E-Book, Englisch, 288 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-83501-171-3
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
Hannah King is a writer from Co. Down, where she lives with her partner and their dogs. Her first novel, She and I, was critically acclaimed.
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1 The Accused The front door of my dad’s house is almost never locked and this morning is no exception. It used to bother me, when I was younger and full of outward worries about burglaries and masked men. Now that all of my worries are closer, internalised and more realistic, I don’t really think about it. Besides, my brother Ciarán reasoned with me after he moved out, there’s usually at least one person in the house. I’m not sure how that was supposed to make me feel better, the thought of my dad or one of my brothers or me having to deal with said masked men, but in a strange way it worked. I use one elbow to push the handle, keeping the little tray of coffees straight in my hands. ‘Morning?’ I call softly to announce my presence. My guess is that Dad and Jordan will be up, Dad cooking himself a fry and Jordan weighing his oats and cutting up fruit to go with it. Decky will still be in bed at this time – ten o’clock on a day off – and Jack… Well, I’m not sure about Jack. ‘Hi, love!’ Dad calls from the kitchen. ‘Come on through. How’dya get on? Last night good?’ I have to gently kick some trainers – Decky’s – out of my way to go through the tiny hall to the kitchen. The carpet needs hoovering, I notice. Jordan must have been working long hours not to have noticed that. The kitchen smells like burnt bacon and tobacco. As revolting a combination as ever, but if I don’t think about it I can almost tell myself I don’t notice it. There they are, one third of my family, exactly as I’d known they would be. Jordan looks up at me and beams before his perfect white teeth clamp around a spoon of oats and raspberries. He is dressed for work, in a tracksuit bearing the logo of the local leisure centre. None of the dominant smells in the room come from him. Indeed, when I sweep past his usual place at the tiny table to get to Dad, I catch a whiff of his expensive aftershave. It’s the one I first bought for him about ten Christmases ago, that I now associate with my second brother and his obsessive need to be clean and presentable. He’s learned now, by the ripe old age of thirty-one, not to put so much hair gel in, so he looks better than he ever has. Dad is pushing two rashers of bacon around in a very greasy pan. I just hope it was clean when he started. The splashback is covered with droplets of oil or fat, and I have to hold my breath as I go near him. He is holding a cigarette in his free hand, but is dutifully blowing smoke towards the open window from the side of his mouth. He used to just let the kitchen fill with smoke when we were younger, until I told him the other children would make fun of us for coming to school smelling like five little ashtrays, so this is his gracious solution to that problem. ‘I brought coffees,’ I say, holding them out in front of me. I take another breath and lean in to kiss Dad’s cheek. ‘And yeah, last night went well!’ ‘Do you know what coffee does to your insides?’ Jordan asks with pursed lips, even while he lifts one from the tray. ‘No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me if I ask.’ Dad laughs and takes his coffee too. ‘Thanks, lovely. I’m surprised you’re up so early; I wouldda thought you’d be nursin’ a wee hangover. Was it not a late one?’ ‘No, Daddy.’ I have to lift a heap of post, a water bottle – that Jordan promptly snatches – and three mobile phones, each with their back covers taken off, and place them on the floor so I can set the tray on the table. Decky takes apart and repairs phones for fun. Really. ‘I sent them all home about one,’ I continue, taking the lid from my own coffee and blowing on it. ‘I was all partied out. You should have come down, both of you.’ ‘Work this morning,’ Jordan murmurs. ‘And a weigh-in tomorrow. Alcohol stays in your system for three full days after consumption, bloats you.’ Dad angles his body so he can roll his eyes at me, as if Jordan is ridiculous. ‘Your sister works hard,’ he tells Jordan. He switches the oven off at the wall, which makes me happy as he has been known to forget. He plates up his bacon, grabs a loaf of bread and comes to sit next to me. ‘She deserves a wee treat now and then.’ Then, to me, ‘I didn’t want to cramp your style, my love, otherwise I’d have been down like a shot. Did Ciarán make it?’ Apparently, Dad spent the first years of my eldest brother’s life correcting people on the pronunciation of his son’s name. He’d emphasise the fada, insisting his son was Keeer-awwwwn. By the time Ciarán got to primary school, though, he was introducing himself as Keer-in, and it stuck because it was easier. Dad’s the worst for shortening it now, to him he’s just Keern. ‘He didn’t bother,’ I say. ‘How did you manage to continue the night without him?’ Jordan asks sarcastically. We smile at each other, and Jordan goes to clean his bowl in the sink. ‘Decky came after work,’ I say. ‘Get himself a bird?’ Dad asks, mouth full. ‘Women are not something you get,’ I say, only half-seriously, pushing him. ‘He was there until the end, I think. Had a good enough time and a good few drinks.’ ‘That’ll be why he’s still in his pit on such a gorgeous morning,’ Dad says. ‘Aye, that’s why.’ ‘What about Jack?’ I nod my head and sip at my coffee. It’s from the new place up the road, exactly halfway between my new flat and Dad’s house. It’s seriously good; I can see myself becoming a regular. ‘Jack came after Paul’s party, just for a wee while at the end. I can’t really remember. He said his last exam went well, though. It was maths yesterday.’ Dad nods enthusiastically, a sliver of bacon fat hanging out over his hairy chin. His eyes are dull, and if I’m not mistaken his skin looks greyer than it did when I saw him on Saturday. His checked shirt has a wee stain in the middle and I try to meet Jordan’s eye so I can motion to him to wash it. But Jordan is standing by the sink with his back to us, on his phone. ‘Aye, maths!’ Dad says. He swallows, continues to nod. ‘Yes, he was saying. He said it went well.’ I can’t imagine Dad would have known to ask about Jack’s last A-Level, but he likes to pretend he’s as interested in his education as I am. ‘That’s the main thing,’ I say. ‘That’s him all done. No more school. Mad, isn’t it? I just called up to get my last couple of boxes, thought I could use my day off to work on the flat. It’s looking really well, Dad. Will you come up and see it now, after your breakfast, and help me put a shelf up?’ ‘Of course I will, love. Here, it was good of Aul Norm to swap shifts with you yesterday. He was tellin’ me last time I was in that he’s not cut out for any evenings at all now. Says he’s for bed at nine this weather. Just covered you last night as a wee favour.’ ‘Sure, I’m good to him too. We’re the dream team.’ ‘What age would Norman Waltz be now?’ Jordan asks. Dad thinks hard, one hand rubbing his cheek. ‘Now let me see… We had his fortieth the year Ciarán was born. No, Jordan. No, it was Decky. I remember now. So that wouldda been…’ ‘Twenty-eight years ago,’ I offer. ‘Right! Must be near seventy now, then. He’ll be for retiring soon. Looks well, though.’ My boss absolutely does not look well for nearly seventy, bless him. He looks like a corpse somebody pulled out of a river, and he has done since I was a child, but he has a heart of gold and he’s one of my favourite people in the world. Dad and I sip our coffees. Jordan taps quickly on his phone. ‘You on until seven tonight, Jordy?’ I ask, to make conversation. He turns towards me but continues to tap on his phone. ‘Aye. Think I might head out after though.’ ‘Thought alcohol stayed in your system for three days?’ He glares at me. ‘Going out doesn’t have to mean drinking alcohol, my dear, deluded sister.’ ‘All right,’ says Dad. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Jordan’s eyes dart to Dad who innocently butters another piece of bread for himself. Since telling us all two years ago via the family WhatsApp chat that he was gay, Jordan sees slurs and insults where there aren’t any. And sometimes he misses ones from Ciarán that are definitely there. ‘Jack not up yet?’ I ask. I look up towards the ceiling as though I’ll be able to see him through it. ‘I didn’t even hear him come in,’ Jordan says. ‘I heard Decky and got up to tell him to be quiet. He was stomping about, pissed as anything. Some of us have work this morning, it’s not all revelry and no responsibilities.’ ‘It is for a wee while if you’ve just done your last exam or you’ve moved into a new flat,’ Dad says, in the most scolding voice he can manage. He was never a scolder. ‘You went a wee bit mad when you were finished your exams, Jordy, or do you not remember?’ ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘You heard Decky come in? I assumed they would have left together. Did they not? Jack was with him, surely?’ Jordan shrugs. ‘Nah. Just Deck. About… quarter past one or so?’ ‘So where was Jack?’ Jordan makes a point of throwing the last of his...
