Danny grinned. 'A bit of a comedian, eh?'
'He has his moments,' I agreed.
Danny laid his tools on the ground and brushed dust from his arms. 'What would we talk about? I was just a snotty-nosed kid to him.' He took his cigarettes from his pocket and perched on a rock beside Gandhi. 'He gave me a lecture once when he caught me sniffing glue behind the church.'
I sat next to him. 'Did it do any good?'
'It did as a matter of fact. He was pretty decent about it, said he understood why I was doing it, then gave me a graphic description of what it's like to die of suffocation. He told me I had more going for me than to peg it in a graveyard with a nose full of glue fumes.' He flicked me a sideways glance full of amused self-deprecation. 'So I tried heroin instead.'
My disillusionment must have shown. 'Meaning Mr. Drury's terror tactics were more effective than Michael's lecture?'
Danny's smile widened. 'I never liked glue-sniffing anyway ... and as for heroin'-he gave a sudden laugh-'I'd been sitting on the bog for half an hour trying to pluck up courage to stick the bloody needle in before Mr. Drury caught me, I'd always hated the damn things.'
I eyed him affectionately. 'You were going to give up anyway?'
'Sure ... injecting at least. I went on smoking it for a while, then I thought, to hell with it. I don't need this. I prefer cannabis. You keep a better grip on things with dope.'
'Why didn't you tell your mother that at the time instead of letting Drury take the credit?'
'Because she wouldn't have believed me.' He turned his cigarette in his fingers. 'You wouldn't either. I was a pretty wild kid and it's not easy getting people to change their opinion of you when all you do is let them down.'
I nodded. I'd seen it myself many times during my teaching career. Give a dog a bad name and he was hanged forever afterward. It was the sort of unforgiving prejudice I hated-as Dr. Elias had so pointedly reminded me. 'What did Michael mean when he said he understood why you were sniffing glue?'
'He knew what it was like for me at home. There was only me and Mum and we loathed each other's guts. Most of the time she was passed out drunk'-he shook his head-'and when she wasn't, she'd lam into the first person she saw-usually me. It was pretty depressing. She's got real problems but she won't do anything about them ... just locks the door and sinks into a stupor.'
'Has she ever said what her problems are?'
'You mean apart from the physical dependency?'
I nodded.
'The same as any other addict I guess,' he said with a shrug. 'Fear of living ... fear of pain ... fear of having to look at yourself too closely in case you don't like what you see.'
I wondered if he was right. 'She seemed all right when I saw her.'
'Only because she knew you were coming,' he said dismis-sively, 'but you can bet she was back in front of the telly with her fags and her booze within five minutes of you leaving. She can put on an act for a while ... but she's too lazy to want to make it permanent. It makes me sick.'
'Do you ever see her?'
'No. Last time was at Tansy's christening. I phone her once in a while just to let her know I'm still alive, but the only one of her kids she wants to hear from is Alan. He's always been her favorite. She'd forgive him anything ... but not me or my sisters.'
I nodded. 'What stopped you from being wild?'
He thought about it. 'Getting sent down at sixteen for nicking and driving cars,' he said with a grin. 'Remember I told you I spent time in prison? It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Got me out of Graham Road. Made me think about what I wanted in life.' He tilted the tip of his cigarette toward Gandhi. 'There was an art teacher who showed me I had a talent for this kind of thing ... he was a good bloke ... got me a place at art school... even let me live with him and his wife for a while till I found somewhere of my own.'
Perhaps I'd been wrong to tell Maureen that Beth had worked a change in Danny when it seemed to have been an unknown art teacher who had influenced his life. 'Prison can work then?'
'Only if you want it to.'
'Did Alan want it to work? Is that how he turned himself 'round?'
He shrugged. 'He had a bad time ... got bullied because he wasn't too bright ... made him scared to go back. Then he met Beth and reckoned he had a future even though she strung him along for ages before she agreed to marry him.' Another shrug-more dismissive this time. 'Prison doesn't seem to have done Michael much good.'
'Or your dad,' I said slowly, thinking about Alan being bullied and the truism that most bullies are cowards. 'Michael told me he and your dad were in the Scrubs together five years ago.'
'Lucky Michael,' said Danny sarcastically.
'He said your dad's illiterate ... can't even manage his own name. So Michael wrote some letters for him. He said there was one to you which you didn't answer.'
'He's lying,' said Danny bluntly. 'I could be dead for all that bastard cares.'
'I don't think so.'
'Where did he send it?'
'To your mum's house.'
'She'd have torn up anything with a prison logo on it. What did it say?'
