It was Sweden that caused all the trouble. When the singer was introduced Francis liked the sound of his name, Ingvar Wixell, but he turned out to be a fat old man going bald who sounded more like the singers on his dad’s old opera records. Francis thought the song was awful. When he noticed that Martin had fallen asleep against his mam’s shoulder he thought of a funny thing: that it must have been the old bald man’s voice that put him to sleep. Just as the song ended and his dad was saying that Ingvar Wixell was easily the best singer so far, his mam, smiling, spoke very quietly. ‘Fonsie, look at this. Fast asleep.’ As his dad stood up and went to lift Martin, Gussie said the same funny thing that Francis had already thought.
‘I’m not surprised he’s asleep after that boring song.’
Francis laughed. His dad looked over at him and he knew what was going to happen.
‘Come on, Francis. You too. It’s way past your bedtime.’
‘Ah no, please!’
His dad took Martin into his arms and started to carry him to the door.
‘Look at the time. You were supposed to go to bed ages ago.’
Francis looked at the others but no one cared. Ritchie just smiled at him. Tough luck. Gussie waved and said, ‘Nighty-night Francis,’ in a funny voice. Marian just kept looking at the television and his mam said, ‘Don’t start now, do what you’re told.’
Upstairs, as he undressed, miserable, Francis watched his dad trying to put his brother to bed without making a sound. The way he placed him down, anyone would think Martin was going to break into little pieces if he wasn’t careful. Francis thought it was funny because he knew that if his big bully of a brother was kicked around the room like a football he still wouldn’t wake up. His dad lifted the blankets and covered Martin really gently like the birds did to Snow White on ‘Walt Disney Presents’. By now Francis was in his pyjamas, waiting. He’d have to lie in bed, wide awake, listening to snoring while the others were all enjoying themselves watching the Song Contest. It wasn’t fair. His dad whispered, ‘Now, careful getting into bed. Don’t wake him.’
‘But I’m not sleepy. Can’t I stay up just for a small while?’
‘No.’
‘But I’ve no school in the morning.’
‘You have Mass.’
‘I promise I’ll get up in time for Mass.’
Even in the gloom of the bedroom Fonsie could clearly see his youngest son’s wide-awake begging eyes. Did the child never give that brain of his a rest? Fonsie knew already that when Ritchie and Gussie went to bed later he’d still be awake and as soon as they came into the bedroom he’d be sitting up asking them what happened and who won. What was to be done with him? He wasn’t a bad child, but the constant talk and all these questions couldn’t be good for him. Fonsie heard soft footsteps. Ann stuck her head in the door.
‘Are they all right?’
‘I’m not sleepy, Mam.’
‘Of course you’re not. You’re never sleepy. Oh here, let him come down for a few more minutes, Fonsie. He’ll only end up waking Martin and then they’ll be fighting.’
Fonsie sighed. He thought it was wrong. The child was too young to be staying up so late, but he would never argue with Ann in front of him.
‘Come on, so. Quiet now.’
Francis jumped at the chance. He ran past his mam and dad down the stairs. The others paid no attention to him when he came into the room, except for Ritchie waving him out of the way when he passed in front of the television. They were all staring silently. A girl was singing. She had blonde hair and, Francis thought, looked nearly as young as Marian. Where was she from? He didn’t dare ask.
From the moment France Gall came onstage Gussie wondered why Irish girls never looked like that. Even though she had this innocent-looking face with a pretty spot on her cheek and big eyes like a baby’s, there was something else about her. She probably wasn’t any older than he was but Gussie would bet money she wasn’t a virgin. He wondered if Ritchie thought so too, but he wouldn’t know how to ask his brother things like that.
Ritchie and his friends had started calling sexy girls birds. France Gall was a real bird even though she didn’t even have big tits. He wouldn’t mind going out with her. Would he prefer her to Moira Harrington? He’d only been out with her four times so not much had happened yet, but he definitely preferred her to Gretta Lehane, who called it off after two weeks. His face went a bit red when his mam and dad came into the room, because his mam looked directly at him as if she could read his thoughts. But she only wanted to know what country was on now. ‘Luxembourg,’ he told her. Ann said in God’s name what kind of a dress was the girl wearing, it was more like a slip. Fonsie thought it wasn’t much of a song or a singer. She sounded to him like a child practising scales. Marian said it was catchy but maybe not her favourite. Ritchie and Gussie said nothing. It was the quietest they had been all night.
After the songs the voting started. Francis liked the big scoreboard with all the names on it. He could see Ireland up near the top, except it was written Irlanda. He started looking at all the names and trying to say them and work out what the English name was. Ann kept saying wasn’t the presenter really brilliant, the way she could talk away to all those people all around Europe in any language. It was very disappointing that Britain gave Ireland nothing and Ann said she hoped that Ireland would give them nothing either if that was the way it was going to be. On and on it went and, after thirteen countries had voted, finally, the woman from the Portuguese jury said, ‘Irlande, trois points.’ The family cheered even more when, straight after that, good old Italy gave Ireland the top vote; five points. Then Yugoslavia gave three more points. Butch Moore had suddenly gone from last to sixth place but by now it was obvious who was going to win: the little blond girl from Luxembourg. Ritchie and Gussie were delighted. The composer was called onstage to get his award. Francis repeated his name to himself: Serge Gainsbourg, Serge Gainsbourg. Then the presenter asked France Gall to sing the winning song. Ann said she was a lovely young girl all right but, really, that dress! It made her look like she was on her way to bed. Fonsie said that coming sixth out of eighteen wasn’t bad for a first go. Butch Moore had done his best but sure, who was to know what people would vote for when something as silly as that Luxembourg song won.
But from the moment the strings launched a reprise of the agitated intro and the percussion rattled in to give the song its restless insistent pop beat, Ritchie, Gussie, Marian and Francis all started jigging about. They couldn’t help themselves. Ann and Fonsie didn’t understand what it was had got hold of them. It was all just silly noise as far as they were concerned. But their children felt the pulse of it. Even though they hadn’t a clue what the words of the song meant, France Gall’s sexy legs and pouting face and naive little girl’s voice stirred them to yell and sing along with its relentless pop beat.
La la la la la la la,
la la la lala la laaaa!
la lala la lala lala la
lalala la la lala LAHHHH!
Ten: June 14th
Ann opened her eyes with a small comfortable moan to see Fonsie’s face, leaning sideways, looking at her. He pointed at the bedside locker where he had placed the cup of tea and the small plate with two slices of toast. Without moving her head from the pillow Ann could smell the butter melting on the toast and see steam rising from the cup. Fonsie smiled and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ‘I’d better be off.’ He was gone before Ann’s head cleared enough to remember that it was his first morning in the new job and she hadn’t wished him luck. Still, the thought of it cheered her up. At last reliable weekly wages; twelve pounds a week until the builders’ holidays started. Maybe even some overtime.
Ann, suddenly awake, sat up. She loved that first mouthful of toast, the luxurious saltiness of the melted butter, still warm. It would be a few seconds before the tea was cool enough. Her brain began to sift through the family budget, which would be a lot worse if she hadn’t pushed Fonsie into asking around abo
ut other work. He’d have just kept tipping away at the coal, out all hours, coming home black as the ace of spades, earning half nothing in the summer. You have the lorry, she’d kept saying to him, maybe there’s a better use for it, let people know you’re available. And wasn’t she right? Of course, he was so obstinate and so slow to move himself that she had to keep on and on at him. Then, when he told her that O’Neill’s, the builders’ providers, needed any amount of extra deliveries done for some big housing development on the road out to the airport and they’d offered him regular work for the summer, did he as much as mention that this was all a result of her pushing him? Not a hope. And imagine wondering if it was the right thing to take the job because he didn’t want to let down his regular customers; a few people, living up to twenty miles outside the city, looking for a bag of coal once every four weeks in the summer. Maybe. If he was lucky. Honestly, that man! Was it any wonder she suffered from migraine?
Ann steered herself away from stressful thoughts. The tea was lovely and through a small gap in the closed curtains she could tell it was a bright sunny day. The money end of things was looking a bit better now for the rest of the year. Fonsie was going to earn at least sixty pounds more than he’d usually bring home in June and July. Ritchie would soon be starting into his second year in Krups and he’d promised to give her another two pounds a week on top of the thirty shillings he already brought home, which would mean that she’d have another – what was it? – about twenty-four pounds more. With Gussie leaving school after his exams that was his fees saved, but not really, because Marian was starting secondary school in September, so hers had to be paid now. Thirty-two pounds. When the time came for Martin to go to secondary then she’d be paying two fees at the same time. It never ended. But at least for this year, as far as she could calculate, she was about eighty pounds better off. Maybe Gussie would bring in a few bob as well once he sorted some kind of apprenticeship for himself. She wondered if Fonsie could have a word with whoever was building those houses about starting him off as a bricklayer or a plasterer? Pity the poor owner of the crooked house Gussie would build. Ann smiled as she pictured such a thing. Still, he might learn. He was no fool, if he’d only get his head out of the clouds. If it wasn’t films and television then it was that camera he said he was saving up for. Ann was determined to make him start thinking seriously what he was going to do with his life. Whatever it was, hopefully it would mean a bit extra coming into the house before the end of the year.
Ann finished her tea, snuggled in under the blankets again and began to dream a little about what she might do with the extra money. The list in her head was long: new wallpaper for the front room, bunk beds for Martin and Francis to make a bit of space in the boys’ room and her dream, a twin tub washing machine, an automatic. The knob squeaked, the door crept open and an eleven-year-old head peeped in cautiously. Even in the murky light Martin’s baby-blue eyes looked nervous. What had he done? Or what lie was he about to tell?
‘Mam, are you awake?’
‘I am now. Come in and open the curtains.’
Ann sat up again as the room brightened. It really was a lovely day. It would be just gorgeous in Ballybunion today. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes to nine.
‘Why aren’t you gone to school yet?’
‘I’m going now. But I wanted to ask you something before I went. Dad said to ask you.
Of course he did, Jesus, couldn’t Fonsie ever just say no? And why had he left the house without making sure that Martin had already gone to school? Did she have to do everything?
‘Ask me when you come home for your dinner. Now go on. Hurry. You’re going to be late already.’
‘Can I go to the pictures today after school?’
‘I told you, ask me at dinner-time.’
‘But Eddie Hassett told me his mam said he’d only be let go if you let me go, so I have to tell him this morning so he can tell his mam when he goes home at dinner-time.’
‘Eddie Hassett? And who else?’
‘Martin Casey.’
‘And who else?’
‘That’s all.’
‘What about Tony Cuddihy?’
Ann had warned Martin again and again about hanging around with that lanky redheaded troublemaker.
‘No.’
‘No what?’
‘No, just Eddie and Martin.’
‘What are you going to see?’
‘Ah… Mary Poppins.’
Did he think she was a complete eejit? The thought of that trio of galoots trooping in to see Mary Poppins would make the cat laugh. Martin’s face even went a bit red as he said it. Suddenly, clever Ann had an idea that would give her a much-needed break this afternoon and make sure that Martin really did go to Mary Poppins.
‘All right, you can go. On one condition. You have to collect Francis from school and bring him with you.’
Ann enjoyed the look on Martin’s face. ‘Ah no Mam no.’
‘It’d be a nice birthday present for him. He’d love to see Mary Poppins.’
‘Yeah, but Gussie told him he’d bring him.’
‘Gussie’s in the middle of his exams. He won’t be going to any pictures for weeks.’
Ann was delighted to see Martin had no answer for her, though he was trying his best to think of one.
‘Ah, Mam!’
‘You’re going to be late for school as it is. If I have to get out of bed to you –’
As she pulled back the blankets, Martin was already out the door. He spoke from the landing.
‘OK, OK so, I’ll take him.’
‘Grand. I’ll give you the money at dinner-time. Now run.’
Peace followed the door slam. There was even birdsong just outside the window. Ann was delighted with her little scheme. It would give Fonsie a good laugh when she told him tonight. Killing two birds with one stone. She’d have some free time this afternoon to get a few bits done, not to mention some blessed peace and Martin would have to go to Mary Poppins. He and his pals could either like it or lump it. Ann would know everything that happened because Francis would be all talk afterwards, describing every tiny detail of what he saw and what he heard. Sometimes she dreaded him arriving in from school, yap yap yap. Sister Goretti said this, Sister Goretti said that, questions, questions, questions. Vaccinated with a gramophone needle was Mary Storan’s joke. She had the right attitude, she just knocked great fun out of him. So did Ann sometimes, but he really could wear you down. It never stopped. Where did he get it from? Could he not just accept whatever he was told? Did it always have to be why this and why that? Anyway, with the pair of them at the pictures this afternoon she could get out of the house, call over to have a look at Mona’s new Hoover Keymatic – money no object with Mona, of course. And maybe if she had time after that she could take a little run into town and have a look at those bunk beds in Cannocks. That would be nice.
*
Sister Goretti was looking around as if she was trying to make up her mind who to pick. Francis waved his hand and shouted, ‘Sister, Sister!’ the same as all the other boys, but he was sure already that it would be him. The first time Sister Goretti had said that his answer was the best in the class it sounded nice but he didn’t really understand what that meant. He did now. It meant smiles all the time. It meant Sister Goretti pointing to him after other boys had given the wrong answers so that he could say the right one. It meant whenever he asked a question he would be told it was a very good question and he was a clever boy for asking it. He had never heard that before he came to Sister Goretti’s class. It meant a big tick on his test and two marks after excellent, which Sister Goretti told him were called exclamation marks, which she then explained were like a sort of a cheer. One was a hurray and two meant a really big hurray. Francis liked the way exclamation marks changed how a word looked. Excellent!! He tried it with other words and it worked. Hello. Hello! Hello!! Me. Me! Me!!
And, of course, being the best meant that he was picked for special jobs. F
rancis liked being picked by Sister Goretti. Sometimes he was a bit afraid to show how much he liked it, but this time he didn’t mind because everyone else seemed to want to be picked too. They all had their hands up. Except for poor Rory Hogan sitting in front of Francis. He only put his hand up a tiny little bit and didn’t wave it. And kept his head down. Francis wondered why he didn’t want to be picked. Was it because his head was a funny shape? Was he too shy? Or did he just think that she would never pick him anyway? Francis forgot all about Rory Hogan when he heard his name called.
‘Francis Strong.’
As he walked to the top of the class Sister Goretti took a piece of paper from her desk, folded it up and held it out to him.
‘I want you to take this up to Sister Ignatius.’
Everyone was afraid of Sister Ignatius. She taught the biggest girls. Marian was in her class and she said that nobody ever did anything wrong, they wouldn’t dare. But Marian also said that she liked her, which Francis couldn’t understand. He much preferred smiling Sister Goretti to grumpy old Sister Ignatius.
‘Do you know which classroom it is?’
Francis nodded. Upstairs was where all the big girls were. Second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth. Boys weren’t ever allowed up there. If he was meeting his sister after school he always had to wait for her to come down. It must be a really important message if he was being sent up there. Sister Goretti put her hand on his shoulder and walked with him to the classroom door. She pointed down the corridor.
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