Closed Doors

by Lisa O'Donnell

  ‘You want some hot chocolate, son?’ she says.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say, even though it’s watery, it’s still chocolate. After a while Granny cries. I put my arm around her. I feel bad because she wants to tell me all about rape but can’t, but like Da says, I’m going to find out about it sooner or later and when I do it’s going to make everyone angry.

  NINETEEN

  I GET TO eat cornflakes every morning for breakfast when it’s the holidays. I scatter tons of sugar all over them and mix them with loads of cold milk. In wintertime I have to have warm milk, or worse, porridge.

  ‘Would you look at that?’ says Da, waving the paper about. ‘Some fucker broke into the Queen’s own bedroom and asked for a fag.’

  ‘Would you watch your language in front of the lad?’ says Ma, even though Ma says worse words in front of me. Ma slams down the shirt she’s mending and leaves the room. Da doesn’t care. He doesn’t even look round. He is used to Ma and her nippy ways. We all are.

  ‘Scaled the wall in his bare feet and no one saw a thing,’ says Da.

  ‘Let me see that,’ says Granny and pores over Da’s shoulder. It annoys him because he starts to squirm around. He doesn’t like his ma too close to him.

  ‘Poor Elizabeth,’ says Granny. ‘She must have been scared shitless. Thank God for her butler.’

  Da sniggers at this and I snigger too, I think it’s funny that a butler saves the day and so does Da. Da gives me a big smile and then it falls quickly from his face like all Da’s smiles do these days.

  I think of what Suzanne was whispering in the supermarket. ‘Could have raped me, Mrs Murray,’ and I feel a chill go down my back. It’s a bad word for sure and saying it to anyone would most likely get me tanned. It sounds like rip and I wonder if they’re sort of the same. There are so many words I’m not meant to know or say, even though everyone else says them, like shitless and fucker and bastard. They must be stupid if they think I don’t know what those words mean, but here is a word I don’t know, and the word is rape and so I borrow Ma’s dictionary and get a pen and a piece of paper to write everything down. I know it’s going to be a big thing when I read about it. I find the word quickly.

  Rape, raped, raping. Force of a man or other persons to have sexual intercourse by the threat or use of violence against any person.

  Force, I think. Violence.

  I think I know about intercourse because Paul MacDonald told me after Deirdra was screaming about it in class one time. I think there is something wrong with Deirdra. Granny says she is a bit touched in the head.

  Anyway, Paul got his nudey magazines out and told me intercourse was when a man gets hard in his willy and gets naked with one of the women in the pictures showing their fannies off. I know Ma would never show her fanny to anyone and it makes me feel scared. I ask him again even though I know he will tear lumps out of me.

  ‘Are you stupid or something? I told you already. Intercourse is like shagging and doing wanking, it’s all the same, but you have to do it with a woman. My da told me.’

  I am suddenly worried Paul and his da have made a mistake and so I look up intercourse again.

  Intercourse. Communications between individuals or groups of persons or coitus.

  I am more confused than ever and flick through the pages until I am at C. I eventually find coitus.

  Coitus. Sexual intercourse.

  I am running in circles, everything means the same, and so I look up sexual again.

  Sexual. Pertaining to or involving sexual relations.

  I am suddenly not sure about anything and decide to ask Da about all the words, except rape, but I wait till Ma and Granny are doing something else, but then Granny walks in and hears me ask about the word sexual and gets very angry with me. Ma is right behind her and there I am stuck with all of them and not wanting to know any words at all.

  ‘Sexual is not a word I want to hear uttered in this house,’ says Granny.

  ‘Away and shite, woman,’ says Da. ‘They’re perfectly normal words for any growing lad to know.’

  I blame Paul MacDonald and tell them he said them in the car park. I don’t tell them about the dirty magazines because they would tell his ma and da and the magazines would be taken away and I like the magazines. Anyway Granny said sexual was a sinful word but was not surprised it was used in Paul MacDonald’s house with ‘Those sisters running around’. Paul has three of them, and except for Georgina, the rest of his sisters look a lot like Paul, which is a shame because they’re very nice girls, even though they get about a bit. That’s what Granny says anyway, but she says that about a lot of people. If she knew about Marianne and her fanny, she would say worse about her and probably tell her ma.

  Anyway, Da says it’s human to be sexual and have intercourse.

  ‘It’s about reproduction and a whole bunch of other stuff. Evolution, son.’

  ‘Is it about being naked, Da?’ I ask.

  ‘Sometimes,’ says Da.

  Granny crosses herself.

  ‘Is it the same as coitus, Da?’

  ‘Coitus,’ laughs Da. ‘Where did you hear a word like that?’

  I want to tell him about rape and the dictionary but I can’t.

  ‘For the love of God, would you make him stop with all these questions?’ says Granny, who is making a big horrible cake for after dinner and stirring the batter quickly. I wonder what she puts in her cakes to make them hurt your chest so bad when you swallow them. I decide I won’t eat one bite.

  Da ignores Granny and Ma says nothing at all.

  ‘Sometimes you have to be naked and sometimes you don’t and sometimes it’s about intercourse, or coitus, you know, when a man and a woman lie down together, it’s hard to explain, Michael, so let’s leave it alone before Granny here has a fit in the kitchen.’

  ‘But is sexual intercourse and coitus the same as sex, Da?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ says Da. He’s getting annoyed now, so I let it alone and go back to my dictionary. I check all the words again until I get to force, which I know is making people do things they don’t want to, and violence, when you smack people. I flick back to rape.

  Rape, raped, raping. Force of a man or other persons to have sexual intercourse by the threat or use of violence against any person.

  Force, I think. Violence. Sexual intercourse. Violence. Force.

  Ma’s blood, I think.

  Ma’s cuts.

  Ma’s tears.

  Ma!

  TWENTY

  EVERY SUMMER GRANNY drags us to the top of Barone Hill next to the graveyard to pick wild raspberries for her jam. She makes sandwiches, a flask of hot tea (even though it’s boiling outside) and scones. Da brings his paper and a bottle of fizzy juice. It’s a weird day for fizzy juice, we only get fizzy juice when the sun is out, and today there is no sun, it’s just a really hot day, the kind that makes you sweat and feel funny when you breathe.

  ‘It’s clammy,’ says Granny.

  On berry-picking day Ma is on good form but I feel strange around her now. I make mistakes around her, like walking into her room for chewing gum and catching her getting dressed.

  ‘What are you standing there for?’ she says.

  ‘Looking for Juicy Fruit,’ I say.

  ‘Then look for Juicy Fruit and stop looking at me,’ she nips.

  I grab for the Juicy Fruit and look to the floor but it makes me bang into the edge of the door and I hurt my head.

  ‘Now you’ll get a bruise,’ she says and comes to look at my face. She looks up close and I can smell her breath. I hate it and want to run for my life. I squirm away from her. I want to leave with my Juicy Fruit.

  ‘What’s the matter, Michael?’ she whispers.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say.

  She shakes her head and sighs. ‘Do you want to talk about something?’ she asks.

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘I want to go downstairs.’

  It’s terrible to know too many things about people. It makes you feel like a lia
r because you have to act like you know nothing at all when the truth is you know everything there is to know.

  Ma would hate it if she thought I knew, and if I gave her a hug or something and said I was sorry about the man in the park she would probably go mad with tears and never sleep again.

  ‘I don’t want to go berry-picking,’ I tell her, trying to think of something to say.

  ‘What are you talking about? You love berry-picking,’ says Ma and strokes my head.

  ‘It’s too hot,’ I say.

  ‘Then wear a T-shirt,’ she chirps.

  ‘I don’t have one,’ I say.

  In her tights and shirt she goes to my bedroom and I just wish she would put the rest of her clothes on.

  ‘Here,’ says Ma and reaches into a drawer and pulls out my Celtic top.

  ‘That’s my good shirt. I don’t want to waste it berry-picking. It’ll get juice on it,’ I say.

  ‘Then this,’ says Ma, throwing another shirt at me, not a good shirt, but still not one to be ruined berry-picking.

  ‘Would you stop throwing my clothes around?’ I say and with a lot of cheek in me too, but she doesn’t even get mad. She just rolls her eyes to heaven.

  ‘I’m away to get dressed, Michael,’ she smiles. ‘Find yourself a shirt and I’ll meet you downstairs.’

  I find an old yellow T-shirt with a tomato-sauce stain on the shoulder. It’s a bit small but I don’t mind, it can get wasted to death for all I care. It’s a rubbish T-shirt. I hate it. I hope a whole basket of berries ruins it and I can throw it in the bin.

  ‘What’s that you’re wearing, Michael?’ says Granny.

  ‘What does it look like?’ I say.

  ‘It’s too small, go take it off,’ says Granny. ‘The neighbours will think we don’t dress you right.’

  ‘If he wants to wear it let the lad alone. It’s not a wedding we’re going to,’ says Ma and gives me a wink. It makes me smile although it’s hard to smile at her with all I know.

  Even though Ma is being nice I hate we’re going berry-picking together. It makes me feel sick in my stomach, but not like I could throw up, a different kind of sick, like swirls and knots.

  Da yells for Frankie, who goes crazy with excitement. Frankie loves going anywhere with Da. He goes mad and jumps all over the place and that means Da can’t get the lead on him and has to shout at him to sit down; this makes Frankie pee himself with worry and makes Granny all angry. I love Frankie for peeing but he can be a bit stupid about it.

  ‘He has too many emotions, that dog,’ says Da but pats him anyway.

  Poor Frankie, he has no idea where he’s going because he’s a dog and he’s never been berry-picking before. It’s boring, I want to tell him. I bet they tie him up somewhere, on a lamp post probably, and he will boil to death. Da takes a wee bowl for him just in case.

  ‘What’s that for?’ says Granny.

  ‘It’s roasting outside. He’ll get thirsty,’ says Da. ‘I’ll nip up the graveyard and use the sink.’

  ‘That water is for the dead,’ says Granny.

  ‘I’m sure they won’t be missing it, Shirley,’ says Ma. She smiles at Da. Da gives her a wink and then they look at me to take part in the teasing of Granny but I don’t join in, and ignore them.

  ‘It’s for the flowers of the departed,’ whispers Granny.

  ‘God won’t mind if we give wee Frankie here a dram of water,’ says Da.

  Granny pulls a face because Da will go to the graveyard anyway.

  Getting to the berry patch means walking through the entire scheme and I feel stupid wearing the yellow T-shirt all of a sudden and hope no one sees me, but everyone sees me and I’m holding two baskets like a girl. Granny made me.

  Dirty Alice and Marianne see me, but they don’t say anything because Granny would give them a right telling-off. Also Marianne would be scared I’d tell everyone she showed me her fanny. Then I see Aidan Greer and he says nothing either because he knows I’ll kick his arse next time I see him if he does.

  Ma looks good swinging a basket, she looks happy. The scars are healed on her face although you can still see a little red ripple above the left side of her lip. I should be glad she can smile again but I know inside she is still sad. I don’t like the sad inside her. I’m scared of it. I remember how it screamed about the place and couldn’t sleep.

  I wonder about the other night when Tricia came over and talked like mad about Suzanne Miller. Tricia said it was all people were talking about. Granny didn’t even look up from her tea and now I know why.

  ‘The community centre is running self-defence classes so we can kick the shit out of anyone trying to attack us,’ said Tricia, smoking.

  ‘Wouldn’t help,’ Ma said to her.

  ‘It would fucking help me. I’d fight to the death,’ she told Ma. I know now this must have made Ma feel horrible, as if she didn’t fight him enough when he hurt her in the park.

  ‘If a big man came at you, Tricia, you would turn to water and the only thing you would be thinking is “Don’t kill me.” You wouldn’t be fighting anyone.’ Granny finished her cigarette and put the kettle on for more tea.

  ‘Well, all the women on this island are terrified and all the men are walking them everywhere for safety. It’s some big thing in town.’

  I wonder how bad my ma must have felt about her saying that and I start to hate Tricia all over again.

  So many things start to make sense to me now and it makes me mad. I thought I was the one keeping a big secret for them about a stupid flasher when all the time they were the ones keeping a big secret from me.

  ‘Rosemary is doing well,’ says Granny to Da one night but that was before I knew what they were talking about.

  ‘Be better if she could sleep without the pills,’ says Da.

  ‘What do you want from the girl?’ snips Granny. ‘After what she’s been through it’s a wonder she hasn’t downed the whole bottle.’

  ‘What a thing to say, Ma,’ says Da.

  ‘It’s the truth. She’s got strength and if I didn’t know better I’d say you were scared of it,’ says Granny.

  Granny says all kinds of things to Da and I wonder how he can stand it, she can be fairly rude, but Da can be rude back. I can’t be anything to Granny or I’d get skelped. I wonder if it was like this when Da was wee. I wonder what kind of things he dared to say to Granny then. I bet he didn’t say a word, but now he says a ton of them.

  We pick berries until my arms are sick of being scratched.

  ‘Are we done yet?’ I ask.

  ‘Nearly done,’ says Ma.

  ‘We should go soon,’ says Da. ‘I don’t like the look of those clouds.’

  Ma picks loads of berries but she also keeps eating them and it drives Granny mad.

  ‘You’ll get a gut ache if you’re not careful, Rosemary,’ Granny says. Ma rolls her eyes to heaven.

  Da hardly picks any. He just sits on a patch of lazy grass with Frankie and reads his paper. One time he goes to the graveyard to get the water and Granny is furious and then the rain comes.

  ‘Here it comes,’ says Da. ‘Let’s get going.’

  It starts to thunder in the distance and then clouds start to spit at us.

  That’s when Granny sees the car. A hearse. Long and black and with other cars trailing behind it.

  ‘Oh Jesus. A funeral. That’s all we need and here we are picking berries and stealing dead people’s water. It’s a cursed day.’

  ‘Only for the poor sod in the hearse,’ says Da.

  ‘What an awful thing to say to your mother,’ says Granny.

  As the cars roll by Da waves at a few faces he recognises, so does Ma and on the other side of the road Granny does the same.

  ‘Elsa Chapman it was,’ says Granny on the way home.

  ‘Who’s Elsa Chapman?’

  ‘Mary Chapman’s older sister. I never knew her. She lived off the island, moved to Canada. I think her husband died and she came back to be near family.’
r />   ‘We saw Malcolm and Sheila,’ says Da.

  ‘I saw Vera and Hale,’ says Granny. She crosses herself and then I cross myself and smile at her knowing Granny will be thrilled to pieces. It was just for fun really.

  ‘What the hell was that, Michael?’ says Ma.

  ‘I was crossing myself like Granny does.’

  Granny kisses the top of my head and gives Ma a triumphant look. ‘This lad needs to be baptised,’ says Granny.

  ‘Away ’n’ shite, Shirley, he needs nothing more than a few drama classes.’

  ‘Just because the boy shows a healthy interest in his own religion doesn’t mean we need to send him to the Fame Academy,’ nips Da.

  ‘What do you care for religion? You were drinking from the well of the dead a minute ago,’ says Ma.

  ‘It’s just water for God’s sake. I agree with Ma. Michael crossed himself, it’s time we took him to church,’ says Da.

  I am suddenly wishing I hadn’t crossed myself at all. I was just playing a joke on Granny and now I know it wasn’t funny.

  ‘I suppose you mean your church?’ Ma says.

  ‘You don’t have a church, Ma,’ I say.

  ‘You’re not a Catholic, Michael, trust me, you’ll thank me for it one day,’ says Ma.

  ‘Maybe I want to go to church. Maybe I want to go with Da,’ I yell.

  Ma is fuming and more than usual. Granny starts to cry with joy.

  ‘You can shut those fucking tears off, Shirley. You’ve been turning that boy ever since you came into my house. Well, I’m not having it,’ says Ma.

  ‘Don’t you talk to my mother like that,’ yells Da.

  That’s when Ma throws the berries away. Everyone on the street, anyone fixing their car, kids playing with other kids, everyone can hear the commotion.

  ‘It’s all right, Ma, I won’t go to church,’ I say but Ma has walked off and no one can catch up to her. Da doesn’t want to anyway. I help Granny and Da pick the berries from the road. Ma’s went and ruined the day and just because I was having a bit of fun with Granny. I didn’t know she’d get so serious over it. It makes me annoyed at her.