‘That’s on him,’ I say, ‘all fucking him. He had to go and involve himself, get involved in it. He could have said no. He could have walked away, told them all to go to fuck.’ I kick the side of the couch; Sabine comes and stands behind me, her vanilla-scented hair brushing my arms, back, her arms on my shoulders, and then right around, enveloping me with the whole of her, always with the whole of her, pressed in extra tight.
‘I think you should go,’ she says, whispering into the back of my neck, and I lean back into her, close my eyes, wish I could just see things the way that she does, or feel things the way that she does, without all my shades of darkness kaleidoscoping, slicing right through.
Finn
I woke up in the night, all sweating in the bed, thinking that the pyjamas maybe were better left off, and the smell from the room was like Jasmine’s lotion, the one she got when she first pierced her ears, and had to rub it right onto the back so they wouldn’t get infected and it spilt all over her school trousers and they stank for a week, until laundry day Friday, and that smell was all over the place here. I couldn’t help thinking that they were just all too late, to stop an infection with that strong-smelling lotion, because infected I already was.
I was about to get up when I heard them whispering, Ma and Da. The glow from the hall had lit them right up, on the chair by my side, with Ma curled up on Da’s knee, whispering into his neck and his ear. I stayed still where I was, because I didn’t want them to know I was awake, or to know that I was spying on them, and sure it was nice to see them like that.
‘Do ya remember the time when he got at your nail varnish?’ Da said, and it was barely a whisper, him trying not to wake me, me trying harder to hear. And Ma’s laugh cut right through the forced silence. A laugh that always made you want to laugh yourself, with her head thrown back and mouth so wide you could see right to her tonsils. I tried extra hard not to smile, not to give the game away.
‘My good stuff too. Brand new and bright red at that, and he had everything bleedin’ covered so he did.’
‘And the red all over his hands, and his face, and his hair,’ said Da, ‘swearing it wasn’t him.’ Now Da was laughing too, being a little less careful to hide the volume of him. ‘Jaysus, it was hard to keep a straight face through the strict that day,’ he said, shaking his head, squeezing into Ma.
‘Or the time when Nanny Peg’s brush broke and her sweeping the floor.’
‘And out he comes with ah fuck, Nanny, and me Ma pulled the ear off me for teaching the young ones bad language,’ said Ma, and Da was rightly laughing now. ‘And the time he brought that mangy cat home, the one he found out the back by the bins.’
‘And the eye gone on him.’
‘And the fleas hoppin’ off him.’
‘But you let him stay,’ Ma said, ‘you took him to the vet and all, do ya remember?’
‘Jaysus, yeah, and he nearly scratched the bollox off him, some poor young lad, just doing his training.’
‘And you put a box by his bed.’
‘With the bedding from his old cot.’
‘Fuck, I could never say no to Finn.’ They were not laughing any more. It had gone back to being quiet, and smelling of lotion that was just trying too hard to conceal.
‘Will he be all right, Annie,’ I heard him whisper.
‘I really don’t know, love,’ said Ma, winding her arms tighter now, everything wrapped around him, encasing him, securing him, with all that she was and all that she had. I think he was crying now too. Big gulps into the dark and the silence. Breaking it apart.
I wanted to let him know that I was awake. To tell him that I was OK. To promise that all would be fine, he’d see.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Sure Da wouldn’t want me to know that he cries.
Joe
It didn’t take much to arrange, a lot easier than I thought it would be. I was on his visitation list, which meant it could be scheduled, just like that. I picked Tuesday, the very next day, just in case I’d lose my nerve; even now, as I’m in the communal waiting area, kids hide-and-seeking, babies squalling, Mas ignoring, Radio One’s background murmurings, I’m still thinking of getting out, making the great escape. But they have my phone, my wallet, and I was already searched and told the rules, the regulations, so I may as well stay and listen to what he has to say. Shouldn’t I?
I didn’t tell Ma where I was going. I didn’t want her to be thinking that this actually meant something, sure she’d just want me going in with her every week then, and I didn’t think I’d be able to handle all of that shite. This once, I told myself. Just this. That’s all he deserves. More than he fucking deserves.
The waiting is taking longer than I thought. The tick of the clock on the calming salmon-painted walls beating into my thoughts, dissecting them, leaving them there for me to examine on fucking duplication and I keep coming back to that letter. I should never have opened it. I should never have kept it in the first place; once opened my eyes scanned, and all I could see was you. Finn. Finney boy. My Finn. But he was never Da’s Finn. Never. His reminiscing and remembering’s all warped. All fucking wrong. Memories smelling of roses, masking the decay of reality, because Da wasn’t there to see it. Left Ma and myself to that all by ourselves, as if anything else was fucking new, Da never ever failing to surprise, self-fulfilling his own prophecy with ease. We were well used to all of that. Myself, and Ma, and Finn, always well fucking used to that.
I shift in my chair, rub at my lower back, at the puncture mark that was supposed to save your life, and observe the painstaking care taken to make this place just like any average, ordinary waiting room. Mustard and teal couches, safari-themed bean bags, a water cooler, Ideal Homes and Country Livings fan-spread on a see-through glass coffee table, little handprints smudged, not yet wiped from this morning’s eager visitors. But no amount of IKEA soft furnishings could mask the armed guards by the thick, locked steel doors, or the beep of the metal detector welcoming your arrival, or the plastic-gloved pat-down, searching for anything and everything that could be perceived or imagined into any form of weapon.
My name is called and I’m escorted in through the doors and left waiting in a cubicle, with a sheet of bulletproof Perspex shielding us from any form of physical contact, dissolving that awkwardness at least.
He’s brought in chained at his feet, but not his hands, and as he sits in front of me, the shock of it, seeing him, looking back at me with Finn’s eyes, nearly sends me right out that door. I’d forgotten how much of him was in Finn. But I stay rooted to where I am, stay seated, glaring at him, waiting, only picking up the phone after he does. Daring him to make the first move.
Finn
Dr Kennedy was in today, letting me know the story with my treatment plan. He was the head doctor, apparently, head of my team, but I didn’t really know what to make of him, not much to be fair, because I told him my favourite joke and I don’t think he knew how to laugh. He had the most boring voice ever, and sure I was more than half zoned out, like a zombie, or something that needed no brain. I wondered if he had any kids like me, if he ever had any fun with them, or was it just that being around the cancer zapped you and everyone around you of having fun ever again?
‘Right so Finn, would you like me to discuss your treatment plan with you on your own, or would you prefer that your parents were here too?’ He’d been waffling on at me for ages. I wanted to watch Tipping Point, and it was on in five minutes, and I hoped that he wasn’t going to be still going on about stuff then.
‘Ah on my own is grand, Doctor,’ I said, and hoped that he would just hurry the feck up.
‘Oh. Just great. I find that’s the best usually, it means you can ask the questions you might be afraid to ask if they were here.’ Sure what was he going on about now? Why did he think I’d be afraid to ask questions around Ma and Da?
‘I have already spoken to them both, of course, but sometimes patients want their parents here for t
his bit too,’ and maybe I should have had them here, maybe I needed them here; I was panicking now, if I’d made the right choice.
‘Is it OK if I begin now, Finn?’ he said, and I started to think that him having a boring voice was not so bad; it made me quiet, and calm, and forget the worry of asking the right questions – well, for now anyway. I nodded my head, not wanting to interrupt him, wanting to listen, and see what he could do about this cancer.
‘OK. Well, AML, the cancer that you have, as you know affects both your blood and your bone marrow. We are going to attack this cancer in two different ways.’ I started to like him, even just a little bit then.
‘Attack?’
‘Yes, Finn. The first thing we want to do is to kill the leukaemia cells that are in your blood and your bone marrow now. Then after that is done, we will attack and try to kill any more that may be hiding, or that may not be too strong yet.’
‘How will you kill them?’ I asked, now getting a bit more curious, warming up to the idea of killing this leukaemia that was taking hold of not just me, but the whole family. I didn’t know that they would be attacked, that they would be killed, that they would be able to do any of that.
‘We’ll do it in a number of ways. First, we’ll start with some chemotherapy, do you know what that is?’ I shook my head no.
‘Well, chemotherapy uses drugs to stop the cancer cells growing, stops them trying to spread. We will be starting yours straight away. Firstly by using a drip, through an injection into your vein, that will get it straight into your bloodstream, and then I am hoping that we can start it by mouth, which is just a tablet, that you will be able to take from home.’
‘You mean I’ll get to go home?’
‘Oh yes, we are hoping you’ll get to go home tomorrow, Finn, and then you need to come back once a week for your chemo, for about six weeks, and then, if in remission, that means if all the cancer is gone, you will be able to take it at home then, just to make sure that it doesn’t come back.’
‘Do I get to go back to school?’
‘Yes, there is nothing stopping you going back, as long as you feel up to it.’
‘Oh, I definitely feel up to it,’ I said, and there I was thinking that the cancer would mean I had to stay in hospital, or be really sick, or any of those things. ‘What if the cancer doesn’t all die, what if some of it gets away?’
‘We’re really hoping that the chemo will get it all, but if it doesn’t, we will most definitely do a bone marrow transplant.’ Even the sound of that word flashed the big needle in front of my eyes again, but Dr Kennedy continued on. ‘That’s when we take out the bad bone marrow from you, and swap it with some healthy bone marrow from a donor.’
‘A donor, what’s that?’ I didn’t think it was like the kebab you got in town.
‘A donor is somebody who gives, but they have to be an exact match – usually it’s a relative, but we’ve already tested, and Joe is a match, if we need to use it.’ I couldn’t think about Joe having to get that injection too. That he would have to do that for me.
‘Is my hair going to fall out?’ I asked, suddenly remembering.
‘Probably, Finn, and your eyebrows and eyelashes too. It’s an effect of the chemo, because it is such a strong drug. It could make you feel sick, or throw up, or feel very tired too, or it could do none of these things – everybody is different in how they respond.’
I was getting braver, getting ready to ask the questions that I really wanted to ask.
‘Can I give the cancer to someone, if I hug them, or anything like that?’ Dr Kennedy’s face softened, into a bit of a smile, well, what looked like a smile, for him. Softened.
‘No, son, you can’t give it to anyone.’
‘What if I did blood brothers, could I give it to them then?’
‘Absolutely not, Finn, you can’t catch it off someone.’
‘Then how did I catch it so?’ And I tried not to let him see me cry, choked it back, tried to stay strong.
‘Son, nobody knows that for sure. But I am telling you this, one hundred per cent, nothing you did caused any of this. There is absolutely nothing at all you could have done to prevent it. Do you understand? That is really, really important.’
I nodded my head again, worked myself up to ask the big one. The question I knew I shouldn’t ask, because of Ma screaming no, shutting me off every single time that I tried. I knew then why he said it was better that I talked to him on my own, because I never could have asked it with anyone else there.
‘Will I die?’ It came out of my mouth, just like that, and I thought I couldn’t do it, or say it, I thought I would hide from it, or that he would too, but he didn’t. He looked me straight in the face, no hiding or trying.
‘I don’t know, Finn. But what I do know is that the cancer hasn’t spread to anywhere else in your body, which is a really good sign. I’ll tell you something else: it is my job, it is your team’s job, to do the very, very best that we can to make sure that that does not happen. I can absolutely promise you that.’ I believed him. He was honest. He didn’t try to shush me, or lie to me, or treat me like I wasn’t worth telling.
We were interrupted by the loud ringing of a bell. It was a handbell too, I knew it was, because we had to use it in school when the one through the speaker was broken. Dr Kennedy was really smiling then; he asked me to come and see. We got out into the corridor, right beside where the door to the ward was. There was a big crowd of people, and nurses, and doctors, and kids, and parents, and one little girl, definitely younger than me, stood up on a chair, ringing the hell out of the bell over the door, pulling on a big white string as hard as she could.
‘What’s that?’ I asked Dr Kennedy.
‘That’s the I beat cancer bell – all the patients ring it when their cancer is gone.’ Everyone was standing and cheering and laughing and passing around cake, and I was more determined than ever, that I would be standing on that chair, ringing that bell, no questions at all about that.
Joe
‘Howya, Joe,’ he says, all gruff and crackled, into the phone. He’s looking like shite too, the barbed stubble and gouged creases on him. He scrapes his chair forward, twice, leaning himself in closer, the frame of him too big, spilling over the edge of the seat, the left front leg groaning outwards at the weight of him.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he continues on, still moving himself, trying to get comfortable, me keeping my two feet flat grounded, statue still. ‘You’re looking good anyways,’ he says.
‘Ah fuck off, Da,’ I say, knowing the cut of me.
‘Well, you’re fucking looking the dog’s bollox compared to me, son,’ and we both laugh. Da’s good at reeling you in like that, making you feel all comfortable in his presence. Until you’re not.
‘Carthy’s collecting for Dessie now,’ I say, going to something familiar, yet outside of me. His face gives nothing away, the way he’s trained it to do.
‘Is it true, Da. Carthy?’ His face still stone-set, masking any way of reading it. I’m moving closer despite myself.
‘Look, Dessie knows what he’s at, so leave them to it,’ he says. ‘Seriously, Joe, leave it well the fuck alone. Don’t be getting yourself involved in the middle of that,’ and the wanting to protect is fucking pathetic; I turn my head to the clock on the wall, counting down the twenty minutes left.
‘Wait, are you rolling your eyes at me?’ The chair rocks on him as he’s shifting closer, his rage now all lopsided. ‘You think you wouldn’t get sucked into Dessie just like the rest of us,’ and he’s gripping at the counter in front, the half-moon of his thumb whitening at the pressure of it. ‘I was about your age, when it happened to me,’ he says, barely a flat whisper; I can hear the grind of his back teeth.
‘Da. Don’t,’ I say, dropping my gaze, trying to disengage, but he continues, in his own trance.
‘I’d just been kicked out of another home, the social were on my case, urging me to make it up to the perverted bastards running
the place so they’d take me back, and there he was, my knight in fucking shining armour.’ He gives a harsh laugh into the phone.
‘It started small, a few favours here and there, in return for a place to stay, a safe house back at the flats.’ He is itching at his collar now, pulling at it. I fix on that instead of his face.
‘I thought it would be easy to stop. I thought it would be so fucking easy to just walk away whenever I wanted, but the more he asked for, the more I gave, the more favour I got, the more fancy shit I could buy, the more up the ladder I climbed,’ he is still trying to catch my gaze, ‘and the further it was to see the ground.’ He places one hand over his eyes, rubbing his thumb against his temple.
‘Your Ma,’ his hand pushing harder, the counter creaking with him, ‘I fucking completely broke her. She had a family, a good one, she had so much laid out for her before I trampled the fuck all over that. Once she was in the picture, he had a hold so tight of me, I suffocated her with it, and here we fucking are.’ He’s looking right at me now, waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to say anything. But I can’t; I just grip the handle of the phone tighter, feeling the tense knot of my knuckles.
‘Joe, you’ve a chance, fucking take it, go to college, get the fuck out of that place and never look back, don’t let him fucking take a hold of you like he has me, promise me.’ Promise? Him there thinking he has the right to parental advice, that he has the fucking right to anything at all. I hook the phone between my shoulder and ear, clasp my right wrist in the palm of my left, and twist the tight skin around the hard jut of bone, over and back, feeling the burn of it, watching it redden.
‘This fucking chair,’ he says, turning it over, slapping the bandy leg of it back into position with the palm of his hand, placing it back upright with a slam, it groaning on him again as he sits back down.
Boys Don't Cry Page 8
