The long awaited next episode in the Danny and Jack Chronicles!!!! At least I hope it's long awaited, or else I've suffered artistic agonies for nothing, the sleepless nights, the worry, the drinking binges, all to bring you an instantly forgettable story. I want feedback, lots of it, all good. I want adoration, floral tributes, but most of all I want donations...cheques made payable to the Macintyre Fund For Distressed Mental Folk!
Pogo song lyrics courtesy of System Of A Down, though they don't know it...thanks guys, I love your stuff...oh, and a word to the wise on make up...too much darlings...ease up on the eye liner...subtlety is the key word.
Alison has gone awol, Dennis is worried, Jack is confused and Danny is, well, see for yourself. The action follows on from the scene in the churchyard at the end of episode 12.
She had lied to me, lied to me of all people! I stared at her sprawling, disjointed writing, willing the words to reform and say what I wanted them to say: that the tests had been clear, that it had been a false alarm, just one of those things. They refused to reshape themselves to my will, stubbornly remaining the same.
How long had she known that she had cancer, how many days and nights keeping it to herself while I wondered and worried? She never had any intention of accepting treatment. My stomach lurched sickeningly. Alison was going to die; she was going to die. The BITCH, the _f_u_c_k_ing lying BITCH! She was going to leave me, just like everyone left me in the end. All those promises meant nothing!
I was vaguely aware of Jack's presence, of his voice and the letter being taken from my hands. At that precise moment I hated him, hated Dennis, and hated Alison too. I hated them all for feeding me falsehoods, for always telling me that everything would be all alright, but most of all I hated myself for being _f_u_c_k_ing gullible enough to believe them! The sound of the church clock striking the hour reminded me of where I was, reminded me also that prayers were useless; that God had betrayed me; yet again.
I felt rage power through my body; an upsurge of raw energy that exploded into my brain, wiping out everything else.
"What's going on?" I strode quickly towards Dennis and Danny. He was staring at a sheet of paper, white faced and visibly shaking. I spoke his name, but he gave no sign of having heard me, nor did he respond when I squeezed his hand.
"Dennis?" I glanced at him, my unease deepening as I noted the greyness of his pallor.
"Read the letter Jack." He ran a hand distractedly through his hair.
I prised the sheet of paper from Danny's hand, scanning it quickly. "My God, Dennis." I stared at him, unsure of what to say, "I'm so sorry, I had no idea. I guessed they were concealing something, but never imagined it was anything of this magnitude."
"That makes two of us," there was a hint of bitterness to his tone. "She never gave so much as a hint. I've got to find her Jack, before she does something really stupid! You know what she's like."
I nodded, living with Danny had taught me only too well what madness the Macintyre's were capable of; it hardly bore thinking about.
I sighed inwardly, no wonder Danny had been having mood changes lately, apart from worrying about his sister, it was bound to reawaken painful memories of his mother. I'd always suspected that he'd never come to terms with her death, that he actually viewed it as an act of desertion and betrayal. I was learning to appreciate the way his mind worked, which was one of the reasons I insisted he held nothing back from me. He invariably warped and misinterpreted things, with potentially disastrous consequences. We'd had discussions before on this subject and why it was important that he talk to me. Perhaps the discussion needed reiterating a little more forcefully?
I spoke sternly to him, trying to engage his attention. "Daniel, if you know where Alison is, then tell Dennis now, do you understand? This has gone far enough, too far in fact." Warning bells began to ring and I felt stirrings of apprehension as a soft blush of pink crept across the pale pallor of his skin, like a sunset on snow. Tightening my grip on his hand I gave it a slight shake, saying quietly. "Daniel, did you hear what I said?"
No response. The colour in his face deepened to a feverish red and his breathing accelerated. I'd witnessed and dealt with many of Daniel's moods from the simply mischievous to the full blown, self indulgent temper tantrums he delighted in, but, if the signs were right he was about to have what Dennis termed an 'episode.' I'd witnessed him in this state only once, and Dennis had been the one dealing with him on that occasion.
"Daniel." I put my hands on his shoulders, speaking softly, trying to draw him towards me. "Daniel, no scenes, this isn't the time or the place. Just tell Dennis where Alison is, so he can help her." The unfocussed look in his eyes told me that as feared, he was reacting to some inner impetus and not engaging with the real world on any level.
The church clock struck the hour, which seemed to spur him into action, taking me completely by surprise. His stillness erupted into frenzied activity as his head jerked up, and he twisted deftly away from me. An ancient wooden litter bin took the brunt of his rage first. He slammed his foot into it, sending it and it's contents scattering. He then began scrabbling wildly on the ground. The first rock fell short of its intended target, hitting the face of the building and bouncing off in a cloud of brick dust.
"Stop him Jack...now, or I will, and that's not what he wants or needs." Dennis looked at me urgently as another rock ricochet off the building, leaving a scar on the brickwork.
I darted forward, attempting to collar him, but he nimbly evaded my reach and snatched up another missile, drawing back his arm in preparation to throw.
"That's enough Daniel!" I hissed, "you just dare throw that stone!" I knew immediately that I had chosen my words unwisely. With Danny in the mood he was in, I had issued a challenge rather than a warning. The stone flew from his hand and hit its intended target, the church window, with a resounding crack. Another quickly followed and to my dismay shot on through leaving a fair sized hole in the glass.
I wasn't certain what twisted logic was prompting him to direct his anger at the church, but I was grateful that the building was relatively modern and that Methodists didn't go in for an abundance of stained glass. A plain window would be a lot cheaper to replace than some medieval work of art.
By now we were what concert organisers would term an added attraction. Fortunately, the majority of mourners had left, but there were still a few knots of lingerers exchanging small talk, and we were beginning to court their attention. They drifted towards us. Danny, sensing them at some level, whirled round, snatching up stones and rubbish from the overturned bin, which he then lobbed in their direction, accompanied by a stream of foul mouthed invective.
Fortunately, in one respect anyway, he was now so out of control the missiles went wild, except for a lucky shot with a banana skin which landed on top of a woman's hat, hanging coquettishly to one side. Busily dodging a Pepsi can, she didn't notice that her headgear had gained an extra trimming until it dropped down onto her shoulder, clinging there like some grotesque insect. Screaming hysterically, she snatched at it, hurling it to the ground before leaping up and down on it in a frenzied attempt to "kill" the creature. What followed was a bizarre parody of a comic book scene as her feet slid from under her and she flew up into the air. The assembled spectators got a good peep at her petticoats, before she thudded to the ground in a very undignified manner, subsequently dislodging her millinery, which ended up over her face, where it mercifully muffled her screeches.
Dennis, ever the gentleman, hurried over to offer sympathy and assistance.
Cursing my slowness at judging and reacting to the situation, I redoubled my efforts to restrain Danny, grabbing him by the arms. He kicked out at me violently, writhing and twisting in an effort to free himself.
"Daniel," I tried to make my voice reassuring, yet firm. His foot stamped down hard onto mine, making my eyes water with pain.
That was it! Thrusting aside my anxieties for him, which were doing nothing to help the situation, I whisked him round, smacking his bottom sharply, not much caring at that point whether I was being discreet or not. Besides, with his slight stature, and dressed as he was in black trousers, white shirt and black tie, he looked younger than his years. I doubted that anyone was overly offended or upset at the sight of a screaming foul mouthed, stone throwing vandal getting smacked for misbehaving.
The smack momentarily sobered him, enabling me to get a firmer hold. I headed quickly for the car, vaguely aware of Dennis excusing and begging apology for Danny's behaviour on the grounds of grief. I suppose in one sense it wasn't too far removed from the truth.
By the time I got him to the car we were both dishevelled and sweating, him with temper and fighting to free himself, and me with the sheer effort of keeping hold of him. I couldn't risk him running off in this state. God knows what harm he'd do to himself or others. Dennis once told me that in one of these moods he'd kicked out the headlamps of every car parked along the street where they lived.
I bundled him into the back of the vehicle, giving a gasp as one of his flailing fists caught me a sharp blow on the chin causing me to let go of him. He immediately made a grab for the opposite door, letting out a shriek of rage as he realised the child locks were on. He let loose with his feet, smashing them furiously into the door.
Hauling him onto my lap I wrapped my left arm tightly around his upper body, keeping his arms pinned to his side, and my right arm wrapped round his legs to stop him kicking. I talked soothingly, looking into his eyes trying to make a connection, but a wild eyed stranger glared back at me with something bordering on hatred. It was disturbing, but I reminded myself that the young man I loved was locked away in there somewhere. I wanted to stroke his hair, touch his face, but I knew the moment I loosened my grip, he'd start lashing out again in a mindless effort to purge himself of whatever was hurting him, regardless of what harm or damage he caused in the process.
"You all right back there Jack?" Dennis' deep voice was full of concern, despite his own worries over Alison. God, it was so typical of her to up and run. Like Danny she never thought anything through, reacting to irrational thoughts and impulses the second they popped into the confused mélange that passed as her mind.
"Just get us home Dennis, as quick as you can, before my strength gives out." I took a deep breath, held tighter to the struggling figure and, not for the first time, wondered how the hell Dennis had survived living with both of them, while remaining sane. I had asked him once.
Love, he'd said seriously, pure love. You get past all the rubbish, all the defences that most people are turned off by and you find something rare, something beautiful, wild, unfettered and at the same time, something so innocent it takes your breath away. You can't help but love them. They need protecting from a world they don't fully connect with. More importantly, he'd said with a touch of wry humour, the world needs protecting from them.
I hadn't really appreciated what he meant at the time; I did now. I'd respected Dennis from the moment I'd met him, he really cared about people, even those that no one else had much time for. To hear him speak of Alison and Danny, with such love and pride, had moved me deeply.
I permitted myself an inner smile as I recollected Tristan asking me why, after the Christmas Day debacle, I put up with Danny and his antics. Surely, he'd said, the _s_e_x_ can't be that good. Love, I'd told him, pure love. It was a fact. Despite all my reservations about my relationship with Danny, including the age difference; not only the physical disparity, but the emotional one, I loved Danny in a way I'd never loved anyone before; the depth of it scared me sometimes. All the traumas and disasters were worth enduring for the rare moments when Danny was fully attuned to the world, and more importantly, to me.
Tristan had raised his eyebrows, saying in that dry way of his, I hope God never sees fit to curse me in the same way. I'd sooner suffer one of the Egyptian plagues. He'd paused, then added, come to think of it, that boy is worse than any biblical plague. He'd patted my shoulder, saying sympathetically, 'you have my heart felt sympathies dear boy.'
Good manners and the loyalty of long friendship, prevented me from asking what he saw in Skelator, who to my mind had all the charm of a groin sited fungal infection.
Danny started creating again the moment we got out of the car. I got a shock, yelping and loosing my hold on him, as he sank his teeth into my hand. Dennis also yelped, but with outrage rather than pain, as Danny made a lunge for his wing mirror and snapped it off, hurling it furiously over the hedge, where it decapitated a neighbours garden statue. The Venus De Milo was now headless as well as armless. Mr Feeney would not be happy, we were not his favourite neighbours to begin with, not after the cat flap incident. I shuddered, blocking the horror of it from my mind. Danny then began screeching for Lily, demanding that she call the police as he was being kidnapped.
Fortunately, Lily was playing her records at full blast and couldn't hear him. While I appreciated that at her age, a certain level of deafness was to be sadly expected, I did feel that she ought to consider a hearing aid, if only to save the rest of us from being party to her peculiar musical tastes. I quelled a faint shiver of distaste as the raucous singer bawled the lyrics.... Pogo....pogo...pogo...jump ...bounce...down...up...I went out on a date with a girl...I brought my pogo stick just to show her a trick...Certainly not my idea of a nice love song. I caught a brief glimpse of her through her front room window. Really, I thought concernedly, she could break a hip jigging around like that!
With Den's help I finally got Danny indoors where he sent the hall table flying with a well aimed kick. He then lurched for the fallen phone. The situation had somehow subtly changed, I detected an element of conscious enjoyment creeping into his behaviour.
Sweat was trickling uncomfortably down my back, my foot and hand were throbbing painfully. Justifiable annoyance began to replace concern. "Pick up that table Daniel, now, pick it up and put the phone back on it."
His eyes met mine with that defiant, mocking, '_f_u_c_k_ you,' look that only he can give. No doubt about it; my Danny was back. Folding my arms I met his gaze steadily. I'd had enough, I was exhausted, it was time for closure.
"I'm going to count to three."
"_f_u_c_k_ me!" I thought, my stomach doing a small somersault as those six, horribly all too familiar, words rolled from my beloved's lips. What was it with this man and counting to three? Was it some dreadful psychological hangover from enforced childhood viewing of Brian Cant and Playschool? Had he been ill in bed when numbers four and above were introduced? Perhaps it was some horrible side effect of watching too many episodes of Sesame Street? That was it! Big Bird was responsible for disturbing the balance of my boyfriend's mind. I ought to sue! Maybe I could get a lawyer to take up the case?
I could see the headlines in my mind's eye: "Huge damages awarded to man for life of torture and torment with mathematically challenged partner. In a gesture worthy of Tammy Wynette, Mr Macintyre vowed to stand by his man, and see him through a sustained programme of recovery. Carol Vorderman, Countdown Queen, moved almost to tears by this tale of loyalty and love, charitably offers assistance to help Mr Kinross overcome his tragic aversion to numbers above three."
"DANIEL!"
Jack's voice broke into my fantasy as it reverberated from wall to wall, I won't say he shouted, but my hair lifted in the breeze. I suddenly noticed that he was looking somewhat less than his usual immaculate, suave self. Even so, hair mussed, shirt hanging out, tie askew, he still managed to convey an air of serious authority. His arms were folded in that strangely Masonic like, ritualistic way that marked him out as a brother to fellow tops.
"Are you listening to me young man? Pick the table up, put the phone down. I'm going to start counting now."
Somehow it seemed vitally important that I completed my intended task of chucking the phone before my time ran out...a brats version of Mastermind...I've started so I'll finish...the phone, carried away by the situation, hurled itself enthusiastically from my hand.
Fortunately, or not, depending on your viewpoint, it reached the end of its cord before it could hit the glass fronted door. Jerking back like a strangled pup it crashed to the floor just as Jack said the number three, while simultaneously unfolding his arms in a move that could have been choreographed by Wayne Sleep, it was so perfect.
Being of a sensitive nature, I immediately grasped that Jack was a bit cross. I could tell by the look on his face; a Doberman with piles was the analogy that sprung immediately to mind, that and the blitzkrieg speed at which he moved towards me.
My buttocks, sensing danger, sent wild messages to my brain urging me to flee, it was a classic fright and flight response. The next few moments were reminiscent of something from a West End farce, with me dodging Jack's wrathful grasp and galloping down the hall towards the kitchen, in the hope of reaching the back door before he got his hands on me.
BOLLOCKS!
A mass of Dennis blocked my planned escape route. Arms folded, he slowly shook his head from side to side: toppish sign language for, 'over my dead body!'
I felt Jack's fingers brush my neck as he reached for my collar and neatly side swerved him. We played dodge around the kitchen table, I was winning on points, when he craftily wrong footed me... bastard, he'd obviously been brushing up on his footie skills.
"Excuse us for a moment," ever the gracious and polite host, Jack, panting slightly, turned to Dennis, "feel free to make yourself a coffee. Danny and I just need to have a little chat about the correct method of handling telecommunication equipment."
I tried to squirm free, "coffee," I yelled, "yes, let's all have coffee, four sugars and a double kit kat with mine please Den!"
Dennis gave me a 'you deserve everything you get look' and began filling the kettle, saying callously, "caffeine is the last thing you need young man, and by the way, you owe me a new wing mirror for my car."
Heartless swine!
I stamped my foot as I was pushed into the bedroom. The door creaked as it closed behind us, reminding me of those old horror films where the innocent virgin(yeah right!) entered the vampire's castle. Fangs to the jugular seemed suddenly attractive in comparison to what I suspected Count-to-three-Jackula had in mind for me.
It wasn't fair, none of this was my fault! I'd had a traumatic morning with the funeral and, it loomed forcefully into my mind again, Alison's letter. Jack was just being plain mean. Surely I was entitled to throw one rotten little phone after all I'd suffered? He gave me a cold look and I stamped again. It was oddly freeing, and before long I was doing an award winning cameo of a deranged Irish disco dancer...stomping my feet rhythmically...discos here, discos there.....
...it's difficult to stamp with your trousers and briefs around your knees, it seriously hinders agility. Jack's lap broke my forward plunge to the floor, for which I should have been grateful, but frankly wasn't. At that precise moment I would have considered belly flopping onto a Fakirs bed of nails preferable to being bottom up across Jack's knees.
"Owww!!" I gripped the duvet tightly as his hand spanked down on my bottom, with thermic intensity.
He paused and asked the dreaded question. "Why are you getting this spanking?"
"For _f_u_c_k_'s sake Jack," I yelled, trying to swim off his lap, "you've got to consult a doctor about these memory lapses. They could point to something serious!" Like terminal sadism, I thought, panicking slightly, as his arm tightened around my waist and he drew me closer to his body.
"I really do not know why I bother wasting my breath trying to make you accept responsibility for your bad behaviour," he said primly. "I might just as well get on with the task in hand and remain silent!"
That would be the day, I thought grumpily as he chuntered on, hand poised above my bare botty which was still quivering with the after shocks of the first spank.
Wow! My eyes opened wide as his hand descended again, but not as wide as my mouth, which opened to an extent calculated to induce envy in a Boa Constrictor. Thank God Misty wasn't in the room!
In a dual performance that would have brought tears to the eyes of an Opera buff, it certainly brought them to mine, my vocal cords performed fortissimo in accompaniment to Jack's parlando.
"You don't bite, you don't kick things about, you don't throw things, particularly when I've told you not to, you don't vandalise churches, or cars, or garden statues, you don't stamp, you don't swear and most of all..."
Jack halted his virtuoso performance on my posterior to wipe sweat from his forehead and muster energy for the grand finale which he delivered incalcando... "you don't, don't, DON'T, withhold information from me, especially something as serious as this business with ALISON!"
So much for silence! I yodelled frantically as Jack's hand centred its attentions on the same spot on my bottom, bouncing back and forth like a Cossack on a trampoline, for what felt like eternity, before finishing with an unsolicited encore on my upper thighs.
I lay with my back turned, on the furthest edge of the bed, refusing to acknowledge Jack's presence, as far as I was concerned he was right off my Christmas card list. "Leave me alone," I sniffled, shifting away from his potentially comforting hand, "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes; you're so unreasonable."
"Where is she Danny. If you know where your sister is, if you have any idea, then you must tell Dennis. He's the one to help her see reason."
I rolled over and faced him, "she promised me she'd have treatment Jack, she promised she wouldn't leave me."
"This isn't about you Danny," Jack pushed his fingers through my hair.
I wanted to pull away, to hate him, but his fingers were pleasantly soothing and I moved a little closer.
He continued, "do you understand? For once, this isn't about you. This is about Alison, about Dennis and two young children who stand to lose their mother. This could all have been avoided if you'd confided in me Danny. The moment you found out what was bothering Alison you should have told me."
"You'd have told Dennis." I snuggled against him, holding out my hand so he could trace his fingers around the palm.
"And what would have been so bad about that Daniel, can you explain?"
"She made me promise."
"Some promises are unwisely exhorted, foolishly made and best abandoned for the well being of all concerned. We've talked about this before, about you keeping things from me. You should have told me, you know that don't you?"
"But..."
"Don't you?" His fingers halted their comforting circuit of my palm and he glared at me.
"Yes," I reluctantly conceded. If I'd told him, everything would be in hand by now. Den would have made sure Alison got her tests done as quickly as possible and made her start the treatment. Instead of which she was out there somewhere, God knows where, doing God knows what; she had no common sense my sister. Dennis was downstairs worried sick, and I had a backside hot enough to barbecue spare ribs on.
I began to cry again, but for Alison this time. "She's going to die, Jack she's going to die!"
He lay down beside me, encircling me in his arms. "Danny love, I wish I could tell you with certainty that she isn't going to die from this disease, but I can't. What I do know is that if she gets the treatment, then she stands a good chance. From the sounds of it she doesn't even know the extent of the cancer yet. She took a phone call from her consultant and never bothered turning up for the appointment to discuss the findings. He rubbed my back soothingly, "think how devastating this is for poor Dennis. If you have any idea where Alison might be, then you must say so Danny."
But I didn't, that was the thing, I didn't know where she'd taken off to. Dennis had called the few friends she had, she'd confided nothing in them either. Georgie and Peter were still on holiday and Libby was as much in the dark as I was. It was a mystery.
Dennis hugged me tightly before he left to collect the kids from his mothers, and promised me he'd let me know the moment Alison came home.
"She will come home won't she Den?" Arms wrapped around his waist, I tilted my head up to look at him anxiously. He smiled, placing his index finger on the tip of my nose and giving it a little rub, the way he used to when I was a kid and worried about something.
"Course she will, she's like you, tempestuous. Once she's calmed down and had some thinking time, she'll come home and we'll sort everything out, you'll see. I've got a few choice words to say to that lady."
Only, there was this note in his voice that I hadn't heard before. A kind of uncertainty, like he didn't really believe what he was saying, like he was trying to convince himself as well me. It give him an air of vulnerability that frightened me, he was supposed to be strong, not vulnerable. I laid my head against his chest, despising myself for crying, for demanding that he remained strong in order to comfort me, make me feel better, instead of me comforting him.
When Dennis had left, Jack made me undress and go to bed properly, ignoring my protests that I wasn't tired, it wasn't even lunch time, it wasn't fair, and I wanted to look for Alison!
"You're overwrought, as well as in disgrace," he said sternly, holding back the sheet on the bed and indicating that I was to get under it. "Whether or not you're tired is immaterial. And as for fair?" He paused and gave a 'just about to deliver a lecture intake of breath.'
I steeled myself, dredging up my best and most innocent, 'I don't really have a clue what you're ranting on about look.'
"It isn't fair to throw stones through Church windows, or abuse members of the public, or hurl wing mirrors at garden statues or phones at front doors, and don't give me that I can't remember a thing about it routine. I've got a Reverend to phone about a window, a garden centre to phone about a statue and you're going to bed for the rest of the day, no arguments! I want to know exactly where you are. One half demented Macintyre wandering around loose is already one too many for Joe Public to contend with. Now get into bed, unless you want me to bring the hairbrush out, and bear in mind, your hair is the last thing it'll be used on. "
The threat of the hairbrush decided me, I climbed quickly into bed.
He closed the curtains, kissed me, and left me alone with only my thoughts and a sore bottom for company. Misty, in the spirit of camaraderie pushed the door open and leapt up on the bed. After thoroughly kneading the duvet, he curled up beside me, purring a soothing feline lullaby in my ear. I was almost asleep, entering that pleasant state of somnolence that precedes full sleep, when the thought came to me.
I opened my eyes and sat up, reaching quickly into the drawer of my bedside cabinet withdrawing the gift that I had intended to give Alison on New Year's Eve, but had never actually got round to doing so. I stared at the small pewter frame, or more correctly, at the photograph it held. Don't ask me why, or how, but suddenly I knew with certainty where she was, or at least, where to begin searching.
I got dressed as quickly and as quietly as I could. In retrospect, I should probably have told Jack, or left a note, or something, but I was carried away on a tide of excitement. Besides, Jack would never let me go, he'd tell Dennis and where was the glory in that? It seemed important that I find Ally for Dennis, and persuade her to come home and have the treatment. In my mind I was a perfect blend of Dr Finlay, Sherlock Holmes and a Knight in shining armour, or, in modern parlance, stone washed denim; a hero in my own lunch time!
Opening the bedroom window, I wanted to leave as inconspicuously as possible, I climbed out onto the window ledge, where I crouched for several minutes fighting my fear of heights. Very gingerly, which was appropriate for someone with my colouring, I stood up and reached for the drainpipe that ran adjacent to the bedroom window.
To be continued.....again!