The Story of Before (21 page)

Then I noticed the lumpy parcel sitting on the doorstep, loosely wrapped in newspaper and stained a dark, brownish red. I cautiously nudged the bulky shape with my toe, feeling a solid but sort
of spongy mass inside. I leaned down for a closer look and as I peeled back a corner of the paper, what I saw was a dark, dead eye staring into nowhere from a pulpy, bloody mess of skin and
hair.

It was a sheep’s head.

I staggered backwards in fright, the sickening, rotten smell flooding my nostrils and making me retch. My heart drummed hard and I covered my mouth with my hand as I half looked away and tried
to toe the paper back around the ‘gift’ we’d been given. Then I ran inside and grabbed a plastic bag from a drawer in the kitchen.

‘I’m . . . I’m just going into Bridie’s,’ I called out to the others, hoping I wouldn’t be questioned on my sudden need to go next door. ‘Back in a few
minutes.’ But all I got by way of response was a grunt from Mel and a loudly whispered ‘Shut up, you’ll wake Kev!’ from Sandra.

Back on the doorstep, I used one of the empty milk bottles left out for the milkman to try and push the sheep’s head into the bag. It wasn’t easy. The damp newspaper tore into
useless shreds and without it, the head slid across the step, leaving a rusty trail in its wake. I held the bag open by the handles and tried to scoop it under the head, like filling a bucket full
of water at the seaside. After several attempts, I finally managed to hook it under the sheep’s chin and pulled it up over the whole head. When I lifted it up, it slipped heavily down into
the bag, its greasy weight straining against the thin film of plastic. I held it away from my body as I ran along the path up towards the green.

Paddy and Clem were walking round the bonfire with their hands in their pockets, kicking any stray bits of timber into the flames. Geraldine and Nora stood over by the trees in their woolly
bobble-hats and quilted anoraks. Other parents huddled in small groups, chatting and laughing while their children chased each other around the green, their bags of goodies rustling in the wind as
they ran.

‘Well, well, and what do we have here?’ David announced when he saw me approaching. He stood straight and tall in well-pressed jeans and a navy corduroy jacket, with a red polo neck
jumper underneath. He’d had the cast off a good few weeks, but still held his left wrist in his right hand, massaging it slowly as he spoke. ‘Here to help the Hallowe’en
party?’ he asked, nodding in the direction of the plastic bag swinging from my hand. Tracey, Valerie and the twins made their way over.

‘You’re a bit late, aren’t you?’ Valerie said with a snigger. ‘Why didn’t you come out earlier like the rest of us?’

‘Maybe Mother and Father Lamb wouldn’t allow their babies out, for fear of the big bad wolf?’ David said.

‘For your information, my uncle died,’ I said.

Tracey looked at the others, unsure of what to say.

‘Yeah . . . well,’ Valerie said, fingering the necklace that spelled out her name. ‘That’s probably a lie. You’re good at those, aren’t you?’ She looked
at David.

‘Me?’ I said. ‘You know right well you were the one who said David broke his wrist deliberately in the first place, so don’t try and pretend it was something I made
up.’

‘Huh? Cheek of you, Ruth Lamb. Think you’re so special, don’t you? Well, guess what? No one round here likes you. Everyone wishes you never moved to Hillcourt Rise.’

‘Yeah,’ Tracey agreed. ‘We all got along fine before you Lambs came. You’re nothing but trouble. Even my mam says so. Why don’t you all just go back to wherever you
came from?’

I could feel my face beginning to burn. And my throat stung, like it always did when I was about to cry.

‘And where’s your daddy tonight then?’ Valerie continued. ‘Not showing off this year with his stupid fireworks?’

‘I told you,’ I said, trying to steady my voice. ‘My uncle died. He’s at the funeral if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘So what’re you doing out here now? It’s nearly all over, or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘Well, I thought I’d give you this back,’ I said, tipping the sheep’s head out of the bag. It landed on the grass with a thud, glancing off Valerie’s shoe. She
screamed, grabbing David’s arm and dragging him with her as she jumped back in horror.

‘Jesus Christ! Get that away! Mammy! Mammy!’ she yelled over to Nora.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ David said. ‘Are you mentally deranged? You’re sick, you know that?’

‘I’m only giving it back!’ I said, blinking away my tears. ‘Tracey dumped it on our doorstep! If anyone’s sick, it’s her. And I bet you all knew about it
too.’

‘I did not!’ Tracey insisted. ‘You liar! Why would I do something like that? It’s disgusting. And where would I get a . . . a . . . sheep’s head, for God’s
sake?’

‘You can easily get them in Boylan’s. I know it was you, Tracey Farrell. I saw you!’

Nora and Geraldine came running over, elbowing their way through the small crowd that had gathered to see what was going on. Paddy and Clem followed and soon I was surrounded on all sides.
Geraldine pointed to the ground. ‘What in the name of God is that?’ she demanded. ‘Is it what I think it is?’ She screwed her face up in disgust.

‘Yes,’ David answered. ‘It is what you think it is. It’s a sheep’s head.’

Nora tutted and muttered ‘disgrace’ under her breath. ‘Deposited here by Miss Lamb,’ David continued, glancing at me. ‘Ironic, wouldn’t you all agree? I
wonder what Mother Lamb will say when she finds out?’ He touched the head with his foot, turning it over and kicking it across the grass towards me. He thought he was so smart, making fun of
my name and my mam. But I could play that game too. I swallowed hard.

‘At least I know who my mother is.’ I stared into his face. ‘My
real
mother, I mean.’

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew Shayne had been lying. The effect was instant. Even in the twilight I could see David’s face drain of its yellowish colour.

He hadn’t known.

But I could tell from his eyes it was something he’d lain in bed at night wondering about.

‘Wh . . . what do you mean . . .
real
mother?’ he stammered.

Geraldine instantly turned and took off like a bullet across the green in the direction of the O’Deas’, determined to be the first to deliver the news to Mona and Eamon. I wanted to
run too, but I was surrounded. I hadn’t a hope of escaping.

‘Well?’ David asked. His voice quivered as he tried desperately to keep his face from crumbling. ‘What do you mean . . . real mother?’ he pleaded to everyone gathered.
‘What’s going on? Paddy? Anyone? Tell me what she’s on about.’

‘Ah now, son,’ Paddy said, putting his arm around David’s shoulder. ‘Sure, don’t mind anything that’s said in the heat of the moment. Words, that’s all
it is.’

Tracey and Valerie nudged each other and stared at me with their mouths open. The twins looked like china dolls, their huge eyes frozen and unblinking, and their perfect hair waving gently
around their pink cheeks. David fiddled with the stud of his wristband, clicking it again and again as the small crowd began to mumble among them selves. Geraldine arrived back, out of breath, with
Mona and Eamon behind her. She planted her hands on her hips and nodded at me. Her nostrils glistened and she sniffed loudly before she spoke.

‘There she is,’ she said, as if to show Mona and Eamon she hadn’t been making it up. ‘Happy with yourself?’ she asked me.

‘Mother?’ David asked Mona. Her worried face said it all. She went to put her arms around him but he pulled away. He scanned the faces of the various adults around him; it was clear
that they’d all known. Through their years of living in Hillcourt Rise, Mona and Eamon had confided in their neighbours. At coffee mornings, after mass chats and garden gate gossips,
they’d each learned the secret about David O’Dea. A secret they’d all kept safe from their children. And safe from David himself. ‘But I
asked
you about it,’
David said, his voice thin and high. ‘Remember? When I pointed out I looked nothing like you or Dad.’ He zipped his jacket right up to his trembling chin. ‘You told me not to be
so . . . so ridiculous.’

‘David. Dear. Come back inside. We’ll talk about this at home.’ Mona tried again to touch him.

‘Get away from me
!
’
he growled. He faced up to Eamon. ‘And you. You make me sick. I don’t want anything to do with either of you. You’ve lied to me my
whole life.’ He waved his arms around and shouted, ‘And everyone knew about it except me!’ It sounded as if he was choking, unable to catch his breath, and he pounded on his chest
with his fists before dissolving into a fit of coughing. He fell to his knees and Paddy ran over, but David got to his feet and pushed him away. ‘Fuck off,’ he spat, between coughs.
‘Fuck the hell off! All of you! You hear me?’ He began to run, his legs like a newborn foal’s to begin with – all gangly and wobbly under the weight of his body –
then, as if mastering the trick of balance for the very first time, he took off like a bird released. We all watched him in silence. Then, slowly, the crowd began to thin. One by one, out of shame
and embarrassment and fear, everyone made their way home. Some of them looked at me as they passed but no one said a word. In minutes, I stood alone on the green.

I shivered. I’d run out without my coat. Crossing my arms over my chest, I pushed my hands up into the sleeves of my cardigan to keep my fingers warm and started walking. I wanted to go
home. But not home to forty-two Hillcourt Rise. Home to the moon. Or the stars. Or the bottom of the sea. Anywhere.

Anywhere but here.

Suddenly, I felt my body lift off the ground and sail through the air. Stars flashed all around, burning and fading through the blackness. Bangers exploded.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
And from over
the rooftops came the faint but certain sound of excited screams. Some other strange noise whistled about my head and it wasn’t until I landed on the grass with a thump that I realized it was
air squeezing out of my lungs. I slid along the damp grass for a few inches, stopping short of the sheep’s head, it’s slimy, bloody face only inches from my own.

David had slammed into me from behind. He’d launched the full weight of his body against mine, and had landed on all fours to my right without so much as a wobble. His eyes were fixed on
me – steady and sharp and fearless, like an animal. His breath rasped in and out of his throat.

At that moment, David O’Dea hated me. More than he hated anyone. Even those who’d kept the secret from him for so long. As he stared at me, his lips twitched with the trace of a
smile. I’d have felt less frightened if he’d roared at me like a tiger and sank his teeth into my flesh.

Slowly, he got to his knees, grinning. Then he began to laugh. It came from the back of his throat, softly at first, like an engine spluttering to life. Then it travelled down into his belly and
came up again, bursting from his mouth, snorting out of his nose. He stood up, towering over me like a crazy giant. The moles on his face stood out against the paling of his skin and his hair hung
down in sweaty spikes. He stepped closer. I pulled my knees up to my chest. He drew his foot back and I squeezed my eyes shut, readying myself for a kick, trying to tense my trembling limbs. I held
my breath.

‘David!
David
! Come on home now, lad! Let’s have a little chat.’

I opened my eyes. It was Father Feely. Summoned by the O’Deas, no doubt, and waddling towards us, flapping his arms. David dropped his foot. I took a gulp of air and felt my body sink into
the cold ground. ‘Come on now, lad. Let’s get you home.’ Father Feely put his arm around David’s shoulders, barely even glancing at me as he steered him away.

I lay there, watching the two of them heading across the green. And beyond them, Eamon and Mona stood at their front door waiting, their shapes black against the bright white
light coming from their hall. I scrambled to my feet. My body felt as though it had been beaten. Pain shot up and down my legs. I was dizzy. The world around me whirled. Spun. Like water down a
plughole. I was being sucked down with it. I could feel it. If Father Feely hadn’t arrived, David would’ve kicked me.

And I was certain that it wouldn’t have been just the once.

A few feet away from me was the sheep’s head. Grotesque and all as it was, I didn’t want to leave it there. I picked up the plastic bag and managed to push it inside with my foot. It
bumped against my leg as I made my way home. Just before I rounded the corner to the cul-de-sac, I saw Shayne approaching from the left, hands in pockets, hair flapping up and down. When he saw me,
he quickened his steps, running the final few yards until he caught up.

‘Ye goin’ home already?’ he asked, his teeth chewing on something hard and sticky. I kept walking and he danced sideways alongside me. ‘Ye got loads of stuff,’ he
said, nodding at the bag. ‘Give us a look.’

I stopped dead on the path. ‘Here,’ I snapped. ‘You can have it.’ I slapped the bag into his chest. He pulled his hands out of his pockets to catch it.

He looked inside. ‘Jesus
Christ
!’ His face wrinkled up and he dropped the bag to the ground. ‘That’s disgustin’.
Stink
off of it. What’re ye
doin’ with that?’ I picked up the bag and started walking again, faster this time. He followed beside, his warm, strawberry breath finding its way up my nose. ‘What’s wrong
with ye?’

‘What’s wrong with
me
? What’s wrong with you that you can’t tell the truth? I should’ve known not to believe you. You told me David knew he was
adopted.’

‘So?’

‘So
? Turns out he didn’t. And you didn’t either, did you? You just pretended you already knew. You couldn’t stand that I found out something like that before you
did.’

I told him what had happened.

‘Yeah, well . . . d’ye not think it’s better that he knows?’

‘You’re glad he found out, aren’t you? Now he knows how you feel, isn’t that it?’

His face turned sour. ‘Yeah, well, he’s always slaggin’ me ’cos I don’t know who me da is. Taste of his own medicine now. I told ye. Ye don’t know what
he’s like. Thinks he’s better than everyone else.’