Page 89 of The First Time I Saw You
‘Sweet Mary and Joseph! Samuel, would you look at this!’
Mam pushes a newspaper in my face, the crisp sound of the pages as they crinkle and bend. The inky smell of today’s headline mixes with the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. My fingers grab it. I feel its familiar weight; the fold of the spine is firm and sharp in my hands as it presses the contents at me: read me, read me, read me. But I can’t. The fist is almost clenched, the end of the tunnel is almost closed, brick laid upon brick is blocking out the fading light.
My guide dog application is being processed and I’m looking for my own place to live so I can begin my new life, but Sophie’s words keep pulling me away and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do the right thing.
‘What is it that I’m supposed to be looking at? I can’t see a fecking thing except a headline made up of an N, I, N and a T, oh and is that . . . what is that?’ My arms stretch the paper away from me, ‘An arse cheek?’
‘Arse cheek, I ask you! It’s a woman’s shoulder, but that’s not what I want you to look at.’
‘Mam, can you just . . . read it to me? I can’t see enough of it.’
‘Oh. Right you are. Sorry, I thought . . . never mind.’ She takes the paper from me. ‘It’s in the classifieds:
Lost: Six-foot-two Irishman who answers to the name Samuel McLaughlin. Has weak shins and enjoys show tunes. If found, please return to Sophie Williams – phone number below.
I can’t help but smile.
‘What have you got to say for yourself now?’ She is standing opposite me, the paper rolled up in one hand, the other on her hips. My mind does this sometimes, filling in the parts that I can’t see.
‘There’s nothing to say, Mam, you know why I can’t go to her.’
‘I know why youthinkyou can’t go to her – ah shite, the bacon’s burning. Hold on, I’m not done with you, not for one moment!’ I turn my head and catch a glimpse of her blue cardigan as she marches out of the room. Weak shins and enjoys show tunes.That’s still me, isn’t it?I try to ignore myself. The room is hot, and I need to get out. I shake Michael awake: let’s get some air.
It takes me a while to zip up my coat, but I’ve done it. Mam is thankfully distracted by the smoke alarm going off and I can hear her running up the stairs and waving the tea towel at it. My hand finds the doorknob, turns it and I follow Michael as he rolls over the threshold, taking me along the path towards the park. Drizzle has begun to fill the air, fine misty drops that aren’t rain but aren’t fog either. I stop to pull up my collar, apologise to the dog that I have just bumped into, and to its owner, who gives me an over-the-top ‘not to worry, you’re doing a grand job’ reply.Grand job? All I’m doing is walking to the park.I tell myself off: the guy is only being kind; he doesn’t realise that talking to me like a child taking its first steps makes me feel like an idiot.
The past week has been hard. I’ve had to try and ignore myself constantly and that isn’t easy. I mean, you live with yourself, don’t you? Michael warns me that there is a rise in the kerb; instinctively, I lift my foot a little higher to avoid falling again. I tell myself to shut up, that she will be better with her new chap.How do you know he’s a decent bloke? He looked like a rock star, for Christ’s sake! He could be a rock star for all you know, shooting up heroin and snorting cocaine out of super models’ belly buttons. What do you know about her new man?I trust her; she wouldn’t start a life with just anyone.
I stop at the crossing. My hand slides up the damp post, the drizzle cold and wet against my palm, until I find the button and then press it. I wait for the beep. I glance through the gap at the end of the tunnel; I can see there are cars waiting. I turn to see part of a wiper slicing across a windscreen, hear the rumble of the engine and the ticking of an indicator before I step off the kerb. My thoughts of Sophie take a breath as I cross the road. How will I ever do this once my sight completely goes?Will you get a hold of yourself!Here I go again. You’ll have a guide dog; you’ll have family and friends who will help you; you’ll have Sophie. She would help you.I don’t want her to help me; she will have enough to deal with; she’ll have a baby. Don’t you remember what Sarah was like with William? She was a total nut job – do you remember how crazy she looked?But you could help each other. How could I help? I could fall over with the baby in my arms; I could knock boiling water over it.
The path takes me beneath tired trees where the drops of water occasionally slide off the leaves, into my vision, and plop into muddy chocolate-milkshake puddles.
Are you going to let a little disability get in the way of spending the rest of your days with the love of your life?I look up at the trees and down at the milkshake puddle, moving my eyes about so I can make a full picture. You call this a little disability.Well, not little, but, OK, I get you. I know things will be difficult, but if Sophie loves you the way she says she does?What’s your point?Well, my point is . . . what are you doing standing in the rain with a face like a slapped arse?
I have a point.
‘And just where have you been?’ Mam yells. Michael skulks behind my leg as I take off my coat.
‘I went for a walk.’
‘On your own?’
‘No, I took Michael.’
‘Michael! Mr McLaughlin, will you speak to your great eejit of a son and tell him to ring that girl right this minute!’
‘Can you just let me take my shoes off first before you start having a go at me?’ I groan as I fumble with the laces which have wound themselves into a knot. Sliding my hand down the wall, I lower myself on to the bottom of the stairs and begin to try to loosen the lace.
Do you see what I mean? How the hell could I look after a baby when I can’t even undo my shoelaces?Get Velcro.
‘Right, Sammy, I’m going to pour us both a stiff drink and then we’re going to have a chat with your man Bret. He called while you were out in the wild and he says he’s got something to speak to you about.’
My damp towel lies on my bedroom floor and I bend to pick it up. It’s just another of the many things that I’ve had to change about the way I act. A damp towel on the floor means I can trip over it; a pair of keys falling out of discarded jeans pockets means instant foot trauma; and a glass placed too close to the bedside cabinet can mean either a face full of cold water halfway through the night or a bleeding sole.
I pull out a pair of black jeans – I can still see that much – but Mam has started to cut out shapes in the labels to help me become familiar with the shapes and colours before the bricks are cemented in. My wardrobe door is mirrored, and I take a step back, so I can look at myself . . . well, small parts of myself.See? You still look the same, I say.She will still love you.I reach for Michael and tap him against my foot. Not any more, I say, and throw him on to the bed.
Sarah is coming up the stairs. It’s strange how I can recognise people’s steps, and I wonder if I’ve always been able to do it – instantly know which member of my family is approaching my door. Her knock is gentle but insistent.
‘Yep,’ I say as I pull the T-shirt over my head.
