by Bill Walsh
Not lately, Hannah. No.
Oh well, put that on the book for me so, Annie. I’ll be in Friday to settle up, as usual.
I will, says Nanny, and she’s already licking the tip of her pencil.
When Missus Sullivan is gone Nanny says, The cheek a that one, Matilda. Her and her pound of ham, and asking questions about my John. I don’t know what this town is comin’ to. Fur coat and no knickers the lot of them, doing their best to gawk down their noses at the rest. They’ll get nothing to talk about out of this shop.
Nanny laughs, then I laugh, even though I don’t know what she’s laughing at, but I’m happy I’m here with Nanny and not down in the Holy Shepherd with the tinkers and tippers and children without a mother or father.
Nanny closes the shop early today. She pulls down the grey blinds. She says it’s February, we’ve had a month to settle and it’s time to start school. She’s bringing Mona, Pippa and me to enrol in the Sisters of Divinity Girls’ School, and Grandad is taking Sheamie to the De La Salle Brothers.
Pippa doesn’t want to go to school. We still talk like Australians and everyone will laugh, she says. Nanny says she won’t have the school inspector at the door wondering why her grandchildren haven’t started school. They take children away for that. She goes to the kitchen for her handbag and Mona yanks Pippa’s hair and warns her not to cause trouble. We have to go to school like Nanny said. Pippa says, Ouch! Grandad says, Stop that, stop that for the love a Christ. Nanny screams from the kitchen, Mona, are you tormenting your sisters? Leave those girls alone, you’re too bloody big. Mona scrunches her freckles at me to see if I want to complain, but I wouldn’t complain to Mona when she’s like this, and anyway I’m fed up hanging round the house when it’s raining outside and the other kids from the street are in school.
Danny cries to go to school but he’s too young. He pulls at Grandad’s trouser leg and Grandad pats his head and tells him, Next year, Danny. Danny still cries. Grandad lifts Danny onto his shoulders and Danny claps his hands and smiles down at us with his lovely white baby teeth because he’s higher than everyone now and that’s better than going to school anytime.
Nanny hurries us out to the car, grumbling at how slow we are and warning Grandad if he sets one foot in the pub this day she’ll swing for him.
Sister Gertrude sits behind a desk in a small room with a crucifix on the wall and says sorry, she’s full. She holds a black fountain pen in her hand but the pen doesn’t move. She turns the pages of her big red book and says, Yes, indeed we are full. Isn’t that an awful pity?
Pippa smiles.
Sister Gertrude says Nanny might like to try another school, the Mercy Convent or the Presentation, and stands.
Nanny lowers her handbag to the floor like she’s getting ready to fight. Sister Gertrude sits down again.
Well, perhaps, and I’m only saying perhaps, we can fit them in next term, Missus Kelly. Of course they’d have to be Roman Catholics.
Nanny leans back in her chair. Sure, isn’t their uncle only a bishop.
Really? says Sister Gertrude.
Really, says Nanny.
Of course, they won’t be learning the Irish language because they weren’t born in Ireland. Though they will learn the Irish dancing. The jig, the hornpipe and reel. Start Monday.
Monday I’m first into my new blue uniform and yellow socks. In the playground we see other girls come in. The ones with raggedy hair and dirty uniforms sit at the back of the class and have books covered in wallpaper so everyone knows what their sitting room looks like. The girls who have clean uniforms sit in the front and have their books covered in brown greaseproof.
I’m put in the second row beside Natasha White. She has dimples and wears a yellow hair band and giggles all the time. I tell her my Daddy is in London. She tells me her Daddy went to London once but came back to work in the glass factory. Theresa Flanagan, with the scabby knees and runny nose that she wipes in her sleeve, sits behind us. She says her Daddy went to London too and he came back as well. Her Mammy always says she’d be better off if he’d stayed where he was. The bollox.
Our teacher is Miss Bolger. She has wavy red hair and wears dresses with silver buckles and high-heeled shoes that click when she walks. She likes the girls in clean uniforms the best. Theresa Flanagan invites me to play, but I spend lunchtime sitting against the wall so my uniform won’t get dirty.
Saturday morning Uncle Philip minds us while Nanny and Grandad drive to the Cash and Carry store. He sits in Grandad’s chair with the hollow and pats his lap and calls to me to sit. He says I’m his special favourite. I’m his pet. That makes me happy because I was never anyone’s pet before, but I can’t tell anyone because it’s our secret and Uncle Philip says you can’t tell secrets.
Easter Sunday morning I’m sitting at the kitchen table with Nanny. We’re late for mass. Pippa is sitting on Nanny’s lap, her bright eyes watery from hay fever and her chest wheezy with asthma. Danny is under the table playing with Nanny’s slippers. Mona is walking out the back door in her Sunday frock to call Sheamie from the garden when the front door opens. She stops by the door and we wait for Nanny to say who’s there but she’s busy telling Grandad to hurry. Grandad is standing at the sink shaving in front of the cracked mirror on the windowsill. The sunshine coming through the glass glistens off his razor as it slides through the lather. He says there was a time he could look in that mirror and see a young good-looking man staring back. They don’t make mirrors like they used to. He turns to us with his pink lips grinning through the lather on his round face and I think he wants us to laugh but I don’t know why and I don’t care why because the kitchen door opens and I know who’s here.
It’s Daddy.
He comes into the kitchen with the green canvas bag on his shoulder. His hair is longer and there’s sweat on his forehead from carrying the heavy bag. I can hear my heart beating, hoping he’s found our Mum. I wonder if she’s hiding in the sitting room ready to jump out and surprise us.
I look beyond Daddy to the sitting room but there’re only the empty chairs and the cold grey ashes from last night’s fire.
I think Nanny wants to stand up but she can’t with Pippa on her lap.
Well, says Nanny, did you have a good trip, Peter? Have you news?
Grandad doesn’t look surprised Daddy’s home, but when you have as many children as Grandad you’re probably never surprised when anyone turns up. He turns his head to show one cheek shaved and says to Nanny the children shouldn’t be listening. Nanny says we have a right, and would you tidy yourself. There’s a clean shirt and tie on the ironing board.
A tie, Annie?
Yes, a tie. You’re not going to mass looking like the dog’s dinner.
There’s hardly a need for all that that old nonsense, Annie. Times are changing.
Not in this house, I see, says Daddy. He pats Grandad on the back and tells him put on his tie and do what he’s told, like a good boy. Grandad laughs into the mirror.
Mona comes back from the door and runs to Daddy. Pippa climbs down from Nanny’s lap and follows her. Daddy lifts them one at a time into his arms and hugs them. Then he lifts me and hugs me. I can feel the strength of his arms at the backs of my legs and the heat from his face, but it’s only a little hug and I wonder what that means. Maybe he hasn’t found Mum. Pippa sits back on Nanny’s lap and Nanny wipes the hay-fever tears from Pippa’s pink cheeks. It’s like she wants Pippa not to cry if Daddy has bad news. Everyone knows you can’t cry twice.
Daddy stands by the sink and lights a cigarette, cupping his huge hand around it so the smoke oozes between his fingers. Mona takes a step closer to Daddy and holds his free hand. You can see Mona’s freckles more now that summer is coming. She squeezes Daddy’s hand but he doesn’t squeeze back. He hangs his head and his voice is sad when he says our mother hasn’t been to London.
What about the bishop? says Nanny.
Mona moves closer to Daddy. He lets her hand go and holds her head ag
ainst his leg and strokes her curly black hair with his fingers. Daddy smiles down at me but I know he’s talking to Nanny when he says Uncle Edward has written letters to all the chapels in Australia but he’s heard nothing back. The bishop is concerned about the children and asks if you need help.
The children are fine. It’s concerned to find his sister he should be, and not worrying about me. I reared fourteen of me own.
Grandad says, Now, Annie, no point takin’ it out on the poor bishop, he’s only trying to help.
I wouldn’t trust the clergy as far as I could throw one of them and the sooner the rest of the country wakes up to that fact the better off we’ll all be. Now hurry up and get ready for mass. I wouldn’t give the neighbours the satisfaction of saying we didn’t go to mass.
Neighbours me arse, says Grandad.
Stop that talk in front of the children.
Looking up from Daddy’s waist Mona asks, Will Mum ever come back? Daddy stops stroking her and tells her to sit down. He throws his cigarette in the sink where it sizzles in the water. I reach for his free hand but he tells me to sit too, back where I was beside Nanny. He doesn’t sound angry but he doesn’t sound happy either. Nanny holds her hand out to me and tells me, Come on, Matilda, sit down here and give your Daddy a chance to catch his breath. He’s only in the door. I’m halfway between Daddy and Nanny’s chair and I don’t know where to go. I don’t think Mona heard Daddy because she asks again, Will you find Mum, Daddy?
Daddy doesn’t answer.
The sunshine passes from the window and the room turns cool. Nanny and Grandad look at each other and everyone in the room stays quiet except for Danny under the table playing with the slipper. Mona opens her mouth to ask Daddy again but he raises his hand and fires at Mona, Don’t ask again. She’s gone, she was no good and that’s the end of it. Mona’s mouth stays open and her eyes flood with tears. But she’s too scared to move from the middle of the room. I jump back behind the chair. Pippa gasps and buries her face in Nanny’s chest.
Nanny says to Daddy, Peter, the children.
Daddy slams his fist into his open palm.
The sooner they get it in their heads she’s gone, the better, he says. I’m sick of it.
Keep your voice down, Peter. There’s no need for shouting, the walls have ears.
Sheamie comes in from the garden, looks around the kitchen, turns and runs out again pulling the door closed behind him. I shuffle across from Nanny’s chair to Grandad and shelter behind his big bum. I see Pippa’s lips tremble against Nanny’s apron bib and hear her wheezing grow louder as tears bubble in her eyes. With a gasp she starts to cry, gulping and choking. Daddy brings his fist down again and this time it hits the sink. The board gives out a thump and the cups on the draining board dance.
That’s all she’s good for, says Daddy, bah, bah, bah. He makes a baby face at Pippa and says, That’s all she’s good for. She’s a big bloody baby.
Nanny turns her old grey eyes to Grandad who turns back to his shaving mirror and scrapes at his face. Nanny rubs Pippa’s back and tells her, Do you know what, Pippa, I think there are toys in the attic from when your Aunt Patricia and Aunt Margaret were young. Will we look? Grown-ups hate it when Pippa cries. She gasps like a fish drowning in the air.
Daddy slams his fist so hard on the draining board even the cups in the sink leap.
No toys! he shouts.
The neighbours, Peter, Nanny whispers, I’ve asked you already to keep your voice down.
Daddy shouts anyway. It’s their own fault their mother left. They were brazen. It’s the schoolbooks from now on.
Grandad says, Now, son, don’t take it out on the children. And don’t upset yourself. It’s hard on everyone. He turns to us with the razor in his hand and tells us to take no notice. Daddy didn’t mean what he said, he has a lot on his mind and he’s worn out.
Daddy wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
No point getting yourself upset when you’re only in the door, says Grandad.
Danny crawls out from under the table with the slipper in his hand and gazes up at Daddy with round brown eyes as if he’s only seen him now. Everyone stays quiet to see what Daddy will do. He takes off his coat, hangs it on the back of a chair, sits down. He lifts his green canvas bag onto his lap, reaches in and begins to take out Easter eggs, big and small, until he’s filled the kitchen table with them.
When the bag is empty he puts it on the ground and lifts Danny onto his lap and presses his lips to the top of Danny’s head. Danny smiles with his lovely white teeth and his chubby hands tug at Daddy’s long hair. It’s grown since the last time he was here and I think Danny wonders if it’s real. I’d like to take an Easter egg but I have to wait till I’m told.
Nanny tells Grandad to finish shaving himself and get dressed. She puts Pippa down from her knee and reaches out her hand to Mona and then myself. Daddy’s not angry anymore and she tells us, Go to your father. He lifts Mona onto his knee and Mona buries her head in his neck. Then Pippa goes close and hugs him as well. Grandad says, That’s better now, and turns to the mirror to shave his other cheek. I move in beside Daddy. There’s no room on his lap for me, not with Danny and Mona already there and Pippa hugging his side. But he reaches out his arm and puts it around me. I’d really like an Easter egg but I stay where I am so Daddy won’t be angry again. Pippa dries her eyes with the corner of her jumper and Nanny smiles around the room.
Never a dull moment, isn’t that what they say? And just look at all those lovely Easter eggs. Can’t you see your Daddy loves all of you? You can take one, isn’t that right, Peter, can’t the children have an Easter egg?
Daddy says yes. We can go to mass later.
Mona takes a big one. I take the nearest one which is small.
I take my egg out into the garden where Sheamie’s sitting up on the shed with his thin legs dangling over the edge. It’s cloudy but warm. I share my egg with Sheamie and after he’s eaten it and wiped the chocolate stain from his mouth he says, Nothing good ever lasts, Matilda, but Sheamie is always saying clever things like that and I never know what he means. I’m sad Mum isn’t here and wondering how grown-ups forget arguments so quickly. I wonder will she ever come home. Maybe she’ll come tomorrow.
Daddy stays for the week then says he’s going back to London. Nanny wants him to stay. There’s work in Ireland. New houses being built. It’s not like it was in the fifties when everyone had to leave. Daddy shakes his head, no. He could never live in Ireland again. He’s been away too long. He has to find our mother. She has to come back sometime.
Grandad is sitting in his chair with the hollow. He frowns but keeps quiet.
In the morning we kiss Daddy goodbye at the front door. He hoists the green canvas bag up on his shoulder and tells us be good for our Nanny and don’t be crying. I watch him till he turns the corner and there’s a hollow feeling in my legs. Dr Kimble hasn’t found the one-armed man. Inspector Gerard hasn’t found Dr Kimble. Daddy hasn’t found our Mum. I wonder is anyone ever found.
I’m six. My head comes up to a doorknob. Pippa is seven. She’s a little higher, but not much. When summer comes the days are long and hot and there’s no school and Pippa and me go out in the morning and come back when it’s late. We go up the road with the kids from the street and look for rabbits in the Hilly Fields, or play hide and seek in the bucket factory. Today when we come in Sheamie is sitting on the footstool watching the news with Grandad. Sheamie worries about the war in Vietnam, and the Communists in Russia who could kill us all because they have a bomb.
Nanny calls us into the kitchen and when we go in there’s a strange man with a shaved head and a square moustache like a razorblade sitting at the table slurping tea from a big red mug. Nanny says he’s our Uncle John home from the army. Uncle John asks how we’re settling in and we say, Fine.
When I look at him closer I can see he has a hooked nose, thick eyebrows and small round eyes, like a bird. He winks at Pippa through
the steam from the red mug.
That’s great, he says, and drinks his tea in slurps.
3
Uncle John gets a job on the docks loading and unloading the big container boats from all over the world. He brings home bunches of ripe bananas from Africa, boxes of oranges from sunny Spain and dates from the Mediterranean because he knows Nanny loves dates even though they turn her tongue brown. We can all see how much Nanny loves Uncle John. She tells us, Get out of that chair and let your uncle sit down. Come out of the kitchen and let your uncle have his dinner. Hurry up in that bathroom, your uncle is waiting to go in, and when we come out he’s standing there scowling with the newspaper under his wing. He goes out every morning wearing a black donkey jacket with leather patches on the sleeves and comes home in the evening with the smell of whiskey on his breath complaining he has to wait for his tea. Out all fuckin’ day and can’t get to the table.
Nanny tells him to leave the children alone but he shouts at her and Nanny is too fond of her dates and too worried over neighbours listening to say any more. Pippa backs away when he comes near her and squats in the corner beside the china cabinet. We don’t like Uncle John. Uncle Philip is sweet but Uncle John is grumpy and when Nanny and Grandad aren’t here you always have to do what he says. The only time he’s happy is when he’s going to a soccer match with Uncle Philip. The two of them follow the Waterford soccer team all over and last week they were so happy when they won they promised to take Sheamie this week. Sheamie is so delighted he’s been tossing around in the bed all night sticking his toes in everyone’s face.
Saturday morning Nanny roots around in the closet under the stairs because she’s certain there’s a blue and white scarf and a hat. She comes out of the closet backwards and fixes the woolly blue hat on Sheamie’s head and ties the scarf around his neck and tells our uncles to mind that child and don’t let him get lost or crushed in the crowds. I’m warning the pair of you, there’s to be no drinking. Not with that child in the car.