Brilliant

Raymond remembered once, when he’d been here with his Uncle Ben. He’d had his bike in the back of Uncle Ben’s van. They’d taken it out, and Raymond had biked on the bike path. Uncle Ben had timed him, and Raymond had gone a few seconds faster every time. They’d bought ice creams from the snack shop. Raymond could see the shop now, the Costa, just across the road. Then they got back into the van to go home. And Uncle Ben’s ice cream had fallen out of his cone, right into his lap, when he was turning left, driving out of the car park. They’d laughed all the way back to Raymond’s house. It had just been Raymond and Uncle Ben.

  The cloud was getting thicker, and it seemed to be lower in the sky, almost low enough to touch. But none of the kids wanted to touch it. It looked too solid as it rolled and squirmed and slid.

  “It’s like a snake,” said Alice.

  Paddy didn’t answer. Even just the word snake made his mouth go dry.

  Gloria had caught up with Raymond.

  “Hey, Rayzer,” she said. “Remember the time we were here with Uncle Ben?”

  “No,” said Raymond.

  “You do,” said Gloria. “Uncle Ben’s ice cream fell into his lap. Remember?”

  “You weren’t there.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  They were running right beside the sea, along the path that the grown-ups called the Promenade. The tide was in and the wind was strong, loud and packed with drops of seawater.

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “I was so.”

  “You weren’t there for the ice cream.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Here,” said Ernie. “Yis can have your ice cream war another time.”

  “Sorry, Ernie,” said Raymond. “BRILLIANT!”

  Spray from the waves flew at them, like freezing spit. Their faces were sore from the cold.

  Damien had dropped back a bit because of his toothache. It was really sore, and he’d been afraid that if he spoke his words would come out like baby talk. But now his face, his whole head, was freezing and numb. It was great.

  “My head’s a toothache!” he shouted into the wind.

  The kids around him laughed and joined in.

  “My head’s a toothache!”

  They watched the dog cloud buckle and twist, becoming less like a cloud, much more like the Dog.

  “My head’s an earache!”

  They were running alongside the sea, but they weren’t getting any nearer to the Dog.

  “My head’s a pancake!”

  “Your bum’s a face ache!”

  But then they came to the wooden bridge that went out to Bull Island, the big beach in the middle of Dublin Bay. Now they could run straight at the Dog. They knew—they felt it: This was the last fight.

  The Battle of Clontarf.

  Raymond stopped, and waited till all the kids had gathered together. There were thousands of them. Every kid in Dublin seemed to be there and they were all at the wooden bridge, packed together.

  Waiting.

  Raymond pointed at the Dog and shouted as loud as he could.

  “Charge!”

  The kids cheered—they all did, and they ran onto the bridge. A long line of children ran over the old wooden boards—trip, trap, trip, trap.

  “Who’s that tripping over my bridge?” roared the troll as he climbed out from under the bridge. “Wazzup?”

  “We’re huntin’ dog blood, bud,” said Ernie.

  “The Black Dog of Depression?” said the troll.

  “That’s the one,” said Ernie.

  “Cool,” said the troll. “He’s been depressing my mammy.”

  And he ran beside Ernie.

  “How’s business?” Ernie asked him.

  “Slow enough,” said the troll. “But it should pick up nearer the summer.”

  The noise on the bridge was amazing. All those feet stomping on the wood. It made them brave. They sounded like the world’s biggest army, even though lots of the feet were very small.

  “My tooth’s an earache!”

  They were off the bridge now. They missed the sound and the bounce of the wood under their feet. They were running on cement and sand now. The sound of their feet was drowned by the roar of the wind and the waves.

  They ran past the golf club, past the old changing shelters, straight into the gale and the gloom—

  “Brilliant!”

  They ran all the way down to the beach. And they stopped. They couldn’t run any farther. There was no more land. They were on the edge of Dublin and the Black Dog was right over them.

  “What’ll we do?”

  “Don’t know.”

  They hadn’t really thought about it. How were they going to catch him?

  “Anyone bring a ladder?” said Paddy, but not even Alice laughed.

  As if the Dog had heard Paddy’s joke, strings of cloud twirled slowly and began to look like huge snakes dangling right over him.

  And the cloud dropped slowly—it was definitely lower. The sea had disappeared. There was solid, rolling fog in front of them.

  But how could they attack him?

  It annoyed, and worried, Raymond. They’d come this far and now he couldn’t think of anything to do.

  “Look,” said Ernie. “He’s up to somethin’—see?”

  The Dog was turning—the cloud was starting to move. His fur was rolling, growing. A cloud seemed to grow out of the main cloud, and became his head and face. And it was staring back the way they’d come, at the city.

  He snarled.

  “USELESS.”

  The ground seemed to shake under them.

  Raymond knew what was happening—he suddenly knew it.

  “It’s a trap!” he shouted.

  The Black Dog had dragged the kids away from the city and now he was going back, to destroy it. He was going to drop down onto the whole city—he was big enough to do it now—and smother it, and all the adults under him. He’d make their lives unbearable. And the kids would be left alone, crowded here on Dollymount Strand, unable to do anything about it, except watch.

  They thought they heard a deep, horrible laugh.

  “Fooled you,” said the Dog—his voice filled the air. “You thought you were great, didn’t you? Chasing me. ‘You’re the future.’ Have you stopped me, little children?”

  They watched the cloud grow and darken. It became an even more definite, solid shape. It was the Black Dog of Depression, the most horrible thing they’d ever seen. The Dog’s hairs were thousands of snakes. Their heads—and tongues—were all around him, flicking and sneering.

  He was moving away.

  “You’re all USELESS.”

  Gloria knew. If they heard the word again, they’d believe what the Dog was telling them. They’d lie down on the sand. The sea would roll over them.

  One or two of the kids had already started to lie down.

  “Shout!” she roared. “Shout! Brilliant!”

  The wind grabbed Gloria’s words and seemed to stop them from going far. But Suzie heard her.

  “Brilliant!”

  And so did Alice and Sunday and Precious.

  “Brilliant!”

  Damien’s toothache was back, and worse. He opened his mouth, but the cold air was agony. It went straight for his tooth. But he knew why he was there. He opened his mouth again, took a deep painful breath, and—

  “Brilliant!”

  All the kids were shouting now.

  Every kid shouted—one huge shout.

  “BRILLIANT!”

  And it was working. The word and what it meant was starting to hit the Black Dog.

  “My head’s a toothache!”

  “BRILLIANT!”

  The Dog was curling, buckling. But he was still moving, escaping. He was floating back to the city, and their parents and uncles, big brothers and sisters.

  “What’ll we do? We can’t shout any louder.”

  “He’s not afraid enough.”

  “Ernie!” Raymond shouted.

  “Wha’?”


  “We’re going in.”

  “Wha’?!”

  The wind was howling. The sand stung their faces, and it was getting even darker.

  “We’re going in there,” Raymond shouted.

  He pointed at the lowest part of the Dog, the fog that was hanging over the sea.

  “Right into the Dog,” said Raymond.

  “You’re jestin’,” said Ernie.

  “I’m not,” said Raymond.

  He wished he was joking. He was asking Ernie to take him into the darkest place there was, the core—the very center—of the Black Dog. The thing that frightened him more than anything else, and the most frightening thing he could possibly do.

  “Fair enough,” said Ernie.

  He grabbed the back of Raymond’s hoodie.

  “Anythin’ for a laugh,” said Ernie, although he wasn’t laughing.

  Paddy stepped forward.

  “Me as well,” he said.

  Paddy looked at the Black Dog. He forced himself to do it. He looked at the thousands of squirming snakes. He could see them all. Waiting for him.

  He didn’t have to do it.

  But he did. Paddy knew why he was there.

  Ernie held onto Paddy’s collar.

  “Here we go.”

  Ernie started to drift across the sand.

  “Hate this,” he said.

  Fast this time, faster—he gathered speed, and the rest of the kids watched as Ernie, with Paddy and Raymond, shot straight at the cloud, and into it.

  They waited.

  “Keep shouting!” roared Gloria.

  Raymond couldn’t see. He couldn’t see anything. Not a thing. He was buried. Freezing. He couldn’t open his mouth—he didn’t have a mouth. He didn’t know where he was—or why he was. He knew nothing.

  But he heard a voice. Near him. Ernie.

  “We’ll be grand, we’ll be grand. Just a few more seconds.”

  Ernie’s voice was right at Raymond’s ear.

  “D’you know why I’m doin’ this?” said Ernie.

  Raymond forced the word through his freezing lips: “Why?”

  “For my da,” said Ernie.

  They were still moving. Paddy could feel it, the movement. He’d shut his eyes, but he could feel himself charging through the rolling snakes. He thought they were going up now, Paddy, Raymond, and Ernie—like they were climbing up the snakes’ backs or something. But he could feel nothing under his feet.

  “Everyone says he’s a waster,” said Ernie. “But they don’t know him. He’s a great da. The way he was before the Dog got to him.”

  Ernie coughed.

  “So, that’s why I’m here,” he said. “Here goes.”

  Raymond and Paddy heard Ernie.

  “BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT, bleedin’ BRILLIANT!”

  Down on the beach the kids couldn’t see the three boys anymore. They were inside the Dog—they’d disappeared completely.

  They waited. It felt like ages. Minutes.

  Then they heard the voice from inside the cloud.

  “BRILLIANT, BRILLIANT, bleedin’ BRILLIANT!”

  It seemed to come from miles away. But they’d heard it.

  “That was Ernie,” said Gloria.

  “Brilliant!”

  They shouted as hard as they could. But the wind grabbed their voices. They had no breath left. They watched, and waited—and hoped. They could still hear Ernie, and Paddy and Raymond, in the sky above them.

  “. . . brilliant . . . brilliant . . .”

  But the shouts seemed to come from farther away.

  “Look!”

  They could see chinks now, tiny holes appearing in the cloud. Sunlight was getting through, narrow little beams of it.

  Raymond saw the light, but he had no strength left, no voice. Paddy saw the light hit the snakes, saw the snakes start to fade. But he was so cold. He felt like he was frozen in ice. He just wanted to sleep forever.

  “Here!” said Ernie. “Don’t tell me you’re bored. Wake up!”

  Paddy remembered the word.

  “Brilliant.”

  “Good man,” said Ernie. “Louder, but.”

  “Brilliant,” said Raymond.

  One of the holes in the cloud got bigger, wider. He thought he could see the sun.

  The kids were drenched and freezing. They could hear the boys way up in the Dog—they could just about hear them. But that stopped too. There was just the wind. The holes in the cloud were filling in.

  They heard the Dog.

  “Useless . . .”

  “Oh, no.”

  But Gloria noticed: The Dog wasn’t loud this time. He was tiring too. The kids could still win, if they were quick enough. But the wind was charging all around, blowing stinging sand straight at them. Gloria put her fingers in front of her mouth like a mask and she inhaled as much air as she could.

  “One more time!” she shouted.

  All the kids copied Gloria. They protected their faces with their hands and sleeves, and breathed in deep. They inhaled the wind and they sent it down to their lungs.

  Damien couldn’t open his mouth. It was too sore. But he grabbed a stick and jumped up on a rock. Then, just like the conductor of an orchestra, he held his arms and the stick in the air. The wind tried to knock him off the rock. But it couldn’t. Damien wasn’t going to be bullied by the wind.

  All the kids looked at him. They knew what he was doing. They held their breath—they waited.

  Damien the conductor dropped his arms.

  And the kids let go of the air. They fired it straight up at the Dog.

  “BRILLIANNNNNNT!”

  And it worked. The word ripped through the cloud. The holes were big again, and they could see sky. The Dog was breaking, becoming smaller, harmless clouds.

  But that stopped. The clouds stayed together, remained one cloud.

  And it snarled. The snarl came from a mouth and the mouth was holding something very big and white.

  The funny bone.

  Gloria was ready.

  The boys in the cloud saw the funny bone. It wasn’t as dark in there and the snakes had faded away. They should have been less frightened. But what they saw now was even worse. The funny bone was being held by teeth—real, sharp teeth. They were inside the jaws of the Dog. The cloud, all around them, was becoming solid—and fleshy.

  “We’re standing on his tongue,” said Raymond.

  “He’s going to swallow us!” Paddy yelled.

  “He’s not swallowin’ me,” said Ernie.

  The boys felt Ernie strengthen his grip on their clothes, and they flew across the tongue and the Dog’s drool. They charged up to the bone, right up against the back of the Dog’s teeth.

  Ernie let go of Paddy and Raymond.

  “Push!”

  Gloria had kept some breath, just enough for one last small—

  “. . . brilliant . . .”

  It was enough.

  The word—the light, the tiny bit of desperate happiness—hit the cloud and the Black Dog exploded.

  It just disappeared. One minute, there was the gale and the colossal snarling Dog. Next, there was silence—nothing. Except blue sky and quiet.

  And guts.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Run!”

  They ran to the dunes to get away. They heard the guts fall, slapping the sand like hard-boiled rain. They heard the shouts of three screaming boys.

  “Look out below!”

  Raymond held onto Ernie’s waist while Ernie held his parachute-cape in one hand and the back of Paddy’s pants with the other.

  “Let go!” Paddy yelled.

  “Don’t think so, bud,” said Ernie. “Even sand is hard when you fall this far.”

  The kids below saw something else, something big and white, and—

  “Oh my God again!”

  They ran even farther away, into the dunes, even into the water. They heard the thump—they felt it. It lifted some of them off the ground.

  They t
urned, and saw Dublin’s funny bone. It was lying on the beach, white and bright and kind of funny. Exactly like a city’s funny bone should have looked.

  Ernie, hanging on to Paddy and Raymond, landed beside it in the sand. He stood up and shook the guts off his cape.

  “Nothin’ to it,” he said.

  The air was suddenly full of seagulls and, a minute later, there was no sign of the guts or the Dog. There were no seagulls in the air. They were too full to fly. They were waddling around like drunk robots.

  One of them waddled past Gloria.

  “Never again,” it said.

  “Are you a girl or a boy?” Gloria asked.

  “Is it not obvious, like?”

  “Girl?”

  The seagull nodded.

  “Never again,” she said. “I’ll stick to the veg.”

  She stopped waddling and pointed her beak at the funny bone.

  “Good job,” she said.

  “Thanks,” said Gloria.

  Ernie was leaning against the funny bone. Hundreds of kids were climbing all over it.

  “So this is the funny bone,” said Gloria.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Where are all the laughs?”

  “Inside in the marrow,” said Raymond.

  Damien was standing on top of the bone. He got down on his knees and put his ear to the bone.

  “Shake it,” he said.

  Dozen of kids started pushing the bone, making it rock in the sand. The kids on the bone held on or fell off.

  “Hear anything?”

  They all heard it, like the sound came from deep inside a cave. It was laughter.

  “Ah, deadly!” said Gloria. “The funny bone’s laughing.”

  Everybody started laughing, including the bloated seagulls. Damien stood up on the bone.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “My toothache’s gone!”

  Then they heard a voice. They thought they did—it seemed to come from inside the bone.

  “Do you want it back?”

  “No, thanks!” said Damien.

  Ernie was still leaning against the bone.

  “What’ll we do with this thing?” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” said one of the seagulls. “The city will take it back.”

  “How?”

  He hadn’t finished speaking when he fell onto the sand. The funny bone had disappeared.

  “That’s how,” said the seagull. “It’s back where it should be. Inside the city, like. Everything will get back to normal now. Except my stummick.”