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

by Martha Long

  ‘Everybody back up!’ Greg shouted, landing the folded-up pram back on the landing and grabbing the bag off Ollie and Timmy, who were fighting over wanting to carry it by themself. I turned around with me bags and went up the stairs again, and Greg snatched it off me and landed it on the landing, then belted off down the stairs and squeezed past the mammy, grabbing up the cases and landing them in the sitting room. Then he whipped the door open, shouting, ‘Mother- in-law! It’s marvellous to see you. Come in, come in. Goodness! You get better-looking and younger every time I see you,’ he said, grabbing the woman with a smile about to light up her face. I was watching from the crack in the door. But before she could draw the next breath, he was steering and swinging her into the hall.

  A little woman appeared in the door wearing very high heels and staggered to her feet, trying to steady herself, as Greg grabbed her again with one hand around her waist, and the other one on her shoulder, making her head disappear under his arm, because she was so small. ‘Darling, it’s your mother!’ he roared, looking up the stairs, then peeling his eyes back down again, landing them on Clare standing right in front of him, forgetting she was there. Clare stared daggers at him, looking like she wanted to shout curses at him this time. ‘Here we are,’ he said, talking to the granny as if she was a child. Then letting her go, shutting the hall door, and stretched his face, making his eyes turn, crossing them, then rolled up inta the back of his head. Tormenting Clare behind the mammy’s back. And he vanished into the sitting room, humming a tune, taking the bags with him that Clare dumped out of the way.

  ‘Mother! Thank God you’re here! It’s like a mad house! It’s absolute bedlam. We’re trying to get the baby’s things organised!’ Clare screamed, sounding like she was crying.

  ‘Oh, darling! I’m here at last,’ gushed the mammy, looking up at Clare, then sweeping past me and staring down at all the stuff coming down the stairs, and vanishing, with Greg flying up and down into the sitting room. ‘Greg, dear! Would you ever run out to the car and bring in my suitcases?’

  ‘Did you drive yourself, Mother dear?’ Greg beamed, rushing back and staring down at her with his hands on his hips, a big grin spread all over his face.

  ‘Oh, you have no idea what I went through. I got stuck in Nenagh, right on the bridge, with a herd of sheep running in all directions. I thought the lot of us was going to end up in the river!’

  ‘Mother! Greg! Sorry to interrupt, Mother. Greg! Please do something. Bring in Mother’s cases from the car. Don’t just stand there!’

  ‘Right, darling. On my way!’

  ‘No, stop! Bring down the baby’s cot first.’

  He stopped dead, with his head and foot out the front door and his arse still stuck inside, and whipped himself back in, saying in one breath, ‘Whatdoyouwantmetodofirst!’ He puffed. Standing still, like a statue, waiting for his next orders.

  ‘Oh, really, Greg! You would try the patience of a saint,’ Clare said, hearing the baby wake up and start to roar her head off. ‘That’s all I need,’ she muttered, swinging herself off, sounding like she was going to cry her eyes out, and ran into the kitchen to grab up the baby just as she was working herself up for a piercing roar.

  ‘Sorry, darling. Do nothing. You go and put your feet up. Leave everything to me!’ he roared down the hall.

  Then he tore up the stairs, and Ollie roared. ‘Granny! Did you bring us something nice? Have you got a present for us?’ he said, tearing over to grab at her big brown leather handbag.

  ‘Oh, Oliver darling! Let me look at you,’ she squealed, grabbing him and pushing him out to stare at him, then whipping him back, crushing him in a big hug, roaring, ‘You got so big since I last saw you. Give Granny a great big kiss,’ and she plastered his face with red lipstick. He rubbed his cheek like mad, keeping his eyes glued on her handbag and trying to whip it off her arm.

  ‘Me, me, Mummy!’ screamed Timmy, flying over and tripping himself up in his hurry.

  ‘Sorry, Mumsy. Gangway!’ roared Greg, humping the pram down the stairs, squeezing past her with the pram in the air.

  ‘Oh, did you bring in my luggage, Greg, dear?’ she breathed, her head whipping up to him and flying around in all directions, trying to take everything and everybody in all at the same time. ‘Come on! Come on, darlings! Let’s go into the kitchen and see our new baby sister,’ she roared, whipping away her handbag and flying off down the hall in her big pointy high heels.

  ‘Presents!’ screamed Ollie, still holding onto the bag, getting himself pulled down the hall.

  ‘Me, me! Sweeties!’ roared Timmy, flying after her.

  Greg staggered in with two huge suitcases, landing them down behind the door and muttering, ‘My worst nightmare! She’s come to stay for good.’ Then he gave the door an almighty kick with the back of his foot. Just as the bell rang again.

  Then the letter box rattled and a voice shouted in, ‘Cooee! Greg, let me in. It’s me. Mummy.’

  Greg dropped his head, and started to tear his hands through his hair, scratching like mad, mumbling, ‘I give up! All hell is about to break loose.’ Then he stared at me for a second, standing on the end of stairs, and whispered, ‘These two hate each other,’ he said, stabbing his thumb down the hall. ‘Never the twain shall meet. It’s the war of the grannies!’ Then he whipped himself to the door, opening it and letting out a roar. ‘Mammy! Come in, come in,’ wrapping his arms around a huge woman wearing a black three-quarter-length wool coat, with a brown fur animal wrapped around her neck and a big felt hat with a feather sticking up.

  ‘Oh, Greg, sweetie! Don’t be so common!’

  He wasn’t listening. He was too busy sucking on her cheeks, and whipping back to roar into her face, waving his arms around, singing, ‘I’d walk a thousand miles for one a dem smiles. MA A AH . . . MEE . . . MAMMEEEE!’

  ‘Oh, really,’ she said, laughing and twisting her face in disgust. ‘Go away out of that with yourself, you silly boy,’ she whined, flapping him with her soft kid-leather beige gloves. ‘Where is everybody? Are they in the kitchen? Cooee! It’s meee! Granny’s here! Where’s my boys?’ she sang, rushing herself down to the kitchen and stopping dead just inside the door. ‘Oh! How nice to see you, Mrs Enright,’ she said in a low moan, not sounding like she meant a word of it.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Flynn?’ squeaked the other granny. Making it sound like a threat. There was a silence for a minute and I tore down the hall not wanting to miss anything.

  ‘Come and see what Granny has for you!’ Greg’s mammy shouted, waving at the boys and landing her big bag down on the kitchen table.

  ‘I think they are about to have their tea. Isn’t that right, Clare?’ said the little granny. Looking woebegone. Hanging onto a big bag of lemon sweets nobody wanted any more. She stood, holding them out in the air, letting them dangle, but still nobody was interested in them.

  ‘What did you bring us?’ screamed Ollie, flying over to grab at the big shopping bag as the granny landed out big bars of chocolates, bags of Tayto crisps, packets of biscuits.

  ‘And a lovely teatime express cake for your tea, dear,’ she said, handing Clare a big box with a yellow ribbon tied around it. Then the little granny flew over and whipped the baby out of Clare’s arms, saying, as she settled her in her arms, throwing her eye to the other granny, much as to say, ‘Well, you’re not getting your hands on this one!’

  ‘Oh, Clare, love,’ she said, sitting herself down in the armchair next to the Aga, making the baby comfortable in her arms. ‘She’s the spitting image of your great-aunt Mindy, who went out on the African missions and never came back. Every bit of her the spitting image of my side of the family.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ roared the big granny, whipping her head around, making the feather shiver on her hat, busying herself in the middle of peeling the silver paper off the big bars of chocolate, leaving Timmy trying to get the whole bar bigger than himself shovelled down his neck. ‘Where do you think she got that beautiful strawberry blonde hea
d of hair from?’

  ‘Not from him,’ the little granny snorted, pointing her finger at Greg bending down, grinning with his hands in his pockets, looking from one granny to the other. ‘Sure he has brown hair,’ the little granny sniffed, lifting her baldy eyebrows. She had to paint in eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil. But she didn’t get it right. One side of her face had an eyebrow going halfway across her face, nearly to her ear. While the other side was up in the air, nearly working its way to her forehead. Making it look like the two halves of her face didn’t belong to each other. Ahh! I felt a bit sorry for her, staring at the almighty show she made of herself with the baby-blue eyeshadow sitting over one eye, where it had smudged.

  ‘Of course he was blond when he was a baby! Weren’t you, Greg, dear?’

  ‘Oh! The car keys, Mother! I want to start loading up the baby’s stuff.’

  ‘Yes!’ Clare sniffed, disgusted at the way her mother was being treated. ‘Time is running out. We still have a lot to do!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Clare, dear! Will your mother be staying to look after the boys? Naturally, I am taking baby. It would be too much to expect of your mother at her age of advancing years!’ There was a terrible silence while they all swallowed this. Then the little granny exploded. ‘On the contrary! You would have to be in your full health and be on your toes looking after two fine healthy strong boys! Someone in your condition wouldn’t be able for all that running around.’

  ‘I am sorry!’ the big granny snapped, whirling herself around, stopping the peeling of the chocolate, and narrowing her nose, squeezing her mouth into a pucker. ‘Might I ask what condition would you be referring to?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean to cause offence!’ mewled the little granny, delighted she’d caused an awful lot of offence. ‘I just meant with you having to carry all that weight. It must be an awful burden on your heart. I know of course you can’t help it. It’s in your nature. Being such a big woman and all that!’

  ‘MOTHER, IS THE CAR OPEN? WHERE’S DAD?’ screeched Greg, whipping himself into action, looking around at the hall, then giving a quick look over at Clare, who was staring stony-faced down at the baby’s feet kicking like mad to get out of the granny’s arms.

  ‘YES, IT IS!’ screamed the big granny, raging at being interrupted while she was trying to think of something vicious to throw back at the little granny. ‘He’s gone on walkabout!’ Then she lifted her huge breasts, taking in big breaths, and marched over, snatching the baby out of the little granny’s grasp, cooing, ‘Come to Granny. You must surely be making strange, with all these foreign faces huffing and puffing around you, you poor little precious diddledums. But you know your Granny Flynn! Of course you do!’ she said, tickling the baby under the chin, who just gaped back up at her, her huge big blue eyes starting to water, and her tiny little mouth starting to wobble, wondering when she should start crying, with all this snatching going on.

  ‘Yes, I was the first to see you after you were born!’ she rasped, nodding her head up and down, sounding hoarse from all the insults she was flying around. ‘Except for my son, of course,’ she cooeed over at the little granny, who shut her gaping mouth, clamping her lips together, her eyes narrowing, looking like she was thinking it would be worthwhile doing time in Mountjoy Prison just to wipe the smirk offa that aul one’s face.

  ‘Come on, Martha. Give me a hand to load up,’ said Greg, then he was out of the room and tearing out with the pram. ‘Bring the carrycot!’ he shouted back to me.

  I raced into the sitting room, grabbing up the cot, and was out the door, standing in next to no time beside a big black car. ‘Gawd! This is very grand,’ I breathed to Greg, watching him opening the big car boot and throwing in the pram. ‘Your parents must be very rich.’

  ‘No, Mother just lives beyond Father’s means. He spends so long hidden away in that dusty old office, you would have to send in a search party to find him. Then dig him out buried underneath all those boxes and files. The poor man sits day and night poring over figures, I expect he’s covered in cobwebs by now.’

  ‘What does he do, Greg?’

  ‘He’s an accountant,’ Greg sniffed, ‘not a millionaire, as Mother would have people believe. Mothers!’ he moaned, curling his lip and rolling his eyes. ‘Here! Give me that cot. We’ll put this in the back seat for baby to sleep in. Now! Back into the fray.’ Then he threw himself back into the house.

  I laughed, racing in behind him again, to bring out the tons of bags the baby was going to need. ‘That’s the lot,’ Greg said, standing with his hands on his hips, eyeing the car with the back wheels nearly sitting on the ground from so much stuff we packed into it. ‘Would you ever believe one tiny girl would need so much stuff?’ he asked, shaking his big mop of curly hair. ‘Any more than this and we will need to hire a removal truck to send her off. Oh, Dad’s coming,’ he said. Waving at a tall, thin, grey-faced old man with a grey moustache. Looking like his head was too heavy for his shoulders, he was so stooped. He was wearing a grey pinstriped suit, with a trilby hat sitting on his head, sucking on a pipe. The old man took the pipe out of his mouth, giving a big smile, and waved back.

  ‘Good girl, Martha! Thanks for all your help,’ Greg said, smiling down at me then taking off, slowly running to meet his dad.

  ‘How are you?’ I heard the old man say, clapping Greg on the back.

  I turned and rushed back into the house. Clare was filling the baby’s bottles with milk she’d made up and looked around at me with a very tired look on her face. ‘Everything’s packed up for the baby, Martha,’ she said quietly, as I moved over to stand beside her.

  ‘Yeah, we couldn’t squeeze another thing in, Clare. The car is filled to the brim.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ she whispered, looking at me very seriously. ‘I hope you left room for the old battle axe over there!’ And she lifted her eyebrows, throwing her eyes back over her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah,’ I laughed in a whisper. ‘But she’s going to have a tight squeeze.’

  ‘Good enough for her. So long as I get her out of here, the sooner the better,’ she whispered, jumping her eyebrows up and down, her eyes laughing. I snorted, wanting to give a big laugh. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, giving me a dig with her elbow. ‘Come on. Get me the Milton steriliser over from the worktop. I want to empty it. Then we can get her moving.’

  ‘Right,’ I whispered, flying over and handing her the big box holding all the soothers sitting inside, getting sterilised.

  We loaded the stuff into a big leather bag, then Clare said, ‘Is there room on the back seat for this? Where’s Greg got to?’

  ‘Oh, he’s talking to his dad.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Clare said. ‘Are we all ready, then? Say goodbye to Granny, boys. She’s going to take care of baby while Mummy and Daddy are away.’

  ‘I’ll take the baby. You go on out to the car and seat yourself in. Give Granny a kiss, boys!’ the big granny shouted, wondering if she was getting the bum’s rush out the door or not.

  ‘Bye-bye, Granny,’ Ollie said, wrapping his arms around the granny’s neck. Timmy came tearing himself up from the floor, covered from head to toe in chocolate. His hands were soaked in it, and he held them out in front of him, just as the granny turned around, with her eyes suddenly turning to shock, and not getting a word out before he had his hands grabbing hold of her furry animal with the head and eyes staring out, and the two paws dangling at the other end. He grabbed a hold of it and swung out of it, planting a lovely big kiss on her eye, covering it in chocolate. I stared, then burst out laughing as she grabbed for her handbag, squealing, ‘Oh, no! Naughty Timmy! Don’t touch Granny. Wait until I get my handkerchief. Where is it?’ She searched her handbag, squinting, with one eye closed. Then rubbed her eye, making it worse.

  ‘Me, Mummy, me!’ Timmy shouted, looking up at her, not finished with his kisses.

  Oliver stared, then said, ‘Granny, you look terrible! Your eye is covered in brown chocolate.’


  The little granny screeched, laughing, saying, ‘Oh, dear. Poor Timmy! Look at the state of your poor Granny Flynn. Tut tut! What a shame he ate all that chocolate. Now you will be sick!’

  ‘Somebody get me a tissue. Oh, goodness! My make-up will be ruined. What am I to do? Is there a mirror down here? Do I have to go up to the bathroom? Oh, this is too much. Clare! Clare! Wait a minute, I have to repair my make-up!’

  Clare whipped her head around, standing at the car talking to the granddad. Then she whipped it back for a second look and let out an almighty laugh. ‘Oh, Greg! You are dreadful for saying such a thing,’ Clare roared, trying to cover up the laugh, by slapping Greg on the arm, and holding the baby in the other, while the granny stared, wondering if she was laughing at her.

  ‘Wha . . . what!’ Greg barked, spinning his head, wondering what was going on. Clare buried her face in the baby’s blanket, while the granddad looked up at the granny under his bushy grey eyebrows. Then looked at Clare with a glint in his eye.

  I rushed back in, closing the door, and whipped Timmy over to the sink, lifting him under the arms, keeping him well away from me, and turned on the tap, grabbing his hands and holding them under to wash them. ‘Now! Lovely and clean,’ I said, grabbing the washcloth and rinsing it under the tap to wipe his face and hair. ‘Oh, oh! Somebody is going to need a bath tonight,’ I said, looking at his little white face beginning to turn a different colour. It looks a bit green, I thought, staring at him as he licked the water from his chin, tasting the soapy facecloth. ‘Hmm! You look a bit sick to me. For once, Timmy, I don’t think you will be wanting any grub for your tea! Will you now?’ I said, leaning into him and landing a kiss on his face. It felt wet and cold, and still smelled of chocolate. He shook his mop of blond hair up and down then all around. Not sure what the right thing to say was.

  ‘Come on,’ said the granny. ‘Let’s get up to the bathroom.’

  ‘Eh, I think Missus Flynn is still up there,’ I said, looking at her. Watching her thinking, then seeing her face crease into a big grin.