Boys Don't Cry

by Fíona Scarlett

  I tried to find out on the news, even hear a bit on the radio, but Ma was shadowing me constantly and kept turning it off every time she heard it mentioned.

  Everyone was in and out of the flat. All morning, all day, all feckin’ night. Da’s friends, the ones he did jobs for. The ones who were frightened of him. The ones who were frightened now that Da was set up. Frightened that they might be next.

  Even Dessie Murphy called in, and Ma told me to go to bed so she could have the chats with him and I could hear her crying, so I could, right through the wall, and I heard Dessie talk about how he would get it sorted, how he had his lawyer on the way in to him now, how he would be home before we knew it. He kept talking about someone just sending a message. A message of what like? All I knew was that Da was in prison, and by the traffic in and out of the flat all day, it was serious this time.

  I tried to talk to Joe about it when he came back, but he just kept shutting me out. Not wanting to have anything to do with it, not even a conversation about it.

  ‘He’s not fucking worth your time, Finn,’ he said, and lay on his bunk and put his headphones in. I didn’t even try to share them this time.

  Ma told me I had to stay at home, not go to school until things blew over, but that made no sense to me. I wanted to go to school, see what they were saying, find out more about what was going on. Sure nobody here cared what your Da did, or why he was inside, loads didn’t even have their Das around, and that fella wasn’t even dead. So that proved that Da couldn’t even get done for murder.

  I wondered, if Ma was stopping me going to school, would she stop me from my chemo too. But I only had one left, and Joe had made me a big countdown and all and thumb-tacked it to the kitchen press, low enough so that I could reach it, and cross off the days myself. Dr Kennedy said I would get to ring the bell and we were going to have a party in the flat and I’d already invited everyone. But we were supposed to get in supplies, goodies, and a big cream cake. I wanted to remind Ma, but I wasn’t sure if I should say it at all.

  I looked in to check on Joe; he was still there, lying on his bunk. I came nearer, and waited. Still nothing from him. I stayed there, not moving, just standing over him, not sure what to do or say next.

  ‘What the fuck is it?’ Joe asked, reefing out his headphones, staring me out of it.

  ‘Nothing, Joe, just—’

  ‘Come on to fuck, Finn, what is it?’ He didn’t have the time for me right now, I could see it all over his face.

  ‘Are you taking me to chemo tomorrow?’ He swung right out of the bed, kneeled in front of me, his two hands firm on my shoulders.

  ‘That dick is not stopping you from finishing your chemo, do you hear me.’ He stayed exactly where he was. ‘Do you hear me, Finn.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, barely a whisper.

  ‘Fuck him, Finn. Seriously. Fuck him,’ and his grip tightened. ‘We’re going to celebrate the shit out of you beating this, and we won’t give two fucks of our time or attention thinking about him. Do you hear me.’

  And I did. Hear him that is. But I still wished Da could be there too, to see me ring that bell, to see me say goodbye to the cancer for good.

  Joe

  I’m on the veranda and he’s there with his legs outstretched, his back against our door, scrambling up, hitting the back of his head as he heaves himself upright.

  ‘All right, bud,’ he says, giving me a half-hearted thump on the arm, all playful like, Carthy and his bagging jeans and desperation. ‘Just seeing if ya fancy a pint,’ he says, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, trying to casually lean against the side of the door, one leg crossed over the other.

  ‘You. Want me. To go for a pint. With you?’ I say, pulling my keys out, moving myself closer to the door, shouldering him out of the way, him stumbling, the casualness being pushed out of him. ‘Don’t fucking think so,’ I say with a laugh, putting my key in, ready to turn it.

  ‘Right, I’ll cut to the fucking chase so,’ he says, his fist balling, angling himself diagonally into me, preparing himself for battle. ‘Just tell me have you told Dessie.’ His breathing has gone all quick, rapid, I can see the little beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead.

  ‘What are you on about,’ I say. His phone starts ringing, coming from the inside somewhere, jeans or jacket; he keeps looking, from it, to me, to it again, the sweat beading faster, beginning to trickle. ‘Well aren’t you going to answer that,’ I say, using the opportunity to turn the key to open, him still standing there, a small creep of a smile washing over him, pulling at his sleeve to wipe at the sweat.

  ‘Yeah, Joe, yeah I am.’ He starts laughing then, another swipe, over and back, soaking all the drops. ‘I’ll be seeing ya so,’ and he’s off, backed away, putting his hand inside his jacket, getting out his phone, nodding at me with a wink before it’s answered. Fucking clown.

  The door is caught on the letter underneath, the pushing of me ripping the middle of it. I bend down to get it, St Augustine’s familiar crest there in the corner, its see-through window addressed to Mr and Mrs O’Reilly. I rip the rest of it, in half, then half again, and hide it down the bottom of the bin. I get to the fridge, only gasping, a half-drunk bottle of Lucozade, the original, none of your sports shite, in the door. I grab it, make my way to the couch, feeling the vibration of a text at my thigh. I pull the screen closer, lie myself out the length of the couch, prop a cushion behind the head, and fuck it, the Lucozade’s gone all flat.

  Hey, what’s the story? Just checking in, thought you’d be back by now, but sure look, if you want a chat, or a meet-up, just text us back, yeah. And Joe, sorry for being a prick.

  But Johnny wasn’t a prick, isn’t a prick, he’s just someone that I was never supposed to meet. My finger hovers over the delete button, but I hit the home key instead, flinging the phone on the table beside me, it knocking into the brown sealed parcel on the table, For Joe, in thick black Sharpie stamped on the front. A good rattle of it gives nothing away, whatever it is padded tight within. I run my fingers down the seam, trying to pull it apart, reach into my pocket for my penknife, flip the blade and open. I can see it through the bubble wrap, the shape of it, and it’s in my hands now, shock-cold and lighter than expected. I extend my arm, aim it straight in front of me, a one-time thing yeah, put my finger in at the trigger, pull just a little, not all the way, before dropping it straight back down. I shakenly wrap it back up, bubbles popping as I do, back into its box, and I go and shove it into the back of my wardrobe, hidden well out of sight.

  Finn

  Dr Kennedy told us to get there early, so he could run some final tests, make sure that we could get the go-ahead for the last treatment.

  ‘It’s a wait-and-see game for a little bit after this, Finn,’ he had told me for about the tenth time.

  ‘He just has to be sure, love,’ Ma had said, but I could see even she was getting pissed off with his reaction. ‘Could he not let him fucking enjoy the moment like,’ I heard her whispering to Joe, although Ma’s whispers always carried, I’m not really sure that she even knew what whispering was.

  They let Da phone us today, earlier on, before we left. Me and Ma talked to him, but Joe said he didn’t want anything to do with him, and that we shouldn’t either. He said it loud enough so that Da probably heard and all.

  Joe had a big fight with Ma afterwards, so he did, shouting at Ma, asking her why he was letting Da fuck with my head, or have anything more to do with us. But I wanted to have something to do with him. I needed him, not like Joe. If the truth be told, he never needed him like me and Ma did.

  Ma and Joe insisted on staying around for the whole four hours.

  ‘No way are we missing this,’ Ma said.

  ‘Can’t get rid of us that easily,’ said Joe, and piled a stack of comics, and DS games, and fizzy worms, the extra-sour ones, well used to filling the boredom at this stage, we were true pros now, the two of us, in on the secrets of how to survive the four most boring hours of your
entire life.

  ‘Right, into your throne, young man,’ Sarah ordered. Joe had the pillows already all set up, the way he knew I liked them, and Sarah hooked up my line. The last bag of chemo swinging away. I reached first for the comics that Joe had brought. He always hid a few sketches in between the pages, had them stapled in so they wouldn’t fall out. I riffled through them all, it was the first thing I did each time, and put them out around me so I could see them, but I couldn’t find any. Maybe he’d forgotten with all the drama with Da. Then I saw it. Stuck in the middle of X-Men, right beside Wolverine, it’s one I recognised, one that we have hung up over the fireplace at home, the one Joe drew years ago, with me, about three, sitting on Da’s knee. Me pulling at his beard, and him laughing. It’s my favourite one, because it’s just Da and me, and no one else.

  I wanted to give him a hug. I wanted to tell him how much this meant to me, to be able to have Da here, even if just a little, but sure he’d already gone to get my Slush Puppie and Ma was gone to bring up some coffee.

  ‘Well, would you look at that,’ Nurse Sarah said, peering over my shoulder.

  ‘Me and Da,’ I said, and she nodded.

  ‘Will I get some Blu Tack and stick it up for you, Finn, I can put it here behind the chair if you’d like?’ I just nodded my head again, because I was afraid of the tears spilling if I opened my mouth, even a little, and today was definitely not for crying, not for me anyway. Ma was a different story, she just bawled right there in front of me when she saw it and hugged Joe so tightly when he came back with me Slushie, that I thought it would be melted by the time she let him go. If she ever would.

  We all held hands when the last drop of chemo left its bag. We did a countdown and all, although we had to restart it a few times – it’s hard to tell when it’s fully empty, a few little sneaky drops were clinging themselves to the inside of the bag, hanging on for dear life, the feckers. But we didn’t care. We didn’t mind starting over at all.

  Dr Kennedy came to take out my line and the tube, and the skin all around it was now naked and white and pasty. I itched it, gave it a really good scratch, till it scratched red, not afraid any more that I’d knock it out, now I could get on with my life, could start growing all my hair and eyelashes and eyebrows back so people started treating me normal again, so that people would stop asking me how I was, or what happened me, or avoid me, or look at me with a pain in their face that seemed to be a permanent fixture whenever I was in their presence. Maybe, just maybe, Principal Kelly would leave me alone now, go back to treating me the same as everybody else, being all strict and seeing me for lunchtime detention when I didn’t do my homework.

  ‘OK, Finn, you ready,’ and Dr Kennedy led me to the bell by the nurses’ station. There was a cake on the counter and all the nurses were there, Dr Kennedy, a few of the chemo kids and their parents.

  ‘Right, whenever you’re ready you can take it away so,’ Dr Kennedy said.

  Joe bent down, put me up on his shoulders and walked me over to the bell. Ma had her phone out to take a video; her tears were spilling, and she was not even trying to wipe them away, not even a little. I reached out and grabbed the rope, rang the bell as loud as I could, and the nurses pulled party poppers, and the bell could hardly be heard with the roar of the ward, all laughing and screaming and wishing me well and telling me they never wanted to see me back there again.

  And oh how I really wished that that was the way it was going to be for me.

  Joe

  The landline rings, and I jump at the jolt of it, cause the landline is only ever used by him. I wait until a good five rings because I know it’s for me, he’ll know Ma’s at work. I want him to wonder if I’m even here, and it’s only as I’m reaching my hand out that I decide if I’m going to answer it at all.

  ‘Mountjoy Prison, will you accept a call from a Mr Frank O’Reilly?’

  ‘Yes.’ I wait until the click and he’s through.

  ‘Joe, son, are you there?’ And everything is just awkward, I don’t know what to say. ‘Look, Joe, I don’t have long.’

  ‘Good,’ I say, not ready for this to be the time that he wants to play happy families, play make-believe.

  ‘You’re not to do what he’s asking, Dessie that is.’ I can hear the bristle of him as he gets straight to the point, he’s never able to keep it away for long. ‘Joe, whatever he’s promised you, you can’t trust him.’ He’s talking faster now, trying to get it all in. ‘Do you think he gives a fuck about you, do you think he’ll protect you, like he did me.’ I hear the crack of a laugh.

  ‘It’s just once. For Sabine. I need to clear—’ I say.

  ‘Fuck sake, Joe, do you think this job will clear it.’ He’s laughing all manic and mechanical. I pull the phone closer, feeling the heat of it right against my ear. ‘He has you right where he wants you, then it’ll be one more job, then one more.’ I stick to my bold silence, blocking him and his Da-of-the-year lecturings right out.

  ‘Look.’ He’s trying to keep it even, trying to keep himself calm, but calm never sits right on Da, it always has a way of sliding right off. ‘He’s coming in to me later.’ I clench my knuckles tighter around the handset. ‘Dessie, that is,’ and I clench them harder. ‘Don’t worry, son, I’m going to sort this, I’m going to get you out of it.’

  ‘No, you’re fucking not,’ I say, each word clipped sharp into the mouthpiece, fuck him, swanning in here, getting me out of it. Fuck him.

  ‘I fucking am,’ he says, his words roared into inner ear deafness, the sound of a thump of something hollow accompanying it. ‘I am not losing another fucking son,’ he says, and I slam the receiver, pulling the phone line out at the wall, plaster crumbling along with it.

  *

  Ma is there pushing hard at the front door, dropping her shopping right behind me, ‘Ah what happened here, love,’ as she picks up the phone line, fiddling at it to get it back in.

  ‘Sorry, tripped, Ma.’ She holds her look a little too long before getting the Hoover from the corner.

  ‘Here, I’ll do that.’ I take the accordioned nozzle from her, happy for the white noise of it to take over as she packs away the messages.

  ‘Come here, love,’ she says as I’m leaving the Hoover back; she’s motioning for me to sit with her at the table, a packet of ginger nuts and two fresh mugs of tea waiting. ‘It’s not about school, I promise,’ and I go to join her, dunk the ginger nut till almost disintegration, and suck on it before it falls.

  ‘I saw David there, at the side of Lidl,’ she says, again her look holding.

  ‘And,’ I say, not too bothered about Carthy and his Lidl escapades.

  ‘And,’ she says, giving a blow and a sip of her tea before continuing, ‘he was chatting with one of the Brophys, I think.’

  ‘One of the Brophys,’ I say, putting my mug down. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Pretty sure, yeah,’ she says, putting down her own mug now too, ‘I think it was one of his young lads, Mark, I think he’s called, or Martin, something like that, he used to play football with our …’ And she turns, taking a big gulp of tea to swallow it away. I reach my hand out and place it on hers. ‘Maybe you should have a word with him,’ she says, clasping her own hand on top of mine. I pull it back.

  ‘Ma, ah no, I don’t know,’ and her hand is still there, she’s turning it over palm-side now.

  ‘Joe, please, if Dessie finds out, you know … we all know what will happen if he’s double-jobbing. He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he,’ and she pushes herself to standing. I stand up to match. ‘Just give him a heads up, to watch his fucking back,’ she continues.

  ‘Ah Ma, look, that’s his fucking problem, isn’t it.’ I can see the sting of my words on her face.

  ‘This,’ she says, pointing her finger into my chest, I can feel the poke of it on my ribs, ‘is exactly why you don’t go hanging around with Dessie fucking Murphy,’ taking her arms and folding them tight tucked into each other, not trusting them, and I can’t even l
ook at her. I walk to the couch to pick up my coat.

  ‘Joe?’ She just shadows behind me as I make my way to the door. ‘Joe, please,’ louder now, her fingers gripped right around my arm. I plant my hand on hers, look straight into her eyes, but have to turn away. I will myself to get out the door, close Ma out behind me.

  Finn

  ‘You right there so,’ Joe called, knocking on the window to hurry us up.

  ‘Jaysus, would you look at him getting his knickers all in a twist,’ Jasmine said, filling up her backpack with the last of the popcorn and cans. ‘Is he always this bleedin’ serious,’ and she jammed herself into her red puffer jacket, zipping it right up to her neck. ‘He’d need to seriously relax the cacks like, he’s up there with Principal Kelly so he is, probably worse – at least you’ll get some chat out of Kelly, well, sometimes.’ She went on ahead of me and opened the flat door.

  It was pissing down, and I didn’t even bother with my hood, liked the feeling of my hair wet against my skin and skull again. Stood with my mouth open to let it drop right in.

  ‘Hurry it the fuck up,’ Joe called back, powering on ahead of us.

  ‘See what I mean,’ Jasmine said, but hurrying all the same; she didn’t like the halo of frizz the rain made out of her.

  We could see the 11 making its approach, the rattle of its double-deckeredness looking like it could topple with the speed of it.

  ‘Leg it,’ Joe said over his shoulder as we all pegged it, all stitched and out of breath as we hopped on and Joe paid our fare. I shook out my hair and ran my hand through it, again, and then again.

  ‘Ah here, what’s with the A1 grooming session?’

  ‘Shut it, Jass,’ Joe said, holding the pole over my head, and although it had been four weeks since I’d said to feck to the cancer, Joe couldn’t get out of that. Protecting. Even if it wasn’t needed.