Unhooking the Moon (30 page)

He sentenced Ice to six years in prison. I turned to Amber. ‘Six years! What sort of bargain is that?' She told me that it was my testimony that helped secure Ice such a lenient sentence. She said it was part of the agreement that Ice would be eligible for parole in three years, and that he was being sent to a minimum security prison. Ice's defence team looked happy, even Ice looked relieved. He gave me the thumbs-up. But I still felt sick when they took him away.

‘Hold-up ahead,' says the cabbie. I wipe the steamy window and look out. There always seems to be a hold-up around the Lincoln Tunnel. But today there are traffic cops and a crashed car and a guy on a cellphone. As we crawl past him, I see his face. He reminds me of Tommy.

Tommy made a lot of money from his new celebrity status and so, in the end, his boat really did come in. He sailed on it all the way back to Sicily where he bought a small farm by the ocean. He produced olive oil and he was so successful within the first year of
business that he asked his wife to go out and help him run things. One of his daughters followed the following year and now it's a family concern. A bottle arrived the other day with the words ‘Mattolla's Sicilian Olive Oil' written on the box. And there was a photograph of Tommy wading through turquoise water. He looked so happy I couldn't help but laugh.

The cab picks up pace and we come out of the tunnel. ‘'Bout time!' says the cabbie. I'm always glad when we get to the other side of the Lincoln Tunnel. No more hold-ups, not until we're coming back into the city. The cab climbs the same spiral we had climbed the night we rescued the Rat. Normally I get a great view of the city, but not today. The snow is coming down so thick there's not much to see.

I visit Ice every couple of months. It's funny, because he seems happier in prison than he was in his penthouse. The last time I went he was ecstatic. He'd just become prison chess champion. I was amazed. How could a man who'd won so many awards for his music be made up with a silver cup? But he was. He even told me that jail was a nice break from the insanity of the outside world. He'll have to get used to it when he gets out, the sales of his CDs have tripled.

Within thirty minutes we roll off the turnpike and
pull up outside the St Vincent's Psychiatric Hospital. Howard, the security guard, raises the barrier and gives me a short wave as the cab passes through. It's a nice place. It has a great grassy lawn that surrounds the main building. There are cherry trees surrounding the lawn and pine trees surrounding the cherry trees. It looks like a well-kept park in the summertime, and just as nice now that it's covered in snow.

It's not a psychiatric hospital, not really, because the patients pay a lot of money to come here, or someone pays for them. They even have celebrities stay here. But I'm not allowed to say who they are, and so I won't. Besides, everyone has a right to privacy, especially if they are recuperating from an illness, or something.

I pay the driver and, heading into the reception, I check the register. I sign in, glad that I can't see Uncle Jerome's name, and then I head down the west-wing corridor. As I do, a nurse named Nina comes towards me. ‘If you're going to take her out, Bob, make sure you're not long. Mr DeBillier will be coming this evening.'

‘I'm a Mr DeBillier as well. Don't that count for anything?'

She gave me a big smile. ‘In my books it does.'

She's nice, Nina, and I think she likes me. I want to look back at her, but there are more nurses coming towards me and they have patients with them. I carry on going until I come to the last door on the left hand side, and then I give it a gentle knock. And there, sitting by the window is my little sister Marie Claire DeBillier.

‘Hey, sis!' I kiss her on the top of her head and kneel down in front of her. ‘You want to go for a walk? It's a bit cold out there. But it's nothing to a couple of Winnipeggers like us.' I coax her to stand up and, putting on her coat, I fasten the buttons. ‘Look at you. You're nearly fourteen and I'm still helping you get dressed.' I look in her vacant eyes and pull her hair out of her coat. ‘I'm doing well at my new college. I've joined the drama school and my writing is coming along. Uncle Jerome wants me to study hard. He's determined I should go to a good university. I don't know why he never went … What else? Oh yeah, my driving lessons are going well. Soon I'll be able to drive you all the way home.'

As I put my scarf around her I give her a hug. I can't help it. I never gave her enough hugs when we were kids. I suppose I found it embarrassing. But I try and make up for it now. And I'm sure she appreciates
it in her own way. ‘Come on then, let's go.' Linking my arm through hers, I escort her down the corridor.

‘You should see the way that Nina looks at me. I think she has the hots. A lot of girls look at me these days. What do you say, sis? You think your big brother's a babe magnet, or what?' But she doesn't say anything. She's never said a word since the night she collapsed. Most of the time she doesn't even know you're there.

Uncle Jerome has had specialists fly in from all over the world. So many specialists and they all say the same thing. She's had a psychological shock. She needs rest and tranquillity. And then only time will tell. One doctor recommended electric shock treatment. Uncle Jerome threw him out of his office.

I think Marie Claire should come off the medication and return to Winnipeg, or at least live at home with us. She might start to remember the good times and who she was. I've said this to Uncle Jerome a thousand times and we argue about it quite a bit, but he won't listen. Uncle Jerome is a stubborn, arrogant, man. But don't let me give you the wrong impression. He comes here every chance he gets. And when he does, he sits and reads to her for hours. Kids' stories mainly. Stories of knights who fight evil goblins to
save the princess, of lowly knaves who fall on the battlefield or who live to become heroes, and there's always the boy who remains to tell the story. He reads stories with happy endings. But in the real world you don't always get a happy ending no matter how much you want one. Anyway, I can see he loves her, but that doesn't make him right.

Outside we walk down the path towards our favourite bench. The cold wind blows snow into our eyes and it sticks to our coats, but I like to get her out into the fresh air. They always have the heating too high in the hospital and it gets really stuffy. I brush the snow off the bench and, sitting her down, I put my arm around her. ‘Ice will be out soon. You remember Ice, don't you? And Joey asks about you all the time. And I'm always getting letters and emails from Winnipeg. No one's forgotten you. And Father Henri has mass said for you twice a year. And Ms Mountshaft is putting on a play and dedicating it to you. Do you remember you were in a play? Do you remember you wanted to be a ballerina and an actress?'

She doesn't respond, she never responds. But I've often seen her facial expressions change. It's like she's listening to someone tell her a story. Sometimes she
almost smiles and looks happy. Other times her face clouds over and she looks scared. But something always soothes her, because her bad spells never last that long. I asked one of the doctors what it was. He said she had separated herself from reality and found her own little world. She never was realistic, but I hope she's happy wherever she is.

I dream about her sometimes. I dream I'm at the top of a tall building and opposite me is a skyscraper with angels hovering around it. They're sunning themselves in a silver sun or gliding from one skyscraper to another. Then I see Marie Claire sitting with them. She has small wings on her back and she's laughing. I bang on the glass as hard as I can but she can't hear me. So I rush down in the elevator and run towards the building. I search desperately for a door, but there isn't one. She's in a place I'm not allowed to go to.

‘Christmas soon. Maybe this year you'll tell me what you want.' I brush the snow from her coat. ‘You remember that old French love song Dad used to sing us? He used to sing that line about unhooking the moon. And you'd always tell him he got the translation wrong. And he'd always say it doesn't matter. I'd do anything for you kids. I'd even unhook the moon.' I turn her face towards me. ‘I know you're in there.
I'll unhook the moon to get you to come back. They say you can't hear me but I know you can. You're just hibernating that's all.' I fix her collar to keep her warm.

‘I have a letter here from Harold. I've read it to you before but I'll read it again.' I pull the letter from my pocket.

‘Dear Marie Claire,

I hope you are well and in good spirits. I am still studying at school but I have been promised a job at the train station when I graduate. It's not a difficult job and I get to sit down all day. I worked on your prairie garden over the summer to keep it in good condition for when you return. But now the winter is upon us. The plants are resting ready to bloom again in the spring. One day you will bloom again because you are like a prairie plant. You are beautiful and you are tough. Bob said you are still not well, but when your winter is over you will return to us, hopefully before next summer. If not, I have spoken with my mother and Father Henri and we will soon have the money to take you to Lourdes in
France, but we have to get your uncle's permission. I know he has the money to take you anywhere in the world. But we want to take you ourselves, because you are special to us. I pray for you every night and—'

‘You should bring her in, Bob! It's getting cold!'

I turn to see Nina and two male nurses standing at the entranceway.

‘You want to go inside, Marie Claire? You don't have to if you don't want to. All you have to do is say no … OK, I'll take you in.' I help her to her feet and escort her back to the entranceway. ‘Next time I come, I'll sneak you in a mocha. I don't care what they say! Why they don't let you have coffee I'll never know. I'll bring you in a big cup of magic mocha and who knows, it might make you well again.'

Nina takes her from me and, putting her in a wheelchair, she wraps a blanket around her legs.

‘Why do you do that? She's not an invalid! She can walk!'

‘She can fall as well, Bob, hospital policy.'

I always feel bad when the visit is over. On the way here I'm always a little optimistic. This could be the day she talks. This could be the day I say something
that sparks off something in her mind and she comes back. But it never happens. I kiss her on the head. ‘I'll see you in a few days, my sister.'

Nina doesn't smile at me. She knows I'm angry. They push Marie Claire inside and I watch them disappear around a corner. Pulling my collar up around my neck, I walk down the driveway. But then I stop and look back. It's getting dark and the lights from the hospital are glowing yellow.

‘I'll never give up on you!' I shout.

And I never will. You see, my sister's the greatest kid in Canada! And one day I'll take her back there. Back to Winnipeg and the prairies and the Forks and all her friends who love her so much. And before that dog reaches the horizon she'll be back to her old self again. One day I'll take her back. One day soon. You see if I don't!

Writing a book is hard business. Trying to get published is just as hard. And just when you think it will never happen someone comes along who believes in your work. They show it to other people, who in turn show it to others. All of a sudden there's a campaign to get you published. And so I would like to thank some of the people involved. Sarah Manson, my agent, and Roisin Heycock and all the lovely people at Quercus who can never do enough for you.