Danny14

The Jack And Danny Chronicles part fourteen

Author: Cat

Desperately Seeking Ally part one

She had lied to me! 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. The bitch, the fucking lying BITCH! She was going to leave me after all, 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. I hated Dennis and I hated Alison. I hated them for feeding me falsehoods, for always telling me that everything would be all alright, but most of all I hated myself for being fucking gullible enough to believe them. The sound of the church clock striking the hour reminded me of where I was, and reminded me also that prayers were useless and that God had betrayed me yet again, he had let my mother die and was now gunning for my sister. 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 white faced and visibly shaking, a sheet of paper clutched in his hand. 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 I 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 impulsive madness the Macintyre’s were capable of. I sighed inwardly; no wonder Danny had been having mood changes lately. His mother had died from breast cancer and 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 had a tendency to misinterpret 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. “Daniel, just tell Dennis where Alison is, so he can help her.”   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?” 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. 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.” The unfocussed look in his eyes told me that, as feared, he was reacting to some inner impetus and not engaging with the external world on any level. The church clock struck the hour, which seemed to spur him into action, taking me completely by surprise. He twisted deftly away from me. An ancient wooden litterbin took the brunt of his rage first. He slammed his foot into it, sending it and its 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. 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 began snatching up 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 that the missiles went wild, except for a lucky shot with a banana skin that 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. “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 foul mouthed, stone throwing teenage vandal getting smacked for misbehaving. The smacking 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 me with the sheer effort of keeping hold of him. 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 could well believe it. 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, kicking angrily at 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 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 coping all right Jack?” Dennis’ deep voice was full of concern, despite his own worries over Alison. God, it was so damn 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 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 and beautiful, something wild and at the same time so innocent it takes your breath away. You can’t help but love them. I hadn’t really appreciated what he meant at the time. I did now. 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 sex 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, I loved Danny in a way I’d never loved anyone before. 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 that God never sees fit to curse me in the same way. I’d sooner suffer one of the Egyptian plagues. He’d paused, and 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 Skeletor, 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 with concern, 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 and I detected an element of conscious enjoyment creeping into his behaviour. Sweat was trickling uncomfortably down my back and my foot and hand were throbbing painfully. 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, ‘fuck you,’ look that only he can give. There was no doubt in my mind that my boy Danny was back. Folding my arms I met his gaze steadily. I’d had enough. It was time for closure. “I’m going to count to three.”

   “Fuck 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 suave self. Even so, hair mussed, shirt hanging out, and 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 was so perfect it could have been choreographed by Wayne Sleep. 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, as I evaded Jack’s wrathful grasp and galloped down the hall towards the kitchen, in the hope of reaching the back door before he got his hands on me. 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 was caught.

“Excuse us for a moment,” ever the gracious and polite host, Jack 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.”

The bedroom 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. Surely I was entitled to throw one rotten little phone after all I’d suffered? I considered stamping my foot, but decided against it, really I was getting too old for such childish displays, besides, 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. 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 Fuck’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 bottom, 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, I’d have swallowed him. 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 that 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 him remaining silent. 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. Afterwards, 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.”

“Where is she Danny? If you know where your sister is, if you have any idea, then you must tell Dennis.”

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. “Do you understand? For once, this isn’t about you.”

I wanted to pull away, but his fingers were pleasantly soothing and I moved a little closer.

He continued. “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 would have told Dennis.”

“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?”

“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. “She’s going to die, Jack, just like my mum did.”

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.”

I didn’t, that was the thing. I truly didn’t know where she’d gone. 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 forgivingly 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 lent 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, instead of me comforting him. Once Dennis had left, Jack told me to go to bed properly, despite my protests that I wasn’t tired, it wasn’t even lunchtime and it wasn’t fair. He went into lecture mode.

“It isn’t fair to throw stones at Church windows, or abuse members of the public, or hurl wing mirrors at garden statues or phones at front doors, and don’t try and 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, no arguments. I want to know exactly where you are. One 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 made me decide that I was tired after all and could do with forty winks. Jack 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 entering that pleasant state of somnolence that precedes full sleep, when the thought came to me. I quickly opened my eyes and sat up, reaching into the drawer of my bedside cabinet and withdrawing the gift that I had intended to give Alison on New Year’s Eve. 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 dressed as quickly and as quietly as I could. In retrospect, I should 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, a hero in my own lunchtime.

Opening the bedroom window, I wanted to leave as inconspicuously as possible; I climbed out onto the window ledge. I crouched there 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 flanked the window.