The Gamal (13 page)
—I see. But you became good friends with Denis Hennebry, is that correct?
—Ahm . . . well like . . . we drank in the same pub like . . . he was there a lot of the time that I was there so I suppose we became kind of friendly all right. He hung around with me like, as opposed to me hanging around with him. To be honest.
—Can you clarify what you mean please.
—Nothing really, like. Just like, mainly he’d come along and join myself and Snoozie and whoever else in the pub. Or if we were going to the Four Crosses he might come along like. I wouldn’t say we were best friends like. He tagged along is all. He was probably better friends with Snoozie. They used to be driving around and that. Snoozie had a car like fairly young. Dinky. I mean Denis. Denis was a few years younger like but Snoozie would take him for a drive around when they’d nothing to do. And he’d come in to the pub to us like too, Dinky would. I thought he was a grand fella.
—I see. That will be all for the moment. Thank you.
Racey = a liardy bitch. Female human. Her real name was Tracey. Same age as Sinéad and James. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey. Racey.
Racey’s nose was like it was pushed back in her face or something.
Racey was born to be probably reasonable-looking but she let herself go before she even knew she was gone. Out of sight. Before going on a night out she’d get all dolled up to the last. Same as cramming before an exam, isn’t it? Too late. She wasn’t in vanity for the long haul anyhow. She was fond of boys and didn’t show it in a subtle way. That’s why they called her Racey. She lived between Ballyronan and Mullinahone.
Racey’s Evidence
—How did you get to know Sinéad?
—Well like, Sinéad would have been one of my best friends like. Since we were children like.
—Were you in primary school together?
—Yeah like.
—And were you close with Sinéad throughout your childhood?
—Yeah like. Like . . . I wasn’t to know she had this like darker side. God love her like, you know. Heart of gold in her like. She might have had her problems like but God love her like she could be wild at times but like deep down like . . . heart of gold I swear to God like.
—You used to drink with her, is that correct?
—Used to, yeah like. We were friends like, yeah. She used to be out and about normal like drinking and having the craic. She could be wild like but no harm in her I swear to God like. Was like quite normal that time. Just could be like . . . a small bit wild like. The girl made mistakes like but sure who doesn’t like? We had great fun in The Snug like. That’s where we hung out when we were in secondary school like. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen kind of way like and back then like she was just normal like, sound like, you know?
They just never knew that it would pass. That it would all go and work out the way it did. Write out ‘Country Fair’ here. It’s Van Morrison’s.
Sinéad used to sing the second line in the last verse as, ‘Sad lifetimes slipping though your hand’, but it’s totally different. She heard the words of songs wrong sometimes and learned a line that wasn’t in it at all. I liked when she did that. Another bit of her isn’t it? Her mind as well as her voice.
I don’t think it’s possible for me to give you the feeling that we had. Like in The Snug long ago. Because I can’t give you the feeling of being a nice warm happy cosy drunk just by you reading a book. I can’t give you the feeling of being sixteen or seventeen. I can’t give you the feeling of being sixteen or seventeen and you’re in a place with no parents. No teachers. No old fucking shit. I can’t give you the feeling of a bar lounge that was all ours. I can’t give you the feeling of how new it was for us all to have our own little bit of money and to be free to waste it on drink and happiness. I can’t give you the feeling cos you weren’t there. I seen them. I seen each slug of beer or Guinness or lash of vodka and coke or shot of whiskey on the rocks or peach schnapps or rum or Malibu or Tequila or Bacardi fuel them. They became greater versions of themselves isn’t it? In the right dose. Became funnier, happier, bolder, stronger, louder, flirtier, nicer, trustier. Have misneach. Irish word that. Means courage maybe or spirit or boldness maybe. Heart isn’t it?
With music played that was our own CDs. Our music. I can’t give you the feeling of happy faces all around. The faces that you love the most. And they’re so happy you’re there, even if you’re me. And you’re so happy they are there. And people are sweating and laughing and shouting and singing. And you’re watching them all.
Anyhow the warm glaze of alcohol made them happy and not give a fuck and made them love each other and love themselves. And I think they all knew even then that all times wouldn’t be as good. They couldn’t be isn’t it? Agendas and plans were still strangers to them then though. They didn’t give a fuck because they were drunk and because there was so much they didn’t know. Most of all they didn’t know themselves.
But I don’t drink any more. It doesn’t suit me. People sat me down and had a talk with me and told me that it was best I stayed away from the alcohol or else I wouldn’t be allowed to hang around with Sinéad any more. Drink made me inappropriate. I don’t remember. But Sinéad was nice about it. And James was sound about it too. Just called me a messy eejit. Messy is the word for very very drunk carry on.
Sinéad could dance too. Disco dance like, the real thing. Beats became part of her and threw her around the place, she let herself become part of it. And she was the whole time looking up to the heavens, unless she was dancing with James.
Anyhow I must get back to the story before Dr Quinn has a stroke. There was just a terrible racket downstairs. Like someone throwing a couple of saucepans on the ground in the kitchen. And that’s what it was I’d say. My mother is lonesome or bored so she tries to trick me to go down to her. She already asked me twice in the last half hour if I wanted coffee. Fuck it, I’ll just go down to her.
Something Else
Was crying in bed last night. So the headaches were bad enough this morning. Sometimes when I think of her. I dunno. I think of her the most at night. The last time I saw her she whispered thank you and squeezed my hand and then let go and she had a smile as she looked at me and then the smile went away. I can’t even think of it without the tears streaming down my face. Like they are now so I’ll think about something else to be talking about awhile.
Pain And Justice
Sometimes I wonder should I have killed myself. Maybe after I tell my story I will. I’ll see. But if there’s the remotest tiniest chance that there might be justice in the world this story has to be the fucking starting point. And I’m the one who has to tell it cos no one else knows. And I will tell it. I suppose that’s what keeps me going isn’t it? Just have to get my fucking head around things, that’s all.
Time
Makes me think about time. I think maybe time might be the cause of my headaches. That’s what I told one of Dr Quinn’s junior doctors at the start. Dr Quinn asked me to talk to him. Young fella with a fat neck. He looked at me like I was after farting. A sideways glance and wrote me a quick prescription for glorified paracetamol. And that the distance between the time we’re in now and where we should be. Where is that? Is that a place in time? Where does regret go in time? And the way it should have been? Was there always a way that it had to be? That’s the closest I can fucking get to what I’m trying to say. Fuck him and his useless pills. I prefer Dr Quinn.
—I’m a great believer in time, Dr Quinn is always saying, and he telling me how my mind is doing.
Confession
You feel lighter coming out of Confession. That’s what my mother always says. Everyone needs to talk to someone now and again about their troubles. Weight off your shoulders.
Friends
I spend times sometimes just thinking about what friends are. What’s the difference between friendships and alliances? What happened has made me wonder are they just two words for the same thing. The word friends makes us feel better about it. At the end of the day all the friends I’ve seen in the horrible story I’ve to tell ended up only being allies. Or worse. The word friend was only invented to have a word for someone who wasn’t out to kill you in the battles long ago. You were a friend or an enemy. Instead of ‘friend’ we should use ‘person not out to kill you’ isn’t it? But that wouldn’t be true of every friend either.
Everdone
Things that are everdone are a fucker. Even good things too cos if you’re thinking about them it’s cos things aren’t so good for you now and that’s bad. Like me thinking about Sinéad and James. Now is the worst time ever. All the time.
Thoughts
I never knew thoughts could hurt so much. Dr Quinn sent me to a fella that does a thing called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy as well. It kinda goes like, ‘Hey, what’s troubling you isn’t the awful things that happened. It’s the thoughts and memories you have of them that’s troubling you. You can learn ways of dealing better with these thoughts and memories.’ It’s all fine like and stuff but it doesn’t take the pain away. It doesn’t make the truth go away. It doesn’t make the past go away. It doesn’t change what happened. No therapy in the world is gonna stop me being in pain over what happened. The only thing that could do that for me is a noose around my neck. And that’s not therapy. That’s fucking stupid. Death is fucking stupid. If this story tells you nothing it’ll tell you that. Anyhow I asked the shrink if he knew Sinéad and he said no. So like I mean, what the fuck was he on about in the first place? If he knew her he’d have just been happy to give me the sleeping tablets so I could get a night’s sleep. That was the best I could hope for and it was all I wanted from the eejit. Anyhow Dr Quinn sorted me out with sleeping tablets in the end so I didn’t really mind. This other fella just didn’t understand isn’t it?
Afghan Scarf
That’s a photocopy of an Afghan scarf that’s a big important part of my story. I went down to the village for a walk down as far as the river but the bus to Newport was at the corner and I hopped on to it. The bus driver knew I’d the free travel cos he seen me before. I was only there for about an hour cos there was only one bus back cos it was already evening time even though I was only just out of bed. I seen this scarf in one of the second-hand hippy shops and I got it. It’s a different Afghan scarf but it’s like the one in my story and I want you to be able to see it in your mind. If a thing can be cursed then that scarf is cursed. Wherever it is now. Sinéad used to wear it. Was a present from James. James got it off his grandfather. I think his grandfather was in Afghanistan working one time. But one time a bad person stole it off Sinéad. And it wasn’t cos he liked the scarf. It was cos he wanted to fuck them up. I know this is the wrong order cos the scarf part is later in the story but if I didn’t tell ye I got it today then it wouldn’t be the truth and the truth comes first but I don’t want to be telling you any more about it now cos I just don’t.
I looked at people in Newport for a small while the day I got the scarf. Newport people would remind you how ridiculous people are with the heads on them and the lanky walk of them and the way they sit on a bus or in cars or in queues all facing one way and the long stiff stupid backs on them and the two hands on them doing nothing half the time just hanging there dangling and the confused embarrassed faces on them and the heads stuck on to their necks looking around for clues and to see what other people are thinking of them and the way they think they look nice in some clothes but not nice in other clothes and the way they have different rooms in their houses and the way they paint these rooms cos they think it looks nice and the way they feel pride for the things they have and want other people to admire them and the way they have to cut their fingernails and their toenails cos they keep growing and the things they do to hide from the rain and the cold and the way they use tissue paper to wipe their noses and the way they write newspapers and make news programmes where one of them tells the rest of them about bad things that have happened to some of them and how they feel sorry for them and how they’re relieved it didn’t happen to them and how some people hurt other people cos they want to and how some people cause other people pleasure cos they want to and the way they misplace things and spend time looking for what they’ve lost but can’t remember what they did with it and how sometimes they drop something and it breaks and they say a special word for such occasions that’s called a curse word and how they teach their young never to use such words but to use other words instead and how they understand that some time they’re going to die and this makes them afraid and sad and how they all each and every one of them is different and how they can be jealous of the differences and how they all use their own special differences to keep on keeping on best as they can and how they fall in love sometimes with someone who doesn’t love them back and how they have personalities and how their personalities change if you take away food from them or love or friendship or admiration or if people are nasty to them and the way sometimes they misread the intentions of the people around them and cause themselves stress or cause other people stress and how this same stress can make them less likeable to other people and how some people are more forgiving than other people and how some people find it too hard to forgive and how other people find it too easy and how sometimes they remember something that never even happened and forget something that did and how their babies are born totally helpless and need a lot more care than calves and how they get more time to live than most other animals and how they can’t for the life of them figure out what time is or where they came from and how they kill each other for greed and how they get itches on their skin and how their skin holds them together.
