Tuesdays Are Just As Bad

by Cethan Leahy

  ‘What? No. My family has a weakness in the lungs.’

  I sighed. For a kid who once rammed a blunt tool into the front of his brain, he was surprisingly health conscious. Giving up, I watched him sit down and listened to them talk about getting a gift for Aoife for Christmas.

  ‘You should give her a pair of smelly socks,’ I suggested, ‘or half a worm.’ He pointedly ignored these suggestions.

  ‘Cannibal Corpse is playing in Dublin in January,’ said Linda.

  ‘Oh, I could get tickets and we could take the bus up.’

  ‘That sounds lovely! That is top boyfriending, sir.’

  After this riveting conversation and a trip to the shop, we headed home again. Up in his room I stared out the window and plotted. I was so distracted by my plotting that I didn’t notice for several minutes that he was writing something without me. A story! Without me! I told him I was appalled and sickened.

  ‘It’s not a story. Remember, Dr Moore said it might be helpful to start writing a journal on my feelings. I was going to ask you but asking the voice in your head for writing advice didn’t seem a great start for a mental health diary.’

  Even though I was insulted by this continuing insinuation that I was not real, I read over his shoulder. It was actually pretty good, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so. I missed the days when he was depressed, when I was literally the only person he said anything to. With any luck, I thought, he would get glum again, and I was going to do my best to help get him there.

  Thirty-Three

  Even as a ghost, it took ages to get out to Ballincollig. Also I couldn’t quite remember the way, so I had to go into town and follow the bus route. On the way I could see Christmas was in full bloom. Lights and trees littered the streets, and crowds ambled around stalls selling small decorations, fast food and roasted chestnuts. There was a large wheel on the street, giving lovers an opportunity to see the whole city centre at once at an intoxicating height.

  I was worried that I would be too late and everyone would be gone to bed, but fortunately the light was on. Aoife was sitting at the desk in her room, writing and listening to music on her headphones.

  I’m not being a creep: I was there to uncover any skeletons in her closet. (There weren’t any: just long jackets and black skirts.) The problem with Adam was he could only see her good points, but of course no one is perfect. So I selflessly decided to investigate, in order to reveal her most hideous character flaws.

  I was hoping for something scandalous like another boyfriend or a secret arsenal of weapons but there was nothing very promising in her room. It was still a mess, the floor carpeted with pages that had notes and stories scribbled on them, and her clothes hanging randomly over furniture throughout.

  I looked over her shoulder to see what she was writing. On the top it said ‘MY AMAZING UNTITLED NOVEL’. The notes described a heroine who can’t get into a posh wizard school. She is very frustrated, as the boy she fancies can, but later she uncovers the school’s dastardly plan to turn their students into an evil army who will take over the magic world. The page was littered with doodles of school crests and wands. In a corner I could see a scribbled likeness of Adam in a wizard cloak with a demon following him and herself fighting it off. Had she figured it out?

  ‘AOIFE, ARE YOU ASLEEP YET?’ her mother shouted from downstairs.

  ‘YES!’

  ‘THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!’

  ‘I KNOW. WHY ARE YOU ASKING?’

  ‘JUST TO TELL YOU YOU SHOULD BE ASLEEP. YOU HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW.’

  ‘I KNOW.’

  ‘YOU SHOULD GO TO SLEEP.’

  ‘NIGHT, MUM!’

  ‘GOOD NIGHT!’

  Aoife returned to her notes, shaking her head, and continued to write. Looking at her pages of writings, I was struck by how clear and legible her handwriting was in comparison to the chaos she surrounded herself with.

  ‘AOIFE!’

  ‘YES?’

  ‘SORRY, I FORGOT WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY.’

  ‘NIGHT, MUM!’

  ‘AOIFE! I JUST REMEMBERED. YOU HAVE TO BE ASLEEP BECAUSE YOUR UNCLE AND COUSIN ARE ARRIVING TOMORROW. THEY HAVEN’T VISITED SINCE EASTER.’

  ‘I DIDN’T FORGET!’ But she was making a face that said, ‘Crap, I forgot.’

  She pushed out her chair and moved to her bed. Before she jumped in, she scrolled through her music list, looking for something unlistenable, I imagine. Before she pressed play …

  ‘AOIFE, ARE YOU ASLEEP YET?’

  She said nothing in response, instead waiting.

  ‘GOOD!’

  Aoife pressed play and closed her eyes. Since I was not here to watch other people sleep, I left the room and wandered downstairs. Her mother stood at the end of the stairs, looking up at Aoife’s room. She looked annoyed.

  ‘Thandi! Stop worrying. She’s gone to sleep,’ said a male voice from the living room. Aoife’s father presumably.

  ‘Why are you telling me to not worry? I can worry if I want to,’ she responded. ‘She always seems to be half asleep when people visit.’

  Aoife’s father walked out to the hall. From behind, he slid his hands around her waist and kissed her cheek.

  ‘And you know my brother. He is always boasting about how wonderful his daughter is, and mine looks like the living dead,’ she said, her hand trembling.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, touching her hand. ‘Aoife promised that she would wear her least-Goth clothes while he was here.’

  She nodded. ‘I wish the whole Christmas thing didn’t go on for so long.’

  A tear ran down her face, as if by accident. He brushed it away.

  ‘Did you get the presents?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s all taken care of.’

  ‘Alex, thank you. I feel terrible that everyone has to cover for me. No wonder Aoife is the way she is …’

  ‘It’s okay. Aoife is fine and we don’t mind. All we want is a nice calm Christmas, and also for your brother to not mention his daughter’s college grades more than five times.’

  She laughed and then they stood with each other in silence for a moment. I felt uncomfortable in a way I never had before. They were holding each other but it wasn’t sexy; it was like they were supporting each other. An unnamed feeling caught hold of me and I walked away.

  Thirty-Four

  So I didn’t get any dirt on Aoife, but I did get an idea. I could only assume that her mother’s mental health issues were very tiring for Aoife and her family. Did Aoife really need two people in her life like that? If I broke them up I’d be doing her a favour.

  So I decided that the best thing would be to push Adam back down the road to self-loathing and depression, so that he would be intolerable to hang out with and Aoife would give up on their relationship. Presumably, once this happened, he would also lose his new group of friends. After all, they had been Aoife’s friends first.

  Unfortunately Adam was in a good place at that moment. His grades were steadily improving, people in school liked him more (well, ‘like’ is a strong word; we’ll say ‘regarded him as less of a freak’ other than the odd trolling note) and he had a group of understanding friends and the key pillar of strength, Aoife. Thanks to their regular romantic entanglements that they appeared to mutually enjoy, his self-esteem was at its highest since I had known him (although that, to be fair, only covered the bones of six months). But I figured that if I chipped away at the foundations of this newfound confidence, and separated him from those who gave it to him, in time I could cause the whole thing to collapse. I just had to wait for an opportune time to make my first strike.

  As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long. The week before Christmas Day they had a cinema date.

  ‘Ten minutes late. Clearly someone doesn’t value your time,’ I said as we waited outside, ‘leaving you to wait outside in the cold …’

  ‘I’m sure she has an explanation. Besides it’s only ten minutes,’ he said, his breath floatin
g white in the air. ‘Look, there she is.’

  Blast, I thought, as I saw her running down the street.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. My dad got into a fender bender when driving me here and there was this big argument and–’

  ‘Is your dad okay?’

  ‘No worries. He’s fine!’

  They kissed and then looked at the poster on the wall with all the movie times on it.

  ‘Crap, we’re too late for Echo Chamber,’ said Aoife.

  ‘Well, I guess that means we’ll have to go see The Golden Sword instead,’ said Adam.

  What a coincidence! I bet that was the film she wanted to see, I was about to say.

  ‘Yes, my cunning plan to see the film I want to see worked!’ she said.

  Damn! She was a cunning one. They queued up.

  ‘Oh, you know what? Do you want to see Santa Claus vs. Krampus instead? It’s on at the same time. It’s about Santa Claus fighting a German Christmas devil.’

  ‘Indecisive,’ I said, tutting.

  ‘Yes, we should go to that,’ he said pointedly. I got the message.

  I then proceeded to point out to Adam how flirty she was with the guy at the till, placing the €20 carefully into his hand and giving him a big, friendly smile. Adam gave me a withering look. Okay, it’s possible I overstated how erotic the exchange of cash and tickets was.

  Aoife handed Adam his ticket with a smile that suggested that my plan was never going to work. ‘This sounds terrifying!’

  ‘Terrifyingly bad, I bet. Time to see Kris Kringle kick some ass!’

  They went to screen 3, passing the poster for The Golden Sword. There were loads of them all over the cinema. It showed a golden figure holding aloft a sword, with wizards cowering in fear. At least I didn’t have to sit through that, I thought, but then I spied something with my little eye – a box in the corner of the poster that said, ‘Warning: contains a graphic depiction of suicide.’

  Oh, so that’s why she suddenly changed her mind. She must have noticed the sign on the poster by the ticket box and decided to avoid it. With glee, I whispered in Adam’s ear before they entered the dark room and pointed out the words on the poster. ‘She clearly doesn’t have a lot of faith in you, if she thinks you can’t handle seeing something like that when it’s just a silly movie.’

  I could see from his face that I’d scored a bullseye.

  Thirty-Five

  It was two days before Christmas Day (which judging by the decorations, constant songs and people running around with bags was a big deal) and a collection of old men and their grandsons were sailing tiny boats on the Lough. The models had little bits of tinsel on them and the humans wore red hats with fluffy white balls at the end. This must be a lovely moment for them, sharing what will undoubtedly one day be a treasured memory for both. Perhaps years from now one of the grandsons will be a rich man and own a yacht, one the same shade of red as his beloved grandaddy’s little ship. That future sailor will take his own grandson by the shoulder and tell him of his grandfather and this beautiful moment.

  Joy.

  ‘That’s very cute,’ said Aoife, as they passed by.

  ‘Why do we go on so many walks?’ said Adam. They didn’t really go on many walks, but I had been suggesting since the cinema that they go on a concerning amount.

  Aoife turned her attention from a duck who was having a race with a water hen. ‘What? Because we like walking? Or I do, anyway.’

  ‘I just feel like we’ve been doing a lot of walking recently,’ Adam said.

  ‘Well, we can’t drive and you don’t have a bike.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Aoife looked at Adam funny and then looked back at the water, which at that moment was grey. ‘Look at that swan. It looks like it could break your arm with its mind.’

  ‘Oh, changing the subject …’ I said, pouring further poison in his ear.

  ‘Is it because they say depressed people should go for walks?’

  ‘No … I just like walks. They are good for you,’ said Aoife, who at this point was quite confused.

  ‘You should remember this,’ I told him. ‘This is good for you, like you’re some kind of dog that needs some exercise after being cooped up all day on its own.’

  ‘So I’m like a dog that needs to be taken for walks.’

  ‘I meant they are good for people in general, not you specifically,’ said Aoife. ‘Where is this coming from?’

  ‘I just thought …’

  ‘Go on, ask her about the cinema,’ I said.

  But, annoyingly, he said instead, ‘Sorry, I’m being ridiculous. Stress of the holidays and all that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I get it, being cooped up at home with my family, including my uncle. He’s really intense and he keeps going on about his daughter. So getting out on a walk with you is actually a big relief for me.’

  Oh, she was a clever one, twisting the argument around like that. This might be harder than I thought.

  They stopped. In the centre of the Lough was a miniature house, with a man and a woman in long, flowing clothes, some animals and an empty bed made of hay. This had something to do with Christmas too.

  Suddenly Aoife was holding a wrapped object in her hands. ‘Open it now.’

  ‘It’s not Christmas yet,’ he said, taking it.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not going to see you.’

  ‘Shock, is this a book?’

  He carefully opened it, peeling the tape off and folding the paper back. Slowly it revealed a picture of a boy with a scar on his forehead, standing in front of a red train.

  I tried again. ‘Typical,’ I said, ‘forcing her tastes on you.’

  ‘This is great, I haven’t read it!’

  ‘I know. The best thing is if you like it – and you will – there are loads more in the series, so I have gifts sorted for the next few years.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and gave her a kiss. A moment passed.

  ‘Cough,’ she said.

  ‘I got you a gift too,’ he said, passing her an envelope.

  ‘Oh! You didn’t need to,’ she said, ‘I always wanted … bus tickets to Dublin?’

  ‘But wait, there’s more,’ he said, passing her a second, smaller envelope. Her eyes almost exploded when she saw the tickets.

  ‘How did you know? They must be touring the new album. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!’

  Adam was now on the receiving end of a battery of kisses and they continued their walk around the Lough holding hands.

  Bleurgh.

  Thirty-Six

  Christmas Day arrived and everything just stopped. No town, no work, no nothing; just sitting around watching movies, eating and drinking with a brief pause in the afternoon to exchange gifts. Adam got a PlayStation. He seemed happy about it.

  I pointed out to Adam that he didn’t give me a gift.

  ‘Well, first of all, what do you get for the man who can’t physically own anything, and secondly, you didn’t get me one.’

  ‘Well … I … shut up.’

  It was a weird day, though I did enjoy the isolation from the rest of the world (although his mobile was still constantly beeping with little updates on Christmas in his girlfriend’s house).

  BIG NEWS! BARRY CAME OUT TO

  HIS PARENTS – and they were totally

  cool with it!

  Amazing!

  ‘Oh, there’s the phone again. I wonder who that could be,’ his dad said, winking, before taking another sip of wine. (The precautionary ban on alcohol in the house had been temporarily lifted for Christmas. Since Adam was doing so well, why not celebrate it?)

  He was in a very jovial mood (‘jovial’ being today’s term in the ‘Word of the Day’ calendar Adam gave his mum). After watching a movie about a guy singing songs while jumping in puddles, everyone sat down to eat dinner and my word it was massive. Plate after plate of food, meat and various things made of potato. After massacring the dishes, they sat back.

  ‘We should give t
hanks,’ said Dad, his paper crown slightly atilt.

  ‘That’s a very American suggestion,’ said Mum.

  ‘Fine, a toast so,’ he said, raising a glass. ‘I just wanted to say that it has been a challenging year for this family, but here we are at Christmas, all of us together, safe and sound.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Mum, also a little tipsy.

  ‘I’m thankful that, after his scare, Adam is doing really well. Friends, doing well in school, even a girlfriend. You’ve done it, kid.’

  Adam was blushing. He wasn’t enjoying this attention.

  ‘Um, okay, Dad. Thanks for all your help.’

  I watched this all with a certain amount of glee. While I was undermining his confidence by turning him against his girlfriend, now his father was unintentionally helping me out by dragging up the bad memories of what happened earlier in the year, reminding Adam of who he had been. I was sure I could use this.

  ‘I’m not going to lie. We were worried, very worried. Like when we came back and …’ Dad trailed to an uncomfortable stop.

  ‘I think you’ve said enough, dear,’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes, sorry, forgetting myself. Anyway, Merry Christmas. May we all be together again next year.’

  When the family settled down to watch EastEnders with trifle, I whispered in Adam’s ear: ‘You’d better be careful not to let them down again. Seems like they don’t want to have to deal with another incident. You’d better be a happy chappy from now on. But hey, no pressure.’

  Although he didn’t look at me when I said this, I could see his whole body tense. Turns out I got a gift for Christmas after all.

  Thirty-Seven

  Linda said that we shouldn’t be here and she was probably right.

  ‘Linda, it’s okay. No one is going to see us,’ said Aoife.

  ‘I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about this thing falling apart.’

  Cork is an old city with a fair few ancient buildings. Many are dilapidated rotting piles of brick and stone and are one strong wind away from collapsing onto any passers-by. Long abandoned, these death traps are completely uninhabitable and therefore perfect for the first post-Christmas hangout.