The Sister(11)

Over the years, he gradually weaved an insular blanket to throw over the intrusive thoughts and fears that plagued him. He hadn’t removed the root causes, but he’d never consciously allow them to trouble him again.





Chapter 9



Southern Ireland 1969





Brenda Flynn was Vera’s aunt; once considered the life and soul of parties. She was always telling jokes and many a stranger ended up with sore ribs after she’d elbowed them hard on delivering the punch line. While they doubled up in pain, her raucous laughter infected everyone around to join in, none more so than her previous victims.

Life changed dramatically in 1969 with the death of her husband in a farmyard accident. One cold morning, he started the engine and left it to heat up, then reaching back in to pull something off the front seat, he snagged the gear lever; the tractor started forward with him half in and half out. She saw it as she ran out to take him the sandwiches he’d left behind on the kitchen table. He lost his footing trying to get back into the cab and fell under the back wheel. Widowed and childless, part of her died that day, too.

She became embittered and sour.





A few weeks later, her brother and his entire family burned to death when their home caught fire. All perished apart from Vera. Alerted by the flames, villagers found her wandering, aimless, outside the house. The fire brigade pinpointed the upstairs landing as the origin of the fire. They always left a candle burning there because of Vera’s sleepwalking, in case she couldn’t see and fell downstairs.

With no family to look after her, she faced the orphanage. Fortunately, her aunt would not allow that as Ireland in those days was no place for a child to grow up in a Catholic institution.

Her niece was only thirteen, but Brenda never knew what she was getting herself in to. Something played on the child’s mind; whatever it was, it wouldn’t let her rest. One night, despite what they say about never waking a sleepwalker, Brenda did just that, questioning Vera about the fire while she was in her somnambulant state.

‘Is that how the fire started, when you were on your wanderings?’

She did not appear to wake fully. ‘No, it was the dog, chasing a rat. It knocked the candle over at the top of the stairs. When I saw what happened, I was on the beach, too far away to get back to warn them.’

The older woman stared in disbelief, and wondered if the child before her was truly awake.

In her mind’s eye, Vera saw it all again, the way the fire caught quickly, the draught funnelling through the stairwell fanning the flames, the melted wax turning it into an inferno. The next thing she knew she was outside in her nightie, warmed by the heat of the fire.

She didn’t tell her aunt she’d warned her mother about the fire three nights before. She didn’t tell her because she was a child who'd not yet made sense of it all, who was afraid she’d frighten her and because she’d known it would happen in advance and didn’t do enough to prevent it from happening. There was something else, too, that she didn’t tell. While she was on the beach that night, she’d projected herself into her parent’s bedroom to warn them. Her ma sat astride pa, riding him. Her father had seen her, but believing her to be sleepwalking, whispered, so as not to wake her, ‘I don’t want disturbing taking what little pleasures there are to be had in this life. From now on, I’m locking that door.’

‘Wait,’ her mother said, raising herself off him. She’d seen Vera, too. ‘There’s something wrong. What is she doing here? Why is she pulling that face?’

‘She’s only sleepwalking again, don’t worry love. Get back into bed and be quiet, and then she’ll go away.’ Vera looked sad. She knew she should have tried to wake the others first. It was already too late as her projection left the room.

One minute she’d been there, the next she was gone. They didn’t question it until they heard the screaming. Her pa never noticed the heat of the door handle as he opened the door. A massive fireball engulfed them. It was only afterwards that she realised she couldn’t directly interfere with what fate had planned.

Finally, Vera spoke. ‘I tried to wake them.’

Her aunt berated her, ‘You stupid, stupid child, you should have tried harder! What you did not do killed your parents.’ She couldn’t believe her own words as they tumbled out of her mouth. What she’d have given to call them back unheard; but it was too late.

It started a chain reaction. Vera retaliated by telling her she’d killed her own husband.

Stunned into silence, Brenda reacted with undisguised venom. ‘What did you just say?’

Vera was afraid of her anger.

‘What did you just SAY?’ she shouted; the veins in her neck stood out, and her piggy eyes bulged almost out of their sockets.

Vera looked down; she spoke quietly. Brenda leaned in to hear her better.

‘The last time you were in the tractor, you left your jacket on the front seat. Uncle Tommy started the engine to warm her and jumped down. Seeing it there, and not wanting you to feel the cold, he reached back in and pulled it across the seat. As it came, it snagged the gear lever; he wasn’t really looking. He felt it catch, and he tugged it harder. It slipped into gear. You know the rest.’

Now she knew how it had happened as seen through the eyes of the child before her.