‘Go on,’ I said, tamely. ‘Please. Go on.’
‘I thought you might be interested,’ my father replied with satisfaction. He was clearly out to milk the situation for all it was worth.
‘It was a few hours after you were born; I went to see your mother in the hospital. When I got there she was asleep, but the nurses were a good bunch, they took me through to the separate ward where you was sleeping and let me sit with you for a while. There was rows and rows of kids, all crying and making noises and, I remember, you were parked in the furthest end of the room, in the very last cot, next to the radiator. They put you there ’cause you were a lot smaller than all the others, but it was funny you had the most hair. You should’ve seen it, loads and loads of jet black hair, just like mine used to be.’
He rolled the end of his cigarette meditatively around the edge of his ashtray.
‘That’s when they asked me if we’d decided on a name. Quick as a flash, I said, “Felix. We’ll call him Felix.”’
For a moment my father allowed the undercurrent of the memory to take him, however as soon as he realised how far away he was drifting he quickly drew himself back to the safety of the present.
‘It’s funny, your mother and me never agreed on a bloody thing, but she let that one go. I never did understand why.’
‘So what made you choose Felix? Was it the name of a winner that you’d backed?’
My father smiled. ‘Not quite. You a gambling man, Felix?’
‘It’s not really my thing – I’m not good with losing.’
My father didn’t miss the jibe. ‘Of course, though it could be that you’re actually afraid to win. You ever think about that?’
‘All the time,’ I replied, smiling. I was wise to his games now.
He sighed. ‘Y’know, gamblers are a superstitious bunch. If they hit on a streak then they start looking for reasons to explain it – the lucky rabbit’s foot they were stroking; the pair of pants they were wearing; I even know a bloke who had a row with his wife and then went and won ten large. Ever since then she gets a slap whenever he leaves the house.’ He started to chuckle at himself. I wondered if the sleep deprivation was taking its toll.
‘And your point is?’
‘The point is, a gambler will blame their fate on anything if it makes them feel that they’ve got some kind of control over it.’ He nibbled at the side of a fingernail. ‘Not me though. There was never any need for me to go in for that sort of rubbish, ’cause I was born unlucky.’
‘You were born unlucky?’ I repeated sceptically.
‘I was, I’ve been carrying a hex around with me my whole life. See, the name Mallory literally means unlucky.’ He picked up the bottle lying next to him.
Following his lead, I held my glass out for a refill. ‘Is that really true?’ He didn’t reply. ‘But you don’t believe all that though, surely.’
‘I believe it enough to swear that if I ever had a son I’d give him something better, a name that he could rely on, which had the completely opposite meaning.’
‘Hold on, are you telling me that the name Felix means lucky?’
My father nodded.
I felt a burst of excitement course through me. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I was almost hugging myself. ‘I never imagined anything like that. It’s just so... it’s just so... great.’
My father, on the other hand, was not sharing the joy. In fact, seeing me so happy seemed to make him quite uncomfortable.
‘Look, where are you going with this, Felix?’ he said, his voice now sounding utterly tired and beaten. ‘I mean, what exactly are you expecting from me? You want an apology? You want me to try and make up for not being there all those years?’
‘What? I don’t know, I–’
‘Fine, I can start by passing on some of the wisdom that you missed out on when you were growing up. Let me think–’
‘But I…‘
‘Now,’ he said, ‘always remember, Felix, if a bet sounds too good to be true then it probably is. What else? Oh yes, always make sure that you agree on the price before you enjoy the vice, and – very important this one – never, ever travel without pornography. How’s that for you?’ he said, willing me on. ‘Am I behaving like a proper father yet?’
I looked away, crestfallen. ‘There’s no need for that, that’s not why I came here.’
‘Then why did you come here?’
Go on, tell him.
‘I came because I wanted to know why you did it?’
‘Did it? Did what?’
Ask him. Ask him.
‘Why you walked out on us.’
My father’s torso deflated in the chair. ‘I couldn’t stay, Felix, I just couldn’t. Your mum and me, we…’ He raised his hands in a futile gesture. ‘We weren’t working. We were good for a little while, sure, but it soon started to break down.’
‘Let me guess; that started around about the time you realised that all of the savings were gone.’
Silence filled the room.
‘Felix, you don’t know what you’re talking about.’ His voice now was a deep constant. He was so certain, he wasn’t worried about winning me over.
‘She was always a little too self-righteous, even when we first met, but when your grandparents died she threw herself into the church so much that I lost her altogether. God would never forgive her for living with a sinner, she would tell me, and so her solution was to try and convert me.’
‘Convert you?’
‘Seriously! Do you know what it’s like to have to live with someone who hates the person that you are, who feels that their mission in life is to change you into something that you’re not?’
I took a mouthful of whiskey and prayed that he intended that as a rhetorical question. It was then that he hit me with the ultimate sucker punch.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘the incident with your brother was the straw that broke the camel’s back.’
‘Brother?’ I laughed. ‘And what brother would that be then?’
My father looked up, his eyes searching. ‘Don’t tell me she never–? Oh, Jesus Christ.’ He sets his glass down and pinched his forehead.
Abruptly the earth stopped turning. I freed up my hands and got to my feet.
‘What fucking brother?’
‘Alright, alright, calm down, sit down. Shit. I can’t believe you don’t know.’ He stubbed his cigarette out and immediately lit another.
Every second that wait feels like an hour, but my father was taking his time.
What’s he getting straight here? His head or his story?
His eyes narrowed and then he dived right in.
‘Felix,’ he said, ’you were meant to be twins.’
For several minutes nothing moves, I’m not even sure if I’m breathing anymore.
‘A brother? A twin brother?’
My father nodded.
I wrapped a hand over my eyes. Words fell out of me.
‘A baby brother... I always wanted a baby brother... someone I could play with, someone who could look out for me, who I could look out for.’
A convulsion of pain. An inch of ash hit my knuckle on its way to the carpet.
‘What happened to him?’ I whimpered. I felt the tickling warmth of tears on my cheeks.
‘He died.’
‘Died? How?’
‘There were… complications. He was stillborn.’
‘Complications?’ I look at him through my fingers. ‘What sort of complications?’
‘It was, well, it wasn’t how it is now… it’s… erm…‘
My spine stiffened. He was flailing around in what should be shallow waters. In a desperate effort to compose himself, he leaned across, pulled the curtain to one side and checked outside.
‘The doctors said that–’
‘It was something to do with you, wasn’t it?’
‘No,’ he said, turning an anxious look back to me. But with the sun shining across his tired face, he was once again undone b
y his tell.
‘Don’t you fucking lie to me. You tell me what you did.’ I got back to my feet. ‘You tell me what you did to my brother or I swear – I swear – I’ll unload on you.’
I picked up the closest of the figurines that were dancing across the fireplace.
On seeing this, my father shrank into his armchair and raised his hands in submission. As he did so, the sleeves of his shirt fell back, revealing the scrawniest pair of forearms I’ve ever seen. Seeing his flaccid skin suddenly brought it home to me how old he was. It bought him some breathing space. I lowered myself onto the edge of my chair. I felt guilty somehow, yet I was still clutching the figurine.
‘Start talking.’
‘I don’t remember much,’ he said. ‘It was late. I’d just got in from somewhere or other and she started banging on about the church again. Well, you can only hear that sort of thing for so long, in the end I told her that I’d had enough, I said that it would probably be for the best if I left, but when she heard that she went nuts. Hysterical she was, kicking and scratching at me like a fucking lunatic.’
‘Then what did you–?’
He waved a finger. ‘I never hit her. As God’s my witness, I swear on my life. No, she just stopped hitting me and collapsed. Just like that. I thought she was putting it on at first, but when I saw the blood I knew that it was serious. That’s when I called for the ambulance.’
All the time he was telling me this I was watching. Watching for the twitch. The tell. But without the aid of the sunlight it was impossible for me to see with any certainty.
‘Seriously, Felix,’ he implored, ‘it wasn’t my fault.’
‘So you say.’
‘So the doctors say.’
We sat there in silence for a while. Then I said, ‘So you thought that the best way to overcome your marital problems was to just up sticks and leave, huh? That’s a fine example to set.’
‘We all do things on the spur of the moment, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve learned from my mistakes.’ He pointed to my clasped hands and the wedding ring. ‘I see you’re married. Kids of your own as well probably, eh?’
His flabby eyes were full of curiosity. Could he be looking for some kind of cathartic insight into the life he left behind? I took pity.
‘A girl,’ I replied. ‘What about you, this your marriage home?’
He shifted in his seat. ‘Yeah, well, almost. I live with a very patient woman–’
There was the sound of a key being inserted into a lock.
‘Here she is now.’
The front door opened, closed and a woman with a thick Irish accent called out.
‘Mallory? You back, love?’
With a sudden air of authority, my father turned to me.
‘Not a word,’ he whispered, waving a finger in my direction. ‘This is delicate.’
He raised his voice to reply. ‘In here, Violet.’
There was the rattle of coat hanger against rail and then a well-built but modestly attractive woman in her mid-fifties appeared in the doorway. She had on a blue tunic and speckled blouse, presumably the uniform of a local supermarket.
‘What are you doing sitting in the…?’ Her question is cut short when she flicked on the light switch to find a swarthy stranger sitting in the middle of her living room.
‘What’s going on here?’ She looked questioningly at my father and then at me. ‘Who’s this?’
My father let the question slide past him and got to his feet.
‘Hello, love, had a good day?’ He tried to embrace the woman but she pushed him away. Not stupid, this one. She eyed him for a couple of seconds and slowly shook her head.
‘I know that look,’ she said. Then, spinning resolutely on her heels, she walked out of the room. I heard a cupboard door slam and the punctuated vacuum of a metal tin being opened. My father blew out his cheeks and sat down on the edge of his seat.
‘Where is it?’ the woman screamed from the other room. ‘What have you done with it?’
Mallory Shill doubled up and ran both hands frantically through his long hair. He stopped at the crown and kneaded his scalp.
A moment later the woman was back. My father raised his head but quickly ducked again when an empty tin was hurled in his direction. It struck him on the elbow with a high-pitched ‘ding’.
‘Where is it, Mallory?’ she demanded, ignoring his sudden, exaggerated pain. ’What have you done with it?’
‘Nothing, it’s not what you think,’ he whined. ‘Anyway, I can get it back, I just need a couple of hundred–’
‘Oh, you eedjit,’ she said, wilting onto the sofa behind me. ‘You stupid, stupid eedjit.’ Over and over she repeated it.
My father sounded almost embarrassed by her reaction. ‘Calm down, love, there’s no need to panic. Would you calm down?’
‘Calm down? Calm down? You bloody fool, I’ll not calm down. Oh, you eedjit, you stupid bloody eedjit, you’ve really done it this time. We’re buggered now, you know that?’ She covered her face and began to shake with grief.
‘I’ll get it, don’t worry,’ my father said coming across to her. ‘The rent’s only fifteen hundred quid, I’ll get that, you’ll see. They won’t throw us out for fifteen hundred quid.’ He placed a tentative hand on the woman’s shoulder. It made her flinch.
‘Is that who this is?’ She glanced across at me. ‘Is it? Are you from Doyle’s lot?’
I shrugged my innocence. ‘No, I’m…I’m…’ I looked up at my father. He was wincing, like someone witnessing the first and last step of a suicide jumper.
‘I’m his son.’ It pained me to say it.
Violet turned her tear-streaked face towards him.
‘Son? I thought you said he was–’
‘No, no, no.’ My father crouched alongside her. ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you before you flew off the handle. This is Felix, my son from my first marriage.’
She’s no better off with that information. ‘What does he want?’
I answered the question for him. ‘I just came here to see my father, that’s all.’
‘Aye, and judging from the state of you, you’ve come here with your hand out as well, is that not so?’
‘No, I don’t need anyth–’
She pushed herself up from the sofa. ‘Right, that’s it,’ she said. ‘I’ll have no more, this’s the final straw. Shill, I’ve had enough of you and your silk shirts, you can pack your bags and be on with you.’
My father’s mouth fell open. ‘Hold on a minute. Would you just wait for one minute.’ But Violet was already moving out of the room. He grabbed her by the arm.
‘Would you just listen, woman!’
All too easily, Voilet allowed herself to be drawn back. She was starting to have the tiniest of doubts. In her eyes was a conflicting brew of hope and hurt. Whichever ingredient my father added next would decide his fate. He wa fully aware of that.
’This is my son,’ he said with a unexpected tenderness, ‘and he’s not here to take anything. He’s here because he wants to meet us. He’s come here to find out what kind of people we are, isn’t that right?’
Voilet gave me the questioning look of a forlorn panda.
I nodded.
‘See,’ my father said, ‘he’s family. On our side. As a matter of fact, he might be able to help us. He’s recently come into some money and I think if we were to ask him nicely then he’d probably see right to lending us a few quid.’
He placed an arm around Violet’s shoulder and drew her close.
‘Isn’t that right, son?’
Her face was a pitiful mixture of doubtful anticipation, scorn and watery mascara. My father’s was about nothing but mercy.
The question lingered in the room for a moment and I have to admit, for a short while, he nearly had me; his revelations and sentimentality almost thawed me out. But when I saw him convulse again, his facade crumbled.
I stepped back and shook my head. ‘You crafty bastard, so that’s your
game. You’ve been playing me all this time in the hope that I’ll bail you out.’
‘No, no, not at all. I wouldn’t do that.’
‘No, of course you wouldn’t.’
My father made a few more desperate attempts to convince me, but all three of us knew that it was too late. In the end I waved him off and turned to Violet.
‘Is his name on the deeds to this place?’
The enquiry took her by surprise. She needed to think for a second before answering.
‘No, why?’
‘And does he pay any of the bills?’
‘Well, he gives me money towards the housekeeping. He’s quite good like that.’
My father sensed the gap between them narrowing and obediently reiterated the fact.
‘I am.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure he is,’ I replied, ingnoring his attempts. ‘So let me rephrase the question – if the bank were to foreclose on this house, would the burden be all yours?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘Right, so that also means that if you kick him out then he’s got no claim on it either.’
My father could already see where I was heading. ‘Now just you stop right there, sunshine. I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t want you putting any ideas into her head.’
‘No, you listen to me, old man. In case you weren’t listening, she was just in the process of throwing your degenerate arse out on the street and so I’m not putting anything anywhere.’
My father looked to Violet for support, but if nothing else, my reply was a timely reminder. She folded her arms.
‘This isn’t the first time you’ve had this kind of problem, is it?’ I asked.
She shook her head thoughtfully.
‘Right, now listen carefully, Violet, because I’m going to offer you a deal.’
My father panicked. ‘What sort of deal?’
We both ignored him.
‘What sort of deal?’ she calmly asked.
‘It’s like this; I’ll give you the money to pay your debt on one condition: that you follow through with your threat and kick him out – for good.’
Felix Shill Deserves to Die Page 29
