The Story of Before (17 page)

‘How can you say such a thing?’ Father Feely asked me. ‘David had a terrible fall. A truly terrible fall. He could’ve been killed! Why would anyone in their right mind do
something like that on purpose, child? Hmm?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Mr O’Dea said. ‘Absolutely ridiculous.’ He turned to me. ‘And would you mind not touching the piano keys, please? We’ve only just
had it tuned.’

Dad looked tired and angry. ‘What’s all this about, Ruth?’

‘Father Feely said we should always try and get to the truth of things,’ I said.

Mrs O’Dea folded her arms. ‘Well, young lady, from where I’m standing it looks like you came up with a very successful way of diverting attention from the real culprit.
I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life.’

‘Well, I don’t see why Shayne should get all the blame!’ I said.

Dad turned to Sandra and Mel. ‘Is Ruth telling the truth here?’ he asked. Mel had taken a sudden interest in a glass paperweight with a butterfly inside it and pretended not to hear
Dad’s question. When Dad asked again, he gave him a wide-eyed look and shrugged like he’d no idea what he was talking about. Sandra fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. ‘I
don’t know, Dad,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure. I . . . I did hear something about David doing it on purpose but I . . . I don’t know . . .’

‘This is unbe
liev
able,’ Mr O’Dea said. ‘You people. You’re hardly living in Hillcourt Rise a wet weekend and you’re causing all this trouble. There was
never anything like this before you arrived.’

‘Now, hang on a minute,’ Dad said. ‘That’s a bit unfair.’

‘It certainly is!’ said Mrs O’Dea. ‘It’s
very
unfair. Our child has been accused of being a liar. Look at his face! Destroyed! We were expecting an apology
and all we’ve got is . . . is . . . abuse!’

‘Look, let’s all calm down,’ Father Feely said with a false smile. ‘We haven’t heard a word from young Lawless here, have we?’ He slapped a fat hand on
Shayne’s shoulder. ‘What have you got to say about all this, lad?’ Shayne stood very still. His face had turned pale. The skin under his eyes was white, almost glowing, and his
lips were a dark purplish-blue. His forehead looked clammy and he swayed a little on his feet. ‘Lad? Are you all right?’ Father Feely gripped his shoulder tighter.

‘I . . . I . . . don’t feel well,’ Shayne mumbled.

‘Sit down, lad, sit down.’

Shayne took a few careful steps forward and lowered himself down onto the zebra-skin pouffe.

‘Well, that’s very convenient, isn’t it?’ Mrs O’Dea said. ‘Feeling ill all of a sudden.’

‘Now, now, Mona,’ said Father Feely. ‘It’s hardly the lad’s fault.’

Mrs O’Dea raised her eyes. ‘This is a complete waste of time. I don’t know why we bothered getting him over here in the first place. And surely you’re not taken in with
this . . . this . . . act?’

Father Feely shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. ‘Well I . . . surely you can . . . can we not . . . Hmm?’ He fixed his eyes on David. ‘You fell out of the tree, is that
right, lad? That was the truth you told me, wasn’t it? About trying to be closer to the Lord so he might hear your prayers?’

David blinked then gave Father Feely a hard, unflinching stare. ‘The truth is . . .’ He glanced at Shayne, who was bent over, clutching his stomach. ‘The truth is . . . that I
fell, Father, like I said.’

The words were barely out of his mouth when Shayne gave a low moan, lurched forward and vomited all over the sheepskin rug. A bitter smell immediately rose up in the air and we all stood staring
at what he’d produced. Dad went over and crouched down beside him.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ Mrs O’Dea said through her tears, her voice thin and high. ‘That says it all.’ She put her hand down the front of her dress and pulled out
a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes then holding it under her nose. ‘Easily known whose side you’re on,’ she whined.

‘Shush now, Mona. You’re upset,’ Father Feely said.

‘Upset? Of course I’m upset! My son has been accused of deliberately throwing himself out of a tree, his face is disfigured and we’ve received no apology, and now his . . . his
. . . attacker appears to be getting all the sympathy. It beggars belief!’

Shayne moaned again.

‘Look,’ Dad said. ‘I should take the lad home. He’s not in any fit state for this.’

‘Oh yes, off you go,’ said Mrs O’Dea. ‘Avoid responsibility at all costs.’

‘Responsibility? He’s not my responsibility. I’ve nothing to do with all this.’

‘But he was in your house all evening, wasn’t he? Eating at your table, I believe? In your care?’

‘Rose asked him to stay for his dinner. It’s hardly a crime.’

‘Oh, did she now? It’s all getting very cosy between the Lambs and the Lawlesses, isn’t it?’

‘Come on,’ Dad said, looking at me. ‘We’re going home.’

Mr O’Dea came up behind me, waiting for me to move away from his precious piano. I touched one of the keys, smiling inside as a clear, high note sounded out in the room. Dad pulled me by
the arm, gesturing at Sandra and Mel to follow. Father Feely ushered Shayne towards the door and David sank back into his armchair, closing his eyes.

When we got out into the hall, we heard the rumble of conversation starting up and Mrs O’Dea’s high-pitched voice crying, ‘And look at my sheepskin! It’s absolutely
ruined!’

‘You should’ve kept your mouth shut,’ Mel whispered in my ear. ‘You’re in for it when we get home.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ I said. ‘You can’t blame me when I was only telling the truth.’

‘But how do you know what the real truth is? You weren’t there.’

‘David didn’t fall by accident. I just know it.’

Father Feely saw us out. He stood at the door making little grunting sounds as we squeezed past his stomach.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t have a better outcome to all of this,’ he said, joining his hands together. ‘But with the help of God, we’ll find a
resolution.’

It looked like the whole of Hillcourt Rise was waiting for us to appear: Tracey was wheeling Fiona along in her pram, with Valerie by her side; Geraldine and Nora had taken their conversation
out to the Farrell’s gate; Paddy was in his drive, looking under the bonnet of his van, scratching his beard; and Clem was on his hunkers in the Farrell’s front garden, pulling weeds up
from the lawn. Sandra and Mel ran up to Tracey and Valerie. Shayne followed but leaned on the pillar when he reached the gate, looking like he was going to puke again.

I hung back with Dad and tucked myself in behind him, tracing my fingers over the red bricks around the O’Deas’ front door while I listened to Father Feely’s mumbling. I could
tell Dad was eager to get away from what was turning into a sermon but Father Feely kept going on and on about ‘forgiveness’ and ‘God’s love’ and the ‘power of
prayer’, barely taking a breath between sentences.

Then he started talking about David, saying stuff I was sure he wouldn’t have if he’d remembered I was still there, hiding in behind Dad. He spoke about how Eamon and Mona were such
loving parents and about all the sacrifices they’d made for David over the years and how things had been so difficult for them before it was arranged and how their lives had been transformed
after it came about.
It?

‘You know, it can’t have been easy for them,’ he said. ‘Ten years is a long time to wait. Thought they’d never have a family. Never. And then it was touch and go at
the start, with him being nearly a year old when they got him. And they’ve always had high hopes for him, you know. Very high hopes. Poor David has a lot to live up to.’ He lowered his
voice. ‘And, of course, with the girls being Mona and Eamon’s own, well, you know, he’s bound to feel a bit . . . put out. What I’m trying to say is, we should perhaps make
allowances for him. At least sometimes.’

So that was what ‘it’ was. David was
adopted
.

Mr and Mrs O’Dea weren’t David’s real parents at all! But they were Tina and Linda’s. How strange was that? Back in our old school, there’d been a brother and
sister who were adopted. Despite trying not to, I thought of them as different. Sometimes when I looked into their eyes, I could tell there was an uncertainty there, like they weren’t really
sure who they were.

‘. . . heartbroken about his wrist,’ Father Feely was saying to Dad. ‘Heartbroken. Months of practice down the drain and him so eager to do well. That boy has been nothing but
a pleasure to his parents from the moment they took him home, let me tell you. I didn’t know them at the time, of course. They weren’t living in Kilgessin back then. But I know the
lovely convent sisters and they assured me Mona and Eamon were the most deserving and appreciative of adoptive parents. Most deserving. That the Lord blessed them with the twins not long afterwards
is surely evidence of his faith in their abilities.’

He went on and on. Dad kept saying ‘Hmm’ and ‘Is that so?’ I wondered if David knew. Or if Mr and Mrs O’Dea had managed to keep it a secret from him all these
years. But I could hardly step out from behind Dad and ask. Surely it was something he’d have mentioned if he knew about it? Boasted about it, even? He was forever complaining about
‘Mother O’Dea’, so if he knew she wasn’t his real mother, wouldn’t he have been keen to let us all know? And even if he didn’t, he must’ve questioned it
sometimes. With his bleach-blond hair and skin that easily tanned, he looked nothing like either of his parents.

Father Feely was rambling on about ‘making allowances’ again and about how Shayne should’ve apologized for punching David and that it was impossible to believe that David had
thrown himself out of the tree. Then he finally took a breath and Dad interrupted. ‘To be honest with you, Father,’ he said, ‘I know what you mean but . . . well, I’m not
responsible for the boy. Shouldn’t you be saying all this to his mother?’

‘Yes, yes, I will, of course,’ he said. ‘Indeed and I will, to be sure. As soon as she gets back. Young Lawless has always been trouble and the mammy . . . well,
she’s—’

‘Look, I’ll let you go, Father,’ Dad said, irritated. ‘I’m sure you’re needed inside.’

With another grunt and a shuffling of his feet, Father Feely reluctantly closed the O’Deas’ front door. I could tell Dad was really annoyed as I followed him up the drive. He took
big, hard steps and held his arms rigidly down by his sides, his hands formed into tight fists. Shayne fell in behind us, still clutching his stomach as we walked onto the green, where the others
were chatting to Tracey. I could hear Sandra giving her a detailed account of what had happened. Tracey was all ears but she kept glancing back at Geraldine and Nora, who were waiting, arms
crossed, for the full story. As were Clem and Paddy, who were only half-heartedly going about their jobs. They didn’t really need to be fixing engines and weeding gardens on a Friday evening;
it was just an excuse to be close to the heart of the action.

Dad pounded his feet over the grass, sending clumps of green cuttings into the air. He had lots to be angry about. I was listing off all the reasons in my head and wondering what we were going
to say to Mam, when suddenly he stopped, turned and let out a roar at the group of neighbours who’d gathered outside their houses for a gawk. ‘Go on back inside, the lot of you!
Show’s over!’ he yelled, flapping his arms.

I stopped dead, hardly believing my ears. That couldn’t be my dad, could it? I’d never heard him shout like that before. Well, except maybe once, back in the South Circular, when Mel
snuck a tin of blue paint in from the car to decorate the go-cart he’d made from bits of an old chair, and he’d spilled a small lake of it all over the sitting room carpet. But that had
been inside and was just between ourselves. This was outside. In front of everyone. Dad looked so mad. His eyes were blazing slits under his black eyebrows and his whole face looked like it was on
fire.

He stormed on over the green with his head down and we didn’t need to be told to hurry up and follow him home. But I couldn’t resist having a look over my shoulder. I saw Tracey
bumping the pram over the grass towards her house, with Fiona screaming her head off inside. Clem and Paddy had joined their wives at the gate, along with the other neighbours who’d obviously
heard Dad’s outburst, and they stood huddled together with their arms folded, rolling their eyes and nodding their heads in our direction.

I glanced over at the O’Deas’ and spied Father Feely’s fat head poking through the gold velvet curtains then disappearing back into the sitting room. And then I saw a movement
at an upstairs window. It was David. Up close against the glass, silent and stiff like the blackbird on top of his piano. His eyes found mine and held them for a moment. Even from that distance, I
could see the flowering bruise on his cheek.

‘You were long enough,’ Mam said when we got home. ‘Little man’s just gone up. Dead tired, he was.’ She began cutting slices from a block of
banana ice cream and sliding them into the bowls of raspberry jelly she’d set out on the kitchen table. ‘How did it go?’ She looked up and saw Dad’s face. ‘I see. Not
great, then.’

Sandra got in first, ‘Ruth said that David—’

‘That’s enough,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll tell your mother all about it later. Just have your dessert and get yourselves ready for bed.’

There’d be no arguing with him tonight. We sat down and started to eat. Mam scraped the last of the ice cream into my bowl. ‘Anyone for more jelly? There’s plenty.
Shayne?’

Shayne shook his head and pushed his bowl away, untouched, rubbing his hand over his stomach.

‘Shayne got sick,’ Sandra said. ‘All over the O’Deas’ rug.’

Mam put her hands on her hips and looked at him with a frown. ’You did, did you? And what was all that about?’

‘Dunno. I just don’t feel well.’

‘Have you a sore stomach?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hmm.’

She picked up the laundry basket from behind the back door and went out to the garden. Dad followed. After a few minutes, they came back inside. Mam started folding the clothes she’d taken
in off the line and sorting them into piles. Dad snatched the newspaper from the table and disappeared into the sitting room. Mel scraped Shayne’s dessert into his own bowl and noisily
slurped the jelly off his spoon. I noticed Mam had forgotten to wipe the smear of tomato sauce from the wall and it had started to harden into a dark red lump.