The Gone Book, page 13
‘So, I told them about the Cliff Bar. I told them we’d see them there later.’
‘You fucking gowl, Mikey – why did you do that?’
He looks at me, all offended. ‘Jesus, who’s the bitch now? It’s just a few cans and a laugh. They want me to do a bit of a routine for them.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
‘Why the fuck did you come to Lahinch with me? Why didn’t you go with Smart altogether?’
‘Shut up, Mikey. This isn’t about Smart. It’s about Hammer Hayes – he’s a scumbag.’
Mikey stops dead and pokes me hard in the chest with a sausage finger. ‘This is about you thinking you’re fucking special. So special you won’t even say hello to your own brother. You’re a fucking gowl sometimes, Matt. An absolute gowl.’ He marches off up the hill, the back of his T-shirt soaked with sweat.
The tide is in now, crashing against the sea wall over and over. I wish I was in the sea where nobody can follow me. Where I can be safe from the whole lot of them.
April Fool’s Day 2018
Skating. It’s my life. End of. Heaven is a fucking half pipe.
We have our dinner on the deck in the warm sun. Mikey’s cranky and I can’t be bothered trying to humour him. So I tell Mrs Chung all about the surfing and she’s delighted for me, I know she is and then she asks Mikey how he got on and that’s the end of the surfing conversation.
‘Are you right?’ Mikey says after we clear the dishes.
‘For what?’ I ask, wiping down the table with a cloth.
There’s ketchup everywhere. It looks like blood. My headache’s back, tapping little sharp stabs of pain into my eyeball.
‘The Cliff Bar, gowl – it’s time to party.’ He grins at me and I know this is a peace offering.
‘Don’t feel like it.’ I keep wiping the table even when the ketchup is well scrubbed off.
‘What’s up with you?’
‘I’ve a headache and –’
‘Fuck sake. You’re either gay or a girl. Big fucking girly head on you.’
‘Girl, girl, girl,’ says Leon, the older brother. ‘Matt’s a girl.’
I shrug. ‘Is that supposed to be an insult? Being gay or a girl? It’s the opposite actually.’
Mikey stands up, but I can feel his eyes boring into me while I’m still bent over the now spotless table. ‘Good luck, I’m outta here,’ he says, stamping down the wooden steps of the deck. It shakes.
‘What does gay mean?’ says Leon.
‘It just means happy.’
‘No, it doesn’t, you fool. It means sexy – Tyrone Mac told me in school.’ Leon gives me a withering look and goes off in search of his pals, football under his arm.
Mrs Chung comes out with a bottle of beer and a glass full of ice. ‘Matt, how do you think Mikey is?’
I look away, fixing my eyes on the tiny clothesline beyond the deck, on the row of beach towels, pinned and still. She’s in rant mode – I can feel her building up.
‘Mikey’s Mikey.’
She looks at me over the rim of her glass. ‘Mikey’s sad. Quiet. Didn’t you notice?’
This is too heavy for me and I’m sorry now that I didn’t go with him. Mrs Chung likes to talk. Especially when she’s having a beer.
‘He’s stopped talking to me – you know, sitting down with a cup of tea and having a laugh and stuff. And he sits in his room and God only knows what he does up there and more so now because you go skating. It’s just a bit worrying, that’s all.’
The sun is sinking fast, although the air still feels warm.
‘It’s just you never know these days – you hear all sorts of stories. A boy from Galbally hung himself last week – he was Anne Gubbins’s husband’s nephew.’
My phone beeps a text. It’s Smart. He’s in town.
‘You’re off, I suppose? You’re dead right too – you’re only young once, Matt. Ye can have an extra hour.’
Smart texts again as I head across the road but I know where I’m going. I can’t let Mikey on his own with Hammer and Jamie.
Mikey’s sitting on the cliff edge – a can of Dutch Gold in his hand. He’s looking out to sea and doesn’t hear me until the last second. ‘Fuck, Matt, you frightened the life out of me,’ he says, but I know he’s delighted I came. ‘Do you want one?’ Mikey reaches for the slab of beer.
‘In a while,’ I say, gazing up at the sky. The sea laps at the cliff below. It’s peaceful. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the pink sky.
‘For what?’ says Mikey.
‘For fucking off on you today. It’s just the surfing – I can’t resist it …’
‘I didn’t get it until I saw you on that big wave – you looked like you’d been surfing for years.’
I laugh. ‘The skating helps – same principle.’
‘Jamie was so fucking proud of you.’
I blink. Just like Conor. The sky is an even deeper pink. Almost red.
‘He didn’t know it was you at first, wouldn’t believe me, and then he took out his iPhone to video you but I think he was too late. He just got you crashing under the wave. What was it like?’
‘Wet.’
‘Gowl. I mean what was it like being able to do it? Actually surf a whopper like that?’
I close my eyes. I can feel the water curling around me, the board underneath me, the screech of seagulls. I can smell sea, wax, fear, and feel-good, all wrapped around me in the wave capsule. The green room. What a great name for that feeling.
‘Perfect.’
‘What?’
‘They call it the green room.’
‘I thought they called it surfing.’
‘Hilarious, Mikey. No, that’s what they call the feeling you get when you catch a whopper and ride it in.’
‘Green room? Dumb name. Green room, my hole.’
I sit up and reach for a can from the slab. I pop the tab and slug back the warm beer. It tastes good.
Mikey grins at me and fixes his eyes on a yellow fishing boat way out on the horizon. ‘This is the life, Matt. Fuck Limerick.’
‘You said it. I wish I could live here.’
A knot of people walks towards the cliff, talking loudly. Mikey waves at them and I know there is no Limerick to fuck because it’s coming right over to us. Jamie. Hammer. Smart with two girls hanging off him. They all sit down and Mikey throws cans at them as if they’re his long-lost buddies.
Jamie sits next to me. ‘Man,’ he says and takes a long drink of beer. ‘You were awesome today out there.’
I nod. I’m too fucking shocked to speak. Jamie said something that wasn’t angry or insulting. It’s true for Mikey. Lahinch changes people.
‘I’ll bring you out if you want.’ I blurt this out before I can stop myself.
Jamie looks at me. His pupils are huge. Glassy. ‘Want to see something?’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Come on.’ He gets up and I follow. We climb over a low stone wall. There’s a group of three tents set up in a deep hollow in the middle of the field.
I beam at him. ‘Dad’s tent? It finally saw the light of day!’
Jamie laughs. ‘Cool, isn’t it? I called in today and I thought of the tent. First time it’s actually been put up.’
‘It’s bigger than I thought.’ I pull down the zipper and a belt of heat rises towards me.
‘Remember the day he bought it? A Lidl special. Conor nearly pissed himself with excitement.’
I grin. ‘Weird we never used it. Not once.’
Jamie bends down and crawls inside. I follow. We sit cross-legged in the space, facing each other, and there’s something cosy and surreal about it. The light is beige inhere and it’s warm from the sun. We smile at each other in the weird cocoon.
‘It’s like he loved the idea of camping, getting away from it all, but he just couldn’t be away from home.’
Jamie laughs. ‘He’d miss his meeting. Those fucking meetings were worse than drinking!’
‘Look – the price tag is still on it.’ I pull off the tag, which is trapped under a steel pole.
‘I called in to him today.’
‘Why?’
‘He was gone for a run with the dog.’ Jamie looks at his hands as he speaks. ‘He loves that dog.’
‘I know.’
‘I wanted to wait until he got home and … you know the way he’s always in a good mood after running.’
I look at the zipped-up door of the tent, not wanting to interrupt Jamie.
‘It’s just … all this shit is going down and Dad … I want him to – oh fuck …’ He starts to cry, little dry sobs with no tears. The heat is suffocating.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask. I don’t want to hear the answer. If I could close my ears, I would. And it’s like Jamie senses this. He shakes his head.
‘I couldn’t wait for him. I couldn’t tell him …’ ‘Tell him what?’
‘Just … stuff is happening … and I thought he’d know what to do.’ He pulls at the string of his hoodie, yanks on it so hard he rips it out completely. Then he twists it around his wrist. Tight. ‘Remember when Mark Tierney was bullying you?’
‘That was years ago.’
‘Yeah. He called you Fatballs and made jokes about you.’
‘And you beat the living shit out of him behind the bike sheds.’
‘And Mr Tierney called in his guard’s uniform and Dad said I was right and told him that he was very proud of me. That I sorted out a bully.’
‘I remember. Just after Mam … I remember.’ I want to take the Mam word back but it’s too late. I can feel her in the tent with us.
‘Dad was cool that day.’
‘He’s alright.’
‘He stood up to Tierney’s dad. Called him a bully too. Said, Like father, like son.’
‘You should have waited for him. Talked to him. He’d –’
‘Forget it. It’s nothing – it’s the weed. Always does that to me. Same with Hammer – turns us weird.’ He laughs and stretches his legs out in front of him.
We listen in silence. The sea pushes and pulls against the cliff outside and the birds haven’t realised that the day is over. There’s a low rumble of voices in the distance, followed by screams and guffaws.
‘I’d love to stay here for ever.’ Jamie tucks his knees up to his chest and rocks back and forth.
‘I said the same thing earlier. Lahinch is cool.’
‘Not Lahinch. Here, in this place. Right here.’ His eyes are fixed on the roof of the tent and he’s rubbing his fingers like Mrs Chung when she makes cakes.
‘Are you OK, Jamie?’
He doesn’t hear me.
‘Jamie, are you –?’
‘More beers are in order, come on, bro,’ he says and zips down the door. He crawls out and I follow him, beaming like a fucking ape. He called me bro. He jumps the wall and puts a hand back to pull me up. I grab it and we stumble towards the cliff and the glow of a fire.
Hammer and Mikey are huddled together, laughing at nothing. Smart has an arm around each girl. Greedy fucker. The girls look like twins – weird made-up eyebrows, long fair hair, matching screechy voices.
‘Give Matt some,’ says Mikey.
‘Some what?’ I say, sitting down opposite them. The fading light is a thin line low on the navy-blue horizon. I can just make out the black shadow of the fishing boat. ‘Yokes,’ says Mikey, breaking into another fit of laughing.
Hammer takes a bag out of his pocket and passes it to me as if it’s a pack of Haribo. Uppers. I know what they are. Hal and Black warned us off them ages ago. Happy pills that bring you down to hell.
I pretend to take one and hand the bag to Jamie. He scoops a few and passes it on to Smart and the girls. Mikey holds a finger up to the sky and Hammer guffaws and spits like it’s some hilarious joke. I take another beer. One of the girls smiles shyly at me. I smile back. Jamie’s eyes dart from face to face. He sucks at a fag, and then realises he hasn’t lit it. Mikey’s on laughing duty now, cracking up at nothing, Hammer egging him on.
I pop the beer and feel light-headed as I take a huge slug. I lie back down on the grass. The whole sky is pinpricked with stars. Conversation buzzes around me and I try to make out whose voice belongs to who and my eyes close and all the voices are one now, a continuous, comforting drone. I doze for a little while and when I wake the murmuring soundtrack in the background has stopped.
Hammer has Mikey in a headlock and they’re rolling around the ground. As I run over, Hammer punches and punches Mikey, tears running down Hammer’s face. I pull him off and he collapses in a heap, sobbing like a small child.
Mikey sits up, rubbing his eyes. ‘Fuck,’ he says, ‘they should call those pills downers instead of uppers. Fuck sake – he was crying and I put my arm around him and he tried to kiss me? A proper shift, like? Then he beats the crap out of me? Fucking mad.’ Mikey wipes his nose with his sleeve. Jamie’s still snoring, oblivious to all the commotion.
Hammer has stopped crying and I think he’s asleep now too. What a great fucking night this is turning out to be. I knew we shouldn’t have bothered coming. I knew once Jamie was here it’d all go to shit.
I throw another piece of wood on the dying embers of the fire. It sparks to life, spitting and crackling.
Mikey reaches for the bag of pills. ‘These things are useless – they didn’t knock a stir out of me.’ He pours a few into his palm. ‘I’d need ten times more than you skinny fuckers.’ He grins at me and throws the handful of pills down his throat.
I stare at him, shocked. ‘What did you do that for you fucking gowl?’
He shrugs. ‘They’re like Love Hearts or Skittles – there’s nothing in them at all. Relax. Chill.’
‘No, I won’t relax. Look what they’ve fucking well done already – everyone conking out and bawling and freaking. You’re a gowl sometimes, Mikey, do you know that?’
He grins in the firelight. He looks like a monster, eyes huge and glassy, just like Jamie’s earlier.
‘That’s me – king of the gowls,’ says Mikey, his voice all sorrowful.
‘Here comes the downer now, Mikey. Have a good cry about it like Hammer did – that’d be really clever.’
Then he does exactly that. He starts bawling his head off too – not fucking Love Hearts after all. I know I should comfort him but I can’t because it’s all so fucking mock anyway. All brought on by popping the stupid pills. Why would you take something that was going to make you unhappy? So dumb. So unbelievably dumb.
‘How many did you take when I was gone?’
He wipes snot from his nose and looks at me, eyes glassy and unseeing.
‘How many? Fuck sake.’
Mikey gets up unsteadily, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ‘I’ll show you, you fucker. Watch me. I’ll show you what I can do when I want to. Think you’re great with your surfing.’
I laugh. ‘Look at the state of you. Go home to bed, you fool.’
‘I’m going to swim the bay. Right this minute. I’ll swim the whole way over to Liscannor.’
‘Off you go. Enjoy it, you gowl.’ I lie back on the grass. I can hear Mikey walking away, I close my eyes. Swim the bay, my hole. He’s heading straight for home, the big eejit. He’ll probably get a three-in-one in the Pagoda first. I try to get up but I feel too tired. So tired I can’t open my eyes.
6 May 2018
I still dream about you. I hate myself for doing that. Giving you space in my head. Seeing you dream-smiling at me. It makes me think you fucking care. Even though it’s only a dream.
There’s a ringing noise and first I think it’s a smoke alarm. I open my eyes and I haven’t a clue where I am. I’m staring up at a pink-blue sky. I’m shivering with the cold. I sit up and look around, trying to get my bearings. The fire has gone out a long time ago and the place is deserted. Bits of the night come back to me as I stagger over to the stone wall to piss. The ringing starts again once I’m doing up my fly and then I realise what it is. My phone. I search my pockets but I know already it’s not there and then I see it jumping as it rings over by the bag that had been full of cans last night.
‘Hello?’ I mumble.
‘Matt? Oh, thank God. I’ve been ringing Mikey for ages – where are ye?’
Oh, fuck.
‘We’re … I’m … we – we went to a party and …’
‘And never texted or rang me or answered your phones?’
‘It was only a few of the lads and they had a tent and –’
‘Come straight up now – both of you.’
I take a deep breath. I have to tell her. ‘I don’t know where Mikey is.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘He stormed off last night – said he was swimming the bay …’
‘And you left him?’ Her voice is quiet and steady and terrifying.
‘I … he … I thought he was joking – I thought he’d go straight home. I’m sorry, Mrs Chung, I’m sorry.’
‘Oh God, no. Please no.’
She hangs up and I’m left there looking at the phone like it has answers. And then panic sets in and I’m off across the field and down the hill as fast as my legs will carry me. She’s on the beach already. She’s running down the long stretch of sand calling Mikey’s name over and over. There’s nobody about at all. I try to catch up with her but she’s like a mad woman, flying along the beach screaming Mikey! Mikey! Mikey!
My lungs feel like they’re about to burst and I finally catch up with her just where the beach meets the river.
‘We should … we need to call the coastguard,’ I say, gulping in air.
She looks at me, not understanding, and then she shakes her head. ‘No. No, Mikey’s not … he’s fine, he’s – we’ll find him, we’ll …’ She scans the sea in front of us, then screams his name at the top of her lungs.
Mikey. Mikey. Mikey. The words echo across the empty beach.
‘We have to call the coastguard, we have to –’
‘Mikey! Michael Francis Chung! Mikey!’ Mrs Chung yells up to the sky. Then she whimpers, low soft cries.
I can’t feel my feet under me, can’t feel a thing. I know I need to do something but my brain won’t work.
