Shiver the Whole Night Through

by Darragh McManus

  As if supporting the argument, she said, ‘I just remembered that because of your name. Flood, it’s a lovely name. Not common in Ireland, I don’t think?’

  My mouth recited some vague reply while my mind asked itself, but is there such thing as a coincidence? All the extraordinary events I’d experienced over the last few months proved that this was a far more weird and fantastic world than we imagine. There were unexplained connections between things, which may not be recognised but are very real …

  ‘Anyway don’t mind me babbling like this,’ she said, ‘I’m just filling the silence with speech. Have you chosen what you want to do?’

  ‘Wha—?’

  ‘Those two. Have you picked one to buy? You needn’t make any purchase by the way. At this stage of my life I’m as happy to have some company in the shop as to make a sale.’ Again she gave that small, enigmatic smile. ‘That’s probably why I keep it open at all. There’s no money in it any more really. I do a bit of cleaning work to make ends meet, casual, you know. Big houses around the town. Knockmore Road, Belladonna, DeLacey Heights … Those people are too busy to clean, I suppose. They just give me the house keys and let me work away.’

  I nodded sympathetically and made a snap decision: the bell. I handed it over and Meredith wrapped it nicely in a box and coloured paper.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘How much?’

  ‘Ah sure, we’ll say … five. Have you that?’

  ‘Yeah, no worries.’ I paid her and was about to go when the old lady frowned and tapped her forehead.

  ‘Oh. Do you know, I might have something here for you. Free of charge. Hold on one moment, like a good lad.’

  ‘For me?’

  Meredith reached under the counter and, without looking, pulled out a small disc made of brass or copper. She flicked a clasp and it sprung open: a locket, used for holding photographs. Two oval spaces to place pictures. It was old and, although plain, quite beautiful.

  ‘It mightn’t be the kind of thing young men like, I suppose – I wouldn’t be well up on the fashions nowadays,’ she said. ‘But I saw you and thought you might be interested. It’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Dates from Victorian times … around the Famine, as far as I know. I couldn’t tell you where it came from or how long we’ve had it. My father ran the shop before me, and his before him … We’re around a long time.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Anyway. You might find some use for it. Maybe put in a nice picture of your sweetheart. Go on, take it. Think of it as a gift for a valued customer. A rare customer, ha ha.’

  I mumbled thanks and shoved it into my inside jacket pocket. I’d put in photos later, maybe a passport shot of me and that one of Sláine from the newspaper report on her death.

  Meredith smiled. ‘That’s it. Keep it close to your heart.’

  I left the old lady and her dusty, romantic shop, a bit discommoded by the experience but not sure why. Anyway the feeling soon faded because, two steps past the entrance door, I bumped into international super-spy Sioda Kinvara.

  Literally: we collided and he almost fell on the ice. I grabbed his arm. The soft sleeve of his plush cashmere overcoat was chilly to the touch.

  Kinvara regained his balance and smiled, saying, ‘Thank you.’ Then he did a double take and the smile changed to bemused recognition. ‘The lad from the library. The park there, you gave that other boy some dressing-down.’

  I said, ‘The –? Oh yeah. That was me.’ I smiled awkwardly. ‘Ah, he deserved it.’

  ‘I have no doubt … Enjoyable to watch someone beat a bully with the power of words, I must say. It pleases a mild-mannered bibliophile like me.’

  I shrugged and harrumphed, the usual Irish way of accepting a compliment. ‘John Rattigan’s brain, now … it wouldn’t take much to outsmart him.’

  ‘Perhaps … Still. The pen really is mightier than the sword. Sometimes.’

  ‘Yeah, sometimes. Sorry, am I blocking your way?’

  I moved from the door. Kinvara said, ‘Not at all, I’m just browsing. Killing time. Yourself?’

  ‘Uh … pretty much the same. Got something for my mother, you know. Little present.’

  I held up the gift box Meredith had given me. Kinvara said appreciatively, ‘Good man yourself. It’s lovely to see a boy looking after his mother. Family is … ’ He frowned and sort of stumbled on his words. After a pause he went on, ‘Family is important. We … we do have to take care of family, don’t we?’

  I shrugged again. Guess so, man.

  ‘You can’t … you have to stay loyal to your own, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Yes. That’s right, I think.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I stared at the ground, a bit perplexed and a bit uncomfortable. Then Kinvara’s face brightened, as though whatever clouds were darkening the sky inside his head had blown away, and it was all shiny blue in there now.

  ‘Speaking of family,’ he said. ‘I think I know your father. It’s Aidan, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s me. Dad did the job on your cars, right? You’re Mr Kinvara.’

  ‘Live and in person.’ He stuck out his hand – I shook it. The hand was even colder than his overcoat. ‘Sioda, please.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Sioda.’

  ‘Likewise.’ His phone sounded, the tone for a message, a familiar tune. Did I know that from somewhere … ? Four notes, three up before the last one comes back down as far as notes can go …

  Kinvara must have read my thoughts or noticed my expression of curious concentration. His eyes twinkled as he said, ‘The ringtone? I love that tune. From a film I really like. I downloaded it off the internet.’ He hummed the melody, ‘Dum-dum-dum-DUMMM,’ and I remembered, of course, hearing it play inside the house on Belladonna Way. So that was Kinvara’s home after all – I’d got that right.

  Now he was off on a different tack, saying, ‘He did a grand job for me. Your dad. That man knows cars, whoo.’ He whistled, a low and somehow mournful sound. ‘Are you into all that yourself?’

  ‘Cars? Not in the slightest,’ I said proudly, chuckling. ‘Music and books’d be more my thing.’

  ‘Well, I’m the same as you. Which of course is why I needed your father in the first place. I mean I love to drive them. Those vintage machines – beautiful. It’s an almost narcotic experience, you know? Actually, I hope you don’t know.’ He smirked. ‘But as to how or why or what they do … pff. Might as well be Coptic Greek. No, I’m a man of letters, like yourself.’

  I rolled a smoke, saying, ‘Yeah, I love to read. Like, I get real pleasure from it, as well as … broadening the mind, whatever.’

  ‘Absolutely. That is absolutely it. There’s an unbelievable power in books. Literal power. Books can change the world. Marx, Darwin, the Bible, Shakespeare, sure where do you stop … ? Such possibilities. Language and words, I mean they actually create consciousness. They’re what make us human, not just dumb apes that can stand upright … Do you know, I thank God, or whatever’s out there, on a daily basis for books and reading. Don’t think I could exist without them.’

  ‘Um … yeah. Me too, like I say. Love reading.’

  I pulled on my fag and sort of half-moved onto the road. Kinvara ducked in the opposite direction, towards the old curiosity shop. He stopped with his hand on the door, saying over his shoulder, ‘Come around to my house, any time you like, and pick something from my library. I have thousands of books, all sorts, you can borrow some. If you want to – no obligation. But there might be something to pique your interest, maybe a book that’s hard to find elsewhere, you know.’ He raised a finger. ‘Only if your parents say it’s all right. If you want to drop by, have your dad ring me beforehand to verify. The door won’t be opened unless I get that call.’ He turned to me and flashed a smile. ‘Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong impression. Don’t worry, I’m not some sort of weirdo. It’s just books. But you seem like the kind of lad who’d be interested in alternative stuff, so … ’ Kinvara shrugged. �
��The offer’s there, whatever you decide is fine by me.’

  I shrugged too, the best non-response I could think of in a situation where a response was required. Something felt slightly hinky about it: his offer, this whole conversation. Not in the predictable sense – I didn’t get any dangerous pederast vibes off Kinvara. Quite the opposite. If anything, he seemed strangely asexual, a bit of a cold fish. It was just … something.

  I sighed. Probably your imagination, Aidan. Again. The man knows your dad, knows you like reading, he’s offering to loan some books. He’s even said he won’t let you into the house until your parents phone to verify it’s all kosher. Stop looking for shit when there’s none there. You’ve got enough shit to deal with as it is, ha.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘We’ll see. I mean I’m pretty busy right now.’

  ‘Of course you are. As I say, whatever you want. Good luck to you, Aidan.’ Kinvara depressed the door handle and stepped into the shop, his final words trailing out behind him like a lace veil: ‘We might even let you behind the wheel of that old Jag for a test drive. I know your dad enjoyed it when he took her out … ’ He laughed roguishly and was gone.

  This guy really was too smooth … If Bond ever gets tired of the 007 gig, M, we’ve got a ready-made replacement over here. He’s even got the debonair hairstyle and everything.

  Walking home with my little surprise for Mam, a thought came to me, totally unrelated, out of nowhere. One of those tiny bursts of electrical energy in the brain which seem to spontaneously create themselves from nothing.

  I recalled Sláine saying she’d contacted me because I appeared lost to her, the first day she saw me in Shook Woods. It occurred to me that, while this was true, it was only part of the truth. Sláine took pity on the lonely boy poking around the forest by himself, yes – but she was also lonely. Despite what she said about a new life, and old emotions not applying to her any more, I think she was lonely. She wanted company. A friend, a human being to touch, literally and figuratively.

  And there was something else – this unsolicited thought wasn’t finished with me yet. I knew now – not suspected or wished, but knew – that Sláine had fallen in love with me too.

  The revelation should have filled me with joy. Instead, I was sort of numb inside. Where was she where was she where was she. The words repeated in my head like some hellish mantra. No message, no sign, no contact, no her. That wasn’t like Sláine at all. Yes, I was worried.

  I told myself it was unwarranted, I was overreacting, things would be fine, it’d only been two short days, she’d come back soon … I half-believed it. I made myself believe it, enough at least to squash that worry down to the bottom of my stomach and pretend it didn’t exist, for a little while anyway. I sighed heavily, my breath blowing out in front like a cartoon speech bubble, and trudged home.

  Killed by the Cold

  Wednesday arrived: Day Three of a World Without Sláine. Still no sign. I lay in bed as the clock moved past half-eight in the morning, staring at the ceiling, where a spider remorselessly crawled towards a fly trapped in its web. Good for you, spider. At least one of us is going to feel happy today.

  Her timing, I reflected bitterly, could hardly have been worse. Not only did I miss Sláine for her own sake, but I also had this apparent breakthrough, the McAuley letter, and she wasn’t around to help figure out what it might mean.

  Aaargh, this was excruciating. I didn’t feel depressed, but I was tense, and concerned for her whereabouts. I lurched out of bed, sleepwalked to school – gotta keep up appearances, and I’d missed two days – and sleepwalked through those seven hours. Teachers taught, my classmates chattered, the bell sounded several times, a car engine noisily died in the school car park, and I hardly noticed any of it.

  Funnily enough, I did notice one thing that day. It came to me with a clarity that was almost shining – it sort of knocked me off my feet when I realised it. The bullying had definitively ended for me, and didn’t look like resuming even though the new, confident Aidan had been partly subsumed into old, nervous Aidan once more. I’d become ‘normal’, it seemed, somewhere along the way, and normal I had stayed in the eyes of my peers. No more hate mail, no dog shit through the letter box, no antagonism at all. I was becoming a bit of a wreck with anxiety over Sláine, and it must have shown on my face, in the dark bags under my eyes. But my peers continued to treat me exactly as they had for the last two months, i.e. with a basic level of courtesy and common decency. It didn’t exactly help with any of this crap, but it didn’t hurt either.

  I walked home from school, chewing this over, and whammo, a second moment of insight, even more energising than the first: the idea of killing myself never entered my mind now. It hadn’t for several weeks, and even then had been instantly rejected. Literally, in the same moment as the notion drifted across my thoughts, I’d shot it down mercilessly. I chided myself for even considering it before. How stupid you were! How stupid and selfish – and self-defeating in all kinds of ways.

  That would have just proven their argument, Aidan, that you’re weak and spineless and pathetic. If you had killed yourself, they would have won. Do you want that, you idiot? No you bloody well don’t. So you stay around and stay the course, you little maggot. No matter how hard it gets, or how bad you might think you’re feeling, you will endure it. You’ll stick it out and survive. Got me?

  Yes, sir, I got you.

  No, I wouldn’t be checking out by my own hand, soon or at any stage in the future. I knew this as definitively as I knew my name. Maybe Sláine going AWOL had fortified me yet further, somewhere in the heart of my heart – it had stiffened me, put a certain steel in me …

  ‘Aidan.’

  I almost bumped into her, lost inside my head. Caitlin. She was standing in front of me on the path; it looked as though she’d been waiting here. She smiled nervously, twisted her hands into one another. She was wearing a woollen beret, red hair spilling over her shoulders, and looked very pretty.

  I said nothing. I didn’t want to talk to her right now, or talk to anyone; I was preoccupied with Sláine.

  Caitlin shuffled some more and finally said, ‘Um, are you, like … ? Is everything all right? You weren’t in school yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I said absently. ‘You noticed.’

  She laughed nervously. ‘Yes, I … I noticed. Aidan, what’s wrong?’

  I looked at her, properly. A welter of conflicting feelings suddenly bubbled up inside me, like a pot of stew boiling over: irritation, tiredness, apprehension, boredom, awkwardness, physical desire, maybe some residual anger or loathing for this girl and what she’d done to me. A sprinkle of pity, wherever that came from.

  I said, in a soft and weary voice, ‘You know what’s wrong, Caitlin-with-your-stupid-incorrect-pronunciation-of-your-own-name? Nothing, that’s what. Or nothing I’d want to discuss with you anyway, no offence.’ I moved past her and walked away. ‘Thanks for asking, though. I’m going home now. See you around, maybe.’

  That evening I sleepwalked – yes, again – through dinner and conversation with my parents, and possibly even sleepwalked through an hour of homework, which is a pretty impressive achievement in its own right. Around eleven I schlepped downstairs for a bedside glass of water and my mother was sitting at the kitchen table, wrist thickly bandaged, plonked heavily on the wood. Dammit, the gift. The bell figurine, I’d forgotten to give it to her. I said, ‘Hang on a second,’ then briskly tiptoed upstairs and retrieved it. Mam took the package with an expression of happy surprise. I flopped onto the chair opposite and said, ‘’S nothing. Just a little pressie – cheer you up after your fall. How is it anyway?’

  I pointed at her wrist. She said, ‘Ah, not too bad. Still sore but they say it should be fine in a few weeks. This looks very nice.’

  She wrestled with the wrapping but it was awkward, her movements clumsy on that side, so I opened it for her. I held up the bell and said drolly, ‘Ting-a-ling.’

  My mother gasped and gave a love
ly smile – it took twenty years off her. That made me happy.

  ‘Aw,’ she said. ‘Aidan, it’s perfect. Aw, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Nah, seriously, it’s nothing. I got it in that place, you know the little curiosity shop there off the square? Actually the lady, Meredith, the owner? She said say hello to you and Dad. So, uh, hello from Meredith.’

  ‘Oh, yes. A real lady, she is.’

  Mam began hauling herself off her seat. ‘Would you like some tea, pet? I find it’s good for sleep. You look tired, you need to sleep.’

  ‘Sit down, I’ll get it.’

  I filled the kettle, water drumming against metal like an equatorial monsoon, and set it to boil. My mother fired up a smoke and held the packet back to me.

  ‘Go on, sure. You might as well do it in front of me.’

  I took a Silk Cut – a change being as good as a rest, and all that – and lit it. Silence for a few minutes, oddly calming, just the loudening hiss of the kettle and our soft smoky inhalations. I made her tea, none for myself, and sat. More silence. More calm. This was nice.

  Then Mam broke the surface of that calm, shark’s-fin-style, by saying, ‘Is everything all right, Aidan?’

  I replied, guarded, ‘Uh … yeah?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I think so, yeah. Sorry, what … ? Yes, Mam, everything’s fine.’

  ‘Because you know you can tell me if it’s not. Don’t you?’

  Like hell I can. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Anything at all that’s bothering you, you can say it.’

  Yeah, I can see that working out well. ‘Uh-huh.’

  My mother sipped her tea for a long moment, watching me. I pretended to be fascinated by a comical postcard on the fridge.

  ‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘When you’re in the middle of something, especially if it’s bad, it feels like the biggest thing that could ever possibly happen. Then a while later, when you get some perspective on the whole thing, you realise, oh it wasn’t such a big deal after all.’