‘– I was after seeing Bernard McMahon whack Francis with his hurley.’
‘But what did he do that for?’
‘I don’t know, I was coming up the road with Malachy Casey. There was a load of them playing hurling on the green and I saw Bernard shouting at Francis and then Francis said something to him and he turned away like this, and that’s when I saw Bernard lifting his hurley like this, and he swung it and, I swear, Dad, I could hear the crack off the side of his head. He got him right on his ear. And I ran in and shouted for Mam and then I ran back out to Francis and he was bawlin’ his head off and holding his ear and Bernard was still standing there and I was going to go for him Dad, but then I heard Mam screaming and she came running past me and Bernard ran off –’
Fonsie couldn’t stop his children’s voices tumbling over each other.
‘Oh, she screamed at him, Dad, you should have heard her. “You thing you,” she kept shouting –’
‘– If she’d got hold of him she’d have killed him stone dead –’
‘– You thing! You article!’
‘– but then she got down on her knees –’
‘– and Francis still bawlin’ cryin’ –’
‘– and she tried to lift him up into her arms but she couldn’t on her own –’
‘– and she shouted at me to go to the phone box as fast as I could and ring 999 –’
‘– and she had Francis in her arms and she was bringing him back to the house and Mr Benson came out ’cause he heard all the screaming and he said he’d give her a lift down to the hospital.’
Fonsie knew he’d better go there straight away. Poor Ann was probably at her wits’ end.
‘I’d better go down to them.’
‘Fonsie,’ Mona interrupted in her most dramatic voice, ‘Francis is here – he’s upstairs in bed.’
Mary Storan could see that Fonsie was now totally confused.
‘I brought him home. His poor ear is awful sore, but there’s no internal damage, thank God. They gave me a cream for it.’
‘But where’s Ann?’
Mona and Mary looked at each other. Mona spoke first.
‘Ann was taken in, Fonsie. She collapsed in Emergency.’
‘What?’
‘The doctors said it was the will of God she was where she was or they mightn’t have got to her in time. Her blood pressure was sky-high.’
Mona remembered the children and dropped her voice to a whisper.
‘She was that close to having a stroke, apparently.’
‘Is Mam going to die?’
Martin’s hard-chaw pals would have been amazed to see the open, frightened face looking up at his dad, looking for reassurance. What was Fonsie supposed to say to him? He felt like he was completely in the dark. Five minutes ago he had walked in the door, looking forward to a wash, a bit of supper, and a sit-down in front of the telly. And now? Mary Storan answered quickly.
‘No, Martin love, she’s grand. The doctors are looking after her.’
‘I’d better go down. Do you mind –?’
‘Of course not, Fonsie. We’ll be fine here.’
Fonsie was opening the front door when he heard Mona’s whisper. She had followed him out to the hall.
‘Fonsie, I know you’re anxious to see Ann, but you know the way she is.’
What now? What was Mona saying? Was there some other complication?
‘And I know you don’t want to be doing anything to upset her and… if you arrived into the ward like…’
Now Fonsie understood. Of course. The state of him. He hadn’t washed. Mona was right. No matter how sick she was, Ann would be raging if he went to see her looking as black as the ace of spades.
‘Oh God, I forgot.’
‘Oh course you did. I hope now you don’t mind me sticking my nose in?’
‘No, no you’re right, Mona. I’d better –’
Fonsie ran up to the bathroom, stripped to the waist, and lashed on the Swarfega. It was only when he was in the bedroom putting on a clean shirt that he heard the sounds from another room. Sobs. In his hurry to get to the hospital he had completely forgotten about Francis. The child was obviously in distress. Fonsie was torn but decided he couldn’t delay a second longer. He had to see Ann. He tiptoed away from his son’s whimpers.
*
Nurse Griffin went out of her way to reassure him. His wife’s blood pressure had been stabilised and she had been given something to help her sleep. Nurse Griffin said that’s what she needed now, plenty of rest. Fonsie said of course. They were monitoring her heart and blood pressure and everything seemed under control but really – Nurse Griffin’s whisper seemed to make it even more serious – she was a very lucky woman. Fonsie said yes, and thanks very much for all she had done. Nurse Griffin said it wasn’t her he should be thanking at all but Doctor Rice, who had been brilliant. He had known exactly what to do. Would Mr Strong like to take a quick peek just to ease his mind?
Fonsie stepped into the ward. Nurse Griffin put a finger to her lips but then smiled and left them alone. After staring at Ann from where he stood and listening to her breathing for a minute, he took a chance and stepped closer to the bed. All Fonsie could think was that once again he’d made a right hash of everything. If he could only swap places with her or something, but Fonsie was one of those people who never got sick. He couldn’t remember ever missing a day at school or work on account of illness. Feeling utterly useless, he tried whispering a prayer, the Hail Holy Queen. It didn’t really make him feel any better. Even if Ann had been awake, he wasn’t sure what he’d say except tell her to rest and relax and not worry, as if saying these things would make them happen. Why did she always have to get herself into such a state about things? The same over Martin a few weeks ago. Sure, what good did it do? But again, saying that wasn’t much help. Maybe if he hadn’t gone back to delivering coal, that would be one less thing for her to fret about. If she ever found out he’d turned down the chance to go full time at O’Neill’s it might kill her altogether. If she didn’t kill him first.
When he got home Fonsie decided he should chance knocking at Billy Benson’s door and thank him for his help. For doing what Fonsie should have been there to do.
‘Ah jay, no bother. Sure, it was only the luck of the draw that I was just in the door from work. You were better off not being around, Fonsie, to be honest, because if you heard the roars out of the poor little fellah and seen the state of his ear you’d probably have killed that other little bastard with your bare hands. Have you talked to his father yet?’
‘Ah no… no… I thought at this stage better leave it ’til morning.’
‘You’re right, Fonsie, you’re right. Only upsetting yourself. But I’m telling you now, if you get no satisfaction out of Enda McMahon you should bring the Guards in on this and I’ll back you up, no bother. You should have seen his ear, Fonsie. It wasn’t just red, it was more like a sort of a silver, there was a kind of a spark off it. And poor Ann, I’m sure she told you, the poor thing was in the back of the car, rocking him in her arms and crying and kissing him, She spat on a hanky to wet it and put it on his ear hoping that’d cool it down a bit. Oh, she was in a desperate way, Fonsie. ’Twas all I could do to get her to let me carry the poor youngfellah into Emergency. She didn’t want to let go of him.’
Billy Benson finally said good night and God bless. Back in the house Marian and Martin were still up, drinking tea. Ritchie hadn’t come home yet – where the hell was he? The telly was on again and they were all watching Mannix. Mary Storan said Francis had been very good and quiet, but she wasn’t sure if he’d gone to sleep yet. It must be hard for him with the pain. The cream the doctor gave her was in the new fridge to keep it nice and cold; more soothing. Fonsie got it and brought it upstairs.
As soon as the door of the boys’ bedroom creaked open, Francis sniffled and turned a sad face.
‘How are you?’
‘I have a pain. It’s tingly.’
‘It’s probably a bit like an electric shock. It’ll wear off. Is it better than it was?’
‘A small bit.’
‘I’ll put some more cream on it for you.’
Fonsie eased the bandage off and opened the pot. The cream was lovely and cold. As his fingers were so cracked and rough, he was extra careful putting it on. The ear looked swollen all right, but it was hard to see how red it was in the light from the landing.
‘So, tell me what happened. Who did this to you?’
The McMahons were decent neighbours and Fonsie didn’t want to cause a row without being sure of his facts. Francis’ voice became more tear-filled.
‘Bernard McMahon.’
‘Bernard? But I thought you two were pals. What did he go and do a thing like that for?’
‘No reason.’
‘That’s terrible. No reason at all?’
‘No.’
‘That was a terrible thing to do. Well look, I’ll go and speak to his dad about that, don’t you worry.’ No answer. ‘Mr McMahon has probably punished him already. Especially if he knows that Bernard did it for no reason at all.’
No answer. A sniffle.
‘Bernard won’t have told him anything different, sure he won’t?’
Fonsie saw Francis’ eyes shift away, then look at him again.
‘I didn’t hit him or anything, I swear. If he says I did, he’s telling lies, Dad.’
‘OK. OK. That’s all right.’
‘All I did was… I… I… I… said something.’
‘What if you did? That wasn’t a good enough reason for him to give you a wallop with a hurley. What did you say, anyway?’
‘I just said… I just said he was stupid.’
‘Oh, right. He still shouldn’t have hit you, but you know as well Francis, you shouldn’t say things like that.’
‘But he is stupid.’
‘Then maybe that’s even more reason not to say it.’
Even in his pain and his sorrow Francis knew his dad was right. He knew it already before his dad said it. He had never ever called Bernard McMahon stupid before, because he felt sorry for Bernard, who was only in 3E and was always getting slaps. But today, Francis had been feeling bad after his mam chased him out and then Bernard started arguing with him about hurling and Bernard hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, so, just to be mean, Francis told him he was too stupid to understand the rules of hurling. Boys were always calling each other stupid and worse, but Francis knew in his heart that what made Bernard McMahon really mad was the way he said it. He was scornful. It was as if he was looking down on Bernard.
‘You can be too quick with your tongue sometimes. People don’t like that, Francis. But look, he was wrong to do what he did and I’ll go and talk to his dad. I’ll make sure he won’t touch you again, but you have to promise to leave him alone too, all right?’
Francis nodded.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
After his dad left, Francis remembered again the look on poor Bernard’s face when he spoke to him as if he was only dirt. That look was why Francis had turned away, already a bit ashamed of himself. Then he felt the side of his head explode and thought he was going to die. He couldn’t help wondering if all the bad things that happened today were God’s way of punishing him for looking up that doll’s dress.
Twenty-three: December 30th
‘Francis, watch out! There’s a rat under your chair!’ Gussie exclaimed mischievously.
Francis didn’t even raise his eyes from The Hooded Hawk Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon. The best book he had ever read. He was nearly at the end of the most thrilling chapter so far. The Hardy boys had just escaped being caught in a vicious bear trap cunningly hidden under leaves.
‘That rat’s going to bite your leg, Francis,’ chuckled the mouse-haired eighteen-year-old, who loved needling his youngest brother.
‘Oh sure, you could put a bomb under him and he wouldn’t take his nose out of that book,’ wryly observed Mr Strong, a broad-shouldered rugged forty-six-year-old man, with big hands used to tough physical work.
‘Eats the books,’ his bustling good-natured wife added, humorously throwing her eyes to heaven.
Thanks to this brilliant book Francis had discovered a new word to describe family talk. Banter. On every single page there were more new words, like dilemma and stymied. Right now, the Hardy boys had a big dilemma: how to get over an eight-foot-high electric fence protecting the villains’ hide-out. They were stymied.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Granny Strong purse her lips. She was an angular, hawk-nosed woman with definite opinions on many subjects.
‘All that reading can’t be good for his eyes,’ she declared tartly.
‘Nothing better than reading,’ interrupted Francis’ Uncle Peadar Crowley, who never missed an opportunity to argue with his mother-in-law. ‘As our great Minister for Education is always trying to explain to people,’ he added emphatically. He knew that Granny Strong hated the government, so he enjoyed praising them even more just to aggravate her. Sure enough, the spirited old lady snorted, but it wasn’t tartly this time. Francis thought for a second. Indignantly. That’s how she snorted. ‘Humph!’
Mrs Strong exchanged a knowing look with her sister-in-law Marg Crowley, a cheery round-faced smiling woman. Both of them had suffered Granny Strong’s tirades for many years but, unlike Uncle Peadar, who was bull-necked and bald-headed, they were a little more wary of disagreeing with her so openly. Francis thought it was so clever the way Frank and Joe found some stout saplings in the nearby forest and used them to pole-vault over the electric fence. ‘Wow,’ he whispered under his breath.
‘There now, Isn’t it lovely to see that he’s enjoying the present you bought him, Marg?’ Mrs Strong ventured.
‘Oh I’m delighted,’ beamed Marg proudly. ‘But I can’t believe he’s nearly finished it already. I only gave it to him two days ago.’
‘Once he loves a book there’s no stopping him,’ Mrs Strong observed.
‘Good for him,’ Uncle Peadar asserted belligerently, as he sipped his large Crested Ten, which he always drank with half a teaspoon of water.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you when he goes blind at a young age,’ retorted Granny Strong, tartly again.
Francis figured that the family banter was turning into a fight between his granny and his uncle. Mr Strong hastily intervened.
‘Mam, will I put more coal on the range for you there?’ Mr Strong was always anxious to keep the peace.
Granny Strong, sitting in her winged chair right next to the Stanley range, squinted at the bright orange flames before replying.
‘It won’t do any harm, I suppose,’ she scowled.
Francis had just finished the second-last chapter and the villain Bangalore had captured the Hardy boys and, with an evil smirk, ordered his minions to flog them. The boys were in a tight corner. Just as he was about to find out what happened next, he was distracted by a familiar buzzing sound on the driveway outside his Granny’s tranquil cottage. He puckered his brow thoughtfully and shrewdly guessed that it must be his oldest brother Ritchie zooming in on his 1964 Honda 50. Francis glanced outside to confirm his deduction that it was indeed his tall dark-haired oldest brother who was arriving. He was carrying a passenger. Even though a crash helmet hid the face, Francis spotted a wisp of blonde hair sticking out and, employing his sleuthing skills, decided it was a cinch that the mystery passenger was Áine Kiely, Ritchie’s latest girlfriend. A moment later his hunch was confirmed when her face was revealed. Francis liked Áine; she was a pretty, quick-witted and vivacious girl with a carefree laugh.
Mrs Strong, who had been having a whispered conversation with Aunt Marg Crowley, jumped up with alacrity.
‘Oh look, there’s Ritchie and Áine,’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. Although he had been utterly absorbed in The Hooded Hawk Mystery, Francis was nonetheless always curious about whispered conversations and what they migh
t mean. Luckily, despite his recent misadventure with his menacing nemesis, Bernard McMahon, his hearing was once again as acute as ever and, while continuing to read, he eavesdropped surreptitiously, hoping to hear clues that would help him work out the puzzle. He had already noted his mam saying what sounded like ‘three times’ and even though his Aunt Marg was a very experienced whisperer and difficult to decipher, his sharp ears had definitely heard her mutter ‘recovery’. From these few words only, Francis had cleverly conjectured that the two women were discussing his mam’s recent illness and ‘recovery’ and his mam was explaining that she was now on three different tablets, ‘three times’ a day’. If this was the solution to the mystery conversation, however, it only baffled Francis more. Why the whispering? He had heard his mam talk about her blood pressure and her pills and how careful she needed to be after her hospital scare at least a hundred times in the last couple of months. It was no secret. With the arrival of Ritchie and his lively, appealing, blonde girlfriend, the whispered conversation came to a sudden end. Anyway Francis was much more interested in reading the intriguing final chapter of The Hooded Hawk Mystery.
Everyone was delighted to see Ritchie and Áine. There was lots of banter. ‘Oh, here comes Bonnie and Clyde,’ wisecracked Gussie, who enjoyed kidding with his older brother. Even though there was only a year between them, Ritchie and Gussie were very different. Ritchie had dark hair and was more athletic and serious-minded than his lighter-haired, more impulsive brother, Gussie, who loved movies and had his own 8mm camera. He started filming Ritchie and Áine, who giggled infectiously. Their moon-faced thirteen-year-old brother, Martin, stared at Áine with popping eyes. ‘Hello Áine,’ he smiled shyly. Martin was just beginning to notice girls, although he was much too young to have a girlfriend yet.
‘Well, hello and welcome,’ said Aunt Marg warmly. ‘Lovely to meet you, Áine.’
‘This is my Aunt Marg, my favourite Aunt,’ grinned Ritchie.
Unspoken Page 33
