‘I used to wish he was my da,’ Juliet said.
‘Yeah? Why?’ Davey was shocked. It seemed such an odd thing for young Juliet to wish for.
‘Because of all the stories, because she loved him so much and he was so amazing and cool, whereas me da, well, there’s really only one story.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He ran after a thief when he snatched her handbag.’
‘Really?’
‘That’s how they met. How come you don’t know this?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I missed out on a lot of stories over the years.’ He wondered why he’d never asked his sister how she’d met the father of her child. What the hell is wrong with me? ‘Well, that’s romantic, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘He didn’t even catch the guy.’
‘But he tried.’
‘Suppose.’ She paused. ‘Me ma asked me if I wanted her to find him.’
‘And?’
‘I said no.’
‘I understand that.’
‘She said he was nice but she didn’t really know him. Three weeks is no time. He could be a psycho-killer.’
‘Or, worse, an accountant.’
She smiled at his joke. ‘Besides, I don’t need him. I have Ma.’
Juliet was testing him, whether consciously or not. Davey felt like crying again. If the kid can hold it together it’s the least you can do. Mental note: get Francie to punch me in the face. I fucking deserve it. It was time to move on. He stood up. ‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘A trip down Memory Lane,’ he said.
‘OK.’
As they walked out of the park, she linked his arm. ‘Thanks for this, Davey.’
Juliet and Davey were always so comfortable together. She had the easy relationship with him that her mother had always craved when she was a kid. He had been so busy telling Rabbit to piss off he had missed all the good stuff she’d shared with his best friend. Now Juliet was growing up and he was missing that too.
‘I’m going to Skype you more,’ he said.
‘You always say that.’ She laughed. ‘Ma says you were born useless.’
‘She’s right.’
‘I tell her you’re just busy doing what you love. You’re living your best life.’
‘How did you work that out?’
‘Ma’s an Oprah addict. She says shite like that all the time.’
‘I love you, Bunny,’ he said, and he meant it with all he had in him. It might have been the first time he’d ever told anyone other than his ma that he loved them. It was a big moment.
Juliet went red and punched his arm. ‘Shut up.’
‘I do.’
‘Seriously, shut up.’ She was embarrassed but smiling.
‘OK, I will, but only because I love you.’
‘Big eejit,’ Juliet said, under her breath.
They reached the narrow street a little before five o’clock.
‘When you said Memory Lane, I didn’t think you meant an actual lane.’ Juliet was walking ahead of her uncle. ‘Nice graffiti.’
‘It’s the U2 wall,’ Davey said, scanning it from top to bottom.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘We left our mark here that last summer before it all fell apart.’
‘What did you put?’ Juliet asked, joining him in his search.
‘“Johnny, Francie, Louis and Jay, Davey and little sis Rabbit here to stay”,’ he said, reading it. It was faded and barely legible, but as soon as he pointed to it, Juliet could see it.
‘Wow, really profound.’
‘Not our best work, I admit.’
‘Does that say “Kitchen Sink”?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Shit band name, Uncle Davey.’
‘Great band name.’
‘You were never going anywhere with a name like that.’
Davey traced his finger on the wall. ‘Back then we thought we were going all the way.’
‘Yeah, well, you were thicks,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Maybe, but we were happy thicks.’
‘What was me ma like back then?’ Juliet asked, following him down Windmill Lane.
‘Annoying.’
‘But you loved her.’
Davey chuckled. ‘You couldn’t help it.’
‘What age was she when you wrote on the wall?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘People say I look like her.’
‘You do.’ He failed to mention that, aged twelve, Juliet, sans heavy spectacles and two bunches at either side of her head, looked a lot better than her ma had.
‘Do you still have the music?’
‘Probably on a tape in the attic.’
‘Do you even have a tape player?’
‘Maybe in the attic.’
‘Will you play me the music some time?’
‘Yeah. I’d like that.’
‘Cool.’
They walked on towards Pearse Street.
‘Davey.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can we go and see me ma now?’
He nodded, put his arm around her shoulders and they headed towards the taxi rank. On the way Davey reflected on how proud he was of his niece and worried for her. When are we going to talk about Juliet?
Johnny
Uncle Terry opened the back doors of his old bread van to reveal the band and Rabbit sitting among their gear, half killed with the heat. ‘Up and out,’ he shouted to them.
Davey stood up, his hair stuck to his head with sweat. He wavered a bit, then steadied himself by placing a palm against the roof. Francie and Jay stayed sitting and panting. Johnny shook Rabbit gently. Even though her eyes were open, she seemed sleepy.
‘Come on, ya big Marys.’ Uncle Terry banged the side of the van. ‘It’s show time.’
Kitchen Sink’s new manager had booked them into every small venue and festival he could find that summer. He was planning to get them a deal by October and it was going to be big. Already there was interest from the UK. They had the songs, just needed a toilet tour under their belt and to find their stage legs. Once they’d broken Ireland, they’d be ready for the world stage. Paddy Price was going to take Kitchen Sink all the way, and after two years of practice, writing and waiting, they were ready. It was a shoestring operation, with only enough money to pay Uncle Terry for his questionable transport. The lads would have to take care of their own gear. Initially Grace had signed on as roadie, but when she’d realized she’d have to lift dirty speakers and set up her brother’s kit, she’d told them to fuck off.
Rabbit had been put forward as their sound engineer. She knew every song inside out and she’d shown a flair for the work, which was handy because she was learning on the job. After a few questionable gigs, she had found her groove and she was actually pretty good. At fourteen Rabbit Hayes was too young to be in most venues, but at five foot seven, having swapped her spectacles for lenses and finally let her long silky hair hang down to her waist, she looked the same age as her eighteen-year-old brother. Much to Davey’s annoyance, when she wore makeup, she looked even older.
It was Rabbit’s job to carry the bag of leads and Davey’s kick drum. The lads managed the rest between them. Tonight’s venue was dark and mercifully cool. Another band was on stage, sound-checking. Rabbit walked up to the guy on the desk, a real Johnny Rotten wannabe. He was probably twenty and had a safety pin in his nose. ‘You’ll be done in fifteen, yeah?’ she said.
He looked her up and down. ‘We’ll be done when we’re done.’
Johnny nudged Francie, alerting him to the altercation that was about to happen.
‘You’ll be finished in fifteen minutes.’
‘Who says?’
‘The call sheet and me.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is what I’m going to do. Can your band afford new gear?’
The would-be Johnny Rotten
looked her up and down again but this time with caution. She stood still, allowing him to survey her. Finally he nodded. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘I told ya she’d be a natural,’ Johnny said to Francie.
‘You did.’
The gig was packed to the rafters. After initial feedback, which Rabbit easily sorted, the gig went brilliantly. Halfway through she spotted her school friend Chris waving to her. She waved back but kept working. Johnny had the crowd in the palm of his hand throughout; the lads didn’t make a single mistake, just bounced around effortlessly. It was a good night, maybe even one of the best. Johnny’s voice was crystal clear, the vocals sitting perfectly on top of the music, no more feedback issues and lovely reverb. By the time Johnny finished the last song, the crowd were going crazy, shouting, ‘More, more, more!’ Johnny quietened them with a hand gesture. ‘How about I sing you something I wrote about a girl?’
The crowd screamed and clapped.
‘OK, I haven’t shared it with the band yet, so is it OK if I sing it a cappella?’
More screams, although it was entirely likely that most of the crowd weren’t quite sure what a cappella was.
Davey rested his sticks, Louis picked up his beer and slugged it from behind his keyboard, Francie and Jay crossed their hands over their guitars and stood back – until they saw that Louis had a beer and made fierce gestures to their girlfriends to get them the same. Johnny took the mic off the stand, sat on the speaker and sang.
The room fell silent and everyone listened without moving, including Rabbit. Alandra had left for home two weeks before; Rabbit figured the song was about her. It had such a beautiful melody and he sang it from his soul. Rabbit had got over her jealousy of Alandra a long time ago. She’d felt sad when she left, especially because the poor girl’s dad was so ill. When it was over, the crowd clapped and cheered and the band left the stage to renewed screams of ‘More, more, more!’
Rabbit was about to leave the desk when the Johnny Rotten wannabe came over to shake her hand. ‘Good gig.’
‘Thanks.’
Chris was waiting for her. ‘That was amazing! You are serious.’
‘Glad you liked it.’
‘I like you.’
‘Fuck off, Chris.’
‘Seriously. I’m stuck down here in poxy Wexford the whole bleedin’ summer, but when I come home I want to go out with you.’
Rabbit grinned. Chris was cute: he had bullied her when she was twelve but ever since he had been her bodyguard and friend. ‘I’ll think about it.’
He nodded. ‘Nice one. Now come and get chips with me.’
She laughed. ‘I’m leaving in the van in an hour.’
‘It only takes ten minutes to eat chips.’
‘OK. I’ll tell the lads.’
On the bus going home, the lads were drunk, laughing and talking until Uncle Terry turned up the heat to knock them out. Only Johnny and Rabbit remained awake.
‘You like Chris?’ he asked.
‘He’s nice.’
‘What about the other kid?’
‘Eugene?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, he lives in Spain now with his ma.’
‘How come?’
‘His da is in prison.’
‘Who’s his da?’
‘Billy the Bookie.’
Johnny nearly choked on his own tongue. ‘You had us attack Billy the Bookie’s kid?’
‘Well, to be fair, I didn’t ask you to attack him and I didn’t know who Billy the Bookie was until the court case last year.’
‘We could have been kneecapped.’
‘Or worse.’
‘Do me a favour.’
‘Wha’?’
‘Don’t tell Francie or Jay.’
‘OK.’
She reached into her bag and found a few packets of crisps. ‘You hungry?’
‘Starving.’
She threw him a packet. He tried to catch it, but missed. It landed right beside his leg, but instead of just picking it up, he felt around for it. It was dark, but his eyes had had long enough to adjust. It was weird. When he did find the packet, he couldn’t seem to grip it. Rabbit leaned over and picked it up for him. She opened it and put it in his lap. ‘Here.’
‘Dunno what’s wrong with me.’
‘You’re just tired.’
‘Yeah, it must be that.’
He pushed the crisps away.
‘Are you not going to eat them?’
‘Nah, not hungry any more.’ He leaned his head against the side of the van and closed his eyes.
Chapter Six
Rabbit
RABBIT TURNED TO face Juliet, who was lying on the bed beside her. She put her fingers through her daughter’s long light-brown hair and twisted it around them. ‘You look so pretty today.’
‘You look terrible, Ma,’ Juliet said.
Rabbit laughed and touched her face. ‘It’s just a little bloating. It’ll go down.’
‘Do you want some water?’
‘Nah, I’m OK.’
‘You didn’t eat your lunch.’
‘Wasn’t hungry. Did you eat?’
‘A little.’
‘You need to eat more. You’re so skinny.’
‘I’ll eat more if you do,’ Juliet said.
Her mother smiled. ‘Deal.’
‘I can get you something from the canteen?’
‘How about I start tomorrow?’ Rabbit said.
‘OK.’
Davey walked in with two coffees and two sandwiches. He handed a coffee and a chicken sandwich to Juliet.
‘I’m fine, Davey.’
‘Eat it.’
‘Not hungry.’
‘Eat it.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
Juliet thought about it for a few seconds, then opened the packet and took a bite. ‘It’s nice,’ she said, sitting up. She propped up her pillow behind her and tucked in.
‘I had her open it and add a little more mayo and black pepper.’
‘Cool.’
Rabbit smiled at her brother and mouthed ‘Thank you,’ then returned to gazing at Juliet. Rain pelted against the window and the light died outside. Davey turned on the lamp, and when he noticed his sister shiver, he picked up her favourite lambskin blanket and wrapped her in it.
Francie arrived, soaked to the skin. ‘It’s the end of days out there.’ He shook himself off, strode over to Rabbit and enveloped her without breaking her.
‘It’s good to see you, Francie,’ she said.
‘Of course it is.’ He laid her down carefully. He stopped to ruffle Juliet’s hair before he sat down. ‘Sorry I didn’t get here last night.’
‘What was the big drama?’
‘One of the lads at work cut his hand off.’
‘You’re joking!’ Davey said.
‘Clean off at the wrist.’
‘How?’ Rabbit asked.
‘Fucking around with a samurai sword.’
‘No!’ Juliet said. It was enough to stop her eating the second half of her sandwich.
‘What happened?’
‘Ah, the gobshite who cut it off ran out cryin’ and a few of us held the other thick down and tried to stop the bleedin’ with one of the girls’ belts. You remember Sheila B?’
‘Yeah,’ Davey said.
‘Impossible to forget,’ Rabbit added.
‘Her daughter Sandra works with us. She picked up the hand, gave it a wash and put it in a bag of ice, so I had it with me when we got to the hospital. They attached it last night so hopefully he’ll be all right. Sandra’s already convinced him that it’s turned into a claw.’ He laughed.
‘How is Sheila B?’ Davey asked.
‘Mental.’
‘She was always mad,’ Davey said, smiling.
‘Well, now she’s seriously mad,’ Francie said. ‘She’s been an in-patient in the nut-house for months.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Rabbit said. ‘I really liked her
.’
‘She never threw you in a canal,’ Francie replied. Rabbit and Davey laughed at the memory.
‘She threw you in the canal? Why would she do that?’ Juliet asked.
‘Francie and Sheila B used to go out together. Sheila was the jealous type,’ Rabbit explained.
‘Small understatement,’ Francie said.
‘Believe it or not, Francie used to be a good-looking boy back in the day and the women loved him,’ Davey said.
‘Used to be? Bleedin’ neck of you! I’ve still got it,’ he said, flexing his muscles. ‘The auld ones in the local supermarket go mad for me.’
‘Every time a girl went near him, Sheila had to be practically held down,’ Rabbit recalled.
‘Remember the time she locked you in the Olympia dressing room when some fans wanted an autograph?’ Davey said.
‘Yeah,’ Francie laughed, ‘and she threatened to set the place on fire.’
‘Wow!’ Juliet said.
‘She was good fun, though, and she was always kind to me,’ Rabbit said.
Francie nodded. ‘We could always count on Sheila B for a laugh.’
‘And she could always find a lock-in,’ Davey said.
‘It was like a sixth sense,’ Francie said.
‘Did she ever marry?’ Rabbit asked.
‘Nah, I ruined her for other men. You can’t follow this act.’ Francie patted his beer belly.
‘So her daughter Sandra’s yours, then?’ Davey said, in jest.
‘Don’t even fucking mess about that,’ Francie replied. ‘The first day Sandra joined, I asked her how old she was and had to count the months on me fingers. I was sweating like a paedo in a Barney suit, until I worked out the maths.’
‘Sandra is Wet Carbery’s daughter,’ Rabbit told them.
‘The short fella with the eye-patch?’ Davey said, and Rabbit nodded.
‘Why was he called Wet?’ Juliet asked.
‘He wore a nappy until first class,’ Francie said.
‘A few months after Francie broke it off with Sheila, Wet won a few quid on the bingo and took her away to Spain for two weeks. She came back pregnant.’
‘No!’ Davey said.
‘Where’s he now?’ Francie asked.
‘Last I heard he was a barman in Brooklyn,’ Rabbit said.
‘Does Sandra know her dad?’ Juliet enquired.
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes Page 11
