Ma, It's a Cold Aul Night an I'm Lookin for a Bed

by Martha Long

  I half-filled the kettle and opened the presses overhead, finding two mugs and the canister of tea sitting on the worktop, and lined everything up ready for the water to boil. ‘Do you like your tea weak or strong, Missus Andrews?’ I whispered.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she laughed, ‘don’t call me that. My name is Clare. So call me Clare. And call him Greg!’ she said, waving her head to the ceiling, making a face and laughing.

  ‘All right,’ I said, smiling happily, feeling she was a very nice person altogether, a real lady! And she’s gorgeous-looking, I thought. Staring at her lovely white curly hair, and her white face with the big sky-blue eyes. But most of all, she’s very gentle.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked me, taking the bottle out of the baby’s mouth and winding her.

  ‘No, no! Thank you.’

  ‘Are you sure? It wouldn’t take me a minute to throw on a couple of eggs and make an omelette or something!’

  Ah, no thanks. Honestly, I’m grand.’

  ‘Well, put on a couple of slices of bread in the toaster, I’m feeling a bit hungry. I have to keep up with little Aoife here! She has a great appetite! Haven’t you?’ she said, landing a kiss on the baby’s head. ‘It’s twenty-four hours with her! She has me run ragged, the little dote,’ she said, whipping Aoife down to change her nappy.

  I poured the boiling water into the teapot and rinsed it out to warm it, like Sister Mercy taught me. That’s all I know how to do, make tea. I can’t cook! I hope she doesn’t ask me to cook anything. Maybe I can watch how she cooks. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I put two teaspoons of tea in the pot and covered it with the tea cosy sitting on the worktop and brought everything over to the table and sat down.

  ‘Well . . .’ she said, hurrying back in the door, her long cotton nightie flapping over her rosy-red slippers with fur around the edges. ‘That gives me a few more hours before she starts bawling for another feed and the little men start marching on the move,’ she breathed, laughing and sitting down, grabbing the toast and plastering it with butter and marmalade. ‘You look all done in,’ she said, staring over at me, munching on her toast.

  ‘Yeah, I’m a little bit tired,’ I said quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else up. Me head felt heavy, like I was getting a bad headache, and me eyes were burning. I felt like I could take me eyeballs out, and put them in a cup of water to cool them down.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you your room, and in the morning you can sleep late. You look like you could do with some rest.’

  Ah, no! What time do you want me to get up at? Sure, look at yourself. I bet you never stop going from morning till night!’

  ‘I won’t argue with you there,’ she said, yawning and stretching her arms into the air. ‘Come on. Grab your case.’ Then she was flying out the door, stopping for me to grab me suitcase and switching off the light as we headed up the stairs. We walked along a corridor with a night light sitting on a little table in the corner and went to an end room down a couple of stairs and into a lovely big bedroom.

  ‘Here! Pop into bed,’ she said, switching the lamp on the bedside table and pulling down the covers of a big single bed. She folded back the huge gold eiderdown then said, ‘Goodnight! Or what’s left of it,’ she whispered, laughing, and closed the door. I opened me suitcase and rooted at the bottom for me pyjamas, and stripped off, diving into them, and flew into the bed, switching off the lamp.

  I woke up staring over at the light coming in through the heavy yellow cotton curtains on the big window in front of my bed. It must be late, I thought. Staring around the room, taking in the big mahogany wardrobe behind the door and the dressing table with a big mirror and a stool sitting in front of it. I listened to the sounds of traffic coming from far down the hill on the main road. Thinking I could be still down there wandering around like a lost soul. I’m definitely very lucky to have landed meself here in this lovely family. The woman is a dote altogether.

  I listened to the voices coming up through the ceiling. A little child’s voice squealing and the baby crying, and the murmuring of the mammy. I better get up and give her a hand. I was out of the bed and rooting around in me suitcase for me clean skirt and blouse. I didn’t want to be wearing me good clothes, the frock the reverend mother bought me. I picked up me coat collapsed over the chair, where I landed it in the early hours of the morning, and hung it on a hanger in the wardrobe. Then rushed out to the bathroom, seeing it open, lying empty, and dived in, brushing me teeth and washing me face in the sink and out again, feeling in an awful hurry. I quickly brushed me hair, and dressed in me old skirt, but it is washed and ironed, and put on me white blouse and me blue granny cardigan I got for Christmas, and took the stairs two at a time and walked down the hall.

  Then I stopped before I got to the kitchen. I felt a bit nervous. Being in someone else’s house, especially after landing meself at all hours of the night and causing ructions waking the baby. Gawd! They must think I’m an awful person, not giving a damn about anyone!

  I knocked on the door quietly, feeling more foolish, but not wanting to make things worse by steaming in as if I owned the place. I listened for a second, hearing a child squealing, making sounds like he thought it sounded great, then stopping for a listen and squealing again. I took in a deep breath and turned the handle of the door, walking into the kitchen. ‘Eh, good morning,’ I croaked to the back of Clare, standing at the sink washing up dishes.

  ‘Hello! Good morning!’ Clare smiled, looking around from washing the breakfast things in the sink and taking me in. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Oh, I slept the sleep of the dead, Clare,’ I breathed, sounding mournful, like I had never been so tired in a long time.

  ‘Here, put on the kettle, I’ll have a cup of tea with you, and then I’ll start the dinner. There’s cornflakes and bread, help yourself, take a look in the fridge. Do you want fruit? Throw in a banana. They’re lovely in cornflakes, otherwise the only goodness is in the milk. Cornflakes are a waste of money, they do nothing for you!’

  ‘Thanks, Clare,’ I said, putting on the kettle and sticking bread in the toaster. I looked back, hearing screams behind me, jumping with the fright seeing the little boy behind me twisting himself laughing at me, lepping at the fright he gave me. ‘Oh, what’s your name?’ I said, dropping to me knees looking into his little white face with the big blue eyes staring back at me, examining me. Deciding if he was going to like me or not. I shook me head slowly from side to side, staring into his eyes, saying, ‘That was an awful fright you gave me. You make an awful big, big noise, you sound like a big, big giant! Are you a big giant?’ I said, putting my arms in the air. His eyes got bigger and bigger, thinking himself a giant, and he shook his head up and down, his white hair bouncing, with his mouth open, agreeing with everything I said.

  He’s the spitting image of his mother, I thought, watching as he whirled around on his hunkers, holding a little car in his hand, and kept grinning at me. ‘Ah, he’s lovely,’ I said, wanting to grab him up in a hug.

  ‘That’s Timothy!’ Clare said, laughing. Watching him twirling like a monkey, his little arse nearly skidding the floor.

  ‘Look, Mummy!’ he said to me, showing me his car.

  ‘He’s calling me “Mummy”!’ I laughed, staring at the size of him. Ah, he’s so small, with his little legs and arms, but he looks like a miniature little boy.

  ‘Yes, he calls all the ladies “Mummy”. He’s two, into the terrible twos!’ she said, looking up at the ceiling. Straining her eyes and face to the heavens.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee or tea, Clare?’

  ‘Hmm! Listen, let’s have a fry-up! I fancy a rasher and egg. What about you?’ she said, her eyes staring at me, waiting for an answer. I hesitated, not wanting to make work for her. ‘Ah, sure, why not?’ she said, looking over at tiny baby Aoife sound asleep in her little basket over beside the armchair, keeping nice and warm beside the lovely heat coming out from the Aga. ‘She’s gone out cold.
She had her last feed at six o’clock this morning, it’s after nine now, she probably might not stir for about another hour or so. That gives me plenty of time to get a few things done,’ she said, drying her hands and making for the fridge.

  ‘Will I put on more toast for everyone?’ I asked, wanting to make meself useful.

  ‘Yeah! Go on! Toast! Toast, Mummy!’ Timothy said, looking up at me with his big blue eyes and tapping his chest.

  ‘Ah, listen to him,’ I laughed. ‘He’s gorgeous! Just look at the size of him. Ah, Clare. Ye could pick him up and put him in yer pocket and run away with him, he’s so lovely.’ I suddenly dropped on me hunkers, grabbing him in a hug and kissing him on his cheeks before he had a chance to push me away, roaring in a rage.

  ‘No, no, no! Toast, toast!’ flapping me face away with his little hands. I laughed, delighted at getting me hug, and jumped up, buttering him a slice of toast.

  ‘Will I put jam or marmalade on it for him? What will he drink?’

  ‘Give him orange juice out of the fridge, Martha. And he likes jam, but give him marmalade. He has to develop his tastes,’ she said, slapping down rashers and sausages on the grill over the cooker.

  ‘Come on! Orange juice,’ I said, watching his head spinning, trying to keep up with the toast going in one direction, and the smell of the fry in the other. His head snapping to the cornflakes and bananas landing on the table. He rushed over to the drawer, pulling out a huge serving spoon, and lashed back to the table, grabbing the cornflakes, upending half the packet in the bowl, spilling cornflakes everywhere. Then made to grab the heavy jug of milk. ‘OK, OK, little man!’ I said, grabbing hold of the jug. ‘Let me help you.’

  I picked up the bowl to empty half of it back and put in the milk, and he went into a rage, giving the table an unmerciful bang with the spoon, roaring, ‘Mine, mine!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course they are yours. Oh, look what Mummy is doing!’ He whipped his head around to look at her, and I dumped half the bowl back in the box and handed him the rest, putting in the milk. His head shot back, staring down at the cornflakes, trying to remember if that was all he had. ‘Yes, yes! All for Timothy. Nobody is going to take them. Gawd! He has a great appetite,’ I said, looking at Clare, laughing at the state he gets himself into over his grub.

  ‘Oh, he would eat you under the table,’ she laughed, watching him spoon half the bowl down the front of his pyjamas and open his mouth, trying to get the big shovel in.

  ‘Will I get him a little spoon, Clare?’

  ‘No, don’t bother, if you don’t want a fight on your hands. Let’s eat,’ she said, whipping two plates of rashers and sausages and fried eggs down on the table.

  I sat down and started to butter the toast, and Timothy banged down his shovel and grabbed a rasher off my plate. ‘Me, Mummy!’ he said, holding the rasher in front of his face, knowing full well they were supposed to be mine.

  I roared laughing at the little eyes pleading with me, his head cocked to one side. ‘Yeah, you and me,’ I said, shaking me head at him. He nodded agreement, and started to make short work of the rasher.

  ‘These are the perks of being a mother,’ she said, diving into her breakfast. ‘Greg leaves early in the morning, to arrive at the hospital in the city centre. I get up to get his breakfast, but he wouldn’t have time for this,’ she laughed. ‘I have to drag him out of the bed, then watch him running to the car still eating his breakfast, and grab the empty bowl out of the car before he takes off like a scalded cat. He’s hopeless at getting up. His mother warned me about that, just before we got married,’ she laughed. ‘He’s hoping to start his own practice when we get the money,’ she sighed, her jaws working slowly, chewing on the breakfast, thinking about this. ‘Goodness knows when that might be!’ she said, letting air out through her nose, staring down at her plate, looking to see what she was going to eat next.

  ‘Is it expensive to become a family doctor?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You need the premises. We couldn’t have it here. There’s no access from the front. Unless we want patients traipsing through the house, staring at me eating a fry for breakfast,’ she laughed, making a tinkly sound, like someone tapping gently on crystal. ‘His brother Francis is also a doctor, so the two of them are planning to go into practice together.’

  I stared at her, thinking she was really very, very pretty. Wondering how some people could be born so lovely. She has milky white skin that glowed like a pink hue. And her eyes are sky-blue, with the whites nearly shining. And she has natural blonde wavy curly hair that bounces around her head. ‘Eh, you’re very pretty,’ I said. ‘You must have had all the men going mad after you!’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Will you stop! They see blonde, and they think dumb! It’s very hard to get men to take you seriously, with this,’ she said, whipping her hand around her hair.

  ‘Why, what’s wrong with that?’ I asked. ‘I’d love the men chasing me all the time!’

  ‘Ah, come on, Martha. They just want to drape you around their arm like a trophy. Then it’s trying to get you drunk and have their wicked way with you!’ she squealed. Picking up a bit of the fat off the rasher and throwing it down again.

  ‘Still, you must have been on lots of dates,’ I said, thinking about the idea of having men queuing up to take me out.

  ‘No, it’s not like that. The decent ones wouldn’t come near you, because they think you are out of their league, and anyway! They think you’re fast. Their mother wouldn’t approve. A loose woman,’ she screamed. Roaring her head laughing.

  ‘Yeah! But you got a lovely one in the end. Greg is very handsome. The pair of you together look like film stars!’ I gasped, not being able to get over the idea of being so pretty and getting a lovely husband to match you.

  ‘Oh, tell that to Greg and he’ll dine out on it for the next six months,’ she said, roaring her head off with the laughing.

  I started to munch on me toast as Timothy gently leaned over to take me other rasher, giving me a big smile, showing all his little teeth, and leaning his neck into his shoulders while he put the rasher in his mouth, watching me. I looked at the egg and sausage left sitting on me plate and dived into it before he got that, too.

  ‘Yeah, eat that quickly,’ Clare said, eyeing me plate. ‘He really has taken a fancy to you. He thinks he’s helping you!’

  ‘Go on over and help Mummy,’ I whispered to him. ‘Look! She has sausages!’

  ‘Ah, no chance. I’m well up to him,’ she said, shoving the two sausages on her toast and biting into half of the sandwich, watching him staring over at her, thinking about it. ‘I don’t know where he gets his appetite,’ she said, shaking her head and wondering about it. ‘He would eat anything that doesn’t move.’

  ‘What about your other little boy?’

  ‘Oh, Oliver! We have to collect him at one o’clock,’ she said, looking over at the clock sitting on the back wall over the door into the garden. ‘Yes, Martha. That’s what I really need you for. To take him to school in the morning. He leaves at eight-thirty. And it’s a twenty-five, thirty-minute walk there. I timed it walking back with him last week. Then you leave the house at twelve-thirty to collect him at one o’clock. My mother will be coming to stay here while we are away. We’re going for three weeks. So you can take care of the children, you’ll be in charge of them. My mother will do all the cooking.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief, Clare. I can’t cook.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. My mother loves cooking. My little princess here,’ she said, lifting her head to check over on the baby still clapped out cold, ‘she’s going to Greg’s mother. I will pay you ten shillings a week. It’s not much, but you don’t have to do much. Just help with the children and collect Oliver from school. Maybe the odd bit of babysitting. We don’t go out much, but you wouldn’t mind that, would you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said, looking at her worried face.

  ‘Now, it will only be fo
r a total of five weeks. Then you will have to get another job. The nun said you will find work yourself, so it will give you time to look around. Is that OK?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s grand, Clare. I’ll have another job fixed up by then, so don’t worry. How old is Oliver?’

  ‘He’s five! Going on fifty!’ she laughed. ‘He’s in senior infants. This is his second year at school. We started him at four. These two are like chalk and cheese. Timmy could charm the birds off the trees with his cheeky little grin, but poor Ollie has to work hard to make friends at school. He takes life far too seriously, and the other little boys give him a hard time. He questions everything and goes around giving them lectures on why he thinks they are being silly. Naturally, that doesn’t win him many friends. He even contradicts the teacher,’ she said, shaking her head laughing, but her eyes were sad. ‘He’s very intelligent. That can cause its own problems.’

  ‘Do you mean he doesn’t suffer fools gladly?’ I said, trying to understand.

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it, Martha,’ she suddenly laughed. ‘He probably needs to move up a class. We’ll have to see. Anyway, I better get a move on,’ she said, looking up at the clock. ‘The time is moving quickly.’

  She stood up, taking her dishes over to the sink, and I started to clear the table. ‘I better make a start on the dinner. Baby is going to wake up any time now, wanting her next feed.’

  I put the dustpan and sweeping brush in the press and looked around at the lovely clean kitchen. The sink was gleaming and everything was in its place. Lovely, I thought, giving a big sigh and