The Boy Who Lived With Ghosts: A Memoir (5 page)

The caretaker from that block of flats was really unhappy when he found us screaming in his boiler room and he asked me where we live and I told him our address, even though strictly speaking he was a stranger and I should not be speaking to him. But this is how we were able to get back to our house with the caretaker before the boiler room blew up.

And even though it’s Dad’s birthday today, he still took down Margueretta’s knickers and spanked her because the caretaker wanted someone punished. That’s only right because it was very annoying having to drag us home with Emily and me crying the whole way.

But being locked in a boiler room that was about to explode is not why I am so upset. I am upset because nobody told me about my dad’s birthday until now and I am very sad because I cannot buy him a birthday card. Birthday cards cost money and so do flower seeds. I only get one penny of pocket money per week and I saved for six weeks to buy the daffodil seeds, which cost sixpence a packet. Mum is sad a lot of the time, so I have to grow the daffodils as soon as possible to make Mum think of the sun so that she will not be sad again. And now I don’t have any spare pocket money to buy Dad a card. That’s why I am upset and that’s why I am going to make him a card.

I’m not going to have much time to make a birthday card because it’s getting late and I’ve only just got back from the garden shop. The man in the shop was not very nice and he said there’s no such thing as daffodil seeds. I don’t know how you can grow daffodils without seeds but he said it doesn’t matter anyway because you can only grow daffodils in the spring. And it’s the end of spring now.

And when I started to cry, he asked me why I was so sure I wanted daffodils and I told him I needed yellow flowers like the sun for my mum and then she won’t be sad. And he said that’s a very good thing to do for my mum but I should grow sunflowers, not daffodils, and sunflowers grow in the summer. I have not heard of sunflowers before but there is a picture on the packet and the man looked at me and told me to wipe away my tears because any idiot could grow sunflowers. But you must not forget to water them.

I have not told anyone about the sunflowers. I have especially not told Emily because girls cannot keep secrets. That’s why I have also not told Emily that I have a box of matches in my pocket that I found on the sideboard.

I will plant the sunflower seeds soon, in the backyard near the wall, being careful not to dig up Boots or Judy. Also I will not forget to water them.

Nana said not to worry that I can’t buy a card for my dad.

“He didnee buy you ones so much as a card for yer birthday! And he still hasnee mended that rusty old bicycle.”

But she gave me an old paper bag and we folded it in half like a card and I drew a picture of Daddy and me on the front, riding in a police car. And she showed me how to write inside, “Happy Birthday, Daddy!” And she wrote out “With all my love from Johnny,
”
and I copied it in my best handwriting. And I added four kisses. I think four is the right number. We don’t have any envelopes so I’ve put it on the sideboard for him and he will see it at soon as he comes home and it will make him happy and I hope he doesn’t notice that it is an old paper bag from Timothy White’s. I also drew a blue flashing light on the police car with my crayon.

“Let’s have some wee tunes,” Nana said. “Some wee tunes while we wait for your father to come home.”

“Why bother?” Mum replied.

But Nana put a record on the gramophone.

Oh, roamin’ in the gloamin’ on the bonnie banks o’ Clyde,
Roamin’ in the gloamin’ wi’ ma lassie by ma side.
When the sun has gone to rest; that’s the time that I like best…

And Nana told me to dance with her but she never put her hand down my pants to grab my willy because The Irish weren’t there and it wasn’t the tickling song.

“When will Daddy be home?” Emily asked.

“Only he knows,” Mum replied.

“When will we sing ‘Happy Birthday’?” I asked.

“Soon. Soon enough,” Mum replied.

“Och, I’ll put this one on. It’s your father’s favorite. Enrico Caruso. ‘The Lost Chord.’”

“Oh, he’s lost the chord alright!” Mum added. “Lost everything more like it!”

Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly,
Over the noisy keys.

“It’s such a waste,” Mum continued. “Wasting his gift from God. What a bloody waste.”

I know not what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

“Caruso sung that wee song for the victims of the
Titanic
, you know,” Nana said.

“What?” Mum replied and lit a cigarette while handing one to Nana.

“After the
Titanic
sunk. He’s Italian. That’s why you cannee understand the words. It’s his accent. And I think you’ll find that he’s dead now. He said he wasnee feeling well and no one listened to him. Then he died, poor wee beggar. Ha! Ha! Yer a lang time dead. Right enough, lassie.”

“Right enough, Mother.”

“Do you think he will like my card?” I asked.

“He will, Johnny. That he will,” Nana replied.

“Can we play party games when he comes home?”

“Yes, Johnny.”

“And will we dance with him?”

“You will, little lad,” Nana replied.

We don’t have any real swords because you could cut your foot off with a real sword. So we put the broom and mop on the floor and danced the Highland Fling and Nana made whooping sounds like a Red Indian. I danced with her but I didn’t make any whooping sounds.

And Mum kept looking at the clock and I kept looking at my card on the sideboard, ready for my daddy’s birthday party. Four kisses. Maybe I should have put five.

“It’s time you were all in bed,” Mum said.

So I left my card on the sideboard and Daddy will see it when he comes home. He will have a Happy Birthday with four kisses.

11

I
tried to stay awake and I don’t know when I fell asleep. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember if I had said my prayers or not. I always say my prayers, down on my knees on the bare boards by the bed. Mum makes me ask God to bless Margueretta even though she beats me every day and locks me in the cellar. You are supposed to love your enemies. But that doesn’t make sense because there’s no point in having an enemy if you love them because then they won’t be your enemy and they might even be your friend.

And when I say my prayers, I bless Mum and Dad and Emily and Nana and Pop and Uncle Bertie in Arundel and Great-Auntie Wilma in Peckham, who’s been burgled three times. Mum even made me bless Boots and Judy when they were alive but I don’t think you should ask God to waste his time blessing a cat and a dog. A lamb would be different. And I don’t have to bless Great-Auntie Maisie now because she is dead and you don’t need to bless a dead person.

But I can’t remember if I said my prayers last night.

It was the screaming that woke me up. The screaming and the funeral music that makes the walls shake. And even if Dad is only trying to annoy that woman next door who is spying on us, I don’t think he should play funeral music in the middle of the night.

I wanted to stay in bed and hide under the blanket but all I could think about was the thing in the corner of the cellar and I know that one day it will come out of there and crawl up into my bedroom. I’m sure it’s behind me all the time but when I turn around there’s nothing there.

In the end, I just had to creep downstairs while the funeral music sounded like thunder in the night. I moved really slowly on the wooden boards in the passageway, so slowly anyone would think I was standing still. No one heard me coming down the stairs with all that noise. I could hear the blood in my ears like the ocean as I got closer and closer to the door to the front room—the front room where all the screaming was coming from.

I was all alone in the dark in the long passageway, tiptoeing on the balls of my black feet.

But a huge hand landed hard on my shoulder and another hand pressed against my mouth. It had to be him. He was out of the cellar in the darkness.

“That room is no place for little boys. You shouldn’t see your father like that. No one should. Get back to your bed. Get back to your bed while you still have a bed.”

But it wasn’t the thing from the cellar. It was The Irish, just the old one and he didn’t mean to frighten me. I still ran like a dog. Up the stairs, two at a time, through the bedroom door. Jumped into bed and I tried really hard to hold it in but it was too late and it felt warm, the piss running through my legs onto the mattress.

12

I
didn’t say anything this morning. All the piss in my bed had dried up. Mum says I can go into her bedroom and try to wake Dad up if I want because no one should spend all day in bed asleep.

It smells of piss and vinegar in here. There are gray blankets lying on the floor around the bed and Dad is lying on the bed in his underpants. I’ve been shaking him for ages but he isn’t moving.

I’m going to sit by the bed and wait for him to wake up and then he will mend the bicycle and take me for a ride. There’s not much light in this bedroom because there’s a big brown blanket hanging on a string over the window. I can see the dark mold growing up the corner of the wall and across the ceiling and just above the corner I can see the sky through the small hole by the chimney breast.

He’s groaning now so I think he is waking up.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

But he’s turned over and he’s snoring.

I want to help my dad but I don’t want to empty his piss pot. It’s full with dark orange piss right to the top and it’s spilled over the edge. I think that’s why it smells of piss in here. Mum won’t empty his piss pot because she says that my dad can do his own slopping out. Sometimes Dad just throws it out the bedroom window but that’s not very nice if you happen to be walking by on the street below.

I can hear them again, inside the walls. Whispering and knocking. They’re waiting for Pop because he will be next. Then I hope they will be quiet or someone else will die.

I’ve got the card with me to show him when he wakes up. You shouldn’t be asleep this late and I’ve been waiting all day for him to wake up and see my card.

“Johnny! Johnny!”

That’s Nana. She’s calling me for supper. But Dad still won’t wake up so I’m going to leave the card on the bed beside him and he will see it when he wakes up. And that will make him very happy even if his birthday was yesterday and not today.

We’re having cabbage and potatoes again tonight. The Irish are having eggs and potatoes because Nana says they are workingmen and they are paying to be here so they expect more than cabbage for dinner.

“Och! Let’s have a wee tune,” says Nana. “I think we’ll have some Harry Lauder.”

Sam is smiling and there’s egg yolk running down his chin but I don’t think he knows. He’s mopping up the egg with a thick slice of bread and butter. I can see the bread and egg yolk mashing around in his mouth because he talks with his mouth full, which you should never do.

The old one never says anything but I can see he thinks a lot. Mostly he rolls cigarettes and smokes slowly like he’s in a far-off place. He never said anything this morning about last night. I don’t know what it was that I shouldn’t see and why there was so much screaming and why Dad was playing the organ in the middle of the night if it wasn’t to annoy the woman next door. She’s spying on us, you know. Always spying.

“Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,” Nana sings.

“Come and dance, Margueretta,” says Sam.

And he’s twirling her around again and I know her dress is too small for her because it’s really short and we can all see her knickers again.

“‘The summer’s gone and all the roses falling.’ Come and dance with me, Johnny!”

So I’m dancing with Nana and she’s putting her hand down my pants and grabbing my willy for The Irish and Sam is laughing even though it’s not the tickling song.

“Choo-choo! Stand back! Stand back!” shouts Pop.

He hasn’t pissed himself yet today. But he will.

But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow,
And I shall hear though soft you tread above me.
And then my grave shall warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

Now Sam has sat down and Margueretta is sitting on his lap. And he’s sliding his hand up her leg, right up to her little white knickers and she’s smiling at him and he’s keeping his hand there, by her little white knickers. And she’s turning to look at me and it’s a look that means she is special and Sam has chosen her and not me and I can be Daddy’s favorite because now she has got Sam.

And Sam’s whispering something in her ear while he’s looking at me and smiling. I think he’s telling her a secret.

“Choo-choo goes the train! Stand back! Stand back!” screams Pop.

Pop’s rolling his eyes around and spit is dripping down off his long tongue and wetting the crusted porridge that’s still on his chin from breakfast. And we all know that his tongue doesn’t fit in his mouth. So he just leaves it hanging out.

“There is a happy land far, far away; where they eat bread and jam three times a day,” sings Nana.

She’s grabbing my willy again.

We have bread and jam sometimes for dinner but Nana says you must never have bread and butter and jam together. You need a lot of money to have butter and jam together.

I hope Daddy will like my birthday card when he wakes up. I think I should have written more kisses.

13

I
saw it tonight. I knew it would come into my bedroom. Climb out of the cellar and come up here. I knew it would.

Drip, drip, drip.

When we came to bed, Nana read us the story of “The Little Match Girl” and that made Emily cry because the little girl died and went to Heaven to be with her grandmother. Nana says it’s a happy story because the little girl is now safe and warm, sitting at the feet of God with her grandmother instead of starving and freezing to death on the street trying to sell matches to rich people who don’t even care if she dies. And the little match girl made that wonderful warmth when she set fire to all the matches she had left and the glow was like the first time you see Heaven when you die. Like seeing an angel.