Dead Man Talking

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It was Gavin.’

  Gavin was our son. He was twenty-two. He still lived with us. He ate everything in the house and drank everything in the house, but we only saw him about two times a week.

  ‘I’ll kill him.’ she said. ‘He must have had friends in the house. Aha!’

  She held up a bottle.

  ‘Happy days,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Vodka,’ she said. ‘And there’s orange juice in the fridge.’

  ‘Grand,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t go away,’ she said, and she went out to the hall and the kitchen.

  I could hear the fridge open.

  I heard her shout, ‘No!’

  I heard her shut the fridge door. She tried to slam it.

  She came back in.

  ‘He drank all the orange juice as well,’ she said.

  He didn’t. I did. But I said nothing.

  ‘So,’ she said.

  She was grinning – the old Sarah.

  ‘What do you want with your vodka, Pat?’ she asked. ‘Milk or water? Or vinegar?’

  I laughed. I had nearly forgotten that I was able to laugh.

  ‘I can go to the shops for juice,’ I said. ‘It will only take a minute.’

  ‘No!’

  Sarah looked scared.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  I sat down. I wanted her to start smiling again.

  She sat beside me. Right in beside me.

  ‘We’ll pretend we are teenagers,’ she said.

  She put the vodka bottle up to her lips.

  ‘No need for a glass,’ she said.

  ‘Glasses are for old people,’ I said.

  ‘I hate old people.’

  ‘Me too.’

  She patted my bald head. Then she gave me the bottle.

  We talked about Joe while we got through the vodka. I did most of the talking.

  I told Sarah about the time me and Joe had climbed into the monkey house at the zoo. I told her about the time we had gone out with twins.

  ‘At least, they told us they were twins,’ I said.

  ‘And were they?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They were not even sisters. They just said they were.’

  ‘Did they even look like each other?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I said. ‘Their hair was the same.’

  I told her about the time Joe got sick in my school bag, and about the time I got sick in his schoolbag. I told her about the holiday in Spain, when we ended up in Turkey. And about the time we got locked into a pub all night. And the time we got locked into the pub again.

  I only told her the good stuff.

  We had a great night. I think. We got drunk. I know. We made love. I think. We made love again. I think, but I’m not sure. But I think.

  And I was falling asleep.

  And she was staring down at me.

  I think.

  Chapter Six

  I woke the next morning.

  She was still staring down at me.

  No, she wasn’t. I blinked and she was not there. The bedroom was empty, except for me.

  The smell came up from the kitchen.

  Bacon and eggs.

  It was a normal smell. But not on a weekday. I was out of the house very early, by half-six, most mornings. So I had my breakfast, coffee and toast, at work.

  What day was it?

  I had to think about it.

  Thursday.

  I looked at my watch. It was nine o’clock. I was late for work, or I was not going at all.

  I went downstairs.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  Sarah looked at me. She was at the cooker and she had her phone up to her ear.

  ‘I know,’ she said, to the phone.

  She listened to whoever was at the other end. Then she spoke again.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘Joe was always like that.’

  Joe.

  I had not been thinking about Joe. I had nearly forgotten about him. And that made me feel bad.

  But I was still hungry.

  Sarah was still listening to the phone. She lifted the kettle and showed it to me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’

  Maybe she wanted me to fill it but I was a bit slow that morning. She put it into the sink and turned on the cold tap. I heard the sound of the kettle filling. She took the kettle from the sink. I heard the click as she turned it on.

  ‘Lungs?’ she asked whoever she was talking to.

  When I heard that, I knew that Joe had died of cancer.

  Joe had been a smoker since we were kids. Me too – I had smoked as well. But I gave them up when I was thirty. Joe gave them up too, but he went back on them, and off them, and on them again, and off them.

  And back on them.

  There was once, Joe gave up the smokes and went back on them in one day. Twice.

  Anyway, the cancer got him.

  And I never knew he was sick.

  And that made me sick.

  But I was still hungry. I felt guilty because I was hungry. But the smell of the bacon was a killer. You can’t stay guilty for too long when there is frying bacon in the air.

  Joe would not have wanted me to stop eating just because he was dead.

  I watched Sarah putting the eggs on the plates, with the toast and the rashers. She did it with one hand while she held the phone to her ear.

  My heart was broken but my stomach was groaning.

  I thought I heard Joe laughing.

  It was strange, but that cheered me up. The idea that Joe was watching me, and listening to me. That he wasn’t really dead.

  I even looked around, to check that Joe was not there. He wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t.

  I listened to Sarah on the phone while I messed with sugar in the sugar bowl. I wished she would hurry up. I was starving.

  ‘Oh, God love him,’ said Sarah. ‘In his sleep? Well, that’s good, at least.’

  She listened for a while, and looked at me.

  ‘Poor Karen,’ she said.

  Karen was Joe’s wife.

  ‘Eleven,’ said Sarah. ‘Tomorrow.’

  I knew then that was the time of the funeral.

  ‘Sad,’ said Sarah, into the phone. ‘Sad, sad. Yes, very sad. Bad, shocking. Sad. Bye now, Mary. Bye, bye, bye, bye, bye, bye.’

  She put the phone on the kitchen table.

  ‘That Mary one never shuts up,’ she said. ‘It was cancer.’

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘Joe.’

  I nodded.

  ‘The lungs,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I heard that bit,’ I said. ‘Which Mary was it?’

  We knew a lot of Marys.

  ‘Mary from the shop,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Which one?’ I asked.

  Two women called Mary worked in the local supermarket, with Sarah.

  ‘Big Hair Mary,’ said Sarah.

  I knew who she meant.

  It seemed strange, and maybe wrong. But I was enjoying myself. My head was a bit sore and my best friend was dead. But Sarah was her normal self. Her hair was a bit mad and she was coming at me with a plate full of food. I was madly in love with her.

  ‘I love you,’ I said.

  ‘You love rashers,’ she said.

  ‘I love you too,’ I said.

  ‘But not as much as the rashers,’ she said.

  ‘Nearly as much.’

  I took a bite.

  ‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Thanks. I’ll be late for work.’

  ‘You’re not going to work,’ said Sarah.

  I looked at her. She wasn’t eating. She was smiling but there was something wrong about the smile. It was like the different Sarah again.

  ‘How come?’ I asked.

  ‘I phoned in,’ she said. ‘Gerry can do without you for one day.’

  It a
nnoyed me, a bit. I did not want to go to work, but I had to. There was just me and Gerry, and we had three different gig posters to print and deliver by the end of the day. There wasn’t much money coming in. We were just about hanging on.

  ‘I have to go in,’ I said.

  I even stood up.

  ‘No.’

  It was the way she said it. I froze. She looked at me for a second, maybe two seconds, and spoke.

  ‘Gerry said he can manage without you,’ she said.

  I looked back at her. More than anything else, I wanted her to smile. I wanted the old Sarah back.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t go in.’

  And she smiled.

  ‘The funeral is tomorrow.’

  I forgot – again. Joe was dead.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Okay.’

  ‘We’ll go to that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She nodded, and smiled again.

  ‘And the wake,’ she said. ‘We will go to the wake.’

  ‘The wake?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘In the house.’

  She meant Joe’s house. She meant Joe and Karen’s house. And their son, Sam. We used to spend as much time in that house as we did in our own. Sam and our son, Gavin, played together. They grew up together, for a while.

  Before the fight.

  ‘Is it tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah.

  ‘God,’ I said. ‘I don’t know, love.’

  ‘We have to,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I don’t know if I can face Karen,’ I said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Sarah. ‘But –’

  ‘We have to,’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will Joe be there?’ I asked her.

  She stared at me.

  ‘Joe’s dead,’ she said. ‘Remember?’

  ‘The body,’ I said. ‘In the coffin, like. Will it – will he be there?’

  That was when I heard Joe laugh again.

  Joe was dead. But in my head he was coming back to life. Too late.

  ‘What’s wrong? Sarah asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘The wake,’ she said.

  I nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We’ll go.’

  ‘Now eat your breakfast,’ she said.

  ‘Okay – thanks.’

  The bacon was cold but cold bacon was better than no bacon. And soggy toast was even nicer than fresh toast.

  Sarah hadn’t touched her food.

  ‘Are you not eating?’ I asked her.

  ‘I’m not really hungry,’ she said. ‘You can have it.’

  She pushed her plate across the table.

  I didn’t need it.

  But I wanted it.

  ‘Thanks.’

  I was dreading the night and going to Joe’s house. The time would go slower if I kept eating.

  Chapter Seven

  I have something to get off my chest.

  I had a thing with Karen. It was years before, when I was a bit wild. Sarah never knew about it, and Joe did not know about it. It did not last long. It was stupid. It was wonderful.

  It ended.

  There was no harm done.

  No one died. As they say.

  Chapter Eight

  We walked to Joe’s house that night, after dinner.

  It was like walking back into the time when I was a child.

  Joe and Karen lived in the house where Joe had grown up. I knew every corner, every tree and gate on the way there. Over there was the wall I’d fallen off and broken my arm, when I was ten.

  ‘Joe pushed me,’ I told Sarah.

  ‘Good for Joe,’ said Sarah.

  She held my arm.

  Like I said, it was like walking back into my childhood. Except for one thing. There was nobody out. Nobody at all. Just me and Sarah.

  ‘These streets were packed when I was a kid,’ I told her.

  ‘Is that right?’ she said.

  ‘We played football ’til after dark,’ I said. ‘The games went on for hours.’

  ‘There are too many cars these days,’ said Sarah. ‘For street football.’

  But there were no cars. There were only parked cars. But no cars passed us. Not one.

  I listened. I could not hear a car engine, or a kid shouting. Or a dog barking.

  I stopped walking.

  Sarah pulled my arm.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘There’s no one out,’ I said.

  ‘It’s cold,’ she said.

  That was true. It was very cold. We started to walk fast. Sarah pulled me along, and made me run across the street where I used to live. She laughed when we got to the other side.

  We were outside the house where Miss Hayes, the local witch had lived. I pointed to it.

  ‘That one there,’ I told Sarah. ‘The one with the blue door.’

  ‘Why did you think she was a witch?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘She looked like one.’

  ‘What?’ said Sarah. ‘Did she fly on a broomstick?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I never saw her do that. But she had long hair.’

  ‘And that made her a witch?’

  ‘It was more than just long,’ I said. ‘It was kind of mad.’

  ‘So you called her a witch,’ said Sarah. ‘Just because she was a bit different.’

  I wished now that I had kept my mouth shut.

  ‘She ate a baby once,’ I said.

  ‘She did not!’ said Sarah.

  She stopped walking and looked at me.

  ‘Tell me she didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay what?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘She didn’t eat a baby.’

  ‘I knew you were making it up,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was more like a toddler.’

  ‘She ate a toddler?’

  ‘Only half of it,’ I said. ‘He was a big lad. She put the rest of him in the fridge.’

  Sarah laughed – and then stopped. We were getting close to Joe’s house. We stopped talking. Sarah stopped holding my arm. Her hand dropped, and held my hand. I was going slower now. I wanted the walk to go on for ever. I didn’t want to reach the house – the front door – the hall – and Joe.

  The street was full of parked cars. The house was going to be full. Although there was still nobody else out on the street.

  We got to the gate.

  I stopped.

  There was a tree in Joe’s front garden. It had been there since we were kids. I don’t know much about nature. I don’t know the names of birds or trees. So I don’t know what kind of a tree it was. But I knew that my name was carved into it, and I knew exactly where my name was.

  I walked a few steps across the grass and showed it to Sarah.

  ‘Look,’ I said.

  She followed me, and looked at the letters. It was dark, so she had to bend down to see them. I held my phone beside the letters, so she could read them.

  ‘“Pat”,’ she read.

  ‘That’s me,’ I said.

  ‘You were smaller when you did this,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I was only about ten.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked.

  Women ask some amazing questions sometimes.

  ‘Because it was there,’ I told her. ‘And because I had a penknife.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said.

  She held my hand and we walked the rest of the way, to the front door.

  She put her finger on the doorbell.

  We could hear people inside. Lots of people.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  But I nodded, and Sarah rang the bell.

  But the door was already opening in front of us before we heard the bell.

  There was a boy of about twenty looking at us. He was looking down at us a bit, because he was so tall. He was tall, and very like Joe.

  I d
id not know what to say.

  Sarah squeezed my hand, then she let go of it.

  ‘Hello, Sam,’ she said.

  We watched the kid’s face change. He did not know who we were at first. But then, when Sarah spoke, he remembered us.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Sam,’ I said now.

  I think he was ten the last time I had seen him, or he had seen me.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Grand,’ he said.

  It was hard, looking at Sam. I was happy to see him. I was very happy. I had always liked him when he was a little lad. But now, he looked so like his dad. He was so like my best friend, Joe.

  He was wearing a black jacket that was too small for him. His white shirt was much too big for him. I wanted to hug him but I still did not know what to say.

  Sarah saved the day. She put her arms around the lanky kid and hugged him.

  ‘We’re sorry, Sam,’ she said.

  It was as if he was ten again.

  ‘Thanks, Aunty Sarah,’ he said.

  Then he stood back and let us into the hall. That was good, because it was cold out there in the garden. I have been bald for a few years now. Cold nights are no fun for bald men.

  We were in the hall.

  ‘What now?’ I whispered to Sarah.

  ‘Come on,’ she said.

  Chapter Nine

  It was strange walking into the house. I knew it as well as my own. I used to play in the hall and on the stairs with Joe, when we were kids. Later, when I was older, I used to bring my kids here, to play with Joe’s kids.

  It was like being in my own house.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was like being in a dream. It was like walking through a dream I had been in before. I knew what was coming up but I was still scared.

  The house was full. It was packed.

  It was full of faces I knew. There were men and women I had not seen in years and men and women I saw every day. There were old faces that had been young the last time I saw them. It was a bit scary, like a scene from a horror film. It was like a house full of very old children.

  ‘Is that Pat Dunne?’ asked an old woman.

  She grabbed my arm.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Webb?’ I said.

  ‘You remember me,’ she said.

  ‘I do, yes,’ I said.

  Remember her? Mrs Webb had been the best-looking mother in Barrytown when I was a teenager. It was a shock to see her now.

  ‘You are looking well,’ I told her.

  ‘Ah, now,’ she said.

  She looked tired after all that chat.