Ma, It's a Cold Aul Night an I'm Lookin for a Bed

by Martha Long

  ‘The two of them!’ I puffed, drawing in me nostrils, and holding me breath with the shock of it all. ‘They would be pretending to count the takings at the end of the night. But the husband found them rolling around under the counter when the shop was locked up for the night. And the whole lot of us only sleeping overhead on the next floor up,’ I said, letting me voice and hand raise up to the ceiling. Looking up at it, with me face tortured, not able to take that part in.

  ‘Rolling around?’ she said, gripping her chest with her head leaning over to me with her eyes rolling around in her head. Looking like she was going into convulsions. Never having heard the like of such scandalous carryings on in her whole life.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I breathed. ‘You see, O’Brien was the handyman. And he was, eh, young and the husband was old. He had grey hair.’

  ‘But dis rolling around. Tell me about dis!’

  ‘Oh, yeah. That was shocking,’ I said, holding me hand to me chest. Still not the better of it. ‘The husband went down to the shop unexpectedly and let an unmerciful roar outa him. We heard the screams. Me and the other girl who worked in the shop. We lived upstairs, we were—’

  ‘Yes, yes! Go on. Dis rolling. I want to know about dis.’

  ‘Oh yeah! I am still not over the shock of that.’ I grabbed me hand to me chest again. Looking sick at the thought of it all coming back to me now. ‘Well,’ I said, slurping over me tongue. Enjoying meself no end, getting really carried away. ‘We ran down when we heard the shouts. And the poor husband, Mister Lipman—’

  ‘I thought you said it was Lipstop!’

  I looked at her, confused for a minute.

  ‘Oh, yeah! Of course it was. I get them foreign names mixed up. Anyway, when me and, eh, Maggie flew in the door to the shop . . . well, I am still having nightmares over it, missus,’ I said, holding me head and closing me eyes. ‘The two of them . . . O’Brien and the missus . . . Lipstop . . . they were in their skin,’ I whispered.

  ‘No!’ the mamma roared in a whisper. Slamming her fist on the table. ‘You see all dis?’ she roared, looking at me then sweeping her head around the room, nodding at the walls with her arms waving in the air, muttering in Italian and blessing herself, looking up to heaven. Then folding her arms and dropping her head to me. ‘Sì, sì, sì,’ she muttered, dying for me to get on to the next bit.

  ‘Oh, yeah! The whole lot of us. Me an Maggie. And the world and his wife all heard about it, with the roarings outa the lot a them. Especially the husband. He was blue in the face with the shock of it, and went straight for the wife, grabbing her by the hair of the head. Then wrapped his hands around her neck, trying to strangle her. The handyman jumped in without a stitch a clothes on him! Oh my God! You should have seen what I seen!’ I roared. Dropping me head into me hands.

  ‘Sì, sì, sì! Keep telling!’ she roared. Nearly losing the mind with the excitement of it all.

  ‘Well, anyway, he jumped on the husband and tried to pull yer man offa her and the husband lost his mind altogether and picked up a bottle a milk sitting in a crate on the floor, with all the milk still in it,’ I gasped, ‘and landed it on yer man’s head. Splitting it wide open. Oh, it was killings! Murder! We wondered if we should call the police because it looked like someone was going to get kilt! Then—’ I stopped, pausing to get a breath. And think what might a happened next.

  ‘So? Go on, go on! What?’

  ‘Where was I?’ I said, running outa steam.

  ‘Tell me the rest! What happened then?’

  ‘Eh, oh, yeah! Then she picked up a bottle and smashed the husband over the head with it. Then we definitely had to call an ambulance and everyone got themself carted off to the hospital, with the ambulance roaring away with the bells ringing, and the whole lot a them still stark naked as the day they were born. Only except for the husband. He was grand. He was wearing his pyjamas. But the other two were starkers! And blood was pouring everywhere. So then we were left minding the shop. The two of us. Me and the other one.’

  ‘But the husband? You say he died! Did she kill him?’ said the mamma, looking confused, trying to work out the story.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. But he died in the hospital. So then I called me mother straight away, from the phone box in the shop, and she told me to get the hell outa there. It was no place for a good Catholic Irish girl like me who was well-reared and brought up with the fear of God in her at that pagan way of carrying on. That’s what me mother told me. So I rushed off and got the newspaper and here I am. Sitting here with you. Telling you the whole shocking story. I rang the mammy back to tell her I was now going to be working for an Italian family. She was delighted, missus. She said the good God is looking after me. Ending me up in a job with a good Christian God-fearing Italian family who would make sure I didn’t go astray! So now you see why I don’t have a reference, missus,’ I said, waving me empty hands at her.

  ‘Mamma mia!’ breathed the mamma, holding onto her chest and breathing out heavily, not the better of hearing that lovely bit a juicy scandal. ‘Sì! Say no more. I ave the picture. You be a good girl. Keep outa trouble.’ Then she came back to her senses, and sat staring at me, thinking. I sat trying to read whether she believed me or not.

  Dear God, please let her give me the job. I’m sorry for telling lies. But I had to think up something quick. Or I had no chance at all. I sat quietly, waiting for her to make up her mind. Seeing her trying to read me and whether I was telling her a pack of lies. Then she snorted, giving me a dirty look, and huffed, shaking her head. Oh, oh! I could feel me heart sinking right down to the bottom of me belly. Here it comes. She’s not going to give me the job. I listened anyway, dropping me head. Resting meself with me arms folded, waiting for me arse to get lifted straight out the door. Pity. I always wanted to work in a fish-and-chip shop. Then I could eat as much as I like, and all for free.

  ‘OK, I give you one week on the trial. If you no work out, I let you go. Pssst! Out! We no mess here,’ she said, as me eyes followed her hands slapping against each other, seeing the picture of me being sent flying out the door. ‘You understand what I say?’

  ‘oh, indeed! Very well,’ I said, lifting me head and looking at her with a big smile on me face. Not believing me good fortune at landing the job. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, missus. I’m a very good worker. As missus, eh,’ – I was trying to remember – ‘the Jewish woman from me last job used to say, she couldn’t praise me enough. No, she couldn’t,’ I repeated meself, getting carried away with the excitement of getting the job and praising meself.

  ‘OK, the money is one pound and ten shillings a week. You work and eat and live with the family. You good worker, I treat you right! We all happy. I have one other Irish girl here already. She is a good girl. Gives me no trouble. She is like a daughter to me. You watch and do what she do. You can keep your job. Now, you and she work in the café. That is it. I have no more to say. You start work right away. Come, follow me. I can’t turn my back for one minute. Then they start the fighting.’ We could hear the roaring before we hit the shop.

  We walked into the bright lights of the shop. All I could hear was the noise, as I squinted, trying to get me sight back from the dark room. Two Italian fellas serving behind the counter were having a screaming match. The touchy one was shouting at the other fella because he was scratching his privates and staring out at the young ones, shouting and belting each other standing outside the shop. They were hoping to draw the attention of the young fellas who were doing the same. Milling each other around the counter, hoping to get served. The Italian fella wasn’t taking a blind bit a notice of what was going on around him. The people were knee deep, all draped around the counter waiting to be served, and starving with the hunger. The gorgeous smell killing them as their eyes followed the lovely golden fish Touchy was humping around.

  ‘Eh, Francesco!’ he screamed in Italian, staggering with a load of steaming cooked golden-battered fish held in a big metal basket. He stopped, gettin
g himself ready to aim. Then he hoisted the fish up, sending it flying to land under the hot shelf with the glass in front. ‘Francesco!’ he roared again, lifting his foot and giving Francesco an almighty kick right up the arse. Francesco leaped into the air with the fright and stared at Touchy while he rubbed the arse off himself, wondering what had happened to him. Then he lit into Touchy, giving him a smack across the head with the open palm of his hand. Touchy went mad and screamed into the face of Francesco, keeping his fists held tight down by his side and sticking his head into Dopey’s face. Jaysus! All hell is breaking loose, I thought, staring at the two of them and enjoying the excitement of it all.

  ‘Cut that out!’ roared a little aul fella waiting to be served. ‘Are yehs going to serve the paying customers or not? We want to get the grub and get the hell outa here. Youse can kill yerselves in your own time! I want me fucking fish and chips!’ he roared.

  ‘Yeah, we want chips! We want chips!’ shouted the young fellas from the back. Jaysus! This is a mad house, I thought, looking at all the people shaking their heads up and down in disgust. Hopping from one foot to the other, getting very impatient. The young fellas started getting very rowdy, with their shouting and roaring. Looking like they were getting ready to jump over the counter and help themself. Dopey just looked at the aul fella and the rest of the people, with a dozy look coming back on his face, and just stared at everyone shouting and roaring and going mad. He went back to hanging onto himself. Scratching, like he had a bad itch and couldn’t help himself, not even bothering to get moving.

  Touchy lifted his voice, getting into an even worse rage. His face turned bright red as he stabbed at the metal bucket holding the raw white batter and the other bucket with the fish waiting to be dipped and battered. The aul one ran at Dopey, giving him an unmerciful shake, and dragged him by the shoulder, landing him over to the bucket, shouting and pointing at him to get on with the job. The touchy fella started cursing. It sounded like, ‘Fucking this and fucking that.’ ‘Fungolase’ or something. Then the aul one took off, satisfied the Francesco fella was now getting on with the job. But he was still looking a bit dopey to me.

  I followed the mamma out through the counter and down the shop and into the café on the left side. There must be about twenty – well, maybe fifteen – tables I thought, trying to count them. Most of them were full. ‘Saturday night is busy, always busy at the weekend,’ the mamma said, watching the Irish girl rushing around, taking orders and clearing the tables as people left. ‘Here! Take this,’ she said, dipping into the pocket of her massive black-and-red-coloured flowery frock and handing me a little notebook with white sheets of paper, and the stub of a pencil. ‘Take the order from the customers and write it all down on this, and write the table number. It starts at this first table up here. That is number one. Work your way back, then it goes to the next row. We have twelve tables. Now don’t mix up the tables. Be sure you know what you are doing.’

  ‘OK!’ I said, getting all excited, dying to get cracking.

  ‘Serve these people here,’ she said, throwing her head at a couple waiting on the far side, staring over at us and watching the Irish girl serving.

  I rushed over with me stub of pencil in one hand raised in the air, holding the notebook resting in the palm of me left hand. Hoping I looked like a waitress. ‘What will you have?’ I said. Slowly throwing me head from one side to the other, looking like the waitresses in Caffola’s in O’Connell Street. You always look up to them. Because they feed you when you’re dying for a bit of tasty grub.

  ‘I can’t make up me mind,’ said the young one with the beehive dyed black hair, back-combed and sprayed with a whole can of hair lacquer. That ended up looking like a bird’s nest sitting on top of her head. Anyway, that’s what it looks like to me.

  ‘What are you having?’ she said to the fella. Flapping her false eyelashes and staring at him. With her two eyes covered in black pencil going all around the eye in a circle, making her eyes disappear into a black hole. She was hoping he had enough money for fish and chips, but was afraid to ask him, in case he thought she was mean. That she was only after him for his money. I could tell that by the way she was a bit shy with him, and he was saying, ‘Go on, Joanie! Have what you like. I’m good for it. I’m flush this week. Go on, go on! I’m havin the big ray an a plate of chips,’ he said, turning to me. ‘Wit a pot a tea and give us a plate of bread an butter.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll have the same,’ she said, looking contented now that she knew where she stood and he was loaded with the money.

  ‘Will we go on after this inta town an see a film or what?’ he said, holding her hand across the table and dropping his neck inside his leather jacket.Trying to catch the whole bottle of hair oil dripping down the back of his neck.

  ‘Yeah, that would be lovely,’ she said, squeezing his hands and getting all lovey-dovey. ‘There’s a great one on at the Savoy. But the only thing is, it’s all romance! An you mightn’t like that,’ she said, making her face look like she was going to burst into tears.

  ‘Course I would! Anything for you. We can sit at the back in the dark, and get our own bit a romance goin,’ he said, running his hand along the side of his greasy hair, and looking for somewhere to wipe it.

  ‘Oh, go on, you! Yeh mean yer after a bit a courtin?’

  ‘Now did I say tha?’

  ‘No, but me ma said I’m to watch out for fellas like you!’

  ‘Yeah? Do you want to hear wha my ma said?’ he laughed. Grabbing her around the neck and leaning over the table, whispering into her ear. I took off, listening to the pair of them scream their hearts out laughing after taking me time clearing the table next to them and earwigging like mad. It sounded lovely. Coming in here with a nice fella, then going off to the pictures. It made me feel a bit lonely. Then I flew up to the counter and gave me order to Touchy. Feeling meself lift again just as quickly. This place is great, with the bright lights and people coming and going. But most of all, the best part is that I’m all a part of it.

  I staggered out of the café, heading for the shop, trying to balance a load of dirty dishes stacked too high on the tray. ‘oh, mother a God,’ I whined, watching them slip and slide. Jaysus! Ah! I took too many. I turned for the shop, then turned back again. Landing the tray on a couple’s table trying to eat their dinner. I wrestled with the tumbling dishes, grabbing out at the plates, seeing them skid across and ending up in the man’s lap. Some of the slops slid onto the man and woman’s dinner.

  ‘Hurry! I’ve been told to tell you your orders are ready,’ the

  Irish girl puffed, rushing past me carrying two plates of fish and chips. Looking all red in the face from trying to keep up with the rush, as she swept past me. Her eyes rolled to heaven, taking in me staring at the man’s lap. While he jumped up, shaking off a load of beans stuck to his trousers!

  Ah! Oh, I’m very sorry,’ I said, looking from the man to the woman with all the scraps from the dirty dishes sitting on top of their plates of dinner.

  ‘For the luv a Jaysus! Can yeh not mind what you’re doing?’ he roared, shaking his trousers and wriggling his hips, trying to get the beans to drop off. Then he looked down at the big stain right in the middle of his legs, and started cursing like mad.

  ‘I’ll clean it up,’ I said, trying to grab up the dishes and fix them properly on the table. Leaving him to clean himself up, taking the cloth off me.

  ‘Gimme that!’ he snarled, grabbing the wet dishcloth outa me hand.

  ‘Jaysus! The service is getting worse in this place,’ the woman moaned, throwing dirty looks at me and sweeping her eyes past her husband and landing them on the wall.

  ‘Miss! Where’s that fresh cod-and-chips we ordered, and a smoked cod-and-chips for her?’ shouted an aul fella from the middle of the room.

  ‘Yeah, coming. I’m just going to get it.’

  I looked around, seeing people with empty tables in front of them, sitting patiently and looking hungry, staring over at me. Th
e place was suddenly crowded. Bloody hell! How is this happening? Everything was going grand a minute ago, I thought, grabbing up the dishes and taking off to the crowded shop, with the man and woman screaming at me to come back and sort out the damage. I ignored them, shouting, ‘Excuse me. Let me past.’ I hiked the overflowing tray up onto the counter, letting a plate slip and smash to the floor.

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted a gang of bleedin young fellas, delighted with the excitement of hearing something smashing and me making a fool out of meself.

  ‘Here, Rosa!’ shouted an Italian little aul fella with a brown weather-beaten face and little black beady eyes. He came out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a long red-check apron, and waved me away. ‘Go! Take your orders. Serve the customers.’

  ‘Two large ray! Two chips! Tea, bread and butter!’ shouted Touchy, slamming the two plates on the counter. I grabbed them and flew back into the café, making straight for hair oil.

  ‘Jaysus, young one! Did yeh go back to Italy to catch the bleedin fish?’ he said, following the plate of grub sliding over to him.

  ‘Sorry about that! We’re rushed off our feet tonight,’ I said. Making it sound like I was here for years, instead of only a few minutes.

  ‘Where’s the tea?’ he squeaked, his mouth hanging open, looking at the table seeing he didn’t have everything.

  ‘Coming.’ I was off and grabbing up the tray with the pot of tea and bread and landing it back to hair-oil head. ‘Enjoy your fish,’ I said, smiling at the two of them. ‘It’s only just freshly battered!’

  The girl paused her jaws that were slamming up and down, making short work of the fish and chips. She listened, then it hit her. Thinking I just said something funny. ‘Did yeh hear that? Yer woman’s just freshly battered the fish,’ she said, with her eyes staring at him and her cheeks bulging with the grub. ‘Looka! It’s battered.’ She pointed at his fish. There was a silence, while he stared at his fish. Then the pair of them burst out laughing.