‘No, she won’t. She was asleep all afternoon. She probably doesn’t even know that I’m gone,’ DJ said.
Tom thumbed in the direction of the street. ‘You can’t stay here. It’s not safe. Lash could be back to finish off the argument he’s been having in his head with you since I sent him running. Go back to your hotel. I assume it’s The Lodge up the road you’re in?’
DJ made himself as tall as he could and replied, ‘I’m not scared of Lash. Or anyone. I can take care of myself. And how’d you know that’s the hotel I’m in?’
‘I know a lot.’
The kid had a fair set of balls on him for one so scrawny. Tom almost smiled. It was time to put an end to this though, send him back to his mother. ‘Word of warning, don’t make me repeat myself. That turns me from being an old man into a grumpy old man.’
DJ didn’t move.
Tom continued, his voice firmer this time, ‘Go back to your hotel.’
Bette Davis barked once and moved closer to the boy, placing her head on his knee. And when he smiled, something inside Tom shifted.
17
TOM
What am I going to do with this kid, Cathy? I can’t seem to shake him. Everywhere I look he’s there. What’s that about?
‘I will go back to the hotel, I promise. But let me stay for a bit. Please, Doc. I don’t want to go back to that room. Not yet.’ His eyes pleaded with Tom’s to let him stay.
For feck’s sake. Why did he feel responsible for this kid? ‘You think we’re gonna have a bromance or something? Become best buddies? You picked the wrong bench, kid. Don’t be expecting any neighbourly chitchat from me.’
DJ pretended to zip his mouth, that big smile of his once again taking over his face.
Tom felt his stomach growl. His supper had already been delayed by this kid. Bette Davis nudged his rucksack with her button nose.
He pulled her bowl from his rucksack and filled it with water from a bottle. Then he took out his flask and unscrewed the cap. Aware he had an audience, he put on a little show. He elaborately poured himself a cup of coffee. The smell of the nutty roast filled the air around him and he breathed in the scent with loud appreciation.
‘I prefer tea. Well, if I had the choice, I’d go for hot chocolate. But coffee is good, too,’ the kid said, subtle as a brick.
A cold breeze ruffled Bette’s coat and she moved closer to her master.
‘It’s cold,’ DJ stated the obvious.
Tom looked at him and said, ‘You’re not very good at that whole zipping-your-mouth, are you? I can see what you’re thinking. This is going to be coffee time over the garden fence. Dream on. This here is no Hollywood movie. You want coffee, go get your own. I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon.’ He moved his two hands around the plastic cup to warm them. ‘And this sure is a mighty fine cup of Java.’
‘Real mature,’ DJ said, his lips in a cartoon pout.
‘Yep, that’s me, Mr Mature, sipping his cup of coffee. Keeps the chill out of a night,’ Tom chuckled, and stroked Bette’s silky ear, the way she liked. Tom realised he was enjoying himself.
‘So how long have you been homeless?’ DJ asked.
‘Who says I’m homeless?’ Tom asked.
‘You’re living on a bench,’ DJ said, pulling a face.
‘I’ve been sleeping outside for ten years or so now, on and off. That’s true.’
‘That’s a long time,’ DJ said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his ears as a gust of wind whipped by them.
‘Things aren’t always black and white. You should remember that,’ Tom said, taking another sip of coffee. ‘Tell me about your mam.’
DJ shrugged. ‘Nothing to tell.’
‘Humour me. What’s so bad about your mother that you’d rather be out here in the cold, talking to me than sitting with her?’ Tom asked.
DJ remained tight-lipped.
The kid had said she was asleep on the bed. ‘Is she fond of the gargle? Does she drink a lot? Too much gin or wine? Passed out from it?’
‘Sometimes she has a glass of white wine on Saturday nights. But she says it’s a waste of money because she only has one glass, then the rest goes down the sink,’ DJ said.
‘Then what has she done that’s so bad?’
‘She’s on my case morning, noon and night. I’ve a pain in my arse listening to her, she never lets up.’
‘Sounds like an awful mother. What is she on your case over?’
‘Everything! Nothing I do has ever been good enough for her. I don’t keep the place tidy enough for her. But it’s impossible to do that in our hotel room. There’s no room for anything,’ DJ said.
‘That sounds unfair. Out of interest, could you do more?’
‘I do plenty,’ DJ said.
‘Oh, well then, I’m not surprised you are so pissed off. Nothing worse than if you put the work in and nobody appreciates it,’ Tom said.
‘I just want to be my own boss. Like you. Nobody to tell me what to do,’ DJ said.
‘Before you go packing your bags and leaving, I have to tell you I’m not buying any of this. There’s something else going on. Every parent nags their child to tidy up. It goes with the territory. What’s really annoying you so much?’ Tom asked.
DJ sighed. ‘I’m just tired of …’ He didn’t finish. He placed his head in his hands and ruffled his hand through his hair until it stood up on end. ‘I love my mam. But sometimes I don’t like her.’ He felt tears rush to his eyes as he uttered the ultimate betrayal.
Tom pulled a second plastic cup from his rucksack, then poured coffee for the kid.
DJ took a sip and closed his eyes as he said, ‘The other week, I tripped and fell in the yard at school. My own fault. Was running towards Mam with my laces untied. I hit the ground hard and skinned my two knees.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah. Mam asked me if I could get up. I said yes, so she waited and watched until I got onto my feet again.’
‘What did you want her to do?’
‘To help me, to put her arms around me without me asking her to, to put a plaster on my two knees. Stop the bleeding.’ He stopped abruptly, feeling embarrassed that he had opened up to this old man, this stranger.
‘Is she not the maternal type?’ Tom asked.
‘She’s not like most mams,’ DJ sighed.
‘Does she hurt you?’ Tom asked in a low voice. Was the kid being mistreated?
DJ quickly shook his head. ‘Not like that. She’s just different.’
‘How?’
‘She’s not one of those touchy-feely mams. My friend Dylan in school, his mam is always hugging and kissing him. Drives him mad. Mine will only hug me when I ask her for one. Hugs make her feel restricted.’
‘Maybe you and Dylan should swap mams,’ Tom joked, making the kid laugh.
‘I don’t think Dylan would be able, for all the mashed potatoes,’ DJ said.
Tom raised his eyebrows in question.
‘She only eats white food. Her favourite thing being mashed potatoes. With real butter. When we studied The Famine in school I kind of wished a blight would hit the country again.’
Tom laughed at this. ‘That bad?’
DJ sighed, the injustice of his diet restrictions evident in every word uttered: ‘Porridge, bananas, milk, potatoes, white fish, mayonnaise. I’ve had them all cooked in a variety of ways. Some days, if she’s in good form, she will let me eat anything I like. But her food always has to be white.’
‘At least she tries to be flexible with you. That doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t care,’ Tom said.
‘I know she loves me. That’s not the issue. She doesn’t say it much. But I don’t mind that. And last night she brought home a big tub of vanilla ice cream. We ate as much of it as we could, then she wrote this sign, saying “Eat me!” and stuck it on top of the lid.’
‘Why?’ Tom asked.
‘We have a communal kitchen in the hotel and food is always being stolen. Sh
e said that if people are going to rob the food anyhow she might as well give them permission and let them enjoy the ice cream guilt free.’
‘Respect.’ Tom liked this woman already.
‘Yeah. She’s kind of cool. And funny, too. But most people don’t bother taking the time to see that. They just think she’s weird ’cos she talks funny.’
‘How does she talk?’
‘It’s hard to describe. She likes proper English and will never use slang. She likes to follow rules, I guess. And slang breaks all the rules of English.’
‘I think a lot of kids could take a leaf out of your mam’s book. Use more formal English in formal settings, keeping the slang for the playground.’
DJ looked at Doc with respect. This old homeless guy seemed to get it. Get him. He liked him.
‘You said people think she’s weird. I think what’s more important is if you do too,’ Tom said.
‘Sometimes. No. Not really. Maybe the odd time.’
Tom laughed. ‘Thanks for the clarification.’
‘When people meet her, they think she’s rude because she gets all tongue-tied and can’t speak. She hates noisy places and crowds so we have to avoid those.’
‘That must be tough for you, seeing her go through all of that?’ Tom asked.
‘I hate it when she cries. Sometimes she has to lie down when things get too much for her, sleep it off. When she was little, she used to put a blanket over her head so everything went dark. So I put one over her, too. It helps, I think.’
Silence fell, DJ’s words hanging between them. Tom felt an emotion he had not felt in a long time. Tenderness. Followed by respect, awe and, if he was honest, pity. ‘You’re a good kid,’ Tom said to him.
DJ shrugged. ‘No, I’m not. Because sometimes I hate my mam and our life. And then I feel so bad.’
18
TOM
It was time for a change in subject. The kid looked like he was about to cry. And while there was no doubt that he had more than most to be upset about, there were always worse off out there.
Tom took out his chicken sandwich from his rucksack, passing half to the kid.
‘You sure?’ DJ asked, the guilt of taking the man’s food fighting his growling stomach.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Thanks. Where do you get your food from?’ DJ asked as he shoved half of the sandwich in his mouth in one bite.
‘I’ve a few delis and cafés that hook me up with food and coffees. Plus the food runs done by the Peter McVerry Trust every night. Helps to be as charming a fecker as I am.’ He grinned. ‘Tell me something, DJ. You ever been hungry?’
‘Course I have. Today. Now.’
‘OK, how does hungry make you feel?’ Tom asked.
‘Shite.’
‘Don’t be so lazy with your words. Think, then articulate. Perhaps once you have finished chewing,’ Tom said.
DJ giggled, then frowned as he tried to find the right words for Tom. ‘I felt light-headed. Weak. No energy. My stomach kept growling.’
‘There you go. Amazing how articulate you can be when you try. Well, imagine if you hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning. Imagine if that feeling carried on into tomorrow and then the next day, too.’
‘I’d go mad.’
‘You would. A craziness sets in when you’re hungry. It’s mental torture. You might be shocked to hear that there are six hundred thousand people experiencing food poverty in Ireland right now.’
‘No way!’
‘Way. A new generation of food poor,’ Tom said, shaking his head in regret.
‘Mam used to say that when things were tight, food was the flexible item,’ DJ replied, remembering times when he saw his mam eat nothing else but a banana sandwich for the day.
‘That’s the thing, kid. You don’t need to be homeless to be hungry. Many of those six hundred thousand have a roof over their heads, but don’t have a scrap in their fridges. It makes me so angry to think about the kids who go to school hungry every day! That’s not right. Not with the amount of food wastage in the word. Tons and tons of food thrown in the bins every day, while children are starving.’
‘I never thought about that before,’ DJ said. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoody.
Tom nodded, satisfied that he was beginning to get into the kid’s head.
‘Mam used to make porridge for us both every morning. Mine with currants, hers plain. She said if we eat nothing else, we’ll have that to set us up for the day. Now we eat in the hotel restaurant every morning. There’s so much food on their buffet, Mam said she reckoned they must throw out loads.’
‘Your mam is probably right about that. Isn’t it a wonder, though, how mothers always know the intricate details of their children’s likes and dislikes? A mother’s love knows no bounds,’ Tom said. His mind drifted to Cathy and Mikey, a dull ache making its way to the pit of his stomach.
DJ nodded and his earlier irritation at his mother began to feel trivial and unjust. Maybe he didn’t have it so bad after all.
Tom changed the subject abruptly. ‘What’s your favourite subject, kid?’
‘English,’ DJ answered.
‘Ah, you’re a dreamer so.’
‘Maybe. I think I’d like to be a journalist when I grow up. Or write a book like Dean Koontz.’
‘Noble ambition,’ Tom approved. Cathy used to have one of his books.
‘I’ve got this idea bouncing around my head about an island where you get sent to when you mess up,’ DJ said.
‘What happens there?’
‘You have a chance at redemption there, kind of like a do-over.’
‘Wow. What happens if you don’t take that?’ Tom asked.
‘Then you die on the island. You never leave. It’s like a prison, but it’s not. Because you live outside in hammocks. There’s no way to escape. You have to forage for your own food. I’m not explaining it right. But it’s all in my head,’ DJ said.
‘I’d read that,’ Tom said. ‘Seriously. I would.’
‘Mam always says the same to me when I tell her about it.’ DJ sighed. He started to shift and fidget on the bench, then lowered his eyes to the ground. ‘I’ve been a bit shit to Mam lately.’
‘That goes with the territory. Boys are little shits ninety per cent of the time. But here’s the thing: for your mam, you’re her little shit, so no matter what, she will still love you. It’s part of her DNA as a parent. They can’t turn that off.’
‘Sometimes I think she’d be better off without me,’ DJ said.
‘Don’t ever say that, you ungrateful little …’ Tom stopped, shocked by the strength of the anger he felt at DJ’s words.
‘Chill, old man,’ DJ said, alarmed by the change in his new friend.
Tom took a deep breath, trying to chill, as the kid said. ‘Listen to me, kid, there will always be times that you upset your mother. But you need to remember something. She loves you unconditionally, which means she will forgive you all your transgressions as long as you learn from them and are sorry.’
‘Why are you getting so worked up?’ DJ asked, unsure as to why Tom was so agitated. He didn’t like to see him upset. He liked talking to him. Tom listened to what he had to say, like he was an adult, not just a silly kid. And the last thing he wanted was to do anything that might make Tom tell him to go away again.
‘I hate seeing you waste your life, throwing it away when there’s people out there who would give anything to swap places with you, people who would give anything to have a family like you …’
‘Who said I was wasting my life?’ DJ said. ‘You’re going all crae-crae there, Doc.’ He watched Tom’s eyes glaze over as he became lost in his own thoughts. ‘Doc? You all right?’
Tom pulled himself back from Cathy and Mikey, to the kid in front of him.
‘Sorry. I was thinking about someone, that’s all.’
‘You have a wife or something?’ DJ asked.
Tom nodded. ‘As it happens I do. Cathy. As beau
tiful as a summer’s day. I don’t mind telling you that I was punching above my weight with her.’
DJ said, with a grin, ‘But you being such a charming fecker … not a bother to you!’
‘Ha! You catch on quick. That’s right. And I have a son. Mikey.’ Tom closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts.
‘Do you miss them?’ DJ asked.
‘Every single second of every single day. Not much time goes by that they are not the centre of my thoughts.’
DJ held his phone out. ‘I’ve got credit left. Go on, Doc. Call them.’
‘I’m not sure that there’s a phone out there that can make the kind of call I’d need to reach them. If there is, kid, I’d like to find it.’
DJ said, ‘I have some money from my birthday left. You can have it so you can buy a train ticket to go see them.’
Tom looked at the kid in wonder. ‘Thank you for that offer. But I don’t need your money.’
DJ stood up and said, ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a coward! No matter why you left them, they’ll be glad to see you. Remember what you said to me, about my mam unconditionally loving me? I bet they feel the same about you!’
Tom looked at DJ and smiled. ‘Oh, they loved me. I’ve never doubted that. I felt the blanket of their love every day we were together.’ He paused for a moment and looked away. ‘I didn’t leave them, kid.’
‘Then what? I don’t get it.’
‘They left me.’
Bette Davis moved to her master’s side and nudged his leg in sympathy. Then she raised her ears and sat up. They heard footsteps approaching them.
Bloody Lash, back for a row. Tom jumped up and stood in front of DJ. He should have sent the kid back to the hotel as soon as he saw him.
But it was a woman who came into view. She stopped when she spotted DJ sitting behind the old man on the bench. ‘DJ!’
‘That’s my mam.’ DJ jumped up to greet her. He was in trouble, it was way past his time due back to the hotel.
Ruth ran towards him and they stopped a few inches away from each other. ‘Are you all right? Where have you been?’
Tom watched the woman’s face go through several emotions: fear, relief, then fear again. She turned to take a better look at the man who had been sitting chatting to her boy in the park.
A Thousand Roads Home Page 10
