After He Died

by Michael Malone

  ‘Squeaky clean—’ added Rossi.

  ‘And filthy rich,’ interrupted Cara. ‘I mean, who gets that successful without bending the rules?’

  ‘Bending? You’re talking about butchering them,’ said Rossi.

  ‘The guy that told me was terrified. And certain Tosh Gadd was involved.’ She thought back to Danny’s expression as he recalled the night of her brother’s murder. ‘I believed him. Completely.’

  ‘From what we hear, you made yourself a giant pain in the arse with our colleagues. Enough that Thomas Gadd was investigated,’ said Drain, with a note of grudging respect.

  ‘And…?’ Cara sat forwards. This was news. Her gut gave a little twist. Hope against hope that the police had found something.

  ‘And they found nothing. Mr Gadd was – as I have said – squeaky clean.’

  ‘Clean, my arse.’ She found the old hurt at her brother’s passing. Her attention was like gas to a pilot flame and she felt the pain of it rise in her mind and body as if the two years since his death was a mere two days. She bit her top lip as if the pressure there would bring her back into the moment.

  Sean was a good kid. Worked hard in school. Played football with his mates. Kept out of trouble. Until, like many of his disaffected peers, he got onto drugs, and the change was incredible. Made Cara think of those seventies movies about demonic possession. She held an image of him in her mind. They’d met by accident two weeks before he died. Walking on Argyle Street, just outside Marks and Spencer, she heard her name being shouted:

  ‘Ignoring your brother, ya snooty cow,’ he said. His smile was big in the thin wedge of his face. His eyes were dulled as if everything he had ever lost was recorded there, and the pallor of his skin was on the turn towards jaundice.

  She fought to hide her shock at his appearance and drew him into a hug. She felt the bones of him through the thin cloth of his sweatshirt. As if he read her pity, he stepped back from her, and studied the ground at his feet. He pushed his fists into his pockets as if his worldly belongings were held there and he wanted to protect them. Eventually he lifted his head up to meet her gaze.

  ‘How’s Ma?’ he asked.

  ‘She misses her son.’

  ‘Aye, well.’

  ‘Go and see her,’ Cara said. ‘She really doesn’t care what state you’re in.’ She recoiled from her words, knowing they were cruel but also feeling they had to be said. ‘She misses her son,’ she repeated and put a hand on his shoulder, hoping the physical contact would get through where words could not.

  ‘See you around, sis.’ Sean turned and walked away. When he threw a cheeky wave of his right hand back at her, she was reminded of his boyish former self, and read what he might have become as if there was a hologram hanging there. A faltering image of what his better self might have been.

  That was the last time she had seen him alive.

  24

  Paula knelt in front of Joe, grasped his hands in hers and looked into his face. The certainty of his claim was in the shine of his eyes, the way his skin was drawn tight across the musculature of his features.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ he said again, his voice a whisper.

  ‘Joe, what the hell are you talking about?’ Paula asked. His pain was a physical thing. Whatever he was feeling was very real to him, but it sounded to Paula like the mix of gin and grief was affecting him in strange ways.

  Joe rubbed at his eyes. Swallowed. Looked into the distance. ‘I had … I have a terrible gambling habit.’

  ‘So, you go down to the bookies now and again? What has that got to do with people dying?’

  ‘It’s more than that, Paula. It’s … complicated.’

  ‘Okay. Tell me…’ Paula got to her feet, and sat on the chair next to his, managing to move without losing her grip on his hands. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Started off at Ladbrokes. A wee bet on the gee-gees here and there. But soon that wasn’t enough. I needed bigger stakes. Bigger risks.’ At the word ‘risks’, his head fell forwards and he sobbed. Hard.

  Paula said nothing. This was a time to let the tears flow.

  Joe coughed, pulled a hand away from her grip and wiped away some of his tears with the pad of his thumb. ‘Sorry,’ he said. Coughed again. ‘Next it was the casino. But I was shite. Knew nothing. Didn’t learn from my mistakes … and I ran up a huge debt. But…’ he laughed ‘…the guys knew I was a priest, thought I was good for it and let me carry on.’

  ‘Oh, Joe…’ She felt his pain, and matched it, the cool wet of a tear trickling down her cheek. She wiped it away as she asked, ‘But what has that got to do with Thomas?’

  ‘Just a minute. Let me, tell you the whole story…’ He looked around as if searching for answers in the hushed and sacred atmosphere of the sacristy. ‘Helps me make some kind of sense of it if I say it out loud, you know?’

  Just then, the door Paula had come through creaked open. A footstep. A cough. She turned round to see Thomas’s other brother, Bill.

  ‘Joe,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d talked about this.’ His tone was conciliatory. Empathic. He gave a little nod to Paula and stepped closer. ‘You don’t want to be laying all of this on Paula. She has enough to contend with.’ Again, he offered a nod to Paula. He stepped across the room and stood over them.

  He had assumed his usual floor manager in a men’s store persona. Not a hair was out of place, and his dark suit was clean and pressed. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was of a much better cloth than he normally wore. She looked down at his feet: a high-gloss shine reflected from his black shoes. He looked like he’d been spoiling himself.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see you, Paula,’ Bill said. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘That’s okay, Bill,’ Paula said as she searched his expression. Sympathy from Bill. Real actual sympathy. She masked her surprise. Thomas’s loss was certainly bringing out a side to his big brother she hadn’t seen before. ‘We all get on with this in our own way.’

  She looked up at him and saw Thomas in his face – almost as if they were twins. It was enough to steal her breath from her. She closed her eyes hard against the thought, and then opened them again and studied him. He’d lost weight and his hair was cut just as Thomas used to have his done, although there was a touch more grey at Bill’s temples.

  Bill rested a hand on her shoulder, and it didn’t feel patronising. ‘If anything ever happened to Daphne I don’t know how I’d cope.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘I could have been a better support, Paula. Since the … well, we both could have been. I’m sorry.’

  Paula felt her throat tighten, making her cough.

  ‘Thanks, Bill. That means a lot to me.’ She swallowed, and repeated herself. ‘Thank you.’ Perhaps she’d been too harsh on him.

  ‘You okay, bro?’ Bill asked Joe. He nodded, his tight smile indicating he was anything but okay.

  A chorus of voices raised in praise sounded through the wall as the Mass drew to its conclusion.

  Joe stood and tucked his black shirt in at the waist, trying to mask his awkwardness, thought Paula.

  ‘Coffee?’ Joe asked looking from Bill to Paula. ‘Let’s go through to the house and have a warm drink, eh?’

  Back in the room where Joe and Paula had sat earlier, the three of them sat facing each other, each of them nursing a hot drink and warm memories of Thomas.

  ‘Remember that time, what was he, ten? He brought home a wee black Staffie. Called it Katy.’ Bill laughed, throwing his head back. ‘Said it was a compliment to Mum. She was furious. Didn’t want a dog and certainly didn’t want one named after her.’

  Joe snorted on a mouthful of coffee. Wiped it off his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘Mum was really not pleased. Dad found it hilarious.’

  ‘Perhaps that added salt to the wound,’ Bill grinned.

  ‘Remember that wee park that was across the road from our house?’ Joe smiled over at Paula. ‘He arranged all these mad wee obstacles and told all the local kids we
were having our version of the Olympics.’

  ‘And he was furious when you beat him at the sprint,’ added Bill.

  ‘That was Tommy. Always doing something. Always planning his next thing.’

  ‘Can see why he went into business, eh?’ said Bill. ‘That time he stole Dad’s porno mag and charged boys ten pence a look in the school toilet.’

  ‘He did not,’ said Paula.

  ‘He did so,’ said Joe. ‘It was great for me as the younger brother. Tommy had such a reputation at school, nobody bothered bullying me. They just wanted me to tell them what Tosh Gadd’s latest scheme was.’

  ‘And he didn’t mind getting stuck in when it was needed. Never walked away from a fight,’ said Bill. He took a sip. Held the mug at his mouth, his eyes peering across the top, but his vision locked in memory.

  Paula shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation had turned. Thomas fighting and getting into to all sorts of dodgy things – was that an early sign of the kind of thing Cara Connolly was talking about?

  Paula made a mental note: she really needed to speak to Cara Connolly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Paula,’ Joe said as if he had read her discomfort. ‘Nothing illegal.’ He shook his head. ‘And really, he didn’t scrap much. He always told me you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.’

  ‘Tommy and his sayings,’ Bill said.

  Paula nodded in agreement, thinking he’d stopped that habit a long time ago. Around the time of Christopher’s death. Once again she thought of Cara … her suggestion about why Christopher had been knocked down. If she was telling the truth – and that was a big if – Thomas must have known about it. And he kept that from her? She felt the pain of that throughout her body, and crossed her arms against the crush of it. No. That would be a betrayal she could not deal with.

  ‘He had a saying for every occasion,’ continued Bill, rousing Paula from her reflections. He sent her a look as if to ask her where her mind had drifted off to. ‘It was like he read a book of clichés every morning as he ate his cornflakes.’

  ‘Don’t focus on the problem…’ Joe said.

  ‘…Focus on the solution,’ finished Paula, while thinking, no, Thomas couldn’t have known.

  They laughed.

  ‘Jesus, he could be a fool,’ said Paula.

  Both brothers nodded. Sighed a yes.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Bill. ‘You doing okay, Paula?’

  She searched his eyes, remembering his comment about the will while they were at the funeral tea. But she saw nothing there but compassion.

  Paula held her mug on her lap with both hands. ‘They talk about all these stages of grief, don’t they?’ The men nodded. ‘Denial, anger, bargaining … can’t remember the rest. I think I’m stuck on anger. Is tiredness a stage? Because I’m always worn out. Exhausted and angry. Then I get angry for being angry and that makes me…’ she felt her voice breaking ‘…even more bloody angry.’

  ‘I’m firmly in the denial stage,’ said Joe as he stared out of the window. ‘I keep expecting to see his face in the congregation at Mass. Or see him walking up the path…’

  ‘I’m totally with Paula. Bloody furious. And I resent him for dying. How could he die, and how could it feel this bad?’ Bill’s eyes filled with tears. His lower lip trembled. He exhaled, low and sharp. ‘And what part of that makes any sense, eh? It’s not his bloody fault he died. He was my wee brother. I should go first. I should have saved him…’

  ‘No, Bill, you can’t…’ Paula began, then stopped what she was about to say. She knew that the boys’ father had died just as Bill was becoming a teenager. He had taken on the father’s role in the family, ran with it and clearly found it difficult to cast it off even when his brothers reached manhood. ‘One thing I’m learning is there are no shoulds when it comes to grief and loss. We all need to find our own way through it. What works for you, what works for Joe, might not work for me.’

  ‘Aye, cos you’re the sensible one in the family,’ said Joe with a smile. She felt a surge of pleasure that the Joe she knew and loved was coming to the fore.

  ‘I’ve lost count of the people I’ve counselled through bereavement,’ Joe continued. ‘I was too young to deal with Dad properly. Mum’s passing was part of the natural order. Didn’t make it any easier, though. But it made it easier to reach acceptance. But Tommy…?’ He shook his head.

  ‘I do have one should for you, Joe. That gin bottle should be chucked into the bin,’ said Paula.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ Joe mumbled.

  ‘Don’t just say aye, brother,’ said Bill, his voice falling an octave. ‘Drinking your way through it just causes a whole other set of problems.’

  ‘I said aye,’ Joe bristled. ‘The gin is out. In the bin. Okay?’

  A beep sounded from Bill’s pocket. He pulled out his phone, read the screen and then looked over his shoulder out of the window.

  ‘Okay,’ he said and got to his feet. ‘That’s our Daphne. She dropped me off while she went to the supermarket.’

  ‘Ask her in,’ said Joe.

  Bill shook his head. ‘Stuff to be getting on with, bro.’ He turned to Paula. ‘Walk you out?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Paula, thinking it odd that on this occasion Daphne didn’t want to come in and speak to them. Or perhaps it was Bill who wanted her to keep her distance. Besides, she wasn’t quite ready to go – Joe had been in the process of telling her what had been going on. But she didn’t quite have the presence of mind to come up with a reasonable excuse to stay.

  Maybe Bill wanted a quiet word with her about Joe.

  Joe stood. Paula gave him a hug.

  ‘Talk to you later?’ she looked up into his eyes.

  He nodded. Looked away.

  Joe stepped to the side and moved towards Bill. The brothers hugged, clapped each other on the back and coughed. They suddenly looked unsure of themselves and Paula had a flash of insight. The lines would have to be redrawn. The surviving brothers would have to negotiate a new way of being with each other now that Thomas wasn’t there in the middle.

  Outside, Bill walked towards a silver Audi. Paula looked at the plate and realised it was brand new.

  ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Been treating yourself?’

  Bill ignored the question, and with an expression of concern, put a hand on Paula’s forearm. ‘I overheard some of what Joe was saying to you. Did you make any sense of it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have no clue. You?’

  Bill took a step back and looked towards the house. Then away. ‘He’s watching. Pretend we’re talking about the car.’ He put a hand on the roof, said. ‘Nice, eh?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Paula reached out and touched a car door, thinking how crazy this felt. ‘What’s going on, Bill?’ her voice was almost a whisper, which was stupid because there was no way Joe would be able to hear what they were saying.

  ‘I have no idea.’ His low voice matched hers. ‘But I’m going to find out. There’s something far wrong there.’ His head twitched to the side as if he was resisting the impulse to have a look round to Joe. ‘We talked the other day. He mentioned something about gambling and then froze.’ He gave a shrug.

  ‘He says that everything is his fault,’ Paula said moving closer to Bill. ‘What on earth could he be talking about?’

  Bill shook his head, exhaustion and worry written across his features. ‘Do you think it’s the booze? He’s long hidden his fears at the bottom of a bottle. Do you think Tommy’s death has tipped him over the edge?’

  ‘Heaven knows,’ said Paula. ‘It’s a worry.’ She thought back to the pain scratched into Joe’s expression. ‘Should I go back in and see if he’s wants to talk?’

  Bill gave that some thought. ‘It strikes me that the moment has passed. Sorry. I shouldn’t have walked in or we might be closer to knowing what’s going on in that boy’s head.’

  Boy.

  The big brother was finding it difficult to step outside his role, and
Paula felt a surprising surge of affection for Bill.

  ‘Leave it with me, Paula,’ Bill said with a determined nod. ‘I’ll give him a day or two and then I’ll have a word. Maybe we’ll try and get the Church involved. They must have counsellors for their priests.’

  ‘You’d think so…’

  Before she could take the conversation further, Daphne’s head appeared from out of the driver’s side door, her face flushed as she wiped crumbs away from the side of her mouth. She threw Bill a look as she climbed out of the car, then softened her expression and walked towards Paula, smoothing down her pink blouse over the swell of her stomach as she drew near.

  ‘Paula, hen. How are you? Sorry we haven’t been over since the … you know…’ She held her arms out and Paula stepped into her awkward hug.

  Then, as quickly as she could, she disentangled herself. ‘Not a problem,’ Paula answered, trying to sound as genuine as she could. ‘I know how it is.’

  ‘Managing okay?’ Daphne asked. Paula read an awkwardness in her sister-in-law’s concern, as if this new form of relationship was as brittle as an eggshell and she didn’t know what kind of approach was required. Paula wondered if she was being a little too sensitive.

  ‘If there’s anything you need just ask,’ said Daphne.

  ‘I will,’ said Paula as she studied her sister-in-law. Dark, loose trousers and a twin-set – matching top and cardigan. Marks and Spencer, she thought. ‘I’ve got a string of pearls that would go lovely with that,’ she heard herself say. Then cringed at how condescending she must sound.

  ‘Thanks, doll,’ Daphne answered, reaching out and stroking her arm.

  Paula recalled the last time they’d met, feeling that Daphne’s attempts at warmth then had fallen short. But this physical contact, although a little awkward, seemed to have real empathy in it. Had Paula been way off the last time in reading her sister in law? Had her belief a moment earlier that Daphne’s concern was false been wrong? She vowed to do better. Joe aside, Bill and Daphne were all she had left, she should take Daphne’s lead and try harder.