Читать книгу The Liar’s Daughter - Claire Allan - Страница 19

I was nine and three quarters when time ran out and my mother died.

I remember her death in snapshots. Like looking at old pictures. Moments in time captured forever in my mind, the minutes and hours between just a blur.

It’s as if I hear a click of some imaginary camera and I’m in my bedroom listening to a raised voice from the room two doors away. It’s not an angry voice. It’s something else – something that makes my stomach tighten and my heart hurt. It belongs to my granny, I think, or the smiley nurse who has been visiting each evening. She always gives me lollipops. The taste sours in my mouth.

Click.

‘Mammy’s in heaven now.’ The nurse isn’t smiling any more, but her face is soft, sad. Her mouth downturned.

Granny’s face looks strange. Twisted. Changed. Her eyes are red – so red that the blue of her pupils looks almost too bright, like there are lights shining on them or something. She doesn’t look like herself any more. I don’t think she’ll ever look like herself again.

Joe wanders around the house, lost. He seems to stand a lot. Like he has forgotten how to sit down. He looks so sad. He looks how I feel. As if a part of him has died, too.

Click.

I’m on the stairs and I can’t understand it. They say Mammy is in heaven, but I know she’s in the living room. Lying in that box. I’ve seen her through the door. It’s definitely her. I want to ask how can that be her if she is in heaven, but I’m afraid to. I don’t want to make my granny cry again.

Click.

‘Who’s going to mind me now?’ I ask.

Granny is crying. She pats my hand.

‘Am I coming to live with you and Grandad? You’ll have to get a new house with a bedroom for me.’ I’m momentarily lost, wondering what my new bedroom will look like.

‘Well, here’s the thing,’ she says. ‘You know how Joe has lived here for the last year helping your mammy and you?’

I nod.

‘And he loved your mammy for a year before then?’

I nod again.

‘Well, he loves you so much that he is going to stay here and look after you,’ Granny says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘Your mammy talked a lot about it, you know. With me and with Joe, and we all thought it would be easier for you if you were able to stay here. In your own house, in your own room with your own toys.’

I don’t want that. He’s not my daddy. I don’t even like him. Not really. I was nice to him for Mammy. He’d moved in a year ago and everything with Mammy had changed. She spent less time with just the two of us. More with him. And then she got sick.

He doesn’t know how to look after me. He doesn’t give me cuddles like Mammy did. He doesn’t bake me cookies like Granny does.

My lip wobbles. I feel tears settle in my eyes and I’m trying so hard not to blink and let them fall.

‘Your grandad and I will always, always be here for you, darling,’ Granny says, her voice cracking a little. ‘But we’re not as young as we used to be. And Grandad doesn’t keep well. I’m sure you’d much rather stay in your own house, among your own things, anyway. All your toys. Sure, Grandad and I don’t have room for toys.’

‘But if you got a new house …’ I say, trying to keep the pleading tone from my voice.

I watch as Granny shakes her head. ‘I’m so sorry, pet. We can’t do that. I wish we could, but you will be fine with Joe and we’ll always be close by. Always. I promise you.’

‘But Joe’s not my daddy,’ I stutter. ‘He wasn’t even married to Mammy. He’s not my family. I can’t stay with him!’

I notice she’s crying and guilt swoops in. I don’t want to make her cry any more, so I stop talking.

‘It will be okay, my angel,’ she says through her tears and I will myself to believe her.

Click.

‘You have to be brave now.’

He’s sitting beside me. My little hand dwarfed in his. His hand is clammy. Sticky. People have been coming and going to the house all day and it’s stuffy in here. There’s a smell of strong tea and cigarette smoke. People keep looking at me with funny expressions on their face. Telling me I’m a great girl. They bring me sweets and treats as if it’s my birthday.

I want to ask them why.

Click.

Granny tucks me into bed. I don’t want to sleep. Not with Mammy downstairs in that box. Who is sleeping in her bed? Is Joe there? Who will be there if I wake up in the night? I lie awake, afraid to close my eyes. Will they put me in a box like Mammy, too? Tell everyone I’ve gone to heaven?

Click.

I’m sitting on my bed and my grandmother is pulling the hairbrush through my hair. She’s distracted. The brush keeps catching on knots. It hasn’t been brushed properly in a few days. Still, I’m a brave girl. I don’t cry out. It seems such a babyish thing to cry about. Especially now.

She has a new dress for me to wear. Black. With ribbon. I hate it. Mammy would never have made me wear something like this. She knew I loved running about in jeans and a T-shirt. Playing in the garden and getting covered in mud.

Click.

A church. It’s cold. Everyone is crying and looking at me as if I’m the one making them sad. I want to tell them I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t hurt Mammy. I swear I didn’t! But Granny has told me to be on my best behaviour.

‘I won’t be able to cope if you don’t behave,’ she said.

I’m angry. I want to tell her I always behave. I’m always good. I always do exactly what I’m told.

Click.

He sits on the edge of my bed. His jumper smells of beer and stale cigarettes again. It makes me feel sick, as if I might throw up. The last people have left the house. Why has it been a party? Cake and sandwiches and the grown-ups drinking. Someone singing and laughter ringing out every now and then. My mammy is dead. I don’t understand.

I pull away from him as he tries to hug me. I don’t want him near me. I’m fed up with grown-ups. His hands are still clammy.

‘You’re not to worry. I’m not leaving you. I’ll make sure you’re okay.’

I hold my tears inside me, give in to his hug. I’ll be a great girl. And a brave girl.

Just like Mammy would want.