Paul Murray - An Evening of Long Goodbyes

Shortly afterwards we made our exit. I slowed the recording to normal speed. Some minutes passed and then a ghostly white figure appeared: Mrs P, making her somnambulant rounds. But then she was joined by others. The candlelight and the poor picture made it impossible to discern faces; all I could see were shadows — terrifying, overgrown shadows, moving slowly behind her like a witch’s familiars. In their black paws things glinted and disappeared. A freezing sweat sprang up across my back. I nudged MacGillycuddy. ‘MacGillycuddy! I say, MacGillycuddy, wake up!’

‘What, what?’ he mumbled, half-opening his so-called all-seeing eyes. ‘I was awake already.’

‘No you weren’t, you were fast asleep.’

With a groan he heaved himself up from the ground. ‘Aren’t you dead yet?’

‘No — blast it, MacGillycuddy, couldn’t you watch for one hour?’

‘The video worked, didn’t it?’ he replied grouchily, pulling twiglets off his back.

‘Well, it filmed something ,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t make very much sense. According to this Frank is entirely innocent and it’s actually Mrs P who’s been behind everything, with the help of some sort of beings, possibly supernatural beings.’ I thrust the camera into his hands. ‘See for yourself.’

He replayed the tape. ‘How about that,’ he said when it was finished.

‘Well, what am I going to do? You don’t think Mrs P’s been associating with beings, do you?’

‘It’s hard to tell…’ MacGillycuddy scratched his head noncommittally.

‘Damn it, didn’t you see anything? I’m paying you to monitor , aren’t I? Why weren’t you monitoring?’

‘I can’t monitor in candlelight, can I? I’m not Brother Cadfael.’

‘What?’ I said.

Anyway, he continued sourly, if supernatural beings were behind the furniture theft, I would be better off with a priest. He added that I might have some difficulty finding a priest willing to accept my bouncing cheques. I replied to the effect that if lack of funds was his problem, there were bound to be some children having birthdays tomorrow whose cards he could intercept. He responded with an unsavoury remark about inbreeding. I punched him on the ear. He retaliated with a dig in the kidneys, and before I knew where I was we were tussling on the twigs and dirt of the shrubbery. MacGillycuddy was one of those wiry types and had a ruthless streak; it might have gone badly for me had I not espied, from beneath his armpit, two burly shadows — the same shadows that had guest-starred on the video, I was sure of it — shuffling across the lawn with the piano. ‘Look!’ I wheezed.

‘Oh, the old “look” trick,’ MacGillycuddy snarled. ‘I’ll teach you how to look —’

‘For the love of God!’ I howled as MacGillycuddy’s fingers delved into my eye-sockets. ‘The thieves! They’re behind you!’

MacGillycuddy by this point was winning the fight by such a margin that he could afford to snatch a glance backwards. ‘Holy fuck!’ he whispered, relinquishing my neck.

‘Well, come on!’ I staggered to my feet. ‘After them!’

The shadows were moving in the direction of the Folly, at a fair clip considering their heavy load. I was hampered by my ankle, which MacGillycuddy had stamped on, and he seemed reluctant to run on after them himself; nevertheless we were gaining ground when a third party stepped into our path. He was smaller and squatter than the others, with a knobbly, richly bruised face.

‘Evenin’,’ he said.

‘Look here,’ I gasped, massaging my throat, ‘I don’t mind about the ottoman, or… or the ramekins, but the piano — I don’t know if you’re a musical man yourself, but there’s a sort of a bond between a man and —’

‘I don’t know nuttin about ramekins,’ the new arrival interrupted. ‘I was just wantin to have a word wi’ Frank.’

‘With Frank …?’ Suddenly my eyeballs returned to their customary location and I realized who this fellow was. It was the cunt from the pub. A look of deadly intent seared from his eyes. He was here for vengeance.

‘Now if you could just go in,’ the cunt said quietly, ‘and ask Frank if he’d pop out for a minute…’

We were trapped in a gang war! Could things get any more downmarket? I looked at MacGillycuddy. MacGillycuddy looked at me.

‘Run!’ said MacGillycuddy.

The door slammed behind us just as more cunt-like presences appeared out of the trees. We burst panting into the kitchen, where Laura was still prattling to Frank and Bel was trying to coax Mrs P out of her chair. Bel rose, startled.

‘I thought you’d gone to bed. What’s going on? Who’s this?’

‘MacGillycuddy’s the name, Ignatius MacGillycuddy.’

‘Aren’t you the postman?’

‘We haven’t time for this,’ I cut in. ‘The fact is —’ The doorbell began to ring and did not stop.

‘Ooh, that must be my taxi.’ Laura swung her little bag over her shoulder and scampered over to the door, forcing me to lunge after her and grab her by the arm.

‘If everyone could just listen . The fact is, the house is under attack, by the cunt and his friends —’

‘That fella’s a glutton for punishment,’ Frank remarked.

‘Yes, well, be that as it may, I don’t care for the girls to get mixed up in this, so Bel, if you take Laura and Mrs P down to the cellar, then Frank and MacGillycuddy and I can try and — where is MacGillycuddy?’

‘He was here a minute ago.’

‘Oh, hell… All right, Frank, it looks like —’

‘Charles,’ Bel’s cheeks blazed every time she looked at me, ‘if you think I’m going down to that horrible smelly cellar just because of an odious little man —’

‘It’s not one odious little man, there’s about twenty of them.’

‘Well still, and anyway, what about Mrs P?’ By her left side her fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly. ‘Do you really think she’s in any condition to be sitting in a cold, dingy —’

‘She’s not really fit for a punch-up either, though, Bel —’ I broke off and listened. The ringing had stopped and an ominous thudding had taken its place, beating against the front door like a jungle drum, making the cupboards and fixtures buzz in sympathy.

‘Maybe they don’t want a fight,’ Laura said. ‘Maybe they just want to use the phone, or like borrow something.’

The candle guttered violently in the bottle, pitching our shadows this way and that.

‘Blast it, Frank, they’re your enemies, can’t you go and reason with them?’

‘I s’pose I’d better, you wouldn’t happen to have a few lengths of plywood knockin around, would you Charlie? Or one of them nailguns?’

Bel stood up. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police.’

‘No, Bel —’ following her into the hall, where down the stairs the front door could be seen to pulse, heart-like, with each blow, the frame beginning to splinter and the hinges to give. Outside the malevolent voices bubbled up; Bel stopped, swallowed, then, affecting not to notice, continued her progress towards the wicker table where the phone rested, a few steps up from the convulsing door: ‘Hello? That’s odd — hello?’

And then — just as I sprang to stand quivering between her and the door, and Frank lurched out of the kitchen bearing Mrs P’s heaviest waffle iron — the noise ceased, and there was a silence like a vacuum, in which we stood and blinked at each other like awakened sleepers. There came a squeal from outside; and then another; and then a groan and a painful-sounding crunch. We raced to the drawing-room window. On the lawn five men in polyester tracksuits were being tossed about in the air by the same two huge shadowy forms that MacGillycuddy and I had been pursuing moments ago.