A Keeper(47)

‘What? What has she been through?’ Patricia spat the words out. Angry and impatient.

‘She changed,’ Edward said quietly. He looked down at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. ‘After James. After he died.’

For a moment Patricia was silenced. She could imagine how losing a child could destroy a mother.

‘How old was he?’ she asked quietly.

‘Seventeen,’ Edward replied in barely more than a whisper.

‘What happened?’

He didn’t speak, just examined the folds in the covers.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she added softly.

‘No. I … I should tell you. You ought to know.’

Edward wondered how to begin his story. Should he start after the two boys had finished milking, when they had stood in the yard, James hosing off his wellington boots? He could tell her that it was a beautiful summer’s evening, the air still for once, and the sound of contented cows wafting lazily to them over the warm dusty fields. It was James who had suggested they take the boat out. Someone had told him that the mackerel were running and they still had a couple of hours of daylight. Of course Edward was going to agree. He was barely fourteen at the time and, having spent so much time alone on the farm, struggled to find his place amongst the packs of boys that roamed his school. James was more than just his big brother. He was his best, and only, friend. His hero, the man he wanted to become but doubted he ever would. James could control the herd with a few shouts, he was able to talk to girls, and their mother didn’t yell at him or tell him what to do. Edward would never have admitted it to a living soul, but he preferred life without their father.

Maybe his tale should begin a couple of hours later as night was creeping up on them and the wind suddenly returned, whipping up the grey ocean, slapping their little wooden rowing boat with growing force. Edward was the one who said they should head back and he hadn’t been able to disguise the fear in his voice. That was why James had stood up and started rocking the small boat from side to side. He had been laughing and teasing his younger brother. Edward had begged him to sit down but that only provoked James to rock the boat more violently.

He remembered he had reached up and touched James’s jumper. Had he pulled it? Had he tugged it? He could still feel the damp wool against his fingers. Edward had just wanted his brother to sit down. That was all. He had never wished him any harm.

What happened next was like a magic trick, or when the film skipped at the cinema in Clonteer. James just disappeared. Where his man-shaped outline had been visible against the darkening sky was suddenly clear. His brother was gone. Vanished. He remembered looking over the side but the choppy waves held on to their secrets. Had James jumped in to frighten him? Surely, he’d bob up to the surface in a moment, laughing and spluttering. He must be down there holding his breath. The seconds passed and became minutes and a horrified Edward had to accept that his brother was not coming back to the surface. He peered into the dark waves on either side but could see nothing. He wanted to jump in and slip through the waves like an oily seal till he found his brother but Edward couldn’t swim. That was partly why James had been trying to frighten him. He peered into the distance, trying to see if his brother’s dark-haired head had surfaced somewhere, but there was nothing. Edward felt sick and dizzy with panic. Where was James? He couldn’t be gone. James had to be alive, he had to be, but where? He called out his brother’s name, screamed it, but he knew that his voice wouldn’t carry to where his brother could hear his cries.

Later on he would try to piece it all together. James must have lost his balance, perhaps because Edward had pulled at him, but maybe he just slipped on some of the mackerel in the bottom of the boat, or the rocking of the waves had grown more violent. He would never know for certain. They had found some blood on the metal oar lock, so it was assumed that James had hit his head as he fell overboard and then his rubber wellingtons would have filled with sea water, dragging him down to the murky forest of seaweed that wafted placidly below.

Edward had begun to cry. This was awful beyond imagining. He couldn’t stay out at sea but equally how could he leave? He shouldn’t just give up on his brother. What would their mother say? The tears grew heavier and his sobs became howls that were swallowed by the wind and the darkness. He couldn’t go back to shore alone. It crossed his mind that he too should just jump overboard. Better that no one returned to Castle House than Edward without James. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his knees, paralysed by fear and grief.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that but when he finally managed to control his breathing and stop crying, it was fully night. In the distance he could see the light on the corner of the house and a glow behind the curtains in the front room. He would have to go back. He had no choice.

The oars felt much heavier than before and the sea had turned to treacle, but he slowly made his way closer to the shore. The steady slap and creak of the oars were his metronome. A groan on each pull, then stretch and down and pull again. James had taught him to row. He began to cry again.

As the boat neared the shore he could see a small light floating in the darkness. At first he couldn’t understand what it was but then he realised it must be someone on the beach with a torch. It would be their mother, worried and waiting. Soon she would hear the steady rhythm of the oars and the bow of the boat hitting the waves. He imagined her then, relaxing, thinking to herself that her boys were safe. He began to pull with less vigour, trying to delay what was to come. The horror as she stepped forward and saw that only one son had made it back to shore, and that boy was Edward. He began to shiver violently, the cold and shock and dread overtaking his body.