Father’s Music. Dermot Bolger

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СКАЧАТЬ to panic. It was like him, but the face was stockier, the eyes more cold. Ironically it was the suit I recognised first, because, as suits go, Christy Duggan’s taste was pretty appalling. The photograph was obviously a family one, taken at a christening or wedding. I banged on the glass. At first I thought the shopkeeper wasn’t going to bother opening up. The paper was folded, but I could still make out the headline, Dublin Gangland Murder.

      I stood outside under a streetlamp, reading the account of his killing over and over until the rain distorted the newsprint. Now I knew that Luke wouldn’t be in the hotel. He would have no way of letting me know the news and no way of guessing that I knew. But I walked on anyway, in case there was a message at reception. I wanted there to be a different receptionist, but the same one eyed me coldly, sensing she had the upper hand.

      ‘Is there a letter for me here?’ I asked.

      ‘I’m not his messenger,’ she retorted. ‘Go up and ask him yourself.’

      She turned a page of her magazine, deliberately not looking up until I’d gone. I reached the top of the stairs. I hadn’t expected this. I must be important if Luke had found time to see me tonight. We had always kept emotions at bay and now I felt ill-equipped to console him. It didn’t seem right to walk in on his grief. I knocked twice before he opened the door. If he had been crying it was well hidden. He stepped back to allow me in.

      ‘Luke, I know and I’m sorry,’ I said.

      He gave a half shrug. ‘It was all my fault.’

      Even when confronting death he seemed composed. His suit was immaculate although the shirt collar looked scuffed. His manner was more apologetic than mournful.

      ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ I said. ‘I’m just surprised you came tonight.’

      ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘We can’t let setbacks get in our way.’

      He took a pull of his cigar and I realised that my suspicions were right all along. He was a total chameleon, a conman who felt nothing for anybody. I remembered his hands on my neck that first night. He could have killed me and thought nothing of it. Luke studied my face, concerned.

      ‘What’s wrong, Tracey?’ he said. ‘I’m here to apologise for the row. I’m sorry about the shop, but we’re so busy before Christmas that I was miles away. You were gone before I’d time to say anything.’

      He hadn’t realised I was talking about Christy. He thought I didn’t know what had happened.

      ‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ I sneered. ‘You don’t even let death get in the way of a quick fuck!’

      I backed away, ready to flee and Luke reached a hand out.

      ‘Don’t fucking touch me,’ I shouted. Then I looked at his eyes and realised that Luke hadn’t heard the news from Dublin.

      ‘Where have you been all day?’

      He looked confused by the question. ‘I was in Holland since Friday, buying stock from a tile shop closing down over there. I took the van across. It’s parked outside still.’

      ‘Oh my God.’ I paused but couldn’t find a way to soften the words. ‘Luke, I’m sorry, but your brother Christy was shot dead in Dublin.’

      Only when I held up the sodden newspaper did Luke realise I was serious. His face changed. He took it from me and turned away. I saw his head move as he scanned the blurred columns. Newsprint had stained my hands, the words printed backwards across my fingers. I looked up and realised that Luke was no longer attempting to read. He was silently crying. I went to put my arms around his shoulders, then stopped. Luke had always maintained an emotional distance between us. I could only watch, afraid that any attempt to console him would be rejected.

      ‘Would you like me to go?’

      ‘No. Please.’ He walked to the window and put his hands on the pane. I could see him reflected in it and he could see me.

      ‘You were close, weren’t you?’ I said.

      ‘He could beat the crap out of me, but he’d murder anyone who put a finger near me as well. I was fifteen before I’d clothes of my own. I lived in his hand-me-downs, vests, underpants, even his shoes sometimes.’ Luke turned. His face seemed to have aged a decade. ‘Even adults were scared of him. He’d take on blokes twice his size and beat them. Yet I was the one always trying to mind him.’

      I knew by the way Luke stood that he wanted to be held. I put my arms around him and he buried his face in my hair where I couldn’t see him cry. I recalled a story he once told me, set on a factory roof somewhere in Dublin called Rialto. Luke had heard that Christy and an older boy were breaking in there but he knew their plan was inept. The roofs were slippery after rain as he crossed valleys of corrugated iron and hammered glass, searching for them. A watchman’s torch flashed below, followed by an alsatian’s muffled bark. Then, somewhere among the rooftops, he heard sporadic sobbing. It was too dangerous to call out. Luke waited till the crying resumed, then took a bearing and slid down a gully, where a loose rivet ripped his jeans and flesh. His boots collided with Christy, who rocked back and forth, his crying frightening Luke more than the danger of being caught. Luke stared at the glass below on the concrete floor. The light was bright enough to make the shards sparkle and for Luke to see that the fallen figure lying there had a broken neck.

      I stroked Luke’s hair, which was thinning and greying at the roots with traces of dandruff. I felt so desperately sorry, but there seemed nothing I could say to console him. I could see those boys in my mind, Luke trying to guide his brother like a blubbering child along the rooftops as he watched for the security guard and unchained dog. Luke had known how to escape. But Christy had seized up, unable to climb down, even after they heard the body being found and knew the police had been called. Luke remained, minding Christy until the firemen raised their ladders, although he knew he would also be charged and sentenced to an Irish industrial school.

      Luke raised his head and wiped his eyes.

      ‘You should go home,’ I said. ‘People will be looking for you.’

      ‘I don’t like home,’ he replied. ‘Before meeting you I thought that what I wanted wasn’t important. I put my head down and got on with working for my family. Suits aren’t meant to contain feelings. I should go home, there’s business to take care of. But fuck it, Tracey, I don’t want to ever leave this room.’

      ‘You’ve no choice,’ I said quietly. ‘You’re needed there.’

      ‘Come with me.’

      I thought of his wife and children. ‘You know I can’t, Luke. But I’ll drive with you if you want and see you get safely there.’

      ‘I didn’t mean home here,’ Luke said. ‘It’s Dublin I hate. I haven’t gone back for years. I’m not sure I can face watching gangsters queue up to shake my hand and knowing one of them set Christy up. Come to Dublin. It would mean so much to know you’re there. I need you with me, Tracey. Please.’

III DUBLIN

       EIGHT

      LUKE’S СКАЧАТЬ