Guilty One (12 page)

Despite himself, when the music started, he felt the tension that his body held, release. The lilting, insistent steps of the music took
him forward as he watched the curtains draw slowly over her coffin. Time seemed to linger and lag, and sitting there with strangers listening to the music that was so intimate to her and so intimate to him, he began to remember.

Moments in his life were pressed into being and vanished again, like the notes themselves. The A# note, and then the B note: he opened his mouth in shock as he felt his cheeks flush. His throat hurt.

How long it had been since he had heard the full concerto. He must have been a teenager when he heard it last: in his memory it was more painful, the discord sharper. Now he was surprised by the serenity of the piece, and how – in its entirety, finished, complete – both its harmony and its dissonance seemed exactly right.

The feelings that the music ushered were strange to him. He pressed his teeth hard together, right to the end, not wanting to admit to his grief. He remembered her warm strong fingers and her soft grey curls. His skin remembered the roughness of her hands. It was this that brought the tension to his body and the flush to his cheek. He wouldn’t cry; she didn’t deserve it, but some small part of him was yielding and asking to mourn for her.

In the car park, the sun had come out. Daniel took off his jacket as he walked to his car. He felt exhausted suddenly, no longer fit for the seven-hour drive back to London. He felt a hand on his arm and turned. It was an old woman, her face pinched and sunken. It took Daniel a moment, but finally he recognised her as Minnie’s sister, Harriet.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she said, her lips turning down, contorting her whole face.

‘Of course. How are you?’

‘Who
am I then? Say my name, who am I?’

Daniel took a breath and then said, ‘You’re Harriet, Aunt Harriet.’

‘Made it up, did you? Found the bloody time, now that she’s dead?’

‘I … I didn’t … ’

‘I hope you’re ashamed of yourself, lad. I hope that’s why you’re here. God forgive you.’

Harriet walked away, stabbing her way across the car park with her stick. Daniel turned towards his car and leaned on the roof. The leaves and the funeral and the quiet countryside had set his head spinning. He exhaled, rubbing the moistness of his fingertips. He heard Cunningham calling him and turned.

‘Danny – we’ve not had a chance. Would you have time for lunch then, or a cup of tea?’

He would have liked to refuse Cunningham, to be on his way, but all he wanted to do was lie down, and so he agreed.

In the café, Daniel hung his head and put a hand across his face. Cunningham had ordered a pot of tea for them both and a bowl of soup for himself. Daniel was not eating.

‘It must be hard for you,’ said Cunningham, folding his arms.

Daniel cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed by his own confused feelings for Minnie and chastened by Harriet’s harsh words. He was not sure why he felt so emotional. He had said goodbye to Minnie long ago.

‘She was a gem. A pure gem. She touched so many people.’

‘She was a tough old boot,’ said Daniel. ‘I think she made as many enemies as she did friends … ’

‘We’d’ve had it at the chapel, but she specifically requested a non-religious
committal and a cremation. A cremation, would you ever believe it?’

‘She gave up on God,’ said Daniel.

‘I know she didn’t practise for many years. I don’t have the time myself, if truth be told, but I always thought that her faith was still important to her.’

‘She told me once that the rituals and the charms were the hardest to let go of – she didn’t hold store in them, but she couldn’t stop. She told me once that Christianity was just another of her bad habits. If you knew her, she said a rosary when she was drunk. Bad habits go together … Your speech was good. It was right. She was a rebel.’

‘I think she should have gone back to Cork after Norman died. Her sister said as much, did you speak to her? She was the one at the end of the row.’

‘I know her sister. She used to visit us. I said a few words.’ Again Daniel looked away, but Cunningham did not notice and continued talking.

‘She was a woman before her time, she was, Minnie. She needed to be in a city, somewhere cosmopolitan … ’

‘Nah, she loved the country. That’s what she lived for.’

‘But her ideas were all city ideas, she’d’ve been better off.’

‘Maybe. It was her choice. Like you said, she loved her animals.’

Cunningham’s soup came and there were a few moments when he busied himself with napkin and buttered roll. Daniel sipped his tea and watched, still unsure what Cunningham needed to talk about so urgently. He was content to be quiet.

‘It’ll be some time before the estate is settled. I need to get a firm to clear the house and then put it on the market. In its condition,
I’m not expecting a quick sale, but you never know. I just want you to be prepared for it being a few months before we can settle up, as it were.’

‘Like I said on the phone, I don’t want anything.’

Cunningham took a wary mouthful of soup. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and then said, ‘I thought you might have changed your mind, coming to the funeral and all.’

‘I don’t know why I came. I suppose I had to … ’ Daniel rubbed his hands over his face. ‘… see for myself she was really dead. We’ve not been in touch for a while.’

‘She told me … There’s no rush about the estate. Like I said, it’ll be months before it’s finalised. I’ll contact you nearer the time and you can see how you feel then.’

‘Fine, but I can tell you now I won’t change my mind. You can give it to the dogs’ home. Sure that’d please her.’

‘Well, we can sort that out in due course.’

Silence stretched out before them, like a dog asking to be petted.

Cunningham looked out of the window. ‘Minnie was a gem, eh? Good laugh, she was. Great sense of humour, eh?’

‘I don’t remember.’

The man frowned at Daniel then turned his attention to his soup.

‘So, was it cancer then?’ said Daniel, taking a deep breath.

Cunningham swallowed, nodding. ‘But she didn’t fight it, you know. She could have had chemotherapy; there were surgery options but she refused them all.’

‘Of course – she would have.’

‘She told me that she’d been unhappy. I know you had a falling-out a few years ago.’

‘She
was unhappy long before that,’ said Daniel.

Cunningham’s spoon sounded against the bowl, as he scraped it clean. ‘You were one of her foster kids originally, weren’t you?’

Daniel nodded once. His shoulders and upper arms were suddenly tight and he shifted to release the tension.

‘You were special to her. She told me that. You were like her own,’ said Cunningham.

Daniel looked at him. He had a spot of soup on his moustache and his eyes were open and searching. Daniel felt a surprising anger towards the man. The café was suddenly too warm.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cunningham, motioning for the bill, as if realising that he had crossed a line. ‘She gave me a box of things for you. They are trinkets and photographs mostly – nothing of any great value – but she wanted you to have them. Best you take them now. They’re in the car.’

Cunningham drained his cup. ‘I know this must be hard on you. I know you had your differences, but still … ’

Daniel shook his head, unsure what to say. The pain had returned to his throat again. He felt as he had in the crematorium, fighting back tears and angry with himself because of that.

‘Did you want to deal with the house yourself? As family, you’re entitled … ’

‘No, just get a firm in, there’s nothing … I really don’t have time for it.’ It felt better saying that. The words were like fresh air. He felt squared by them, braced.

‘Feel free to go and take any personal items from the property while you’re up, but like I said there are a few things she set aside.’

They stood up to leave; Cunningham paid the bill. Before he opened the door, Daniel asked, ‘She didn’t suffer, did she?’

They
stepped out into the early autumn sun. The sharp clarity of it caused Daniel to squint.

‘She did suffer, but she knew that was unavoidable. I think she’d had enough really and she just wanted everything to end.’

They shook hands. Daniel felt Cunningham’s short, hard grip as conflicted, communicating the unsaid. It reminded him of handshakes he had given to clients after the judge had sent them down. Kindness delivered with quick violence.

Daniel was about to turn from him, excused, expelled, but then Cunningham threw up his hands.

‘Your box! Your box is in my car. One minute.’

Daniel waited while Cunningham retrieved the cardboard box from the boot. The smell of the fields and the farms did not calm him.

‘There you go,’ said Cunningham. ‘Not worth a lot, but she wanted you to have it.’

To avoid a second handshake, Cunningham saluted Daniel in the crematorium car park. Daniel was confused by the gesture, but nodded goodbye.

The box was light. He placed it in the boot of his car, without looking inside.

8

He
slipped his feet into the too-big wellington boots. Through his socks they felt cold, like jelly gone hard. He scattered kitchen scraps for the chickens as she had asked. He tried not to touch the cold vegetables with his fingers but some corn got stuck on his nails. He flicked it off like snot. Minnie had told him she thought his nose was broken. He found it hard to breathe as he fed the chickens. He didn’t mind so much as he hated the ming of them: ammonia and rotting vegetable and damp feather.

It was Saturday and she was making bacon and eggs for him. He could see her at the kitchen window. She was always quiet in the mornings. He knew it was the other side of the gin. He was eleven years old and knew about hangovers of the drug and drink kind, although he had never had one. He had been drunk, though. He had taken two tins of lager to bed with him one night and drunk them watching
Dallas
on the portable black and white in his mother’s room. He had been sick all down his pyjamas.

He wore his mother’s necklace as he fed the scraps to the birds – didn’t care if it made him look like a girl. He wanted to know the necklace was safe. He wanted to know she was safe. He wondered
what the social worker had told Minnie the night before. In the car on the way back, when Tricia told him that she didn’t know anything about his mother and the fire, he had felt there was something she was holding back.

Daniel sidestepped back into the house as Hector the goat watched him ruefully. His goat face reminded Daniel of his social worker. He slipped off his wellies in the hall. Blitz was lying right in front of the door. He lifted his head when Daniel entered but did not move and so he had to step over him. The kitchen smelled of fat and pork and onions.

Minnie served up. The sausages were so slick they slid over the plate. He took his fork and pierced their skin. That was what he liked best: piercing the skin and watching the juices ooze.

‘Are you feeling better this morning?’ she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking at his food.

‘How’s your nose? Could you sleep OK?’

He nodded.

‘I need to talk to you.’

He looked up at her face; his fork paused on his plate. Her eyes were opened a little wider than they usually were. Daniel felt his appetite fade, felt the oil from the sausages greasy in his throat.

‘Sometimes when bad things happen to you it probably seems easier just to run away, but I want you to try not running, to face the things you don’t like instead. It seems harder but in the long run you’re better off. Trust me.’

‘I wasn’t running away.’

‘What were you doing then?’

‘I was going to visit me mam.’

Minnie sighed and pushed her plate away. He watched as she bit her lip and then leaned forward, reaching out for his hand. He pulled
away from her slowly, but she stayed like that, with her hand stretched out towards him across the table.

‘We’re going to find out what happened to your mum. I want you to know that I am on the phone to them every day about it. I promise I’ll find out for you … ’

‘She’ll be all right. She’s always all right, like.’

‘I believe that too. I just want you to trust me. I’m on your side, love. You don’t need to do everything on your own any more.’

Promise. Trust. On your own.
The words hammered inside his chest. It was as if he hadn’t heard her or as if the words were stones, hitting him.
Love. Trust. Own.
Daniel was not sure why they bruised.

‘Shut up about it.’

‘Danny, I know you want to see your mum. I understand it. I’m going to help you find out where she is and within reason we can talk to your social worker about visits. But you have to watch out, Danny. I can’t have you running off all the time. They’ll take you away from me, you know, and that is the last thing I want on this earth.’

Daniel was not sure if it was the thought of not seeing his mother or being taken from Minnie that frightened him. He was tired of going to new places and then being sent away, yet he didn’t expect to stay here. He knew the leaving would be soon. It was best that he should initiate it.

First he became aware of his fingers, still sticky from the corn, sticking together as if they were webbed, then his heart began to beat hard and he couldn’t breathe. He stood up from the table and his chair fell back on to the floor. The bang of it startled Blitz, who
jumped to his feet. Daniel ran out of the kitchen and straight upstairs to his room.

‘Danny!’ he heard her call.

He stood at the bedroom window, looking down at the yard. His eyes were hot and his hands were trembling. He heard her on the stairs, pulling on the banister to heave herself up. He turned round and the dizzy rosebuds on the wallpaper swarmed at him.

He put his hands into his hair and pulled it until tears came to his eyes. He screamed long and hard until he was out of breath. As soon as she entered the bedroom, he took the jewellery box from the dresser and smashed it into the mirror on the wardrobe. When she moved towards him, he took the dresser and toppled it in her path. He saw her climb on to the bed to get to him and he started to bang on the glass of the window with his fist and then his head. He wanted out, away from her. He wanted his mam.