Goodbye to the Hill

by Lee Dunne

  That was the first morning of one of the best weeks of my life. Seven days of all the things that made life worthwhile for me, and what made it even better was knowing that Claire was getting as much out of it as I was myself.

  A lovely, peace filled week, with the exception of one little spat, after I’d made eyes at a young woman who was helping in the bar at a pub, we two didn’t have a cross word.

  This pub was three miles from the house but is was Claire’s choice for any drinking that she did and so we went there a few times. Claire was known there and told everyone that I was her nephew from Dublin. The barmaid fancied me strongly if her ‘come and get me’ eyes were anything to go by, and it wouldn’t have been any hardship to go over the jumps with her. Anyway, Claire was upset and she cried when we got back to the house.

  I managed to convince her that I was only acting, telling her that people would expect her nephew to make advances at the barmaid. She swallowed it, and said she was sorry for being such a fool, and we went to bed.

  I worked hard that night to reassure her that I was in love with her, even though I was annoyed by the stupid tears, and wishing it was the barmaid with me in the bed.

  When Claire phoned and hired a car the next day I was glad. I’d never been to Wicklow town, and I was a bit fed up with the house, and just a bit weary of Claire and her big tits. Little things that she did reminded me of the night Maureen had held my arm as though she owned it, and I felt hemmed in.

  I knew then why Breeda and I got along so well. She never took a liberty. She didn’t want to be owned, and she didn’t expect to own anybody else, and the more you meet women, the more you realise that there aren’t many like that.

  The car driver was an oul’fella with a face on him like a sod of turf, and a voice like Mother Macree’s illegitimate son. He wept and wailed about the cost of the juice for the car, and the insurance premium, and all the rest of it, and I thought that he had a bloody cheek to be going on like that and Claire paying for the hire of his yoke.

  Once or twice I got close to telling him to put a sock in it, but Claire gave me a look that asked me to make allowances, so I let him get on with it.

  When she bought me a suit, and two pairs of slacks, I could hardly believe my luck. Then she got me some shoes and shirts and underwear and a set of cuff links.

  I can still remember the charge I got when I put the grey pinhead on in the tailor’s dressing-room and when I was all togged up to the nines,

  I was a fairly big fella now, getting a bit wiser every day, and I thought that I knew my way around better than most guys my age. And I had to go to Wicklow town for a woman who was about twice my age to buy me my first classy suit, not forgetting a who range of underwear

  It was things like this that made me realise how underprivileged a lot of people are. I don’t just mean myself. I was very lucky, but every fella should have underwear from the time they’re kids, and all girls should have knickers and brassieres and whatever else they wear. And people should be able to have a bath every day if they want to. It’s just not right that people should have to suffer the indignity of being dirty or without underwear. We should all be naked or we should all be dressed from the skin outwards.

  The suit Claire bought might have been made for me, and with the white shirt and the maroon tie I looked really well.

  Claire raved: I was so very handsome and my features were so good, and there was such a natural shine to my hair. I couldn’t see what she was on about, but I didn’t argue. She had a certain picture of me in her mind and, as far as I was concerned, she was welcome to it.

  If I’d told her I was a pale-faced chancer and not worth a heap of cow dung, it would only have made me seem modest, or something equally ridiculous.

  We had a meal in a hotel after leaving the shops and then we sat drinking in a modern bar that seemed out of place in a town like Wicklow. By the time we got back to the car I had cow dung on my shoes, but I was too pissed to worry about it, and to shut up Ballocky Bill the Driver, I sang all the way back to the house.

  Claire said I had a lovely voice, and your man at the steering wheel cried his eyes out when I sang ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. He had two daughters in America. They were married and raising herds of little American citizens. I wished I’d never opened my mouth, but I sang ‘Kevin Barry’ to shut him up. Even then he started on about ‘the troubles’, but I kept on singing, trying as hard as I could to lift the roof off his shagging car.

  The singing did one useful thing. It gave me a story as to how I got my hands on the new clobber, and when I got home to Ma I was going to need one. I’d won a talent contest in one of the hostels and the prize had been a voucher for twenty five pounds. It would take some telling, that I did know. Twenty five quid was a lot of dough and while Ma might believe me, Josie would take a lot of convincing. Not that I cared what she thought, it was just that Ma would be happier if Josie believed me, too. I didn’t say anything to Claire about it, and it never even occurred to her that I’d need a story. She didn’t think like that because she didn’t have to, and she was lucky.

  But for me it was second nature. It seemed that all my life I’d had to tell lies about something or other, and if I was good at it, it was only because I’d had so much practice.

  When Saturday came I was relieved, but I acted as heart-broken as Claire obviously was. She was so full of grief that I was sorry for her. She kept on about her age and how tragic it was that I was so young, that I could never really belong to her - ‘my new owner is Claire Kearney’ - and that I’d forget her as soon as I was back home again.

  I tried to make her believe that I’d never forget her, but she wouldn’t stop crying, and again I felt the urge to give her a bit of a slap, wake her up to our reality. But I didn’t do it. I acted my head off and it was good practice for the way I’d have to perform over the new suit when I got home.

  By the time I finished cajoling her, promised more visits every few weeks, she seemed a lot better and she packed all my stuff in a suitcase that I didn’t want. Then I thought I’d throw that in with the story about the gear - in

  for a penny, in for a pound.

  The case felt strange in my hand as I carried it to the door. I kissed her goodbye and she cried again. I told her that I loved her and it was then that she put the two fivers in my hand.

  ‘God, Claire, you’re awful good to me. Thanks a million,’ She kissed my hungrily and when we came up for air, I said, ‘I promise I’ll get down again as soon as I can.’

  ‘Please God you will, Paddy. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I’ll never forget the past week. You made me very happy.’

  I nodded, and I kissed her again. She was a nice woman and she deserved a better life than she was having. Her money couldn’t buy her a man she could love - it couldn’t even buy her a bag of bones like me. Finally, I managed to say goodbye to her, feeling relieved as she let go of me, and then I was away down the road, with the suitcase across the handlebars of the bike, and the two fivers in my trouser pocket like hot turf against my leg.

  With ten pounds you could buy two suits, or a bicycle, or if you looked at it the other way it was two weeks pay for a lot of men, or it would get you about two hundred pints of Guinness. Whatever way you thought about it, it was a lot of dough, and it was in my trouser pocket, and I had about as much intention of cycling home to Dublin, as I had of becoming a Jesuit.

  I got on the train at Wicklow and the guard put my bike in his van. There wasn’t anybody else in the carriage so as we pulled away I stretched out on the seat.

  The next thing I knew, the guard was shaking me by the shoulder to tell me that we were in Dublin. I sat up on the seat, completely sold on the idea that this was the way to travel.

  When he came along the platform with the bike from his van, I gave him a shilling, and he was as surprised as I’d been
when Claire had handed me the two fivers.

  ‘The blessin’s a God on ye, sir, many t’anks.’

  He was still standing there looking after me when I got to the end of the platform, and I was delighted to have made his day for the sake of a shilling. It was a great feeling to be able to give things to people. It made you feel like a king.

  It was only half past one when I got out onto the street, which meant it was too early to go home if I was supposed to have cycled. So I parked the bike and went into a boozer and I ordered a pint of stout and a beef sandwich.

  The case was by my feet on the floor and I had a quick count-up while I waited for the pint to arrive. Apart from the tenner, I still had the best part of the money I’d taken away with me. Twelve pounds fifteen, all told, and it took some getting used to, to be sitting there with all that in my pocket.

  An oul’ fella who’d been sitting at the bar got up and went out, and the door hadn’t stopped swinging behind him when the woman came in.

  She was a blonde and as beautiful as anything I’d ever seen. She looked hard but if anything this enhanced her looks, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She leaned against the bar and she turned then and looked at me.

  I was wearing the heather-coloured suit, which still had a bit of life left in it, so I wasn’t worried about my appearance. It was the way she looked that gave me confidence, as though she was saying ‘Make a move.’

  ‘Will you join me for a drink?’

  She smiled and you could see that she expected me to say something like that. ‘Thank you, love. I’ll have a gin and it with you.’

  I gave the barman the nod and he poured a shot of Italian Vercouth onto her gin, and I stood up, liking her dry flat voice.

  The barman put up my pint and I paid him for the drinks. She and I touched glasses, while I was purring inside just at just how good she looked. As she sipped her drink, her eyes were on my face.

  ‘Just passing through, are you?’

  Her voice wasn’t what you’d call common, but the flat, matter-of-fact way she spoke was very Dublin.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m just back from holiday.’

  ‘And down to your last few bob, I suppose.’ It was more a statement than a question.

  ‘No,’ I said, in my innocence, ‘I still have a couple of quid left.’

  She somehow gave me a bit more of her eyes. ‘You’re a very nice-looking fella. Have you ten bob to spend on a nice afternoon?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  I wasn’t trying to be funny. Up to that moment I still hadn’t fallen in.’

  ‘I’m a working girl, love, ten shillings to you.’

  I couldn’t believe it, not with her being so lovely. I’d seen prostitutes before but they were mostly old and rough-looking and usually drunk. I’d never been with one. They were for fellas with money to spare. Not that I was bothered. With my luck I’d never had to pay for it. But this one was different. She was one of the most striking women I’d ever seen, and I wanted to see more of her, and I was in a position where ten shillings didn’t matter at all.

  ‘Sounds great,’ I said. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mary,’ she smiled, and her teeth were clean and even in her mouth, ‘after the Blessed Virgin.’

  She drained the glass and waited while I drained the stout glass. ‘Come on round to the house. It’s not far.’

  I stood up and lifted the case and she gave me a smile. ‘I promise you, you’ll get your money’s worth.’

  I followed her out of the pub. The bike was where I’d left it and I thought to hell with it. It was insured against theft, and at the moment I couldn’t have cared less about it.

  **********

  She opened the door of a small terraced house and I followed her in, as if I was the new lodger. I must have been mad. For all I knew the place might have been full of people, including her husband, but the way I was feeling at the thought of having her, didn’t help me to be logical.

  ‘Don’t worry, love. We have the place to ourselves.’

  I followed her into the downstairs front room. It was clean and bright and there was a couch bed already made up. I put the case down and she locked the door behind me. She took off the small jacket of her costume, and then with her eyes on my face she took off her blouse.

  Her breasts were bare and didn’t need any support, and I just stood there looking. She walked over to me and put her arms around me, and when I kissed her I could feel her breath go in with the force of my lips. She moved against me and her tongue found mine and when she broke away I almost ripped my clothes off. Then we were together on the bed and she was fantastic in her love making.

  It was half past six when we got up to dress and when I gave her the ten shillings she kissed me again. ‘I rarely kiss a guy,’ she assured me. ‘But you’re nice, so come and see me again.’

  When I left her I went around and picked up the bike. I was a bit surprised it was still there. It was the old story of not worrying and nothing happens. Anyway, after the session I’d just had with Mary, or whatever her name was, I was glad that it was only a ten minute ride home to The Hill. I was knackered but I wasn’t feeling any pain.

  Ma was delighted to have me back, but I was hardly through the door when she started on about me not being sun burned.

  ‘Ah, you know me, Ma. Son of Paleface!! Hello, Missus Doyle.’

  ‘Hello Paddy, was it a good time?’

  She was Ma’s best friend for thirty years, and as sweet an oul’one as ever drew breath.

  ‘A gift, Missus Doyle, lovely, altogether.’

  Ma was eyeing the case when Josie came in from the lavatory.

  ‘Hello, trouble.’

  ‘Hello, sister. How’s every little thing?’

  Missus Doyle hid her mouth with her hand. She didn’t want Josie to see her laughing. Josie put on a Buddy Clarke record. He was her favourite singer.

  ‘Where’d you get the case, son?’

  This is it, I thought. Boy, you better make it good.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the case, Ma. Wait till you see what’s inside. Your eyes will pop.’

  I lifted the case and put it on the table. Ma and Mrs. Doyle had their eyes on my fingers as I undid the catch. Josie stood listening to Buddy Clark. She didn’t want me to think she was interested. But she was.

  I threw the lid back.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve seen a rabbit come out of a hat, but look here.’

  I lifted the suit jacket out and held it against myself.

  ‘Isn’t that beauty-full,’ Mrs. Doyle said.

  Then I produced the rest of the stuff, earning a look of resentful surprise on Josie’s face.’

  ‘And now, for my next trick, ladies and gentlemen...’

  ‘Where did they come from?’ Josie just beat Ma to it.

  ‘I knew it, folks, I just knew you’d ask me that.’ Boy was I trying. ‘So, on the long journey home on the bike I beat my brains out trying to come up with a convincing lie...’

  ‘Oh, Paddy, you are a lad,’ said Mrs. Doyle.

  Buddy Clark finished his song and got switched off. Josie had her teeth in.

  ‘Tell me where you got them, son?’ Ma was only worried in case I’d nicked the stuff.

  ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to tell you the truth.’

  ‘He pinched them.’

  ‘Josie!’ Ma spun on her, and Josie shut up.

  ‘I won them in a Talent Contest,’ I said, trying not to hammer the words too much.

  ‘A talent contest?’ Ma said.

  ‘Well, isn’t that wonderful,’ said Mrs. Doyle.

  ‘Doing what?’ Josie said.

  ‘I was singing!’

  ‘You were singing?
’

  ‘Singing,’ I said again, ‘and none of that buh buh buh buh, like that eejit there.’

  I nodded at the record of the great Buddy Clark. He was a favourite of mine, though I’d never have let Josie know that.

  ‘The real stuff,’ I said. ‘Straight out, you know, “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” - ‘you know!’

  ‘You’re not fit to wipe his boots,’ Josie said.

  ‘He doesn’t wear boots, he wears suede shoes.’ I tried to make her angry. When that happened she forgot everything.

  ‘That’s enough, both of you. Paddy? Is that the truth?’

  ‘Well, not really Ma. It was a twenty five pound voucher for clothes that I won.’

  I shut the case. ‘And I bought what’s there and the second hand case as well.’

  ‘It’s better to be born lucky than rich,’ Mrs. Doyle said.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t luck, Mrs. Doyle. It was talent.’

  ‘Oh, I know, Paddy, I only meant...’

  ‘Ah, I was only kidding, Mrs. Doyle, I know what you meant.’

  Ma sat down, and Josie turned the record player on again. Then I pulled my big stroke.

  ‘There y’are, Ma!’

  I put two pound notes on the table. ‘You can have that. I hardly spent anything.’

  ‘Well, Glory Be’ Mrs. Doyle said.

  Ma picked up the two pound notes and I knew I was home and dried. Even Josie was convinced. I knew by the way she turned down the sound of the record.

  ‘Thanks son. There y’are, Mrs. Doyle.’ Ma said, handing her one of the notes. ‘That’ll keep you going till Tuesday.’

  ‘The blessings of God on you and on you too Paddy.’

  She put the pound in her purse. It would help her out until she got her husband’s money from the army. I picked up the suit off the table to hang it in the old wardrobe.

  ‘It’s a nice suit,’ Josie said.

  I turned to her. ‘Shall I give you a song?’

  She smiled, despite herself, and I think that for just that moment we really loved each other.