The Weight of Him(28)

“We sang carols, mostly, but we revved them up a bit, made them contemporary.” Michael’s enthusiasm returned. “We gave a mad rendition of ‘Fairytale of New York,’ too. Everyone loved it.” He laughed. “They made us sing it twice, and then a third time for the encore.”

“Many there?” Billy asked.

“About a hundred, maybe more.”

“What? No way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael said. “It was deadly.”

Billy sniffed theatrically. “You got your musical talent from me, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, right,” Michael said, laughing again.

“I’m serious,” Billy said, sounding mock-offended. In truth, they had no idea where Michael had gotten his musical ear or talent, but it was most certainly not thanks to Billy.

Messing, Billy launched into “Fairytale of New York,” butchering the song with gusto.

“Jesus.” Michael covered his ears.

Billy kept on, sounding worse by the second. Michael soon joined in. Billy quieted, letting Michael finish the song. The boy had a raw, haunting sound to his voice, as if he knew losses, and a burning ache, far beyond his years.

That night, it took Billy a long time to get to sleep. Out of nowhere, tears. He could hardly believe he’d helped make someone as fine as Michael, as full of feeling. He replayed Michael’s singing in the car in his head, at the edge of sleep at last. But what finally sent him into a deep, sated slumber was the memory of Michael’s single word in the dark car park, when the boy had wanted to be sure of him.

“Dad?”





Nine

Billy stepped onto the new digital scale he’d purchased, one with the mortifying capacity of four hundred pounds. He stepped off, and back on, double-checking. Three hundred and ninety-three pounds. The flood of relief almost doubled him over. He had lost eight pounds, the equivalent of four bags of sugar. Eight slabs of butter. A mound of potatoes. He felt a rush of thanks.

He’d messed up big time the other night at the chipper, but never again. Everything else he was doing, the shakes, diet, and exercise, they were all obviously working. He pumped his fist in the air. When had he stopped believing in himself? When had he started to believe he had no willpower, no strength? Forget that. He still had willpower. Still had strength.

During breakfast, Lisa texted to say she would arrive shortly. He cursed under his breath, drawing a shocked look from Anna. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Lisa was the last thing he needed. He finished his porridge and strawberries in a rush and moved to the computer. After an Internet search, he walked out back to phone the Samaritans’ local branch. The line rang out. He checked his watch. Not quite ten o’clock. He paced up and down the yard, waiting.

The call would be a waste of time. Of course the Samaritans were going to say yes to whatever monies he raised—but anything to keep Lisa quiet. Besides, he also wanted to ask them if someone high up in their ranks would participate in the march and give a talk afterward in the hall, all of which he’d record and include in his documentary. He redialed the number.

A woman answered, her voice clipped but kind. “Samaritans, can I help you?”

“Hello?”

“Good morning, how can I help?”

He hesitated, picking his words. “I’m doing this charity thing, to raise money for yourselves, and someone said maybe I had better clear that with you first? That there might be some paperwork I should complete?”

“That’s wonderful, thank you, we appreciate every cent. I don’t believe there’s any paperwork necessary…”

He smiled to himself. Lisa and her meddling, her always needing to be right.

“Let me put you on hold for a sec and I can double-check. I’d like to be clear, though, before I get off the line, you’re not having any kind of emergency? You didn’t want to talk about anything else?”

“What?” He sounded a single, sharp laugh. “No, no, nothing like that.” His other hand held the side of his head.

She placed him on hold, and moments later returned. “Yes, that’s confirmed. There’s no paperwork or clearance needed. We’ll take every cent, arm and all.” She laughed. Then, “What is it exactly you’re doing?”

He considered lying. “I plan to lose half my body weight, two hundred pounds, and I’m asking people to sponsor my weight loss.”

“Goodness, that’s … that’s unbelievable. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone doing anything like that before.” He heard a sudden wariness in her voice. “Hang on a sec.” She placed him on hold again. The moments stretched. A minute, more, passed.

“Hello? Are you still there?” She sounded guarded. “Listen, I was just talking to my colleague here, he’s been volunteering a lot longer than me. He suggested you phone our head office on Monday and talk to them.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Well, what you’re doing, it’s a bit … risky, like.”

“I don’t understand? Everything was grand a minute ago?”

“If anything went wrong, like.”

Billy stopped himself from blurting, You mean if I drop dead.

She gave him the number of their Dublin office. “Talk to them, they can best advise you.”