Taken Away (11 page)

Both the soldier and myself screamed, though his scream was nothing more than an echo in my skull, and I ran forward, my hands up. The soldier flung his arms over his head in an expansive gesture of horror and I ran straight through him as he exploded into fragments, like leaves of light.

I skidded to a halt beside Dom and slammed to my knees, shouting his name. He was crouched against the wall, his hand to his heaving chest, his eyes wild. He didn't seem to notice me, just kept heaving in air and pulling the front of his top as if the fabric were strangling him.

I paused, my hands hovering without touching him. Where had that child gone? Had he just disappeared? Exploding into light like the man? Had he in some way leapt through Dom and into the stones behind him? Had he . . . had he
entered
my brother somehow? My brother who now crouched against the wall, his eyes rolling, his breath whistling in and out of his throat like someone breathing through a straw?

Was the child
inside
him?

Suddenly Dom grabbed at his throat, a whole new panic rippling across his face. He began to gag, and I grabbed him. This wasn't asthma, this was
choking
. Dom was choking! I pulled him roughly towards me. My first thought was that he had somehow swallowed his tongue.

At the feel of my hands on him, Dom screeched and punched me. It was a cracking left hook to my jaw, and I was on the ground with my face in the dirt before I registered the blow. I rolled onto my back, clutching my face, tears of pain flooding my eyes. Dom leapt to his feet. And then he kicked me. He kicked me so hard that I actually felt my ribs creak under the impact. I've never forgotten that – the feel of my ribs bowing at the impact of my brother's kick. Thank God he was barefoot, because I have no doubt he would have done serious damage if he'd been wearing those army boots he loved.

I was so stunned, so totally out of my depth, that I didn't even try to fight back. I just curled onto my side, wrapped my arms around my head, and took it. He must have kicked me at least another three times, and punched me too, hitting the back of my head and my shoulders. All the time I was pleading with him, ‘Dom!
Dom!
Stop! Dom, please!
Please!
'

I could hear him muttering to himself, a little more emphasis on whichever word happened to coincide with each blow. ‘How do you like
that
, eh? How does
that
feel? Come on! See if you can take him! See if you can take him
now
!'

Finally I unwrapped my head from my arms and risked looking up. I held out my hands. ‘Dom,' I croaked. ‘For God's sake, it's me!'

He released a little ‘gah!' of surprise, his fist already cocked back for another punch. His whole face fell, and he froze that way for a moment, his left arm poised over his head, his hair falling down into his eyes, his right fist knotted in the fabric of my top.

Then he was scrambling away from me, his eyes locked on mine even as he was shaking his head in denial. He scooted away on his arse 'til his back was against the wall of the outhouse. ‘Pat,' he said. ‘Oh Pat. Oh Patrick. Oh Pat.' Over and over again, 'til he silenced himself by shoving his fingers in his mouth and biting down hard on his own flesh.

I knelt on the grass with my hand to my jaw, my other arm wrapped around my ribs.

‘You hit me! You
beat me up
!'

He just kept looking at me, his fingers crammed into his mouth.

‘That's it,' I said. ‘I've had enough. I'm getting Dad.'

I was halfway across the lawn when he tackled me from behind. He brought me to the ground with a
whomph
and pressed his whole weight down on me. ‘Don't,' he whispered as he pressed his arm down on the back of my neck, pushing my face into the grass. ‘Please don't.'

Oh, I don't think so
, I thought,
not again.
There was no way Dom was going to work me over again. I wouldn't be lying down this time. ‘Get
off
!' I elbowed him in the head, not pulling my punch by any means, and he fell back immediately.

I'd always been stronger than Dom, slightly taller, slightly broader, definitely faster. He may have been able to talk rings around me, but I'd always had the physical advantage. For once, I was willing to use that against him. I rolled, carrying him with me, and pinned him on his back, my arm across his throat. I pushed down on his Adam's apple with my forearm. ‘What the
hell
are you
doing
, Dom?'

‘Don't get Dad. Don't tell Dad. Please.' He seemed to fill with fresh panic at the thought, and he began to struggle again, trying to heave me off him. I pressed down harder on his neck and he clutched at my arm, trying to push me away.

We grappled with each other for a moment, our teeth bared, our hands slipping and re-positioning. Dom kept trying to kick his legs out from under me, and I kept recapturing them under my own. Finally, he just submitted, all the fight leaving him, and he lay there panting, my weight holding him down, my arm pressed across his throat. He closed his eyes and put his free hand up over his face.

I waited a good minute, increasing the pressure just a bit, to make sure he knew I still meant business. Then I slowly released him and sat back on my haunches. I began to rise, my intention to go back to the house and get Dad, but Dom grabbed my wrist. I tried to pull my arm free, but he clung on, his words coming like a torrent as he tried to prevent me from leaving.

‘Dad's going to Dublin tomorrow night. He won't be back 'til Friday. What good's it going to do telling him this?'

I snatched my arm away. ‘Are you
serious
? I'm not staying in that house! I'm not even going back in there! We've got to leave!'

‘What are we going to
tell them
? What could we say that doesn't . . . ' Dom swallowed. He looked absolutely miserable, and I sat slowly down onto the wet grass, knowing what he meant without him having to say it. Dom's big fear. Dom's terror.

What if we go mad, Pat? What if we go mad like Nan? Can that happen?

‘Dom,' I said gently. ‘They won't . . . '

‘They'll think I've gone like Nan. They'll think I'm mad.'

Oh Jesus. I didn't know whether to hit him or hug him, he was so scared.

‘You beat me up, Dom! What am I supposed to do?'

He couldn't hold my gaze, and he dropped his head, closing his eyes tightly. ‘I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it. It's hard to even remember that I
did
do it. I was so scared, Pat. I was sure . . . I was sure you were the bad man, and I was so frightened that you would take me away!' He looked at me again, his eyes liquid and terrified. ‘I
am
going like Nan, aren't I? I'm going to be like Nan. It's happening to
me
.'

I'm pretty sure you're not losing your mind,' I said. ‘

‘Then what's wrong with me, Pat?
What's wrong with me?
' He was frantic now, thoroughly convinced that everything had come down to this one thing: that he was losing his mind, that he was going insane.

‘You're being haunted.'

There. I'd said it. The words stopped us both cold, and we crouched there on the wet grass, staring into each other's faces with equally shocked expressions.

Then Dom laughed. So did I. It was that or do something far more hysterical.

‘Oh,' gasped Dom. ‘What a relief! And there I thought it was something serious.'

The night seemed to close around his words, and our laughter died. We looked around us, suddenly too aware of the watchful shadows, of the dark path back to the house, the cold sand where the sun never shone. I put my arm around my brother and pulled him up by the shoulders.

Dee would be asleep by now; I just knew that. Ma and Dad would be asleep. Me and Dom were the only living souls awake – the only living souls. We both shivered, and I tightened my grip on Dom.

‘Let's go inside,' I whispered.

CHERYL

THE NEXT MORNING
I woke alone. I lay motionless, listening to Dom's quiet breathing in the bunk above me. At some stage during the night he must have crawled back up the ladder and gone to sleep in his own bed.

It was very early, the sky a Virgin Mary blue against the windows, the birds chattering the tail end of the dawn chorus. Perfect day. I rolled stiffly to the edge of the bed and got up. Every bruising moment of the night before was an ache that had me slow and wincing, careful as an auld fella.

Dom was fast asleep, his face pressed to the side-bar of the bunk, his hair a mess of tangled curls hanging over his eyes. The shark-tooth necklace was snagged up on his pillow, the heavy fang shining dully. If Dad saw it he'd give out yards – Dom wasn't meant to sleep with it on. I tucked it under his loosely curled fist. His knuckles were raw, and I covered his hand with the blanket so that I wouldn't have to see them. I didn't wake him. He looked so untroubled and the room seemed so innocent, washed in morning light and buoyed by birdsong. I left him alone and slowly made my way downstairs, trying to figure out how to deal with things that just didn't seem real anymore.

It was a surprise to find Ma already in the kitchen. She was rattling about at the sink, and I could tell by her posture that she wasn't in good form. She sensed me by the door and rounded on me immediately.

‘What in God's name did you two think you were up to last night? Your Dad's had to go down to the shops at all hours of the morning! Didn't even get a cup of tea or a slice of toast! And you
know
Conner's bringing Nan back today . . . What's wrong with youse?'

I felt a moment's confusion. Then my eyes fell on the empty bread bag and the two empty milk bottles sitting in a scatter of crumbs on the kitchen table. I groaned and clutched my head at the memory of Dom and me staggering in from the garden in the dead of night, the two of us launching a famished and barely conscious assault on the bread and butter. I remembered us glugging down a whole bottle of freezing-cold milk each, and my sinuses ached at the recollection.

‘You need a new block of cheese as well,' I said, not meaning to sound smart-arsed but realising, too late, that I did.

Ma glared at me, furious, and I half expected her to stride across the kitchen and hit me with the wooden spoon she had in her hand. Then her eyes widened and her attention zeroed in on my jaw.

What happened to your face?
' She was over in a flash, grabbing ‘my jaw and turning my head to the light, all frowns and sharp concern.

‘I fell off the bed last night,' I lied, smooth as butter. ‘It woke Dom up.'

‘And then you thought you'd help yourselves to the groceries?' Still clutching my jaw, she squinted up at me. When had I got taller than her?

I didn't even hesitate. ‘We woke up starving,' I said, looking her in the eye. ‘Couldn't get back asleep without something to eat.'

‘You aren't the bleedin' famous five, Sonny Jim! There's no midnight feasts in this house!'

‘Sorry, Ma.'

‘We're not made of money.'

‘Sorry, Ma.'

‘Is it sore?' She was looking at my jaw again, really examining it.

‘Yeah.'

She sighed through her nose and then let me go, dismissing me from the kitchen. ‘Go,' she said. ‘Get washed and dressed. You know that lot are always early when they're bringing Cheryl home.'

I headed back to the stairs, hardly believing my lucky escape. She was letting me get away with it! I paused at the door. ‘Ma? Will I wake Dom?'

She glanced over at me, the stern wintry light falling on her face. She looked tired this morning, and unusually old. It had been a tough night for all of us. ‘How was he last night?'

In other words:
Any asthma?
I thought of that desperate choking noise coming from my brother's throat, and looked her in the eye again. ‘He's alright,' I lied, and then, little closer to the truth: ‘I think he might be coming down with a cold. He could probably use a lie-in.'

She nodded, obviously worried. ‘Yeah,' she said. ‘Yeah, let him have a little sleep.' She pointed the wooden spoon at me. ‘But you, mister! Up and get a wash. You smell like baked monkey.'

That made me laugh, and I trotted upstairs to have a wash and to check on Dom, who was still sleeping like a baby.

MA WAS RIGHT
about Dad's brother arriving early. I was hardly back downstairs and tucking into my cornflakes when we heard the heavy rumble of a big car pulling up the beach road. Ma froze, her face a mask of pure disbelief.

She claimed that they did it on purpose, hoping to catch her in curlers and a nightdress, stubbing her fags out on the dirty dishes. That way they'd finally be able to tut at their baby brother and pity him for the slag he'd married. I'm not sure they were
that
malicious, but they definitely considered Ma to be beneath them. And they definitely treated Dad as if he were retarded and couldn't wipe his own arse without their written instructions.