‘Well, he could levitate, apparently, so that explains the pilots, I suppose.’
‘And I’m guessing he was an A star student, which would explain the exams?’
‘No, actually, he found it difficult to memorise things. So he worked hard and taught himself to read and then he would focus on just one thing and then pray that that thing would be on the exam.’
‘And that worked?’
‘Apparently it did; he became known for his great exam successes.’
‘And became a patron saint of them, not bad going.’
‘Not bad going at all.’
‘Mum, is this your way of getting me to say my prayers?’
‘No, it’s just who your granny would have prayed to.’
‘Well, she’s probably having a wee word with him up there right now.’
Mum smiled.
‘I talk to her every day, you know,’ she said. ‘Just a wee prayer and a wee thought to her. Every day.’
‘Well, Granny prayed for us every day too. I knew before I’d even woke up that Granny would have had a prayer said for me. It was nice to wake up knowing you’d been thought of before your day had even begun.’
‘Never underestimate the power of prayer, your granny always said.’
Mum twisted her hands awkwardly like a little girl who had been made to stand in front of the class to recite a poem.
‘Right, eat it before it melts.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
As she left I thought I heard her say something but she’d closed the door before I could reply.
I took another big spoonful of ice cream after she’d gone and swallowed. I was thinking of Mum walking up to Sainsbury’s while I was on my driving lesson with Dad. I was imagining her standing in front of the freezer in the shop and reaching inside to pick out the tub of my favourite ice cream. I was picturing her standing at the checkout with the single item and the assistant ringing it through for her and then her brisk walk home to get the ice cream in the freezer before it melted.
‘Love you too,’ I said.
I did pray that night; I prayed for Mum and Dad, I prayed for Mr and Mrs McCoy, Mr Feeney, Jennifer, I prayed to Granny and I prayed for Ronan. And then I prayed to St Joseph, I asked him to help me through my exams. And since he was also thepatron saint of pilots, I wondered if he could help in another way.
‘Dear St Joseph, can you please help my good friend Ronan to fly, soar, to reach the highest heights?’
I don’t know if that’s what a patron saint of pilots can help with but it seemed appropriate.
During the night I woke with a jolt. It’s a thing that happens, apparently, when you’re falling asleep too quickly and your brain snaps you out of it. That’s the science. But the experience is completely different; it’s as if you’re falling and just as you’re about to hit the ground your whole body bolts and you gasp awake with the feeling still inside you; the feeling of falling.
41
On the morning of my final exam ‘the dark feeling’ came back. I hadn’t felt it since September, waiting at the school gates for Ronan to arrive. My final exam was French written, my weakest and least favourite subject, so if any exam were to stoke up the dark feeling it surely would be it, but still, I thought I was becoming a different person, someone who wasn’t capable of experiencing as many dark feelings anymore.
In the weeks of exams, of not seeing Ronan, of not working at Feeney’s, I felt like I could relate to the people who live in those Nordic or Scandinavian places, where there’s a part of the year there’s no daylight for months. For them everything must be so much harder in the dark. Time must take on a whole new meaning when the exact hour can’t be guessed by looking up at the sun’s position in the sky; looking up gives the same answer as looking down in the dark months. But there must be a day when the people notice the tiniest bit of lightness in the sky and with each day after that the light increases a fraction until finally an actual edge of dawn sparks a fuse right across the land and into the squinting eyes of the people. Maybe their reawakening eyes ache as their hearts rejoice to know that brighter times are coming, things will be easier and the darkness is behind – at least for another year.
It really had been weeks of darkness for me with everyone shepherding me into the ‘exam bomb shelter’, as if Mr Feeney, the McCoys, Mum and Dad had had some sort of committee meeting and came up with the plan together. I knew they only acted out of love and protection but it still wasn’t easy. At least I had weekly phone calls with the McCoys to keep me strong and motivated. For the first few weeks those phone calls were my lifeline; to hear Ronan say my name on the other end, to laugh, to know how fast he was progressing in his speech and knowing how much more he would be able to tell me when we finally got to see each other. But after those first weeks Ronan wasn’t feeling well enough to talk. ‘Fatigued,’ Mr and Mrs McCoy had said and apologised on Ronan’s behalf, but encouraged me to keep my head up since I had crossed the halfway mark and it wouldn’t be long until we’d see each other again. Just get through to that final exam, they told me.
I wished it had been a nicer exam to end the entirety of my secondary school life with but it was thelastone, that’s all that mattered. Jennifer still had another two left because she was doing more subjects than anyone else in the year. She was waiting for me when I emerged from the exam hall.
‘How’d it go?’ she asked.
