Wildest of All Read online

  WILDEST

  OF ALL

  P. K . LYNCH

  Legend Press Ltd, 107-111 Fleet Street, London, EC4A 2AB

  [email protected] | www.legendpress.co.uk

  Contents © P. K. Lynch 2017

  The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.

  Print ISBN 978-1-7850792-9-0

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-7850792-8-3

  Set in Times. Printed by Opolgraf SA

  Cover design by Simon Levy www.simonlevyassociates.co.uk

  All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  P. K. Lynch trained as an actor and her first professional job was playing Lizzie in the film of Irvine Welsh’s novel, Trainspotting.

  After having a baby, P. K. completed her first stage play, Promise. Her second play, King of the Gypsies, played at the Edinburgh fringe, and then toured.

  She then enrolled on the MLitt Creative Writing programme at Glasgow University where her debut novel, Armadillos, was awarded the Sceptre Prize for Fiction.

  Visit P. K. at

  lynchpinpauline.wordpress.com

  Or on Twitter

  @lynchpinpauline

  Remembering Rana. She loved us.

  Peter Donnelly was not a celebrity or a politician. In fact, he was rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Even so, his sudden death was akin to a bomb going off in the Donnelly family, and all life after nothing more than a series of aftershocks, the effects of which would be felt far and wide for years to come.

  Millions of Peter Donnellys die every single day, of course: unfamous, unremarkable, unconditionally adored, or not, by spouses, children, lovers. This one lived in a modest three-bedroomed house in a neat modern estate in an area of north Glasgow deemed reputable by his mother, Anne, who had never fully recovered from her son’s shock decision to abandon a promising law career in order to focus on his musical aspirations. The blame for this decision was laid firmly at the foot of his wife, Jude, who was in fact not his wife, but his life partner – another shameful decision forever tarnishing the family’s good name. Jude felt Peter’s loss so profoundly she almost dropped out of the world altogether, only clinging on for their daughter, who was seventeen when her father died. Truth be told, she, Sissy, may never recover. The pillars, the giants of her childhood, were all mortally wounded that day when the bomb went off. Nobody knew who was looking after whom.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monstrous

  They called her Sissy because her red hair made them think of the actress in that movie they’d both loved where pretty much the whole town winds up dead. But names are a big deal in Catholic families, so it was agreed the birth certificate should say Cecilia. That way, Anne could tell everyone that her first granddaughter was named after the patron saint of music. Everyone was happy. No one anticipated any problems. Of course, the baby didn’t have much of a say in anything, though she became very clear she preferred Sissy to Cecilia, no matter what the kids in the playground had to say about it.

  Despite the shock of the first grandchild being born out of wedlock, Anne took comfort from the fact that Sissy’s arrival was sure to bring Peter back to his senses. He’d return to the law, and in time she was sure Peter and Jude would marry. The baby, like all babies, was a marvellous opportunity to put everything back on track.

  But seventeen years later, none of that had come to pass, and now the family were gathered in Peter’s hallway awaiting the arrival of the cars for his funeral. His sister, Susan, had travelled from Manchester with her three boisterous sons and unfaithful husband, from whom she would never be parted, because that is the Catholic way. His brother, Danny, was there with his two well-behaved daughters, but not their mother because she – the vixen – had left him, and although Lauren had wanted to attend the funeral, Danny had forbidden it because you don’t get to pick and choose your loyalties; you’re either with the Donnellys or you’re not, and if you’re not, then you might as well be against them.

  The assembled family looked to the top of the stairs where Sissy stood, wearing a dress for a thirteen-year-old child that she’d found in M&S a couple of days previously. Her dad would have laughed at that. On her feet were a pair of navy blue cowboy boots he’d brought back from a tour around the States. He’d made a mistake with the sizes and bought a couple of sizes too large.

  ‘You’re not wearing those, are you?’ said Anne, as Sissy clumped down the stairs, fascinated by the strangeness of her own feet. When she reached the bottom, she smiled widely and clicked her heels together: there’s no place like home there’s no place like home there’s no place like home. Nobody laughed, but Lucy, who was the youngest of Danny’s girls, gave a watery smile and whispered to her that they were awesome.

  Danny leaned over and kissed Lucy on the head. ‘Good girl,’ he said, and Sissy experienced it as a stab to the heart. No more daddy kisses for her.

  She searched for her mother and found her leaning against the wall behind Grammy. Red-eyed and vacant, Jude was no longer the mother she’d always known. It remained to be seen who she was now, indeed, who they were, and what they would become together.

  ‘The cars are here,’ said Susan, from her look-out post at the living room window.

  A barely perceptible pause followed, then Danny said, ‘Right. Everyone move out.’

  The front door opened and everyone began to shuffle out. The three youngest cousins darted through the grown-ups, desperate for exercise.

  ‘Wait,’ said Susan, catching Sissy by the arm.

  She brought her into the downstairs bathroom. Taking the corner of the hand towel, she soaked it, squeezed it, and wiped Sissy’s face. Then she reached into her handbag and retrieved a comb with which she teased out the tangles in Sissy’s hair and twisted it into a low ponytail.

  ‘It’ll be windy at the cemetery,’ Susan said.

  How clever she is to know that, Sissy thought.

  ‘And here,’ said Susan, pulling out a pair of tights from her bag. ‘Your feet’ll get sore in those boots otherwise.’

  Susan knelt down and tapped on Sissy’s knee, triggering a long forgotten morning routine. Sissy raised first one foot and then the other to allow Susan to pull her boots off.

  ‘Right,’ said Susan, running her fingers down the leg of the tights and stretching out the foot. Sissy wiggled her toes into the little cave Susan had created. So many times she had done this with Jude, holding onto her head to keep balanced, always forgetting her mother preferred her to use her shoulders.

  But today Sissy held onto the sink for balance, and studied her aunt’s head, which she didn’t think she’d seen from this angle before. Susan’s roots were an inch long and greying. Something about this moved Sissy. She felt sorry for her aunt who’d be seeing absolutely everyone in the whole extended family today. It was the sort of day you’d normally want to make an effort for.

  Three stretch limousines carried them to the church because Anne said it had to be done properly. Even among the principal mourners there was a hierarchy: Sissy and Jude travelled in the first car, Anne, Danny and Susan in the secon
d, and all five cousins in the car behind, with Susan’s husband their reluctant chaperone.

  Sissy and Jude took a window seat each. Jude wondered later if perhaps it was the car being so big that put all that space between them. And perhaps it was Anne’s tiny stature that made Susan and Danny sit so close, as though their presence was required merely to keep the old lady propped up. And Susan’s husband, Phillip, stared at his phone the whole way, while the eldest girls, Lucy and Emma, kept his three boys entertained with a series of games ranging from I Spy to Yellow Car Touch in an effort to keep them calm.

  ‘There’s glasses in here!’ shrieked the youngest, Andrew, having pressed a button to reveal a drinks cabinet hidden in the door. Lucy and Emma shared a look, a silent agreement to tolerate this now, but tell all to their dad afterwards about how inappropriate the boys had been in the funeral car, knowing already that Danny would nod, then shake his head, and say what else could you expect from boys as wild as they?

  Jude had some pills from the doctor, one of which she had swallowed an hour before with one of her special teas, Earl Grey laced with vodka. Her journey to the church passed in a pleasant fuzz, although she was acutely aware of all the edges of her reality, and somewhat amused by the expanding hole at the centre of her which seemed to creep closer and closer to the boundary of her existence. She deliberately let her right arm trail into the centre of the back seat in case Sissy needed something to hold onto. She would always be there for Sissy. Sissy was the most important thing. For Sissy, her hand would always be open, lying between them like a half-built bridge.

  The service was different things to different people. Sissy was insulted by it. Her dad hadn’t been to Mass in years, he didn’t believe in Catholic teachings, he’d never met Father whatever-his-name was, standing up there, bald and spitty, acting like some sort of authority over their family. She grasped the pew in front of her and her knuckles whitened. She wanted to use them to smash that stupid man to pieces, especially when he said the words ‘cerebral haemorrhage’ with that sad face on. Everyone listening knew fine he was the only person in the whole church who hadn’t been affected at all.

  To the left of Sissy was Anne, for whom every word from the priest was a balm carried on divine energy from God, seeking to find rest in her very soul. She allowed herself to be tangled and carried, his holy words wrapping around her, soothing the skirmish inside. She’d thought she was safe, that she’d seen the worst of everything. They say to lose a child goes against nature, but to lose anyone at her age was a resurrection of all past griefs. A tumult of mixed memories; the mother she barely remembered, her distant father, the childhood she’d never had, the life she should have lived, her husband’s passing. All the grief was resurrected and catapulted her to a new world of wisdom, because now she knew how petty, how insignificant, each of those losses had been because this loss – this – was the truest grief she’d ever experienced, and unless God sent an army to save her, she did not think she could endure it.

  But she cleaved to the priest’s words. He said all the right things, having been thoroughly briefed in the days between then and now. God would see her through. He always had.

  Sissy, offended by the stranger’s display of familiarity with her father, looked to her mother for comfort, but Jude’s eyes remained closed throughout, her whole being numb with medication, barely hearing anything at all.

  When it came time for Communion, the priest came along the front row and offered everyone the Body of Christ. Sissy clamped her lips together and shook her head. She soon regretted her decision when everyone else took it and kneeled down to give thanks. She sat conspicuously upright, like a creature in that game – What was it? Whack-a-Mole – and thought this probably wasn’t the time or place for making statements, so she left her pew and joined the line at the back of the church.

  She’d never seen so much black before. So many old-looking faces. Were the faces really old, or did grief just make them like that temporarily? She moved slowly down the aisle, unable to look anyone in the eye, anxiety building as she neared the front. She wasn’t supposed to take Communion without having made confession, and by refusing Communion the first time hadn’t she pretty much declared she wasn’t ready to receive it? What if the priest turned her away? In the end, he didn’t even recognise her. The bread stuck stubbornly to the roof of her mouth, refusing to enter her undeserving body. She battled it down with her tongue and swallowed it, then hurried to her seat and waited in silence for everything to end, fearing that to join everyone in hymn and prayer would dismantle her fury. If that went, she didn’t know what she would have left.

  They followed the coffin out but Sissy was the only one who followed it all the way to the car. She watched in disbelief as two grey-haired men in mourning suits settled the coffin inside. Feeling stupid, but unable to restrain herself, Sissy kissed her fingers and darted forward to place them onto the wood, her heart bursting with gratitude that she’d had the foresight to place a small cream envelope in his inside pocket.

  She, Jude and Anne had gone to view the body together, and while she’d known writing him a letter didn’t make much sense, it had been their thing to leave little notes around the place for each other. It was an absolutely crucial thing to do and if her mother or grandmother thought she was mad, well, she didn’t care because she was not ready to stop loving him.

  The men closed the doors and she was stranded on the other side of the glass. She knew she’d never be this close again, that he didn’t belong to her any more, that he would be transported from here to the cemetery and that hundreds of people would see him pass and not understand what a spectacular human being he had been. They’d see the box, the flowers saying SON and DAD, and the cars following behind, and they’d know for a moment that something awful had happened, but then they’d move on, untouched, never to think of it again. It was just another hearse to slow down for. Something intriguing to sneak glances at from the safety of the sidelines.

  She turned around, looking for someone to hold onto, and was surprised to see she’d put considerable distance between herself and her family. Everyone else had stopped at the bottom of the church steps, slowing the exit of those in the back rows. Her mother was already smoking. Her littlest cousins were running around in circles on the church lawn.

  She looked for Cam and Rik. She hadn’t expected them to be there but as she’d followed the coffin out of the church she’d spotted them squeezed in at the back. They’d probably never understand how grateful she was to see them.

  She walked back up the path and joined the fringes of her family, feeling like an intruder. The rest of the congregation gradually escaped the church and drifted off in groups to smoke and talk, probably reluctant to complete proceedings. Then there was a flurry of activity. Do you know where it is? Can I follow you? You’ll get a lift with them if you’re quick. I’ll see you up there.

  Back in the limousines. People on the other side gawking as they passed. The walk up the hill. That rectangular shape dug out in the ground. The heap of dirt beside it. The green fabric marking the place. Was that to make it look better? Was it something to do with health and safety? The priest standing by the grave, as though he was the head of the dinner table and they all his guests. The red ropes that allowed the coffin to slip into place. Handfuls of dirt to scatter rat-a-tat-tat across the box.

  The day was grey and dry with a light wind. Unremarkable, really.

  The wake was held at the hotel Jude worked at. For some reason she’d reacted strongly against holding it there, but Danny had stepped in when she became hysterical, and her boss, Aleks, said he would take care of everything. It was easier to give in. Platters of sandwiches and sausage rolls came out in their hundreds. There was so much food left over, Father Murphy took a doggy bag home. Waste not, want not.

  Sissy, Jude and Anne each sat in three different corners of the room, like boxers, each with their own entourage. Sissy greedily welcomed the vodka Cam had stolen from home. H
e splashed it into her lemonade beneath the table, making sure she got the biggest measures of the three of them.

  Jude also had a long line of drinks before her, and in a short while she’d transformed herself. No longer the zombie of the past few days, she found these people enlivened her. At one point someone said something and she shrieked with laughter, causing the whole room to turn around.

  She’s sparkly, thought Sissy. How fucking dare she? A week of silence, locked away in her bedroom, unreachable, thinking of nothing and no one but herself, and now look at her.

  Anne, on the other hand, maintained a dignified exterior, passing quiet conversation with people who had waited reverentially in line to pass on condolences, sometimes with a soft pat on Anne’s hand or arm. If Sissy hadn’t been worried about the smell of drink on her breath she might have sat down with Anne and held her hand. He’d been her son, after all. It hadn’t occurred to Sissy that her grandmother was affected at all until she’d overheard a stranger in the bathroom talking about it. ‘Goes against nature, so it does,’ the voice said. ‘A terrible thing.’ Sissy had remained in the cubicle until she was sure she was alone, reluctant to rejoin a world where, as well as surviving her own grief, she had to think about someone else’s too.

  On the way out, she met Uncle Danny. He greeted her like a long-lost friend, rather than someone with whom he’d spent the past few days in close proximity. ‘Sissy!’ he exclaimed, and wrapped an arm around her. They shuffled their way along the corridor, he trying to loosen his tie with his free hand.

  ‘He was some man, your dad. My big brother. He was! We didn’t always see eye to eye, mind you, but he was my big brother and I loved him. Always looked out for me. See when that bitch… sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn’t talk like that. See when your Auntie Lauren left me, I was in bits. I don’t mind saying it. I was on the floor. You’re too young to remember, but look, right, everyone was blown away by this. Ask your mother. Everything had been completely fine. No problems. No nothing. And then out of nowhere… bam! She screwed me. And your dad, Sissy, your dad brought me in. Do you remember that? Into his house. Me and the girls living with you? It wasn’t for too long. She got the lawyers on me quick-smart. We’re bastards, us lawyers.’