of venturing north into Kilburn, the obvious place for pubs and where our troubles began. Instead, I’d have to try my luck farther down Maida Vale and the Edgware Road, near Marble Arch and London’s West End. West End pubs were probably always looking for part-time bar staff, I thought, and they’re kind of anonymous, so no-one will know me.
Having planned my foray into employment territory, when I arrived home the next day, I felt quite cheery and wanted to tell Aidan about my plans.
“Hiya,” I called from the door. He grunted a reply and from the sofa kept his back to me. He wore an old baseball cap and as I went in, I said, “Gosh, it’s too hot for that old thing. Here, take it off.”
“Don’t touch it,” he shrieked. “Just leave me alone!”
“What’s wrong,” I whispered, putting my arms around him from behind.
“Nothing.” Then, he buried his face in his hands and starting to sob. “They took off the bandages today from my head. Well if you want a fright, look at this.”
I walked around the sofa and lifted his defiant, tear-stained face to mine. Aside from the black and yellow bruising that still permeated his skin, his forehead bore the scars of the attacker’s knife in graphic clarity. The top of his head had been shaved, leaving straggly black hair at either side that was dull and lifeless, with traces of grey running through it.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I know it looks bad now, but when it starts to heal…”
“Rubbish! And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Look, when you are here leave it alone, so the air can heal it, but when you go out you can have a dressing on it, not touching, just to cover it. Then, when it’s better, you can have plastic surgery.”
“I’ll look like a frigging freak.”
“Would you like me to trim your hair so that it’s all the same length?”
He looked up. “Would you? Thanks, that would be a help,” he muttered, sniffing.
I cut the remains of his hair really short and used my girly razor to smooth down the edges, and he didn’t look quite so bad. I fetched us both a cup of tea and sat beside him. He sniffed again and took a sip of the hot liquid.
“Do you want to tell me, what happened that night,” I asked quietly. “If you want to talk about it…”
“You’re not my fucking therapist. Leave me alone and mind your own business. I had a frigging priest come round today. Why can’t you all leave me alone?”
“I’ll get dinner then,” I said, while trying to keep calm. I stood up again, taking my tea with me.
A few minutes later he followed me into the kitchen and hovered behind me as I peeled some potatoes. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“That’s OK. I understand why you are upset. What did this priest want? Did the hospital send him?”
“No. My da spoke to the bishop. He contacted the local man here and he sent him round. You know, I used to be an altar boy, yet I feel I’ve got nothing in common with those bloodsuckers. Frigging waste of space! What do they know about anything? This one was younger than me. What does he know?”
As Aidan was only twenty one, I couldn’t believe the priest was really younger than him and I guess he realised too, how unlikely that was.
“He said they’ve got a home they send sick people to in the West Country. He’s going to put me on the list. Bet it’s full of frigging geriatrics.”
I knew there was no point in arguing with him, in the mood he was in, so I got on with the task in hand.
“I’ve decided to take a part time job, work in a bar, three nights a week,” I said. “Would you mind that? The money would come in useful. This home, you mentioned, it wouldn’t be all the time would it? You would be coming back?” I looked round.
I must have seemed anxious because he hastened to re-assure me. “No, only a couple of weeks, more a convalescence really. In fact I’m not well enough to go yet. Until I’m discharged from the hospital, they won’t
Having planned my foray into employment territory, when I arrived home the next day, I felt quite cheery and wanted to tell Aidan about my plans.
“Hiya,” I called from the door. He grunted a reply and from the sofa kept his back to me. He wore an old baseball cap and as I went in, I said, “Gosh, it’s too hot for that old thing. Here, take it off.”
“Don’t touch it,” he shrieked. “Just leave me alone!”
“What’s wrong,” I whispered, putting my arms around him from behind.
“Nothing.” Then, he buried his face in his hands and starting to sob. “They took off the bandages today from my head. Well if you want a fright, look at this.”
I walked around the sofa and lifted his defiant, tear-stained face to mine. Aside from the black and yellow bruising that still permeated his skin, his forehead bore the scars of the attacker’s knife in graphic clarity. The top of his head had been shaved, leaving straggly black hair at either side that was dull and lifeless, with traces of grey running through it.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I know it looks bad now, but when it starts to heal…”
“Rubbish! And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Look, when you are here leave it alone, so the air can heal it, but when you go out you can have a dressing on it, not touching, just to cover it. Then, when it’s better, you can have plastic surgery.”
“I’ll look like a frigging freak.”
“Would you like me to trim your hair so that it’s all the same length?”
He looked up. “Would you? Thanks, that would be a help,” he muttered, sniffing.
I cut the remains of his hair really short and used my girly razor to smooth down the edges, and he didn’t look quite so bad. I fetched us both a cup of tea and sat beside him. He sniffed again and took a sip of the hot liquid.
“Do you want to tell me, what happened that night,” I asked quietly. “If you want to talk about it…”
“You’re not my fucking therapist. Leave me alone and mind your own business. I had a frigging priest come round today. Why can’t you all leave me alone?”
“I’ll get dinner then,” I said, while trying to keep calm. I stood up again, taking my tea with me.
A few minutes later he followed me into the kitchen and hovered behind me as I peeled some potatoes. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“That’s OK. I understand why you are upset. What did this priest want? Did the hospital send him?”
“No. My da spoke to the bishop. He contacted the local man here and he sent him round. You know, I used to be an altar boy, yet I feel I’ve got nothing in common with those bloodsuckers. Frigging waste of space! What do they know about anything? This one was younger than me. What does he know?”
As Aidan was only twenty one, I couldn’t believe the priest was really younger than him and I guess he realised too, how unlikely that was.
“He said they’ve got a home they send sick people to in the West Country. He’s going to put me on the list. Bet it’s full of frigging geriatrics.”
I knew there was no point in arguing with him, in the mood he was in, so I got on with the task in hand.
“I’ve decided to take a part time job, work in a bar, three nights a week,” I said. “Would you mind that? The money would come in useful. This home, you mentioned, it wouldn’t be all the time would it? You would be coming back?” I looked round.
I must have seemed anxious because he hastened to re-assure me. “No, only a couple of weeks, more a convalescence really. In fact I’m not well enough to go yet. Until I’m discharged from the hospital, they won’t
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