My Sister's Bones(34)

‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ I say as I take a cup from the cupboard and pour some tea from the pot. ‘What brings you here?’

He takes his cap off and puts it on the table. He looks preoccupied.

‘What is it, Ray?’

‘I just wanted to come and check you were okay,’ he says as I put his tea down in front of him. ‘Last night . . . in the pub. You were in ever such a state.’

Last night? The pub? I try to order my thoughts. And then I remember: Ray was there. What did he see?

‘Oh, that,’ I say, smiling nervously. ‘Just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all. Nothing for you to worry about.’

He frowns as he takes a sip of tea.

‘I was just coming out of the pub when I saw your sister’s fella putting you in the taxi,’ he says, placing his cup down. ‘You were shouting and yelling; making a right scene. At first I thought he was hurting you or something but then I saw the state you were in. I thought I’d better check on you, see if everything was all right.’

I suddenly feel light-headed. I pull a chair out and join Ray at the table.

‘Honestly, Ray, it was just a one-off,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t normally drink. I’m a lightweight.’

I laugh awkwardly.

‘It’s no good for you,’ says Ray. ‘I’ve seen many a good man ruined by drink.’

‘Me too,’ I whisper. ‘Though I wouldn’t describe my dad as a good man.’

‘Ah, come on now,’ says Ray. ‘He’d suffered a hell of a lot.’

‘We all did,’ I say, my voice hard. ‘You know he knocked my mum around, don’t you? And me?’

Ray shuffles in his seat uncomfortably.

‘We heard talk of it,’ he says. ‘In the town. But it weren’t our place to –’

‘Get involved?’ I snap. ‘Help? What’s the old saying? All that’s necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing?’

He looks wounded and I immediately regret being so harsh.

‘I’m sorry, Ray,’ I say, my voice softening. ‘It wasn’t your fault what happened with Dad. I just get so angry when I think about it, that’s all. Especially what he did to Mum.’

‘It’s understandable,’ says Ray. ‘Though I saw another side to your father. A softer side.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I say. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘You know how we met, don’t you?’ says Ray, fixing me with his grey, rheumy eyes. ‘Your folks and me?’

I shake my head. I’d never asked how they met. As far as I was concerned Ray had been in our lives for ever, or as long as I can remember anyway.

‘That terrible day they lost your wee brother,’ he says, his voice cracking. ‘Well, I was the one who found him.’

‘You . . . you were the fisherman?’ I stutter, the words of my mother’s letter coming back to me. ‘The one who brought him back to shore?’

He nods his head.

‘Oh, Ray,’ I gasp.

‘I’ve never got over it,’ he says, his hands trembling. ‘That tiny little boy just floating there . . . I tried. I tried with all my might. Gave him the kiss of life; went through all the first aid I knew, but it was no use. He was dead.’

My eyes fill with tears as we sit in silence. My little brother fills the room. There is so much I want to ask Ray but I don’t know where to start.

‘But you see,’ says Ray finally, ‘if it affected me like that, just think what it did to your father?’

‘He wasn’t there,’ I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

‘Precisely,’ says Ray. ‘And you know what? In the years that followed when we became mates, when we sat at the bar in The Ship and nursed our pints, he would quiz me over and over again on what happened that day. He wanted to know every little detail. He said he’d let the little lad down; that he should have been there.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But that doesn’t excuse what he did to Mum and me. Why did he have to take it out on us?’

‘It was the drink,’ sighs Ray. ‘Many’s the time I’d pop in for a quick pint and your dad would already be on his third and it was not yet six in the evening. I’d drink mine and leave him there. God knows how many he knocked back each night.’

I flinch, remembering the feeling of dread as we waited for him to come home.

‘But don’t you see?’ says Ray, putting his hand on mine. ‘It was the drink that made him angry. If only he’d have dealt with that then maybe things would have been different.’

‘Maybe,’ I say, though I don’t believe it. Dad hated me even when he was sober.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, taking my hand away. ‘I know you were friends but the day that man had a heart attack and died was the day my life and my mother’s changed for the better. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh but that’s the way it is.’

He nods his head and sighs.

‘You know my sister’s an alcoholic?’ I say. ‘That was another of Dad’s legacies.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’d heard she weren’t doing too well. It’s such a shame. She was a sweet little girl. Always chatting away nineteen to the dozen and such a pretty thing too. It’s funny but whenever I think of you two girls I see you there on that beach with your mum. She would always be taking you for picnics.’