by Cethan Leahy
The particular house we were gathered in was a two-storey house that was missing its second floor, at least most of it. All that remained were the stairs leading up and a small segment of floor that was wide enough for four people to sit on, although I can’t say if it was strong enough to hold them. I would have guessed not, since every move they made elicited a groan of timbers.
‘The smell …’ said Linda.
‘It reminds me of Barry,’ said Douglas.
‘Where is Barry?’ said Aoife.
‘He’s bringing Andrew to meet his parents,’ said Linda.
‘So hanging out in the epitome of urban decay with his friends is no longer good enough for him,’ said Douglas with a hint of a smile.
‘Oh, give over, Douglas,’ said Aoife. ‘How was your Christmas?’
‘Terrible. It all started on Christmas Eve. Father insisted that I play piano accompaniment in the local church …’
As Douglas described his holiday in vivid detail, Adam remained quiet. He sat against the wall, next to Aoife. I had spent the last few days trying to convince him that he was going to let his parents down, that he was damaging their mental health having to worry about him all the time, that the stress on their marriage of having an mentally unstable teenager might be too much and I wouldn’t be surprised if it ruined his relationship with Aoife (I was over-egging it a bit to be fair), so he made a point of sitting next to her. It’s amazing how insidious a suggestion can be. Once he got the idea in his head, it just grew and grew. It put an edge on things. He hadn’t mentioned it to Aoife, though, as I reminded him that the last thing she needed in her life was another problem person that she would have to spend her time looking after. But it was definitely noticeable. Out of earshot of Adam, Linda had already asked Aoife if he was all right.
Aoife put her hand in Adam’s and it tightened.
Linda shifted her body into a more comfortable position as gently as possible, which meant the floor only vibrated a frightening amount rather than a terrifying amount. ‘So is it this weekend you’re heading to Dublin?’
‘No, next weekend. It should be fun.’
Douglas looked at them and smirked. ‘Well, with Captain Chatty here, it’s sure to be a blast.’
Adam let go of her hand. Good.
‘Douglas …’ said Aoife. I immediately told Adam that she was going to defend him because that was something she felt she had to do. And I reminded him how he didn’t do that for her at the gig.
Adam abruptly stood up. The wood moaned. ‘I’m going to go.’
Douglas rolled his eyes. ‘It was a joke. Don’t be so sensitive.’
Adam stepped forward and in two paces was standing at the edge of the remaining floorboards. He stared down at the underneath mess of mangled furniture and manky wood. This pit was once someone’s life.
‘Jesus, Adam. What are you doing?’ said Linda, grabbing him and pulling him back.
‘Nothing. Sorry. I’m in a weird mood. Actually I do have to go. My mum’s collecting me.’
Aoife said, ‘It’s probably best we all go. I don’t trust these floorboards any more.’
‘Huzzah,’ Douglas said, ‘I’ve ruined everything.’
Geez, give me some credit.
They walked down one by one. Once everyone was out the door, I thought I heard a crash inside, but no one else seemed to notice.
Thirty-Eight
The applause died down as the musician left the stage. Adam wasn’t clapping; instead he was sitting in a sullen silence beside the aisle, in case he needed to escape, I guess.
The principal cleared his throat. ‘Up next, we have Lorcán, a survivor of depression and a suicide attempt. I’m sure he’ll have many great insights to share with us on today’s topic.’
There was a smattering of applause as Lorcán stepped up to the podium.
The lights must have been warm in the auditorium, because Adam was sweating an unusual amount. His entire year was in the room, fifth and sixth too. ‘Thank you, Mr O’Neill,’ said the speaker, a man in his thirties but wearing a Ramones T-shirt and jeans. ‘Hey guys, I know what you are thinking. “It’s another guy talking about Mental Health and mindfulness and yada yada yada.”’
Adam stopped paying attention and his hand entered his trouser pocket. He pulled out his phone, looking for a distraction I suspect. As the screen lit up, there was a cough from the principal and a glare at Adam.
‘When I was your age I was suffering, but I didn’t have a name for my illness. It was a vague sadness that grew and grew. Today I am going to give you the name of it – depression. Now you may scoff, but once you can name the enemy, you can fight it, deal with its underhanded schemes.’
Adam glanced at me. I felt the sudden desire to defend myself but I couldn’t think of anything to say. It suddenly seemed very claustrophobic in the hall. I needed to get out.
‘Should we get out of here?’ I suggested. ‘I … you look stressed.’
Adam turned to see if he could find Miss Campbell, but before he could get her attention something happened.
‘Excuse me, I have a question!’ said someone, interrupting the speaker, his hand in the air.
‘There will be time for questions at the end,’ said the principal.
But Lorcán said, ‘One couldn’t hurt. What is it?’
Philip stood up, making it clear it was him asking the question. ‘Why would someone hit themselves in the head with a hammer?’
This was an interesting development.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Wouldn’t you say that you would have to be an idiot to try and kill yourself with a hammer?’
‘Philip,’ said the principal, ‘sit down, right now.’
Adam stood up. ‘Shouldn’t you be asking me, Philip?’
The teachers standing at the back of the hall had a look of horror on their faces. I think I heard one say, ‘Stop filming.’
‘The truth is I wanted to,’ Adam said. ‘Why? I don’t know. Because I’m a terrible person? Because life was crap?’
Philip smirked.
‘Lads, I don’t think this is quite the time–’ began Lorcán, who had not anticipated this.
‘I have another question,’ Philip persevered. ‘How come you managed to survive, while my brother, a person people actually liked, died?’
‘Well, I didn’t have the motivation that having you as a brother would have given me to succeed,’ said Adam.
The audience gasped, except for one guy in the corner whose applause was enthusiastic. Even Adam seemed momentarily shocked by what he had said. Time froze, perhaps in the hope it could reverse itself and correct this mistake, but the freeze was broken by a scream of ‘I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!’
Philip launched himself from his seat, but tripped over the student next to him and fell on his face. Relieved laughter exploded.
‘Philip Hurly! Go to my office right now!’ shouted the principal. ‘This is disgraceful behaviour.’
The speaker stood in the middle of the stage, not sure how to continue.
In a sulk, Philip got up and walked up the aisle, glaring daggers at Adam. Miss Campbell took Adam by the arm. ‘It’s probably best you come with me.’
Retreating to an empty classroom, Miss Campbell sat him down, then leaned against the teacher’s desk.
‘I’m sorry, Miss.’
‘Adam, you’re not in trouble. Philip was clearly trying to antagonise you. Granted, that probably wasn’t the best response, but–’
‘I don’t know why he hates me.’
‘Philip doesn’t hate you. He’s just in a lot of pain over his brother and needs someone to blame.’
‘So it is my fault?’
‘No, no. No one is to blame. What Chris did was … well, who knows what he was thinking when he did what he did. Adam, I want you to know that you’re not an idiot and you’re not a terrible human being. You are a worthwhile human being. And you’re a good writer.’
Adam nodded a tired, hollow
nod, then began to cry. A huge flood of tears. They continued until he ran out of them, just in time for his parents’ arrival. They wore a familiar expression, though one I had not seen in a while. But it was good to see it – it meant I was another step closer to getting the old Adam back.
Thirty-Nine
‘STAND CLEAR, LUGGAGE DOOR OPERATING,’ the bus said with an air of menace unusual for public transport. The side of the Cork to Dublin bus opened to take any large bags, but Aoife and Adam didn’t need it as they had all their stuff in a backpack. They got on and Adam took the window seat. The day was completely planned. They would get up to Dublin round oneish, have some lunch, wander around the National Gallery and then see the band at seven that evening. After that, they would stay with one of Aoife’s aunts.
Aoife made some effort to make conversation, but Adam was unresponsive, preferring to stare out the window. His weekend was being pre-emptively soured by his mood. Also I kept reminding him how embarrassing the whole school thing was.
‘Have you been to Dublin before?’
‘Mmm.’
‘I’ve only been there once before.’
He said nothing in response. This was perfect.
‘I can’t wait to go to the National Gallery.’
‘Yip.’
‘I think I’ll just talk to myself for the whole three-hour bus ride.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Super.’
Aoife pulled out her headphones and turned up the volume to ear-damaging levels. Adam pretended not to notice this and watched more fields pass by. It took three hours to get to Dublin from Cork and they felt every minute of it.
Finally, after they arrived in Dublin and were sitting in a café having a late lunch, Aoife asked him the question.
‘Adam, is something wrong?’ She clearly knew the answer to this.
‘No,’ he said predictably, before pouring too much milk into his tea. ‘Crap.’
‘Are you sure?’
His hand shook. ‘I’m fine.’
‘She knows you are lying. She’s worried about you,’ I whispered in his ear.
‘So do you still want to go see Cannibal Corpse? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We could head straight to my aunt’s or go to the cinema or something.’
‘She thinks you are a problem that needs to be fixed.’
‘Why would you ask that?’ Adam said, not responding to me.
‘I just want to make sure you are okay.’
‘Aoife, why are you going out with me?’
There is a high chance I imagined this, but I’m positive that everything in the world ground to a halt when he said this. Aoife, surprised, took a second to respond. ‘I like you? I dunno, the usual reasons. Why are you asking me?’
‘I’m not an idiot. I’m not someone who needs charity.’
‘What the hell, Adam? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Fine. We won’t talk about it.’
‘Fine.’
Aoife bit into her bourbon biscuit, angrily. ‘Actually, it’s not fine. What exactly is your problem?’ she said.
‘Why? Do you want to solve it? Make me your special little project?’
‘I have no idea what you are on about.’
‘You and your depressed boyfriend. It makes you feel good, does it?’
‘Adam, stop this.’
‘Tell her, Adam.’
‘I know why you are dating me. You want to solve my problems. You think you can save me from my demons, make me better, a normal human being. You want to help me, just because you can’t help your mother …’
Adam trailed off when he saw that his words had hit home. Aoife’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to reply but then said nothing.
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Adam, I don’t know what has happened or what I said, but I’m leaving and I don’t want to talk to you. I really like you, you are not a charity case, not someone for me to fix, but I can’t be around you right now.’
‘Wait–’
‘PISS OFF, ADAM,’ she shouted with tears welling, but resisting crying in his presence. ‘Just leave me alone.’
She stood up and grabbed her things. In her frustration, she tipped the rucksack over and her scarf rolled onto the floor. Everyone was watching. A tear fell as she walked out.
A waitress approached the table. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Honestly, take your time. I remember how bad break-ups can be.’
‘I don’t think it was … I’m just going to go.’ He looked through his wallet and discovered he only had coins on him. It took an agonisingly long time for him to count out the correct change.
Finally it was just me and Adam again. Although it didn’t quite satisfy me as much as I had hoped. Surely I wasn’t feeling guilty?
As we left the café Adam looked at me. ‘I should go and find her, shouldn’t I? I’m such a jerk. Why did I say those things?’
So we weren’t out of the woods yet.
‘No, Aoife was at fault here. She shouldn’t be trying to fix you, she should accept you for who you are, and you called her on it. If anything, you need to get away from her.’
As we boarded the next bus to Cork, Adam’s phone rang over and over again, and it didn’t stop ringing until we were about an hour out of town. She sent text messages too, but on my advice, Adam didn’t read them. It would only make things worse. Perversely he didn’t turn off his phone, preferring to hear every disappointment in his pocket. Eventually it stopped and only then did he pull his phone out, and some pieces of paper fell out along with it.
He had the concert tickets … and her bus ticket home too.
That’s probably why she was calling, I told him, it wasn’t because she actually cared about him.
He glared at the back of the bus seat in front of him. The bus was nearly empty, presumably because people generally have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than take the five o’clock Dublin to Cork bus. Things which don’t include stranding your girlfriend in the middle of an unfamiliar city.
‘It’s okay. You still have me,’ I said.
He began to cry, quite loudly in fact.
Oh.
I had a bad feeling about this.
IV
Hey, That’s No Way
To Say Goodbye
Forty
‘How are you feeling today?’ said Dr Moore.
‘I’m okay,’ Adam said. ‘It was pretty rough there for a while, but I think things are going better.’
Well, Adam was lying, things had gotten significantly worse. A month had passed since the big break-up and the only thing that had gotten better was his ability to pretend that everything was peachy.
‘How do you feel about the school incident now?’
‘Philip is going through his own stuff and, while it wasn’t nice to hear, I realise now that he was taking out his anger about what happened to his brother on me and that really it had nothing to do with me.’
He was telling Dr Moore exactly what he wanted to hear.
‘I’m happy to hear you can take such a positive view on this.’
Oh, Adam was getting good at this.
‘And Aoife?’
***
‘Hey, guys,’ Adam said, ‘I’m heading out to meet the lads.’
‘Have fun!’ said Mum.
Adam loudly closed the front door, but rather than head for town, he turned and crept along the side of the house. Waiting until his mother was safely out of the kitchen, the windows of which overlooked the back garden, he went to the shed. There was not much risk of being caught in there, since his dad’s gardening inclinations went into hibernation during winter.
He took out his phone, plugged the charger into the workbench and started to watch TV. This he did for five hours.
When it started to get dark, he cautiously emerged from the shed and returned to the house via the front door.
‘Hey, Adam, how was town?’ s
aid his mum.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘Did you see Aoife?’ she said hopefully.
‘Oh, she started debating in school. Takes up loads of time, so the gang is not seeing that much of her.’
Since the trip to Dublin, he had seen her precisely once. It was in the distance on the way home from Dr Moore’s office. He hid behind a tree.
‘Well, here’s your dinner,’ Mum said.
It was bizarre watching him, like watching a familiar movie with the wrong language. He was bright and sunny to such an unusual degree that I’m surprised no one around him realised it was all an act. But I guess it was easy for me to see through, since I saw the other side so much.
After dinner, he slipped up to his room and lay in silence for several hours, just me and him. I was so bored I had to keep reminding myself that this was what I had wanted.
‘Want to do some writing?’ I said, to try to stir him into work.
He shook his head.
There was a single knock on the door.
Traditionally, Dad knocked three times and opened it when there was no answer. (The lock had long since been removed.) Adam waited, and when nothing happened he heaved himself up and opened the door. It was Douglas.
‘Ah … hi.’
‘What’s the deal, Adam?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where the hell are you? You’ve gotten very good at coming to Dr Moore’s just too late to run into me.’
‘I’m embarrassed. Over that whole Aoife thing. She’s probably still really angry.’
‘Dude, she’s worried about you … and, yes, a little angry. You did ditch her in Dublin,’ said Douglas, the name of the capital city spoken with such disdain it suggested that there was an interesting story there.
‘Well, tell her I’m fine. That way she can go back to being angry at me.’
‘You’re not fine. Despite what you’ve apparently been telling your mum.’
‘You didn’t tell her, did you?’
‘No, although I should have. I had to come up with a story, on the spot, about what we did in town today. You’re lucky I’m such a master of spinning yarns.’
