Suzy Suzy Read online

  By the same author

  Novels

  Alice Falling

  Minding Children

  The Map of Tenderness

  This is the Country

  Grace’s Day

  Short Fiction

  No Paradiso

  Hearing Voices/Seeing Things

  The Islands

  Poetry

  Mathematics & Other Poems

  Fahrenheit Says Nothing To Me

  Ghost Estate

  The Yellow House

  SUZY SUZY

  William Wall

  First published by New Island Books and Head of Zeus in 2019

  Copyright © William Wall, 2019

  The moral right of William Wall to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  9 7 5 3 1 2 4 6 8

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN (HB): 9781788545501

  ISBN (XTPB): 9781789544008

  ISBN (E): 9781788545495

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Design & illustration: studiohelen.co.uk

  Photos: Shutterstock.com

  New Island Books DAC

  16 Priory Hall Office Park

  Stillorgan, Co. Dublin

  Ireland

  WWW.NEWISLAND.IE

  Head of Zeus Ltd

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  WWW.HEADOFZEUS.COM

  New Island received financial assistance from The Arts Council (An Chomhairle Ealaíon), 70 Merrion Square, Dublin 2, Ireland.

  Contents

  By the same author

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Glossary of Dialect Terms

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  About William Wall

  An Invitation from the Publisher

  Glossary of Dialect Terms

  af – as fuck, as in ‘angry af’

  cba – couldn’t be arsed

  cya – see ya

  ffs – for fuck’s sake

  idk – I don’t know (sometimes a form of punctuation)

  ikr – I know right (usually an expression of resignation or disbelief)

  like – a form of verbal punctuation

  lol – laughing out loud (sometimes spoken)

  milf – mother I’d like to fuck

  omg – oh my god

  oml – oh my lord

  tbf – to be fair

  tbh – to be honest

  1

  Someone will kill my mother. It could be me. There is something wrong with me I know, but I see my dad thinking about it too. Only my brother loves her and she loves him idk it must be a mother-son thing like you see. She thinks she is so hot. She comes home from work full of testosterone or whatever, and if someone didn’t already cook the dinner, do the washing, hoover everything including the underside of the cushions Where Dust Collects and take The Dog for a walk, it’s the end of the world and there will be Shouting and Insults and People Will End Up Crying, usually me. She works for a computer company, you can’t even get into her office without a retina scan, it terrifies me so I never go in. What if they can read something in your eyes? You can tell a lot from a person’s eyes, like the secrets of their heart, or so I believe. Eyes can lie too, everybody knows that, but not mine. I don’t think I have the brains to hide anything from anybody, I always get caught. And I have secrets. I feel like getting a retina scanner for my bedroom. Access denied, Mam. I’ve asked them to give me a flat. Like they have so many flats and houses. They’re always evicting someone. My dad does evictions like Terminator Three For Tenants In Arrears. He is a Property Addict. He can’t stop buying houses because the Housing Market Crashed and Everything Is SO Cheap. It’s like a hobby, it’s disgusting, and we keep reading about people who don’t have homes to go to. We even debated The Housing Crisis in Religion class. My Mam Never Tires Of Telling Me our religion teacher is a commie, which is ironic when you come to think of it, and she says nobody would have houses if it wasn’t for people like Dad. And I think maybe my dad is causing it. Like single-handedly causing the shortage because he owns like everything almost. My dad says nothing, he just goes to the solicitors and comes home with another three-bed semi in a desirable area. He has the property gene bad. I heard someone on the radio talking about it. It goes back to the Great Famine apparently, but I don’t know why my dad got it because he was never hungry a day in his life.

  You just have to look at him to know that.

  Like my dad has baby bellies where he should have love handles.

  My mam says I’m useless and I know she’s right but in school I get A1 in everything, I hardly even need to look at a book, I remember everything, absolutely everything I read. My English teacher says I remind him of a story by some South American writer, I can’t pronounce the name never mind spell it, about someone who was able to remember every single thing he ever saw or heard or smelled idk I’m not that bad. Ask me to recite Macbeth which we are studying and I can do all the voices up to Act Three where we st
opped before Christmas, I can do poetry until it’s Coming Out My Ears, poetry is easy. My mam says poetry is useless which is another reason I might kill her. She’s only the boss’s PA but she acts like she runs Computing Solutions herself. I don’t even know what they make in there, some kind of software, maybe a game for mobiles, or parts of a game idk like what’s so great about that? There must be a billion software companies in the world, most of them probably have retina scanners too. I couldn’t care less. I’m For History and I’m For Poetry. I’m Against Technology.

  She comes home with a takeaway from KFC.

  I don’t eat that shit.

  I said I would cook some boil-in-the-bag rice and do a stir fry with whatever was in the fridge but she said no cooking two dinners, I should eat what’s put in front of me. So like I didn’t eat.

  So now I’m anorexic.

  You’re going to die, she goes, you’re going to die in a horrible awful way, anorexia is a terrible way to go. You’ll turn into a stick and every bone in your body will hurt.

  This went on all through dinner. I ate four chips. They disgust me. They are not even potato but some potato simulacrum, like a virtual potato, a Playstation Potato. When you eat it you don’t feel like you’ve eaten except for the salt.

  My dad said that Ballyshane was for sale. They were selling the house with a couple of acres and the farm separately. That took the heat off me. My dad has wanted to buy Ballyshane House as long as I can remember. He even got me to do a project on it for History once. He said: The local company of the Irish Volunteers was formed up there, Captain Corry was head and tail of it, and the Black and Tans raided it so often, I remember my own father telling me about the Crossley tenders going up full of men with rifles and Glengarry caps. Right, Dad. Dad and History don’t go together. I am staring at him with my mouth open. But I should have known. He knows the history of houses all right.

  Holly and me say politics is just coloured stickers now. We don’t have big causes to fight for like The Freedom Of Ireland or Revenge For Skibbereen. We have a Blue Party, a Green Party and a Pink Party. My dad is Blue Party. Instead of elections people should just be asked what’s their favourite colour. And they should wear coloured shirts or tracksuits or something. And my dad is in well with the Blues and the Greens because of property. Blues and Greens are For Property, Pink is For The Working Man except it turns out they’re For Property too lol just not saying. Like the motto for this country should be The Builders Will Save Us. I don’t know what the actual motto is if we have one idk.

  So I did a project on it. Old Captain Corry was dead of course, but his daughter let me look at his diaries and stuff. It wasn’t proper research but it was the closest I ever came to it and I made up my mind that if my family didn’t eat me some fine morning because there was no porridge I would do History and become a Researcher. I would spend my life reading dead people’s diaries and writing books about them. That was me. I would find forgotten people and remember them.

  Are you going to buy it?

  He looked at me. I’m thinking about it.

  If you buy it can you buy all the furniture and stuff?

  My mother rolled her eyes.

  My dad said, Maybe we could. Some of it is good. There’ll be an auction probably.

  I don’t want any of that old stuff, my mother said.

  Could you buy the diaries and papers?

  My dad shrugged, I have an idea the old bitch gave all that stuff to the university. Or sold it more likely.

  But if she didn’t?

  Well, I’ll be dealing with an auctioneer.

  Why can’t you phone her up and ask her if she’d sell it to you?

  She’s in America with her niece.

  Well she still has to be on a mobile or something. My dad doesn’t like refusing me things. He sides with my mam about food and clothes, but if I’m asking for something he usually gives in. That’s why I have a MacBook Air and an iPhone. He got me a horse for a while but I totally hate horse riding, it’s not like they say in the books. I never had such a sore arse in my life and believe me I’ve had sore arses. Like the time I came down a slide in my short shorts and they rode up and I got a friction burn like Third Degree. I basically fried my arse off.

  I’ll try, he said.

  I gave him one of my looks and he winked at me.

  My mother rolled her eyes again. My brother got up and tipped his bones and a few stale chips into the bin and said he was going out. My mother said not to be too late. He has a girlfriend and the whole family approves of her. She’s bottle-blonde and her father has the agency for Audi. I think she’s a bitch and I’m pretty sure she’s two-timing my brother. I’ve been stalking her online. I made up a person for Facebook and got her to friend me and I’m keeping a close eye on her goings-on. She has a Twitter account too but it’s mostly about make-up and I couldn’t be arsed. Twitter is stupid anyway. All my friends fight because they say things on Twitter that they regret. It’s the same with celebrities. First there’s this OK guy who is in a band or something and he has ten million followers and then he tweets something, racism or something, and suddenly he’s not in the band any more and he has like two followers and one of them is his mother. I never say anything on Twitter. Or Facebook either really. Once upon a time one of my friends tweeted about her period and she nearly committed suicide because of what people said. It’s a minefield. My English teacher told us the best thing: Don’t say anything on Twitter or Facebook that you wouldn’t say to someone’s face if your mother and father were standing beside you. That pretty much rules everything out. Like Twitter is OK for politicians saying they’re cutting jobs or something, but everybody else should just shut up. Like our local man Micky Molloy had a Twitter account and all his tweets began with the words, Great to meet with … Like, Great to meet with the reps of Farming industry this morning … or Great to meet with the Swedish ambassador yesterday … He got nicknamed Great-To-Meet Micky. It was an improvement on his previous which was Dirty Micky. Micky is Blue Party of course. His grandfather went to Spain to fight for the wrong crowd, I forget which one, we’re doing the Spanish Civil War next I think, the side that won anyway. But he never fired a shot and the whole Blue Party gang got sent home because they were useless wankers. That kind of thing runs in families like wooden legs, as my grandad used to say. My grandad was Green Party in the days when only poor people were Green. If they ever were idk you couldn’t always believe what my grandad said, he was a great talker. And there’s another Blue Party guy called Consider It Done John Waldron. He’s in a different constituency or county idk which is like a different galaxy really, we hate them because hurling. According to my dad when he says Consider It Done it’s the Kiss Of Death idk why.

  As soon as my brother was gone my dad said, If we sell Clarinda Park and use the flats in Paradise Street as collateral we could come up with the money. It’ll be close to two mill.

  I couldn’t believe it. I’m like: You promised Clarinda Park for when Tony got married.

  My dad gave me the silent look.

  My mother said, Eat your chicken, look at you, if you don’t eat you’ll die.

  My dad said, I’ll tell you this for nothing, Suzy, it is a once in a lifetime chance. Ballyshane won’t come up for sale again any time soon.

  But Clarinda Park is practically their house.

  But it’s not. It’s part of our portfolio of properties and all property is an asset to be used wisely. And I never promised it I just mentioned it once. I’d say he doesn’t even remember.

  Like, Dad, that so sounds crap.

  Out! my mother said. Up to your room. Go. Now.

  Perfect, I said, I won’t have to smell that KFC shit any more.

  Sometimes I can see my mother is going to hit me but she stops herself. Like there’s a little tick of bones and muscles and a change in the way her hands and her body are tilted. She did that now. It always makes me flinch. To cover I got up fast.

  Not a word of this
to Tony, my dad said, we’ll tell him when the time is right.

  None of my business, I said.

  Don’t let us down, my dad said.

  I made sure to slam the door behind me. I heard my dad calling me back to close it politely, but I ignored him. Like my dad is the King Of Letting Down. I went out for a walk. I like walking. It was a cold night with a full moon and a billion stars. They were like little bits of glass pressed against grey-blue velvet. It was so beautiful. I could hear dogs barking somewhere.

  2

  So my dad on the phone to Dan Kelleher the auctioneer. First comes Wheedling Dad: Come on now, Dan, you and me go back a long way, we soldiered together bad times and good, seriously, come on now, Dan. How many sweet deals did I set you up for? You know me and I know you. This is letting yourself down. Your father wouldn’t have let me down like this. What came over you to sell so quick? You closed the sale without coming back to me. You know me, of course I’d have come up on my first offer. No way Miss Corry would have preferred selling to a Brit.

  I forget which day it was but it was definitely the daytime because the one o’clock news was on and they were talking about some guy who is meant to have murdered a girl who was suicidal. Like he could have murdered half my friends. Idk we all think about it.

  Then comes Angry Dad. He could do with anger management classes if they have them for property speculators. My dad is more than a tad overweight to say the least and when he gets angry it’s like a machine was turned on that wasn’t nailed down properly. When he comes home early from the office it’s Bad News. He can fix most things. Once he said to me: There’s very few problems that won’t run away if you throw money at them. He has reserves or assets. Whatever.

  For fuck’s sake, Dan, you could have fucking rang me, Jesus. That was a serious bid. You owe me one, Dan, you owe me a fucking big one. Are you going to let this English bastard get his foot in the door? You disregarded bids before when it suited you. Are you fucking serious? You fucking bastard. By Jesus you’ll be sorry. I’ll fucking bury you.

  Then Deadly Serious Dad: I’ll tell you something for nothing, Dan Kelleher. Write this down now because I want you to remember it. This is a small town. And you can fucking forget about the party nomination. We wouldn’t fucking nominate you for a run to the jakes.