by Anne Emery
“I miss Tommy, too,” Normie said of her older brother. “He’s going to look after Dominic in the daytime before Daddy gets home from the office. Tommy’s picking us up at the airport. I told him to bring Lexie in the car. I hope they get married! And if they do, you can do the wedding, and sing at it!”
“Thank you, angel.”
Perhaps there would be a wedding some day. But, before that, Brennan intended to see the father and mother of the groom reconciled. They still had not spoken to him of the guerrilla “counselling” session he had offered them after his long night on the street, but he would be patient until they were all back in Halifax. Then, surely, they would see the wisdom of his advice.
Distracted by the little girl at the bar and by the Man Above, to whom he was beaming up prayers for a successful family reunion, Brennan nearly missed an order from the very object of his machinations. Monty was standing in front of him with a look of amusement on his face.
“Did you hear the one about the mystic who walked into a bar? He took the place over and nobody could get a drink. Ever again, for eternity. Which was fine for the mystic, who experienced eternity as one ecstatic moment in time. But it was a lot longer for the thirsty patrons, who —”
“Pint of the black stuff?”
“If you would be so kind. And make it a good one.”
“Sure I’ll pour yeh de most dacent of points,” Brennan replied in an exaggerated Dub accent.
“Good. ’Cause it’ll be my last drop on Irish soil. It wouldn’t do to have me staggering onto the plane with the two kids. That would disappoint their mother, and I wouldn’t want to do that.”
“She’d have you peeled, the flesh hanging off you in bloody strips.”
“Not for the first time.”
“I heard that!” The MacNeil. “Pour me a Harp if you can do it without adding any barroom commentary.”
Brennan poured them their pints. “Are you packed and ready to go?” he asked Monty. “I regret that I can’t borrow a car and give you a lift but, as you can see, I’m on duty here.”
“No problem. The kids will enjoy the airport bus. Everything’s an adventure at their ages. Of course, now that I think of it, even at my age life is an adventure. Particularly on those occasions when I’ve spent my vacation in your company and that of your family.”
“Don’t be going on about that again.”
“Speaking of adventurers, though, I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to Leo Killeen.”
“Well then, ring him at home and get him over here.” Brennan found a scrap of paper and wrote out Leo’s number. “It seems I’ve always been able to reach him at this time of the day.”
Monty went to the phone at the back of the pub but was soon back with the news that Leo was not in at this time of the day after all.
“Give him my best when you see him.”
“I will.”
Over the next little while, the Christy Burke Four filed in and took their places at the bar. They all wanted the television on, and Brennan obliged them. Looking for more news on the pub vandal murder, perhaps? Was it old news for one of them? Impossible to tell. To Brennan, they all looked a little tense today. But the place was jammed, and he was busy, so he didn’t have the chance to talk to them beyond greeting them and ministering to their libational needs.
Later on the Five Sorrowful Mysteries hobbled in and waved to everybody at the bar. One of them — Brennan couldn’t be sure of her name — was using some sort of aluminum walking unit. From his observation, she didn’t seem to be relying on it, but rather booting it ahead of her as she walked. The five women settled themselves at a table, and he took their orders. Two of them could have nothing but water today, unfortunately. Did he have anything distilled? He had something distilled but it was a long way from water. Unless you looked to the origin of the word “whiskey,” uisce beatha in Irish, which meant “water of life.” But no, they’d take theirs from the tap. Would they like a slice of lemon or lime? One would. The other could not take citrus; it irritated something or other, the lining of a body part he’d never heard of. That prompted a discussion of what the other Sorrowful Mysteries were unable to consume. It would have filled a good-sized botanical text. He brought them their drinks, such as they were, and assured them that anything they needed, they could get it from him. He prayed they wouldn’t require medication, although he had plenty of placebos on hand.
“Thought I might find you here but not there.” It was Kitty Curran, just in the door. She pointed to him behind the bar. Then she spotted Maura MacNeil and directed a remark about Brennan to her. “Nothing would surprise me about this fellow.”
“You’ve found me, love,” he said to Kitty. “Now what can I do to brighten your day?”
“It’s about Aidan.”
A sliver of fear jabbed Brennan’s heart. What had befallen the poor homeless child now? “Is he all right?”
There must have been something in the tone of his voice; the MacNeil looked in his direction and didn’t give him the evil eye at all. She came over to the bar, gave Kitty a quick hug, and glanced from her to Brennan.
“Nothing’s amiss, darling,” Kitty assured him. “Put your mind at ease.”
“What’s the story then?”
“I’ve found a family for him. Foster parents.”
“Ah.”
“Who’s Aidan?” the MacNeil inquired.
Kitty turned to her. “Brennan didn’t fill you in on his long night out? Fighting, sleeping rough, being reprimanded by Mother Superior, being detained by the gardaí, any of that?”
Maura MacNeil was gobsmacked. “No, he did not!”
“Did you notice any wounds on his face at all?”
“Right. We did. But, typically, he didn’t say much about it.”
“Most likely he never will. Poor Mr. Brennan; he’d hardly be able to tell it properly, with his limited abilities.” Another astonished look from the MacNeil. “So I’ll give you the story myself. But not now. We haven’t the time.”
Maura MacNeil said, “We’ll talk later, Kitty,” and returned to her seat at the end of the bar.
Kitty provided Brennan with an explanation. “Here’s the thing. We have a foster family. They’ve been vetted and have an exemplary record. They’ve taken in children before, after raising five of their own. There’s no problem with them. Lovely people. But Aidan, well, this is all new to him. His experience of family life has not been one of joy and merriment. So. He wants them checked out. By you.”
Brennan stared at her, not sure what she meant.
“He thinks the world of you, Brennan. He has faith in you, just as you had in him.”
Suddenly, Brennan didn’t trust himself to speak.
“So I told him I’d track you down. Didn’t tell him how easy you are to find!”
“Good of you, Sister.”
“But of course it didn’t occur to me that he’d see you pouring booze” — she looked around the crowded pub — “for the entire population of Dublin City.”
“Em, what will we do?”
“Nothing for it but I bring them in here. We won’t let on to them why.” She slapped her hand down on the bar. “Don’t go away.”
In less than an hour Kitty returned with a middle-aged couple in tow. The man looked athletic and had good-humoured crinkles around his eyes. As did his wife. She was a bit oversized and had kindness written all across her face. They looked about the pub, lost in bewilderment. Kitty led them to the bar.
“Mr. and Mrs. Conlon, this is Father Burke.”
Their bewilderment deepened as they tried to match the title with the job.
Mrs. Conlon spoke up, “I, em, I understand you’re a friend of Aidan and you can tell us something about him.” So that was the cover story Kitty had given them. “But really, there’s no need. We’ve met Aidan and we’d
love him to make his home with us.”
“Well! That’s . . . that’s grand. Have a seat, why don’t you.”
They sat on bar stools and kept their eyes on Brennan. Should he offer them a pint? How did one proceed in a situation like this? He was saved by a young voice in the doorway.
“Brennan Xavier Burke! Where’s your good suit? Still at the cleaners?” Aidan. His skin looked fresh and clean, his golden hair light and glossy, his clothes in good order. “Wait a minute. You’re not . . . are you working here?” He caught sight of Kitty. “He’s a man for surprises, so he is.”
“Always has been,” she agreed.
Aidan came up to the bar and nodded at the Conlons. Brennan noticed Monty and the MacNeil at the end of the bar, looking on warily. The Christy Burke Four were attuned to things, as well.
“I should explain,” said Kitty. “Father Burke, first name Brennan, is the nephew of Finn Burke, who owns this pub. Finn is off today, so Brennan has kindly offered to tend the bar for him.”
“Ah,” Conlon said, and reached across the bar to shake Brennan’s hand. Brennan held on to his hand for a couple of seconds and looked into his eyes. Nothing but good that he could see or feel. It was the same with the wife when he took her hand in his.
“Well, well, well!” Another new arrival. “Isn’t this interesting? Newcomers in the place, and right up at the bar, too! Don’t you know you have to pay your dues in time and in coin before you get a place of honour there? And who are these children? Have they changed the drinking laws since I was here last?”
No! Not now. McCrum.
The prying creature had come forward and fixed his eyes on the Conlons. “Wait a minute. I know you people. I’ve never known you to be drinkers. But after all those childer, some of them not the full shilling — God love you for taking them in, when no one else would — maybe you’ve finally been driven —”
This was not going to happen. Personal matters were not going to be hashed out in the presence of Motor Mouth McCrum.
“Mr. McCrum,” Brennan said.
“Yes, Mr. Burke? Or do you go by your other title? I wonder what the archbishop would say if a little bird stuck a beak in his ear and told him —”
“There will be no little birds sticking their beaks in anywhere today.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Could you step outside with me for a moment?”
“Step outside?” McCrum looked about him and announced to the room at large, “He’s asking me to step outside!”
Brennan came around the bar, grasped McCrum by the arm, and gently but firmly guided him to the door.
“What are you doing, Mr. Burke?”
“I’m escorting you from the premises.”
“This is outrageous!”
Brennan got him outside.
McCrum blustered at him, “Unhand me, you impertinent man, and allow me to go about my business in the pub.”
Would you listen to the highfalutin’ language coming out of the creature? “Don’t tempt me,” Brennan warned, “to go beyond impertinence and put my hands around your throat. You’ll not be doing any more of your business in Christy Burke’s pub.”
“Wait till I have a word with Finn about this!”
“Finn’s not here. I’m the man in charge. Be off with you.”
McCrum put out his elbow and tried to shove Brennan out of the way. Brennan grabbed the elbow, spun the man around, and pushed him towards the street. “Go. And don’t let me hear your poisonous remarks or your black-hearted gossip in this place again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking —”
Brennan opened the pub door, then turned and said over his shoulder, “Fuck off. Consider yourself excommunicated.”
Christy Burke’s erupted in cheers and the thumping of tables. Brennan returned to his place behind the bar. He acknowledged the ovation with a little bow and got back to pouring drinks for a queue of drinkers waiting patiently for service.
Aidan was staring at him. “You’re a hard man, too. I wonder how many other sides there are to your personality!”
“You don’t want to know, Aidan, you don’t want to know.”
When the patrons had all been served, Aidan spoke up again, this time to his putative foster parents. “So. Do you think you’d be able to put up with me? I can be a little hard on the head at times.”
“Aidan, dear,” Mrs. Conlon said, “we’ve had our heads hardened by a houseful of children for nearly thirty years.”
Something caught Aidan’s eye at a table nearby, and he pointed. “You’d rather have him, wouldn’t you?” Little Dominic was on the floor, peeking around the legs of the table, big eyes on the gathering at the bar.
The Conlons saw the baby and smiled. “Isn’t he a dear little lad!” Mrs. Conlon said.
“Yeah, right,” said Aidan. “He is. So that’s what people want. Not someone as old as me.”
The attitude was cocky, as if he couldn’t care less who was wanted and who was not, but Brennan didn’t buy it for a minute.
“Are you out of nappies, Aidan?” the woman asked him.
“I am.”
“Well, so are we. What’s the expression? We’ve been there and done that. Someone who can go to the toilet by himself, pick up his own fork, pour himself a glass of milk, that would be just the boy for us!”
“Is that so?” Aidan looked at Mr. Conlon.
“Whatever herself says. I follow orders.” Everyone laughed. “I will say I don’t miss the nappies, and I do like company watching the football.”
Aidan eyed them for a while, then issued another challenge. “Do youse love me?”
Brennan didn’t know where to look.
But Mrs. Conlon caught the ball and manoeuvred it to the goal like a master striker in the World Cup final. “Love takes a little while. We don’t know you yet.” She looked at him and smiled. “But there’s something about you, Aidan. I’ve a feeling that a couple of nights with you in our home, maybe your second day at our breakfast table, I’m going to fall in love with you, my new son, and there’ll be no getting away from me after that!”
Aidan clasped his hands together on the bar and looked down at them.
“Brennan?” Kitty prompted him.
Brennan wasn’t a man for declaring his feelings at every whim and fancy. But this occasion called for it, so he spoke the truth. In his own way. “Wouldn’t take two nights, I’m thinking. One long night and pizza for breakfast with him did it for me.”
Aidan kept his eyes on the surface of the bar, but it was obvious that he was taking it all in. Brennan smiled at the boy and turned to Mr. Conlon. “How about you, sir?”
“Me? I’m as soft as shite. If herself falls in love with the lad two days in, I’m already there, worrying myself about the day he gets old enough to leave us. That’s what I see for Aidan; I’ll be missing him already, and him not two days in the house!”
Nobody spoke for a good fifteen seconds.
Then Aidan, in a subdued voice, said, “Good. If youse had said you loved me now without knowing me, I’d have taken you for eejits or liars.”
“We’re not either of those, I promise you,” the missus said.
“Sister,” Brennan said to Kitty. “Why don’t you find a table for yourself and Aidan? I can’t offer him a pint, him not being of age —”
“Aw, Brennan, it’s not like I never —”
“You want to get me sacked from my job, Aidan?”
“No, barkeep, stay on the job. It keeps you off the streets.”
“That’s what I thought. You have a seat, and I’ll bring you a pint of orange juice. For you, Kitty?”
“I’ll have the same.”
Brennan spent the next half hour or so chatting with the Conlons. They kept turning around to see Aidan, as if afraid he would d
isappear. But he didn’t. By all appearances, he and Kitty were deep in conversation, which ranged from the intense to the hilarious, if their body language was anything to go by. Aidan’s eye caught Brennan’s every once in a while, and the boy would look away. As for the Conlons, there was no doubt in Brennan’s mind that theirs was the place for Aidan. There would be rough times ahead for the lad, given the pain he had endured for so long in his young life. Nobody gets over that in a hurry, if they ever do. But the Conlons would provide a soft landing whenever he came home restless and troubled.
“Well, we should be off,” Mrs. Conlon declared. “Have to pick up some things for our tea. For three of us, I’m hoping.”
“I’m thinking there will be three of you at the table.” Brennan sent a quick glance in the direction of Maura MacNeil and Monty. She smiled. He raised his glass. They knew a thing or two about human nature, and they appeared to be satisfied that the young fellow was in good hands.
The Conlons headed out, and Kitty Curran followed, after bidding goodbye to Monty and telling the MacNeil she’d see her back at the convent.
Aidan lingered in the doorway. “Brennan Xavier!” he called out.
Brennan looked at him, and the boy came over to the bar. “What d’yeh think of them?”
“If I weren’t stuck behind the bar here I’d be trying to get in there ahead of you.”
“No worries. I’ll make up the spare room for you any time you like.”
“Grand. And I’ll make sure you have my phone numbers, the one here and the one overseas; that way, we can check up on one another.” The boy nodded. “Mind how you go, Aidan. The blessings of God on you.”
The lad’s eyes held Brennan’s for a moment, then Aidan turned and walked quickly from the bar. Brennan carved a sign of the cross at his retreating back.