Chapter 63
Chapter Sixty-Three
W hen I woke up, the birds were singing and the light was shining in through my window and I felt good. I felt like I’d had the best night’s sleep of my life, which didn’t make sense because I’d gone back and checked everything multiple times and gone to bed with a head that felt like I had a hangover. But I’d put it down to the jetlag.
After I’d had my shower and got changed (salmon-pink jumper and jeans, of course), I stood at the top of my stairs and took a deep breath. I’d wondered if I’d still think of Mr O’Callaghan’s penis. I’d fantasised that perhaps now that I knew what had happened that I would be healed, that I would spring down the stairs with light steps, big strides, stopping only to lock my door, once, and never look back. But I knew that wasn’t really going to happen. I still had OCD. I still thought of Mr O’Callaghan’s penis.
I stepped forwards.
‘One, two, three, four, five, six, Mr O’Callaghan’s penis in Maggie Ryan’s mouth.’
‘Fuck!’
I ran back up them, imagining myself stomping up a mountain determined to get to the top.
‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, Mr O’Callaghan filming it … shit, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, trees, trees, trees.’
I closed my eyes and ran down the rest of the way.
‘Thirteen, fucking fourteen. Trees, trees, trees.’
I was at the bottom. I was at the bottom and nothing had changed. Actually, that’s a lie; something had changed; now I saw Maggie Ryan’s face too. But I was alive and as far as I was aware, no one had died.
In my kitchen, I made my cheese and pickle sandwich, packed a banana and my yoghurt, then I pulled on my boots and left the house, checking the door handle only once.
* * *
I made my way past O’Callaghan’s shop. I didn’t go in, I couldn’t quite face Mrs O’Callaghan knowing that I had seen her husband’s penis in real life after all. I crossed the road and kept my head up. I kept it up the whole way, looking out for any red cars but hoping desperately that I wouldn’t see any.
I passed Ellie’s bakery and Sally’s farm eggs on the roadside. I saw the sanitiser next to them and the notepad she left for people to write down what they’d paid and what they owed. I bent down and scribbled my message.
No need for the sanitiser anymore, thanks Sally! Pearl x
God, it felt good to do that and I imagined Sally’s face when she read the note, how happy and shocked she’d be at the same time. Then I imagined me leaving another note the next time asking for it back, because I knew I probably would, and that was OK.
I waved to Mr Dutson on my way by. He popped his head out of the garage door and shouted:
‘Sorry about that bugger, Pearl!’
By that bugger he meant Jack and I waved back at him and said with a smile:
‘Thanks, Mr Dutson, glad to be home.’
Then I skipped along the pavement like someone out of a musical, except I wasn’t singing (I wasn’t actually skipping either, but you know what I mean, I was on a natural high).
When I got to the salon I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a red car parked right outside. Una came out as soon as she saw me.
‘What do you think?’ She grinned.
‘It’s yours?’
‘Yep.’
There was a moment between us as it sunk in that the choice of colour was deliberate.
‘If I die it won’t be down to you seeing this red car, it will be down to the fact it was just my time to die.’
‘You’re a cow, you know that?’ I said.
‘Mooooo!’ Una chuckled as she grabbed my arm. ‘Come on,’ she tugged my sleeve, ‘let’s have some lunch and talk about dead people.’
* * *
When we got to the graveyard, I sat in my usual spot (on the bench closest to Gillian Murphy’s grave). Gillian was a mother, grandmother and daughter and had died when she was only sixty-three. She always had fresh flowers on her grave, so it was comforting to know she hadn’t been forgotten. Not that people get forgotten but I suppose sometimes it is easy to let time slip by and before anyone knows it a year or more has passed since they’ve been to visit their loved one.
I didn’t leave flowers for my grandmother. She’d have told me not to bother my head if she’d been alive. Instead, I’d planted forget-me-nots all around her grave so that when they came out in the spring she could see them from heaven.
My grandmother’s ashes were buried beside a cherry tree that only blossomed once a year in May. Beside her was a man called Dermot, who’d died at the ripe old age of ninety-two, and Enid, who shared the same surname as Gillian, so perhaps she was her sister?
I liked the idea of being buried with my grandmother but I hated the thought of being under the ground, trapped, so I’d told Una I was to be scattered on top instead. She told me it didn’t matter because I’d blow away in the end anyway, and probably end up stuck in a hedge somewhere.
‘So, what are you going to do now you’re back?’ Una asked once we’d sat down.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Will you carry on at the shop or has New Zealand given you a new lease for life? See what I did there?’
‘Very good,’ I said. ‘I think it’s helped me in lots of ways but I always knew I was happy here.’
‘Touché.’ Una laughed. ‘So you’re not going to pack up and go back then?’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘That’s what people do isn’t it, they go off and decide the grass is greener and all that.’
‘I prefer Drangan’s grass.’
‘That’s good. And the shop?’
‘I’m happy at the shop,’ I said. ‘I’m happy with my life here, that was never the problem.’
‘I know,’ Una said. ‘I’m proud of you for going, you know. I never thought you would.’
‘Me neither.’
‘What about Niall?’
‘God, what’s all this about Niall. You’re the one that bloody went home with him.’
‘You know he painted that gate for you?’
‘It wasn’t for me.’
‘Of course it was.’
Una nudged my arm with her elbow.
‘Have you been to see him yet?’
I nodded.
‘You know he told me,’ she said.
‘Told you what?’
‘About his dad and Maggie Ryan.’
‘He told you?’
‘When he was drunk, I’m not sure if he remembers or not though. He’s wanted to tell you for a long time and felt bad about it.’
‘Did he tell you that he couldn’t stop thinking about it?’
‘Yep, poor bugger. Can you imagine that?’
‘Funnily enough, I can.’
‘Maybe you could help him out?’
‘He doesn’t suffer from OCD.’
‘No, I don’t mean that.’
‘What do you mean then?’
‘I mean maybe you could give him a blow job, and then he’d see you instead of Maggie Ryan?’
‘You’re sick in the head.’
‘I’m just saying. It might help, that’s all.’
‘Why didn’t you give him one then if you want to help so much?’
‘I probably would have done if he’d not gone all weird on me.’
‘Really?’
‘Probably.’ Una shrugged.
And I felt jealous then, but I didn’t tell Una that.
‘Right, well fill your boots,’ I said but I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want Una filling anything with Niall.
‘Maybe you need to fill yours.’ She laughed.
‘Maybe,’ I said back.