Taken Away (23 page)

‘He went into the mud.'

They all looked up at me. My ma frowned with confusion.

But James wasn't surprised. ‘Aye, lad,' he said quietly.

‘Jolly pushed him into the mud.'

Dom mouthed the words after me. ‘Jolly pushed him into the mud.' As if the repetition would force the sentence to make sense.

‘Aye,' said James, eyeing me warily. ‘God love him. Jolly knocked poor Lorry over. Couldn't do a thing about it.'

‘And Laurence drowned. In the mud.'

James nodded, his eyes swimming. Dom repeated the word ‘drowned', but without any emotion.

‘It was very quick, Shamie,' I said. I flicked my eyes to Mam. ‘It would have been very quick,' I said.

James Hueston tilted his head, as if begging me not to lie; as if the pain of a lie now would be worse than all the horrible ‘maybe's he'd carried with him all his life. ‘Are you sure?' he whispered. Not,
How do you know?
Or,
What are you talking about?
Just plain, honest belief that I was telling him the truth. ‘Are you
sure
?'

I nodded. There was a long moment of stillness. The five of us – those who were awake, those of us freshly conscious of how utterly cruel life was – just suspended there for a moment of silence, each in our own cocoon of thought. I was thinking,
So. That's how it happens. All the time. All over the world. People just fall away. There's no warning, and you can't do anything about it. No matter how old you get. You just lose people and lose people and lose them again, and you never get them back.

I glanced over at Dom.
I'll get you back
, I promised,
I'll fix this.
But the Dom looking back at me was anything but Dom. He was Francis, all Francis, nothing but Francis, devastated and alone, looking out from a stolen face at the world he'd lost, at the friends he'd never get back. My stomach iced over at the sight of him.
When
would I fix this? How?
How?
Where was Dom? He seemed so
gone
. So utterly, irrevocably gone. Dom.

‘You know the strangest part of it?' said James Hueston. He glanced up at Dom, then spoke directly to me. ‘You think it will kill you,' he said. ‘I thought all those things, each one as they happened, would be the last thing I'd be able to bear. But I'm
telling
you, you just go on. Life just goes on, and you travel on with it, through all the different things. And they all happen to you, and you just sail through them and carry on. I thought . . . ' He snapped his mouth shut. He glanced at my ma. And suddenly he was standing. He was pulling his coat on. He was pushing his fags into his pocket and looking around him in a glazed kind of confusion. ‘I should go,' he said.

Ma reached for him, panicky with concern. ‘Oh no, Mr Hueston! Don't go.'

James didn't seem to hear her. He turned to me again, as if he'd forgotten to pass on a message and wanted to deliver it before he went. ‘See, yesterday morning, I'd had enough. I woke up, and the dreams had been so bad. I got up, and I couldn't shake them. I thought about things I hadn't thought about in years. About Francis and May, about Lorry and poor Jolly. I had . . . ' His hands were in his pockets; he was thinking very hard. He looked directly at me again, searingly, willing me to get the point. ‘Son,' James said, ‘I've had a good life. I want you to understand that. I left here when I realised this country would never acknowledge men like Lorry and me, and I washed my hands of the place. Had me a grand adventure of a life. You just
go on
. Understand? No matter what it throws at you, life carries you on, and you make the very best of it.'

I stood there frowning at him. What was he telling me this for? I didn't need to know this. I hadn't lost anything.
My
brother was coming back! But, despite my growing scowl, James Hueston just kept talking, and staring me in the eye.

‘In
1947
, after the second war, I married me a lovely Creole woman, a big grinning, roundy woman. We lived in Paris, where she were from. It were too late for childer, and her two boys never took to me, but we had a jolly old time together. We spent our whole lives laughing, 'til God took her. And even after
that
, I just went on. I had me a lovely life, son. I done
so much
! That's what I wanted to make clear. And after Tania died, bless her, I came back here and settled down and it's all been . . . despite everything, it's all been
so good
! Life's been . . . ' He looked for a word, smiled when he found it. ‘Life's been
tasty
,' he said. ‘But the dreams got very strange these last few days, and when I woke up yesterday morning it were as though none of that good stuff had ever happened. It were as though I'd only ever had the bad times.' He ran his hand over his face. ‘All my hurts were distilled for me into something bitter, and that was all I could feel . . .I think that it's because of Lorry, son. And Francis. I think they're more than a dream. I think, maybe, they've always been more than a dream, because they never got the chance. Life never carried them on. You understand? Life never got tasty, and so all they have is their last moments and the bitterness of being
stuck
.'

He looked from Dom to myself and back again. Dom was completely blank. My ma was very quiet, her eyes roaming over James Hueston. She thought he was like Nan. She thought that this poor old man was wandering in his head, drifting in and out of lucidity, the hazy companions of his past side-by-side with the flesh and blood of his present.

James Hueston looked at me hard one more time. ‘You're
not stuck
, boy. No matter what's happened, or what will happen. No matter what you lose. Life will carry you on – every tomorrow brings the hope of change. You got to know that. I wish I'd known it earlier; you got to let yourself be carried along.'

I could feel my fingernails splitting the brittle fabric of the chair-back.
What's he telling me this for? I've not lost anything. Dom's coming back! I'm going to fix it, and Dom's coming back. I don't need this old-man advice. I don't
want
this old-man advice.

James saw this in my eyes, and he sighed and shook his head. Then he reached across the table and patted my mother on her arm. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, missus. I mean what I said – if you need help, please send the boys for me. I'll do whatever I can for you.'

Ma nodded uncertainly.

‘And thanks so much for what you're doing for Lacy. I don't have the words to thank you. I just don't have the words.'

Ma's face softened, and she nodded. James pushed his chair in and went and kissed Nan on the forehead.

‘What about poor Dominick?' Nan asked, reaching up to clutch James's hand. ‘I thought you'd be able to help, but it sounds like you don't have anything to give.'

Ma sighed wearily, assembled Dee into a manageable shape and got slowly to her feet. ‘Oh Cheryl,' she groaned. ‘Please stop.'

Dom, James, Nan and I glared at her, and her face flushed under our collective disapproval. She swallowed and dropped her eyes. She hoisted Dee's drooling weight onto her shoulder and mumbled without looking up at us. ‘I'm sorry. I get so impatient . . .I'm so tired . . . '

James reached for Ma. I think he was going to try and explain, but Nan stood instead, squeezing his hand quickly before letting go and speaking gently to Ma. ‘Take me up to bed, Olive love. Sure, we all need a rest.'

Ma met Nan's eyes. There was a moment of silent communication. Nan smiled and nodded. Ma swallowed hard and nodded back. ‘Alright, Cheryl love.'

‘I'll see Mr Hueston out, Ma. I'll lock up.'

Ma nodded gratefully at me, said goodnight to James and began to usher Nan from the room. At the foot of the stairs Nan turned and raised a hand to James, who was standing watching them with his hat in his hand.

‘Come visit me, Shamie,' Nan said. ‘I might not be here, I go away sometimes. But, if you come visit . . .I think I might know you.' She squinted at him, uncertain of the sense of what she was saying.

‘I'll visit, Lacy. Wild horses couldn't stop me, and that's the truth.'

Nan nodded without smiling, and the women disappeared around the bend in the stairs. James Hueston turned to me, about to speak, and I held up my hand. I felt my anger with him written all over my face. ‘Not here,' I hissed, and I gestured at the door as much as to say,
Outside.

Out we went. As the lights came on upstairs and all across the top of the house, we headed into the garden with Dom trailing behind us, silent and blank as a wall.

COLD COMFORT

I LED THE WAY
under the apple trees and out into the front garden. The breathless quiet that had descended when James and Nan first saw each other still had its hold on the night. The sky was a brilliant bowl of stars high above the purple silhouettes of the hurdy-gurdies. I was like a cold cyclone at the centre of all this peace, my anger so violent that I felt like I was spinning. I turned sharply in the middle of the garden and found myself face to startled face with James Hueston, who had expected me to bring him to the gate, I suppose, and was brought to a jarring halt by my sudden turn. Dom slouched at the back wall, looking up at us from under his hair.

‘What in God's name was that all about?' I got right up in the old man's face, so he had to draw himself back a bit. I could see him force himself not to blink. I was reminded instantly of the brutish men of the day before and how they had pushed this poor old man around. But, my God, I was angry, and despite the uncomfortable echoes I found myself poking him in the shoulder with a less than gentle finger. I just couldn't seem to hang on to my temper anymore. James Hueston had pushed my last button.

‘You listen to me,
Mister
Hueston.' A jab to the shoulder and the old man fell back a step. ‘I don't
need
you to tell me that life goes on. Alright? Because I haven't lost
anything
.' Another jab and another step back. Dom straightened and came forward from the wall. I kept my face close to James's. ‘Dom's just
stuck
.' Jab. ‘He's just
stuck
.' Jab. ‘And all we have to do is get Francis
out of him
and everything will be
okay
!' Another vicious jab, and James was three more steps closer to the wall. ‘Don't be looking at me with big eyes and giving me sympathy speeches, because they're
bullshit
. I haven't lost
anyone
. Dom's coming
back
.'

My hand was grabbed suddenly, and the searing pain of Dom's icy touch cut through my anger. He bent my jabbing finger so far back that I thought he'd tear it from the root.

‘You touch him again and I'll snap it right off, you hear me?' His white face was right up against mine and I could see blue marbling threaded under his skin, feel the frost on his breath. I forced myself to nod as I stared into his ocean-black eyes. ‘It's not Shamie's fault,' he grated. He gave my finger one final twist before releasing me, and I staggered back a step or two, cradling my screaming hand.

My heart was hammering away in my chest and my whole body was howling
fight fight fight
. I wanted to hold someone down. I wanted to pump my fist into their face. I wanted to grab them by their throat and squeeze 'til my hands were tired. I wanted to make someone pay and pay until they gave me everything back.

‘Dom's not dead,' I snarled. ‘He's
not
.'

Dom held my eye for a moment, making sure I didn't fly at his throat or something, and then he turned to James, his voice softening in brotherly concern. ‘You alright, Shamie?' He reached to touch James's arm, and the old man flinched back in fear. Dom paused in mid-gesture, his face crumbling. James stared at his hovering hand, back to Dom's face and at his hand again. Dom finally dropped his hand to his side, looking lost.

James Hueston scanned him up and down, taking in every detail of Dom's terrible condition in a way he hadn't been capable of 'til now. He shook his head, his eyes filled with that awful bloody sympathy. ‘Fran,' he said finally, ‘it
is
you in there, isn't it? What have you done to that poor boy?'

‘His name is Dominick,' I growled. ‘It's Dominick. Don't be calling him Fran. His name's not Fran.'

James Hueston turned that bloody sympathetic look on me, and I wanted to slap it from his face. ‘Son,' he said gently, flying in the face of my rage, ‘your brother isn't here anymore. He's gone.'

I flew at him, my hands clawed, but Dom flung an arm out without looking and stopped me. It was like running into an iron bar set in concrete. I just bounced off him.

‘What did you see?' Dom asked James. ‘When you met me in the garden, you saw something. You were going to say something to Pat . . . you wanted to
tell
us something, and then their mother came out and we all had to pretend.'

I shuffled up beside Dom and the two of us looked at the old man with equal intensity. I didn't envy him, out here alone with us, the hunched and staring freak-twins: one of us on the edge of violence, one of us a black-eyed monstrosity. To his credit, James didn't step back. He held his ground and met our eyes. I think he was searching for the words least likely to set me off.

‘Last night I woke up from another dream,' he said. ‘We were in Passchendaele again, me and Lorry. It's always Passchendaele these days. Only things weren't the same. Things were weird . . . '

I ground my teeth in frustration. ‘Jesus
Christ
! What the hell has that got to do—'

James snapped his eyes up to me and I stopped. I clenched my hands and my teeth and forced myself to shut up. ‘It started off as just a memory,' said James. ‘One of those moments that stays with you all your life. I often think of that day. It were a rare moment of peace in that terrible battle. We were drinking tea, Jolly brought me tea . . .I started to sing . . . '