Creature of the Night (12 page)

That night the rattle of the dog flap woke me. I was out
of bed before I was even awake, and running down the
stairs. The kitchen was empty. I turned on the outside
light and unlocked the back door and went out on to the
concrete path.

The dog was out there. It was only the fucking dog,
after all that. It turned its head to look at me and wagged
its tail, and then looked back the way it was facing,
towards the hedge. Something rustled at the bottom of it
and I got a glimpse of an animal there before it went
through and vanished from sight. A badger. I'd only seen
pictures of them before. It was bigger than I thought it
would be. Fat. I was glad I seen it.

'Are you coming in?' I said to the dog. It wagged its
tail again but it stayed where it was.

'Stupid dog,' I said, and went in.

Just to be sure, I looked in on Dennis. He was fast
asleep in his own bed, with Jimjam bunny in his arms.

The next day I was driving all day, following the silage
contractors. They were cutting the big green meadows
that lay across the road from the bog field. They had
these amazing machines that cut the grass and wrapped
it in big round bales with black plastic, like a sweet
factory or something, only massive. My job was to pick
up the bales they made and put them all in a corner of
the field, where they could be collected any time they
were needed. It was easy work, picking up the bales with
this special front-loader, which was just two prongs, and
driving backwards and forwards. Coley was working
again and PJ was gone most of the time, too, so it was
just me and the contractors, and they were going too
hard and fast to stop and chat, except when they had a
coffee break and brought out their flasks. That Kevin
Talty fella, the one who owned the land across the road,
came over one time. He asked them when they were
coming to do his fields, and they told him it would
be tomorrow or the next day. He asked them if it
would cost the same as last year and they said it would,
more or less, depending on the number of bales. Then he
asked them who I was.

'He's the lad from Dooleys',' one of them
said.

'He's not,' said Kevin Talty. 'I know all their lads.
He's not one of them.'

I wouldn't mind, but I was standing right beside
them. He just kept on talking like I wasn't there.

'Who is he?'

The contractors said it again, that I was from
Dooleys', but Talty wouldn't listen to them, and he never
once looked at me so I could tell him. I was looking
at one of the lads and we were trying not to laugh.

'I don't know who he is,' Kevin Talty said, and he
walked off across the field, talking to himself and
shaking his head.

After that we started up again and moving those
bales around got boring, so I had plenty of time to think,
and mostly what I thought about was Dublin and the
lads.

I couldn't make out how it had all gone pear-shaped
so fast. I knew it was partly to do with Mick being in
jail, but that wasn't the only thing. What was Fluke
thinking of, shacking up with a girl with two kids? And
Beetle was suddenly only interested in getting off his
head. When he wasn't asleep, that was. Or had he
always been like that? Putting up with the other stuff
because he knew it brought in the money for the gear?

What we needed was a good race. That was the
problem, I thought. We hadn't had a chance to get hold
of any cars lately, because I was away all week and I just
never came back at the right time. But we would do it
again, some time soon, and then we would be back
where we should be. Good friends, enjoying life together.

There was nothing like a race to get the blood up.
People used call it joyriding, but you weren't supposed
to call it that any more, in case kids like us got the idea
that it was fun. Dickheads, whoever thought of that. As
if a word could make any difference.

The next morning my ma was up before me again,
making toast.

'Is there another funeral?' I asked her.

'No,' she said. 'I just felt like getting up early. Is
there something wrong with that?'

'Are you going to Ennis?' I said.

'I might be,' she said.

'I need a bike lock. And a charger for my iPod.'

'Your what?'

'IPod. Have you never heard of an iPod?'

'Of course I have,' she said. 'I just didn't think you
had one.'

'Well I have,' I said. 'But I haven't got a charger
for it.'

'Where d'you get that, then?'

'Any electrical shop.'

'I meant where did you get the iPod?' she said.

'I found it in the street,' I said.

Coley and PJ had both gone to work that day but
Grandda Dooley was out in the yard, waiting for me. It
gave me the feeling that I was a nuisance pet that someone
in the family had to mind, but Mr Dooley seemed
happy enough with the job.

On the way across the yard he looked at my feet.
My trainers were all mud from digging drains with
Coley, and they were split in two places. I didn't care.
They were old ones. I had better ones at home.

'We'll have to get you some Wellingtons,' said Mr
Dooley. 'I'll lend you a pair of mine.'

'I'm all right in these,' I said.

'Suit yourself,' he said.

We hitched up the mower on the tractor again and
he went into his tool shed and came out with a scythe
with a long, curving handle. He looked like the Grim
Reaper, coming across the yard. He let me drive and we
went down into the rough meadows that lay between
their farm and my house. At the bottom of the first one
he made me stop and we got out.

'You need to cut all these rushes, here,' he said.

There were a lot of them, crowded in together, dark
bluey green. There were clear patches of grass in
between where the cattle had been grazing, but if I had
to make a bet I would say the rushes were winning. Mr
Dooley pointed to the higher slopes of the field.

'You can do those parts with the mower,' he said,
'but you can't take the tractor into these corners here.
It'll get bogged. You'll have to use the scythe down in
these bits. I'll show you how to do it.'

I followed him. My feet squelched in the boggy
ground and brown water filled my trainers. Mr Dooley
began to cut rushes with the scythe. He just used the tip
of it, mainly, sliding it round in a circular motion just
above the ground. The blade made a gorgeous, soft,
crunchy sound and rushes dropped behind it like fallen
soldiers.

'You have to keep the blade level with the ground,'
he said. 'And just cut a small few at a time. There's no
point in trying to use the whole of the blade. They're too
thick.'

He showed me. The scythe thunked into the tight
base of a big clump and stopped dead.

'Do you want to try?' he asked me.

'No,' I said. 'I'll get the hang of it on my own.' I
didn't want to do it with him watching me. I hated
people correcting me.

'All right,' he said. 'But be careful with it.'

'I know,' I said. 'You could shave yourself with
that.'

He grinned and nodded. 'But the edge won't last all
that long,' he said. 'I'll come down after a while and
bring the stone and show you how to sharpen it.'

He walked off up the meadow. He was quite fit for
an old fella but I noticed he stopped a couple of times
like he was just taking a look around, but really it was
so he could catch his breath.

Mowing the rushes was all right. They made a
much better sound than the grass did when they died.
You could hear the mower blades slice through them and
the rattle when they fell over. And it was quick, cutting
through one line and then swinging round and going
back in to do the next, and then on to the next patch.
Some bits looked really great when I was finished them
– all the cut rushes lying flat in the same direction, making
a pattern on the ground.

I was careful, but I didn't hang around. I wanted to
get the mowing done so I could have a go with the
scythe. But I did stop for a while at one stage. It was over
near the big hedge that ran between the field where I was
and the one beside it, where the little hill was with the
ring fort on it. I had to get right up against the hedge to
cut one thick patch of rushes and that was when I seen
the little path. It ran along beside the hedge for a while,
then disappeared through it, and there was a small little
tunnel through the hedge, really neat. I left the tractor
running and walked over to have a better look. There
were footprints on the path, all mashed up together in
the mud. Badger, I was sure. This is where it came, after
it went under the hedge outside our back door. Along
here and through and away towards its hole under the
fort. I heard myself telling Fluke and Beetle, showing
them like one of those people on the wildlife programmes
on TV. An expert on the countryside. No way
they'd ever come down here, though. Not in a million
years.

I went back to the tractor and finished the mowing,
then left it on the hill and went down to where Mr
Dooley had left the scythe, leaning up against a gate
post. When I picked it up I remembered I was supposed
to have soaked my hands in vinegar and wrapped them
in bandages, but the day on the silage had given them
a bit of time to recover and they didn't feel too bad.
Anyway I didn't care. It was worth a bit of pain to have
a go with that long blade.

But I couldn't make it work. I tried to swing it the
way he showed me but every time I did the tip of it
would get jammed in a clump of roots or dig into the
ground. I tried again and again. I changed my grip, I
concentrated on keeping the blade level, I tried out wider
swings and shorter ones. Nothing worked. I got annoyed
and swung it harder and faster. I jarred my shoulder and
opened up my blisters all over again. Suddenly I was in
a red rage, hacking at the green fuckers with the middle
of the blade, still getting nowhere.

And then I stopped and looked at myself. What the
fuck was I doing? I was standing out in the middle of a
field, up to my ankles in bog water, hurting myself and
sweating like a pig. Whose idea was this? It wasn't mine.
This wasn't fun. This wasn't even something happening.
This was pure slave labour. Child abuse, even.

I looked up at the two farmhouses at the top of the
hill. The bungalow windows were dark, like two empty
eyes looking down at me. What did Grandda Dooley do
all day when he wasn't sharpening things? Was he
watching me now?

I didn't care. I threw the scythe down in the rushes
and walked home across the fields.

My ma wasn't in the house. There was a note left on the
table.

GONE 2 DUBLIN 2 SIGN ON
BACK 2MORO FEED THE DOG

I stared at it. I thought she was supposed to be signing
on in Ennis. How could she go to Dublin without
telling me? How could she go without bringing me?

I threw the bag of dog food on the floor and the
biscuits flew everywhere. I raged through the house,
upstairs and down, not knowing where I was going or
what I was looking for. The bitch, the cow, the slapper,
the slag. She couldn't do that to me. I'd get her for
this.

I stopped halfway down the stairs and rang her on
the mobile. I didn't let her say anything. I just shouted a
load of abuse at her and said: 'You can't do this to me!
I'm coming up after you!' And then I hung up.

She didn't think I could. She didn't know about the
blood money. I felt it in my pocket. My bus fare. All I
had to do was get to Ennis.

I needed my bike. That made me stop and think. It
was up in the yard, which meant I had to go back and
get it. I didn't care. That old man couldn't stop me. I ran
out of the house and jumped the wall and ran back
across the first field and into the second.

Shite. He was coming down the hill with a pair of
wellies in one hand and some kind of stone in the other.
I didn't stop.

'Sorry, Mr Dooley,' I said. 'My ma's run off to
Dublin. I have to go after her.'

I ran straight past him and up to the yard. I thought
of taking Coley's bike because it was newer and smarter,
but my own one was faster so I took it. I went down the
road and straight past our house. On the way into
the village I seen Mrs Grogan looking out her window
and I gave her the finger. I stood on the pedals and
the bike just flew. It was a brilliant bike, even if it was
old.

The brakes weren't great, but I didn't have to use
them very often. I thought about getting them fixed, but
then I thought I'd never see the bike again because I had
no lock for it and I would have to leave it behind me
when I went for the bus. I didn't care. I pedalled till my
legs felt like they were on fire but I didn't let it slow
me down, and after another while they stopped hurting
and I couldn't feel them at all.

When I got to the bus station I left the bike against
the wall. I was a bit wobbly and I had to stamp my feet
a few times and steady myself up before I could walk
properly. I'd just missed the Limerick bus and there
wasn't another one for more than an hour, but I bought
my ticket anyway. One way. This time there was no way
I was coming back. Not ever.

But even so I didn't see the point of leaving my bike
there for some scumbag to rob. You never knew. It was
a good bike. Some time I might come back for it. So I
went towards the edge of town and found a place where
the river crossed under the road and I followed a side
street until I found a place where I could get down to the
path. There were thick trees and bushes down there and
I hid it in a big bramble bush. I hid it so well you
couldn't see it at all, not even if you were walking along
the river.

I smoked a fag going back up the road into town,
and then I seen the supermarket and I knew what I
wanted more than anything was a drink. So I went up
there and took a couple of cans of lager and went to the
checkout.

'ID?' said the woman behind the till.

'I left it at home,' I said. 'I'm nineteen.'

'Sorry,' she said. 'No ID, no sale. We're not
allowed to.'

'That's ridiculous,' I said. 'I never get asked for it.'

'Sorry,' she said again, and put the two cans in
under the counter.

I left her till and looked along the checkout desks.
There was a woman further down who was going having
a party. She was packing gallons of drink into those
square green bags. She wouldn't miss a few cans of it.

I had the six-pack in my hand and was out through
the main doors before the security guard knew what was
happening. On the way across the car park I thumped
every car I passed and laughed, legging it down the road,
hearing the howling of all those alarms. At the end of the
road I looked back. The security guard was beat and he
was talking on the phone. No problem. It'd be ages
before the guards got there and I would be long gone, in
under the bramble bush with my bike.

By the time I woke up I'd missed the bus to Limerick,
and probably the next one as well. I felt like death
warmed up. My guts were full of acid and my head was
spinning, and on top of all that my legs were so stiff
from the twenty-k cycle that I could hardly move them
at all.

There were five empty cans under the bike. I didn't
mean to drink that many. It was always the same with
me, though. Once I got started drinking I couldn't stop.
But I never used to go asleep when I was drinking with
the lads. Beetle was the one who did that, not me. I
always stayed awake, having the craic, looking for whatever
came next.

I threw up into the bushes beside me but it didn't
help. There wasn't much there, just a few dribbles. I
looked at the time on my phone. It was half four and
there would be plenty more buses, but I knew I couldn't
go now. I felt too ill and I'd lost my nerve. Ennis was a
small place and there was a good chance that someone
would recognize me. In any case, I didn't feel angry with
my ma now. I didn't feel anything except sick and cold
and lonely. I wished I was dead.

There was nothing new in that. I often thought of
hanging myself or getting hold of a gun and blowing out
my brains. That would teach my ma. I knew fellas who
had done it, too. Everyone said, 'Poor lad,' and 'What
must he have been thinking of?' but I never felt sorry for
them. I just thought, fair play to him. He had the guts to
get out.

I sat and looked at the river until I was able to move
again. Then I put the can that was left in the inside
pocket of my jacket and dragged myself and my bike out
of the brambles. Now the backs of my hands were all
scratched, and between the backs and the fronts there
was more red than white. I would have laughed if I
hadn't felt so sick.

I got back up to the road and got on the bike and
made my legs turn the pedals, even though they didn't
want to. I went away from the town centre and tried to
find my way through the back streets to my own road,
but I didn't know the place at all and after ten minutes I
was just getting more and more lost. It started to rain. I
asked a girl with a babby in a pushchair and she gave me
directions. I had to go back past the supermarket. I just
dropped my head and pedalled past and didn't look up
again until the place was way behind me.

It was lashing rain and I was soaked. Three times
along the road I stopped and puked into the ditch, but
whatever was making me sick didn't come out. Every
time I stopped I thought of my bus ticket and wondered
whether to go back, but I couldn't face the thought of
seeing people. I'd rather be in the house on my own.

I should have eaten something before I left town.
Every stretch I did on the bike was shorter than the one
before. My legs were giving out. After about two kilometres
I got off and pushed it. That's what I was doing
when PJ and Coley passed me in the car and stopped to
pick me up.

'I'm all right,' I said. 'I'll get home on my own.'

'You don't look all right to me,' PJ said. He was in
a bad mood. He took the bike off me and put it in the
hatchback with the front wheel hanging over the back
seat. He couldn't close the door so he tied it to the tow
bar with a piece of baler twine, I got in the back seat and
watched the bike wheel turning beside me.

PJ started the car and drove off. He looked at me
in the rear-view mirror. 'Have you been drinking?' he
said.

'No,' I said. 'I think I've got the flu or something.'

He sighed. 'My father rang me,' he said. 'He told
me you'd run off looking for your mother.'

I wished he would shut up. The exhaust fumes were
coming in the open back door and making me sicker
than ever.

'She went up to Dublin to sign on,' I said. 'She never
told me she was going.'

'When is she coming back?'

'Tomorrow, she said.'

'Well it's not the end of the world,' he said. 'You can
come up and stay with us tonight if you don't want to be
on your own.'

I seen Coley turn quickly and look at him, but I
couldn't read his face.

'No thanks,' I said. 'I'll be grand on my own.'

He went quiet for a bit, and then he said to Coley,
'How's the job going?'

Coley laughed. 'If you lined up all the cans I stacked
today you'd end up in China.'

'Why didn't you, then?' I said, but I don't think he
got it.

'Some lad stole a six-pack off a woman at the
checkout,' he said. 'He set off all the car alarms in
the car park.'

'I heard that,' said PJ. 'Everyone went out in the
street, wondering what was going on.'

Oh, that was brilliant. The whole town of Ennis
brought to a standstill. I smiled to myself in the back,
but then I caught sight of PJ's eyes in the mirror, watching
me. I straightened my face and closed my eyes and
prayed I wouldn't puke my ring up in his car.

Afterwards I wished I'd stayed at Coley's. I wondered
what the bedrooms looked like. Tidy as the kitchen,
probably, with flowery covers on all the duvets, and
pillow cases that matched. My ma had stuff like that in
the hot press in Dublin but she never got round to
putting them on the beds. She said they only got dirty
and she couldn't spend her whole life washing them.

But by the time I wished I'd stayed it was too late.
It was already dark and you'd have needed a crane to
get me out of the house after what I found under the
stairs.