by Peter Murphy
Not that he was criticizing his grandmother—she had done what she thought was right.
**
“He gave the little wealth he had . . .” Danny had chanted in a singsong but his granny didn’t join in. She had been distant for days. Danny had used up his little bag of tricks but nothing worked. Sometimes she even seemed impatient with him.
But his mother was getting better. Over the last few visits, he had noticed the change. She was always dressed in something nice with her hair brushed and shining. Maybe his deal with God was working.
“I promise,” he had added to his recent prayers, “that if you let my ma come back to live with me that I will become a priest.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Boyle, Danny.” Martin stepped across the path that led to the front door.
“Martin!” Granny seemed happier. “It was good of you to come.”
“Is everything all right? My sisters said you phoned.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” She nudged Danny toward the door but he saw her try to catch Martin’s eye unnoticed.
“Fair enough then. How are you, Danny, and would you ever hold the door for your granny?”
“He’s losing his manners,” Granny rolled her eyes a little. “Maybe you could have a word with him.”
Danny hung his head and held the door as they passed by, entwined in their conspiracy. The whole world was changing, and sometimes it felt like it was turning against him.
But his mother was delighted to see him and rose from her chair in the crafts room where she had been weaving plastic strands to pass the time.
“Danny! Come here and give your mother a big hug and a kiss.”
She squeezed him tightly and wrestled him onto her lap, his weight almost crushing her and his long legs dangling out before him. “You’re getting so big,” she laughed as she struggled for breath. “Maybe from now on I should be sitting on your lap. Are you well?”
“Well enough,” Danny pouted a little. “But I really wanted to go to the pictures and instead Granny said we had to come here, and Uncle Martin and I always go to the pictures on Saturdays.”
“Now Danny.” Granny admonished as she lowered herself gingerly into a chair.
“Okay, but I really miss the pictures.”
“Sure we’ll see them another time.” Martin stood behind Granny’s chair and his face was almost stern.
“Martin?” Jacinta moved and dislodged Danny from his perch. “I’ve no cigarettes left. Would you be a love and run to the shop down the street? Maybe you could bring Danny, too, and get him a chocolate bar.” She nudged Danny toward his uncle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?”
“Why doesn’t Martin go and I’ll stay here?”
“Because,” Martin coaxed. “I wouldn’t know what to get you. C’mon now.”
Martin waited for a moment but his sister just stared back blankly.
“Here. Take this,” Granny held up a pound note and snapped her purse shut. “Go on now and get them.”
**
Granny must be getting bad, Jacinta thought to herself with her head averted, avoiding confrontation. She was on her best behavior. She had to be. She was on trial and her release depended on it. She was nervous but determined to look and act like the worst was behind her. She even crossed her ankles and sat straight with her hands nestling in her lap.
**
Granny didn’t notice; she was deep in her own thoughts, a dark and dreary place of late. Her last visit with the doctor confirmed her condition was no better, and was probably getting worse. She might not even see out the year. There wasn’t much time to put everything in place. She had spoken with the solicitor and was making provisions for them all. She would let Jeremiah come home as soon as she could have someone find him a job. And then Jacinta might be able to come out on weekends—with her doctor’s agreement—something Granny had already sought. It would be better for Danny if they all seemed more like a family.
**
“And how are you, Mrs. Boyle?” Jacinta interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m well enough, all things considered. Have you had any news of my Jerry?”
Jacinta almost smiled; he would always be her Jerry. “I did. He phoned last week and said he had a bit of a surprise but he couldn’t tell me about it.”
“He’s a great one for surprises.”
“He said he might be able to come over in a few weeks.”
“It’ll be nice for Danny to see him. He hasn’t been over in months.”
“It’ll be grand for all of us and it’ll be nice for him to spend some time with you, too.” Jacinta was determined to build on any reconciliation. Jerry had told her that Granny was going to find him a job, at home. He also told her that Granny didn’t have long to go and they should all be nice to her.
“It will if he has developed a bit of sense.” Granny settled herself but her breathing was labored.
“It will be good for Danny, too, to have a man around now that he is starting to get all grown up.”
“There is that. He’s a bit more than I can manage these days.”
“You’ve been very good all these years and I’ll always be grateful to you but maybe it is time to start taking it a bit easy.”
Granny’s face flickered for a moment before she smiled. “Jacinta?”
“Yes Granny?”
“Would you like me to have a word with the doctors about you? Maybe, if they don’t mind, we could see about having you come home at weekends for a while.”
“Oh Granny,” Jacinta slid from her chair and kneeled before the old woman. “I’d give everything for a chance to do that.” She took the old woman’s hand in hers and raised it to her lips. “I promise that I will do my very best, so help me God.”
Granny raised her hand and placed it on her daughter-in-law’s head. “We’ll need all the help He can give. But I don’t want you to say anything to Danny just yet—not until we get everything arranged.”
“Oh, Granny,” Jacinta purred as she took Granny’s hand and stroked her own cheek with it, the dry wrinkles rough against her moist cheek. “May God bless you for doing this.”
“I’m just doing what’s right for my Danny.”
“I know and I won’t let you down.”
“It’ll just be for the weekends at first, mind you. Until we see.”
“Oh thanks, Granny. I won’t let you down ever again.”
“Get up now before someone sees. Get up quick before they get back.”
**
“We should be getting ready to leave,” Granny decided after Danny came back. He was in a much better mood and ruffled their entante, fussing for attention and pestering the two women with his string of questions.
“But I only just got here,” Danny complained and slumped into a chair where he sat with his arms folded before him. “Can’t we just stay a little longer?”
“Could we please?” Jacinta joined in. “Just for a few minutes.”
“Oh very well,” Granny ceded and struggled to get out of her chair. “Martin, would you be a good man and help me up?”
Martin obliged and offered his arm. “Why don’t you and I start walking and Jacinta can bring Danny and catch up with us.”
“You’re very kind,” the old woman agreed and shuffled away under her burdens.
**
“Danny, you have to be nicer to Granny Boyle because she is getting very old.”
“But I am nice to her, all the time.”
“Of course you are, pet, but Granny’s not able to keep up with you anymore—now that you’re getting so big.” She hugged him again and couldn’t contain herself. “And if you’re good I might have a big surprise for you.”
“Are you going to take me to the pictures someday, when you’re all better?”
Jacinta laughed and tousled his hair. “Of course I will but, what I wanted to tell you is that Granny is going to ask the doctors if they’ll let me out—at least for the weekends for now.”
“That’s what I’ve asked God for, after I say my other prayers.”
“Well you must have God’s ear, then.” Jacinta laughed again as all of her clouds began to blow away. “Come now. Let’s go so we don’t keep Granny waiting.”
**
Granny was standing outside with Martin by her elbow.
“I think this is very good of you, Mrs. Boyle. I think it’s the best thing for Danny, too.”
“I hope you’re right.” She paused to examine his face. “But there’s something I need you to do for me.”
“Anything, Mrs. Boyle.”
“I want you to keep an eye on them all. I can trust you.”
“Thank you very much Mrs. Boyle, but I’m not sure what it is you’re asking me to do.”
“I want you to go and see my solicitor and he can explain it all to you.”
“Is there anything wrong? You’re not ill, are you?”
“You’re not getting rid of me just yet. I just want things to be in order for when Danny is older; you know what I mean.”
“I do, Mrs. Boyle, and I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
“You’re a fine young man, Martin, God bless you. And not a word to anyone now—I’m counting on you.”
“You can rely on me.”
“Here,” Granny handed him a five-pound note. “Take Danny to the pictures so that I can have a bit of peace and quiet when I get home. Only mind you have him back before ten. He has to have his bath tonight.”
CHAPTER 5
Danny liked busking under the awning, outside Arnott’s on Henry Street. Saturdays were the best. That’s when the older women would be out shopping. He did his best to look sad-sack as they passed and sang songs to remind them of the times when they had their own children to look after. They were stoic about it, hiding behind their bustle, but Danny knew: old women could never ignore him for long.
He was stoned again. It was the only way he could deal with all that had happened. It made it feel more dreamlike, like at any moment Scully would walk by, the hole in his head miraculously healed and his face no longer bruised and swollen. The horror had not subsided, nor the waves of panic and fear.
He strummed a few chords, G, D, and an A minor 7th, then G, D, and C, searching for a song that would make it all go away, even if only for a while. Something penitent that even God might hear. It was starting to sound reverent so he followed along until it became Knocking on Heaven’s Door. He sang it slowly for Scully, and for himself; behind his dark glasses, his eyes began to well-up. God would never forgive him and Danny could never go back to what he had once believed in; he had spent too much time poking holes in all of that. He was alone to face the burning fire that was waiting for him, and, because he couldn’t talk to anybody about it, he sang about it instead.
Sometimes he got through to them. Some of the old women took pity on him and foraged in their purses for a 10p, or a 20, and on occasion a 50p-piece. It was the only communion he had with the world—through the hearts of the mothers of Henry Street. It allowed him a chance to relive his innocence until some young culchie in a Garda uniform would move him along, officiously, to the point of ridicule.
I am outcast from the garden, he smiled as stern faces passed by and almost laughed aloud. Now, when he remembered being happy, it was in the garden of the hospital, but not as it really was. It was warm in his memories, and sunlight fell like a cheesecloth curtain.
His mother sat in a deck chair, in a fresh, spotted blue dress and gently fanned herself with one of her beaded purses. His father was there, too, wearing a clean white shirt, looking relaxed as he sipped tea from Granny’s finest china. She was there, too, sitting in the shade of the wall looking tired, clutching her grey cobweb shawl around her shoulders and when he tried to walk toward them, she refused to look at him.
He shook his head to clear the tears rising up from his soul. One of these days he’d get his shit together and drop out of the scene. It was getting far too heavy. He’d quit the business and get on with his life. He’d quit smoking, too, and get fit again. He might even start playing football again, like he did when he was a kid.
*
Anto knew the voice rising above all the singsong and murmurings of the crowd and stopped at the corner of Moore Street and waited for Danny to finish. He stood back into a doorway and lit a cigarette. He wanted to let Danny know that he wasn’t happy about the way things had gone down with Scully but he had no choice. It was the way things had to be in their business—he couldn’t afford to allow anyone to step out of line and Scully knew the score.
When Scully first got lifted, Anto wasn’t too concerned. He was a mate and had been for years; he’d never grass. But whispers started to reach him that cops knew all about him and were looking to link him to the incident in Rathgar. Anto had nothing to do with that—that was the Driller. It was some issue that had spilled over from Derry. The Driller explained that the orders came from “the Boys” and had nothing to do with business, but the cops thought otherwise. The dead man was one of Anto’s dealers and he had burnt the wrong people.
Anto hated “the Boys.” They claimed that they were clamping down on drug dealers but in reality they were just shaking them down. That’s why he took up with the Driller. It was better to be in bed with the devil. And besides, the stories of what he’d done in Derry discouraged anyone from having a go at Anto. It was all becoming too complicated; a tangled web of intrigue and shifting loyalties that left him longing for the days when things were simpler.
He had known Danny since they were kids, since his father got steady work at Hughes’ Dairy and the family moved from the Northside into a house on Dodderdale. Anto hated it. All of his old friends wanted nothing more to do with him and he found the Southsiders too full of themselves. They looked down on him, and, for the first few months, he had to fight just to be left alone. His father wanted them all to have a new beginning and when he found out, he put Anto on the parish football team. That was where he first met Danny.
He almost smiled as he remembered the day when they huddled beneath a tree as it pissed down with rain, coming down in sheets across the open spaces of the Phoenix Park. Father Reilly had an umbrella but the boys just stood under the tree with their hair slicked to their heads and their faded green shirts darkening with damp. The rest of them complained, but not Anto; he was far too tough for that.
**
“When do you think the others are going to show up, Father?”
They had left far too early and two boys had missed the bus but Fr. Reilly had wanted to be safe rather than sorry. They had to take two buses, the first into the Quays and the other out to the “Park.” He had to come up with a better way. He even asked Fr. Brennan if the parish would consider getting a minibus, so that he could drive them around instead. “A minibus? Are you mad? Where do you think the parish can find that kind of money? We barely have enough to get by and the little that’s left over goes to the diocese. Minibus! Are you having me on, or what?” Fr. Reilly had tried to argue that it would be so handy and that they could also use it to drive the old people around, too. They could even take them on excursions. “Father,” the older man reminded his young curate, “the only transportation we offer is from this world to the next.” He walked away laughing to himself and shaking his head.
“I’m sure they’ll be along soon, Anthony,” Fr. Reilly responded absentmindedly as he peered through the rain.
“I hope so—we only have ten.” Anto looked to the priest like he could make them appear.
“No, we have eleven. You forgot to count Danny.”
“Oh yeah,” Anto grinned at the others around him. “Still, I hope the others get here soon. These wankers are good—they’re unbeaten.”
“Language!” Fr. Reilly admonished. “And remember, we’re all the same in the eyes of God.”
“See,” someone whispered when he rejoined the boys under the other tree. “I told you everybody does it.”
&nbs
p; “I don’t.”
They all joined in, leaning closer to talk in whispers so the priest wouldn’t hear. “Why not?”
“I get your sister to do it for me.”
“Feck off ya bastard. If you say that again I’ll burst your face.”
“Now lads,” Fr. Reilly called over as the rain slackened enough to coax the referee out from under his tree. “We’ll start with the usual lineup but instead of Dominic, we’ll have Danny play as center forward.”
“But he’s never played there before, Father.”
“I’ve a feeling that he’s going to do great today, Anthony.”
Anto looked over at the shiny new boots Danny’s father had got him for Christmas. “He looks more like a feckin’ ballerina.”
“Now, now. Let’s remember who we are and let’s have a good clean game.”
“C’mon Saint Endas,” his teammates cheered as they rushed out to take their places.
“Where are you from?” their opponents asked in a disinterested way.
“Rathfarnham.”
“Fucking mountain men.”
“No bad language, please,” the referee scolded them as he checked his watch one more time and got ready to blow his whistle.
From the kick-off they all knew what to do, except Danny who wandered back and forth along the halfway line. If he went further into his own half, Anto would berate him. “Stay up there for when we get the break. Get ready for the long ball.”
“C’mon Danny,” Fr. Reilly called from the sideline. “Keep at it. You’re doing great.”
Danny seemed happy with that and ran back and forth with enthusiasm while the other team stopped even pretending to cover him.
“That’s great,” Fr. Reilly reassured him. “You’re doing a great job getting open. C’mon lads, Danny is open, let’s start getting the ball to him.”
His teammates carried on regardless.
“Move away Boyle,” Anto shouted as he advanced with the ball. “Move away and take the cover with ya.”
Danny didn’t seem to understand and stood where he was, forcing Anto to weave around him. But the opponent didn’t, clattering right through Danny as he tried to get to the ball. Danny fell to the muddy, wet ground and looked like he might cry but the ref helped him up as he awarded a free-kick to the outrage of the other team. “C’mon, ref, that’s obstruction.”