by Simon Bourke
Jonathan looked at him warily, as if querying his presence. What are you doing here? the look said. This is my time with Mummy; why don’t you just go back to the pub? Then he smiled, happy to have a new playmate. “Bwicks,” he declared, bashing two of the bigger pieces together to underline his point.
“I see. And what are we building?”
“Bwicks,” came the reply.
Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh, and Jonathan, seeing his father laughing, decided to join in – bricks were pretty funny, he had to admit. Each fed off the other’s laughter, and before long they were both curled up on the floor giggling hysterically.
“What’s going on here, then?” cried Margaret in mock annoyance. “I go out to cook for you two lazybones and all hell breaks loose!”
They looked up at her then back at one another, and once more broke into fits of hysterics. Margaret returned to the frying pan with a big grin on her face. Everything was going to work out just fine.
1991
Seán
1.
Seán McLoughlin loved Saturdays. They were by far his favourite day of the week. He’d wake up early – usually around nine – and head straight for the sitting-room to watch the cartoons. But he always made sure to keep the volume down, because his mammy would still be in bed. She didn’t get up until eleven on Saturday, sometimes even noon. She worked late on a Friday night and often didn’t get home until after midnight, so she was very, very tired. When she did eventually get up she’d make Seán runny boiled eggs with soldiers to dip into them, and while he ate they would discuss their plans for the day. They always spent Saturdays together. He loved Saturdays.
Usually they went to his nanny’s house, which was only a twenty-minute walk away, though sometimes Seán’s mammy insisted on getting the bus. He preferred it when they walked, though. They passed three sweetshops on the way to his nanny’s house, so there was always a chance he’d get something nice if they walked there. But even if his mother didn’t buy him anything on the way, he knew his nanny would fuss over him as soon as they arrived. She’d make him a lovely sugary cup of tea with some biscuits to dunk in it, usually chocolate digestives. They never had chocolate biscuits in his own house. When he was sure there were no more nice things to be had, he’d go into the living-room and tell his granddad about his week. He’d tell him about the test he took in school and how he got ten out of ten, even though he’d only got nine. He’d tell him about the game of football they’d had at lunchtime and all the goals he’d scored. And he’d tell him that yes, he would be a good boy for his mammy no matter what. Seán loved his granddad; he was probably his favourite man in the whole world, apart from his uncle Patrick. He wasn’t sure if Patrick was a man or not, though. He had asked his mammy and she’d said: “He’s eighteen, which makes him a man in the eyes of the law.” “Why does the law have eyes?” Seán had asked, but his mammy couldn’t answer that one. He would have to ask Patrick instead.
Patrick wasn’t always there on a Saturday, but when he was they had a brilliant time together. If the weather was nice they’d go out the back for a game of football. Patrick was really tall and could kick the ball so high in the sky that Seán couldn’t even see it. He knew how to do lots of cool tricks, too. He could flick the ball over his head, do bicycle kicks, and he’d once done 50 keepie-uppies. Seán knew this because he’d been there and kept count, his eyes growing wider with each passing milestone. Patrick would play for Man. United someday, Seán knew that for a fact. He already had a car, so if he had to go to Manchester it wouldn’t be a problem. Sometimes they went for a spin in Patrick’s car, and Seán was allowed to sit in the front seat. “Don’t tell your mammy,” Patrick would say as the speedometer inched past fifty miles per hour. He needn’t have worried; Seán would never tell his mammy. He would never betray his uncle like that.
Yes, he absolutely loved Saturdays, and his favourite part of the day was waking up and realising there was a whole Saturday stretching out before him. That was what he was doing now, just lying in bed enjoying the fact it was Saturday. There was no hurry on him, it was only half eight and the best cartoons didn’t start till nine, but having savoured the moment for all of thirty seconds he decided it was time to get up. He swung out of bed, hopped into his slippers and made for the sitting-room. They had moved into this house over three years ago; it was in a new council estate called St Mary’s Terrace. He couldn’t really remember the day they’d moved in, but according to his mammy Seán had chosen the bathroom when she’d asked him which room he’d like for his own. He must have been really thick then; only an idiot would choose the bathroom. But he’d been just four at the time, so in a way it was understandable. In the end he got the back bedroom, which faced out onto the modest garden. At the time he’d had hardly any stuff: just a few boxes of toys and two pairs of football boots. Since then, though, he had accumulated much more stuff, and his room now resembled that of a normal seven-year-old boy – complete and utter carnage from one end to the other. On several occasions Sinéad had earmarked a Saturday as the day they would finally tackle the mess, but time and time again Seán had wriggled out of it. She’d said the same yesterday and Seán had just nodded along, all the while knowing there wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell he’d be lifting one Action Man from the floor.
Poor Mammy, he thought to himself as he crept past her room, sure she’s only trying her best. That’s what all the oul’ wans said when they stopped in the street to talk. They’d come out with the usual things about how he’d grown and how lovely he was, before turning their attention to his mammy and waffling away for what seemed like hours. Occasionally he’d get some money out of them, maybe as much as 50p, and on those occasions he was happy for them to talk for as long as they liked; they’d paid their way and were entitled to have a good chat. They’d say stuff to her like, ‘sure aren’t ya great, working and all,’ or ‘it must be an awful strain on ya, love,’ and Seán would wonder what was such a strain on her. It was probably just one of those things that adults talked about, and he had learned not to ask about those. He had also learned never to disturb his mammy when she was sleeping late. So, after a moment’s consideration he bypassed her room and headed to the sitting-room for some Saturday morning cartoons.
A noise from the sitting-room made him stop in his tracks. It sounded like there was someone in there. Who could it be at this hour on a Saturday morning? If it was a burglar, then Seán was ready for him. He had a hurley up in his room, and he was well able to swing it. Any burglar would have to deal with him if they thought they could just come into 22 St. Mary’s Terrace and take all their stuff. He stood in the hallway listening intently, his little heart thumping in his chest. There was someone in there all right, two of them by the sound of things. Two men, in his house! He bunched up his fists in preparation for a fight; there wasn’t time to get the hurley now. But then he heard laughter and the sound of a can being popped open. That was strange. As far as he knew burglars didn’t laugh, they were usually too busy robbing. And they definitely didn’t drink cans; sure how would they get one past their balaclavas? It had to be Patrick. He was the only man Seán knew that laughed. He’d probably called round with one of his mates to watch the cartoons with him; typical Patrick. But when Seán opened the door to greet his uncle, his face dropped in disappointment. It wasn’t Patrick; it was two big eejits he didn’t recognise, drinking beer and smoking fags. Great; the one time of the week he got the telly to himself, and it was going to be ruined by drinking, smoking adults.
“Howya, buddy,” said one of the men, beckoning him in.
He had long blond hair and big wild eyes that seemed to bulge out of his skull. He looked like a madman, really scary. Seán didn’t like him.
“Come in, sit down for yerself,” the man said. “Have a chat with us.”
He was clearly pissed out of his brain. Seán had learned that phrase two weeks ago when his granddad had
come home early from the pub one night while he was staying over. He and his nanny had been watching The Late Late Show when his granddad came in with chips. Seán had been thrilled; he loved chips. But his nanny had got very cross and told his granddad they’d already had their tea and he shouldn’t be coming in ‘pissed out of his brain while the child is here’. This had instantly become Seán’s favourite saying. He used it a lot, but only when he was sure no-one was listening. That got boring, though, so one day he decided to try it out in school. It was brilliant: all his friends loved the phrase too, and by morning break everyone was saying it. But it had all backfired on Seán when he’d used it during class. Ursula Conway was the thickest girl in their class, probably the thickest girl in Dooncurra, and when she couldn’t remember the longest river in Ireland Seán couldn’t resist.
“Ah, Ursula, you must be pissed out of your brain if you don’t know that!”
Everyone laughed, and for a second or two Seán felt great; then he saw the teacher’s face and knew he was in big trouble. He’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office and Mr. Bowe had made him cry. After that, he went back to only using his favourite phrase when he was sure no one was listening.
But this scary man was definitely pissed out of his brain, there was no doubt about it. He had a can in his hand for a start, and there were loads of empty ones on the table – on their table. He was still beckoning Seán in, inviting him to sit down beside him. Seán had been taught to be well-mannered around adults so he did as he was told, taking a seat on the couch beside him. The other man, sitting in the armchair in the corner, still hadn’t spoken; he just sat there with a stupid grin on his face, seemingly mesmerised by this simple exchange.
“You must be Seán,” said the first man, offering his hand to him. Seán solemnly shook it but remained silent. Who were these feckers, and what were they doing in his house on a Saturday morning?
“Nice to meet ya, Seán. My name is Daryl and this here is Chezz. We’re friends of your mother’s.”
“Hello,” replied Seán meekly, as the idiot in the corner waved a greeting.
“I hope we’re not disturbing you or anything, are we?” asked Daryl.
Seán couldn’t tell if he was serious or not but thought it best to answer honestly.
“Well, yeah actually, ye are.”
“We are?” cried Daryl, and this time Seán knew he was mocking him. “What are we keeping you from, buddy?”
“You’re not my buddy,” answered Seán quietly. He could feel himself getting angry at these men. He wished they would go away and never come back.
“Ah, come on now, little man; I’m only trying to be friendly with ya,” said Daryl, sounding hurt.
Seán weighed up his options. He still wanted to watch his cartoons. It wouldn’t be as good with these two fools here, but if they stayed quiet he might get to see the Gummi Bears and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. His best bet was to humour them and hope they had the decency to stay quiet while he watched TV.
“I want to watch the cartoons,” he said firmly.
“Well, we’re not stopping ya, buddy. Go right ahead,” declared Daryl, popping open another can.
“I will,” said Seán, switching on the TV. “And ye’re not to talk while they’re on.”
“We won’t say a word,” promised Daryl, but Seán found it hard to believe him.
The other idiot, this Chezz fellah, was still giggling away to himself in the corner. Seán wondered if he was like Richie Hegarty, who had to go to a special school thirty miles away. Richie was always laughing, too, but he was dangerous. One time he’d punched Rebecca Hahessy’s cat in the face and nearly killed it. Another time he’d taken out his willy in the middle of Mass. He’d walked up to get his communion, willy hanging out, and no one had said a thing, not even the priest. That’s how dangerous Richie was. If this Chezz was anything like Richie Hegarty, then Seán would have to be very careful.
The TV flickered to life and Seán was disappointed to find that the Gummi Bears had already begun their weekly adventure. If it hadn’t been for these two eejits he wouldn’t have missed the start.
“Haha! Look at them mad little fuckers, what are they?” exclaimed Daryl. “Mad lookin’ yokes, haha.”
Seán didn’t answer him. How could you explain what a Gummi Bear was to someone like this?
They both continued to guffaw and hoot with derision as Gruffi and Sunni engaged in an epic struggle with the Carpies. Seán did his best to ignore them but eventually he could take no more. He rose from the couch and turned the volume up a notch or two, glaring at the unwelcome guests.
“Turn that down, for fuck’s sake,” hissed Daryl. “I can’t hear meself think with it.”
“Why should I? This is my house!”
“I don’t give a fuck whose house it is, I’m not listening to that shite at this hour of the morning,” replied Daryl, rising from his seat. He went to switch it off, but Seán was two steps ahead of him and blocked his path.
“You’re not turning it off,” he said fiercely.
Daryl sized up his pint-sized opponent and decided that it wasn’t worth it.
“Fine, boy, watch your fuckin’ cartoons,” he muttered, backing away and returning to the couch.
That wasn’t enough for Seán. He wanted these stupid men out of his house and he wanted them out now.
“Ye have to go now,” he said quietly.
“We’re not going anywhere,” replied Daryl, resembling a sulking child as he sat with his arms folded and his face screwed up in scorn.
“My mammy will kill ye when she gets up.”
“Haha! I doubt that very much; your mammy and me are becoming pretty good friends if you must know.”
Something in the way he said this stung Seán; there was an unspoken meaning that made him feel bad. Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to remain calm. He stared at Daryl.
“Get out,” he repeated, but the words came out in a squeak. Chezz laughed hysterically in the corner. All of this was just a big joke to him, to both of them. They thought they could just swan in here and wreck his Saturday morning as if it was nothing. But they were wrong; this was his house and he wanted to watch his cartoons. He felt things go fuzzy, his cheeks flushed and his teeth clenched. Suddenly he was upon Daryl, his fury unleashed in all its glory.
“Get out, get out, get out, get out!” he screeched, as Daryl fought to fend him off. Seán flailed wildly at his tormentor, weeping uncontrollably, overcome by his emotions. His frustration deepened when he realised that his spirited attack was making no impression on this big strong man. He wanted to punch his face in and scratch his eyeballs out, but instead his little hands flapped harmlessly on Daryl’s arms and torso.
“Calm down, kid, for fuck’s sake,” croaked Daryl as he dodged another blow intended for his face. “I was only having a laugh with ya.”
He managed to peel Seán off him and held up his hands in peace.
“Look, boy, we were only pulling yer leg; no need to go off on one! Friends?”
He held out his hand again to Seán.
Seán, red-faced and puffing, regarded Daryl with utter hatred.
“Fuck you,” he whispered.
Daryl Cassidy had seen a lot and done a lot in his twenty-six years, but he was still slightly unnerved by this little boy’s show of defiance.
“Come on now, Seán, there’s no need to be like that.”
But there was every need to be like this, and he wasn’t finished yet. He shot his opponent another malevolent look and picked up the ashtray from the table, full to overflowing with their filthy fag butts. He stood in front of Daryl and repeated the words.
“Fuck you!”
Then slowly but surely he tipped the entire contents of the ashtray over Daryl’s head. Too stunned to respond, Daryl let the ash and fag butts cascade over his face as Se�
�n shook the last of it onto his straggly mane of blond hair. Satisfied he’d made his statement, he turned to leave, then he heard Chezz chortling away to himself in the corner. Did he ever stop laughing? Seán stopped in his tracks and spun round to face them once more. Fearing another assault, Daryl shifted uneasily in his seat. But he’d already been dealt with. Instead Seán turned his attentions towards the other interloper, who had grown mysteriously silent.
“Fuck you too!” Seán seethed, picking up a half-full can from the table and flinging it at Chezz in one swift movement. It missed by inches, whizzing past his ear and exploding against the wall, sending Smithwicks spraying all over his stupid, gormless face.
As Seán walked away to stunned silence he noted sadly that the Turtles had just started. He never missed the Turtles; never.
Back in his room, the tears started. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t really a tough guy, he’d only pretended he was to get rid of those men. All he wanted was for them to go so he could watch his cartoons and wait for his mammy to get up. But they were still here; he could hear them. They’d probably never leave. What had Daryl said? Your mammy and me are becoming pretty good friends, if you must know. Yeah, that was it. The words themselves seemed harmless enough but it was the leering, knowing way in which they’d been delivered that upset him. It made him feel sick and afraid. What was Daryl doing to his mammy? Seán didn’t want to share his mammy with anyone else, least of all that horrible bad man. All he wanted to do right now was to go to her room and snuggle up beside her, just the two of them, just like always. He checked the time: 9.35. Maybe it would be okay. He peeked out into the hallway; there was no one there. Maybe they were gone. Maybe he’d scared them off after all. This Saturday could be saved yet! He’d just check in on his mammy and then go back to the sitting-room. He’d have his Frosties, watch the rest of the cartoons and then they’d go to his nanny’s. He tiptoed towards his mother’s room, but stopped at the door; he could hear voices coming from inside. His stomach turned. It was Daryl, in there with his mammy. He’d woken her on a Saturday morning. Seán listened for his mother’s voice. She would surely be giving out to Daryl for waking her up at this hour.