Chapter 30
‘You not eating your pizza crusts?’ asked Mum, as I set my plate by the sink.
When we had pizza I always saved the crusts for last to dip into sweet chilli sauce.
‘I’m not really that hungry, Mum, you can give the crusts to the birds, I should probably just get to Ronan’s.’
‘Sure I haven’t finished my pizza yet,’ Dad called from the dining room. ‘What’s the rush for this evening? I’ll drive you if you hold on ‘til I’m finished.’
‘I just … I’ve got something I can’t wait to tell Ronan and …’
‘I’ll drive you,’ said Mum.
‘But you’re working tonight,’ I said.
‘I know but I still have time.’
Mum’s efforts at getting family life back on track were starting to become normal.
She was still doing a few night shifts but had been getting up earlier in the day so that she could eat with Dad and me.
But offering to drive me to Ronan’s house on a work night was a first. I smiled to let her know I noticed without making a big deal out of it.
‘So,’ Mum said as we pulled away from the house, ‘what’s this thing you’re so keen to tell Ronan about?’
‘Ah, it’s just like a thing to do with … like a wee thing that’s to do with … school stuff.’
‘Right,’ said Mum, ‘is that you telling me to mind my own business?’ I could hear the grin in her voice.
‘No, I don’t mind telling you but I need to tell Ronan first, that’s all,’ I said.
‘OK then, better get the foot down.’
Mum driving was the complete opposite to the silence of Dad.
While she didn’t press me any further about what I wanted to tell Ronan she did ask me a lot about him and his progress, how his speaking was coming along and how his mum and dad were.
I was so caught up in talking that it almost took me by surprise when the car stopped and I realised we were at Ronan’s.
‘Have a good Buddy Time,’ Mum said. ‘Tell Ronan, Emma and Aaron I said hello.’
‘Will do, Mum, see you in the morning,’ I said, and flew out the car and up the path to Ronan’s house and knocked on the front door. The plywood was now gone and the new half door for Ronan’s wheelchair to fit through was finished. Mr McCoy opened it.
‘Evening, Mr McCoy. New door looks brilliant,’ I said, walking straight in and making my way down the hallway to Ronan’s room.
‘Meep-meep, Speedy Gonzales!’ he called after me as I was halfway up the hall.
‘Speedy Gonzales doesn’t say “meep-meep”, Mr McCoy.’
‘Who does?’
‘The Road Runner.’
‘Wait a second, am I getting my Loony Tunes mixed up? What does Speedy Gonzales say?’
‘I think it’s something like “arriba, andalay” or something.’’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Oh, don’t ask me about languages, Mr McCoy, I’m struggling with French enough as it is,’ I said, stopping at Ronan’s door. I could hear distressed noises coming from the other side.
‘Hold on a second there, Brendan,’ Mr McCoy said, catching up with me. ‘Ronan’s had a bit of day, Emma’s in there with him, wait’ll I give a knock here.’
I froze as I heard loud groaning and Mrs McCoy’s crooning voice. Mr McCoy gently knocked and cracked the door open. I could hear Ronan more clearly now, screeching.
‘Emma, Brendan’s here,’ Mr McCoy said over the strained noises coming from Ronan.
As the door opened fully I saw him in his wheelchair near the bed with his mum hunkered down in front of him. He was sweating and his face was dark red and his eyes were screwed up, but they relaxed open a bit when he saw me.
‘Look, here’s Brendan, Ronan,’ said Mrs McCoy, turning to me.
‘You alright, Ronan?’ I said, stepping into the room.
Ronan continued to groan and looked from me to his mum, to his dad and back to me again, like he was lost.
‘It’s Buddy Time, remember?’ said Mrs McCoy gently.
Ronan began to squirm in his seat and let out a yell.
‘Nah! Nah!’
I was shocked. Was he saying no?
‘Alright, well, Brendan’s going to have to go home in that case,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Do you want to come out into the hall here for a second, Brendan?’ said Mr McCoy quietly to me.
As I turned to go Ronan started screaming and I spun back round.
‘Nah! Nah!’ he shouted.
‘Well, if you don’t want him to go you’ll have to calm down,’ said Mrs McCoy, now half bent over at Ronan’s head height.
‘I’ve got some news for you, Ronan,’ I said by way of trying to help.
‘Hear that?’ said Mrs McCoy.
Ronan made eye contact with me.
‘Good news?’ asked Mr McCoy.
‘Secret news,’ I said, smiling over at Ronan, ‘between him and me.’
Ronan was settling down.
‘Oh right, is that how it is?’ said Mr McCoy with mock offence.
‘Afraid so, Mr McCoy,’ I said.
Mrs McCoy was bringing a straw to Ronan’s mouth for him to drink from a tumbler of water. He began to take small gulps and then pulled his head away. With more encouragement from us all and more sips of water, Ronan had really calmed down.
‘Right,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘what say we let Brendan get a bit of Buddy Time with you, Ronan? Is that OK?’
He yelped out a more subdued version of his usual greeting, which made us all laugh with relief.
He did it again a bit louder and I did exactly the same back.
It was the first time that sound had come out of my mouth in the same way as Ronan.
I suddenly felt embarrassed hearing myself do it.
It wasn’t meant to imitate him, it was spontaneous and it felt natural.
His parents did a version of it too, and then Ronan started laughing at us.
‘Right, Brendan,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘think this is a good place for us to leave.’
As soon as we were alone I dashed over to Ronan and pulled up a chair in front of him.
‘I did it! I asked Jennifer to go to the formal with me and she said yes!’
I braced myself for his reaction but I didn’t expect him to turn red again, to screw up his face again, to scream.
‘Ronan, Ronan, what’s wrong?’ I said, trying to calm him down, but his screaming was so loud I didn’t know if he could even hear me.
The door opened and Mr and Mrs McCoy came back inside.
I looked at them helplessly as Ronan continued to scream and thrash his head around from side to side.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, I felt myself being ushered gently backwards as Mrs McCoy changed places with me and sat down in front of Ronan, her hand on his forehead, stroking his cheek with the back of her other hand as I continued to be moved gently backwards by Mr McCoy, back and back into the hallway, feeling his hand leave my shoulder to reach out and close the door in front of me, locking out the sight, locking out the sound.
I turned to Mr McCoy in the hallway.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
Mr McCoy was looking down at me.
‘I told him my news and he got upset again,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think it would upset him, I didn’t think … I thought he’d …’
‘Brendan, look at me,’ Mr McCoy said, crouching down to meet my height.
‘One thing Emma and me have had to stop each other doing is apologising, because half the things we end up apologising for are things that have had good intent. So unless you did something like insult Liverpool to set him off then I don’t want to be hearing any apologies. ’
‘No, I didn’t insult Liverpool,’ I said, half laughing.
But I had upset Ronan. I couldn’t understand it, I thought he had wanted me to ask Jennifer and wanted me to go to the formal, I thought he’d have been over the moon, I’d been so excited to tell him and I felt so stupid.
‘You can’t be sure of anything on any given day, Brendan,’ said Mr McCoy as if reading my thoughts.
‘You could be here tomorrow and say exactly the same thing and he’d have a completely different reaction, it’s just the way it is – the mind’s a funny thing, especially when it’s suffered the kind of thing Ronan’s has suffered. ’
The door opened and Mrs McCoy was there.
‘He seems to be wanting to see you again, Brendan, it’s almost like he’s trying to say your name,’ she said, brushing the hair out of her face. ‘But he’s quite agitated this evening, it’s OK if you want to leave it for tonight.’
I could hear Ronan making noises inside, but not as intensely as before. I nodded and Mrs McCoy opened the door further for me to walk inside. Ronan’s hair was plastered down flat with sweat. I stood in the middle of the room and all was quiet apart from Ronan’s loud breathing.
‘You alright, Ronan?’ I said.
He had his head tilted down but his eyes were focused up into mine. His mouth began to work and he was making little grunting sounds. His lips were flexing and stretching.
‘Yee-ah-sh,’ he said very quietly but with great effort. ‘Yee-ah-sh.’
I looked around at Mr and Mrs McCoy, I hadn’t heard Ronan say the S sound like this before and by the looks on their faces I don’t think they had either.
‘Yes,’ I said, going over to him and sitting back down in front of him. I wanted to say sorry but I remembered what Mr McCoy had said about apologies, so I decided to tell Ronan the truth instead.
‘The news I told you, Ronan? I haven’t told anyone else, you’re the first …
well … you’re the first person I wanted to tell.
’ And this was true not just at that moment but always; any good thing that ever happened to me I shared it with him first. And if I had bad news, he knew how to make me see the upside, he could take the load off and manage to make me smile.
I wanted to do the same for him but I didn’t know how.
‘Can you help me understand what upset you?’ I said.
He made chewing motions with his mouth and shook his head from side to side.
I had a terrible thought; Ronan had given me the courage to ask Jennifer to the formal, but did he expect me not to have followed through with it? To not be brave enough? To fail?
‘I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t have ordered me to do it, King Ronan,’ I said, trying to coax a smile at least.
He blew through his nose wetly.
I had another terrible thought. I never thought terrible things about Ronan before; why was it happening now? I needed to think good things, supportive things. But the way Ronan was responding made me think that he was jealous.
‘Doesn’t mean I can’t back out, though?’ I said. ‘I’d still choose coming here and hanging out with you over going to the formal.’
He blew through his nose again.
‘Guh … go,’ he said, like he had the night he’d ordered me to ask Jennifer. ‘Guh … go.’
‘You want me to go away?’ I said, to test him.
He let out a high-pitched playful ‘nah’.
‘No, I’m only joking. Go to the formal?’
‘Guh … go,’ he said again.
I should have been happy, I should have been relieved.
‘You’re going to the formal, Brendan?’ said Mrs McCoy.
I turned to look at her and her husband, both with smiles that also seemed a bit sad.
‘Yes,’ I said with the eyes of all the McCoys on me, ‘but only because Ronan ordered me. I’m going with Jennifer Beattie, she said yes, so …’
Mr and Mrs McCoy nodded with the same heavy smiles on their faces. I think they were happy for me. I think they were sad for their son.
‘Memories,’ Mr McCoy said, ‘that’s what life’s about. Your school formal, something you’ll never forget.’
Memories. I had a lot of those with Ronan from before the accident.
Real memories. And I wondered, if our final year at school had been the year it was supposed to be, what our memories of that would have been?
Would Ronan and me have egged each other on to ask girls to the formal and gone together as a double date?
One possibility. Or Ronan might have ditched the formal for football practice, maybe I’d have ditched it for the cinema on my own.
Who’s to say? Maybe since it was our final year, in the interest of creating good memories, we would have went.
But who would I have asked? Without the terrible thing happening to Ronan, Jennifer would never have written her poem and we probably would never have connected and would have went through the whole of our final year completely oblivious to each other and then off into our separate lives.
I know that I think too much sometimes, I know it’s better not to think about the past or how different futures could turn out; it can be overwhelming and can trigger the ‘vivid life moment’ feeling that leaves me breathless and scared.
I could feel it happening to me sitting in front of Ronan as reams of possible futures spun out in my mind.
But then I focused on him; who he was and where he was now; he was trying to work it out, hoping to understand, wanting to make memories.
And me?
The same.
Trying to work it out, hoping to understand, wanting to make memories.