The Gamal (35 page)

—I see.

Mannerisms

Went downstairs there. My sister’s here again with Emily only this time Emily has a little baby sister. Aoife is her name. Sister only had her a few weeks ago. I didn’t say it at the time cos it’s none of your business and I wasn’t writing much cos of my mother putting on Johnny Lee Hooker anyhow. One good thing about the new baby is that the mother isn’t bored and annoying me when I’m in my room. She’s funny to watch. Emily is. The little girl. Trying to be like her mammy or her granny. Copying everything they do. She had a little floor brush with her. Toy one. ’Tisn’t even two foot long. She’s busy out and then she goes,

—Now so.

That’s what Irish mothers say after they do a bit of housework. And she has an apron on too even though I never seen an apron on my sister. My mother wears them all right though. Best is when she copies my mother and says,

—Jesus,

cos my mother’s always saying Jesus.

It’s kind of nice for the grown-ups isn’t it? Like a compliment for them. That this little person thinks they’re worth copying. Humans know how to fit in without even knowing it. From day one, they’re training as children how to be an adult who fits in. They’re complete copycats really.

I seen Sinéad copy too. When James was off in Dublin. It might have been after they broke up. Probably was. For the first time she began to adopt the mannerisms and the accent of Racey and company. She began to dress like her too.

The leering old fellas in the pub made jokes that before she’d have found inappropriate. Nowadays these joke-insults seemed to give her a sense of belonging. Heard her telling Dinky and Racey this.

—I was in the butcher’s the other day, buying a steak to cook for Roundy for his dinner, you know?

—You cook for him?

—Yeah, sure he’s helpless in the kitchen himself.

—OK, go on.

—And in comes Teesh you know?

—Yeah?

—And he’s like, ‘Christ Sinéad girl, I’d say you’d have a fair old appetite for the meat would you? What do you think of them big fat sausages?’ I was like, ‘Jesus I dunno!’ And Teesh says, ‘I’d say you’d take four of five foot of that a week, would you?’ God he’s one gas fucker, Teesh, the whole shop was in stitches, except Mrs Higgins. I’d say she was disgusted.

Roundy’s became like a big long boring Carry-On film. Sinéad lapped it all up. Joke-insults. On her. She gave the audience what they wanted isn’t it.

—Oh you’d like that all right Timmy wouldn’t you.

—By Jesus girleen, I wouldn’t say no!

—Ah sure there’s a lot to be said for it Timmy, ’tis only natural!

—You want another packet of crisps Pete? Sure you haven’t eaten the last packet yet. If I didn’t know you any better I’d think you only wanted to see me bending down to get them.

—Would I? Look at my innocent little faceen, would I be that mischievous!

—From what I heard of your younger days Pete, yes! I heard you were like a wild ram around the town!

—Oho! Doubt ya Pete.

—Ah sure ’tis only natural.

That kind of stuff. Lots of it. That was her now. Sinéad. Was like they’d worn her down. And she bolstering up sad lives in Roundy’s with her boobs and her bottom and her lick-arsing of bachelors and men whose wives wished were bachelors.

She kind of ignored me now. Just served me my Lucozade same as any customer.

—Hi Charlie. How are things?

—Grand. How are you?

—Sure never better.

Now that light. The light of her spark was lost now under highlights and fake tan stuff or else it was just plain gone out, same as all the other fires in the history of fire on earth. At least when someone’s dead you’ve a body. When the fire goes you’re left with nothing at all that’s even a small bit like it. Only darkness. No comparison, isn’t it? Black and white are more alike than fire and no fire.

Laughing and joking with them halfdrunk halfwit halfsouls. Went mad with the halves there didn’t I? Everything has two halves. Opposite and the same. But Sinéad and James were two halves of the same. Something. I don’t know what. No two ways about it tho. Sinéad and James. No two ways.

Anyhow I dunno who she was trying to look like but it wasn’t herself.

Just went tiptoeing around the house for a bit there. Got restless and cross and uneasy and the tears and snots were coming too quick to be writing and I realised I’d no candle lighting. I need the fire now. Next best thing to Sinéad in the room with you isn’t it? It’s either that or the music and fuck the fucking music cos it only causes distractions that bring troubles and harm. But I have the candle with me now. Cleared away all my wrappers and rubbish cos their shadows were distracting me from the candle cos I wanted to see it as good as I could. Been looking at it now a while cos I thought I might make a better go of describing it and the little bit of fire it has but it’s just as useless as it was the last time I fucked up describing it. Best thing you could do is just get a candle and light it. And turn off all the lights. And if it’s daytime don’t bother your hole cos you won’t see it right and anyhow if it’s daytime where you are now you’ve a million daytime things in your head like dinner and petrol and telly and people and shit so just forget about the candle.

Anyhow, I won’t talk about candles or fire anymore I promise. Shouldn’t have even tried. I’ll just give you this picture anyhow in case you don’t have a candle.

Fucking thing has me driven daft. My sister helped me put it on the computer so I could cut and paste it but I held the camera sideways when I was taking it. You can just turn the book on its side to look at it. Sinéad would have kept her fire controlled and graceful same as the candle if she’d the fucking chance. You have to be careful with fire isn’t it? Mind it and cherish it and respect it. Or it could burn you. Or go out. That little flame must be the only thing that still looks beautiful through tears. Gives it other dimensions or something, I dunno. OK that’s it about candles. It’s just the flicker of them isn’t it? Same as our lives. Yours and mine and everyone else’s ever. Flickering awhile.

Anyhow so that was Sinéad in the bar. I’d have thought she was happy only for her tears. She was given a week off by Roundy to go and get herself sorted out. She used to break down crying for no obvious reason. She’d be counting change in the till or wiping the bar or reading the paper and then next thing she’d just start crying. She’d walk quickly in behind the bar or run. In the end Roundy told her she’d have to take a week off and she said she’d be fine, that there was no need and he said it was a week off or finish working there altogether. He said it made him look bad, that people might think it was him was making her cry.

The next weekend I called up to James’ house and told him and what does he do? He starts crying as well.

—I’m going to see her, he said.

And he did. Next time I seen him he had a new girlfriend. A new old girlfriend. Sinéad. Could’ve cried myself when I seen them together. No more tears formula it was for Sinéad anyhow.

Couple of weeks later when James was back for the weekend we were back in the library. Happy as ever isn’t it? They were back together. We were all back together.

James put on ‘Solsbury Hill’ and we were sailing away again through some other place made of a million other feelings that they had no words for but everyone would recognise them.

—What’s the most healing tune?

—‘Spiegel im Spiegel’. Has to be.

—Or ‘The Healing Game’.

—Here I am again. That’s my favourite line. That and ‘Back on the Corner Again’. I love that one too. It’s like you don’t know if he’s depressed again or if he’s there again for the person who’s sad.

—John Lennon’s ‘Love’.

—Yeah.

We listened for a long time to James playing the simple tune on the piano. Then Sinéad sang it.

—In olden times you know they used to play the chord C minor to bring ease to people whose minds were troubled.

Sinéad picked up the guitar then and started strumming ‘Madame George’. Three chords. Always returning over and over again to C. She hummed it for a bit.

—Christ yeah, said James.

—Have we got it?

I went over to the boxes and started looking through the mother’s records. We got lost in ‘Madame George’ then for a while. Sinéad standing, moving a little with the music in her all different coloured stripey woolly socks, her own clothes again. Sinéad-style. James was lying on the floor. I leaned on the windowsill and watched the candlelight shine on the spinning record and I seen what the music did to Sinéad. Moved her, same as the air she set in motion moved the candle flame. Some laws isn’t it? Sometimes she sang and hummed a little along with it too. Quietly only. Just a tease.

When it was finished she did one of her tippitoe spins and ran out down the stairs shouting,

—Come on fatasses, who wants a game of tennis?

James looked at me and we both smiled and got going, a bit more than happy to be alive maybe, the two of us.

That Sunday evening James went to Dublin but the love of his life was with him. It was just for a couple of days. I seen them off. The happiest train in the world maybe. She called up to my house Wednesday evening when she came back. My mother was delighted to see her but eventually she went off to watch
Coronation Street
and we were able to talk. She was like an excited child all talk about how they went to the Ruby Sessions and they were talking to the MC and he said to send on a demo and he’d fix them up with a slot. She was back in work on Thursday but she was happy in herself. James was coming home at the weekend for a month for Easter.

But then late that Saturday night Sinéad was off so we all went to The Snug. It was Racey’s birthday too. She was nineteen. But who comes into the bar only the Rascal. He came in like he was looking for someone. Said hello to the lads but he didn’t have a drink. Said he was going back to Roundy’s. Sinéad didn’t look at him but her face went red.

Dinky’s evidence tells you what happened next. He mentions the scarf here. You know the Afghan one like the one I showed you before.

More of Dinky’s Evidence

—Did anybody believe Sinéad’s account of what happened?

—Honestly? I doubt it very much.

—I see.

—Especially when the Little Rascal was wearing a scarf another night that James had given Sinéad as a present. The Little Rascal said she gave it to him on another night.

—Could he not have taken it from her?

—Well, Sinéad had told James that her mother borrowed it and lost it on a night out on the town. But Rascal said she left it in his car the Thursday night before when he collected her after work. Said he took her for a spin up the woods.

—I see. Do you believe this? Do you believe what the Little Rascal said about the scarf?

—Yes. No reason not to . . . she was just . . . you know, you couldn’t watch her . . . there’s no watching a girl like that.

—What do you mean by that?

—Well like . . . you couldn’t trust her. James couldn’t trust her. She was carrying on behind his back like.

—How did James react to this, when he found out about it?

—That time in the pub, is it?

—Yes.

—He hit him like, he hit the Little Rascal, but myself and Teesh pulled him away. Told him it wasn’t worth it. Teesh told him he probably needed to talk to Sinéad.

—And did he?

—Yes. He broke it off. Not there in front of everyone. Like they talked later that night and he broke it off with her.

—I thought he’d ended the relationship previously?

—Yeah. He did. But after that he got back with her again for a while. Until this time when he saw the scarf he gave to Sinéad on the Little Rascal.

—Could it not have been another scarf?

—No. It was like . . . one of them Afghan scarves. But a real thick one like, and it was faded and all. It was old like. I think it was in James’ family for a long time like.

—I see. So let me get this straight. He breaks it off with her after he hears she had intercourse with the Little Rascal in the toilets after work in the pub one night.