The Moon King (10 page)

As soon as Rosheen had gone to get the food, Ricky left the pigeon shed. He knew she’d be back in a few minutes and he had to get away immediately, or she’d only stop him. He had to get away, before they came after him. Ricky didn’t have a clear idea any more what it was that he was afraid of, but his instinct was to run and run and run.

It was almost dark as he slipped out the front gate. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care, as long as it was away from the town. So he headed off away from the lights, towards the countryside. Maybe he could find an old barn or something to sleep in.

He knew he was heading in the right direction, into the country, because after a mile or so the houses started to thin out and there were no streetlights any more and no footpath. He could smell the cold, fresh smell of fields and he could hear the sounds of animals rustling and munching and breathing in the darkness.

Ricky was scared. He was scared of the dark, he was scared of the animals he could hear around him in the fields, he was scared of the occasional cars that sped past,
casting a blaze of light in front of them and forcing him to crouch in the ditch, partly to avoid being knocked down and partly to avoid being seen. Most of all he was scared of being caught and of being sent home.

Also, he was cold and he was starting to get hungry. He’d missed his tea. He had an apple in his pocket, he remembered, left over from goodness knows when. He took it out of his pocket and looked at it. He should really save it, as he was bound to get even hungrier later in the evening, but by then, he reasoned, a watery old thing like an apple wouldn’t be much good to him. He might as well eat it now. Without stopping to argue with himself any more about it, he bit into the apple. The skin was wrinkled – the apple had been in his pocket for some days – and the bite of it was cold against his teeth, but the juice ran sweet and delicious and he enjoyed it.

Tossing the core into the ditch, Ricky trudged on. Now that he’d eaten his only piece of food, he felt even hungrier than he had felt beforehand. Also, there was nothing more to occupy his thoughts except his sorry situation. He wondered about his mother, whether she was still in hospital or whether she’d been sent home by now. He hadn’t known she was in hospital, until somebody mentioned it. She wasn’t in hospital when he’d left home. Mrs O’Loughlin had explained that his mother ‘needed a break’ and that was why he was going away. She’d said his mam might be able to have him back when ‘things were better at home’. He hadn’t really understood
what that meant, but he was glad to be going away for a while, where he wouldn’t have to live with Ed, although he knew he’d miss his mam.

Ed wasn’t always mean to him, he had to admit that, sometimes he was nice, sometimes he bought him sweets and once he’d brought a video home for him, though it was one Ricky’d seen before; but he got very mad sometimes and then he started roaring at him and sometimes he hit him and it hurt, and then Ricky’s mam would cry and cry. Ricky didn’t know which was worse, being hit or hearing his mam cry. He wished she wouldn’t cry, but he wished she would stop Ed hitting him too. He and his mam used to be such great friends, before Ed came. Now she was always upset about something, and worried about him annoying Ed, though he tried not to, and things weren’t the same.

He wished they could have the old days back again, but his mam said that a boy needed a father and she needed a man, and he should try to make the best of it. He did try, but he didn’t think he needed a father that badly.

Thinking about home made him fidgety, and being fidgety made him walk faster, and walking faster made him warm up a bit and also the effort of it kept his mind off feeling hungry, so he kept it up, walking faster and faster, and concentrating on walking fast gave him something to do.

He must have been concentrating very hard on keeping up the pace, because he didn’t notice that he was
no longer in the countryside until he was almost in the town. He wondered what town it could be. Could he have walked all the way to the next town already? Or had he made a half-circle around the outskirts and arrived back near where he’d started out? Yes, he thought he had, because he recognised this street, he was almost sure. It led into the centre.

Part of him was cross with himself for having arrived in town, because of the lights and everything, but another part of him was glad about it, because it was nice not to be alone in the countryside with just the cows munching in the fields and the cars streaking past. He allowed himself to slow down and look around a bit.

His attention was caught by a bakery shop with a brightly lit window, full of goodies. He stopped and stared in at the things to eat, his mouth watering and his tummy rumbling.

Ricky ran the length of the street and dodged around the corner to the next street.

Standing at a corner, holding his side, Ricky suddenly spotted a familiar figure coming towards him.

Ricky turned and ran and ran. His heart beat so hard it hurt. His breath came in painful gulps. Tears of perspiration ran down his face from his hair. His face was hot and red and wet. His body felt weak with the effort of running, but the big, bearded man was still behind him. He didn’t dare to look back to make sure, but he could hear the steady thump, thump, thump of his feet, heavy on the pavement. Ricky was lighter and quicker, but the big man had more stamina. Ricky darted in and out between shoppers and commuters, tripping over baby buggies and shopping trolleys but managing to keep on his feet. Surely he would shake off his pursuer if he just kept weaving in and out, in and out between the people.

He came to a street corner and stopped to think about which way to go. Across the road and on, or around the
corner? As soon as he stopped, his ankles turned to jelly. He put his hand out and steadied himself against a traffic-light pole. Now his legs were shaking
uncontrollably
. He leaned his back against the pole, for more support, but it didn’t work. Slowly, his legs gave way under him and he slithered down the length of the pole and sank into a shivering heap on the footpath.

Nobody stopped to see if he was all right. Hurrying shoppers didn’t notice him, and he was oblivious to them, his eyes closed, gasping for breath and glad not to be on his sore, tired feet any more. Then he heard it, the thump, thump, thump of the large, bearded man approaching the corner where he lay slumped against the foot of the pole. He forced himself to open his eyes. There was the huge man, high above him, stopped at the corner and looking around. Ricky shrank into himself, waiting for the heavy hand to fall on his shoulder, for Tomo to pull him to his feet and … he didn’t know what came next. Presumably Tomo would take him back to the tall, tall house and then the social worker would be called and he’d have to go home, or worse.

But the heavy man didn’t bend down to him. He didn’t seem to notice Ricky. He looked up and down the street and around the corner, and cursed to himself. As he turned his head and Ricky caught sight of his face in the glow of the traffic light, he saw that it wasn’t Tomo! It was a big man, but he didn’t even have a beard. Ricky must have imagined it, or perhaps it had been a trick of the light.
He whimpered with relief. The man who wasn’t Tomo heard the whimper and looked down at Ricky, shivering at his feet. He hunkered down to him, his huge bulk like a small mountain between Ricky and his view of the world.

‘Gary!’ he said, taking Ricky by the shoulder and peering into his face.

Ricky shook his head.

‘You’re not Gary!’ the big man said in surprise.

Ricky shook his head again.

‘So why were you running away from me then? Gary is always trying to give me the slip. Thinks it’s a game. I should have known it wasn’t Gary. He hasn’t got a jacket like that. I suppose I just instinctively chase after any youngster I see running through the streets!’ The big man elbowed Ricky in the ribs and gave a laugh. ‘Well, look, come on anyway and I’ll buy you a Coke. You look as if you could do with a drink.’

Ricky shook his head again. He didn’t want to go anywhere with this stranger. He knew you weren’t supposed to go anywhere with strangers.

‘Or a sandwich? How about a nice ham sandwich and a cup of tea?’ the man offered.

Ricky was very hungry. A ham sandwich sounded nice.

‘Or maybe a burger and chips?’ said the man.

Slowly, Ricky nodded his head.

‘That’s my lad,’ said the big man, encouragingly, and held his hand out to help Ricky up. Ricky took the hand and levered himself up onto his feet.

‘How come yer ma lets you out on your own at this hour of the night?’ asked the big stranger.

Ricky shook his head.

‘Hmmm,’ said the man. ‘Yer ma doesn’t know where you are, does she?’

Ricky shook his head again.

‘Hmmm,’ said the man again. ‘Run away, did you?’

Ricky looked up at him with huge eyes, trying to make up his mind if this man was nice or nasty, friendly or dangerous.

‘Well, well, well,’ said the man thoughtfully. ‘Come on, so, and we’ll get some grub into you.’

He didn’t mention the guards or social workers or anything like that, but it was the thought of a nice hot meal that really decided Ricky. Happily, he put his thin little hand in the man’s big meaty one and trotted off with him into the cold evening.

The film was over. The younger children had gone to get ready for bed. Fergal and Lauren were in the kitchen,
finishing
their homework. Only Rosheen and Helen were left in the TV room. They’d switched off the telly and put on the light, and they sat disconsolately in two
uncomfortable
armchairs, on either side of a cold and empty
fireplace
.

‘Well, I hope you’re happy now,’ Rosheen said bitterly, at last.

‘I’m not,’ Helen retorted. ‘I’m not happy at all.’

‘Oh?’ Rosheen was surprised. ‘You’ve managed to get rid of Ricky. Not content with teasing him and bullying him to pieces, you’ve finally managed to frighten him away altogether. You have the house full of guards and social workers. You have Tomo off down town all evening searching for Ricky. You have poor Mammy Kelly half-demented with worry. A fine piece of work I’d call that, Helly Kelly. You have a right to be proud of yourself.’

‘I’m not, I’m not. I’m not proud and I’m not happy. How often do I have to say it? Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Why won’t I believe you? I wouldn’t believe the Lord’s Prayer out of your mouth, Helen, so I wouldn’t, because you’re not capable of telling the truth. You wouldn’t know the truth from a … from a … from a superannuated wombat!’

‘A
what
sort of a wombat?’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter!’

‘Oh Rosheen, I’m sorry,’ said Helen.

‘You’re what? You’re sorry? Well, a fat lot of use that is now, Helen. Sorry won’t bring Ricky back. Sorry won’t solve the mess you’ve got this whole family into.’

‘No, but still, I
am
sorry,’ snivelled Helen. ‘I am, I am.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re sorry all right,’ retorted Rosheen. ‘You’re sorry you’ve let it get this far, because you’re bound to get into trouble. It’s all going to come out now, about the misery you made Ricky’s life, and I’m quite sure you’re sorry about that, because you are going to be in mega-trouble, so you are. Well, that’s one thing about this whole miserable situation I’m not sorry about, because you have it coming to you.’

‘I didn’t mean to be mean to Ricky,’ Helen said.

‘Yes, you did,’ said Rosheen.

‘Oh, OK, OK, you’re right, I did mean it,’ said Helen. ‘But, but, but … I didn’t
want
to mean it, or at least … I don’t want now to have meant it.’

Rosheen said nothing.

‘If you see what I mean,’ Helen added desperately.

‘No, I don’t see what you mean,’ said Rosheen coldly.

‘You’re making it hard for me, Rosheen,’ said Helen.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ retorted Rosheen.

‘Because I’m
sorry
,’ said Helen. ‘That’s why.’

‘But sorry isn’t enough. I told you that.’

‘Well, it’s all I can do for now,’ said Helen. ‘And I’m not just saying sorry. I
mean
sorry.’

‘Oh well,’ Rosheen shrugged, as if she’d had enough of this tedious conversation.

‘There you go again,’ said Helen.

‘What?’

‘There you go again. I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re off someplace else, not listening to me. It’s been like this ever since Ricky came. You never listen to me. You never talk to me. All you want is Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. You don’t want to play house or school or anything any more, nothing but Ricky and those flippin’ pigeons.’

‘Oh!’ Rosheen was startled. Was she like that? ‘Well, I like Ricky,’ she said.

‘Everyone likes Ricky. What’s so great about Ricky?’

‘Well,’ began Rosheen thoughtfully, ‘he’s sad and he’s upset, but he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He just gets on with things. He tries. He smiles. He does his painting and he helps out around the place and he just does his best, even though things are hard for him. He’s not always worrying whether people like him or not. He just tries to get along as best he can, without causing too much trouble.’

‘Oh? Is that it?’ Helen was genuinely surprised to hear
what it was that made people like Ricky.

‘Yes, and he doesn’t hurt people or upset them or look for notice. He keeps his problems to himself. He’s just… sweet!’ She stuffed the back of her fist up against her mouth as she said that, so she wouldn’t cry.

‘Sweet!’ Helen echoed. How do you learn to be sweet? she wondered. ‘He’s sweet,’ she said again, softly, to herself, as if trying this idea on for size. ‘It’s all my fault, isn’t it?’ she said sadly then.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Rosheen bluntly. ‘If you hadn’t frightened him about that social worker, he’d never have run away. He believed you when you said she’d come for him, you know. It was such a stupid thing to say!’ Rosheen could feel anger against Helen starting to build up in her again. It was like a weight gathering at the nape of her neck.

‘I was only teasing,’ said Helen tearfully.

‘But Helen, you don’t tease a person like Ricky. He doesn’t understand and he isn’t able to take it.’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry.’

‘You can be such a bully, Helen.’

‘I – just, I just didn’t like him being your friend.
I
used to be your friend, until he came.’

Rosheen stared at her. This explanation was far too simple to explain Helen’s behaviour. It wasn’t true anyway. She and Helen had been at loggerheads for ages. But maybe it was part of the reason for it. Poor old Helen, she thought then. Nobody much liked her, and even if
that was largely her own fault, that didn’t make it any easier. She’d always thought it must be easier if you were really part of the family, like Helen was. It wasn’t much fun only half-belonging, and knowing you had problem parents out there somewhere that you were going to have to deal with some day. But it hadn’t occurred to her that maybe it was hard on Helen too, having to share her mam and dad with so many other children, having to be just one of lots instead of one of a few, having to fight for her place in the family all the time, or thinking she had to fight for it anyway.

‘Well, you can be my friend again,’ she said. ‘There’s no reason not to be. But you have to be friends with Ricky too.’

Helen pouted. She knew this would have to be the bargain, but she didn’t like it.

‘And don’t put on that puss,’ Rosheen said. ‘It’s no good wanting to be friends and then going all sour as soon as you are asked to do the friendly thing.’

‘The friendly thing?’ asked Helen. ‘What’s the friendly thing?’ Though she knew, really she knew.

‘Well,’ said Rosheen, who knew too, but wasn’t sure how to put it into words, ‘it’s about, well, it’s about thinking about the other person’s point of view sometimes, instead of always about yourself. It’s about noticing when somebody is hurt, instead of just looking for notice yourself all the time. And it’s not a competition. It’s not about winning and losing and scoring points all the
time; it’s about letting the other person win sometimes… oh, I can’t explain it without sounding like a total wimp!’

‘But if you let the other person win,’ said Helen, ‘then you lose.’

‘No,’ said Rosheen. ‘It’s not like that.’

Helen looked at her dubiously.

‘No, really. If I’m friends with Ricky,’ Rosheen explained, ‘I can still be friends with you, and if I’m friends with you, I don’t have to stop being friends with Ricky.’

‘Yes you do,’ argued Helen. ‘If you’re friends with me, and I’ve been mean to Ricky, then you are saying it’s OK to be mean to Ricky. You’re taking my side.’

‘No!’ said Rosheen. ‘You’re just not
getting
it, Helen.’

‘Is that what’s wrong with me?’ Helen asked. ‘I don’t get it?’

‘No, it’s not that there’s something wrong with you. You can
decide
to get it, Helen.’

‘Can I?’ asked Helen. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Rosheen. ‘You really can. You can decide that you want to be friends with me and with Ricky, and then all you have to do is start acting friendly.’

‘Are you sure it’s that simple?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. Forget about taking sides and being for and against and keeping scores. Just make the decision, Helen. Just do it.’

‘Oh!’ said Helen. ‘Oh!’ It had never occurred to her before that she could just make a decision like that. She
didn’t know your decisions could change things, if you acted on them. It was a whole new way of thinking about things.

‘OK, then,’ she said at last. ‘OK, I’ve decided.’

Rosheen looked at her and said nothing for a long time.

‘Is that right?’ asked Helen anxiously. ‘Did I say it right?’

‘Yes,’ said Rosheen. ‘Yes.’

‘And you?’ Helen went on. ‘Did you decide the same?’

‘Yes,’ said Rosheen, with a tiny sigh. ‘Yes, OK, I decided the same.’

‘Oh good,’ said Helen with a beam. ‘Oh GOOD!’

‘Only …,’ Rosheen went on, ‘only … only, we can’t
decide
Ricky back, can we?’

‘No,’ said Helen, ‘but maybe we could find him. Oh Rosheen, come on, let’s try!’

‘Where would we look?’

‘Down the town,’ said Helen.

‘But Tomo is gone down the town, and he hasn’t found him. He phoned to say so.’

‘Yes, yes, but still,
we
might find him. Come on, Ro, come on, let’s go!’