‘Sure, will see, yeah,’ I say.
‘Ah brilliant, Joe, brilliant,’ he says, but he’s lost eye contact now, and is scuffing the path with the top of his shoe.
‘There’s just one more thing,’ he says, ‘feel free to tell me to fuck off, right.’ He’s still not looking at me, a heat coming to his cheeks. ‘It’s just some of the guys were asking me to, you know, ask you,’ and he takes a quick glance at me then, the heat of his awkwardness creeping further still, scorching me with the inevitability of what’s coming. Not so fucking nice after all.
‘To get ya some gear,’ I say, throwing him his much-needed lifeline.
‘Yes, that’s it, thanks Joe,’ he says, the smile coming back to his face, the heat draining out and transferring to me. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I was afraid you’d think,’ and he lifts his two hands up either side of him, into some half-arsed shrug. Afraid I’d think what? That he was my friend, that he was different, that he was the only one about this place that looked at me and didn’t see me Da.
‘Yeah, it’s a no,’ I say, turning my back on him, the certainty of my position within the Augustine boys circle now well and truly confirmed.
‘Oh, but you know you can name your price,’ he says, trying to get back to the comfort of his warm comradeship. ‘We’re not looking for freebies or anything, in case that is what you were thinking, even get you a good mark-up for your trouble too. I promise.’ He’s waiting for me to answer, ignorant to the intensified shift between us.
‘I said no, Johnny,’ I say, and push my way through the crowd now gathered for after-school study, my back hunched, tensed towards him. He catches up, puts his hand on my arm.
‘Hey, sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind, honestly, it’s not a bother that you can’t.’ I turn to him, to see if he really is that clueless, but his face all open and friendly disarms me, makes me second-guess my anger.
‘I just can’t, OK,’ I say and he nods OK back.
It’s then that I feel her, two hands covering my eyes, turning my vision into a glow of hot pinks and reds, all ‘Guess who,’ said with a whisper of spearmint into my neck, her arms now around my shoulders, her lips with a kiss on my cheek, her quiet calm enveloping me. Her lovely still calm.
‘Naoise,’ I say, with the familiar flame of embarrassment. She moves beside me now, her bangled arm in around my waist, her fingers tickling at the side of me as they brush past. I’m afraid to budge, or say anything in case she moves away.
‘Have you asked him yet,’ she says to Johnny, and I feel myself tense; is that what she sees me as too, a mule for her and her rich buddies, her grapefruit scent now stinging at the raw exposed parts of me, the bits I didn’t ever want her to see. Johnny notices, gives me a nudge and a smile.
‘She means to the party,’ he says and looks at me quizzically, pleadingly. I can feel her pulling me closer into her. I can’t help but let it carry me, ease me into a grin. Johnny grins too.
‘So, you’ll come?’ he asks, relieved that he’s back on steady ground.
‘Fuck it,’ I say.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Finn
Sat in Dr Flynn’s office that first time and all I could smell was sick and antiseptic wipes.
‘Vomiting bug epidemic,’ Dr Flynn said, shrugging, as he inspected my nose with his gimpy pink shirt and fat-arsed jeans. He had just removed the third blood-filled cotton swab, more roughly this time, annoyed that the flow hadn’t stopped.
‘You’ll just have to keep this up,’ he said to Ma, showing her how to shove the cotton bud up far enough. ‘It really should start to ease off soon.’
‘What if it doesn’t?’ Ma wanted to know.
‘Please, Mrs O’Reilly, I’ve already explained, there’s not much else to do,’ he said, passing her a jumbo pack of cotton swabs, a big buy-one-get-one-free sticker on the front. ‘You just have to wait it out,’ he said while standing to open the door. ‘Nosebleeds are very common, Mrs O’Reilly, as I’m sure you know.’ He pulled his phone out of his back pocket to check the time. I could feel the heat off Ma. She pushed back her chair, grabbed my hand and reefed me out the door.
‘Don’t forget to fix up with Sheila on your way out,’ Dr Flynn called through his almost-closed door. ‘Oh, and it’s the after-hours rate,’ he said, as the door clicked shut.
‘After hours, me hoop,’ Ma muttered, tightening her grip on me, walking straight past Sheila in her glass box.
‘Mrs O’Reilly,’ Sheila said. ‘Oh Mrs O’Reilly, I think you forgot …’ but Ma just kept walking. Ignoring her and dragging me with her.
‘But Mrs O’Reilly—’
Ma swivelled, went right up close to the glass. Tapped it with her finger. Stared Sheila out of it. Sheila looked away first.
‘You think I’m paying that jumped-up ponce to shove a cotton bud up his nose? You can tell Dr Flynn to fuck off.’ And out the door we slammed.
Ma stayed in stony silence on the walk home, me practically running to keep up with her power strides. But I couldn’t, keep up that is. My legs were throbbing. My bones were on fire.
‘Ma, can we slow down.’
‘Jaysus, Finn, it’s only another ten minutes.’
‘Ma, my legs are seriously banjaxed,’ I said, and this time she stopped to look, and her face softened. A little. The hard lines around her mouth and eyes melting. A little.
‘Did ya see the face on your one?’ I said, trying to keep her soft.
She was nearly there.
‘And the fat arse on Dr Flynn?’ I said. and she exploded with laughter. Both of us breaking our holes at Dr Flynn. The eejit.
‘Come on, we’ll go for an ice cream, rest those legs of yours,’ Ma said, linking her arm in mine as we made our way towards the golden arches.
But those legs of mine. Those aching bones.
That was sign number two.
Joe
My phone vibrates on the coffee table. Sabine.
You comin round, Nan’s made coddle.
Fuckin coddle, it’s a bleedin heatwave.
Ha, I know, come on, we’ll get a 99 after.
Sabine is on floor fifteen, top of the house, which is grand for her, but Nanny Gertie is pushing eighty and the lift is always fucked. And surprise surprise, cripple Ned is out, in his wheelchair, sunning himself.
‘Howya, Ned.’
‘All right, Joe,’ Ned says, wheeling himself closer, getting ready for the gossip. Christ knows where he got the wheelchair; it wasn’t from any doctor, that’s for fucking sure.
‘How’s your Ma, Joe?’ he asks, and he’s practically wheeled onto my toe.
‘Ah you know yourself, Ned, she’s not getting out much these days.’
‘Yeah, terrible, fucking terrible it is. I was only just saying there to Noeleen we haven’t seen her in ages. Is she going back to the Tavern? You have the best craic with Annie, that’s what we all say, and sure your one Tina can’t pull pints for shite. She doesn’t even tilt the glass, and she always uses the warm ones, straight out from the dishwasher so she does. Anyway, will ya tell her that we miss her about the place,’ he says.
‘Will do, Ned,’ I say, and I try to squeeze myself past him, but he backs up, blocking the way.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking, Joe, what happened there to young Finn, it’s not natural, there’s more to that, I tell you.’
Here we go again.
‘It’s the council, Joe. They’re pumping something through the heating system. Poisoning our brains. You ever wondered why we can’t control the heating? That’s why, Joe. I’m telling you. Trying to flush us out, a bit of the auld Hitler cleansing shit going on.’
‘Yeah, Ned, and Elvis lives over in Gandhi,’ I say.
Ned and his fucking conspiracy theories.
‘You can joke all you like, Joe, but I’m telling ya, I’ve started a letter to the council and everything—’
‘Listen, Ned,’ I cut him off. ‘I really have to get on, Gert
ie has made a coddle.’
‘A coddle? On the hottest day of the bleedin’ year,’ he says, laughing.
‘Tell me about it,’ I say, then I rap on Sabine’s window.
‘So she’s made a coddle now, has she?’ Ned says as Sabine opens the door.
‘Fuck off, Ned,’ she says and pulls me into a hug, the smell of boiled sausages and bacon stuck to her hair. I follow her through to the table, already set for three.
*
‘Did ya not like it, Joe?’ Gertie asks, looking at my half-finished bowl, the colourless sausages and potatoes floating around in its sea of vegetable soup.
‘Nan, who the hell wants to be eating coddle in this heat?’ Sabine says, laughing.
‘That’s enough from you, young lady. You can’t just stop your meat and veg for a heatwave. You still need your sustenance. Get those hairs on your chest. Come on, Joe, don’t you be letting me down now, eat up.’
I try an extra few spoonfuls for her benefit. She goes to the counter, fussing herself, buttering slices of Brennans Batch, cutting them in half and piling them onto the plate beside me. On top of the three already cut slices.
There’s a photo on the windowsill, peeking out between all of Gertie’s knick-knacks and Holy Marys, of the two of us. Me and Sabine, that is, on the first day of school. Me, dark and sulking; her, freckled and red-ribboned plaits and a grin so wide it nearly cracks her face. Arms around each other, leaning against the gate of St Brendan’s National School towering above us all steel and barbed.
I can see that gate from our flat, the messing and scraps of school-time madness, the laughs and whoops from Finn and his mates, as they swung out of the bicycle racks, Principal Kelly giving a good auld get out of it roar.
‘Nan, we’re going for a ninety-nine, do ya want us to bring anything in?’ Sabine asks while clearing the plates, piling them into the sink. I give her a hand.
‘Are you just going to leave them like that?’ Gertie says, nodding at the precarious tower.
‘Ah Nan, look, we have to get out of here before we’re boiled alive,’ she says, giving Gertie a big hug from behind and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Leave them there, and we’ll clean up when we’re back. Promise,’ Sabine says, her arms still tight around her.
‘All right so, love,’ Gertie says. ‘Oh, and will you pick us up a TV guide, I want to see who is on the Late Late tonight.’
‘Ah Nan, I can just look that up for you on me phone,’ Sabine says, reaching for her back pocket.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no. I want to read it like a normal human being, thank you very much. Sure, don’t I like doing the crossword, reading the gossip. Now go get my purse, there’s a good girl.’
Sabine retrieves it from under the green floral footstool, the one perched beside the good chair, and hands it to her. Gertie takes out a crumpled fiver and folds it into Sabine’s hand. ‘The ninety-nines are on me, love,’ she says.
We make our way across The Yard, to between Gandhi and Mandela, where the ice-cream van usually camps on a scorcher. We join the queue of worn-out Mas and sticky-faced toddlers and young lads counting their coppers.
‘Here, mister, you wouldn’t have twenty cent, would ya?’ a freshly peeling face asks, hand over his eyes, shielding. I rummage around my faded jeans pocket and flick him a fifty. ‘Ah nice one, thanks,’ he says, as he and his mates start recalculating what they can get with their extra thirty cent. Meanies or Hubba Bubba?
We lick our ninety-nines on the wall of the abandoned shopping centre, the hub of the towers that never actually got occupied in the first place. You couldn’t even buy a loaf of bread in this fucking place, had to hoof it all the way into town for that, a good twenty minutes’ walk away.
‘Tell your Ma I saved your life.’ It’s Carthy, taking a break from his booming business by the looks of it, pushing Sabine from behind, off the wall, and pulling her back again, into him, his hands on her waist.
Sabine elbows him in the ribs. ‘Get the fuck, Carthy.’ He just pulls her tighter.
‘She said, get the fuck,’ I say, standing, ready to burst him.
‘Relax the fucking cacks, man,’ he says, raising his hands, hawking a glob of green phlegm over Sabine’s shoulder onto the path in front of her. ‘I’m only having a laugh. Isn’t that right, Sabine,’ he whispers into her neck, and she’s hunched now, arms crossed over herself, each hand at either side of her neck.
‘She said, get the fuck,’ I say again, and wedge my body between them.
‘All right, all right,’ he says, and he moves away, towards the Tavern, stained boxers on show over his bagging jeans. ‘She’s nothing but a frigid cock-tease anyway.’ And he’s footing it, giving sneaky smirks over his shoulder.
‘How long has he been doing that?’ I ask, barely able to keep the fire out. ‘Sabine, seriously, what the fuck is the story there?’ She leans into me. Sabine. Who never leans on anyone. Who is strong as fuck. Who never gives a shit what people say or think of her.
‘Leave it, Joe,’ she says.
‘Did something happen?’ I ask, and she doesn’t answer, she just ups and heads back towards the flat.
Finn
Da was there when we got home. Sitting on the couch between a crust-filled Domino’s box and three crushed cans of Dutchie. I wonder did he do shotgun with the cans. He showed me how with a can of Fanta once, piercing a hole in its side and getting me to put my mouth on it while he pulled the tab. I could still feel the sticky burn of bubbles in my nose three days later. I inspected the cans from where I stood, but I couldn’t see any holes.
He had his sleeves rolled up, Da did, and I could just about see his favourite tattoo. The one he got for Ma on her birthday, the Annie one, written in big black swirling letters with a star over the ‘i’. He said he liked everyone to know that Ma belonged to him, but especially Ma. He said he liked her to have that reminder most of all.
I can’t wait to get a tattoo. Dunner’s older brother Anto does them. He nicked a load of stuff from some tattoo place in town and now he does them round his flat for half price. Dunner told me he learned how to do them from YouTube. Joe said he hasn’t a clue and his tattoos all look like shite, but Dunner said Anto will give us one when we’re fourteen, and no way am I going to waste it on a girl’s name, not even Ma’s.
‘Where were youse?’ Da asked, not lifting his eyes from The Chase blasting through the flat-screen.
‘The doctor,’ Ma answered, nodding at my bedroom door, pushing me in its direction, but I wanted to sit with Da and watch The Chase. I pushed the empty cans to the ground and scooched in beside him.
‘The doctor?’ Da said. ‘Which one did you go to? I hope it wasn’t that bollox in the health centre, he’s a nosy bastard, him. Always poking around in our business.’
‘No, we went to your man Flynn up there on Sheriff Street,’ Ma said, but Da didn’t answer back, he just kept watching The Chase.
‘Ha, did you see that, Finney boy. She’s just pressed the wrong button, the geebag. It’s A. You should have pressed A, you dopey bitch.’ But as he nudged me with his elbow, he took in my bloody shirt and drenched cotton swabs.
‘Who the fuck busted you?’ he asked.
‘No one, Da, it’s a nosebleed.’
‘What? A fucking nosebleed?’ He turned to look at Ma now. ‘You took him to the doctor for a poxy nosebleed. I’ve fucking told you before, Annie, you’re going to turn him into a complete bleedin’ sissy.’ He nudged me with his elbow again, harder this time, in the ribs. I didn’t let on that it hurt.
‘Here, Da, your one is after getting it wrong again,’ I said, trying to get him back. But he’d already gone and was headed towards Ma. Ma kept her back to the counter. Like always.
‘Who’d you say you went to?’ he asked, leaning his hand on the counter behind her.
‘Dr Flynn,’ said Ma, barely moving.
‘Flynn,’ Da said. ‘You mean that posh pillock. How much did that set me back?’ And he pressed his hand hard on
hers.
‘Nothing, Da,’ I said. ‘It cost us nothing. We didn’t pay, isn’t that right, Ma?’ But I’ve said the wrong thing. I can see it in Ma’s face.
‘Nothing.’ His foot was on hers now. ‘Are you making a fucking charity case out of us?’
‘Finn, to your room. Now,’ Ma ordered.
‘That’s right, send your little Mammy’s boy to his room, God forbid he sees what a real man must do to get some fucking respect,’ he said, pushing right up against Ma, his foot still on her foot, his hand still on her hand, and all I could think of is how Granda used to get me and Joe to stand on his feet and hold his hands while he danced us around the kitchen. I don’t think Da wanted to dance.
‘Finn,’ Ma pleaded.
I got up and ran to my room. Joe was there on the bottom bunk, headphones in, and scratching on his sketchpad. I climbed the ladder and faced the wall, still studded with Liverpool stickers and cinema stubs. The mattress lifted twice, kicked from under me.
‘You all right, bud?’ Joe asked, his face peering over the side of the steel rail. ‘Can I come up, yeah?’ And he hopped up beside me without waiting for my answer. He placed a headphone in my ear and one in his own and turned up the volume, Thin Lizzy’s ‘Sarah’.
‘I’ve made you another one,’ he said, ‘to add to the collection,’ and out from the centre of his sketchpad was Principal Kelly in a nappy, sucking his thumb, and I laughed my feckin’ head off. I reached under my pillow and pulled out the Sellotape and taped it up with the rest. Just above my head where I could see it.
‘Will you do Mrs O’Sullivan next?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ Joe said, and he got a fresh page and his black pen and turned the volume up on Thin Lizzy.
‘Will you make sure it’s a nice one. I can show her then,’ I said.
‘Yeah, Finn, I’ll do a nice one,’ he said, and I concentrated on Joe’s hand and the lyrics of ‘Sarah’.
Joe
Boys Don't Cry Page 2
