The Gospel of Orla


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © Eoghan Walls, 2023
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 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
 Names: Walls, Eoghan, author. Title: The gospel of Orla / Eoghan Walls. Description: New York : Seven Stories Press, [2022] Identifiers: LCCN 2022033733 | ISBN 9781644212820 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781644212837 (ebook) Subjects: LCGFT: Novels. Classification: LCC PR6123.A455 G67 2022 | DDC 823/.92--dc23/eng/20220721 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022033733
 Printed in the United States of America
 987654321
 
 
 For Leonie
 
 
 1
 I am sad to go but it is time now and there is no point in hanging around any longer. I leave my phone under the pillow. I don’t leave a note because that is just for suicides. I don’t want to make them sadder than they will be anyway but I also don’t want them coming for me straight away. Last time they got me at the station but at least I hadn’t bought a ticket so they don’t know where I was going so they won’t know where I am headed now.
 I don’t need to creep out full ninja as I can hear Dad snoring but I go into his room anyway to see Lily. She is down and will sleep until about half five in the morning. They are both deep sleepers until she gets thirsty at half five and climbs out of the cot into his bed and rocks him by the nose and that wakes him even if he has been drinking. 
 I will miss her but I can’t bring her and can’t hug her in case she wakes so I look at her for like a minute and touch her foot. Then I close the door and head downstairs and check my bumbag and rucksack and zip them up and tie my fringe out of my face and breathe and unlatch the door and step outside.
 My bike is against the wall. 
 I walk it out the gate careful not to clunk anything.
 The gate is creaky and Annie Pomfret’s dog barks but he barks all night anyway and nobody pays him any attention. But I get out and check my zips again and there is no one up or down the street so I hop on and cycle out past the traffic light onto the bridge and there’s no one in the Arms this late and I get down to the canal path sure no one sees me.
 Now it finally seems like it might really work and I am happy.
 I have piles of food in my bag and drink too and they are heavy enough but not too heavy. I have three chicken wraps from Boots and a big bottle of Fanta and a six pack of Hula Hoops squashed down to let the air out and four Curly Wurlys and fifty-four quid in my bumbag which should be enough to get at least one takeaway a day for two days if I get starving but I probably won’t. 
 The plan is I am going to cycle to Liverpool get the ferry to Belfast then on to Drumahoe to Sinead’s house and leave all this crap behind. Sinead would not chuck me out I am her dead sister’s daughter and anyway I was born in Ireland I am like a citizen so if they want to take me back let them try. And I am taking the canals because nobody will look for me there. I got a book Traffic-Free Cycle Paths in the Northwest and could name all the rivers and villages I will pass through with my eyes closed. I left my phone so they can’t GPS me and if they see my bike is missing they will be, – She must be on the roads! which is bullshit because I will be on the canals. I have googled everything and deleted my history. By the time they have figured it out I will be halfway to Ireland.
 The towpath is dark but I have Mum’s good light and it’s not raining. A clear clear night. Moths are buzzing around the bike light and the muddy path is dry. When I clear the trees and pass out of the village I am nearly laughing. I pick up steam and slow to go under the bridge and the moon is massive. Really bright and pretty reflected on the water. And I reckon that is why I do not see the man in the bushes until he is right on me and the bike crashes into him and I go spinning off the path and he grabs the bike and I am hanging on his arm. He is holding me by my bag and my bike is swinging over the canal. 
 – Please, he says.
 And I let go and I am in the water and help bloody hell he is going to rape me and kill me. He is tall and bearded and stank but I am in the water and the bike is on me and my clothes are stuck to my bike. And I kick and swim but the canal is not that deep but I am scared. I scream and say, – We have a dog, and climb up to the rushes and run. My trainers are full of water and so are my jeans and I run until I am down in the fields near Cooper’s Ridge. The path is straight I have nowhere to go and I can hardly breathe and my throat is