Chapter 45
‘Well, young fella, are you all set for the mara?’ said Mr Feeney, strolling up to me in his fluffy dressing gown, mug of tea in hand, squinting in the sun as I sat in the back of the hearse polishing the glass.
So much had changed since I’d last set eyes on him; exams were over, school was finished, Ronan was in hospital.
But Mr Feeney was, and probably always would be, the same.
The familiarity of being back to work somehow settled my mind.
Or at least it did until Mr Feeney reminded me of my driving test the next day.
‘I’ll have to be, it feels like it’s come round very quick even though I’ve been waiting for it all year,’ I said.
‘Aye, time, funny thing – waits for no man,’ he said. That old phrase coming from a funeral director had a totally different meaning than coming from anyone else. ‘You’ll be glad to get it out of the way and you’ll be scrapin’ those L plates, don’t you worry.’
‘Well, that’s the plan.’
‘A plan you’ll have no bother stickin’ to,’ he said. ‘Tell me, how’s your friend doin’?’
‘Well, he hasn’t gained consciousness, still depending on the machines, so it’s not great, to be honest. Holding out hope, wishing and praying.’
I’d added St Christopher and St Brendan to my nightly prayers alongside St Joseph. The saints and my birthday wish, that’s all I had.
‘Aye well that’s about all you can do that’s within your power,’ said Mr Feeney. ‘A strong wish is a force in itself and never underestimate the power of prayer.’
‘My granny always said that.’
‘Wise woman your granny.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘Have you put much thought into what your career plans are goin’ to be now school’s over?’
I filled my lungs and let the air out on loose lips.
‘Ah,’ said Mr Feeney.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ I said. ‘Just can’t get my head around any of that at the minute.’
‘No, I know, too much goin’ on for you right now.
But just to remind you that I was serious when we had that chat that time about you gettin’ into this line of work.
But see how things go with your results and all that.
You’ve a place here no matter what, whether it’s cleanin’ the vehicles or somethin’ a bit more involved, sure we’ll talk.
But not now, not now. Get your test passed the mara, celebrate your birthday and hopefully your wee friend will come round and you can have a great summer together, you’ve earned it, I don’t want you workin’ here every single day of the holidays like you usually do, I want you out enjoyin’ yourself. What are your plans?’
I felt like blowing air out through my lips again but resisted.
‘You know, Mr Feeney, if things go on the way they are I really might need to be here all summer. When I’m here I’m able to switch off my thoughts, not completely, but at least the volume goes down a bit.’
‘Well, I’m glad there’s a therapeutic benefit for you here, Brendan.
Wish I could say the same for that useless brother of mine, you nearly need a therapeutic session for yourself after talkin’ to him.
’ He snorted. ‘But work isn’t a healthy escape, Brendan.
You need to shower that head of yours away from this place every now and then, it’ll do you the power of good, I’m tellin’ you. ’
‘But sure I’ve only started back, Mr Feeney.’
‘Aye I know, I’m talkin’ long-term. Sure even I’m takin’ a few days to myself over the summer and I’m the first to admit I’m a workaholic, no other choice in this business.
Between you and me, it’s the wife’s idea.
If I didn’t have her in my ear I’d be non-stop and you know what?
I’m lucky to have her. We need people to tell us to stop for a second and gather ourselves back to ourselves again. ’
‘Gather ourselves back to ourselves again,’ I repeated. ‘I like that.’
‘Aye, it sounds like an actual saying, doesn’t it? Still a bit’a diesel in the aowl brain yet, Brendan, eh?’
‘Gerry!’ his wife called from the doorway. ‘Phone!’
‘You see,’ said Mr Feeney, ‘she can tell me to take a break but she can also whip me into work mode like no other force on earth. I suppose that’s why I married her.’
‘Gerry!’ she called again.
‘Ah, voice like an angel,’ he said as he ran off into the house.
I’d only been polishing for a minute before Mr Feeney came out again pulling on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and an old Gaelic football jersey.
‘Brendan, that was your da, I’m goin’ to drive you to the hospital, your wee friend has taken a bad turn.’
My breath stopped.
‘Your da says he’s headin’ there now, hop in the BM.’
Mr Feeney’s BMW became something like a time portal.
One minute I was at the funeral home, the next I was running up to the automatic doors of the hospital.
I think Mr Feeney said something to me as I flew off but it didn’t register.
I sped through the reception, past blurs of people to the lift, repeatedly pressing the button, rushing inside when the doors opened, quietly cursing the amount of stops it made on the way; people coming on and off.
When I eventually got to Intensive Care I ran down the corridor to see Dad in the distance.
‘Dad!’
‘Brendan.’
‘What’s wrong? Is Ronan OK?’
‘Take a second, Brendan, take a second, it’s OK, he’s alright.’
Dad was blocking the door.
‘Am I not allowed in?’
‘You are, I just want you to catch your breath first, alright?’
‘Alright.’ I took a big breath in and calmly let it out. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘He had another seizure and it’s taken a lot out of him, so when you see him you’ll see that his colour’s a bit off but they have him stabilised.’
‘Right,’ I said, sensing there was something more.
‘We can’t go in just yet because the doctor’s in there with Aaron and Emma, so we’ll get an update shortly. Why don’t we take a seat here and we’ll go in when the doctor’s finished talking to them?’
He led me over to the plastic seats and sat me down.
‘Do you want something? A drink of something?’
‘Is there any chocolate?’
‘Aye, I’ll go to the machine. Fruit and nut?’
‘Anything … actually, caramel bar if it’s there.’
‘Dead on. Back in a second.’
I sat watching people pass by: chattering nurses, a cleaner wheeling a mop bucket, families looking for the right door, patients in gowns shuffling along.
It was like that sequence you see sometimes in films where the lead character is standing in a busy place like Times Square in New York, they’re standing completely still but the film is sped up so that everything around them is in blurry motion.
I think it’s meant to represent a sense of loneliness or something, usually at a point in the film where the lead character is in a crisis.
‘They didn’t have caramel bars so I got a Toblerone, a Double Decker, a packet of Minstrels and a Yorkie.’
I took the Yorkie.
‘How long has the doctor been in there?’ I asked.
‘A good fifteen minutes before you arrived.’
‘Can’t be good?’
‘Let’s see.’
I opened the Yorkie, broke off a giant chunk, put it in my mouth and held it there. I offered Dad a bit and he did the same. Neither of us bit down. We sat there, side by side, chocolate melting on our tongues, staring at the blank wall opposite.
‘Was it Yorkie Easter eggs you always used to get every year?’ Dad asked. I could hear that he had shifted the chunk of chocolate over to one side of his mouth to speak.
‘What?’ I said, sliding my chunk over to the inside of my cheek.
‘I think it was Yorkie Easter eggs you always got, was it not?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, shifting the chocolate over to the other cheek. ‘Granny always bought me that one.’
‘Oh aye, that’s what it was.’
‘It came with a mug one year.’
‘The Yorkie mug that’s up in the cupboard?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I never end up drinking out of that one.’
‘No, it’s too big.’
‘You’d nearly need two teabags for a decent cup of tea out of that thing.’
‘Yeah.’
We sucked on our chocolate some more.
‘What was the egg you got this year, not Yorkie? Galaxy or something?’ Dad asked.
‘Not Yorkie, no, it was a …’
‘Aye, no, it was a Mini Eggs one …’
‘Aye, a Mini Eggs one, with all the little eggs inside the big egg.’ The chocolate on my tongue was just a tiny pearl now, ready to disappear. ‘Because Granny always got me a Yorkie one.’
I swallowed the last trace of chocolate. I think Dad did too and we sat there with the taste of it in our mouths for a silent few minutes before we flinched at the door opening and the doctor stepped out, a folder under his arm, briskly walking away from us.
‘Doctor.’ Dad half ran to catch up with him. ‘Is it OK for us to go in?’
I couldn’t quite hear what the doctor said from where I was sitting but he seemed to nod his approval.
‘Aye, we can go in now,’ said Dad, coming back to me.
Dad gently knocked on the door, opened it slowly and I followed behind.
‘Alright there, Emma, alright there, Aaron,’ said Dad in the softest of voices.
As my head came round the doorframe I saw Mr and Mrs McCoy standing in silhouette in front of the window with the bright sky behind them; they had their arms around one another and were both in tears.
‘Come in,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘come on in.’
I stepped fully in and looked to my right. Ronan’s face was a pale-greenish colour and the machine was still blasting gusts of air into him. He barely looked alive.
‘We saw the doctor on the way out, so we did,’ said Dad awkwardly, and the McCoys nodded.
‘Yes …’ said Mr McCoy, swallowing, ‘… um, it’s not great news …
’ He clenched closer to his wife who had her head tucked in at the front of his shoulder, she seemed incapable of speaking at all, so Mr McCoy continued.
‘The seizure this morning is just not what needed to happen … um … at all, really … so … I think, um, they’ve said we need to think about how much longer we keep him on the machines because …
because … there’s nothing they … he’s more or less … ’
He didn’t have to say any more because there was nothing more to be said for me to understand.
‘We just …’ choked Mrs McCoy, ‘… we just … have to think about what’s best for Ronan, is what the doctor said, so … so we need to just think, don’t we, Aaron?’
Mr McCoy had his head down but he nodded.
My mouth was immobilised so I walked over and hugged them both as tightly as I possibly could and they hugged me just as tightly back, squeezing me in between them, their heads above mine, feeling the drips of their tears on the back of my head as I stared down at the grey-speckled floor.
I didn’t want to leave the hospital. Where would I go if I did? Home to my room to sit and worry and think?
‘Ronan will pull through, I know it, he’ll pull through,’ I said, but Mr and Mrs McCoy only smiled at me sadly.
Our new lives with Ronan were just beginning and I desperately wanted to keep it the way it was, I wanted to pick up where we’d left off, I wanted to not be sitting watching the McCoys in such despair, to not be feeling my dad’s consoling presence by my side, to not be watching Ronan being pumped by those machines.
Was he even still in there? Was he technically still alive?
What would happen if those machines were turned off?
‘What time’s your test tomorrow, Brendan?’ Mr McCoy said after a moment of silent vigil by Ronan’s side.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Your driving test.’
‘Well, I can’t … not … I can’t take it tomorrow, we can rebook it, Dad, can’t we?’
‘Absolutely, we’ll rearrange it of course, I’ll phone them.’
‘No, please don’t,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Please don’t, Brendan.’ His eyes were red and his voice was pleading. ‘If you can bear it, I think … I don’t know … I just know you’re going to pass and I’d love to hear that news tomorrow, I really would.’
‘No, Aaron,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘it’s not right to force him, come on.’
‘Ah, sorry, Brendan, that’s not fair of me, sorry …’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’ll take the test. I’ll take it and I’ll pass it and I’ll come here and we’ll rip those L plates up like nothing’s ever been ripped up before!’
It was the belief in my birthday wish that made me say it. It was the strongest thing, the only thing, I had. I’d blow out those birthday candles, Ronan would wake. Ronan would smile. Ronan would be showered in the confetti of my L plates.
I could make it happen.
I could make it happen.
I would.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said.