‘When did you start saying my name?’ I said, almost too overjoyed to get words out.
‘He’s been saying it over and over this morning – that’s what’s caused him to be so frisky, he’s been excited to surprise you,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘Brah-din,’ he said again with clarity.
‘But,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘it also means I’m holding you responsible, Brendan, for the delay this morning.’ He winked at me. ‘I’m only joking, I was a bit excited myself to see your reaction.’
‘Ronan, you’re seriously amazing!’
‘Yee-ahsh,’ he said.
‘Right, we’ve delayed enough,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Emma,’ he called, ‘how you getting on?’
‘Nearly there,’ she called from the kitchen. ‘Do you want to go ahead and get Ronan out and I’ll set stuff in the hall when it’s ready to be loaded?’
I went outside with Mr McCoy to help get Ronan onto the electric ramp that lifted him into the back, and then clamped down the wheelchair and strapped him in; he was grinning and crooning the whole time, and saying my name quietly every now and again. After he was secured, I helped Mrs McCoy load the backpacks and cool box into the boot.
‘Right, I think that’s us then,’ she said before locking the front door.
‘Did you put the kitchen sink in the back there too,Emma?’ called Mr McCoy from the passenger seat beside Matty.
‘Righto, Mr Cheeky,’ she said, joining Ronan and me in the back and buckling her seatbelt.
‘Right there, clan,’ said Matty, like a captain of a ship, ‘are we all set?’
‘Yes!’ we all said.
‘Then off we go!’
Along familiar local roads and country lane shortcuts through small villages, speeding down dual carriageways past fields, rivers, cyclists, hot food bars at roadside picnic spots and farms in the distance with grazing cows; Matty drove with his window down, the warm breeze tousling our hair in the back seats. Ronan’s mouth was open in a wide grin, as if to vacuum in as much oxygen as he could.
‘We forget how much he doesn’t get out and about,’ said Mrs McCoy beside me with Ronan to our right. ‘We get caught up in the day-to-day of it all and get stuck in a rut; we normally settle for a quick walk to the village and back or sometimes in the wee park but it’s all local things, close by; we really need a change of scenery, all of us, it’s just finding the time.’
‘He keeps you busy, don’t you, Ronan?’ I said.
‘Yeah-sh,’ he said.
‘Hmmm,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘didn’t like the sound of that “yes” there, Ronan. Is that a deliberate cheeky wee “yes” that really means “yes I do keep you busy even though half the time I don’t need to” sort of “yes”, is it?’
Ronan did a cheeky giggle.
‘When’s the last time you all went on a trip?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Brendan, God knows, definitely before the accident. We went with, um …’ she leaned in and lowered her voice and indicated Mr McCoy in the front, ‘… the other McCoys, Aaron’s brother. We went on a trip down south with allthem …’ She looked at me with knowing eyes. Then, even more quietly so it was hard to hear her with the breeze coming through the window and the country music playing on the radio, ‘Aaron’s not speaking to them now, but yes, it was the cousins we went down to Cork with for a week and stayed in a wee cottage near the beach, it was lovely … Jesus …’ She paused and put her hand to her cheek. ‘It doesn’t seem like it but it was actually Easter week last year, yes …’ she shook her head, ‘… God, yes, that seems like years ago …’ She made a ‘huh’ kind of noise as if to say,Funny thing, time,then took a sharp breath and looked at me. ‘When’s the last holiday you went on with your family?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we don’t really go on holidays. I’ve never been out of Ireland, actually.’
‘Really? Never been on a plane?’
‘No – oh, sorry, actually we did go to Blackpool once when I was really young, but we got the boat …’
‘What’s that about Blackpool?’ Matty called from the front.
‘Brendan was saying he went on a holiday to Blackpool with his family, Matty,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Oh did he indeed? I’ve been to Blackpool many’s a time ma’self. The old Pleasure Beach?’ Matty said, turning briefly and winking at me. ‘It’s a trip I do with the lads most years, one’a them lads-only holidays.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘I don’t think we need to know the details of that, do we?’
