trying to get this work done, you know.’ She glanced back at the table where her textbooks and piles of notes waited.

  ‘How’s the work going?’

  She shrugged. ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘I’m worried about you. Maybe you should take a break. How about some dinner? Have you eaten yet? We could order some takeaway.’

  ‘No, I ate already. Thanks though.’ She gave him a tired smile. ‘Look, I’m fine, honestly. I just need some time to get this done.’

  ‘Okay. If you need anything, just call me, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘Just think, this time tomorrow your meeting will be long over. I’ll bring you out to celebrate.’

  ‘I mightn’t have much to celebrate.’

  ‘Of course you will. You’ve been working so hard. I know you’re going to do great.’

  She walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye.

  ‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  She nodded. ‘Okay, see you then.’

  Chapter 39

  Kavanagh headed back into the hostile night. It was teeming rain, the kind that made you gulp for air like a fish on land. He remembered then that Alex had said once that it was only a matter of time before the people of Galway evolved to form gills. How else could they survive in this city with forty shades of rain? It fell at impossible angles, foiling the tightest raincoats, snaking its way down necks, rendering umbrellas useless. It seeped through the soles of shoes into the soles of feet. It crept into bones and marrow where it festered, causing unshakable colds and dark thoughts and an unquenchable thirst for drinking pints in front of warm fires.

  He and Alex had joked about it being the apocalypse, but that’s exactly what it felt like to him now. It made sense that the end of the world in Galway would have no flames, no molten lava spewing, no earth ripped open with Kavanagh flailing towards its burning centre. Just the splish. Just the splash. Just the splish, splash, splish of constant rain. That constant sound like the repetition of a whining child: but why, why, why, but why? Bucketing down. Fucketing down. It should drown him and be done with it. Sweep him away and put him out of his misery for good.

  Kavanagh followed the path of the river walk, with railings to his right and a drop to the river below. On the other side was the canal and a grassy bank. From his elevated spot he looked down at the fast-flowing water. He continued on to where the path met the bridge and the main road. The river surged forward – relentless, angry, brown. The colour of stew gone cold. The colour of unloved shoes. It formed white-foamed waves that crashed in on each other from all directions. A heron stood on the bank, its shoulders hunched, as though to protect itself from the elements. In the canal, salmon swam against the fast-flowing stream, throwing themselves in vain at the closed sluice, their bodies making dull thudding sounds before they splashed back into the water. Ducks waddled, unperturbed on the bank of the canal, or sat, heads tucked down, in a line like a cosy shooting gallery. The water smashed off the stone at the base of O’Brien’s Bridge, determined, or so it seemed to Kavanagh, to make it collapse and be swept out to sea, taking the cars with windscreen wipers squeaking and pedestrians doing battle with inside-out umbrellas along with it.

  He checked his phone and saw that he had a text message from Alex. He hadn’t heard it beep. Can’t talk. In hospital waiting room. Pajo broke in and took plants. He’s after you. Stay in until it blows over. Be careful. He tried to ring Alex but there was no reply. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Pajo hurting Alex, of taking his plants. How had they known where to find him? The realisation hit him like a smack in the face: th
ey had followed him. Then the sickness was replaced by another feeling – a rage like he had never felt in his whole life.

  A jagged rain fell as he passed the churning angry river. The water level had risen high and plastic barriers had been erected along the water’s edge at the Spanish Arch to keep people from going too close. He realised he was near Pajo’s house. It was well known that he lived in one of those penthouse apartments overlooking the river. If Kavanagh were sensible he would walk a different way, avoiding this route altogether, but something kept him walking in this direction, some feeling of inevitability. Sheltering now was pointless. Soaked as he was, he decided he may as well keep going, right into the eye of the storm. The wind whipped the hood from his head yet again, and this time he didn’t bother putting it back up, but let the rainwater fall on him and drip down the back of his neck.

  *

  Pajo jumped out of the van and made his way to his apartment building. Not a bad evening’s work. The lads would hang on to the plants until they could get a proper setup for them. They had their orders to keep their eyes peeled for Kavanagh. Lying little toerag, telling him he’d got the weed from some guy in Dublin when it had been right here under his nose the whole time. He’d get what was coming to him. He had his keys in hand, head down, making his way to the apartment front entrance when he saw the familiar figure approaching up ahead. No, it couldn’t be … was it? This was his lucky night.

  Pajo’s hand was on his phone to call the guys, but then he decided against it. His adrenaline was still pumping from taking the plants off Alex, from seeing his utter vulnerability as he lay in his own home unable to defend himself or to stop Pajo from taking what he believed was rightfully his to take. He would handle this himself.

  ‘You’ve some fucking nerve, Joe Kavanagh,’ he bellowed.

  He was half expecting Kavanagh to turn and run, but he surprised him by stopping dead in his tracks. He glared at him with fists clenched. ‘Pajo. How could you do that to Alex?’

  ‘Who the fuck is Alex?’

  ‘My friend. My friend you put in the fucking hospital.’

  Pajo laughed. ‘Oh, him. Would you like to join him?’

  Kavanagh looked from left to right. ‘Do you not have to call your backup? Wouldn’t want to get your own hands dirty.’

  Pajo smiled and cracked his knuckles. He took a step closer to Kavanagh. Kavanagh stared straight back at him and didn’t budge. ‘He never did anything to you.’ His voice shook with emotion and barely contained rage.

  Pajo smirked. ‘If you’re looking for someone to blame, try yourself. You led us right to him.’

  ‘It isn’t my fault.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Pajo took another step towards Kavanagh. He thought he saw a hesitation, a look of uncertainty.

  ‘No. No, it fucking isn’t. I see what you’re trying to do and it won’t work on me. You got what you wanted you fucking degenerate, now leave me alone.’

  Kavanagh turned to walk away. He heard laughter behind him, cold and sinister. ‘Oh, Joe. Poor little Joe Kavanagh. You think it’s over because you say so? It doesn’t work like that.’ Kavanagh kept walking. Then he felt a dull thud to the back of his head. He fell forward, landing with a squelch on the rain-soaked grass.

  ‘Get up!’ the voice boomed behind him.

  He scrambled to his feet and tried to back away.

  ‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’ Pajo roared.

  A smack to his jaw.

  Kavanagh doubled over with the pain of it. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘This is too easy. You’re even weaker than your little pal. Are you gonna start crying like him now? “Oh, don’t take my precious plants. Boo fucking hoo.” ’

  Kavanagh charged at Pajo, headbutting him in the chest. They scuffled and slipped over muck and wet grass, trying to get to each other, trying not to fall over. Then Pajo’s hands were around Kavanagh’s neck. He squirmed and struggled to break free. They edged closer and closer to the river. Kavanagh regained his footing, broke free and charged at him again. Pajo slipped and took a tumble. It all happened so fast. Kavanagh watched dumbstruck as Pajo went careening – Smack! – into one of the plastic barriers. Over. Down. Into the river….

  Kavanagh ran to the edge, but Pajo had disappeared. No sign of him in the dark waters below. Gone.

  ‘Pajo!’ he called, but the wind and the rain stole his voice. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialled 999. Galway. The Spanish Arch. A man just fell in the river. No, I don’t know. He’s gone. I can’t see him now … I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Okay, yes. I’ll wait.

  He hung up. And then he ran.

  Chapter 40

  Stevie was drowning in photos, scrawled notes, photocopies and textbooks. Nothing made sense as she flicked through the pages. Words were random marks on paper. She couldn’t process what they meant. She was trying to condense her research into something coherent, something with a clear trajectory, and she was so overwhelmed it seemed impossible even to know where to start. Exasperated, she paced up and down the tiny room as rain hammered down and the wind howled at her windows.

  She was glad that Kav was gone. He had been too close, too irritating. She didn’t want him to be there distracting her, taking her out of her own headspace, where she needed to be. She could hear the concern in his voice when he asked her if she’d eaten. Not him. Not him too with the worried glances and the questions. She couldn’t stand it. The last thing she wanted was to stop, to lose focus. His being there had seemed to threaten everything. She needed to get to the centre of this thing, unravel it. If she could just focus. If she could just think straight….

  The noise of a helicopter in the distance broke the silence. Stevie walked to the window and looked out. Another soul in the river, another light searching the dark water, and on a night like this. She felt the coldness enveloping her body. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. No, she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get back to her work.

  The light from the helicopter shone into the darkened room. Suddenly it seemed the light was trying to catch her, to pick her out and make her visible, to show her up so strangers could stare. You won’t claim me, she thought. Not tonight. She pulled her blinds closed and switched off her phone.

  Stevie sat down, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Suddenly everything seemed so straightforward. Somehow, the fog had lifted and her thoughts were clear and ordered. All of the pieces of work she had done, books she had read, notes she had made had added up to something. All she had needed was to step back from it in order to see it. She would have to pull an all-nighter, but she would be okay tomorrow. She would have something to present and a clear direction for where she was headed with her research. Picking up her pen, she pushed thoughts of the river from her mind as she began to write again. Her words flowed over the page until the hum of the helicopter grew more and more distant, then disappeared altogether.

  Chapter 41

  When Stevie woke, she searched for his heat in the bed. In the hazy sleep between dreaming and waking she expected to feel his arms around her. Then she remembered that he hadn’t stayed with her. She shivered and curled herself up into a ball, searching for warmth. She felt herself retching and leaned her head over the edge of the bed. With no food in her system she could only vomit a clear liquid that burned her throat.

  She got up, drank some water and brushed her teeth. Her stomach rumbled again but she couldn’t face the thought of eating. She checked her watch. Her meeting with the graduate committee was in half an hour. She got dressed, grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

  *

  As Stevie was leaving her meeting and heading towards the door, Adrienne came running towards her.

  ‘Stevie! How did it go?’

  ‘Oh, hey Adrienne. Yeah, it went really well. Really, r
eally well.’

  ‘That’s brilliant!’

  ‘Are you up next?’

  ‘Yeah. In half an hour.’ She could see the anxiety on Adrienne’s face.

  ‘Listen, you’ll be great. You know exactly what you’re doing so don’t be nervous, okay? It’s really not as bad as you might expect.’

  ‘Thanks, Stevie. It must be a relief for it to be over.’

  ‘Yeah … yeah it is, I suppose.’ It couldn’t have gone better. She had spoken eloquently and answered any questions they had. They were impressed by the extensiveness of her critical response. ‘I mean, they basically told me there and then that I’ll be approved for continuation.’

  Adrienne beamed at her. ‘You must be delighted.’

  ‘Yeah. No … I know that I should be but to be honest I don’t really feel anything.’

  ‘Oh …’.

  ‘Maybe I’m just tired. I had a late night last night.’

  Adrienne nodded. ‘Oh, me too. Yeah, that’s probably it. You’ll feel differently after a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Yeah … you know what? That’s not it. I mean I am tired, I am, but that’s not why I’m not feeling happy, why I can’t feel anything. It’s this. This whole thing. I don’t want to do this. This isn’t what I want to do.’

  ‘Are you … okay, Stevie?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m great. I actually feel … really, really good.’ Stevie smiled at her and stretched out her arms for a hug. Adrienne returned the embrace awkwardly and patted Stevie on the back. ‘Good luck in there, yeah? You’ll do amazing.’

  *

  Back at home, Stevie started to take down the photos from the walls, piling them up in the centre of the floor. She looked at the photos of all of the sheela-na-gigs she had visited. Was she really any closer to understanding anything? Maybe some things were beyond logical explanations, and no amount of itemising and categorising would change that. Yet, she had given herself completely to trying to form one such explanation. It all seemed absurd all of a sudden, like trying to count the grains of sand on a beach. She pulled the map of Ireland off the wall and removed all of the index cards and notes, bundling them up before heading out into the clean, bright air. The storm of the previous night had receded. It felt good to be outside. She found herself drawn towards the river.