Finn
Jasmine’s Ma was at the counter, piling Nutella toast high onto the plate beside her. Me and Dunner nicked a slice before she had a chance to get it to the table; you’d never get a slice then.
‘Oi, keep your hands off, ya little shits,’ she said, shielding the rest with her arm and elbow. Nudging us away.
Jasmine’s flat was always fruit de loop. She had two sisters and two brothers, the horrible twins, all of them younger than her. Ma said she needed a double dose of Nurofen when visiting or else her head would be busted for days.
‘Newsflash. We’re not allowed nuts in school,’ Jasmine said, mouth full, fresh teeth-marks indicating her territory on the slice in her hand.
‘Fuck sake, Jasmine, just eat the toast, you’re not in school yet,’ her Ma said while flinging lunchboxes into open school bags by the front door.
‘I’ll have nut germs all over me fingers,’ she said, wiggling hers in front of the twins, trying to make them laugh.
‘Go and bleedin’ wash them, so. I’m warning ya, don’t go hyping the bejaysus out of them before you’re about to leg it. I’m hoping for a quiet morning, thank you very much.’
‘Right so,’ Jasmine said, picking up her school bag and giving her Ma a hug. ‘But if someone collapses and dies because of my Nutella breath, it’s on you,’ she said, breathing hard on her Ma’s face as she headed for the door.
‘Get away with you, ya wagon,’ her Ma laughed after her, whipping the back of her school bag with a wet tea towel, the Christmas pudding one, the one that is always slung across her shoulder.
‘And wait for your sisters,’ she called as Jasmine pulled the door closed.
We waited for Frida and Layla, like always, by the rail of the stairs. Always the stairs, not the lift. There were no bannisters in the lift, nothing to get a good slide down.
‘Keep your distance, you know the drill,’ she warned as her spits came running towards us, red curls bobbing just like Jasmine’s. But you wouldn’t tell her that, she’d give you a shit-kicking if you even dared. ‘And no earwigging either, do you hear me, or I’ll tell Da it was youse who burnt the sitting-room curtains last week,’ she said, her arms folded like her Ma’s mini-me.
I mimicked her cross face, hand on hip, wagging finger, behind her back. Their giggling faces gave me away; Jasmine shot me a look.
‘Did nothing, swear it,’ I said, crossing my heart with my fingers.
We let Frida and Layla walk on ahead. ‘That way we can keep an eye,’ Jasmine said as she placed herself in the middle of me and Dunner, linking arms. ‘Now spill, what did the doctor say? Does he think it’s your Da like Mrs O’Sullivan? Was he still wearing his Ma’s jeans?’ She fired question after question.
‘He hasn’t a clue. He said he needs to send me to a specialist,’ I said.
‘What type of bleedin’ doctor doesn’t even know what’s wrong with you?’
‘And what even is a specialist anyways?’ Dunner asked.
‘Don’t have a budgie’s, but Ma said it’s on Wednesday, so no homework, no school, no David Mannion’s eggy sandwiches.’
‘Every day with those sandwiches, what’s that all about?’ said Dunner, and I’m already gagging just thinking about it.
‘I’m going to be a specialist when I grow up,’ Jasmine said.
‘Specialist me arse, sure you don’t even know what it is,’ Dunner said, booting the stone in front of him, hard.
‘Ah go and shite,’ Jasmine said, giving him a dead arm. ‘Da says I can be whatever I want to be when I grow up.’
‘Where does he think you’re from, the bleedin’ Fox of the Rock? Ah look, there’s Shane,’ he said, waving in his direction. ‘Hey Shane. Shane, wait up.’ And he’s gone, running.
‘I will be a specialist, you know, if I want to,’ Jasmine said, and she had that face on her, the exact same one like when Mr Fahy said she needn’t bother joining the school quiz team. Her arms folded and her eyes nearly black.
‘Since when have you ever listened to Dunner? Sure he thinks there are leprechauns at Dublin Zoo,’ I said, and we laugh.
‘Do you promise to tell me what they do? The specialist, that is? You know, see if it’s worth my while?’
‘Sure, missus,’ I said. ‘Now race ya to the gate.’
‘Hey, not fair, you got a head start.’
But I’m not listening – I’m nearly there, and for once I’m winning.
Joe
The holding cell is smoke-filled and stale, not much different to pretty much anywhere else on a Friday night. A drunken rendition of ‘Streets of New York’ has taken hold, three fucking months too early, making no difference as most of them start joining in. I take to a spot right in the corner, and back myself in with my head right on down. I’m used to keeping myself invisible, I know how to keep myself well out of the mix.
I start to think about Naoise, hope to fuck that she doesn’t think that I would do something like that to her. As if I would ever do something like that to her. I think back to our last moments, how I got her the drink. But the barman gave it straight to us, handed it straight to her, and I know that she wouldn’t think that of me. Well, I think I fucking know. But there, hammering away at the back of my skull, is what I know to be true: I was the one who provided the gear, who allowed that to happen to her.
They say there is no harm in it, that it’s nothing to do with them if someone ODs, gets shot, done for possession, whatever. I’ve heard those excuses roll off Da’s tongue as sleep-deprived mothers with their bags of anxiety begged and pleaded with him to get their young ones out of that world. The dealing. The using. Always and forever met with a nothing to do with me, love or a fuck right off.
‘Ya haven’t a light, have ya,’ I’m asked, by a sidler that I know by the head on him is looking for the chats.
‘Sorry, bud,’ and I turn my focus back into myself, so he’ll get the fucking hint, like.
‘What’d they bring ya in for?’ He’s breathing right down my neck; I can almost taste his Abrakebabra fries and cocktail of lagers, injecting my nose with his smells.
‘Look, I’m just minding me business, yeah,’ and I pull myself further away, tucking myself closer to that corner I’m in. Getting his stink and his leer off of me.
‘So it’s like that, ya prick, just trying to pass the time, so I am. Little fucking prick,’ but he’s already starting to move away and goes to annoy the fuck out of someone else, but not many in form for that shite. Right.
‘Streets of New York’ is now on round three, my head is pounding, my thoughts of what happened are having time to fester, grow dark, spread out, take root, and I don’t feel like snapping out of it, or any of those things that I usually do.
‘O’Reilly,’ a Guard calls – how long have I been there, three hours, four? ‘You’re out, come on,’ he calls again, the impatience rising in his thick on-the-job voice, already fed up with his lot.
Back up to the hatch to collect my possessions, wallet and phone, and the gobshite from the back comes out for one last gawk.
‘You got lucky, O’Reilly?’ he says, mouth full of a meatball sub. ‘Not pressing charges they say,’ in between chews. There is a dollop of sauce staining his chin, making him look like a tit. ‘But it won’t be long till you’re back. You can be sure of that, just like your Da,’ and he’s back into his box.
I hear a scrape of a chair as I move towards the entrance – Sabine. Her hair now loose, her eyeliner smudged all down her face, and she wraps her arms tight around me into a hug.
‘She doesn’t think I spiked her, does she?’ I look into her eyes; I can tell if she’s trying to hide anything, Sabine can’t lie for shit, so she can’t. She just stays there, holding either side of my arms, holding my eyes with hers, but not saying anything at all. ‘You think I did,’ I say, trying to shake her off, trying to get her away from me, but she holds firm.
‘No, Joe,’ she says, but her look is still firm, her hands still clasped at my
elbows, steadying me, ‘I don’t think you did it,’ and it’s then that she looks down, that she gives herself away. ‘I know you brought it,’ she says, and it’s barely a whisper. ‘I was with Johnny, when he was passing it around, them all toasting you in your absence, delighted with themselves.’
I can physically feel the hurt in her voice.
‘Please say that it wasn’t for me.’ She’s looking hard at me now. ‘Joe, please,’ and I hug her tight, she hugs me tight back, but I can’t shake off the grime, the drilling thought of knowing, that absolutely everyone was right about me all along.
Finn
The specialist didn’t look too special to me. She didn’t even have a cool coat or T-shirt or anything. How were you supposed to know that she even was the specialist?
‘Hi, Finn. My name is Caroline,’ she said when we were sitting down. She had pictures of butterflies and fairies and pirates on her walls. I wanted to tell her that they were babyish. That she needed to get ones for older kids like me, but to be fair they didn’t look too bad, and the pirates were funny enough, I supposed, if you were into that type of thing. I’d say it next time, if there was one, or let Dr Flynn know, maybe he’d pass on the message for me. Do her a favour, you know, she could be embarrassing older kids with that type of thing. But not me, yet, I thought. But you’d never know when that could change.
‘I am a haematologist,’ she said, and I started to giggle a little and looked at Ma. She hadn’t the foggiest either.
‘That means that I know everything there is to know about blood,’ she said.
‘Like Dracula?’ I asked.
‘Yes, just like Dracula,’ she said, ‘but I use needles instead of fangs.’ She laughed, showing off a mouth full of metal braces. Braces. On an adult. Sure what would an adult need with straight teeth?
‘Dr Flynn sent you to me, because he was a little worried about your bruises and nosebleeds. I’m just going to do a few little tests this morning to see if we can figure out what’s causing all this. OK?’
‘OK,’ I replied.
‘I’ll be using two different needles. This one here,’ she lifted one off the table, ‘will be used in your arm, to take some blood samples, probably about three, so we can get a really good look at it.’
‘Do you have to put that in three times?’ I asked, not so sure I was OK with these tests any more. I decided I preferred Mrs O’Sullivan’s Friday tests, and that was really saying something, because I was really useless at them, even when I studied and all. Joe said sometimes it just took my brain a little bit longer for things to stick. But at least I knew what to expect with those.
‘No, pet, we just need to put it in once, and then we attach these little vials, and once one is full we swap it. I promise I’ll be super quick,’ Caroline said. The specialist.
‘But what about that big needle there. Are you going to be using that one too?’ I figured I didn’t need these tests after all. There was no need, sure Shane didn’t get any of this done when he broke his leg that time, and that was much worse than bruises, everyone knew that.
‘Yes, Finn, this is the second test I have to do. It’s called a bone marrow test. I have to put this needle into your hip, and then take out a sample of your bone marrow, that’s the spongy stuff on the inside of your bones.’ And all I kept thinking of was those Markies treats that Jasmine’s dog Rex loves, the ones with the marrowbone and gravy. Was that the same stuff as bone marrow? Could you eat mine with gravy?
‘Will we start?’ she asked, and before I could answer she had my arm out.
‘Now I’m going to rub a little cream on your arm here,’ she said, tickling the inside of my arm with her finger, ‘just to numb the area a little, and then a quick little injection in your hip before I take the sample, again just to numb the pain. I promise I’ll be as quick as I can. Mum, maybe if you sit on my far side. Finn, you just keep your eyes on Mum, OK?’
Ma was over in a flash, gripped my hand in hers, locked her eyes onto mine.
‘It’ll be all right, love, over in a minute, just keep looking at me, love,’ she said, but her grip was tightening and starting to hurt.
I barely felt the one in my arm, and I counted the vials as they were lined up on the desk, one, two, three. The one in the hip really, really hurt though, even more than that time I got my fingers slammed in the front door. A big sharp pain, like someone jabbed my bone with a knife and wiggled and waggled it around. Hard. But Caroline was right, she was quick, and it was finished before I had a chance to really cry.
‘All done, pet,’ Caroline said, pressing some cotton wool onto my hip and placing a plaster over it. ‘I’ve pulled a few strings,’ she said to Ma, ‘cleared some space for a slot in the lab, so the results should be back this evening, if you’re able to wait and come back?’
‘We’ll come back,’ Ma said.
‘Great job, Finn. Would you like a pirate sticker?’ said Caroline.
‘Ah no, you’re grand,’ I said. I really had to get on to Dr Flynn about that; imagine her thinking I’d be into pirates, I’m bleedin’ twelve.
Ma took me to the cinema while we waited. Avengers: Infinity War, with the whole lot of them, Iron Man, Spider-Man, Black Panther, all on one screen. The Guardians of the Galaxy even made the cut.
We got a big popcorn too, and a Coke. Each. And sour jellies. Not even from the shop like, but from the cinema kiosk. Ma never did that. We always brought our own. But not today. We even had time for a McDonald’s after, and she let me get a Big Mac instead of the usual Happy Meal, which confirmed everything right up for me there, so it did. Ma had officially gone mad. She kept staring at me, when she thought I couldn’t see, and googling on her phone, pulling it close to her chest when I tried to get a good look.
We got back to the hospital about eight o’clock, just like what Caroline told us to, and she was waiting for us, there at the reception, bringing us straight to her office.
‘Finn, would you mind waiting out here for a minute, pet, I just want to have a quick word with Mum first,’ Caroline said, before Ma or me even had a chance to say anything, before I even got a chance to tell her what film we saw, and how brilliant it was, and how definite I was that she should have a few Avengers stickers to add to her wall collection. And why did she want only Ma? And why wouldn’t she let me come in? Why did Ma go without telling me all was OK?
Maybe she thinks it was Da, just like Mrs O’Sullivan. Had she rung the social, told them? Would they take me away like Sasha Quinn and put me in a home, away from Joe? I wanted to go up to the door, put my ear to it, try to hear what they said. But I couldn’t. It was too busy and that was too sly, even for me.
The door opened a crack and Ma stuck her head out, her eyes red-rimmed and wet.
‘You can come in now, love,’ she said, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to hear what they had to say any more.
‘It’s all right, love, Caroline has something that she needs to tell you,’ and she reached out for me, put her arm across my shoulder, squeezed me in tight to her and her smells of lemon and smoke and popcorn. She led me to the chair, the same one as earlier, and left her arm right where it was, all wrapped around me.
‘Thank you for waiting, Finn,’ Caroline said. ‘We got your results back, and I’m afraid it’s not great news.’ Ma’s breath shuddered, all caught in her throat, and her hug tightened, pressing me in too much.
‘You have a form of cancer, Finn. It’s called acute myeloid leukaemia, but you can call it AML for short, if it’s easier,’ she said. I looked at Ma, but she looked straight ahead. Nothing about this sounded easy.
‘AML is a cancer of the blood, Finn – that is why you were getting those nosebleeds and those nasty bruises. It was your body trying to tell you that your blood was not quite working in the way that it should.’ Now I’m wondering if I messed up my blood that time me and Jasmine did blood brothers. Cutting our palms with Joe’s penknife and squishing them together. Mixing our blood together forever. What if
Jasmine’s blood is broken now too like mine?
‘How did this happen?’ Ma suddenly asked, all whispered and crackled, and I’m afraid to tell her what I think. That this is all because of me. Jasmine didn’t even want to do it. I made her because I’d seen it on some show, and I can’t even remember its name, and I’d no clue at the time that it meant all this would happen to me.
‘No one knows the cause as yet, Mrs O’Reilly. It is a very complicated form of cancer, it is not black and white. We will need to run some more tests, just to determine the best course of treatment, but most definitely we will be starting chemotherapy as soon as possible.’
‘Will it hurt?’ I asked, positive I couldn’t take another big needle in the hip.
‘No, pet, it won’t. We just need to do a scan, which is like a big X-ray, and a few more blood tests, and that will be all for the moment.’
‘What about surgery, can you not just cut it out of him, get it out. Does that not have to happen first?’ Ma asked.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs O’Reilly, I know this is so difficult to come to terms with, but because leukaemia is a cancer of the blood, that means there is nothing to take out as such. Again, once we do more tests, we will be able to discuss with you in detail Finn’s treatment plan.’ I didn’t want a treatment plan. I just wanted to go home. I needed to get ready for swimming with Joe. We were practising for months, every Saturday, to help me get into Stingrays. We were starting swimming again at school on Monday and there was no way I was using those skanky orange armbands or baby-chewed floats again this year. It was someone else’s turn for that slagging. Joe had made sure of it.
‘Can we go home now, Ma,’ and she couldn’t look at me. ‘I really just want to go home,’ I said again. She still wouldn’t look at me.
‘I’m so sorry, Finn, but you can’t go home just yet, and I am sorry I can’t tell you exactly when at the moment. But we will know more once we decide on your treatment plan, and we’ll let you know then. I promise.’ But her promise wasn’t good enough. I didn’t want to miss swimming. I didn’t want to miss school. I didn’t want any of this.
Boys Don't Cry Page 6
