Lifesaving for Beginners

fellow who usually goes for people, Adrian is not expecting me, so he sort of topples right over, which isn’t as bad as it sounds because he was standing near the couch and he mostly lands on that. Now that I have him down, I’m not exactly sure what to do so I just curl my hand into a fist and punch him a few times. In the shoulders, mainly. A couple on the chest and one on the arm. He yells when I do that so there’s a chance I’ve given him a dead arm. I did that to Damo once. By accident. He couldn’t write for the rest of the day. Well, that’s what he told Miss Williams anyway. He didn’t say it was me, though.
    Adrian says, ‘Get off me, you little runt.’
    Faith says, ‘Fuck off, Adrian. Don’t talk to him like that.’
    Dad says, ‘Faith, your language . . .’
    It’s Ant who clamps my arms to my sides and drags me off Adrian. I’m yelling and roaring like I don’t want him to pull me away, but I’m glad about it really. I reckon Adrian would have flattened me once he got his bearings. He usually makes mincemeat out of Ant when they scrap.
    I’m in the middle of saying something like, ‘Lemme go, I’m going to knock his block off!’ or something like that, when Dad says, ‘Can you PLEASE stop shouting? Celia is trying to get some rest. PLEASE!’ Even though he’s pretty much shouting himself. Adrian struggles up out of the couch and his hair is sticking up in a clump at the front, like an arrow. He looks at me with a sort of half-smile on his face, rubbing his arm like it’s sore or something. He says, ‘Not bad, kiddo, not bad.’
    I say, ‘I beat you,’ because it’s true, and he says, ‘I let you win,’ and Dad says, ‘Can you all please SHUT UP!’ There’s a cabinet in the corner where Celia keeps stuff that her grandparents owned. Things like china shepherdesses with long thin staffs in their hands, and silver thimbles and glasses that are called sherry glasses. Everything in the cabinet rattles across the glass shelf in a way that Celia won’t like one little bit. And I’m just about to point this out to Dad when Celia rushes in and says, ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
    Everybody groans apart from Dad, who says, ‘Are you sure this time, pet?’
    Celia doesn’t look very sure but she nods anyway.
    Dad says, ‘You’re positive it’s not indigestion. Like the last time?’ and that’s when Celia bursts into tears and says something like, ‘Why is nobody on my side?’ At least, I think that’s what she says. It’s hard to make it out on account of the crying. Dad looks at Faith and says, ‘We’ll talk about this when I get back.’ Then he adds, in a lower voice, ‘I shouldn’t be long.’

 
    I say, ‘What do you mean, a decoy?’
    Minnie says, ‘You’re a crime writer. You know what a decoy is.’ She’s talking to me and typing on her iPad at the same time. And I’d say there’s not one spelling mistake in whatever it is she’s typing. She’s one of the best multi-taskers I know.
    I say, ‘Well, yes. But you can’t be the decoy. You don’t look anything like me.’
    Minnie says, ‘We’re the same height and build. I’ll just put a hat on my head and wear sunglasses. They’ll be expecting that. Recluses always wear hats and sunglasses.’
    I say, ‘I am not a recluse.’
    Minnie peers at the iPad, types something, presses Enter. ‘Minnie!’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’m not a bloody recluse.’
    ‘They don’t know that.’ Minnie nods towards the window and I look out. They’re everywhere. Sky’s got the biggest van. It’s more truck than van. I’d say RTE are embarrassed, with their little Hiace. It’s bedlam out there. They’re interviewing anyone who happens along. We saw Mrs Byrne – the next-door neighbour and chairman of the Residents’ Association – on the lunchtime news. ‘We always thought Kat was a nice, quiet kind of a girl. We had no idea.’ Mrs Byrne scurries away, looking around her as if I’m about to jump out of a bush and write her into a story.
    I shake my head and say, ‘I can’t just take a plane to England.’
    Minnie presses Enter again and says, ‘Give me one good reason why not, and you’re not allowed to say “Ed”. There’s not a bother on that fella.’ We both look towards the couch where Ed is lying, eating what’s left of his hospital grapes and watching the Coronation Street omnibus.
    I say, ‘I can’t just . . . arrive. On her doorstep. I don’t even know her address.’
    ‘We have