by Martha Long
She started choking and coughing so he leaned over the table, bashing her on the back, saying, ‘Yeah, it’s battered-lookin like herself!’ he roared, looking at the girl, and pointing at me, trying to be funny. Then he grabbed up the knife and fork and attacked the grub. Stuffing his face with the fish and chips and half a slice of bread and butter and a big mouthful of tea.
I put me hands on me hips and was about to light into him when he saw me face ready to go mad. ‘Ah, no, I’m only joking yeh! I didn’t mean you,’ he said. ‘I meant meself. The fish is battered-looking like meself.’
‘Ah, don’t be saying that to the poor girl and she doing yeh no harm,’ the girl said, looking disgusted.
I softened, and said, ‘No, you’re not battered-looking. Just a bit threadbare in the looks department. But I suppose you do have the kind of face only a mammy could love. But, then again, you must have something going for yeh. You got yourself a gorgeous-looking girlfriend.’
I saw her face turning red and yer man looking at her with his eyes starting to shine. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re so right. She is an all. A lovely-looking bird,’ he said. Leaning happily across the table to grab her neck, landing his greasy hands on the back of her beehive hairdo. Giving her a quick greasy smacking kiss on the side of her mouth, missing her lips.
‘Get away, you,’ she said, her face going bright beetroot. But loving the moment that just came out of the blue.
‘Miss, where’s me bleeding smoked cod and fresh cod-and-chips we ordered two hours ago?’
‘Yeah, coming!’ I shouted, waving at him.
I went flying out the door, roaring up for me order at Touchy. ‘Sì! Where you go? Dis order is now one week old,’ he shouted, nearly spitting at me.
‘Yeah, sorry! I’m run off me feet,’ I panted, grabbing up the order and barrelling back in, carrying two hot plates. Then landing them down with the aul fella. ‘Smoked cod and fresh cod and two chips,’ I said, pushing the salt and vinegar in front of them.
‘Yes, and about bloody time, too. The hunger is nearly gone offa me,’ he moaned.
‘Yeah, I’m very sorry about that. The place is crowded tonight!’
‘Get us a pot of tea and bread and butter to go with this,’ he said.
‘Right!’ I was about to rush off and suddenly stopped. Remembering to write down what they are getting and put the table number in me book. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
I took off, then felt a man grabbing hold of the sleeve of me cardigan. ‘Excuse me, miss. We want something to eat.’
‘Right!’ I took out me notebook.
‘Hey, young one! Get us our pot of tea and bread and butter, before we fall down here from the hunger.’
‘Sorry! I’ll be back,’ I said. Rushing in to give the order to Touchy. People stood up at another table and I started counting the tables like mad to see if it was one of mine. I’m completely lost. I can’t remember who is who and what I’m owed. Or even what I’m doing any more. The Irish one does that side of the room. The left side when you come in from the shop. Halfway down the middle. I look after the rest. Right, they’re one of hers, I thought. Rushing to take the poor couple’s order. The man and woman are looking desperate for a bit of grub.
‘Are you serving us or not?’ he roared, losing the rag after trying to hold onto me by the cardigan a minute ago.
‘Sorry, sir!’ I puffed, waiting with me book gripped, and me pencil ready to fly, then dash and give in the order.
‘Goodbye, now. Thank you very much,’ I said. Taking the green pound note and giving the man his change. Happy now to say goodnight to the last of the customers. I watched as the man’s wife struggled to put on her good red coat and wrap the scarf around her head, letting it slide down the back of her neck, and pulling up the collar. She grabbed it around the front to hold onto it as she followed the man out the door. The two of them heading off, out into the cold dark night. Making their way home, after the big Saturday night out. I put the money in me apron pocket, along with the pound note, wrapped up tightly in the other notes, and slid the notebook in. Seeing the Irish girl stacking the chairs up on top of the tables, I started to do the same.
‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ shouted the aul fella out to more people looking in. Their mouths dropping down to their bellies at the thought of no grub.
‘It won’t take a minute. Just give us a quick bag of chips, and a fish!’ shouted a fella, looking back at the woman who was shaking her shoulders, looking around at the miserably dark night, with eveything closed up hours ago. Then she looked back in, seeing the lights going off in the shop.
‘Come on! Leave it. Let’s get going and make our way home,’ the woman said, sounding disgusted, and turned her back, digging her hands deep into her coat pockets, and lowered her neck down inside her coat. Then took off, heading away from the shops, making her own way home along the dark road.
‘No, wait. Wait! Fuck yeh,’ he shouted after her, waving his arm in the air. Then gave up and dug his hands into his trouser pockets and lowered his head, bending his back. Studying what was happening in the shop. He hung on for a minute. His mouth hanging open like he had too much to drink, and his eyes kept crossing. Then he gave up and staggered after the woman. Stopping to get the right foot going first, after taking a little dance to keep his balance, then he steadied himself, and he was off. Moving in a stagger, hurrying to catch up with the woman.
I followed the Irish girl up to the counter and handed in the last two customers’ money along with the notebook. The little aul fella took it off me and checked the two receipts against the money I gave him. Then slammed open the cash register, taking out all the money to count it.
‘You want fish-and-chips?’ Touchy said to me, getting ready to grab up a plate.
‘Yeah, give us, eh . . .’ I was trying to think what I would like. ‘Give us a fresh cod. A nice big one!’
‘They are all big,’ he moaned.
‘And plenty of chips. Where do I get the pot of tea from? I want bread and butter, too.’
‘OK, OK! You wait. I only have a the one pair a the hands,’ he snorted. Letting his face lengthen with disgust.
‘I’ll have the same,’ whispered the Irish girl. ‘Here, I’ll make us the tea,’ she said, looking at me like someone had put the fear of God into her.
‘Eh, Alfonso!’ shouted Francesco, waking himself up at the thought all the day’s work is over. He screamed something in Italian, then rushed back into the family’s kitchen.
‘Andeamo!’ or something like that, the big fat mamma shouted out. Holding up a big metal basket with steaming spaghetti hanging out through the holes.
‘SÌ! MOMENTO!’ blasted Touchy right into me earhole.
‘Fuck! Do they ever just speak to each other like normal people?’ I muttered. Jumping out of the way, and taking the two plates of fish-and-chips he slammed down on the counter for me and the other girl.
‘Come on! Do you want to eat in the café? I don’t want to eat in with them. There’s too many of them crowded in there,’ she said. Rushing off to the café and putting the tray down on the table with the chairs underneath that she’d left free for us.
‘We have no salt and vinegar,’ I said, seeing all the stuff was gone inside to be filled by us tomorrow. I rushed in behind the counter, grabbing a bottle with vinegar left in it and a little bottle of salt. Then made to run back and decided to put me head into the family kitchen to get a look. They were all sitting on top of each other at a long table squashed into an alcove.
‘Eh, eh, BASTA!’ Touchy was shouting, slapping the hand of another fella I hadn’t really noticed before. I think he was the one in the rubber apron peeling all the potatoes, and bringing in the buckets of batter and fish. They keep him in the back. Rubber-apron man roared because he couldn’t get his hands on the big metal bowl with some sort of sauce and meat in it. Touchy was taking half the bowl for himself. The rest were helping themself to baskets of bread, and plates of tomatoes and cheese, and pourin
g wine out of a long glass jug.
‘Papa!’ shouted a big fat young one, about two or three years younger then meself. He took no notice of her, shaking the hell out of his arm. He was too busy shouting at a huge dopey woman helping the mamma to serve the lot of them. Jaysus! No way am I showing me nose in there, I thought. Shutting me gaping mouth and taking off for the café.
‘It’s like a mad house in there!’ I said. Sitting meself down and cutting half the fish, trying to stuff it into me mouth.
‘Yeah, there’s an awful lot of them,’ she said, staring at her grub and taking little mouthfuls.
‘What’s your name? Mine’s Martha.’
‘I know. I heard Alfonso call you Santa Martha.’
‘You mean Touchy?’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Oh, I call him that because you can’t say anything to him. He’s never happy-looking.’
‘Yeah, he hates Ireland,’ she said. Taking a little nibble of the bread. ‘How long are you working here?’
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Mary. I’m working here eight months.’
‘Where are you from, Mary?’
‘Sligo.’
‘That’s miles from Dublin, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, looking at her plate and pushing it away.
‘What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you eat your dinner?’
‘I’m sick of the sight of fish and chips. I’d love a chop or something. I prefer Irish food. They only cook Italian stuff here. I wouldn’t eat that.’
‘No, me neither,’ I said. ‘I don’t like the look of that spaghetti stuff. How old are you, Mary?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘How long are you in Dublin?’
‘Since I started working here. I saw the job advertised in a Dublin paper when I came up for the day to have a look around. I was working in a local hardware shop at home. Selling farm stuff to the local farmers.’
‘Do you like working here, Mary?’
‘Not really, it was good in the beginning. But now I want a change. I’m thinking of heading off to London. Me sister’s over there working in a live-in job. It’s a pub in Camden Town.’
‘Oh, I might think of doing something like that,’ I said, getting all excited at the idea of moving on. ‘But I don’t think I would like the idea of being around drunks all day. I’d be afraid I might get a liking for the stuff. No, I want to keep meself away from that kind of thing. There’s no point in taking chances.’
‘Well, we better get upstairs to bed,’ she said. Taking up her plate and loading up the tray.
‘Right, I’m just finished.’ I finished the last of the bread, including hers, and drained the last drop of tea, and stacked the cups and saucers and plates on the tray. Letting her take off with it. ‘Wait! I think I’ll just sit here and have a cigarette first.’ I’d forgot all about me smokes, even though customers were sitting here, puffing their hearts away.
‘OK, I’ll wait with you,’ she said. ‘Just let me drop these things off for Angelo, or Rosa. One of them can do the washing up,’ she said, sounding tired. ‘Oh, God! What a night. We were rushed off our feet. I’m just about ready for my bed,’ she said, letting herself drop down into the chair, and rubbing her face with her two hands, then looking over at me and yawning.
She’s very thin and pasty-faced, I thought, looking at her. Her mousey fair hair would be lovely if she put it up or something. It’s too thin to be left hanging down around her shoulders. Gawd! She really is very quiet. She never says a word to anyone. Just keeps moving in and out of the tables, cleaning them and taking the orders and going quietly about her business. No one notices her with her shoulders humped and her eyes half-dead in her head, like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she wouldn’t even care if she just dropped down dead, and that was the end of her.
‘How many have you in your family, Mary?’ I asked, seeing her mouth tighten, at the mention of her family.
‘Nine. I’m the second-eldest,’ she said, sounding like she didn’t want to talk about them. I said nothing. Not wanting to ask her about her business. ‘Me mother is dead!’ she said after a while. Knowing I was not wanting to upset her.
‘Oh, that’s terrible! You must be lost without her.’
She shook her head, closing her eyes like she was trying to say, ‘I’m used to it.’ ‘Yeah, she’s dead these four years. I don’t feel good about running off and leaving me younger sister to look after the lot of them.’
‘What age is she, Mary?’
‘Nineteen. Then the next one is fifteen. There were more in between us. But poor Mammy lost two after me when they were young. Teresa was only seven. Just coming up to Holy Communion. And Joseph who was five. Then we lost three more. They died when they were all little. The youngest is four now. He’s me little brother, Alan.’
‘But did you say your mammy died four years ago, Mary?’ I whispered.
‘Yeah, that’s right. She had him at home and bled to death. By the time they got the ambulance and took her to hospital, she was gone. She was only forty-four. I blame me father,’ she said. Letting the anger work its way up. She didn’t raise her voice. Just said it, letting the last few words rise up, leaving the mention of her father hanging in the air. I shook me head, feeling the terrible loss she must carry around. Seeing her face turning to stone. Yet her eyes were half-dead from the pain of it all.
‘I send them home a postal order for fifteen shillings a week. To my sister. I don’t want that git of a father to get his hands on it, and drink it down his gullet. That’s why I want to go to London. There’s more money to be made over there. But I wanted to hang around in Dublin for a while. To keep an eye on the family. I send them a letter every week, asking them to let me know how things are going at home. The sister writes back. She wants to leave home, too. But she can’t do that until Maeve gets a bit older. She’s working now in my old job, in the hardware shop. The next one is just turned fourteen. She’s started working for a local farmer. Helping the wife around the house and farm. So things are moving on. Getting a little easier on everyone. But the father has to be watched. He beats the hell out of the younger one, Maeve. Trying to get the wages off a her before she hands it up to Bernie. Bernie knocks the shite out a him. She’s not afraid of him. Not like me poor mammy! She was too soft altogether. That’s why she went to an early grave.’
‘Yeah, she’s right an all, Mary. I would split a man’s head open if he lifted a hand to me.’
‘Too bloody true!’ Mary said, a spark of viciousness coming into her eyes at the mention of being hit by a man. ‘You remind me of me sister Bernie,’ she laughed, her eyes lighting up at the mention of her sister, making her face pretty. ‘You’re full a life, just like her. But you’re younger. How old are you, Martha?’
‘Sixteen,’ I said, smiling at her.
‘You’re a Dublin girl,’ she said, looking straight at me and thinking about this.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘So . . . are you just out of a convent? Do you mind me asking?’
‘No, no, you’re right. I am,’ I said, wanting to leave it at that. Not wanting to look back, and give much away.
‘Them places can be fierce tough! I heard terrible stories about them.’
‘Ah, no,’ I said, thinking about it. ‘I wasn’t in the worst place. There are worse things that can happen to you,’ I said. Thinking about the ma and the aul bastard, the Jackser fella. ‘But I’m glad to be gone from it. They can be very lonely places at times,’ I said. Remembering the cold empty passages, and rooms with nothing but young ones, tearing lumps out of each other. Everyone wanting to be noticed by the nuns. ‘Oh, well! That’s life,’ I said. Wanting to turn away from all the bad times and be happy now.
‘Turn outa da lights in there!’ shouted the aul fella, roaring in at us from the counter.
‘Come on, let’s go up and hit the sack,’ Mary said, standing up, waiting for me to p
ut out the cigarette in the ashtray. I followed her out the door, seeing her switch off the light, and around the counter, heading out through a door into a little passage and up bare wooden stairs.
‘I haven’t seen where I’m sleeping, Mary! What about me case? I left that in the sitting room.’
‘Come on! We’re all in here together,’ she said. Opening a door on a landing, hearing roars and banging and laughing coming from the room next door. ‘We’re in here,’ she said, walking into a bedroom with two beds. One a double and a single pushed against the wall. The floorboards were bare, and a big old wardrobe sat against the far wall, at the end of the room just inside the door. I spotted my suitcase sitting behind it in the corner.
‘There’s only two beds!’ I said, seeing the huge woman Rosa and the fat daughter heaving into the room after us, puffing and arguing. ‘Are the four of us sleeping in two beds?’ I shouted, not believing me eyes.
‘Yes! You and me are in the single bed, and Rosa and Maria are in the big one,’ the daughter said, pointing us to the single bed. We all looked at Rosa, peeling the big wide tent of a frock over her head, and heave herself into the double bed, wearing only big pink knickers and a long woolly vest, with a bunch of miraculous medals and purple scapulars swinging around her neck. I watched the mattress and the springs sink onto the floor.
I looked at the single bed as Mary started stripping, taking her nightdress out from under a pillow and pulling it over her head. The young one dived into her nightdress and sank herself into the single bed, moving into the wall, trying to make room for me.
‘Fuck this! Not on yer nelly!’ I roared, wanting me night’s sleep. Raging at the thought I wasn’t getting a bed to meself.
Mary had drawn her knees up and was hanging out of the edge of the bed when Rosa swung herself around, lying flat on her back, breathing ‘Bene!’ with a big sigh of contentment.
‘Come on, out! What’s your name?’ I said, pointing at the young one and pulling the blankets down.
‘Maria.’
‘Right, Maria. You sleep with Rosa and, Mary, will you sleep in the single bed with me? We’re a pair of skinnies. Leave the fatties with the big bed. Maria here is taking up the whole single bed to herself. Look at the size of her!’ I was raging. The bleedin cheek of them Italians!