The Last Valve

‘Can we pretend we’re in Blake’s Seven again?’ I ask Mark.

We are wasting another afternoon, sitting in the spare bedroom of Uncle Billy’s house. The sun is beaming in through the net curtains, warm on our arms. Tiny specks of dust float lazily in the air. There’s a funny smell in the room. Mark says it’s from the mothballs in the wardrobe. They smell bad.  We are surrounded by flowery wallpaper, yellow and pink. A cartoon jungle.  A large double bed lies opposite the windows. We’ve been using the grey, itchy blanket as a battleground for our space games.

I peep out through the net curtains and see the kids playing football in the street. They are screaming and laughing. They call us the Britser Boys. They laugh at the way we talk, but they let us play with them anyway. We are on holiday. The street isn’t too different to our own in Birmingham, expect they have little parks everywhere here in Dublin, with big statues of ‘Our Lady’ in them. And sometimes you see lines of cows being herded up the road at night.

 I want us to join the kids outside, but Mark hates football. He puts down his Han Solo action figure and looks at me with his green-brown eyes. The same colour as mine.  ‘Okay, he says. ‘We can play Blake’s Seven. But only if you play the baddie.’ Mark has his Star Wars t-shirt on. I am wearing my Muppets t-shit. I like our Moscow Olympic t -shirts better. But Mom won’t let us wear them here in Ireland, because they have little Union Jacks on them.

‘Not again,’ I answer. ‘But the baddie is a woman.’

‘Don’t be sexist.’

‘What’s a sexist?’ I ask.

‘It’s a swear word.’ Mark folds the blanket back, covering my toys. ‘Like shit. Or bogies.’ Mark is ten. He’s three years older than me. He knows a lot of swear words.

‘I’m telling Uncle Billy!’ I reply.

Uncle Billy is the eldest of our mother’s brothers. He looks a bit like Superman, but not as big. His dark hair is always slicked back with cream. He likes Mark and me, but he has a temper on him. He works as a glass blower, and some of the stuff he makes lies around his house, like the oval paperweight in the hallway and the large orange ashtray the living-room.  A surprised looking fish stands on the dressing table, staring at us with bulging eyes.  Someone has stuffed some keys in its mouth. We know better than to mess about with it.

Mark has moved over behind the bedroom door. ‘Look over here.’

I crouch down and stare at the huge television set tucked into the corner. The plug is missing. It’s an old-fashioned telly. Unused. Mark pulls it out slowly across the rough carpet, which makes a purring sound. He removes the back. Inside, six large glass tubes are lined up neatly on a green board with wires running everywhere. A fuzzy layer of dust coats everything.

‘What are they?’ I ask.

Mark removes one of the tubes slowly, as not to let it fall, and holds it up to the sunlight. We see the tiny copper wires coiled up in weird patterns. Six small metal prongs stick out at the bottom of the glass. I press on one. It’s sharp.  Mark turns the tube around, throwing a swimming rainbow onto the wall behind us.

‘These are part of the engine.’ Mark murmurs as he shakes the tube slowly.

‘What engine?’ I ask.

The tube makes a faint tinkling noise. ‘Of our spaceship,’ Mark hands it to me. ‘You can be the engineer.’

‘Smart!’ I take the tube in my hands, my heart beating with excitement. ‘What’s an engineer?’

‘Don’t be a wally, for Christ’s sake.’

I notice the large picture of Jesus on the wall behind Mark. Christ is staring at me. He is sitting on a rock and has a fluffy lamb in his lap. Behind him are the lights of a small town.  Mark turns around and sees the picture too.

‘His eyes never stop looking at you,’ Mark says. ‘It doesn’t matter where you go.’ To prove his point, Mark moves slowly around the room, eyes fixed on the picture. ‘He’s always watching you.’

‘Stop it,’ I cry.

‘Look at his eyes,’ Mark replies. ‘He will protect you.’

‘No!’

‘Do you want the vampires to come tonight?' Mark asks. ‘Like Salem’s Lot?’

I stare at the blue-eyed Jesus. Without the beard, he almost looks like that blond lady from Abba, but not as happy. Jesus looks sad and angry. Will he protect us? I turn away and bump into Mark.

‘Watch out,’ he shouts and shoves me ‘you wally.’

‘Piss off’ I reply.

Mark grabs my arm. ‘You nasty little wally,’ he nods towards the picture of Jesus. ‘Say “Sorry. Amen”’

‘No!’

‘Say it!’ He squeezes my arm, harder.

‘Ow!’ I shout. Sorry…Amen,’

A  smashing noise startles us. We look down beside the bed. The broken tube lies on the floor in a heap of gold wires and glass power. I hear a thump from down stairs and then the creaking of floorboards.

‘What the hell is going on up there?’ calls Uncle Billy.

‘That’s your fault,’ Mark points at the mess.

The bedroom door swings open. Uncle Billy stands there, his eyes bulging, a bit like the glass fish on the dressing table. ‘Can I not get a minute’s peace with youse two?’ he growls. ‘Which one of you did that?’ He points to the broken glass.

I start to cry. I can’t help it.

‘Sorry, Uncle Billy’ Mark says. ‘It was me.’ He grabs my hand and squeezes it. I stop crying. I’m lucky I have a brother like him, to protect me.

I notice that my Aunt Kathleen has followed Uncle Billy upstairs. A headscarf hides her brown-grey hair. She is always wearing a gold cross around her neck. Mark tells me it’s to keep vampires away. ‘Ah, Billy,’ she says with a smile. ‘Don’t be giving them too much stick.’

Aunt Kathleen is Uncle Billy’s girlfriend. She’s always laughing. I like her, although I don’t think my Mum thinks too much of her. She calls her a ‘real Holy Joe’.

‘Stick?’ shouts Uncle Billy. ‘By Jesus, I’ll show them some stick. I’ll let their mother and father have it too, when they get back.’

Mum and Dad have gone out for the day to Bray, to visit my uncle Frank.

I start crying again. ‘Mark. Don’t let them hit me with the stick,’

Aunt Kathleen leans down and hugs me, laughing. ‘Shh. Don’t be silly love,’ she says. ‘He’s doesn’t mean it.’ Her gold cross tickles my arm and she smells of flowers.

I look over at Mark. He rolls his eyes. ‘Wally,’ he mouths silently.

‘Well, you can get the dustpan and clean that mess up,’ uncle Billy says to Mark. ‘Don’t be bothering me again.’

           

A few days later and the breaking of the valve is forgotten. We are all crowded around the big television in my Uncle Billy’s living room. Six of us kids, watching Top of the Pops. It’s early evening and the adults have gone to the club again. I’m sitting in the lumpy armchair, my nose pressed against the cold window. I see a ginger cat on the fence, stretching. I sigh, turning the streetlights into little halos.  Mark is sitting on the sofa next to Bernadette, the red-haired girl from over the road. Bernadette’s younger twin sisters are sitting on the carpet, messing about with their dolls.

Mark and Bernadette are both the same age. Mark plays with her; a lot more than he does with me lately.  We are watching Kate Bush on the telly. She’s dancing in the woods in her nightie. She’s in the top ten. Bernadette loves her. Mark sits with both knees up to his chest. I pull my knees up and sit in the same position.

'Hey, Britser,' Jimmy, Bernadette’s older brother looks over at Mark. He is smiling, but not in a happy way. 'Do you like the Queen?'

Jimmy is aged twelve. He’s babysitting us. He has a big, freckly face and is a skinhead. I don’t like him.

Mark looks up from the telly. ‘I don’t know,' he answers.

Jimmy snorts and nudges Bernadette. 'Do you hear him, Snotser? He doesn't know.' He stands up in from of the telly, arms crossed against his Thin Lizzy t-shirt.

‘Do you like her then?’

Mark shrugs. ‘She’s alright.’

 'Well I bloody hate her.'  Jimmy glares down at Mark. ‘She’s a bitch.’ He spits. ‘Do you hear me, Britser?’

'Jimmy, leave him alone,' says Bernadette.

‘Why?’ Jimmy turns to his sister. 'Is he your boyfriend, Snotser? He reaches over and pulls her hair. ‘Is that it?'

'Ow!' Bernadette cries. 'Would you piss off.’ She pushes at Jimmy's arm. ‘You eejit.'

Jimmy slaps her face.

Bernadette looks shocked for a second, then laughs. ‘What are you, a girl?’

Jimmy punches her. Straight in the face. A horrible thump that makes me feel sick.

Bernadette stands still, tears streaming down her face. She closes her eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. ‘You bastard, ya.’ Bernadette opens her eyes. Blood is running from her nose. ‘You’re just after breaking my nose!’

Jimmy keeps punching her. ‘Come on then,’ he keeps saying. He hits her in the back, in the chest, on her arms. ‘Come on!’

‘Stop it, Jimmy.’ Bernadette starts crying. She kneels to the floor.

‘Who’d you think you are?’ He leans over her. ‘The fucking queen?’

The twins start crying too.

Mark suddenly stands up. Eyes wide, breathing fast. 'Stop,' he shouts. 'Stop hitting her.' His fists are clenched.

Everyone goes quiet.

Everyone in the room is looking at Mark. The end music to Top of the Pops finishes.

Jimmy turns away from Bernadette and faces my brother. He is about a head taller than Mark. His freckled face is even redder than before. 'You want some too, Britser?' he screams, spit flying onto Mark’s t-shirt. ‘Because I’ll give you some, too.’

I sit up slowly from my seat and clench my fists too. ‘Say “sorry amen,” bastard,’ I whisper.

Jimmy looks at me with his blue eyes. He smiles and winks at me. He suddenly raises a fist at Mark’s face. Mark flinches back and falls back onto the sofa, his face is red and teary.

Bernadette gets up off the floor and wipes her face with her sleeve. ‘I hope you die roaring, you bastard,’ she shouts at Jimmy and runs out of the room.

Jimmy picks up the large orange ashtray and throws it after Bernadette. It hits the door and falls to the floor, still intact. 'Don’t be thinking of telling on me this time, Snotster.’

Bernadette’s two sisters grab their dolls and run after Bernadette.

‘Go on, the pair of you,’ Jimmy shouts.

Jimmy looks back at Mark and me. He laughs.

‘Alright boys?’

Jimmy reaches over and switches channel on the television. There’s a football match on. He sits back in his chair and stretches his legs.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the valve. The one I secretly kept. I run my finger across the six small metal prongs sticking out at the bottom. I get up and sit next to Mark. I grab his hand and press the valve into it.

He flinches and looks down. The prongs have pieced his skin, leaving little droplets of blood in his palm. Mark turns to me, red faced. 'Don't be such a baby.'

Mark shoves the glass tube back at me. There’s a small, tinkling noise. I pull back and glance down. The last valve has shattered.  A glass splinter leaves a bleeding cut on my finger.