pompoms. Mam got perfume and Dad got a scarf like Luke’s, but in green.
And Mam would make sure everyone had something, even if it was a much smaller something than they’d got in the past, when Dad was working. Last year she gave each of the three children a selection box and €20. She gave Granny three scratchcards and a box of fudge. Granny won ten euro on one of the cards and bought five more, but won nothing the second time.
Nobody really knew what to get Dad for Christmas now. He didn’t read any more, except for bits of the daily paper when he was in the mood, so the book tokens he’d always loved were no good.
He never listened to music any more either, anddidn’t seem to notice if Luke put on a Beatles or Supertramp CD. He rarely went out, apart from when his brother Jack collected him and took him to the farm for the afternoon, or when Mam drove him to the doctor or the hospital for a check-up, so any kind of shopping voucher was useless.
He didn’t really do anything any more – and he could eat only so many of his favourite fruit pastilles. Last year he ended up with three boxes of them.
Luke hadn’t given him pastilles – he’d given him a 100-piece jigsaw, which was still sitting on a shelf in the sitting room, unopened. Mam explained to Luke that his father’s concentration was gone, that he wouldn’t be able to keep his attention on the jigsaw, but Luke felt he could at least have tried.
Before he went upstairs to bed that evening, he asked his mother to call him when she was leaving for work in the morning.
She looked surprised. ‘You don’t want a lie-in, on Christmas Eve?’
‘Nah – I’ve stuff to do.’
She gave a tiny smile and turned back to the TV screen. ‘About half eight so?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Night.’
‘Goodnight, love. Sleep tight.’
Luke left the sitting room and tiptoed into hisfather’s room next door. There was a faint glow from the nightlight in the corner, enough for Luke to make out the hump of his father’s body under the bedclothes. The room was hot, and smelt of toothpaste.
Luke sat in the chair beside the bed. His father’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was quick and shallow, like a small child’s, with a little wheeze at the end of every in-breath. One of his hands lay palm up on the pillow beside his head. From next door Luke could still hear the muffled sound of the TV.
He reached over and laid his hand gently, palm to palm, on his father’s. He felt the warm breath coming from his father’s mouth. He watched the tiny lift and fall of the bedclothes. He stroked his father’s cheek lightly, felt the roughness of the stubble.
He whispered ‘Dad’, too softly to be heard.
His father’s breathing didn’t change. Luke sat back in the chair and watched, and pretended.
When his father was asleep, pretending was easier. Pretending that the birthday party hadn’t even happened on that horrible day, or that Luke had got sick and couldn’t go. Or that Mam had a day off from work and came to bring him home instead of Dad, and stopped at all the red lights on the way home.
Pretending that when Dad woke up, he’d look atLuke and ruffle his hair and say, ‘How’s my son and heir?’ just like he used to.
Just like nothing had ever happened to him.
After a few minutes, Luke tiptoed from the room and went upstairs to bed.
He was waiting outside Brady’s Electrical when it opened at half past nine the next morning. The woman who unlocked the door looked at him.
‘Hello there.’ She glanced up the street behind him. ‘Are you all on your own?’
‘I want to buy a washing machine,’ Luke said. ‘That one.’ He pointed to the window.
She followed his finger, then looked back at him doubtfully. ‘You know how much it costs?’
‘Four hundred and nine euro,’ Luke told her, wondering why she couldn’t see the price written clearly on the top. ‘Can you deliver it today?’
She smiled. ‘First things first,’ she said.
And Mam would make sure everyone had something, even if it was a much smaller something than they’d got in the past, when Dad was working. Last year she gave each of the three children a selection box and €20. She gave Granny three scratchcards and a box of fudge. Granny won ten euro on one of the cards and bought five more, but won nothing the second time.
Nobody really knew what to get Dad for Christmas now. He didn’t read any more, except for bits of the daily paper when he was in the mood, so the book tokens he’d always loved were no good.
He never listened to music any more either, anddidn’t seem to notice if Luke put on a Beatles or Supertramp CD. He rarely went out, apart from when his brother Jack collected him and took him to the farm for the afternoon, or when Mam drove him to the doctor or the hospital for a check-up, so any kind of shopping voucher was useless.
He didn’t really do anything any more – and he could eat only so many of his favourite fruit pastilles. Last year he ended up with three boxes of them.
Luke hadn’t given him pastilles – he’d given him a 100-piece jigsaw, which was still sitting on a shelf in the sitting room, unopened. Mam explained to Luke that his father’s concentration was gone, that he wouldn’t be able to keep his attention on the jigsaw, but Luke felt he could at least have tried.
Before he went upstairs to bed that evening, he asked his mother to call him when she was leaving for work in the morning.
She looked surprised. ‘You don’t want a lie-in, on Christmas Eve?’
‘Nah – I’ve stuff to do.’
She gave a tiny smile and turned back to the TV screen. ‘About half eight so?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Night.’
‘Goodnight, love. Sleep tight.’
Luke left the sitting room and tiptoed into hisfather’s room next door. There was a faint glow from the nightlight in the corner, enough for Luke to make out the hump of his father’s body under the bedclothes. The room was hot, and smelt of toothpaste.
Luke sat in the chair beside the bed. His father’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was quick and shallow, like a small child’s, with a little wheeze at the end of every in-breath. One of his hands lay palm up on the pillow beside his head. From next door Luke could still hear the muffled sound of the TV.
He reached over and laid his hand gently, palm to palm, on his father’s. He felt the warm breath coming from his father’s mouth. He watched the tiny lift and fall of the bedclothes. He stroked his father’s cheek lightly, felt the roughness of the stubble.
He whispered ‘Dad’, too softly to be heard.
His father’s breathing didn’t change. Luke sat back in the chair and watched, and pretended.
When his father was asleep, pretending was easier. Pretending that the birthday party hadn’t even happened on that horrible day, or that Luke had got sick and couldn’t go. Or that Mam had a day off from work and came to bring him home instead of Dad, and stopped at all the red lights on the way home.
Pretending that when Dad woke up, he’d look atLuke and ruffle his hair and say, ‘How’s my son and heir?’ just like he used to.
Just like nothing had ever happened to him.
After a few minutes, Luke tiptoed from the room and went upstairs to bed.
He was waiting outside Brady’s Electrical when it opened at half past nine the next morning. The woman who unlocked the door looked at him.
‘Hello there.’ She glanced up the street behind him. ‘Are you all on your own?’
‘I want to buy a washing machine,’ Luke said. ‘That one.’ He pointed to the window.
She followed his finger, then looked back at him doubtfully. ‘You know how much it costs?’
‘Four hundred and nine euro,’ Luke told her, wondering why she couldn’t see the price written clearly on the top. ‘Can you deliver it today?’
She smiled. ‘First things first,’ she said.
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