by Oliver Sands
‘You wanna know something, Nora? For years I felt intimidated by you, like I was never good enough, like I was a constant disappointment. But looking at you now … I actually feel nothing but pity. You’re just a spiteful old woman who wouldn’t know decency if it slapped you in the face.’ Breeda adjusted the bag on her shoulder and turned her back on her aunt. ‘You won’t see me again.’
Breeda’s feet found the stairs, but Nora hadn’t finished with her. A hand pulled tightly on the collar of Breeda’s jacket.
‘Think of your poor mother. Her name will be all over the papers!’
Nora’s hand now pulled hard on Breeda’s hair, and Breeda cursed and tripped backwards up the top stairs. She grabbed for the banister rail, and flailed her other hand back, managing to break Nora’s grip on her hair. She felt the old woman’s hand grasp and latch onto the bag strap again.
‘For Christ’s sake, Nora. Let go!’
Breeda pulled on the banisters, swift and hard. Her body swung, and she stumbled forward, her ribs connecting hard with the handrail. She clung with one hand as she willed her body not to launch. Her foot left the stair, and her knee whacked the rail, but she knew she’d managed to avoid toppling over. The seconds slowed and off to her left a shape blurred in her periphery. Something was lurching and scrambling through the air, a gangly bird failing to fly. Its limbs wheeled wild, as it grappled past her, and Breeda felt her bag strap leave her shoulder, as the bag too took flight. Nora traced a slow arc into Breeda’s line of vision, a look of wonderment hanging on her face. Below her, the pendulum of the grandfather clock swung in slo-mo, the black and white floor tiles waited patiently. Breeda shut her eyes, and time resumed. The thud pierced the silence, and Breeda’s stomach seized at the thought of what lay down on the tiles. She cracked open an eye and looked over her shoulder. Nora’s legs were trailed along the lower stairs, but her upper body had landed on its side on the hard-tiled floor. Even from Breeda’s vantage point she could see the arm and shoulder on the floor looked mangled. The old lady blinked her eyes open and Breeda heard herself exhale. Nora was facing the skirting board and a low animal groan was coming from her. The paperwork she’d been clutching only moments before had fluttered down and was now settling around her like oversized confetti.
Breeda skittered down the stairs, careful not to disturb any limbs. She squatted and gently stroked her aunt’s hair, then leaned forward, dreading the sight of an expanding pool of claret on the tiles under Nora’s head. But no blood was evident, her upper arm having buffered the impact to her skull. Nora continued to groan, and was moving her upper arm around, trying to pull herself off the stairs. Her legs shifted and brought weight onto her crushed arm. She winced at the pain and sucked air in through her teeth.
‘I think it’s broken. Don’t move, Nora. Just don’t move, OK?’
Breeda stood and paced over the scattered pages. An ambulance would take at least half an hour. She would just have to take her to the hospital herself.
Down near her feet Nora’s face was set rigid and her jaw jutted out. Breeda realised the woman was shaking her head.
‘What would your poor mother say? The mess you’ve made – of everything.’ A small defiant laugh left Nora’s tight mouth. ‘I’ll tell you what, girl – you can drop any plans of going to London – cos I’ll be needing you here, now more than ever.’
Breeda looked down and felt a shift in her core. In Nora’s face a sense of victory had already crept in, relegating the pain to second place.
Breeda’s eyes drifted over the random pattern of black and white at her feet. The little faded insurance logo taunted her from the pages. She bent and slowly gathered them up and placed the pile on the phone table near the front door. Above the table, on the wall, hung a small round mirror, and now she found herself staring at it. In the background, Nora’s voice prattled on, but Breeda was listening no longer. All she could do was stare at her reflection and seek advice from the person looking back at her. To her left lay Nora, to her right the front door. Breeda lifted the phone from the hall table and dialed.
‘Please state your emergency.’
‘I need an Ambulance please. Suspected broken limbs. An elderly lady has fallen down the stairs. Her name is Nora Cullen.’
‘What’s the address please?’
Breeda squatted down beside Nora and gently smoothed her hair.
‘It’s number three, Muckish View, Carrickross.’
‘And your name please.’
Breeda looked at Nora and the stubborn set of her face. Her belted dressing gown had ridden up her legs and Breeda gently smoothed it back with her hand. Only last month Breeda had sat by her mother’s side, stroking Margaret’s thinned hair and papery skin, as she lay wasting away in her own dressing gown. Now Breeda watched Nora’s face, and could suddenly see so much of her own mother in this person by her knees. A sorrow echoed in the depths of her heart, and she felt her chin weaken as she bent forward and kissed her aunt on the temple.
‘Your name please?’
Breeda looked back at the phone in her hand.
‘Oh, I’m just a neighbor. The front door is open. Please hurry.’
Breeda hung up the phone as Nora shifted beside her on the floor.
‘What do you mean – you’re just a neighbor?’ She attempted to turn to look at Breeda, but even the smallest movement brought her body further down the stairs onto her smashed shoulder and arm.
Breeda placed the phone within Nora’s reach, then stood and walked to the hall table. She took one more look in the mirror then folded the insurance papers from the side table and slid them into the top of her bag.
She opened the front door and looked down as the diluted gold of the evening light stretched weakly along the hallway floor.
‘Goodbye, Nora.’
Breeda’s chest tightened and she forced herself onward, blocking out Nora’s angry words as they chased her down the steps and along the front path. She drew in a deep lungful of cool air and looked up, ignoring the tears spilling down the side of her face. The flashing white wingtip lights of a plane were heading into the darkest patch of sky, heading East.
I’m coming for you, Dad.
In the background, Nora’s anger had dissolved into gulping sobs.
‘Breeda!’
Breeda clicked the gate neatly behind herself, then set off into the darkening streets.
Chapter 31
Breeda leaned her backside on the high cushion at the end of the carriage and looked along the two rows of seats stretched out in front of her. There were no suits among the other passengers – it was a Sunday after all – just Londoners going about their business and tourists on their way to Camden market. She was too flustered to take a proper seat, her left leg twitchy, a fidget in her fingers. She slid her hands under her arse, closed her eyes against the artificial light, and listened to the rhythmic clack underfoot.
She was on her way to him. She was actually on her way to him.
Breeda tried to picture his expression when she’d turn up on his doorstep. But her father’s face eluded her now, and in its place an image of Aidan presented itself. It was hard to believe she hadn’t picked up on the resemblance before. But then again, she hadn’t any reason to suspect she had a half-brother, let alone one wandering around Carrickross village. She smiled at the craziness of the situation.
The train came to a halt at Camden Town station. Hers was the next stop. As people left and entered the carriage, Breeda took out the postcard from her jacket pocket. She traced Mal’s handwriting with her fingertip, then turned it over, and looked at the view over the city from Primrose Hill. A man in a tailored jacket and skinny jeans had perched beside her, and she sensed him look at the postcard, then glance at her, before losing interest and turning back to his phone screen.
Her eyes flitted over the faces of the fresh batch of strangers who had just boarded. She thought about the millions of lives, the millions of stories, in this one city - each person the ce
nter of their own universe. Hotels and houses, parks and apartments, were passing by overhead, every life intertwined and rippling from the impact of others. As the train sped on, she saw herself being swept along. Leaving Nora’s house last night had been like leaping off a bridge, and now here she was being buffeted down a river, an insistent rapid pulling her forward, nothing to cling to, the bank too far away. But she had chosen to jump in, and this was her river, after all, one she’d never even been able to dip her toes into before now.
As the doors opened at Chalk Farm station, she picked up her tote bag and allowed herself to be carried out of the carriage on the tide of passengers heading for the exit. A southbound train had stopped at the same time and when the doors of the lift opened the waiting crowd surged forward and pressed around her. She clutched her bag tight against her chest and willed the lift not to break down. Carrickross village felt a million miles away and she tried to ignore the drumming of her heart against her hand. From behind Breeda, tinny noise spilled out of a cheap pair of headphones. In front of her a middle-aged Indian man held his young daughter firmly in his arms. Breeda focused on the flakes of dandruff on his shoulder and tried to slow her breathing as his pretty daughter stared intently at her. At last the lift shunted to a stop, the doors opened, and a moment later Breeda found herself blinking in the mid-afternoon sunlight.
Turning onto Hartland Road a few minutes later Breeda’s pace slowed. She’d eaten nothing since the day before, but now felt like something needed to come up, her gut clenching, her hands sweaty. She glanced up the street. Some of the houses had planter boxes outside their first-floor windows, one or two had scaffolding out the front, but the street was eerily devoid of people. Breeda checked the address on the postcard once more, then carefully counted the houses up ahead on her left. She could see it. The canary yellow door stood out like a sore thumb amongst the neighboring houses with their muted palettes. It was all now so real, and she seemed to feel the gravity of the situation – the risk and recklessness – for the very first time.
Would he even recognize her after all these years? Was she turning up years too late for any bridges to be built? Would she be a nuisance to be shooed off his doorstep? Breeda reached the yellow door but kept walking. A short distance ahead was a railway bridge. She crossed the road and stood under it, desperate for a moment to gather herself, to let her heart and head synchronize. It was just over a week since she’d found the birthday card from her supposedly dead Dad, and now here she was, stood on his street, wondering which window he slept behind.
As she turned to look back towards the house with the yellow door her phone buzzed into life. The number wasn’t familiar, but it was someone from home.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Breeda?’ A brief pause. ‘It’s Aidan.’
She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and leaned her back against the rough brown wall of the railway tunnel. The bricks vibrated her body in time to the slow rumble of an approaching train.
‘Oh, hi …’
Across the road a ghost figure moved behind one of the net curtains, observed her for a moment, then vanished. Aidan cleared his throat and Breeda closed her eyes, pressing the phone tighter to her ear.
‘So … the craziest thing … I’ve got a sister I didn’t know I had …’
His voice was tentative, tired, warm.
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No clue. Dervil told me yesterday after the barbecue. She has a way with words, that one.’
Breeda felt a tug of sympathy. ‘I can only imagine.’
‘Yeah. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. I’m a bit shell-shocked to be honest. It’s not every day you discover your Dad’s not your biological father.’
A jogger idled past Breeda, and she turned her body sideways to the brick wall. She’d been so caught up in her own drama with Nora and her need to get to London that she hadn’t stopped to consider reaching out to Aidan. Down the line she could hear ice cubes clink in a glass. She couldn’t blame him.
‘I should have called you, Aidan. I’m sorry.’
‘Not at all. You’d only just found out about me yourself. It was Dervil who’s been sitting on this for years. She only filled me in yesterday.’
She could hear him refilling his glass and the bottle being set back down.
‘Your Mam? Your Dad? Never told—’
‘No. My poor Dad knew – God rest his soul – as soon as he took one look at me. But he made Dervil promise never to say a word. He never wanted me feeling unloved in any way.’
She heard him take another swig.
‘He was a decent soul, was Frank Sneddon. Dervil thinks he died of a broken heart. And as far as I’m concerned, well, he’ll always—’ A waver had started up in Aidan’s voice and now a lump rose in Breeda’s throat too. She wished she could put an arm around his shoulder.
‘And Dervil knew all this time?’
Aidan laughed wryly down the line. ‘She was twelve years old when my mother got pregnant with me.’ He groaned, then paused, unsure whether to continue. ‘Dervil walked in on your dad and my mam.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah. One afternoon when she ran home from school for her lunch box. Caught them at it. So you could say she knew about me since day one.’
Breeda leaned her back against the brick wall and exhaled slowly through her cheeks. Now it made sense. She’d always thought Dervil’s hatred of her had arrived from nowhere. But now she understood where it had seeded from. She could imagine twelve-year-old Dervil at her mother’s bedroom door, lip trembling, eyes brimming, as she watched Mal Looney’s pasty arse thrusting away between Mona’s legs. And now Breeda tried to imagine how it must have been for Dervil in school after that – to have to look at Breeda’s face each day and be reminded of the man who’d broken her father and destroyed her family.
‘I’m speechless. I just don’t—’
‘Breeda – are you free to meet up?’ The idea had perked Aidan up. ‘A coffee? Scrap that – a proper drink?’
She looked at the yellow door across the street.
‘Aidan, I’m actually in London.’
‘London? What are you doing there?’
Breeda took a deep breath.
‘It’s where he lives …’
Aidan paused. Breeda could hear him put his glass back down, then shuffle forward on his seat.
‘You mean …’
‘Yeah …’
‘So you’re there to …’
‘Yeah …’
‘Wow …’
‘Yeah…’ She sucked in through her teeth. What she wouldn’t do for a tumbler of whiskey right now. ‘I’m standing here like a fool, looking across the street at his front door.’
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘I don’t know.’ She heard her own mumbled words. ‘I’m kinda terrified.’
An ice-cube cracked in his glass.
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Twenty-five years ago.’
‘Well, is it any wonder you’re a bit freaked out. If you want my advice, seize the day. If you overthink it you’ll chicken out.’
She stood up straight and locked eyes on the front door. He was right. And besides, she hadn’t destroyed her relationship with Nora and lost the roof over her head just so she could lurk under a railway bridge in North London. Overhead the train had arrived, and she had to shout to be heard.
‘Thanks, Aidan. I’ll call you back in a bit. You take care, OK?’ She swung the bag over her shoulder. ‘Wish me luck.’
She strode out onto the road, the yellow door in her sights. The screech of tyres hit her before she even saw the white van. She raised an arm to protect her face. Her phone fell and bounced off the ground. Inches away the driver blasted his horn. His shaved head stuck out the window.
‘You stupid cow! What the—’
Breeda grappled for her phone, near the driver’s front wheel, and staggered backwards, gasping an apology
to the man. She stumbled her way between two parked cars, and stood on the pavement, her legs jelly. He was glaring at her, his face puce.
‘I’m so sorry—’
Breeda looked up and down the street, suddenly fearful he might jump out and punch her. But the engine revved three times and he was gone, another screech of tyres in his wake.
Behind her a dog gave a single bark.
‘Trixie!’
The canary yellow door had opened and a woman with spikes of grey hair and red-framed glasses stood watching her.
‘Alright?’
Breeda nodded, her face misted with a cold sweat. She approached the low front wall, behind which two wheelie bins barely hid. The woman stayed in her hallway, protected by the half-closed front door. To one side of her feet sat the dog, a small white Terrier. Both woman and dog regarded Breeda silently.
‘Well, that could have been worse.’ The train had rumbled off and now Breeda’s words came out overloud, her accent alien in the quiet street.
A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face, but still she held her tongue. Her eyes looked Breeda up and down, and Breeda self-consciously raked a hand through her hair.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you – I’m looking for Malachy Looney. Is this … is this the right house?’
The door opened a fraction wider and the dog tilted its head to the other side.
‘Oh, it’s the right house, alright.’ Something close to a smile materialized on the woman’s face, and Breeda felt her legs drain of stability once more. Her hand found the low front wall.
‘Is he in?’ All moisture had gone from Breeda’s mouth, each word a struggle.
‘’Fraid you’ve missed him, love.’ The door opened a few inches wider, one foot still planted firmly behind it. The woman nodded slowly, nothing else forthcoming. Breeda started to sense she was relishing the intrigue.
