The Boy Who Lived With Ghosts: A Memoir Read Online Free

supposed to talk to strangers.
    “Where is he?”
    “He’s in there.”
    “Dry your tears. And wait here. It’s a disgrace. A disgrace, I say.”
    She came back out of the pub with Dad and wagged her finger at him and he blew a raspberry at her and she shook her head the way that people do when you have done something very bad but he was only getting a drink because he was thirsty. Dad laughed and made his voice sound like hers but I didn’t laugh, even though it was funny, because that lady looked even more angry. I don’t like it when people get angry.
    Dad drove much faster in the afternoon. We weaved in and out of the white lines and a crate of milk fell off the back and two men shouted at us but we kept going because we were in a speeding police chase.
    And when we slowed down, Dad started singing. I like it when he sings.
    She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me.
    I could see him looking down at me, snuggled under his arm.
    “Och. Dear wee Johnny. My dear, wee boy,” he said and he started to cry and I watched the tears trickle down his rosy cheeks.
    “What is it, Daddy?”
    Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.
    “Who’s Mary, Daddy?”
    “Och, it’s just a song, Johnny. Just a sad song.”
    “Why are you crying?”
    “It’s a sad song.”
    “Are we going home soon?”
    “Just as soon as we deliver all the milk.”
    “I’m tired, Daddy. And I’m hungry.”
    “Well, just close your eyes, wee Johnny. Close your eyes and pretend you are in a police car.”
    So I closed my eyes and fell asleep again on his arm while the bottles went chink, chink, chink behind us.
    Chink, chink, chink.
    Dad was fired when we got back to the depot. And when we got home, Dad kept falling over. Usually he falls over because I hold onto his leg but I wasn’t holding onto his leg this time and Mum was shouting at him but I don’t think you should shout at someone just because they fell over. You should help them get back up. I tried to help him up but he’s too heavy.
    “You are an irresponsible good-for-nothing! A useless piece of…and how are you going to get another job when you keep getting fired?” Mum shouted.
    She lit a cigarette, but she still didn’t help him get back up so he got back up on his own, which he can do sometimes.
    And Dad laughed and said, “There’s no demand for pipe organ players, except in churches. And horror films.”
    And he laughed so much he fell over again. And still no one helped him get back up.
    “You are drunk!”
    “Och. Don’t be like that, my sweet rose. Come here and give me a wee kiss.”
    He sat up on the kitchen floor and held out his arms.
    “A kiss? A kiss? That won’t put food on the table. How could you do that? You’re drunk…” She lowered her voice so that me and Emily couldn’t hear her. “And, with Johnny there too. How could you? A five-year-old boy. Seeing his father like this.”
    “Help me up, Johnny.”
    “If your dear father was here now, he’d turn in his grave!” Nana said.
    “The front of my trousers. Someone has sewn up the front of my trousers!” Pop screamed. “My trousers! Sewn up my trousers!”
    I could see Pop had his trousers on back to front but I never said anything and then he wet himself and hid in the corner. And everyone slammed the door when they left, Dad first and then Mum and Nana chasing after him.
    I pulled Emily by the hand and we sat under the kitchen table and picked at the piece of Dundee cake that Nana made at Christmas. It’s stuck to the floor behind one of the table legs. I managed to pull a sultana out of it. It looked like a dead fly. But I didn’t eat it. Then I made tracks with my fingers in the cigarette ash on the floor.
    Margueretta came over and grabbed me by the neck and dragged me to the cellar door and pushed me in. Normally she would pull me by the hair but I don’t have any. She