love,’ she said, but he knew by her tone
something was up.
‘What’s up, Mam?’ he asked, instantly alert.
‘Some sad news, Jonathan. Poor Gus next door died yesterday evening. Took another massive heart attack. I waited until I had the funeral arrangements before I rang you and the girls. The
removal’s tomorrow evening and he’ll be buried after ten Mass on Monday. You’ll be down for the removal, won’t you? I don’t think Rita would expect you to take a day
off work and I certainly wouldn’t but tomorrow is a Sunday so that will be grand. I’ll be there on Monday but we can all be at the removal tomorrow,’ his mother said firmly.
Jonathan couldn’t speak. He literally froze. His abuser was dead and his mother wanted him to go to his removal service. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t! He swallowed hard.
‘Ma . . . Mam,’ he stuttered. ‘I have something arranged for tomorrow. I’m not going to be able to make it.’
‘Oh Lord, Jonathan. Couldn’t you rearrange it? He was a kind neighbour. He was good to me. To us,’ Nancy said in dismay.
‘Mam, I have to go now, I’m meeting a client. I’ll ring you this evening,’ Jonathan fibbed, desperate to get his mother off the phone.
‘Well, get a Mass card at least, and try and rearrange whatever you have on tomorrow, Jonathan. You should be there if at all possible,’ Nancy urged.
‘OK, bye, Mam, bye,’ he said hastily and hung up. Jonathan was shaking as he walked across the hall and closed the door behind him. The memories came surging back against his will
and he was instantly transported to that untidy, smoke-polluted sitting room with the brown tweedy sofa and the big chipped oval mirror over the fireplace. The memory of the curtains being pulled,
the belt being unbuckled, Gus’s raspy breath as he forced him to his knees brought tears to Jonathan’s eyes. The recollection of the fear and revulsion that always overwhelmed him came
back with a force that stunned him. And afterwards, when the hideous assault was over, he remembered Gus’s finger held up in warning. ‘Don’t tell anyone about this now or
I’ll make things difficult for yer mammy, and I won’t buy her any more cigarettes and ye wouldn’t like that, now would ye?’
Jonathan would nod his head and run out of the house as fast as he could, down the small pathway that separated their two houses and into the shed at the bottom of his garden where he would
fling himself onto an old quilt his mother had given him to play house with Alice. He would sob into his forearm, his body shaking with terror, revulsion, rage and helplessness.
For three years, Gus had made his life a living hell. If he didn’t see Jonathan outside, he’d wait until he saw Nancy and say, ‘Nancy, will ye ask the wee lad to run to the
shops and get me a few fags and I’ll get him to buy ye a packet too.’
‘I don’t want to go, I’m too tired,’ Jonathan often protested, petrified and desperate at the thought of what would inevitably happen. On one occasion he had refused
outright. His mother had gazed at him sternly and said, ‘I’m surprised at you, Jonathan, that you wouldn’t run an errand for a neighbour, and he not a well man. I thought
I’d reared you better than that. I’ll go myself.’ She had gone to the shops in a huff and not spoken to him for the rest of the evening.
‘Sorry, Mammy,’ he’d muttered, suffused with guilt when he’d gone into the kitchen to say goodnight and seen her sewing a button on his good white Sunday shirt.
‘Ah sure, it’s not often you don’t do me a favour when I ask you. We’ll let bygones be bygones and forget about it,’ Nancy said kindly, opening her arms to him.
She’d hugged him tightly and he’d rested his head on her shoulder and so badly wanted to blurt out that Mr Higgins
wasn’t
a kind man. That he was mean and dirty and made
Jonathan do horrible things.
Shortly after his eleventh birthday, his neighbour
something was up.
‘What’s up, Mam?’ he asked, instantly alert.
‘Some sad news, Jonathan. Poor Gus next door died yesterday evening. Took another massive heart attack. I waited until I had the funeral arrangements before I rang you and the girls. The
removal’s tomorrow evening and he’ll be buried after ten Mass on Monday. You’ll be down for the removal, won’t you? I don’t think Rita would expect you to take a day
off work and I certainly wouldn’t but tomorrow is a Sunday so that will be grand. I’ll be there on Monday but we can all be at the removal tomorrow,’ his mother said firmly.
Jonathan couldn’t speak. He literally froze. His abuser was dead and his mother wanted him to go to his removal service. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t! He swallowed hard.
‘Ma . . . Mam,’ he stuttered. ‘I have something arranged for tomorrow. I’m not going to be able to make it.’
‘Oh Lord, Jonathan. Couldn’t you rearrange it? He was a kind neighbour. He was good to me. To us,’ Nancy said in dismay.
‘Mam, I have to go now, I’m meeting a client. I’ll ring you this evening,’ Jonathan fibbed, desperate to get his mother off the phone.
‘Well, get a Mass card at least, and try and rearrange whatever you have on tomorrow, Jonathan. You should be there if at all possible,’ Nancy urged.
‘OK, bye, Mam, bye,’ he said hastily and hung up. Jonathan was shaking as he walked across the hall and closed the door behind him. The memories came surging back against his will
and he was instantly transported to that untidy, smoke-polluted sitting room with the brown tweedy sofa and the big chipped oval mirror over the fireplace. The memory of the curtains being pulled,
the belt being unbuckled, Gus’s raspy breath as he forced him to his knees brought tears to Jonathan’s eyes. The recollection of the fear and revulsion that always overwhelmed him came
back with a force that stunned him. And afterwards, when the hideous assault was over, he remembered Gus’s finger held up in warning. ‘Don’t tell anyone about this now or
I’ll make things difficult for yer mammy, and I won’t buy her any more cigarettes and ye wouldn’t like that, now would ye?’
Jonathan would nod his head and run out of the house as fast as he could, down the small pathway that separated their two houses and into the shed at the bottom of his garden where he would
fling himself onto an old quilt his mother had given him to play house with Alice. He would sob into his forearm, his body shaking with terror, revulsion, rage and helplessness.
For three years, Gus had made his life a living hell. If he didn’t see Jonathan outside, he’d wait until he saw Nancy and say, ‘Nancy, will ye ask the wee lad to run to the
shops and get me a few fags and I’ll get him to buy ye a packet too.’
‘I don’t want to go, I’m too tired,’ Jonathan often protested, petrified and desperate at the thought of what would inevitably happen. On one occasion he had refused
outright. His mother had gazed at him sternly and said, ‘I’m surprised at you, Jonathan, that you wouldn’t run an errand for a neighbour, and he not a well man. I thought
I’d reared you better than that. I’ll go myself.’ She had gone to the shops in a huff and not spoken to him for the rest of the evening.
‘Sorry, Mammy,’ he’d muttered, suffused with guilt when he’d gone into the kitchen to say goodnight and seen her sewing a button on his good white Sunday shirt.
‘Ah sure, it’s not often you don’t do me a favour when I ask you. We’ll let bygones be bygones and forget about it,’ Nancy said kindly, opening her arms to him.
She’d hugged him tightly and he’d rested his head on her shoulder and so badly wanted to blurt out that Mr Higgins
wasn’t
a kind man. That he was mean and dirty and made
Jonathan do horrible things.
Shortly after his eleventh birthday, his neighbour
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