Chapter 56
I had just pulled up outside when the McCoys arrived.
‘Is that the new motor, Brendan?’ said Mr McCoy, walking over to put his hand on the roof of my car. ‘Beaut!’
‘Lovely colour,’ said Mrs McCoy, at her husband’s side with a packet of biscuits in her hand. ‘Will we head in?’
They led me inside, up the stairs and into a room that had about fifteen people in it, talking amongst themselves. Several of them were gathered at a tea table off to the side.
‘Aaron, Emma, lovely to see you, how are you both?’ said a large woman in a loud but smooth voice, walking energetically towards us. She was wearing a colourful flowery blouse and had a rosy red face.
‘Patricia, how are you?’ said Mr McCoy as he received an all-consuming hug, which caused him to grunt. ‘No hug like a Patricia hug,’ he said in an overstrained voice.
‘Can I get one too?’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘It’s mandatory, Emma, you know this by now,’ said Patricia, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing. ‘Better?’ she said as she released.
‘Much,’ said Mrs McCoy with a big breath out.
‘And who’s this?’ said Patricia, looking down at me.
‘This is Brendan,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Of course it is,’ said Patricia, stepping back with hands on hips. I nodded, feeling self-conscious as she looked me up and down. I held my hand out for a shake but Patricia shooed it away.
‘It’s hugs here, I’m afraid, Brendan,’ she said, pulling me into her.
‘You do give good hugs,’ I said, when I came out of it.
‘They’re becoming legendary but I don’t like to toot my own horn,’ she said. ‘Now, come on ahead in and we’ll get you some tea and biscuits. Is that Rich Tea I see in your hand there, Emma?’
‘It is indeed, Patricia.’
‘Now there’s a woman who speaks my biscuit language. Come on over and we’ll tear into them,’ she said, shepherding us over to the tea table. Mrs McCoy looked at me and winked.
‘Where’s wee Simon? Simon?’ called Patricia on the way.
‘Yeah?’ came a boy’s voice from the other side of the room.
‘Come over here and meet Brendan,’ said Patricia, beckoning the boy over.
He was small and very skinny with short, messy brown hair and freckles; he almost had a skip to his step when he crossed the room.
‘Simon; Brendan. Brendan; Simon,’ said Patricia and I took Simon’s outstretched hand which he shook much more strongly than I had expected. ‘Best friend of Ronan.’
Simon’s face went sombre and he nodded and joined his hands together in front of him at waist height.
‘I was really sorry to hear about Ronan,’ he said in a voice that was quite husky and deep, ‘I was really enjoying hearing about his progress from Aaron and Emma.’
I nodded but didn’t know what to say.
‘Simon’s older brother suffered a TBI earlier in the year,’ said Patricia as Simon continued to stare at me.
‘Not easy, but that’s why we’re all here.
’ Patricia suddenly clapped her hands together, which snapped Simon out of his stare.
‘Right, I better get this show on the go – does everyone want to take their seats?’ Patricia called out.
Everyone gravitated towards a circle of blue plastic chairs in the middle of the room. Simon came carrying an extra one.
‘Sit beside me if you want,’ he said.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, sitting down beside him with the McCoys on the other side of me.
‘Right, first things first: updates,’ said Patricia, taking out a large leather-bound book.
She began to run through lots of topics to do with funding, compensation and the little financial support available to those who were struggling with the full-time care of their children.
She announced some upcoming fundraisers, including a hike up Slieve Gullion to pay for a new disabled-access bathroom for a young girl whose parents couldn’t afford it.
I hadn’t expected there to be so much talk about money, but it seemed to dominate every single issue that Patricia brought up: support for education both in school and at home, medical care, adult support and counselling, the list went on and there didn’t seem to be a resolution to anything.
‘Right, now we’ve got all that out of the way,’ said Patricia with a theatrical sigh, ‘how’s everyone doing?’
There was silence around the circle as everyone looked at each other.
‘I suppose I can tell you about Danny?’ said Simon.
‘Lovely,’ said Patricia, sitting back with her arms folded high on her chest. ‘Floor’s yours.’
‘Well, last weekend we’d arranged to play football at our house with a couple of Danny’s old mates. Mum and me thought it’d be good if Danny could get a bit more social.’
‘Because those mates didn’t really stay mates with him, did they, Simon?’ said Patricia.
‘No, well, they said he wasn’t Danny anymore and I know what they meant because Danny used to know all this stuff about films and everything, and all his friends are into that kind of thing too, and now he just doesn’t have the attention span or interest to sit and watch a film.
We used to have family movie nights before the accident. ’
‘And we talked last time, didn’t we, about finding some new things you can do together and you thought maybe the football would be good?’
‘Yeah, so I’m sort of training him up.’
‘Like, what’s that coach? Ferguson?’ said Patricia with a bit of a tease in her voice.
‘Ah, Patricia,’ said Simon, shaking his head, ‘that’s Man U’s manager, I’m more Rafael Benitez; Liverpool.’
I looked over to Mr and Mrs McCoy and they smiled sadly over at me.
‘So Mum and me invited two of his old friends, Padraig and Malachy, over to our house for a kickabout. Mum said she’d do pizza after.
But it was really weird right from the second they arrived; it was like they didn’t want to be there, even though they hadn’t called to see Danny in I don’t know how long. ’
‘And Danny’s at a different school to them now, isn’t he, so it’s a bit more difficult,’ said Patricia.
‘I know but Padraig and Malachy only live up the road,’ said Simon defiantly.
‘They were hardly talking to us so I ploughed on and led us all into the back garden. Danny started dribbling the ball straight away, then he booted it and it hit Padraig on the shoulder and he said, “What the eff?” and Danny froze because Padraig said it a bit loud, and Danny has this thing about raised voices that he didn’t have before, which Padraig had been told about but he didn’t seem to care.
I went over to Danny and did the back of the neck thing on him,’ Simon said, running his index finger up and down the nape of his neck.
‘Well done,’ said Patricia.
‘And that worked and he stopped his heavy breathing. Padraig and Malachy looked at us like we were freaks, but I tried to ignore that and told Malachy to kick the ball over, and when he did Danny laughed and we ended up playing a pretty decent game together.’
‘That’s good,’ said Patricia.
‘Yeah. Then Mum called us in for pizza – and Danny only eats plain cheese now, he used to love Hawaiian, and this was his first time eating with people outside the family.’ Simon was starting to smile and giggle.
‘And he’s a flipping messy eater now, even more than he was before, it’s kinda funny, I know it shouldn’t be, but he doesn’t give a damn if he’s got tomato sauce all round his mouth or cheese hanging down or crumbs all over the place, we just normally let him work away and worry about cleaning up after.
But Padraig and Malachy were looking at Danny and, if I’m honest, they looked disgusted and it made me really angry, but I didn’t say anything.
I just tried to eat my own pizza. Padraig and Malachy hardly touched theirs.
They were two wet blankets the whole time and you know what, Patricia?
I’m sort of glad I had that experience because it proves who Danny’s real friends are and it’s not them.
I told Mum after they’d left, “Let’s not invite them round again,” and you know what?
She agreed, didn’t she, Dad?’ Simon said, looking at the man sitting next to him.
‘So it was a bad experience but a good lesson. I know now who his best friend is, he doesn’t have anyone else, so it’s me,’ he said proudly.
‘And what a lucky fella he is to have you.’
‘Thanks, Patricia,’ said Simon with his chest out.
Nearly everyone shared a piece of news from their week.
‘The hospital finally came to remove the bed,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘We’d been phoning them nearly every day.’
‘And you hear stories of them crying out for beds,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘So, it’s back to being the spare room now,’ said Mrs McCoy.
The group, with powerful silence, seemed to offer their understanding.
‘That’s one of the hardest parts,’ said a woman across the circle.
‘When my Fiona passed away I kept the room with all her medical stuff in it untouched for months. Even though I didn’t go inside I got a bit of comfort knowing everything was still there, as if I could still hold the reality of all the care we’d given her, but the actual reality was that it was holding me back in my grieving process.
’ The McCoys were both leaning forward and nodding.
‘Same with Fiona’s old bedroom,’ the woman continued.
‘I didn’t touch a thing in there since before her accident and now that it’s been over a year since she passed I don’t think I ever will.
There’s just so much of her in there and that’s about as close as I can get to Fiona.
I go in every morning, have a wee sit on her bed, and it brings me real peace and happiness when I can start my day with my daughter. ’
I looked at Mr and Mrs McCoy, knowing that they had preserved Ronan’s bedroom too.
Patricia looked around the group, searching for anyone who might speak next.
‘Um, can I say something?’ The words came out of my mouth all by themselves, it seemed.
‘I don’t really know what I want to say.’ I could feel myself going red.
‘Preaching to the choir, Brendan. Who here in this room hasn’t said those very words?’
Everyone made hums and nods of agreement.
‘Sometimes, Brendan, we just feel there’s words inside but we don’t know the order they want to come out in until we let them take the lead, so, just let them lead you.’
I took a breath.
‘OK, well, I’ve been sitting here tonight feeling …
I don’t know … regret or something. About not being here sooner, but it feels selfish to say that, I think …
because … well, no because I’m not … because I definitely feel other things tonight too, like admiration, hearing everyone else speak, hearing a little piece of everyone’s story.
Because I have pieces as well … the pieces of Ronan; I mean, the pieces of our story …
feels like there’s too many pieces sometimes; all the pieces of who he was before the accident, all the pieces of who he was after, and then there’s the pieces of him as they are in my head right now.
Maybe one day they’ll all kind of fit together but at the minute they’re all scattered and unconnected, lost …
and I get lost sometimes in between all those pieces …
in the spaces in between. It’s like … have you ever noticed that when you look into the black spaces between stars?
Like if you really focus on the black it makes the stars look brighter?
Much brighter than if you looked at them directly?
Well, it’s like that sort of … I think that’s what grief kind of is or maybe just my weird view of it.
But I think that’s a bit like what I’m doing …
looking into the darkness to try to see how bright the pieces can be on their own …
I mean, because … I’ve started doing this thing in my head where I think of all those special pieces of Ronan and turn each one into a star and create a whole constellation in my head.
And the constellation is so huge that, even though my eyes are closed, I’m blinded by how white it is.
And when I open my eyes I still have the blindness for a few seconds before it starts to fade and I’m back in the real world again and it just doesn’t feel as good. But I think … I think it helps.’
I stopped, aware of how silent the room felt and how loud my voice seemed.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t know where that all came from.’
Patricia was looking at me with a huge closed-mouth smile. I looked over at Mr and Mrs McCoy and their faces were wet. I felt a hand on my knee. It was Simon’s; his face was wet too. In fact, others in the circle seemed to be sniffing and wiping their eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I said again.
‘Brendan,’ said Patricia. ‘That’s a banned word in this room, but you’re new so I’ll forgive you this time, but never apologise for yourself or your feelings or for how much Ronan means to you. You say you don’t know where those words came from but we all do, don’t we, folks?’
Nods and sounds of agreement from all.
‘We watched those words come right up from out of that chest of yours, straight from your strong beating heart. Never, ever feel sorry for that,’ Patricia said, getting to her feet.
‘And this “regret” business, another banned word here. We can have no regrets for the things we did or feel we didn’t do, we did all that we could and that is a force that is entirely regret-free.
’ She was just a few feet from me. ‘How do you feel after that, Brendan?’
‘Good,’ I said, letting out a big breath and a kind of laugh. ‘I think.’
‘Well, we’re in the business of goodness here and what a gift of goodness you brought to us all here tonight.
Thank you, Brendan. How would you feel about another hug?
’ she said with her arms stretched out. I stood up straight away, took three steps and found myself in another tight, comforting squeeze.
‘Now,’ said Patricia, releasing me. ‘Let’s all go out there this week and take a leaf from the book of Brendan and make our own constellations, folks. Let’s end on that. See you all next week.’
She smiled down at me and ushered me back towards the McCoys.
‘We would offer you a hug too but we know it wouldn’t compare to that one,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘Come here,’ I said with open arms and I hugged them both as tightly as I could.
When I let go I don’t know how to describe it but I felt vast. I felt open.
I felt full. I felt like what was swelling up inside couldn’t be held in any longer; when I got home that night I lifted the phone and dialled.