The Lost Sister

It could have worked out. She sent me sections of her novel. It was raw and revelatory, and was, I suspected, giving her an opportunity to release her feelings. I read her tutor’s critiques, his belief that it would be recognised as a serious work of fiction. If only she hadn’t been knocked from her bike. It happened so easily–a driver opening the door of his car without looking. She went flying and the second car had to swerve to avoid her. The squeal of brakes brought it all back. She was still screaming when the ambulance arrived. They sedated her in hospital, then discharged her.

She swore she was OK. I believed her because I wanted to. Is it like drugs, I wonder, the sweet swooning oblivion that comes over her when the drip drip drip becomes a flow? There were men; I met some of them when I was there. They brought her flowers and chocolates, and fluffy animals with love notes embroidered on their fur. They make her forget. Why then does she send them away and reach for the only relief that gives her comfort?

I knew as soon as the poem arrived. Just a verse but it’s all there. Her cry for help.

Rage river rage

Rage towards the night ocean

Where the tide waits

To crest you towards distant

Reefs of coral

Sharp as the lover’s blade

When it sinks into the flesh of a barren moon.

Chapter Twenty

Letters to Nirvana

18 March 1993

Oh Mum…Mum!

I need to tell you what happened. I can’t tell anyone else, never, ever until the day I die. Rebecca will kill me stone dead…what have I done?

We watched the parade going through O’Connell Street then met Melancholia’s friends at the bank on Dame Street. Do you remember the one that’s shaped like a square mushroom? That’s where we sat on the steps and watched everyone walking by. It felt good, being part of a group and everyone looking at us, but pretending they weren’t. Then we went up Grafton Street. Buskers were playing guitars and there were jugglers and fire-eaters and a man who stood like a statue and had a frozen face like Lauren, except when he winked. Melancholia’s boyfriend, Chaos, and his friends bought cans of lager in the off-licence and we sat on the grass in Stephen’s Green drinking them.

Wrong brew, said Jobbo Boland when he came by. It should be blood. He called me Vampira. I hate him! We told him to get lost but he kept hanging around. I felt so good with the muzzy far-off feeling inside my head. Jobbo kept shaking his head like music was switched on in his brain. We went to McDonald’s for burgers. A woman shouted something about devil worshipers and we chanted We are Goths…We are Goths…We are Goths…back at her. We passed the acrobats turning cartwheels, passed the buskers and the traveller children with their mouth organs, the pavement artists with the Virgin Mary pictures. I saw myself in a shop window. Eyeliner streaked like soot, my hair all over my face. Vampira Lambert on her day out.

It was hot and crowded in McDonald’s. The tables were full of families, children with painted tiger faces, bobbing balloons. Jobbo sat opposite me and Melancholia went to the counter for chips and Big Macs.

You look out of it, Vampira, Jobbo said. Are you not used to drinking blood or what? His piggy pink eyes kept darting all over the place and his head was shaved except for a wispy bit at the back. He told me to relax for a change instead of always looking like I was going to cut my wrists. I nearly said, wrong sister, but I didn’t. Have some fun for a change, he said, you’ll be in your coffin long enough. Then he gave it to me. Maybe, if he hadn’t mentioned coffins, I wouldn’t have done it. Maybe I would…I don’t know anything any more.

The tiny square of paper had a clown’s face painted on it. Who’s that, I asked him, Ronald McDonald?

He laughed like I’d said the funniest thing in the world. Believe me, Vampira, it’ll blow all those negatives out of your mind. You’ll float like a bird.

In the Ladies I licked the tab and wondered if angels would cry because I swore to Rebecca I’d never touch drugs. An oath taken at your graveside one Sunday afternoon when we were pulling weeds. I couldn’t eat the Big Mac or the chips. Melancholia called me an ungrateful cow and dumped them in the bin.

We ran down to College Green where a band called Ovida Jones was playing. The lead singer had long red hair. He was so casual, smoking and joking with the guitarist, ignoring thousands of people watching him. The drummer hit a cymbal. The amplified boom almost lifted me off my feet. Everyone jumped then roared laughing. Where did our laughter go, all our throaty laughter floating up into the dark mysterious night? Did it reach Nirvana before it faded away? Jobbo said I’d float like a bird. Like an eagle. No one to touch me when I’m on top of the world.

The musicians began to play and the thoombing noise crashed from my heart to my head. The singer grabbed the microphone and the crowd screamed. The noise was incredible, a thoomb…thoomb beat like a great pounding beast. The singer shoved the microphone towards us and we sang the chorus. ‘Under the clock clock…clock…under the clock. Holding my heart in hock for you under the clock…clock…clock!’

Again and again we sang the words and I was screaming with them, only there was no sound coming from my mouth because it was frozen in a huge O, tears pouring down my face, and all the fans were crazy wild. Melancholia was sitting on Chaos’s shoulders but there were loads of people between us, all strangers. I tried to push my way back to her but I’d lost her in the crowd.

I couldn’t stand the thoom in my chest. I had to scream before it choked me. Someone kept shouting, Get her out of here…bring her home.

Kevin and his girlfriend stood in front of me. They had their arms around each other. She whispered something behind her hand when she saw me. Kevin pulled my face around.

Jesus! What did you give her? he shouted and hit Jobbo with his fists. He knocked him into the crowd. His girlfriend screamed when Jobbo hit him back. Security men in yellow coats pulled them apart. The fans shook their heads, jumping crazy, and swayed back as Kevin was dragged away.

I heard Jobbo calling me. Vampira…Vampira! Over here. His legs dangled over the plinth of a statue. He hauled me up beside him. I gripped the legs of the statue. Long smooth legs that I must climb if I was to reach beyond the clouds. People kept yelling and pointing as I stretched beyond Jobbo’s grip, bracing my knees. Gratton, an Irish patriot, a brave man. It was easy to climb his body, crevices in the elbow, the collar of his coat. I clung to his neck and kissed his face.

Smoke billowed around the magic musicians as they dipped and swayed on the silver stage. When I looked up, the sky was full of silver birds flying in formation. I was among them, an eagle flying forever towards Nirvana.

The wind grew cold. It would blow me from the patriot’s neck. Far below I saw a dark hole opening and I screamed because I knew I was going to fall into it. A man lifted me down. I ran away and pushed through the crowd until I was free. I slid to the ground inside a phone box. It was warm and dark like a coffin. The music seemed far away. I was laughing so much no one could understand and I was calling her name…Rebecca…Rebecca…Rebecca.

Boys were waiting outside. One of them opened the door and blew smoke in at me. Don’t hog the effin’ phone all night, he said, and then I remembered that Rebecca was in London with Lauren and Jeremy kept saying, where the hell are you? Tell me immediately.

I waited by the railings of Trinity College. Remember…it’s where you and Daddy met? I saw ghosts at the gates. Ghosts behind the windows, waving, pale ghosts drowning in silver dust.

His face melted like candle wax and came together again. He called me…Catriona…Catriona, come to me. Be safe…come into my arms. He took my hand and led me away from the noise. His car surged through the night. We left the city behind.

It was dark on the estuary. Music played on the radio. The swans were sleeping. A bed of white feathers rising. The water sparkled when a train passed over the viaduct. He held me to him and I was carried through ribbons of light. I love you…love you…kissing him, I repeated the words over and over again. I knew it was going to happen. My fingers sank through his flesh. I watched them disappear into his spine…shimmering…his hair sparking when I stroked it, filling him with radiance. There were stars above us and the thooming music was still inside me. His voice whispered, husky commands. You’re safe. Safe in my arms, my beautiful Catriona.

I saw Rebecca’s sweater lying on the back seat, two of her books about animals and her Eurythmics CD. I couldn’t stop crying but he kept saying, it’s all right…it’s all right…stay still…it’s all right. I wanted to shout stop stop stop but his hand was over my mouth and I heard him sigh, as if there was a great pain within him that must be relieved by reaching into that place…that private place that belongs only to me.

Stars fell from the sky and faded. His face was anxious, frowning when he told me to hurry. We could be seen. But only the heron kept watch on the estuary. He never meant it to happen. I’m jail bait, he said, a dark torment. He fastened the buttons on my dress, not fumbling like Kevin, but sure, as if he had done it so often to Rebecca he knew exactly how to slide them into the buttonholes. Oh God oh God, I can’t believe what I’m writing to you…

I’d made him angry. His mouth was a hard straight line. He parked at the high wall on the edge of Heron Cove and dried my eyes. Don’t break Rebecca’s heart. You owe her everything. I placed my hands across my face. I no longer wanted to fly. Only to be alone. There was nothing inside me, not even the sound of music thooming.

I feel so sick this morning but there’s nothing left in my stomach to throw up. I’ve lost my silver locket with your hair inside it. I don’t remember getting into bed but I must have shoved my clothes underneath it. They smell of smoke and perspiration and beer. My black dress is covered in dirt, my panties crumpled inside them. The dark rust stain against the white cotton was so shocking I rushed to the basin to rinse it out, scrubbing and scrubbing until the water ran clear. Until then, I thought it was a dream!

His car has gone. There’s no one in the house but me. Please hold me…hold me…hold me!!!

Cathy

24 March 1993

Dear Mum,

Kevin called to the house tonight. The security men roughed him up, blackened his eye. When he gave back cheek they called the guards. Poor Mrs Mulvaney had to collect him from the garda station. His girlfriend dumped him afterwards. He asked me to come over to his place some night and listen to his new Cure album. I said yes, and the heavy feeling lifted from me for a little while.

Lauren is still in hospital. I understand her a little bit better now. She knows about fear and how it can wreck the mind. I’m walking on eggshells. Love and hate, it’s a fine wire vibrating. I think of Jeremy’s kisses, and the way he tosses his head when he laughs and I’m sick all over again with love for him. What a mess I’ve turned out to be. What a pathetic mess!

Love you all,

Cathy

22 June 1993

Dear Mum,

I’m a waitress. In other words, I’m an invisible species with a tray. Leah’s boyfriend gave me and Melancholia summer jobs in Chilli Factor. It’s the best Mexican restaurant in Dublin and there’s sparks on my heels when I run run run. No time to think about anything except burritos, enchiladas, tostadas, salsas, tacos and sizzling chillies. But the real reason why I haven’t written for ages is because I’m anaemic. My eye sockets look really pale pink. Last week I was dizzy in work. Melancholia said it’s the slave galley conditions. I keep thinking anaemia or a rare blood cancer…anything other than what I really suspect. Oh God, I’m so scared. Every time I go to the loo I check. Nothing. I think about it first thing in the morning. Last thing at night I pray, please please, God, let it happen tomorrow. If I go to a doctor I’ll know for sure. I keep intending to go but suddenly it’s a week later and I’m still doing the normal things that everyone else is doing. I stare at people, wondering what’s going on behind their faces. Are they pretending too?