Chapter Eleven
Ronan
The days that followed that fateful night in the camp were some of the most stressful of my life.
John-Francis and I had spent hours scouring Appleby in search of Declan, and by the time the sun was rising we’d had to accept defeat. Wherever Declan was, he didn’t want to be found, and I knew that was tearing John-Francis apart.
It had been two days, and no one had seen hide nor hair of Declan Furey.
I did my best to stay positive, but it hurt me more than I could ever explain to see John-Francis fretting over his mate.
I was angry, furious that Declan could be so fucking selfish so as to not even drop his best mate a text to let him know he was still alive…
Although as more and more time elapsed, the dark thoughts that maybe he wasn’t began to creep in.
I hoped against hope that it wasn’t the case, that Declan was just taking some time to lick his wounds in private and would turn up here in a few days like nothing had happened… but I was filled with doubt.
There wasn’t much I could do to ease John-Francis’s suffering other than staying with him, keeping him company and making sure he took care of himself. He wasn’t sleeping well, and I was certain he’d not be eating well neither if it wasn’t for me forcing it down his neck.
John-Francis wasn’t alone in being tense and filled with worry.
Ma hadn’t been quite right since the night of Tess’s disappearance.
She’d never been much good around traumatic events, and I knew the things she’d seen that night were playing over and over in her head.
I was out of my mind with worry, having two of the people I loved the most in pieces, but I put on a brave face.
Darragh took care of Ma, I handled John-Francis, but it was taking its toll on both of us.
Late at night, when I was laying beside John-Francis, stroking him as he tossed and turned, I’d find myself wishing I could reverse time.
Everything had been so perfect… How had it soured so quickly?
The constant police presence around the camp was driving everyone crazy.
The authorities made travellers volatile at the best of times, but having them poking their noses in, asking questions had driven a good number of folks away.
The ones who remained were angry, looking for excuses to lash out and cause trouble.
The camp was not a comfortable place to be, and it seemed there was no escaping it.
It was on one warm morning that I left John-Francis sleeping – a real rarity – and traipsed back home for what felt like the first time in an age. What I saw pulled me up short.
“What’s goin’ on, like?” I asked, watching Ma as she wound up the washing line she’d erected the first day we’d hitched up. She startled, spinning to face me with a grin expression.
“We’d be makin’ a move, now.”
I felt my stomach drop. “Y’what? Where?”
“Dunno, like, but we’d be needin’ t’ get outta here, son. It’s like a feckin’ prison,” she muttered, eyes fixed to the line as she wound it around her hand.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I ran a hand through my hair as I sank down into one of the chairs that had yet to be packed away. “Were y’gonna tell me or just feckin’ disappear, now?” I snapped, anger and grief tussling inside me.
“‘Course I’d be tellin’ ya,” Ma replied tersely. “But the decision is made. Darragh an’ I are leavin’. Today. It’s up t’ yourself if y’gonna be joinin’ us, now.”
I lowered my head, intertwining my fingers at the back of my neck as I stared at the grass. “Feckin’ hell…”
There was a long silence and as my ma’s feet appeared beside me, I glanced up.
“Look here,” she said, her voice softer, sadder. “Don’t feel ya have t’ come with us. I know how things are f’ya here wi’ John-Francis. No one would be thinkin’ poorly o’ yas if ya choose to stay behind wi’ him.”
“Ma…” I sighed, my voice catching in my throat as a swell of emotion threatened to overcome me.
She squeezed my shoulder. “It’d be a lot t’ take in, I know. We’ve got a wee bit o’ packin’ up left t’ do. Promise ya we won’t leave without sayin’ goodbye. Why don’t ya talk it over wi’ John-Francis, now? See what he’s got t’ say ‘bout it, eh?”
I nodded, getting to my feet. I felt numb. I’d known deep down that I would have had to face this eventually. Ma and Darragh were never going to hang around here forever, but I hadn’t been expecting it so soon and especially not now, not with everything else that was going on.
In a daze, I wandered back to John-Francis’s place, not at all surprised to find he was no longer asleep. He had his phone to his ear, his body shot with tension.
“—An’ y’sure it’s him, now?” John-Francis caught my eye, his expression steely and set with determination. He remained quiet for a moment whilst he listened to whoever was on the other end before jumping up to his feet. “Aye, I’ll be there. Give me five t’ get dressed. I’m on me way.”
John-Francis hung up, throwing his phone down onto the bed and immediately grabbing his t-shirt from the floor.
“Declan?” I asked, my heart thumping.
“Aye, at last. One o’ Seamus’s mates spotted him wandering ‘bout the town an’ followed him t’ a wee cottage. Assumin’ that’s Tess’s place, like.”
“Thank feck f’that. Is he okay?” When John-Francis cast me a grim expression, I pressed my lips together.
I remained silent for a moment, just watching John-Francis hurriedly dragging his clothes on. Now was definitely not the time to be bringing up Ma and Darragh leaving, and yet I felt like I had a tennis ball in my throat, all my worries and fears building up inside me.
John-Francis grabbed his phone and slipped it into his pocket, faltering and glancing back at me. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Will y’come wi’ me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. His expression was tortured, a glimmer of fear behind his eyes that made my heart ache. It made him seem younger somehow, like I was seeing the reflection of that terrified young boy that John-Francis once was.
I nodded. “‘Course I will, if y’want me ta.”
John-Francis closed the distance between us, wrapping me up in a hug. I squeezed him back, a chasm of pain opening up inside me. Jaysus, what if this was the last time he held me like this? I sunk my teeth into my tongue. No, right now this wasn’t about me or John-Francis, it was about Declan.
“Thank ya,” John-Francis murmured softly.
I pulled back and kissed him. “Don’t be a dafty. C’mon now, let’s get goin’ an’ find that lad o’ yas.”
John-Francis and I barrelled into the van and were out on the road in minutes. Using his phone to navigate to the pin Seamus’s mate had given us, we pulled up outside a wee quaint country cottage no more than ten minutes later.
John-Francis killed the engine, and we both sat in silence, staring at the house. It was dark inside, no signs of life. Was this this place?
“Ready, now?” I asked, reaching across to squeeze John-Francis’s knee. Without looking back at me, he placed his hand on top of mine.
I heard him suck in a breath. “Aye, let’s go.”
We hopped out, taking care not to slam the doors and alert Declan of our arrival. John-Francis led the way, holding his ear to the door briefly before trying the handle. It opened, creaking and cracking as the sticky paint came free from the frame.
We inched inside the house, and it was immediately obvious that we had the right place.
It was completely trashed – sofa turned over, mirror smashed, television on the floor…
and bottles of booze everywhere. Broken glass crunched under our feet, and I pushed the door closed behind us, holding back as John-Francis crept around the wee house, checking each room.
“Nothin’ down here,” he whispered, eyes drifting to the staircase. “C’mon.”
We took our time climbing up the stairs, step by step. Just as I was beginning to wonder if Declan was even here, John-Francis pushed inside Tess’s bedroom. It was dark, the curtains drawn, and absolutely stank of booze, sweat, and stale air.
“Dec?” John-Francis called out. “Declan? Y’alright, fella?”
As he moved further into the room, I glanced around.
Unlike the rest of the house, this room hadn’t been touched.
If it wasn’t for the rank stench and the dark shape laying in the bed, I wouldn’t have suspected anyone had been in here.
It was like a shrine to Tess, all of her belongings exactly as she’d left them.
My attention snapped back to the bed as I watched John-Francis kneel down beside it, attempting to shake his friend awake. Declan was comatose, completely dead to the world.
“Jaysus, how much has he had y’reckon?” I asked. “He’s still breathin’, aye?”
John-Francis leant in, holding still for a second before backing away with a nod. “Aye, still breathin’ but I’d not like to guess what he’s done t’ get himself in such a state, now.” He jostled him again, rougher this time. “Declan! C’mon!”
I could tell he was getting panicked and I stepped in, touching his shoulder.
“S’alright,” I soothed. “Let’s get him up, aye?”
John-Francis and I worked together to heave Declan upright and thankfully that seemed to be enough to rouse him to consciousness. He was still out of it, not making much sense, and when John-Francis attempted to get him on his feet, he was met with explosive aggression.
Declan may have been barely conscious, but he fought against our hold like his life depended on it. An errant elbow caught my face and I yelled out, blinding pain splintering my concentration and I was forced to release Declan.
“Gerroff me!” Declan snarled, shoving John-Francis away roughly. “Leave me the feck alone!”
“Y’know I can’t do that!” John-Francis snapped. I’d never seen him so on edge. When Declan pushed him away a second time, he was forced to back off and let his friend fall back down onto the bed. His gaze jumped to me. “Y’alright, now?”