I vividly recall, during those two weeks of frozen pipes and no heat, the desire to walk west into the sky. To literally walk inside the sky and become enveloped, bamboozled and made dizzy by cloud. I could feel or imagine how cold the cloud might be and it was a great comfort. That fierce cuddle of cold cloud. Transporting, actually.
Such imaginings may well have been assisted by the fact it was –9 outside and about –14 inside. It took me a couple of days to realize how bad this was. We rarely had such cold weather and I was unprepared. It’s hard to be prepared when you’ve spent years fleeing your home daily, just to conserve some sanity. Eventually you’ve no idea what’s happening inside your home or what you are coming home to, never mind adding the interference of arctic weather.
Fuck there’s no water, said Eddie.
Fuck there’s no hot water either, said Eddie.
Fuck it’s freezing cold, Eddie said.
Fuck the heat’s not working neither.
And he looked at me with the wholesale expectation I could solve all of it. And when I wasn’t able to give him any kind of response he began banging and stomping about and violently pushing things off the table, and I really became afraid when he punched his fist into the hallway wall. Directly into a glass photo frame. I was so frightened I can’t even now bring myself to recall who was located inside the frame. Yet I must have repaired it. Picked up and out the glass and seen whose face stared back at me. But it’s all gone. All that remains is that strongest of memories: I was trapped inside my home with a violent man, who was very angry that the heat had failed us. And what it means to be trapped in a confined space with such a man. And the bald, uncomfortable truth that not only had I invited him in, I’d physically conducted him in.
On and on he tiraded that I was a stupid cunt and how could I not even fucking manage to put fucking heat on like every other cunt-fuck in this village and wasn’t I some…on and on, it bled and unwound. His anger came from no specific location and yet it could become an urban settlement of rage in 60 seconds. The words scared me less than his sounds. The anger of displaced objects being flipped off a surface. The kick of his boot into my sideboard and the crashing of the three cups that fell down and smashed. Which cups were they, I wondered, under the crunch of his hoof as he walked on them and stamped them further to smithereens. Then another hurl let out of him and the sound of cup fragments being kicked further across the floor. But the repeated sound that stayed with me was always his fist. I never recovered from that first time he punched me straight into my ear. I never heard right since on that side, in that ear. And to this day I am none the wiser as to why he landed that first punch at all.
She found herself looking at his hands and wondering would be they be good at fiddling locks and entering small windows.
When she heard someone local had their house broke into
Bina wondered would Eddie be capable.
Probably.
She wondered if he was the sort of man who might club an old person over the head with a brick and then come home here and quietly put the kettle on.
He might.
Would Eddie club her over the head?
He might.
Would that make all matters simpler?
It might.
That’s a terrible thought, but if she were to die by another’s hand, it mightn’t be all bad.
And now she thought about it, it might be very handy.
She won’t lie to you
Bina started doing something that surprised her.
She began watching what Eddie brought into the house
To see were there clues
There weren’t.
The room just smelt bad when she took a look around it.
She repeatedly stood in the doorway and wondered how do you get rid of such a man?
You start a fire, a voice told her.
She remembered a story in the paper about a woman who lit the family chip shop on fire because she said she was sick of the smell of it and everyone had gotten health conscious and it was only drunk people eating chips.
The problem was she also burnt out the hairdressers beside it and half of the Centra and Doireann’s dress shop too. People said nobody bought anything much at Doireann’s dress shop, but that wasn’t what Doireann said tearfully on the news. She said her family business had been destroyed and she was destroyed and several families’ school uniforms were also destroyed. Doireann stood in front of her ruined shop. A plump man with his shirt misbuttoned said it was an absolute disgrace and that whoever the culprit was would be found and made accountable with the full force of the law.
Bina wondered what use is the full force of the law within homes where the light doesn’t let the law look in.
Starting fires wasn’t a good idea
Even to get rid of an Eddie.
She discussed the idea with Phil, which she would come to regret.
But the thought did stay with her.
She won’t lie about that.
She won’t lie about how often she considered letting a match fall to the floor beside something discarded.
If she left the house for a reason, she could merely have been distracted.
Sometimes she thought of other things
Like how easy it is to leave people miserable and at the mercy of those who are miserable to them.
Stop Bina.
Stop it.
If you write out everything you think
They’ll think it’s everything you did.
Rather than everything you thought about doing.
And they are already too interested in what you didn’t do.
Always have a chat to yourself before you think of doing something.
Like stealing a car or lighting a fire or acting the eejit around a lamp post.
A chat can put a stop to it.
That’s all we’ll say now on that.
A retroactive warning.
There may be others.
I did worry I gave Phil notions when I talked about the fire-lighting idea
That I was guilty of that
And should get 14 years for discussing the idea with her
But I never said she should light herself on fire.*4
I wouldn’t.
It was Eddie needed shifting, not Phil.
Phil was great company even when she was moaning and deluded.
I loved that woman.
I loved that woman in all her moaning delusion
And her ascending and collapsing blood sugars
And now she’s gone
And that’s very, very wrong.
I did tell Eddie there were angry men looking for him
And he should watch his back.
He ignored me and went back to sending texts.
I continued to drop hints about angry men as I delivered Meals on Wheels so that if ever I took any action I’d have laid a trail of crumbs towards Eddie himself.
I learned about laying crumbs in a pointed direction from the Tall Man.
His training was useful that way.
And I want to be very clear, he was only helping people.
I had no intention of further helping Eddie.
My only intention was to eject him.
In a form that would not fail, for I was finished with failure.
I won’t lie to you.
The Tall Man began to disconcert me. I’ve to admit now it’s the rare man who doesn’t disconcert me, but I was surprised to find myself growing suspicious of him.
He, the Tall Man, was so, how can I put it, taut. He, or his brain or his emotions or whatever you want to call what was going on in his upstairs chamber, was like a rubber band that never stretched or adjusted itself. It always fit. Whatever the situation, he maintained a calm detachment. I could see it was necessary, his demeanour, to undertake the task and administer the help he was providing and I’ll say this here and I’d say it loudly in your ear: I never stood in any kitchen, bathroom or bedroom where I was in a
ny shadow of a doubt he wasn’t providing much needed relief, for the second he ceased to do so, I would have been gone.
I told a lie.
I told a lie above.
There has been one man who did not disconcert me and his name was Tomás. I never had a moment uncomfortable or unwelcome in his company. If I took cold spuds in to him I was welcome. If I took no spuds in to him I was welcome. If I took the worst rice pudding and relieved him of 5 euros for doing so, I was welcome. I also never met a man who took the amount of comfort that man did in the delivery of the right cup of tea.
It’s three bags isn’t it? he’d say to me as we debated the volume of tea that had to go into the pot to achieve what we both knew to be the right cup of tea.
I think it is. I think it takes three bags these days to get it right.
And every time he’d take the first swig, and it wasn’t easy for him to swig with his swallowing problems, but every time we would discuss whether it was the right cup of tea and if it wasn’t quite right I’d make it again, but it was rare to never I’d have to make it a third time.
He explained it had long been a source of tension between himself and his elusive brother,*5 who was supposed to be taking care of him but was rarely to be seen. The brother took umbrage at the volume of tea Tomás used or asked to be used in the teapot and would make only the weakest of tea. It is pure shite the tea that fella makes and I can’t get to the kettle so easy to fix it, Tomás complained. The wrong cup of tea can make a body very miserable. It’s not that you’d need the right cup of tea all day long. You can bypass a few cups. An average or passable six of them. But about every twelve there’s a long thirst only ever relieved by the right cup. Am I right?
Oh you are. You’re absolutely right.
And I’ll tell you now it was the very rare time I’d find myself in agreement with any man at all. And here I was not just endorsing Tomás but lifting his cup and going into his kitchen in pursuit of the right cup of tea he had so wonderfully articulated for me and not just for him, but for the pair of us. Because it was sharing that near perfect cup of tea with him that gave me the calmest moments of my week, where for a brief instant I could imagine I would one day be free of Eddie.
Much of my reluctance about helping to extinguish Tomás was that I had such comfort from visiting him and, were he to be gone, it would be one less place to flee to from Eddie. I didn’t like to burden him with this fact, so I left it unsaid.
And he’d begin again with the talk of people like us. He and I, why was it we weren’t rewarded with children, and did I think it was timing or was it God’s decision and were some chosen and some not. I said no. I thought it was nothing to do with timing but rather that some of us had more sense and could avoid a bucket of trouble being sloshed into our laps.
I knew it was an unsatisfactory answer. I knew it then and I know it now. And what would have been the truth? The truthful answer was: Tomás, I have saddled myself with a belly full of a troubled adult (what’s worse, one related to you) and here I am escaping in your home the very mess I created, while fictitiously claiming a calm I do not possess. But what would have been the good in disappointing him? None whatsoever. I wanted him instead to take up the determination to carry on living. To continue to exist. Crucially to be here so I had someone to visit so I could get away from Eddie.
But why should someone I had a tenuous connection to be expected to carry on living a life of pure misery so I could be unburdened from my own self-induced misery? It was a void transaction and I knew it. I could have and should have told him, but I wasn’t trained that way. What way was I trained? I’ll tell you the way. The way that you are trained. You, who are reading this and nodding at the warnings in recognition. Nodding too late at the warnings. Nodding too late at this warning, knowing there’s someone who is not just on your sofa or in your back bedroom, but has probably commandeered both. That’s a fact. And then there are those reading and thinking, isn’t she daft, why didn’t she walk or why didn’t she do this or that. Well I am not worried about you, because maybe you’ve had the good fortune to be trained different and would not scupper yourself this way. And isn’t it as well for you.
I wish she’d shut up.
I bet that’s what you’re thinking.
Know this much
Know it firm
Know it tall
Know it wide
I will not shut up
I will not shut up at all.
For once I am outside my door
I don’t shut up.
Inside is another story
For I had a lingering desire to keep a set of ears on me
And Eddie would cut them off me given half a chance.
So if you are listening to a woman
Hoping she’ll shut up
Try imagining the 2,000 years
Where she did all the listening.
Sit down
Shut up
And if the woman is talking, listen.
That’s not a warning
It’s a command.
There won’t be many commands here.
But that’s one of them.
However
If she is talking utter rubbish
You can make your excuses
For much rubbish is sprayed about regardless of your gender or your body parts
But if she is talking and saying nothing
There’s sometimes a lot being said
Listen into the gaps of what’s not being said and you’ll find your answer.
Some of Tomás’s face had been removed because of the cancer. But he didn’t scare me. Not at all. He was just a bit lopsided-looking and could only hear in one ear since the other was missing. What scared me was how he could choke or fall out of bed or be stranded and desperate and have no one to help him back up. His brother*6 was supposed to be caring for him and was collecting a carer’s allowance for doing nothing, including never stepping near him. Tomás claimed he could cope to anyone who suggested otherwise. He wouldn’t wear the alarm around his neck. He wouldn’t depend on anyone. He was glad to see me at his door. I was glad to be at his door. He was glad, I was glad. I worried about him and I hope to God I gave him nothing to worry about.
I did give him my phone number.
I gave it to him because I wanted him to phone. If he phoned for any reason, I could get away from Eddie. I would say it was an emergency.
It was hard though to get him to phone.
He wasn’t the phoning sort.
He wasn’t the alarm-pressing sort.
Wasn’t he savvy though, for whatever sort I thought him, I remain convinced it was he sent the Tall Man. I still wonder how he did that. It can only be he who sent him.
I did help him.
I helped him because he asked me to help him
I helped him because you would have helped him
I helped him because I think he sent the Tall Man
And it was the Tall Man who asked for my help on behalf of Tomás.
Tomás never asked me direct.
He didn’t need to.
He was such a good man. You wouldn’t see him suffer. He was easy to help. Honest to God. It was easy not to inflict Eddie on him, which would have been the alternative. He was as decent a man as ever could walk this earth and I helped him because, contrary to what you may hear in court or read in the papers, I am not a mad woman with a syringe. I value decency. I value dignity and I value a good friend.
I might not have known him as long as I knew Phil.
But I couldn’t see him suffer
Because I could never relieve his burdens the way I could pretend to myself I was a comfort to Phil.
I couldn’t relieve his burdens because our genders provided a degree of separation that Phil and I would never experience.
I could have handled Phil in any condition. I knew that. She didn’t know that, or more accurately she didn’t want that, and if I could lay my hand across my chest as I write this I wo
uld, but I cannot, because if I do you won’t be able to read it, but I will say it was her right not to want it.
I was attached to the idea she’d call out to me.
I was attached to the idea I could relieve her burdens.
And I couldn’t.
It is my failing.
I’ll die knowing that.
Let me say this, let me keep it short and let me not keep you very much longer: If there were a way I could bleed my voice into Phil’s still-living ear, I would tell her in the most knowing way she was wrong and that the job was mine to relieve her suffering and comfort her. That is the job of a friend. That is the role of friendship. And that she didn’t permit me. She didn’t permit me to take her and mind her. And by reply she might tell me to pipe down or if she wasn’t feeling so aggressive she might chime no, no, no, not at all, in that sweet upper register of hers that was often reassuring and comforting to the rest of us. Because the thing about Phil is she never wanted to be anybody’s burden. I am alone now, she’d say. Now that Jimmy is gone. It is over for me and finished. I’ve no one left to live for. Jimmy was her son. She was devoted to him. When he was killed in the army she took it awful bad. She took it as a form of beckoning. She held out or held on for as long as she could. But no matter which way I shape it or rephrase it here, she was still wrong. We need you Phil. We needed you Phil. We needed you to carry on. You were wrong and you should have carried on. You don’t know who needs you til you’re gone. This is the trouble.
Why Phil, though?
Why are you so sure about Phil, Bina?
About Phil’s staying?
These are questions I do ask myself.
I just am and you are going to have to take it from me.
OK
Grand.
Of course it’s grand, there’s no one could argue me under the table on Phil, only the woman herself and she’s moved along to better things.
Bina Page 9
