The Middle Place

by Kealan Ryan

  Brian studies the house for a long while, contemplating what to do next. He just wants it over, wants to feel something other than this hatred. He just wants to move on. He has been a little hasty driving over here without a plan. Catch your breath, he thinks, as he sits back into his car. He closes his eyes but instead of a plan entering his brain he sees me. It’s a random thought. Something that he hasn’t thought about in a long time. Usually he avoids thinking of me because it goes straight to my funeral, or worse, to the man who killed me. Strange that a happy memory enters his head now – although he hadn’t been happy at the time, the incident has since entered into our own family folklore and Brian’s memory forever.

  He was only five when I woke him up in the middle of the night by lightly shaking him, ‘Brian … Brian … wake up, buddy,’ I whispered in my crackly, not-quite-broken, fourteen-year-old voice.

  Brian opened his gooey eyes and saw me smiling down at him. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s your birthday! Happy birthday!’

  ‘It’s my birthday?’ he asked.

  ‘Run in to Mam and Dad to get all your pressies!’

  And so he did. At the time I’d thought it was the funniest thing ever – watching the poor little bastard waking Mam and Dad up a good four months before his birthday and demanding his presents.

  Brian sat in his car outside Danny’s house and smiled at the thought of it. It was terrible, for sure. But he could see the funny side of it now.

  I actually felt awful after my little prank. Brian cried all night and Mam and Dad gave me such a bollocking. Poor fella. I can still see his face. The little chubby cheeks on him drenched with tears. I ended up crying myself that night for hurting him so much. I don’t know what I was thinking – that one really backfired.

  The next day, or rather later that day, after we’d all gotten up properly, I made it up to him. I said I was sorry, that I’d just got the dates mixed up, but that I would treat today like it was his actual birthday. I took him to the cinema to see Toy Story. He loved it; I did too, deadly film. I got him all the junk food we could carry. When we went to buy the ice cream, I made the mistake of asking him which size he wanted, ‘Small, medium or large?’ Should have known never to ask a five-year-old such a stupid question; of course he got the large. He was half-frightened of the cone when it was handed to him as the height of it covered the length of his torso. Before the trailers had even finished, the ice cream had covered the length of him.

  For the next few years I’d always try and do something for him on ‘fake birthday’. It would usually just be a small pressie like a colouring book, or I’d let him decide what to put on the telly or something. It lasted until Tim got a little older and started asking why he didn’t get a second birthday too. I let it fizzle out after that. We did resurrect it a bit as adults, though, for the craic. I’d send him a happy fake birthday text, or if we happened to be together I’d mock-fuss over him.

  Sitting in the car, Brian remembers me a few years back, laughing as I jumped up from the table to make sure he didn’t have to get his own beer out of the fridge in our folks’ house. ‘Not on fake birthday, little man!’ I declared. ‘Allow me.’ Brian burst out laughing as he nodded his approval of me handing him the bottle.

  He grips the steering wheel tightly as the smile leaves his face. He turns his eyes towards Danny’s house. He’ll come back tonight. Surely Murray will still be here tonight. The sign was only just taken down, after all. He glares at the front door one last time before turning the key in the ignition and driving away.

  49

  A cheque for €410,000 would be a hell of a lot harder to turn down than a shitty gaff, Danny figured. He knows Pam wouldn’t want to see him, but he won’t go through the solicitor either this time. Instead he’ll try to be as honest as he can with her. He still has the suicide note and maybe, just maybe, she will believe it’s genuine, he thinks, as he puts it and the cheque in an envelope along with a short message.

  A day later, Pam opens up the letter without thinking. She sees that it’s a handwritten address so is a little curious and hopes it will be something nice. She spots that there is a little note, along with what looks like a letter. But it’s the cheque that draws her eye and particularly the name that is signed to it. Her first reaction is to scream, but she clamps her mouth shut and breathes heavily out her nose. Rage runs up her spine and she wants to kick the glass screen of the front door, but instead she just stomps and grits her teeth. She becomes frozen in the same spot staring at the wall before slowly allowing herself to look down at the note that accompanies the cheque. With her hands trembling, she reads Danny’s words:

  I know you may never believe me and could never forgive me. But I am truly sorry for what I have done to you and your family. Every day I am tortured with what I have done to you. The letter with this was a suicide note. It was genuine but the rope slipped and I lived. You may not believe that either but it’s true. Please take this cheque as a tiny apology. I don’t mean it as anything else but to say sorry. I understand you probably want to throw it in my face but I hope you don’t. I am leaving the country and you will never see or hear from me again.

  I am so sorry. With all my heart I am so sorry.

  D. Murray

  She feels empty after reading it. Doesn’t know how to take it. The rage has left her and is replaced with pain. That indescribable pain she feels every time she thinks of the brutality of my death and how I was taken from her. The kind of pain that makes her want to sink into the floor and disappear. But she doesn’t. She calmly puts the three pieces of paper on the counter, gathers up Robbie’s things to take him to crèche, then drives to work.

  50

  We had a rich old granduncle who lived in America and every time he’d visit home he’d always bring us cool toys and things that you couldn’t get in Ireland. One year he brought us a baseball bat that Brian and Tim played with all summer; then they put it in the broom cupboard and forgot all about it. There it sat in the very same place collecting dust for fifteen years. Little did it or we know, in all that time, that one day it would have a rendezvous with the back of Danny Murray’s skull.

  Brian comes across it again by accident when he swings by my folks’ place after watching Danny take down the For Sale sign. He knows that he is going to do something terrible tonight and just needs to see my parents – his parents. As always, you wouldn’t be long talking to my mam without her giving you a job, so before he knows it he’s headed to the cupboard to get the brush to sweep the kitchen floor. The bat stops him dead in his tracks. I suppose he’s seen it many times in the last fifteen years – we all have, I guess – but took no notice of it. It was like it belonged there, was part of the furniture. He notices it this time, though. It’s not a full-size baseball bat; it’s kid-sized, so only about sixty centimetres in length, but it’s made of solid ash, so it’s hard as fuck and exactly what Brian needs. He takes out the brush, sweeps the floor meticulously, spends some time chatting before saying his goodbyes, and makes sure to conceal the bat in his coat as he leaves.

  He doesn’t talk much to Tim when he gets back to the flat. Tim has made dinner, which is a rare thing, but he has done it as a nice gesture for his brother, to try and perk him up or something. It’s chilli with rice and Tim is well chuffed with himself. Normally when he’d cook it would be pizza, steak or hot dogs, but this time he’s actually gone to a bit of effort and got the recipe off Mam. A simple enough dinner but he knew Brian liked it.

  ‘What do you think – is it like Mam’s?’ Tim asks when they’re sitting at the kitchen table.

  ‘What?’ Brian asks, staring at his plate.

  ‘The chilli, do you like it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, thanks – it’s good.’

  Tim is totally disappointed at Brian’s reaction. He expected much more praise and gratitude. His initial feeling of being pissed off quickly fades, tho
ugh, at the thought that it’s all down to this depression thing again.

  Fuck it, Tim decides – something has to be said. It’s better to have this all out in the open.

  ‘Shit, Brian, are you alright, man? You’re not saying anything.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re acting all depressed, what the hell is wrong with you?’

  Brian frowns. ‘Nothing is fucking wrong with me.’

  ‘You’re not yourself, man. I’m getting worried about you.’

  With that Brian puts down his knife and fork, stands and abruptly leaves the apartment.

  ***

  By the time he gets to Danny’s house all he feels is hate. He parks outside and stews on that hate, trying to feel something different. Trying to convince himself that it is wrong for him to be here.

  A half hour passes and still he feels no fear, no concern about the consequences. He just feels utter contempt for the man in the house across the street. With a deep breath, he gets out of the car and marches up the driveway, clutching the baseball bat with blind determination. He rings the doorbell, waits. Now the adrenaline starts to kick in. Holy shit. Half excitement, half panic – completely terrified.

  It feels like an eternity since he rang the doorbell. Maybe nobody is home? The house has been sold, after all. Maybe he’s not here? Brian is about to turn away and run when he hears someone coming to the door. He readies himself and for the first time feels doubt. All doubt. It consumes him – what the fuck is he doing?

  Before he can answer the question he is staring Danny straight in the face and raising up the bat to strike down with as much force as he can muster. Danny instinctively turns his body away from the blow but to no avail, as the bat comes crashing down on the crown of his head with a loud crack.

  ***

  Brian storming out of the apartment is well out of character and it really upsets Tim. He didn’t even finish his dinner, which Tim knows is one of his favourites. Maybe it isn’t as nice as Mam’s but it’s close enough and Brian always finishes his dinner. Perhaps he was a bit out of line telling Brian he wasn’t himself, but it’s not like he attacked him or anything. He just told him that he was worried about him.

  Because Brian’s that bit older, Tim still treats him like the big brother to a certain extent and looks up to him – he hates to upset him and if ever they have an argument Tim would always be the one to apologise first. He hopes he hasn’t pissed him off too much, but at the same time knows that he said nothing wrong.

  He wants to help Brian any way he can, but doesn’t know what to do. He’s never had to deal with depression and doesn’t know the first thing about it. But this has gone on long enough – now he’s driving off to God knows where for no reason at all? Bollocks to that, Tim decides – I’m going to nip this shit in the bud.

  He did a search for depression on the computer a couple of weeks ago and came across a page with a lot of useful information. A bit too much information, actually, and that’s why he only glanced at it. Not tonight, though; he’ll read the whole fucking lot. When he sits at the computer he can’t remember the name of the site, so clicks on the history button. He freezes when he sees what’s at the top of the recently viewed list. There the name stands, as if in bold writing: DANNY MURRAY. Over and over, there are various searches of that name. He clicks on the top one. Danny Murray Senior’s obituary appears, along with all his information.

  Suddenly it all makes sense. The conversation Brian had with him and John after the sentencing, how introverted Brian has become over the past few months and particularly the past few days. The past few hours. He isn’t depressed. The snappiness, the not talking – it’s not depression; it’s something worse.

  Tim looks at the address on the screen – the search is only from earlier today and Brian has just stormed out for no apparent reason. This address could be the reason. He hopes he is wrong but still hastily grabs the keys to his bike and runs out the door.

  By the time Tim turns his banger of a bike onto Danny’s road he figures that he has totally overreacted. Surely Brian wouldn’t do something this drastic. He continues driving slowly up towards Danny’s address to be sure. Looking out for Brian’s car, he allows himself to smile when he can’t see it. But this is followed shortly by a deep sinking feeling when he does.

  No.

  Fuck no.

  It is parked at the end of the road not far from Danny’s house. Tim presses on the gas so hard he practically does a wheelie. He looks in the car window as he passes – no Brian. Then he looks up at the house and sees his big brother beating the life out of someone.

  ***

  The sound the bat makes off Danny’s head gives Brian a shock. It’s way louder than he expected. So loud, in fact, that it stops him dead in his tracks as Danny slumps to the floor. Brian thinks for a second that he’s after killing him with one blow. Danny, on the other hand, doesn’t know what the fuck has just hit him. It doesn’t even feel sore, he just feels like he’s paralysed. He somehow finds the strength to turn over onto his back and look up at his attacker, who is glaring down at him. Brian swings down again as Danny raises his arms for protection. The bat catches him right on the elbow, which is actually more painful than the smack on the head. As Danny lets out an almighty yelp, Brian has a clear target of his temple and swings with ferocity.

  This time it’s Brian who doesn’t know what’s hit him. Before the bat lands Tim tackles him around the waist and takes him to the floor, screaming, ‘Stop!’

  As the three of them lie side by side in the narrow hall Tim pleads again but this time gently, ‘Stop, Brian. No more.’ Looking into Tim’s eyes, the fight in Brian vanishes. The anger fades as he gives in to the grief. Danny lies still. It has all happened so fast that he’s only now realising who these people are. When he does, he wishes the bat had killed him. Out of breath and sitting up, the three of them look at each other, nobody knowing what to say.

  It is Danny who goes to speak first; but when he opens his mouth he can’t; instead he begins to cry. Neither of the guys knows what to do, what to say. Tim gives Brian a let’s get the fuck out of here nod and the two of them get up to leave.

  ‘Wait,’ Danny croaks.

  They continue walking out the door. Danny raises himself to his knees and calls again, ‘Please, wait.’

  The two lads stop in the driveway and turn to hear what he has to say. Danny can feel the blood running down his neck as he holds on to his elbow. He has the legs to stand, but feels that it’s more appropriate to stay kneeling. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers as he chokes on the tears. ‘I’m sorry.’ This time louder, more definite. He wants to say something else, something better, but can’t think what that could be. The guys stay still; they can tell that he wants to say more. He looks at them again through the haze of his tears: ‘I’m so … I’m so sorry.’

  Neither of my brothers knows what to say. Tim is about to say, ‘Fuck you’, but just can’t bring himself to do it. He can see the passion in Danny and understands that he means the apology with all his heart. He can’t forgive him but telling him to go fuck himself isn’t right either. Brian and Tim look at each other again, then simply walk away.

  51

  Pam hasn’t spoken to anyone about the cheque. She lay awake all night, thinking about what to do with it. She was hurt, at first, by its unexpected arrival, but after much thought she admits to herself that it would help, that’s for sure. It is a lot of money. Why the hell shouldn’t herself and Robbie have it? By morning, she has decided. They deserve it.

  She doesn’t go into work and instead asks my parents to call over so she can fill them in and also to see if they can mind Robbie later – let her get out of the house for a bit.

  Mam’s delighted that she’s taking the money. She had heard about the initial offer of the house and although she didn’t say anything at the time, she’d been disappointed wh
en Pam didn’t accept it. My dad has mixed feelings, but overall he’s glad too. He justifies it by looking at it as if they have just won a civil case against him.

  Reading the letters Danny sent helps them. They see now that he isn’t the monster that they built him up to be in their heads. Is it fair that he is a free man while their son lies in the ground? No, of course not. They’d still prefer that he never saw the light of day again, but his apology – it means something. His attempted suicide means that their tragedy has affected him as well. That I mean something to him and will be with him till the day he dies.

  Once Pam leaves for the day, my parents read over the letters again, together. Neither speaks afterwards; they’re too tired to be angry anymore. It will fester up again in the future and fade again, as these things do, but right now they just feel relief. That somehow the whole ordeal is over – not in the manner that they would have liked it to end, but still, it is over. They don’t need to speak. They can tell each other things without speaking; they both feel the same. Instead my dad leans in and kisses my mam on the cheek, which makes her smile.

  ***

  Pam is grateful to be out of the house, not working and not minding Robbie. The letters have helped her too. What happened was a terrible accident, but it was an accident. Danny didn’t mean to kill me. Maybe Pam’s just tired from the whole thing too; after all, it has consumed her for over two years. The anger, the hatred, the worry – she too needs closure, and this – the cheque, him leaving the country – this is it.

  She has a nice day, all things considered. She takes a walk on the beach, watches young families play in the warm October sun. Thinks how the weather will be shifting again and how things are changing. Robbie’s first day of school. He looked so grown up in his uniform. How can he be in school already? What has happened to the last two years?