A Thousand Roads Home

by Carmel Harrington

  ‘Mam. You’re crying,’ DJ said, alarmed.

  Ruth had not noticed the tear that was chasing its way down her cheek, or the fact that she was rocking back and forth on her small chair. To stop herself cracking her knuckles, she sat on her hands, the wood biting into her fingers. No flying, no popping, she had to be normal for DJ.

  ‘DJ, please go to the staff room and get a glass of water for your mother,’ Mr O’Dowd instructed.

  ‘Mam?’ DJ asked, only leaving reluctantly when Mr O’Dowd shooed him towards the door.

  ‘I never intended to upset you. I apologise. I’ve always been too heavy handed. It’s one of my many faults.’

  Ruth looked up and saw regret on his face. He did look sorry.

  ‘I do want to help. I see such great potential with DJ. His imagination is wonderful. May I help you?’

  She shook her head. This was her mess; she had to fix it.

  ‘Is there something happening at home?’ he asked for the third time. He was like a dog with a bone.

  Home. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. ‘It is not DJ’s fault. Do not take this out on him.’

  He looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘DJ is a great kid. I like him. It’s only because I am worried that I asked to see you. Because I care.’

  ‘We … we became homeless recently,’ Ruth whispered to his beige loafers.

  A silence laden with questions filled the air.

  She heard the scrape of his chair. He stood up and moved around from his desk to sit beside her on DJ’s small chair. ‘What happened, Ms Wilde?’

  ‘Our landlord evicted us. I tried to find somewhere else but there was nothing we could afford. At the moment we are in a hotel in Fairview in emergency accommodation.’ Ruth heard her words and saw Mr O’Dowd’s reaction. But she felt oddly removed from it all. It was as if someone else was talking to him, not her.

  The sound of a glass crashing to the floor made them both look around. DJ was watching them both, horror on his face. ‘You promised. You said you wouldn’t tell!’

  There was no answer to that. She had promised. And she had broken that promise. Not someone else. Her.

  ‘I hate you!’ DJ screamed. Then he turned on his heel and ran from the room.

  Mr O’Dowd was quick to reassure, ‘I had no idea. But I can promise you, this stays in this classroom between us.’

  ‘I have to go,’ Ruth said, jumping up.

  ‘I’m here. Talk to me. Anytime,’ Mr O’Dowd said, following her to the door.

  But she was gone, running after her boy, whose heart she had just broken, when she broke her promise.

  Denise was waiting outside with Mary and Sinead, fake concern etched on their faces. ‘We saw DJ run out. He looked upset. Is everything all right?’ Denise asked.

  ‘Oh, go fuck yourself,’ Ruth said.

  28

  TOM

  DJ had been kicking his football about for an hour or so. Every now and then he glanced over at Tom but when their eyes locked he turned away. His face was scrunched in anger at his annoyance at the world. It reverberated with every kick he made. The wind began to pick up. The weather was due to take a turn this week and Tom’s knee felt it. As good a predictor as any weatherman.

  DJ’s ball rolled its way to Tom’s feet. ‘Bette Davis likes playing fetch. Problem is, my knee is giving me gyp today. Would you do me a favour and take her out for a bit?’

  DJ shrugged his acceptance. He took the stick that Tom produced. Bette jumped up, alert at once to the fun ahead. DJ threw the stick, watching it sail through the air. Bette’s eyes never left it either and she took off at speed to catch it. And when she returned the stick, dropping it at his feet, the frown disappeared from DJ’s face and a hint of a smile appeared.

  Work your magic, Bette Davis.

  It was impossible to stay mad when playing catch with an excited dog. Tom thought about his first few years spent on the streets. Days would turn into weeks and he would realise that he had barely moved more than a few feet, he was so weighed down by his pain and misery. But that all changed when he rescued Bette. He found her lying in a muddy puddle, stunned from a head-on collision with a car. Tom had seen the accident happen and was incredulous that she survived. At first, he thought the dog was deaf, because she was so quiet and seemed unable to hear a word that he said. But he realised twenty-four hours later that this was not true. The dog was in shock. He tended to her injuries, bathed and dressed her cuts and bruises like he was taking care of a child. By the third day, she accepted some chicken and began to make improvements. Then on the fourth morning, he woke up, feeling the warm weight of Bette’s head on his feet. She looked up at him with such love in her eyes that it took his breath away. They had not left each other’s side since. And he knew that Bette had saved him, just as he had saved her. Within a week of their being together, Tom noticed a strength returning to his body. And to his mind too, if he was honest.

  DJ’s laughter rang through the park when Bette somersaulted head over paws trying to catch the latest stick he threw.

  DJ ran back to Tom with Bette by his side ten minutes later. ‘She’s so fast! Did you see how quickly she caught the stick that time?’ he gushed. He was not worrying about a single thing in this moment. Simply living fully in the moment with Bette.

  ‘I did. And you would be doing me a huge favour if you played with her a bit each evening. Assuming it’s not raining, that is. You can’t be out in the rain. And either ways, I’ll not be here myself,’ Tom said.

  ‘If it’s raining, where do you go?’

  ‘During the day, either the library on Pearse Street or Anne’s deli and coffee shop. She’s a nice lady. She lets me stay inside with Bette for a few hours. When it gets cold, I head to one of the shelters for the night.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘There’s a few of them in town. The one I go to is on Richmond Street.’

  ‘Is it nice there?’

  ‘Like the fecking Ritz, with fluffy bathrobes and cute slippers for all who enter,’ Tom said.

  DJ wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. ‘Can anyone just check in?’

  Tom replied, ‘Oh, aye. They’ll give you a key card and a doorman will even carry your little rucksack to your room!’ He watched the penny drop for the kid, who took it well, smiling with good nature.

  Tom reached into his rucksack and pulled out his sandwich. He held it up to show the boy and said, ‘You hungry? I don’t mind telling you, this is what some might call hitting the sandwich jackpot. Chicken tandoori with a lime mayonnaise. From Anne’s deli. Hmmm, hmmmm. Still cold from the chiller.’

  ‘Like you are gonna share anything with me!’ the kid said, thinking he was teasing him again.

  ‘So young and so cynical already. As it happens, young man, I am more than happy to share. Call it payment for playing so nicely with Bette,’ Tom replied. ‘Plus, I’ve a pain in my head listening to your fecking stomach growling like a big old grizzly bear.’

  Tom took half of the sandwich out of its plastic container and handed it to the boy.

  DJ took a large bite and sighed. A long, loud, no-business-coming-out-of-a-kid’s-mouth sigh. ‘I haven’t eaten since lunchtime.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what had you looking so vexed all afternoon?’ Tom asked.

  DJ’s face went dark again. ‘I hate my mother.’

  Oh, we are back to that again. What had Ruth done?

  ‘You think I’m wrong to say that, don’t you?’ DJ accused. He didn’t wait for an answer, but continued with his tirade. ‘She doesn’t give a shit about me.’

  Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘You know I don’t like it when you are lazy with your words. If you are going to give out about your mother, at least be articulate while you are at it. And you and I both know that Ruth loves you.’

  ‘You don’t break promises with people you love! She told my teacher that we’re homeless.’

  ‘Will your teacher tell the rest of your class? I
s that what you are worried about?’ Tom asked.

  DJ shrugged.

  ‘Why did she tell him?’

  ‘He called her in to complain about the state of my homework. Which is not my fault, either. You should try doing essays on a bed.’

  ‘It seems to me that your mam was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Your teacher was having a go at you. And she wanted to explain that it wasn’t your fault. She broke her promise for all the right reasons.’

  DJ looked unsure. ‘A promise is a promise.’

  ‘Yes it is. Did your mam tell you about Sheila, the pregnant girl we met here recently?’

  DJ nodded.

  ‘Well, she’s someone who has a reason to complain about her parents. She’s only a few years older than you. And believe me when I say that no kid belongs out here on the streets. But not every kid has a home and people who love them like you do. The truth of the matter is, if Sheila stays on the streets she’ll be a crack head within a year. That’s if she’s not found dead in a ditch beforehand.’

  DJ shivered as Tom’s words reached their target.

  ‘I know Mam wasn’t being mean on purpose. But she doesn’t know what it’s like for me. Kids at school have only just stopped slagging me about the last incident.’

  ‘What was that?’ Tom asked.

  ‘At last year’s cake sale she made a scene. All she had to do was come along, be nice to the teachers, say hello to the other parents, then go. Instead she started a row with my friend Dev’s mother. She even made Dev cry. And then, after all that, had a meltdown, so I couldn’t even get annoyed with her.’

  ‘So all in all, it went well,’ Tom said.

  DJ ignored the sarcasm and continued his story. ‘First of all, Mrs Delaney came over and asked her what she wanted to drink. And I could see her panicking because she didn’t know what to say. Mam hates too much choice – freaks her out. I ran over to help her out, but Mrs Delaney was hell-bent on offering her every possible option: water, still or sparkling, fizzy drinks, diluted orange, juices, tea, green or breakfast, coffee, decaffeinated, blah, blah, blah! With every choice Mrs Delaney rattled off, Mam went a shade whiter. Which in itself is hilarious because all she wanted was something white …’

  ‘A cold glass of milk!’ Tom interjected. ‘That list would stress me out, never mind your poor mam.’

  DJ nodded. ‘We barely got over that when Mrs O’Brien came over. She’s Dev’s mam.’

  ‘And Dev is your friend?’ Tom said.

  ‘Yes. I’m pretty sure Dev has got what Mam has.’

  ‘Autism?’

  DJ nodded. ‘Dev had a freak-out in music the week before. I mean, I find that class torture, thirty kids all playing different instruments – badly – but he went off on one.’

  ‘Poor kid,’ Tom sympathised.

  ‘It was me who asked Mam to talk to his mam in the first place. But Mam was freaked out already about the drinks and was popping her knuckles like a madwoman. And Mam being Mam, was too blunt. She just blurted out that Dev had Autism.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Mrs O’Brien was horrified at the implication that her son had learning difficulties. She was so cross,’ DJ said. ‘Then Dev came over to see what the shouting was about. Mrs O’Brien said that just because Mam was mental that didn’t mean everyone else had to be, too. Dev started to get really upset then. Annoyed with me for blabbing. Mrs O’Brien pulled him away saying that she would not let her child be stigmatised. Now he doesn’t talk to me any more.’

  Stigma. Fear.

  Tom said, ‘It’s catch-22 and no easy solution. I feel for your friend. And his mam. But it’s always been like that. My generation had a hard time accepting a lot of things, too. Gays, blacks, people with disabilities, mental health issues. I can remember my father, who was a good man, a fair man, making a mean statement about a kid in my class who had dyslexia.’

  ‘That’s horrible.’

  ‘It is,’ Tom agreed. ‘But things are getting better. I would never have believed that same-sex marriage would be allowed in Ireland. Or the Eighth Amendment repealed. We’ve become a Yes generation. Progress.’

  ‘I marched with Mam for both of those. Even though she hates crowds, she still went.’

  ‘I marched too,’ Tom replied.

  ‘I wish I had met you ages ago,’ DJ said. ‘I like talking to you. It’s different than when I’m with Mam.’

  ‘And I you, kid,’ Tom said. Then he watched the kid’s face scrunch up in a frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I sometimes wonder what it would be like to just chat like this with my dad. But I don’t know who he is,’ DJ said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Or my grandparents. Did you meet them when you lived in Wexford?’

  ‘No. I’ve never met them.’

  ‘I think they were afraid, too. Of the stigma. Like you said. Sometimes Mam has this look on her face – scared – and I know she’s thinking about them.’

  Tom knew that Ruth had reason to be scared of her mother.

  ‘We’ve got to hope that each generation learns from the previous. One day, if you have children they’ll know more than we do now. That’s the way the world works.’

  ‘I just wish that sometimes people knew how hard Mam tries to fit into their world,’ DJ said. ‘She may not look you in the eye but she sees everything.’

  The kid was clever. Tom clasped his shoulder and squeezed it. ‘She sees you. Who you are. And loves you.’

  ‘I know. And that makes me feel shit when I get angry with her. Because even though she hates hugs, when she hugs me, she does so with every part of her. And if I ask her for anything, she’ll do all in her power to get it for me. I’ve always felt her love.’ DJ felt a tear escape. His mam was right now lying on her bed, curled up into a ball with her headphones on, trying to escape the pain she was in. And he left her like that because he was angry.

  ‘You need to go back to The Lodge now, kid,’ Tom said, reading his mind.

  ‘I like talking to you, Doc,’ DJ repeated. Bette moved over to lay her head on the kid’s foot in solidarity.

  ‘One of my favourite parts of the day, when you stop by,’ Tom said. ‘See you tomorrow. I’ll be here.’

  DJ disappeared out the park gate into the dusky evening.

  Ruth was as he had left her earlier when he got back to their room. He felt shame and guilt. He had every right to be annoyed with her. She broke a promise. She told. But he shouldn’t have shouted at her. She was his mam. And he loved her. He kicked his runners off. Then he climbed into his bed in his clothes just as he was. He lay there listening to her shallow breaths, in and then out. He wanted more than anything to feel her arms around him. He felt lost and alone and scared. He turned his body so he was facing towards her and she opened her eyes. Their eyes locked, hers glistening with tears. He smiled and she nodded once before she closed her eyes again. She moved her hand a fraction to the right so that it was closer to the edge of her bed. Closer to him. He moved his hand until his fingers tipped the top of hers. He waited for her to pull away. But she didn’t move an inch. The room remained silent. Then suddenly he felt the warmth of her fingers as they laced around his.

  A million silent sorries fluttered around the room as they held on tight to each other. Ruth for putting her son in a position where he might be made fun of. DJ for getting angry with a mother who always accepted him for what he was. For hating her for being what she was.

  And together they found their way back to each other.

  29

  TOM

  The aroma of good coffee hit his nostrils. Tom peered in the window of the coffee shop, trying to decide if he should go in or not.

  ‘Hello,’ Ruth said, walking towards him.

  ‘You’ve been shopping,’ he said, nodding at the bags in her hand. He felt his face move into a grin, something it didn’t do that often. It felt strange and wonderful all at once. This woman and her boy made his days brighter when their paths crossed.
/>   ‘Joggers for DJ. He is like a weed at the moment. Growing constantly,’ Ruth answered.

  ‘I was about to go in for a coffee. Would you join me?’ Tom asked. He had to stop himself crossing his fingers that she would say yes.

  When Ruth did not answer immediately, he said, ‘I would like to buy you a glass of milk. I’ll ask them to serve it extra cold.’

  She smiled at this and walked into the coffee shop.

  ‘Come on, gal.’ Tom gently tugged on Bette’s leash and she wagged her tail in delight. If things went Bette’s way she might find some crumbs fallen onto the floor.

  As he made his way through the small coffee shop, towards the counter, Tom felt the eyes of the diners follow him. A small child reached out as they passed her table, her short pudgy arms grabbing Bette Davis by her collar. She squealed in delight, ‘Doggie, doggie, Mammy, look a doggie!’

  Bette Davis, ever the Oscar-winning actress, wagged her tail and nuzzled the little girl’s hands. Bette yelped in annoyance when the child’s mother pulled the girl back, whispering something into her daughter’s ear.

  And while Tom got it, accepted it, understood it even, he felt irritation creep its way around him. And embarrassment that Ruth was witness to this. He tugged on Bette’s lead and moved on to place his order, closing his ears to the child’s cries of dismay.

  ‘Cappuccino, please. Large. And a glass of cold milk. With ice, if it’s not from the fridge.’ Tom placed his order to the young girl behind the counter.

  She remained silent, then frowned as her eyes looked him up and down.

  It’s going to be like that so.

  He pulled out a crumpled euro from his pocket and laid it on the counter top. She snatched the money, still cheerless, still silent, but at least rang his order up.

  ‘You go find a seat,’ Tom said to Ruth.

  The girl behind the counter began the task of making his coffee. He watched her pull the lever sideways on the coffee machine and smiled when Bette’s ears pricked up as the familiar click of the grinder alerted her that something nice might be coming her way soon. Tom stuffed his change back in his pocket and felt his earlier irritation disappear as the rich aroma of the beans filled the air. He was about to have coffee with a friend. It was a good day.