Burning Bright (9 page)

I walked with him into the church. It was small, with a table set with candles at the far end – that was the altar – and rows of seats on either side of a central aisle. Hardly
anyone was sitting down yet, but the church was full of people milling around and chatting to each other. Flynn’s mum made the sign of the cross over her chest, bowed to the altar, then
disappeared somewhere with Caitlin. The rest of us walked up the side aisle. Siobhan pointed to a pew near the front. I was closest so I walked in, down to the central aisle. Flynn followed me,
with Siobhan and Gary after him.

I glanced around the church. I’d hardly ever been inside one before. There was a statue of Mary in a blue dress holding baby Jesus at the front of the seats. Mary looked sad, I thought.
Why was that?

After a few minutes some organ music started and everyone sat down. Flynn’s mum appeared and I shuffled up to let her into the seat closest to the central aisle.

‘There’s only a few from the area making their first Holy Communion today,’ she said distractedly. ‘Still at least Caitlin’s got a couple of friends with
her.’

On my other side, Flynn was staring gloomily down at the floor between his feet. I craned my neck, wondering where Caitlin had gone. The church was almost full now, the last few people scuttling
to their places. Organ music started and a procession began on the far side of the church. It was led by a man I assumed must be the priest. He was wearing full-length robes and carrying a large
cross. More men in robes followed behind him, then three pairs of children. The little boys were in smart clothes, some even wore jackets. The girls were all wearing white dresses. I spotted
Caitlin second in line. Her little face was screwed up with concentration as she measured out her footsteps carefully.

The procession turned at the foot of the seats and made its way up the central aisle. I smiled at Caitlin as she passed. She’d clearly got the hang of the pacing as her eyes were darting
about, her face wreathed in a mischievous smile.

The service took about fifty minutes. During the actual Communion bit, Caitlin and her mum went up to the altar and took a wafer and a sip from the big goblet in the priest’s hands. Then
most of the church did the same. As Siobhan and Gary went up to the front, I glanced at Flynn. He was sitting firmly in his seat, his eyes still on the ground in front of him.

I wanted to say something, but I had no idea what would rouse him from his dark mood. I turned away and focused on the people shuffling sideways along the altar. I watched as the priest made the
sign of the cross over each one. It seemed to take a long time, but at last everyone was sitting down again. I caught a whiff of alcohol as Siobhan passed me – so it was real booze then, in
that shiny goblet.

Caitlin was now sitting between me and her mum. She wriggled now and then but, on the whole, kept very still as the priest started chanting in a low monotone, pausing to allow the congregation
to make responses. I was just wondering how much longer it was all going to carry on – there was an order of service, but I hadn’t been following it – when the door at the back of
the church slammed. I turned, along with everyone else, to see who or what was there.

I blinked. Flynn’s da was lurching up the central aisle, looking around. As I watched, his eyes fixed on Caitlin and he smiled. Flynn’s mum gasped.

A split second later, Flynn’s da reached us.

‘My little angel,’ he slurred, his hand clawing in Caitlin’s direction.

Caitlin flinched, her eyes wide and scared. Her da stumbled sideways, still reaching out. Some protective instinct kicked in. I put my arm across Caitlin’s body. Flynn’s da scowled
and grabbed my arm, trying to push me away.

‘No,’ I said.

In an instant Flynn was there, squeezing past me, forcing his da’s hand off my shoulder.

‘Don’t touch her,’ he hissed. ‘Not her. Not them.’ He shoved his da in the chest. His da stumbled, nearly losing his footing. ‘Not them, you
bastard.’

‘Will you calm down, Patrick,’ his da slurred, reeling. He staggered back a few steps, almost to the rear of the church. ‘I’m just . . .’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Flynn shoved his da again. But this time his da was tensed up, ready for the blow.

I looked around quickly. Everyone in the church was staring, wide-eyed, at what was going on.

‘Stop it, son.’ Flynn’s da’s voice rose angrily. He put out his arms to push Flynn away.

‘Don’t freakin’ call me son,’ Flynn shouted. ‘I’m not anything to you. You’re not anything to me.’ And then he punched him. Smack. Right in his
face.

With a roar his da swung a punch back. Flynn ducked. The arm sailed over his head. Flynn darted up. He moved in close. His fist rammed into his da’s face again. ‘You’re
nothing,’ he shouted. He punched again. ‘Nothing.’ His da stumbled backwards. Again. ‘Nothing.’

His da went flying to the ground.

People around me were yelling. I could hear Caitlin scream. I froze where I stood, horrified, as Flynn leaped down on top of his da. I caught a glimpse of his face, contorted with rage. And
suddenly he was all fists. Slamming into his da’s face. His da was pushing and punching at him too. Both of them yelling their heads off.

Men rushed past me. Gary was one of them. Siobhan ran after him, shrieking, followed by the priest and the other men in the long robes.

I could no longer see Flynn. Beside me, Caitlin was sobbing, clinging to her mum. Other little children were crying too. Everyone was talking. Shouting. And over it all I could hear
Flynn’s roar; it barely sounded human.

I darted into the aisle, pushing my way to the back of the church. I didn’t waste my energy on words, I yanked at people’s arms, at their sides, clawing my way with nails and elbows
to the front of the crowd.

I arrived just as Gary and some other guy were dragging Flynn off his da. They each had an arm, but Flynn was still kicking and screaming like a wild animal.

‘You’re not doing this anymore,’ he yelled, almost hoarse. ‘I’m not letting you.’

I caught a glimpse of his da’s face, covered with blood.
Ugh
. I retched. Two more men had got hold of Flynn’s legs now. It was taking four of them and they could still barely
hold him back.

The noise was indescribable. All the men were bellowing at Flynn to calm down. Siobhan was next to him, shouting at him to stop, her face completely screwed up with the effort.

Children were crying. Women were screaming.

And above it all, Flynn was still yelling. ‘No. No.’ Raw fury. Unbearable pain.

The priest was on his knees, bending over Flynn’s da who was groaning on the floor, his eyes wide with shock.

It felt like I stood there a lifetime, though it could only have been a few seconds. Nothing changed.

And then I knew what I had to do.

I walked closer to Flynn. His yells vibrated right through me. His face was purple, spit flying out of his mouth.

‘No,’ he yelled, still struggling against the men who held him.

Their shouts whirled around me. I focused on Flynn. He was completely out of control – his eyes wild and staring, looking through me. Not seeing me. My heart thumped frantically.

‘No,’ he roared.

I took a step closer, my whole body shaking.

Then I reached out, my arms outstretched, and took his face in my hands.

‘No.’ He tried to shake me off, still bellowing like an animal. But I kept my hands against his cheeks.

‘Look at me,’ I said.

He didn’t hear me. Didn’t even see me.

I walked closer, right up to him. I was completely certain that if the men holding him had let go, he would have punched me away from him, not even realising who I was.

I stood so close our noses were almost touching. I could feel the heat and the rage bouncing off him in terrible, terrifying waves.

‘Look at me,’ I repeated. I wasn’t shouting, but I was so close to him now that he had to hear.

His eyes were pale gold. Wild with rage.

‘Look at me,’ I said.

At last he focused on me. The yell died on his lips. I saw him register who I was. I stared steadily at him.

‘Come back,’ I whispered.

Flynn stopped struggling. For a long moment he stared at me. Then he closed his eyes and sagged forwards, resting his face against the side of my head.

The men around us stopped yelling. Siobhan stopped screaming. I put my arms round Flynn’s spent body. The church was still full of shouting and crying, but Flynn was silent. The men let go
of him. He wrapped his arms around me, his head now heavy on my shoulder.

We stood there. Then I felt a hand on my back.

‘Let’s get him out of here.’ It was Gary. I let him guide me towards the door, as I half steered, half supported Flynn.

The sunlight hit me as we walked outside. I looked sideways up at Gary.

‘Wait here a minute.’ Gary disappeared back inside.

Flynn straightened up. He looked away, but I caught the sunlight glistening on his face, wet with tears. His whole body was shaking.

‘River?’ he choked. ‘Please. I don’t . . . I can’t . . .’

I knew what he wanted. Without saying anything, I gripped his hand and ran, pulling him along the pavement. After a couple of steps Flynn broke into a run. Immediately he was faster than me,
dragging me behind him.

We ran hard down the street, took a left, then a couple of rights.

At last we turned onto a small patch of grass: a sort of mini-park with a few trees. It was deserted. Flynn slowed to a walk and led me over to one of the trees. He slumped down, still holding
my hand, pulling me down beside him.

He hung his head, his shaking hand holding mine tightly in my lap. I knew he was crying and not wanting me to see his face. I knelt up, let go of his hand and took him in my arms.

He curled over, his head against me, sobbing.

I held him until he stopped. Then I took his face in my hands and lifted it.

‘Oh,’ I gasped. Before, in the church, I’d only focused on his eyes. But now I saw that his lip was split and that a dark red bruise bloomed on his chin. ‘You’re
hurt.’ I looked down. Flynn’s shirt was torn and smeared with blood.

He turned his head away and wiped his eyes. I waited, my heart in my mouth, not knowing what to say.

At last Flynn cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to kill him,’ he said, dully. ‘If I’d had a knife . . .’ He gulped.

A chill ran down my spine. His raging, terrifying face flashed in front of my eyes. ‘But you didn’t,’ I said quickly. ‘Your dad was okay. I saw his face, his eyes were
open, he was moving.’

Flynn stared at me, then sat back, against the tree. ‘I don’t know . . .’ He stopped.

I waited. ‘Don’t know what?’ I said.

He looked at me, his expressive face so torn with misery that I could hardly breathe.

‘I don’t know anything,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know who I am. I don’t know anything. Just . . .’ He took my hand. ‘. . . just that you’re
the only thing that makes sense.’

I looked down at his hand. The knuckles were ripped raw, bleeding.

‘We should go to a hospital,’ I said. ‘Make sure you’re okay.’

Flynn shook his head. ‘No.’ He leaned his forehead down on mine. ‘Please don’t leave,’ he whispered. ‘Please don’t go away.’

I kissed his bruised mouth gently. My heart was so full it felt like it was bursting.

‘I’m not going away,’ I whispered. ‘Not ever.’

He put his arms round me and we sat back against the tree. We sat there for a long time, just holding each other.

The sun went behind a cloud. Flynn shivered. I drew away from him. ‘Please let’s go down to the hospital,’ I said. ‘Your hand looks awful and you’ve got all those
cuts on your face.’

Flynn shook his head again. ‘Maybe Goldbar’s,’ he said. ‘There’s an old guy there who’s a physio.’

I reluctantly agreed.

It took about twenty minutes to get to Goldbar’s. We walked in silence most of the way. Now the initial shock of what had happened was over, my mind was racing. It was like the whole world
had shifted. All the other things that had happened to me and Flynn were nothing compared to what I’d seen today, to how out of control he’d been. I didn’t know somebody could be
like that. I didn’t know someone could have so much hate inside them.

It changed everything. It didn’t matter how often I told myself that his da
hadn’t
been killed. Or that he deserved all that anger. The truth was that if those guys
hadn’t pulled him away, Flynn could have – probably would have – killed his own father. Not because he’d really hurt me or Caitlin. And not in self-defence. But because
years of hurt and rage and guilt had built up inside him, waiting to explode.

We got to Goldbar’s just before three. Flynn walked straight past the guy reading his paper, not even bothering to speak to him. He dragged me down the concrete corridor and into the room
with the boxing rings.

I steeled myself for looks and comments. But the room was practically empty. Just a couple of young guys punching at one of the bags. An older man I recognised from before was squatting near the
door, checking something in a cupboard. He looked up and did a double take as he took in Flynn’s face and bloodstained shirt. He strode over.

‘Flynn?’ he said. ‘What happened to you, lad?’

Flynn held up his hand.

‘Crikey.’ The old guy glanced at me.

‘This is River,’ Flynn said. ‘River, this is John.’

John nodded at me, then led Flynn over to the corner of the room. ‘Come on then, son. Let me have a look.’

John took a first aid box out of the cupboard. He pressed his palm down on Flynn’s shoulder, pushing him into a chair. I stood beside them as John examined Flynn’s hand and checked
out the cuts and bruises on his face.

‘I thought you took the day off to go to church?’ John said with a grin.

‘That’s where we were,’ I said.

John glanced at me with raised eyebrows. Then he looked back at Flynn and picked a bandage out of the box.

‘So what does the other geezer look like?’

Flynn looked up. ‘Mashed.’ He grinned.