Thin Air (3 page)

‘Will you come and look?’ said Aine.

‘Not a chance in the world, young lady.’

‘Please?’

‘No, no Aine. I’ll not go up to the fort again.’

‘Never?’

‘Well. Maybe one day. If I started out very, very early in the morning and came back very, very late at night …’ He had assumed his familiar, playful expression and Aine felt her fears begin to melt. She punched his arm, quite hard, and continued to swipe at him as she followed him down the hill.

As they crossed the water a pair of swans swam out from the island and watched them, as though to make sure that they were really leaving.

‘They’ll be nesting, I suppose,’ said Thomas.

‘There’s a new girl in our school,’ said Aine. ‘She’s from England. She says that nobody is allowed to kill swans. She says it’s because they belong to the Queen.’

‘Is that what she says?’ said Thomas.

‘Is it right?’ said Aine.

‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘Irish swans don’t belong to the Queen. Irish swans belong to themselves.’

‘Are we allowed to kill them, so?’

‘We are not,’ said Thomas. ‘Because you’d never know who they once were or who they might become.’

‘Like the children of Lir?’ said Aine.

‘Like the children of Lir,’ said Thomas.

Gerard and The Nipper were still there, still standing in the shallows as the boat drew towards the shore. A few early midges danced around their heads, but they hadn’t started to bite, yet.

Aine was still bailing, and the horse snorted as the boat glided towards him. He stepped away until the rope in Gerard’s hand brought him to a halt. Thomas punted with an oar and stopped the boat. The dog fell off the prow and then, pretending that he had jumped off, began to snap at minnows, real and imagined.

‘Still lame, then?’ said Thomas.

‘He has my heart broken,’ said Gerard. ‘I was certain that he was right.’

‘You put him back into work?’

‘He was sound as a bell, Dad. You wouldn’t have known that he was ever wrong.’

The horse had begun to come back towards Gerard, mainly to see what the dog was after. Thomas slipped out of the boat and waded across to him. He felt the leg, the only white one. The water made it look pink.

‘You’ve no patience, that’s your trouble,’ said Thomas to the surface of the lake. Gerard looked towards the sky and made ‘here-we-go-again’ faces at Aine. She laughed and threw water at him from the Coke bottle.

‘Jesus, Aine!’

‘Sorry.’ She was shocked. She hadn’t meant it.

‘You ought to have turned him out,’ said Thomas, dropping the white leg and slowly straightening his back. ‘I told you that a month ago.’

Gerard glared at Aine, who looked down at Popeye. The Nipper blew hot breath into Thomas’s pockets.

‘You’ll have to do it now, anyway,’ Thomas went on. ‘If you don’t you’ll never get him right.’

‘There you all are!’

Aine turned to see her mother standing on the shore. ‘You might have said you were bringing her off with you!’

‘Ah, sure, we only went over to the island,’ said Thomas.

‘And it’s nearly dark. How was I supposed to know where she was?’ No one answered, so Brigid went on: ‘Bring her over, will you, Ger?’

Gerard gave the horse to Thomas and lifted Aine out of the boat. She dropped the Coke bottle and put both her arms around her father’s neck, loving him more than was possible. He was so strong, so warm, so safe.

‘I saw a big giant,’ she said.

‘A big giant? Did you?’ His boots sloshed through the water. ‘And did you see the whale?’

‘What whale?’

‘Don’t be telling her stories, Ger,’ said Brigid. ‘Your father’s bad enough.’

Gerard winked and dropped Aine on to dry land. Her mother put an arm around her shoulders and hugged.

‘Have you seen Martina?’ she asked.

Gerard shook his head and waded back out to Thomas and the horse. The boat was beginning to drift. Thomas went after it and the dog jumped in.

‘Goodnight, Grandda.’

‘Night, Aine.’

He had one foot in the boat and the other in the water. She would bring him up to the fort. He would never die.

‘Do you know where Martina is?’ said her mother as they walked together across the dewy fields towards the house. Without thinking, Aine shook her head.

W
HILE AINE HELPED HER
mother to clear away the pale and pasty remains of the meal, Gerard lit the fire in the sitting room. He watched the
News
while Aine started a favourite jigsaw and Brigid tidied around them, then they all settled in to watch
The Late Late Show
. Gay Byrne was interviewing a woman who had written a book about how women ought to behave towards men if they want to keep them. Nobody said anything, but it seemed to Aine that her parents were involved in one of those awkward silences, like when they were angry with each other. She hoped she wouldn’t be sent to bed. The show was boring but the woman talked about sex a lot so it was bound to be up for discussion in the playground on Monday.

Thomas finished washing up and turned on the TV. On the mat beside the fire, Popeye pricked up his ears and listened to the night going on outside without him. He looked up at Thomas with the sorrowful gaze of a prisoner. Thomas sat down heavily in the battered armchair. The dog sighed and went back to sleep.

When the ad break came up, Gerard stretched and said: ‘I’d say Martina’s met up with some of the lads.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Brigid.

‘They’ll be down in Duignan’s I’d say.’

Brigid sighed deeply. ‘And you’ll want to go and find out, I suppose?’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Gerard, showing a momentary interest in a lager ad. ‘Do you want to go?’

‘Well we can’t both go, can we?’ She nodded towards Aine who felt suddenly conspicuous.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Gerard again. ‘You go if you want to.’

‘As if I would,’ said Brigid, under her breath.

‘What?’ said Ger. ‘What did you say?’ Aine tensed, hearing the anger enter her father’s voice.

‘Nothing,’ said Brigid. ‘You go.’ She stared fixedly at the television. Gerard did, too. Gay Byrne came back on and everybody in the audience clapped. He introduced a new band, who launched into a loud song. Brigid and Gerard seemed to be watching, but Aine could tell that they were really both waiting.

‘Do you like the song?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said her mother. ‘Do you?’

Gerard stood up. ‘Right, so,’ he said.

Brigid said nothing. She didn’t look at him.

‘See you later, then,’ he said, and closed the door behind him. Brigid stared at the TV. The loud song ended and Gaybo said: ‘Well done, well done.’ Aine became aware of a terrible sadness in the room. She remembered the thing on the island with the long bones and the cloven hooves, and she abandoned the jigsaw and crossed the room to snuggle in beside her mother on the sofa. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t be sent to bed at all.

Mick’s parents eventually gathered themselves together and went out.

‘Jesus, fucking Christ,’ said Mick. ‘I thought they’d never go.’

They went into the sitting room where Gay Byrne was saying, ‘Well done, well done.’ Mick’s younger brother was watching him.

‘Bed,’ said Mick.

‘No way,’ said David.

‘Bed, I said.’

‘Dad said I could watch the
Late Late
.’

‘Well we’re not watching the
Late Late
are we? So sod off. Now.’

‘What are you watching then?’ asked David.

‘A video.’

‘What video?’

A car crawled along the street outside. Joseph listened, every nerve on edge, waiting for his father to burst through the door in righteous rage. The car passed on. Joseph breathed.

Mick grabbed David by the elbow and dragged him up from the sofa. David wriggled like an eel, freed himself, and dropped back on to the cushions. Mick set his jaw.

‘Anyway,’ said David. ‘I know what video it is.’

‘What is it then, smart-ass?’

‘It’s the one everyone’s been watching. About those two girls.’ The others’ silence told him that he was right. ‘And I’m watching it.’

‘No way, José.’

‘Or I tell Dad.’

‘Oh, let him, for God’s sake,’ said Stephen. ‘They’ll be back before we get the flaming thing turned on!’

‘But he’s only eleven!’

‘So fucking what?’

Mick seethed. ‘If you tell Dad, you’re dead. You hear?’ He went up to his bedroom and returned with two cans of lager and the video in a cracked case. Stephen cheered. Joseph listened as another car passed by.

The street outside Duignan’s was lined with cars. Gerard stopped in the middle of the road and studied them. There was no sign of Trish’s car, and he drove on until he found a place to pull in. A fresh breeze was blowing crisp packets and sweet wrappers along the street as he walked back towards the pub. Trish’s car was definitely nowhere to be seen, and he was about to put his head around the door and look in when he remembered that she had gone to Limerick with the intention of changing it. He examined the line of cars again. Some of them he knew but there were plenty that he didn’t. Any of them could have been Trish’s new one. He hesitated. If she was there she might think that he had come looking for her and not for Martina at all. Already he could feel his face beginning to colour with anger and embarrassment. He didn’t need it. Martina was sure to be there. She always was on a Friday.

A lad and a girl came out, glued together at the armpits. Gerard nodded and stepped back to let them pass. Beery warmth accompanied them. Gerard turned and walked the other way down the street towards his own regular, O’Loughlin’s.

Aine snuggled down deeper into the hollows of her mother’s body. Gaybo’s voice began to echo and boom. Thomas was trying to dig his foot out of the entrance to the souterrain with the fork. Stones moved, then rumbled and heaved with the pressure of something inside. It seemed to be a sheep-turd, but it wasn’t. It was the bull, which emerged like a newborn creature, shoved out of the earth by some inner force. It was mean and dangerous, and was accompanied by the dreadful smell of dead things. Aine jumped and sat up, grabbing at her mother’s cardigan, staring wide-eyed at the middle of the room. Brigid put both arms around her.

‘What’s wrong? Bad dream?’

On the television, Gaybo was talking to a man who kept laughing.

‘I saw a big giant today,’ said Aine.

‘Did you? A big giant?’

Aine knew that she was being humoured. She nodded anyway. ‘On the island.’

‘On the island. A big giant. I hope you chased him off.’

Aine shook her head. ‘He was dead.’

‘Oh. He was dead. Well, then, we have nothing to worry about, have we?’

Aine shook her head. She turned over so her mother couldn’t see her and put her thumb into her mouth. It wasn’t the idea of the bull that scared her so much as the thought of it emerging from the earth like a worm or like the calf that she had once seen being born, coming out of a hole in its mother. The embers of the fire drew her in and showed her hag faces. She closed her eyes and tried to think about a new bicycle.

The beginning of the tape was bent and scratched. Dim shadows moved behind crackling white fizz.

‘Jaysus, this is brilliant!’ said Joseph. He was sitting on the sofa, squashed in between Stephen and David. Mick sat on the armchair, swearing. David fidgeted nervously with the tail of his shirt. Stephen cracked the tab on a can. A feeble froth bubbled out.

‘Ooh,’ said Mick, heavily camp. ‘Suck it off, Jo, quick, suck it off.’

Joseph laughed and leaned across. As his lips got close to the can, Stephen lowered it and wedged it between his legs. Joseph followed it for a few seconds, then caught on. Mick howled with glee. Joseph gave Stephen a shove.

‘You bollocks!’

‘Shhh!’ said David. On the TV, a woman’s voice could be heard, saying: ‘Now what are we going to do?’

The mist cleared. There were two women standing beside a car with a flat tyre. One of them was blonde and the other one was dark. They were both wearing shorts, high heels, and lots of make-up. They both had large breasts barely concealed inside skimpy T-shirts.

‘The blonde’s mine,’ said Mick.

‘No way,’ said Stephen. ‘Here, I’ll fix the flat. I’ve got a pump.’ He worked an imaginary bicycle pump above the beer can in his crotch. Joseph giggled.

‘Shhh!’ said David.

Two guys had pulled up in a flashy car. They got out and started talking to the girls. Their voices didn’t match what their lips were doing, but it didn’t seem to matter. They were both dark and stubbled and dressed in black leather and sunglasses. It was quite clear that they were bad news but not, apparently, to the two women, who were delighted to get into the car with them.

Thomas rebuked Gaybo and switched him off. The dog leapt up and preceded him to the back door. Outside, a fresh breeze was getting up, but it wasn’t about to be a storm. Not yet. Above the scudding clouds a bright moon sent light to make the dark surface of the lake gleam. Thomas listened to the night. Popeye listened too, then chased off about some important business. In the hazel behind the house, something rustled and flapped and was still again. The wind brought the sound of a car, but it might have been a mile away. Thomas called for the dog, who appeared from nowhere and sat down at his feet. Something nagged at the back of Thomas’s mind, something that he ought to have attended to but had forgotten. He couldn’t get at it, and it slipped away among all the other things that mattered once but no longer did. The dog sniffed the air, reading it but unable to translate. The man was aware of the comparative poverty of his senses. They were growing shallower, too, so that at times he seemed barely to be connected to this world but to another, more subtle one. Sometimes it frightened him, but at other times, like now, that waiting world seemed much more exciting. It was ancient and quiet but none the less vibrant for all that. It was, he realised now, the place that the stories came from. More real than the heaven that the priest described because it was here, now, and it always had been. It was just that people tended to forget it, somehow.

He looked towards the big house. It was full of lights, but the people inside it were dark and mean, turned in on themselves, selfish like the whole of their generation. There would never be an end to all they could want and all they could get. They were hardly the same breed as the old people. And yet they were.