CHAPTER 25
NO !
Everything was one big ouch. His arm when he tried to lift it. His toes when he ventured a wiggle. His nose, his shoulders, his elbows – even his eyelashes. Can eyelashes hurt?
Oh boy and how! They scraped like scouring pads as he blinked awake. His eyes smarted in the clean white light.
Smarted. What a word. At last I’m smart. Brian tried to smile. It felt as if his cheeks were cracking.
‘Brian?’ Dad’s face was in his face. ‘BRIAN?’
‘Ow,’ said Brian as a tear landed on his forehead.
‘Ow?’ said Dad. ‘Ow?’
Alf’s face joined Dad’s. ‘Ow?’ he cried. ‘OW!’ If they were trying to make conversation, Brian wasn’t impressed. ‘You’re back, Cap’n! You’re with us!’ Alf saluted. ‘Aye blessed aye!’ Another tear fell onto Brian’s nose.
‘Ow,’ he said.
‘OW!’ yelled Dad.
‘OW OW!’ sang Alf.
Brian would roll his eyes if they weren’t so sticky, and if he wasn’t beginning to realise that he’d actually survived that living nightmare of heat and smoke and pretty much hell. No wonder it felt as if he’d been stung by a zillion bees.
Bees? It all came crashing back. Quincy Queaze, the cellar-cum-classroom, Florrie, his classmates and … ‘Dulcie!’
‘Dulcie?’ said Dad, smile-frowning over him.
‘Dulcie?’ said Alf, stopping his rumba round the room.
‘I mean – my earring.’ Brian tried to lift his hand. Big screaming ouch. He dropped it.
Dad raised his eyebrows at Alf in a what’s-he-on-about? kind of way.
‘The bee,’ said Brian. ‘Is it still inside?’
‘No. Why?’
And now it was Brian who was crying, except that his tears were all dried out. So he had to make do with little rhythmic sobs like the rasp of a handsaw. That got Dad and Alf crying again and reaching over to hug him as gently as they could.
‘She must’ve died in the fire,’ whispered Brian.
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘She’s OK. And the children too. They’re all recovering along the corridor.’
‘I don’t mean Florrie.’ In a parched whisper, Brian told them about the tiny friend who’d bossed and encouraged him, coaxed and cajoled – who’d stuck by him, literally, until the end.
Dad’s mouth was a perfect O.
Alf’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. ‘Except,’ he said at last, ‘that she didn’t.’
‘Didn’t what?’
‘Stick by you. I was wondering how my girls knew where to find you. She must have escaped from your ear, flown to their hive and waggled your whereabouts.’
Never mind the pain, never mind the shattering of a thousand cheek cells, Brian’s grin was wider than his face. ‘She must be there now. Go and get her, Alf.’
‘Aye aye, Cap’n.’ Saluting, Alf hurried out the door.
Dad drew his chair closer to the bed. ‘Brian.’ He sat down. ‘I know I’ve not, ah, been the best dad. I’ve been so caught up in myself since …’ he took a deep breath, ‘since your mum died. I thought nothing worse could ever happen.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But it did, almost. What I’m trying to say –’
And making a right cowpat of it, thought Brian.
‘Is that when I look at you I see her. And up until now that’s been … hard. But now … now that I nearly lost you too, I’m so, so grateful.’
‘It’s OK.’ Excitement bubbled in Brian. He tried to sit up, winced and sank back on the pillow. ‘I know you think that I made her fall. That I pulled her from the tree. And I thought so too. But it’s not true.’
Dad frowned.
‘You couldn’t see properly from the ground. And I couldn’t remember. But Dulcie could. She was right there on Mum’s hand, and she saw everyth–’
‘No,’ said Dad softly.
‘What?’
‘She was in my pocket.’
Brian’s chest iced over.
‘Your mum asked me to look after the ring while she climbed. Dulcie didn’t see a thing. And I – I did.’
He said no more. He didn’t have to.
‘So I did kill her.’ Brian’s voice was flat.
‘What?’ Dad looked as if he’d been punched in the face. ‘Of course you didn’t! Is that what you’ve thought all this time? Oh, my dear, dear …’ he looked wildly round the room, as if in search of the right word … ‘dear.’ He shook his head. ‘And when I was so distracted and sad, you thought I was blaming you for a terrible, terrible accident that was nobody’s fault.’
Brian swallowed. ‘Nobody’s?’
For the first time in two years, one month and twenty-nine days, Bernard O’Bunion looked – really looked – at his son. ‘Nobody’s fault at all.’
*
It was the oddest weather forecast. Despite the warm front, Sharlette Briquette looked as if she’d been in a hurricane. Her hair was a haystack. Her lipstick danced over her cheeks. Her blouse was creased, her brooch upside down.
She had been in a hurricane. And now it was over. ‘My Tracy’s OK!’ she shrieked at the camera. ‘She’s talking and eating. She’s charming the pants off doctors and demanding more pocket money. What do I care if the rain falls in Spain or what’s blowin’ in the wind? The sun has got his hat on and he looks like this!’ The camera panned to the weather chart. And instead of little suns indicating fine weather over Ireland, there were little Brian O’Bunions.
‘Turn it off, Dad.’ Sitting up in bed, Brian blushed. As Dad pressed the TV remote, there was a knock at the door. Alec, Tracy and Pete shuffled in. Alec was leaning on a crutch. Tracy had bandages on her arms and red blotches on her face. Pete’s unbeatable legs, and one unbeatable foot, were bandaged. They smiled at Brian. And he knew at once, from their clear, admiring gaze, that they were free. Whether it was the shock of the fire, or the hours they’d spent without honey, something had woken them from their stupor.
Dad pulled up three chairs. The children hobbled over and sat by the bed.
‘How are you, Brian?’ Tracy sounded almost shy.
‘Fine.’
Alec propped his crutch against the chair. ‘We brought you these.’ He took something out of his dressing-gown pocket and laid it next to Brian’s hand. Tracy and Pete did the same.
‘The thing is.’ Alec coughed. ‘You were cleverer than me.’
‘And.’ Tracy’s red face went even redder. ‘Everyone thinks you’re the coolest boy in school.’
Pete tapped his unbandaged foot on the floor. ‘You beat the gardaí to find us. You beat the fire. You’re unbeatable.’
Brian stared at the three gold medals. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘But they belong to someone else. Though I’m not sure they’ll fit round her neck.’
The children blinked.
Brian smiled. ‘If you hang around, you can give them to her yourself.’
Fifteen minutes later there was a knock. The door opened.
‘Where is she?’ Brian leaned forward as far as he could.
Alf stood in the doorway, staring at the floor.
‘NO!’ Brian fell back on the pillow. ‘NO!’
Dad laid a hand by his cheek.
Alf looked up. ‘She got to dance, Cap’n,’ he said softly. ‘And she danced for you. But it must have been too much for her poor little body.’
Brian stared at the ceiling. ‘And she lied about Mum to make me feel better.’ Now he found his tears. They ran down his temples and soaked the pillow.
Alec, Tracy and Pete looked at Dad in bewilderment. He shook his head. They sat in silence.
At last Alf cleared his throat. ‘I – um, we – were wondering. My girls and I.’ He pressed his fists together. ‘Apart from me they don’t have any male relations. No decent ones anyway. Those drones are a dozy lot. So I – um, we – thought p’raps you might consider …’ he rubbed his hands, ‘doing us the honour …’ Brian raised his head, ‘of becoming their godfather.’