Chapter 36 #2
Despite it being the first day of the Easter holidays the park wasn’t busy, but we had planned to arrive as early as possible just in case it was. The parking area only had a couple of cars in it and Matty drove over to the spaces for wheelchair users in front of the café.
‘Benefits of having a VIP on board,’ said Matty, ‘is VIP parking.’
I helped Matty with the electric ramp and we lowered Ronan down as Mrs McCoy organised the backpacks.
‘Right,’ she said, a bit breathless, ‘shall we go?’
‘Yeah, let’s go,’ I said.
‘Yeah-sh,’ said Ronan.
‘Alright, Scout Master McCoy here shall lead you on your way,’ said Mr McCoy, with his hands on the shoulder straps of his backpack.
‘Your scout days are long gone,’ said Mrs McCoy. She turned to Matty: ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come for a bit of a dander with us, Matty?’
‘Nah,’ he said, smoking a cigarette, ‘too much of that aowl fresh air doesn’t agree with me.’
It sounded like a joke but part of me wondered if he actually believed that.
We set off; me pushing Ronan and Mr and Mrs McCoy walking together behind.
It was warm enough to wear a T-shirt but Mrs McCoy had packed fleeces in our backpacks just in case.
We followed the tarmac path across the lawn that had lots of wooden picnic tables dotted across it; only a couple of them were occupied by some elderly people sharing flasks of tea.
‘Did you bring the flask?’ asked Mr McCoy.
‘In your backpack, I made you decaf.’
‘Did you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Aye, I was wondering, I didn’t even think we had decaf.’
As we came up to the edge of the forest and entered under the trees, we stopped to put our fleeces on and Mrs McCoy tucked a blanket around Ronan.
‘Much colder in here,’ she said. ‘I knew it’d be.’
There was a rough dirt track that led off to the left and a smooth tarmac path that led straight ahead.
‘This has all changed from when I was last here,’ I said.
‘The tarmac path is new,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘I phoned ahead to ask about best routes for wheelchair users and the lady said we can follow the tarmac path the whole way round.’
‘We’ll come back some other day and take the dirt track once we get the off-road rally wheelchair, won’t we, Ronan?’ said Mr McCoy and Ronan growled a manly ‘yes’.
‘Can you get those?’ I asked. ‘That’d be class!’
‘No, there’ll be no off-road stuff going on!’ said Mrs McCoy.
Ronan groaned.
‘Well, at least not for now, Ronan,’ she said. ‘Tarmac path today. Lead the way, boys.’
I pushed Ronan forward into the sun-dappled forest.
It was so quiet, with only the sound of birds and the wheelchair tyres on the tarmac as they cracked across fallen twigs.
Ronan was silent apart from some cooing sounds he made every now and then, along with big breaths in and out.
Mr and Mrs McCoy were wordless too; any time I glanced back they were holding hands and either looking up at the canopy above or into the maze of trees surrounding us.
Maybe someone should have started a conversation, but it felt the most natural thing in the world for us to walk and be silent.
It had been a long time since any of us had had a moment of quiet, not to have to do something, be somewhere or make plans.
The McCoys had been confined to their house, which had become the centre of all organised and scheduled activity and appointments.
I’d been obeying my schedule of revision, school, Feeney’s, driving.
Ronan had his ream of commitments for home schooling, hospital appointments, physio.
Life outside the forest needed to be controlled, monitored, planned.
But inside the forest our bodies seemed to pause all outgoing energy and open up all the vents to suck in the air of calm, quiet peace.
The forest was taking care of us, leading us.
We didn’t have to make a route for ourselves or worry what direction to take; the tarmac path led the way smoothly, easily, and we followed it.
I don’t know how long we’d been walking before we entered a clearing with two wooden benches facing a break in the trees looking out over hills stretching away for miles.
‘Stop for a cuppa?’ said Mr McCoy.
It was the first words anyone had spoken since before entering the forest.
The three of us sat on one bench with Ronan beside me.
Mrs McCoy poured hot tea from a flask for herself and me, Mr McCoy drank coffee from his, and Ronan had an orange juice drink that fitted into an attachment at the back of the wheelchair with a drinking straw that came out of it and round to his mouth.
‘Well, this is just lovely,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘Absolutely lovely.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great if we had somewhere like this closer to where we lived?’ I said.
‘Aye, but you know yourself, Brendan,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘if you lived close to somewhere like this you only think you’d be here every day but people don’t appreciate what’s on their doorstep.
I bet you the majority of the people who come here are people like ourselves who’ve travelled a fair distance.
There’d be no locals here except maybe the dog walkers and the joggers, but that’s only exercise, they’re not really here to visit. To appreciate.’
‘Aye, you’re right, Mr McCoy,’ I said, ‘there’s things we have on our doorstep back home that I’ve never been to, like the Irish Museum; I’ve never been inside.’
‘No, I’ve never been in it myself, have you, Emma?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Aye, well, that’s the same thing. People from far away would be visiting that museum and saying, “Oh, if I lived nearby I’d be here every day,” and there we are living beside it practically and not one of us has set foot inside.’
‘Maybe we should go then?’ I said.
‘Yeah-sh,’ said Ronan.
‘Aye, would you like to go, Ronan?’ I said.
‘Ay-ee.’
‘OK, let’s go then – might as well, it’s on our doorstep after all.’
We sipped our drinks.
‘Just lovely,’ said Mrs McCoy in a whisper, as if it was an ‘amen’ to a prayer she’d just said in her head. ‘Will we go on?’
The tea break combined with the calm of the forest gave way to easy conversation for the rest of our walk.
When I saw a bright gap up ahead, I knew we were reaching the end of the path and would have to emerge out into the real world again.
I slowed the pace to hold on to the feeling of peace for as long as I could.
But it was already being broken by the sound of screaming children and car engines and people chattering getting louder as we neared.
When we stepped into the light once more, the lawn that had been practically empty had nearly every picnic table occupied, the playground was packed with children and the car park looked full, a couple of large coaches had parked up too.
Ronan started to get restless in his seat when he saw the crowds.
‘My goodness, what time is it?’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘It’s after one,’ said Mr McCoy, looking at his watch.
It didn’t seem like we’d been inside the forest for nearly three hours.
‘I was going to suggest us having our lunch at one of the picnic tables but it’s far too busy,’ said Mrs McCoy.
They were both getting anxious. Mr McCoy came round to check on Ronan who was starting to make a moaning noise.
‘You alright, son?’
Ronan started twisting around in his seat.
‘Will we head back towards the car park?’ I said.
We walked quickly across the path, tables of families on either side. I had to stop suddenly when two children ran in front of Ronan and he made a high-pitched yelp that caused them to stop and stare. One pulled the other and they ran off.
‘It’s alright, Ronan,’ I said.
Even though I could only see the back of his head I knew the anxiety was building in him; there was too much activity happening all around us, so I quickened up.
‘Toy-luh,’ he said.
‘What’s that, Ronan?’
‘He needs the toilet,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Here, Brendan, I’ll take him.’
Mr McCoy swapped with me and pushed Ronan off at a fast pace towards the café as Mrs McCoy and me headed towards Matty, sitting in the front seat with the window down.
‘Filled up fast, didn’t it!’ he said. ‘Coachload of young’uns from some youth club or somethin’. How’d the fresh air treat ya? Ya musta worked up a decent appetite, is that where the fellas are away to? Get some grub?’
‘No, they’re using the facilities,’ said Mrs McCoy, looking very concerned and stressed. ‘I’ve got all our food in the cool box but there’s nowhere quiet we can sit to eat it.’
She was twisting her hands and looking around.
‘It’s just too busy, isn’t it?’ she said to no one in particular. ‘Maybe we’ll eat in the car, is that alright, Matty?’
‘A’course, I’m not the one that has to clean it,’ said Matty, winking at me.
‘Oh sorry, Brendan, I forgot, I should be asking you.’
‘Matty’s only joking, Mrs McCoy, sandwich crumbs will be a dream compared to what I’ve had to clean before. I could tell you stories but I won’t.’
‘Aye, if this motor could talk,’ said Matty.
‘Thank God it can’t,’ I said.
A cold streak ran through me as I heard something in the distance.
The memory of it was still in my bones from the day I first heard it in the school canteen and my body went rigid in an instant.
Ronan was screaming. Mrs McCoy’s stance changed, too, she was like a tigress, alert and upright in search of her cub in distress.
I spotted Mr McCoy, red-faced, pushing Ronan down the path from the café coming straight towards us.
People had frozen on the spot to watch the screaming boy wheeling past them.
Ronan got louder the closer he came to us.
His face had turned purple. A group of children had gathered to watch.
‘No,’ Mr McCoy said as he reached us, ‘no, it’s far too busy.’
‘Did you get to use the toilet?’ Mrs McCoy asked.
‘We did, but it’s packed in there, all those kids.’ Mr McCoy was breathless and clearly upset.
‘It’s alright, Ronan, it’s alright,’ Mrs McCoy was saying calmly to him as he continued to scream with no let-up.
‘Ronan, don’t worry, it’s OK,’ I joined in, ‘it’s so friggin’ busy, I don’t like it myself, will we go home?’
Ronan’s screaming began to ease down. He started humming loudly, breathing fast, sweat pouring down his temples and snot running out of his nose.
‘Will we?’ I said again. ‘Home?’
His face was twisting and had gone from purple to red.
‘Yeah-sh,’ he managed to squeeze out.
‘Right.’ I turned to Matty. ‘Get the ramp down, Matty.’
‘Not a bother,’ he said, heading towards the back.
‘Mrs McCoy, give me those backpacks and I’ll get them inside,’ I said, taking them off her as she soothed Ronan by stroking his head and patting his face dry with a tissue.
‘Do you want to see if Ronan’ll take a sip of his juice, Mr McCoy?’ I said.
‘Aye,’ he said, snapping out of a frozen stance and then bringing the straw round to Ronan’s mouth. ‘As long as you don’t gulp the lot and need to pee again, Ronan,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood, but Ronan only took a small sip and turned his head away.
‘Alright, ready to go, Ronan?’ I said.
He was looking a lot calmer as we got him onto the ramp and rose him up into the safety of Matty’s vehicle, closing the back door to shut the outside world away.
I climbed in the side and strapped Ronan in.
His face was back to its normal colour and Mrs McCoy had dried his face off and cleaned his nose; things were feeling a lot more under control.
Mrs McCoy joined us in the back as Mr McCoy and Matty got in the front.
‘Will we eat our sandwiches now or wait till we get home? I’ve everything in the cool box so it’s fine either way,’ Mrs McCoy said.
‘I think we’ll just head home, Emma,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘What do you say, Brendan?’
‘Aye, I think maybe we should head home. What do you say, Ronan?’
Everyone turned to look at Ronan, he was breathing steady now and looking much more like himself again. He looked around at each of us in turn before speaking.
‘Hah-omme,’ he said. ‘Hah-omme.’
We all turned and looked out our windows at the busy park around us.
‘OK,’ Matty said, starting up the engine, ‘I’m takin’ yous home.’