However, I would have been lost without her. The vicar was there to greet us. I’d explained to May my mother wasn’t religious. May said she knew that, but if she was helping, we would do it her way. As she said earlier, my mum was beyond caring.
In total, there were ten people present, including the cleric. May, Owen and I sat at the front. Four others huddled together on the row behind. They all looked vaguely familiar, co-workers most likely. An old couple came in as the service started and stayed at the back of the church. There were a lot of empty pews between us, and I wondered if they had just got there early for the next one.
I remembered the endless hours spent at the kitchen table with Mum encouraging me to read after the accident. Her laughing as she shouted out, ‘More sandwiches,’ to my dad, and, ‘Tea, Frank. More tea.’ She never let me give up. Sometimes she would fall asleep as I talked.
The service was quick. ‘Half hour slots,’ May whispered as she noticed my surprised face. There weren’t any eulogies like in the movies. Not for us anyway. I suspected hymns were extra as they were missing too. The vicar didn’t know her so his words could have been about anyone who had children and little money. At the end, the coffin moved through a curtain.
‘We have entrusted our sister to God's merciful keeping,
and we now commit her body to be cremated,
ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life,
through our Lord Jesus Christ,
who died, was buried, and rose again for us.
To him be glory for ever. Amen.'
I didn’t have any tears in that strange place. None of it felt real, or familiar. I found my mind wandering through the past, and chastised myself for the lack of focus and therefore respect. It was impossible to stop myself doing it though. Maybe everyone considers their lives when they are confronted by their own mortality. I was distracted by the realisation that my parents led an unusual existence together. No family came to visit in life or in death. Few friends made appearances at either funeral. There were just a smattering of work colleagues and May.
‘Go to the door, Vinnie. Thank people for coming. Invite them back to the house.’
The four colleagues left quickly with apologies about going so fast. Owen also said he had to return to work although he would drop us off. He held my hand in both of his as he shook it.
‘I tried to get through to her. I wasn’t enough.’
As he shuffled away, I realised that it’s the actions we don't make that often do the most damage. Her blank stares when he offered his company will be buried with him when the time comes.
While May talked to the vicar at the front, the old couple who stayed at the back tried to walk past without saying goodbye.
‘Thank you for being here.’
The lady stopped and regarded me with rheumy tearful eyes. One was so milky she couldn’t possibly have seen out of it. His face was damp with tears.
‘We wanted to make sure that evil woman was dead.’
‘Now then, love. That won’t help. It’s not his fault,’ the man said.
He hustled her away. I wondered for a few moments what that was about and then decided that I didn’t care. I wanted my mother to take her darkest secrets to the grave. May finally came out and told me that the vicar had declined our invite too.
‘Come on, Vinnie. We’ve got a lot of sandwiches to eat.’
I knocked on May’s door first thing the next day, my breath steaming in the chill morning air. I’d been to the shop to get the paper for her. She told me the night before, on her fifth sandwich and most of the gin she brought over, she hadn’t read it in ages as she didn’t think she could walk all that way. She used to look forward to the paper, she said. My nose had been so stuck in books that I'd missed what was happening right under it. What kind of person was I?
There was no answer so I let myself in with the spare key which she kept in the pocket of a pinafore hung in the shed. I can’t recall the last time I went inside her house. It was as cold within as out, with a stillness to it that made me nervous. The dog watched me with mournful eyes.
I found her at the bottom of the stairs. White like my mother, yet her face was turned up, with barely a line on it. My mother was in her early fifties, May nearly ninety. Both died exhausted, but only one defeated.
Chapter 12
1988 – Age: 22
The council let me stay in the house despite it being in my mum’s name. I explained that both Frank and I lived there. It was lucky that he didn’t have to sign a form as he still hadn’t surfaced or written. The year following the two deaths was weird. When I looked back later, I wondered what I did for all that time. I became a robot, going through the motions. Work, home, eat and occasionally sleep. I felt afraid to engage with a harsh world.
The changes began at work, and I started to emerge; a butterfly from its cocoon. The cruel situations I expected to crush my satin wings didn’t exist. Months passed, and I found myself having a laugh with my colleagues. I no longer sat alone at the canteen. They even asked me if I was interested in a promotion. It was flattering to be considered but I still took small steps.
May’s funeral was more depressing than my mum’s. Not for the fact there were about the same amount of people there, but in my withdrawn state I had failed to notice how lonely she must have been. No one came to my mum’s funeral as she wouldn’t connect with anyone. Everything she wanted and needed was at home. May lived alone. No wonder her bread was mouldy. It would have taken her two weeks to peck through a loaf.
Owen drove me there again. Poor chap ended up with the dog. He explained the reason for the low attendance was that all her friends and relatives were already dead. Her husband died over twenty years ago, their only child still missing from the Second World War.
I knew none of it. It was the last fact that made me loathe myself more than anything. However, it unearthed a need to re-join life. May taught me to do your best and face things head on. I was afraid, but at least I began to try. I didn’t like to think I was motivated by the desire not to have empty pews when I took my final bow.
Thoughts of Sara came often. I can’t now remember whether I burned through that week in the slipstream of her comet, or for the first time I flew myself. Even after I had experienced life at its harshest, I clung to the confidence she gave me. Needless to say, there hadn’t been any more girls. Apart from the odd checkout girl and a few office types from work, I’m not sure I’d spoken to any.
Co-workers invited me out after a while. First to pubs, which I declined. Then to cinemas and restaurants, which I attended. That drunken night in Cromer sent a shiver through me whenever it came to mind. It certainly put me off alcohol.
I sometimes imagined it would be nice to go for a walk there. I knew I would have one eye out for Sara, even after all this time, but I could have still enjoyed the memories of the things we had done. Perhaps it would be bitter-sweet. A kind of pleasant torture. I didn’t visit. Knowing my luck there would be 'wanted' posters up with my face on them.
A man at work seemed particularly keen to get me involved in the factory social circle. Oddly, Scott was one from my year at school who had been less than friendly. Maybe he wanted to make up for it. Whatever the reasons were, I took any assistance offered.
Scott said to come bowling with them. He belonged to a league and they were always looking for players. I hadn’t played before, but he assured me it was easy. We both laughed at that but the new me needed to give it a go. Scott couldn't drive so the old me wondered if he just wanted a lift. I needed to have more faith in myself.
The night of my first game was a torturous experience. I didn’t think to ask what people wore for bowling. I couldn’t focus on reading and ended up pacing the house. The doorbell distracted me from wistful thoughts of my time with Sara.
I was glad Scott was early as it was evident, even to me, that I needed new memories. I took a deep breath a
nd went to let him in. A shifty woman of about fifty waited at the door. She had an official looking coat, yet she had the stilted actions of someone uncomfortable with strangers.
‘Hello,’ she said after a strange minute as she peered behind me. ‘Is your mother in?’
I explained she’d died some time ago.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She wasn’t. Something else dominated her mind and commanded all her attention. ‘Is Frank there?’
‘Not at the moment,’ I said, thinking she doesn’t look like she’s from the council. ‘Can I help?’
‘I’m looking for Billy. I’m his mum.’ At the mention of his name she was fighting tears.
‘Didn't he move up north somewhere?’
‘We can't find him. We've looked all over.’ She sagged at the knees with a sob, so I helped her into the lounge.
After a cup of tea, she composed herself and explained.
‘He said he was going away for a bit. To York. He said there was work. Billy had some issues, I’m sure you remember. Not a bad lad, you understand, just boisterous. Anyway. He never rang or wrote. It’s been two years now. That’s too long. His father and me split up, so it’s tough. He's been to York to search but found no trace. I don’t even know where to start looking. The police aren’t interested. He’s twenty-four so he can do what he likes.’
I tried to connect Billy and ‘good lad’. It wasn’t easy. He was a bully, through and through. He just met someone more powerful than him in Frank, and was happy to go along with whatever mischievousness he was led to. I had little to tell her. He and Frank could be anywhere and were more than likely up to no good.
‘I’m sure he’s fine. You remember what boys are like. He’ll be having a great laugh, working hard and playing the same way. Billy's probably lost track of time. I bet they’ll be in touch soon.’
‘You think? I hope so. We really miss him.’
I must have sounded more convincing than I felt. I didn’t want to tell anyone Frank was missing. However, I couldn’t imagine she would grass me up to the housing office even if she knew. I also saw it would be a reassurance to her. It reminded me of my mum’s placating words when Frank first disappeared. Lies of course, but helpful back then.
‘Frank left a while back and said he was going to live with Billy. I’m sure they’ll look out for each other.’
She flinched at the mention of his name.
‘When was that?’
‘Less than a year ago.’ It wasn’t, nearer two. At least she would think they were both alive and well at that point in time.
She aged in front of me and couldn’t get away quick enough. I offered to give her a lift home as Scott arrived, but she tottered off without replying.
‘Who was that?’ Scott said.
‘Billy’s mum, you know, Frank’s mate from school.’
‘That nutter, what did she want?’
‘She hasn’t seen him for a while.’
‘Probably for the best. He and Frank were trouble.’
‘Were they that bad?’
Scott thought hard before he answered.
‘I understand he was family, Vinnie. But there was something missing from both those two.’ After another pause he continued. ‘Frank was your brother and I accept he was sticking up for you, but he scared a lot of folk. We were all just having a laugh, but some of the stuff he said and did to people was evil.’
As I locked the door behind me, I wondered whether he understood how hurtful ‘just having a laugh’ could be. It wasn’t fun for me and the others that were the butt of their jokes. Do any of us examine our actions accurately? I liked to think he recognised the consequences of his actions and he’d changed. Maybe my brother and his kind were the only thing that stopped Scott and his friends going too far.
‘What did they do that was so wrong?’
‘The rumour is that he killed that boy who bullied you after you deliberately trod on his foot in the queue. You must remember the one. He used to celebrate scoring for the school team by shouting ‘Victory’ at the top of his voice.’
‘What? I didn’t do it deliberately, it was an accident. And he drowned which had nothing to do with Frank either. That’s all rubbish.’
‘Yeah, I heard he was knocked out before he fell in.’
Did I remember it wrong? It’s possible as I wouldn’t have been paying attention.
‘Frank wouldn’t do that. It was an accident.’
‘Sure. It was ages ago anyway. Come on let’s go. We’ve got a game to win.’
I didn’t know what Frank was capable of, not really, but I couldn’t see him as a killer. He protected me more than I thought though. Could I judge him? There are different kinds of wrong. Some are worse than others. I would have many years to focus on that fact.
Chapter 13
1989 - Age: 23
My brother finally came home at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday in early October. I remembered the time because he woke me up by hammering on the front door. At first, I thought it was the police and lay cowering in my bed. It was at times like these that I envied psychopaths. Their complete lack of conscience, empathy, remorse, guilt or shame must allow them refreshing sleep. I wondered if they still felt fear.
It was only when I heard him shout through the letterbox, ‘For God’s sake, Vinnie,’ that I got up. He slid into the house like a desperate fox after a lengthy hunt. In close proximity, he smelt the same too.
Frank never carried much weight but he looked undernourished, even from the fleeting glance I gave him as he skirted by. He disappeared upstairs, went into his old room and that was it. It was as though he was fourteen again.
He came downstairs late in the afternoon and ate like a man who’d discovered food for the first time. I sat opposite, watched, and waited. He had scratches on his face and had clearly been in a fight. If he’d won, the loser would’ve suffered. In the end, I don’t think he would have talked at all if I hadn’t pressed.
‘Where you been, Frank?’
‘All over.’
‘You know mum’s gone?’
‘I heard.’
‘That’s it? You missed her funeral.’
‘I'm aware of that. I found out late.’
‘Not too late to get in touch.’
‘It’s been tough, Vinnie. There’s been some nasty things happen.’
‘You going to explain?’
‘No. I did what needed to be done.’
That phrase again. I dreaded to think what undercurrents lurked under that benign expression.
‘Where’s Billy, Frank?’
‘He’s disappeared.’
He carried on eating in silence, avoiding my stare.
‘I have to go. I’ll be in touch.’
With no further comment, he vanished again. I felt like rubbing my eyes to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. It became obvious to me I had no one in my corner. To live life, you had to talk to someone and share your fears and concerns. I resolved then to let that happen. Part of me had been waiting for Frank to return so I could start again. I could see that now for the pointless exercise it always was.
As for Billy, that was worrying. Frank said he’d disappeared. Not 'gone', or 'I have no idea where he is'. What could I do? I didn’t fancy going to visit his mother. I did what most people have to do at times like these - nothing.
Chapter 14
1990 – Age: 24
Events developed for me as the weather took a turn for the better. I’d always loved spring. You got to the end of winter and just when you thought it was going to be cold, damp and dark forever, life changed. Then, you were pleasantly surprised. As for most people, the good things in life happened when I least expected them.
My boss interrupted me on the production line. I had ear protectors on, so he tapped me on the back to get my attention.
‘Vinnie, personnel want to see you.’
To my workmates’ amusement, he did so as an alarm sounded and the conveyor belt stopped. I suspect the p
eople in their houses a few miles from the factory heard him too. I had to walk the length of the factory to cheers and jibes from every man there.
It was light-hearted and in good humour, but it reminded me of school. The dreaded procession through the playground with abuse hurled from every angle. Even the nice kids turned their heads so as not to be associated with me. By the time I got to the offices I was shaking.
The only person I had talked to about feeling like this was Sara. I didn’t have an inkling what they wanted me for, therefore my mind searched for the darkest possible reason. Sara told me I was a gentle soul. She said everyone feels similar at times. Instead, try imagining a positive outcome. Or failing that, think of something else. What you are having for tea, for example.
I tried conjuring up pay rises and promotions, iced buns and milkshakes. I entered the bright shiny world of the offices upstairs expecting to be at best, sacked on the spot, and at worst, cuffed, stripped naked and thrown into a meat wagon for crimes against children and puppies.
I never felt comfortable up there. The women seemed impossibly glamorous. High heels and short tight skirts abounded, with make up so thick I couldn’t imagine what they looked like underneath. I’m not sure who they were trying to impress as I’d only ever seen one man working with them. He seemed too showy to be interested in bright red lipstick and smoky mascara. Unless he was putting it on himself. He looked the safest bet so it was him I approached.
‘Vincent Roach, for personnel.’
‘Pardon, speak up please.’
I self-consciously repeated myself, a little louder.
‘Who wants Vincent Roach?’ he sang, as though he was checking who had ordered the soup of the day.
‘Clara does. She’s doing the DISs.’
Fifty Years of Fear Page 5
