by Martha Long
‘Me!’
‘No, me!’ they shouted, thumping their chests.
‘Right! So, you can talk to Oliver tomorrow when he comes into school, and decide what names you are going to call yourselves. Yeah? Or I have a better idea,’ I said. ‘You can be the Three Muskeeters!’
‘I know that book,’ shouted Sebastian.
‘So do I! Daddy read me that story when I was little!’ shouted Georgie, hopping up and down with excitement.
‘Yes, I have that book as well, and I can read it myself!’ shouted Oliver.
They stopped to look at him, the air going out of them at the thought of Oliver being able to read for himself.
‘He will be in charge of reading and writing down all the orders you want to give to your men,’ I said, looking at them. ‘You need someone who can read, right?’
‘Right!’ they shouted. Grabbing Oliver around the shoulders, one each side of him.
‘You are our new best friend,’ whispered Sebastian.
‘Yeah, three best friends,’ laughed Georgie, shaking himself with the excitement, then looking very seriously into Oliver’s eyes. ‘Do you want to be our best friend?’ whispered Georgie, sounding like this was the most sacred thing in the whole wide world.
Oliver was confused, looking hopeful, but suspicious at the same time. ‘Do you mean you will play with me?’ asked Oliver. ‘And not fight with me?’
‘Nooo, never!’ they squeaked. Looking shocked at the idea.
‘OK,’ Oliver said, letting out a big breath, agreeing, like he was doing them a favour. ‘I will speak to you in the morning when I have a think about what names we should call ourselves.’
‘No, I’m going to decide my own name!’ shouted Sebastian.
‘Me too!’ shouted Georgie.
I saw Oliver heaving in a big breath, about to say something else, and I laughed, saying, ‘You have plenty of time tomorrow to work out everything. Just remember the Three Muskeeters’ motto, what they always say to each other, “One for all, and all for one!”’ I laughed, wrapping me hands around them, pulling them together. Then whipped Oliver ahead of me, saying, ‘Bye-bye, now! Remember, you are all very brave muskeeters! You look after each other.’
‘Bye, Sebastian! Bye, Georgie!’ shouted Oliver, waving his hand like he had been friends with them for years.
‘Bye, Oliver!’ they shouted.
I waved at the teacher, making her way down to me, saying, ‘I’m collecting Oliver!’
She smiled down nodding her head, then shouted at the two little fellas, ‘Come along, boys. Down here to me, where I can keep an eye on both of you!’
I stopped at the gate, calling Oliver. ‘Come on, Ollie! Put on your blazer and your hat.’
‘No! I don’t have to. You carry it! We must only wear those for school.’
‘OK! You’re the boss. Let’s go,’ I said, hanging onta the stuff and wondering how I was going to get past that dog.
We moseyed our way home slowly, with Ollie stopping to bend down and get a look at every leaf and bits of bark lying on the road, and wild bushes growing along the ditches, and looking up to see if there were any owls nesting in the high old trees.
‘Look, Ollie! Conkers,’ I shouted. Pointing to the brown chestnuts lying further down the path from the branches of the big old chestnut trees hanging over the wall. We flew down the path, and stopped, bending down to pick them up and load up Ollie’s school bag. ‘We can put holes and string through them tonight, and bring them to school in the morning, and you can have great gas having conker fights! What do you think?’
‘Yeah!’ Ollie said, the idea of it just dawning on him.
‘We can test them out when you get home, see which one is the best. Then you will have the champion one!’
‘Yeah? Yeah!’ Ollie screamed.
‘We’ll make some for your new friends, Georgie and Sebastian.’
‘No!’ Ollie said, stopping to think about this, his face dropping. ‘They won’t really be my friends,’ he said, looking very mournful, a faraway look in his eyes.
‘Why not? Course they will!’
‘Nooo. I don’t have any friends. They don’t like me. Everyone is very mean to me.’ I felt me heart sinking, looking at his poor face. He’s not as good-looking compared to Timmy. His red apple-shaped face, with the big freckles and the grey eyes don’t exactly jump out at you! And if you put the two of them together . . . well, poor Ollie has no chance at all. Fuck. He’s gorgeous in his own right! The kids just need to get to know him.
‘Ollie! Do all the boys have best friends? Or are there any like you, wanting to take their time about who they want to be friends with?’
‘Nooo, everyone got a best friend last year, when we started in the baby class. Except Wally Wilson . . .’
‘Yeah! Maybe he could be your friend.’
‘Nooo! He doesn’t count!’ Ollie said, seeing me eyes light up. ‘He still wets his pants, and cries for his mummy all the time!’
‘Oh! What about the other boys? Can they read like you?’
‘Nooo, they are only starting on the baby books. I’m the only one who can read properly!’ he said, sounding even more mournful, stabbing at the weeds coming out of the holes in the wall with a stick.
‘Right, come on, Ollie! We are going to get you new friends. Let’s get these conkers home, and we’ll do loads of them up for the morning. Then at breaktime you can hand them out to Georgie and Sebastian, and only people who want to play with you! Right, Ollie?’ I said to him flying up behind me. ‘And you can help them with their reading. They need you to help them. But you have to be patient, they are not as clever as you! Do ye see what I mean?’ I said, looking at him, seeing him thinking about this. ‘You see, you have a big, big brain. They only have little brains. So they don’t understand what you are talking about. So, pretend you don’t know lots of things, and ask them to help you sometimes!’
‘Do you think that would work?’
‘It would make them think they are like you. They’ve got a big brain, too. So if they feel important, they might think you are great! Whadaye think, Ollie?’
‘Hmm!’ he said, rattling his head, trying to work this one out! ‘Do you mean I have to stop interrupting people and telling them they are wrong? And they won’t fight with me because I keep quiet?’
‘Yeah! Yeah! Let them figure it out for themselves! You just play with them. Bring in the conkers. Then another day you can bring in a football.’
‘I don’t like football,’ he said.
‘Oh, right! Well, what about a yo-yo? Bring in a couple of yo-yos.’
‘Yes! I’ll ask Mummy to buy yo-yos for me and my new friends!’
‘Great! And I’m going to be taking you to school and collecting you at lunchtime. So, if you’re not happy about the way things went, you can tell me then, and I will sort it out for ye! What do you think? Is that a good idea?’
He shook his head up and down, agreeing. But still thinking hard about this, saying nothing, and just put out his hand for me to take, and we set off for home. Both of us lost in our own thoughts. Me thinking how I’m going to get past that dog, with the fear of God in me at the thought, and him thinking how he was going to get around this business of making a friend.
I finished washing up the pots and pans and dishes after the dinner, and wiped around the sink, giving it a good rub to bring up the shine of the stainless steel. ‘Right! That’s done,’ I sighed, putting me hand on me head and feeling how hot and dry it is. Gawd. I really don’t feel too good.
I folded the cleaning cloth and dropped it into the little dish for holding the washing-up stuff. Happy now I was finished at last. I didn’t move, feeling it was too much of an effort, and stood looking out the window into the garden. Oh, me bloody head is dizzy and I feel a bit chilly. It must be the damp, I thought, looking out at the grey mist hanging in the air, with the evenings getting darker very fast now. It must be the foggy nights, I thought to meself, thinking I sta
rted to feel this way for the last few nights and first thing in the morning. It always comes on when the night starts drawing in, making the air chilly. It looks cold and damp out there, I thought, staring tiredly, looking at the nearly bare trees, and the wet damp from the mist settling on the grass.
I think I’ll go up to bed. Clare doesn’t need me any more, she has got Ollie down for the night after reading him his bedtime story. Right! That’s what I’ll do, I decided, staring at the floor, wanting to get meself moving. I moved slowly past the sitting-room door, hearing the television on, and Greg roaring his head laughing at it. I climbed the stairs thinking, God help anyone old or ailing. Now I know what it feels like to be ninety and trying to climb Mount Everest. It can’t be any worse than these stairs when you’re feeling banjacked. I opened the door to me room and sighed happily, seeing me lovely bed waiting for me. Oh, just let me in there, I shivered with cold and exhaustion. I threw off me clothes and dived into me pyjamas and slid under the bedclothes, giving a huge sigh of contentment, enjoying the feeling of me eyes going very heavy, and sinking very fast down into a deep sleep.
I heard a voice from the distance and tried to lift me head off the pillow. ‘Martha! Are you awake?’
‘Yes, yes! I’m coming.’ I struggled to bring the room into focus, everything was foggy. I could hear Clare calling me to get up and take Ollie to school. But everything was spinning and I couldn’t make out anything. Jesus!
‘No, stay there!’ I heard Clare say. I could see her shape standing in the doorway.
‘No, no! Just wait. I’m coming now,’ I said, trying to get meself out of the bed. Wanting to get up and go about me business.
‘No! You have to stay there. You look terrible,’ Clare said.
I gave up and dropped me head back on the pillow, thinking I should get up, and sank back into sleep. I woke up with an elderly long skinny man looking down at me, with his bushy eyebrows raised over a pair of glasses sitting on his nose. Then he lifted his head, talking to Clare, while the two of them stood next to me bed.
‘Good girl. Sit up,’ he said, holding one end of a stethoscope wrapped around his neck and the other ready to plank on me. Clare lifted the back of me pyjamas, and the doctor said, ‘Breathe in for me.’ Then he listened to me sounding like I was on me last gasp, heaving me chest for breath, and wheezing like a kettle letting ye know the water is boiled. ‘Hmm! Bad case of bronchitis,’ he said to Clare. ‘Antibiotic, warm drinks, keep her warm in bed, Clare, and get her to cough it up.’ Then he was gone, and I was out like a light again. Me last thought, thinking poor Clare! Now she has gobshite me to put up with, as well as the children, and I’m supposed to be helping her! I felt really ashamed of meself, because I never, ever got sick, not even for one day, when I was in the convent, more’s the pity!
I woke up hearing the muffled sounds of laughing and shouting and the television roaring coming up through the ceiling. I opened my eyes, staring straight ahead at the rain lashing against the window pane, and leaves blowing off the trees in the front garden. I could hear the wind howling around over me head in the attic, and I snuggled down deeper, sinking into me lovely soft mattress, and pulled the heavy green satin eiderdown over me, right up to me chin. ‘Ah, lovely!’ I sighed, feeling snug and warm and sleepy, letting me eyes slide around me lovely warm cosy room and the wind and rain howling outside, and the sound of cars hissing through the wet roads, all rushing to get home after a hard day’s work, wanting to be resting just like me. Snug as a bug in a rug.
The door opened and Ollie marched in, with Clare coming in behind him carrying a tray. ‘Hullo, Martha. What happened to you? Why are you sick? Can you get up and take me to school? I have loads and loads of things to tell you,’ he puffed, trying to get everything out at once. ‘But Mummy said I can’t disturb you!’
‘Hi, Ollie!’ I croaked, pulling meself up in the bed and starting to cough.
The door flew in, hitting the wall, and Timmy came flying in, landing on the floor. ‘Me, Mummy, me!’ he shouted, picking himself up in an awful hurry, not wanting to miss out on anything.
‘Everybody out!’ shouted Clare. Landing the tray down on me bedside table.
‘Nooo!’ Ollie said, twisting himself in half to stop Clare grabbing him. ‘I have big important things to tell Martha,’ he said, looking up from the floor, half of him bent in two, with his eyebrows raised, pleading in a quiet voice. She stared at him for a minute, then he stood up, waving his finger, bending into her. ‘It won’t take long, Mummy!’ he whispered, sounding like he was the mammy and she was the child.
‘How are you, Ollie?’ I croaked, pulling meself up to a sitting position, and spluttering, taking a fit of coughing, me mouth filling with thick gobs of phlegm.
‘Spit that out,’ shouted Clare, looking around at the side table, grabbing a white Styrofoam cup. Just as Timmy came flying over screaming, ‘Me, me!’ reaching up to grab a hold of the tray.
‘No! Don’t touch that. It will fall,’ screeched Clare, grabbing his hands pulling at the tray.
I could hear the baby screaming coming up the stairs, and Greg flew in the door laughing, with the baby roaring in his arms. ‘Princess is having a major wobbly, darling,’ he said, stretching his long legs across the room with the baby red in the face, her eyes flying around the room and landing on the mammy. Then she stretched herself the full length, opening her little bud mouth wider and stuck out her tiny fists, letting her tongue hang out, and went even redder in the face, with her eyes shut tight and went mad with the rage, nearly having a fit. Greg carried her across his outstretched arms, letting her sit in the palm of his big hands, and landed her into the mammy’s arms.
Clare’s face creased into a half-cry and half-smile, looking around at all the confusion, not knowing what to do next. ‘Get the boys to bed!’ she shouted, reaching out with one hand to grab Timmy.
‘How’s the patient?’ Greg said, laughing down at me with his hands on his hips, taking no notice of the roars around him.
‘GREG!’ screamed Clare. ‘Get them out of here! Martha, grab that tray before it ends up on the floor. Everybody out!’ she roared, flying for the door. ‘I’m going to see to this little minx, you get them started on their baths, Greg!’
She stopped to look back, seeing Greg lean down to me, saying, ‘You have to cough that up, young lady! No swallowing it back.’
‘Right!’ I croaked, as I held onto the tray, trying to stop Timmy from upending me tea. Feeling foolish at all the confusion I was causing.
‘Gawd almighty! Give me patience,’ huffed Clare, staring at the ceiling with the baby hopping herself up and down in her arms screaming. ‘Bed!’ she shouted. Then flew out the door and down the stairs.
‘I have a champion conker!’ roared Ollie. ‘I have him in my bag. He’s called King! He knocked out seven other conkers! Do you want to see him? Do you, Martha?’ roared Ollie in one breath as he was being heaved out of the room.
‘Tomorrow! You can tell Martha everything tomorrow! Now it’s bedtime, young man!’ shouted Greg. ‘Come here, you! Timmy! No!’ he raced over to take me omelette out of Timmy’s mouth. He had managed to climb up on the chair and grab it while I was looking at Ollie. ‘Naughty Timmy!’ the daddy said, giving a little slap to Timmy’s fist to make him drop the whole omelette he was dangling in his mouth. ‘Take your tea, Martha, or what’s left of it,’ he muttered, half laughing. Then he grabbed up Timmy, dangling him under his arm, and whipped Ollie out the door, dangling him under the other arm, saying, ‘Come on, you holy terrors! Bath, book and bedtime. What are we reading tonight, boys?’
I could hear the shouting fading away as Greg put out his long leg, kicking the door shut after him and I stared at it for a few minutes, wondering if the room really was silent again. Then me eyes lit on the tray with the half-eaten omelette and the fried tomatoes sitting on the plate and I reached over, grabbing hold of the tray, and landing it on me lap. I looked at the other plate with the three slices of melted but
ter on the toast, and poured out a cup of tea from the little teapot and put in milk from the little stainless-steel milk jug and dived into the egg and tomatoes. Lovely. Yum, delicious! With bits of rashers inside and thick melted cheese on the outside. I wasn’t in the mood for eating up until now. I still wasn’t bothered until I tasted this. Gawd! Clare is the best person in the whole world. She’s a real lady, not like them gobshites in their fur coats at that very grand school! No, they’re only tuppence half-penny looking down at tuppence. Clare is the real thing. Greg was very lucky to get her! She’s the best mammy as well.
I suppose Clare is lucky, too, to get Greg! He worships the ground she walks on. They match each other great. Even though he’s a bit dopey when it comes to helping Clare with the children. She has to tell him every single thing. He pretends he can’t do anything. Then she gives up and does it herself, saying it’s quicker that way. He laughs, and beetles off, rubbing his hands together, and planks himself down to watch the television and read the newspaper. Huh! I’m well up to his game! So is Clare!
‘Oh, it’s all go!’ gasped Clare, puffing and struggling her way down the stairs with two heavy bags and another one thrown over her shoulder. With me banging down behind her dragging the carrycot, and Ollie and Timmy pushing behind me, carrying a big bag of terry-cloth nappies between them. ‘Greg, get them blasted bags out of the hallway, we can’t move with them there!’ she roared, trying to squeeze past the big suitcases stacked against the wall, blocking the stairs. Then we heard a car pull in and a door slamming, then the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, for the love of God! Someone open the door. That’s Granny. GREG! What are you doing up there? I only asked you to bring the pram down. Not make it!’
‘Coming, my sweet!’ Greg roared in a sing-song voice. Then he was towering above us, swinging the pram at the top of the stairs.
‘Will you move, darling? You are blocking the whole stairwell! I can’t get out!’ she screamed. ‘These bloody cases are blocking everyone in!’ Then she muttered curses under her breath, looking back with her face twisting, and trying to lift the heavy bags up in the air.