Skellig

Chapter 6

AT HOME, THERE WAS A HOLE IN the floor where Ernie’s toilet had been. It was filled with new cement. The plywood screen had gone. Ernie’s old gas fire had been taken away and there was just a square black gap behind the hearth. The floor was soaking wet and it stank of disinfectant. Dad was filthy and wet and grinning. He took me into the backyard. The toilet was standing there in the middle of the thistles and weeds.

“Thought it’d make a nice garden seat for us,” he said.

The gas fire and the plywood were down by the garage door, but they hadn’t been taken inside.

He looked at me and winked. “Come and see what I found.”

He led me down to the garage door.

“Hold your nose,” he said. He bent down and started to open a newspaper parcel. “Ready?”

It was a parcel of birds. Four of them.

“Found them behind the fire,” he said. “Must have got stuck in the chimney and couldn’t get out again.”

You could make out that three of them were pigeons because of their gray and white feathers. The last one was pigeon-shaped, but it was all black.

“This was the last one I found,” he said. “It was under a heap of soot and dust that had fallen down the chimney.”

“Is it a pigeon as well?”

“Yes. Been there a long, long time, that’s all.”

He took my hand.

“Touch it,” he said. “Feel it. Go on, it’s okay.”

I let him hold my fingers against the bird. It was hard as stone. Even the feathers were hard as stone.

“Been there so long it’s nearly a fossil,” he said.

“It’s hard as stone,” I said.

“That’s right. Hard as stone.”

I went and washed my hands in the kitchen.

“Today was okay?” he said.

“Yes. Leakey and Coot said they might come over on Sunday.”

“That’s good. You managed the buses okay, then?”

I nodded.

“Might be able to drive you there next week,” he said. “Once we’re sorted out a bit.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Mrs. Dando asked about the baby.”

“You told her she was fine?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good. Get some Coke and a sandwich or something. I’ll make tea when the others come home.”

Then he went upstairs to have a bath.

I looked down through the backyard. I waited for ages, listening to Dad’s bathwater banging its way through the pipes. I got my flashlight off the kitchen shelf. My hands were trembling. I went out, past Ernie’s toilet, the fire, and the dead pigeons. I stood at the garage door and switched the flashlight on. I took a deep breath and tiptoed inside. I felt the cobwebs and the dust and I imagined that the whole thing would collapse. I heard things scuttling and scratching. I edged past the rubbish and the ancient furniture and my heart was thudding and thundering. I told myself I was stupid. I told myself I’d been dreaming. I told myself I wouldn’t see him again.

But I did.