Mr. Flood's Last Resort(90)
I almost laugh. Where has he gone? He’s there in the bed.
I don’t understand.
Then I look up at him. His face is on one side. He must have turned towards me as I slept, maybe to say something. His eyes are open just a fraction, the still-dark eyebrows frowning just a little.
The nurse from before comes in with a tray of mouth sponges and puts them on the table.
And then I’m crying, swearing, shouting. Over the mouth sponges being too late and the jelly uneaten, over the draft from the window and the surly nurse. Over unfounded accusations and the breaking of an old man’s heart.
*
THERE IS some form filling that needs to be done. The doctor says she’s very sorry; I’m not sure whether for the forms or for the death.
My brother will be along, I say. If you’ve notified him, Gabriel will be on his way.
Would I like to take my father’s personal effects?
I would.
I wait in the relatives’ room, and a nurse returns with a white plastic bag marked “Patient’s Property.”
I’m to sign a sheet, which lists:
Shirts x 3
Jumpers x 2
Vest x 4
Trousers x 2
Woolen scarf x 3
Socks x 3
Tobacco
Cigarette papers
Engraved lighter
Set of keys
Hairpins x 2
Half a packet of cough sweets
Notebook.
*
I OPEN the notebook. It is filled with quick line drawings of the cats, or of Larkin, or of me. In one I’m bent over the hob with my hair falling over my face. In another I am holding a bowl up high and laughing while the felines prowl around my legs. The top of one of the pages is carefully folded down. I open the notebook at the page.
It is a drawing of a girl sitting in a window seat; behind her, a tall arched window. I stare at it. Bridlemere has four stories and at the top there is a belvedere glazed with tall arched windows, from where, if I ever got there, I could see for miles.
Maggie looks out from the page, a half smile playing on her lips.
CHAPTER 43
Four things were different on the day Deirdre disappeared: it was hot, Old Noel’s kiosk was closed, there were no birds in the sky, and Jimmy O’Donnell lost the plot.
The same man only different.
I knew Jimmy O’Donnell had lost the plot by the look in his eyes. Like Boland’s bastard collie looking at a bacon rind: an unblinking, unfaltering, locked-on stare.
“Did you tell, Maud?”
It was a simple enough question but my mouth was having difficulty forming words, so I shook my head. I didn’t even think of looking away.
“Don’t lie to me, now; no one else knew.”
Jimmy took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket without taking his eyes from me. He found his lighter without taking his eyes from me. He lit the cigarette without taking his eyes from me.
“Now, why would you do something like that?”
I put my book under my arm and stood up. To my right: sinking sand; to my left: horseflies; behind me: the sea; before me: Jimmy O’Donnell.
Jimmy stared at me with his collie-dog gaze. I was a stray lamb about to make a bolt for it on wobbly legs. One false move and he would bring me to the ground and have my throat out.
“Do you even know the trouble you’ve caused, Maud?”
I stood very still.
“I’ve lost my job.”
I stood very still.
“Your mammy called the guards on me.”
I stood very still.
“Everyone thinks I’m some kind of fucking monster.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
Jimmy O’Donnell took a step forwards, and my body turned to stone and my mind spun like a top inside it.
If I found the right word he would let me go. The right word would bring the real Jimmy O’Donnell back. His fists would unclench. His face would relax. There would be piggybacks and laughing and sweet money.
“Sorry,” I said.
And then I saw in his eyes that there was no Jimmy O’Donnell left at all.
*
DEIRDRE’S DIARY was purple with a little pretend lock. She kept it in her vanity case on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom we shared at Granny’s. Deirdre filled the diary daily, nightly, weekly, or never, with her big loopy writing. She liked pale-blue ink and dotted her i’s with love hearts. Sometimes she would fold things into the diary, like bubble gum wrappers and bus tickets.
Mammy read the whole story there when I put the diary into her hands.
Afterwards Mammy sat smoking cigarettes, looking out for Deirdre and Granny on the road that led to the bungalow. Then Granny washed lettuce for the dinner, I did some coloring, and Mammy knocked Deirdre into next week.
*
DEIRDRE APPEARED from nowhere. All of a sudden she was beside me.
Deirdre in her halter-neck dress, with her angel’s wing-bud shoulder blades, bubble gum doing a slow revolve in her mouth.
Deirdre. Her brown hair plaited to the side with wisps at the temples and her lip still swollen where Mammy’s ring had caught.
She didn’t look at me.
“Leave Maud out of this,” she said. “She didn’t say a word. I told Mammy.”
Jimmy stared at her. “You silly little fucking bitch. I said I’d get you the money, didn’t I? You’ve ruined me.”