by Donal Ryan
The worst thing is I know I won’t go in to that gig. I started thinking straight away about it. None of the lads will come with me and I won’t go on my own. Isn’t that unreal? And if I did manage to get brave enough to go in on my own, I probably wouldn’t text her in case she was with a big load of her cool friends and they’d look at me like I was after crawling out of a dog’s hole and they’d be in a big round of vodkas and Red Bulls and I’d have to go in on the round and I wouldn’t have the price of it and I’d ask them all what were they having anyway like a big hard man and instead of going to the bar I’d sneak away out the door and run off home and later on she’d text me just a question mark and I’d probably throw my phone into the river out of pure solid embarrassment and shame at my own fear and uselessness.
FATHER COTTER used to say to us in school that a Christian, when faced with a moral dilemma, should ask himself only one question: What would Jesus have done? I’ve always stuck by that, except when I was young I substituted my auld fella for Jesus and when I got older, Bobby Mahon got the spot. How would I know what Jesus would have done? That fella was a mass of contradictions as far as I can see. One minute he says to turn the other cheek, the next minute he’s having a big strop and kicking over lads’ market stalls. He says blessed are the meek and he goes around shouting and roaring the odds to everyone. He rises from the dead and then shags off a few weeks later and leaves his buddies in the shit. If you look at it that way, Pokey starts to sound as Christlike as Bobby.
I could ask the auld fella for about seventy euro to go in to that gig and give him it back when my dole comes through. Pokey screwed us with the stamps so we have to wait for jobseekers or something. The father would give me it no problem, but then would he think to himself, haven’t I a fine fella for a son, twenty-seven years old and tapping me for money to go to dances? Maybe he wouldn’t think that, but even the thought that he might think it is enough to make me know I won’t ask him. I could just text your wan Holly and say something funny, or just ask her how did she get on in her interview for the shitty job or send her a joke or something and if she texts back to know am I going in on Thursday I could have a good lie ready and that way there’d still be a chance with her but I wouldn’t have the whole gig thing to worry about. But the gig is the big opportunity. I could easily get a chance to stick a head on her at the gig. I know she likes me; I’m not stupid. Flakers like her make it obvious, in a nice way, with laughs and eyes and questions put in a certain way. It’s there for me, and I won’t take it. I’ll stay at home and watch Coronation Street with the parents, thinking about how thinking about things can stop you living your life. Thinking about Holly with some other prick that likes the Pixies, wiping the eye of a fella he never met.
I’ll be in town again next week. I’ll stand looking at the same poster, for a gig that will be over, wondering about the odds of her appearing again. I’ll wear my Pearl Jam T-shirt this time. She was probably at that gig, too. I’ll stand there until I start feeling like a dick, then I’ll get the bus back to the village and look at her number in my phone while the summer rain runs down the window and my cowardly heart settles back into the slow rhythm of time being wasted. Then I’ll delete her number.
Millicent
DADDY DONE A rudey this morning at breakfast and Mammy went mad. She called him a smelly bastard and told him farting was all he was good for. I felt sad for Daddy then because he looked sad on his face and he went all red and he said sorry love to Mammy and she started putting her arm over her nose and banging stuff on the table with her other hand and acting like she hated Daddy. Right after he done the rudey he smiled over at me like he always does and Mammy said don’t be trying to bring her down to your level, you’re a pure solid show opposite the child, you’re such a bad example. I don’t know what Mammy means half the time. Mammy told Daddy I was a better earner than him because I bring in a hundred and fifty euros a month and he brings in sweet fuck all. I heard her saying this before too. The child brings in more than you Hughie; the child brings in more than you. Mammy used to be always giving out stink to Daddy for accidentally saying that word in front of me but now she says it the whole time herself. It’s a funny word. Fuck fuck fuck. I say it in my room but not so’s Mammy can hear me. I test it out to see how does it sound coming out of my mouth. Daddy called Mammy a really bad word one night but I can’t remember it but I know it must be real bad because he told her sorry straight away after he said it and Mammy was crying instead of shouting. Daddy doesn’t have any work and he isn’t allowed to get the dole because he was the boss of himself. Daddy says loads of words about the people who give out the dole. Real bad words. Daddy says he built the country with his own bare hands while they were inside drinking tea. Mammy tells him ah shut up.
MAMMY WORKS in Tescos. She told Daddy she has to work her fingers to the bone. I cried when I heard Mammy saying that. I thought all the skin was going to come off her fingers. I thought her fingers would fall off. Like that man in the village whose leg fell off and now he has a leg made out of metal and he does be drunk and falls on the footpath and people have to pick him up and Daddy tells me don’t be looking at him, and one time we were coming home from Mass and we seen him falling over and Mammy said oh Hughie pull over and give him a hand and Daddy said he would in his bollocks, that fella was only a knacker and he could stay inside in the gutter. Mammy gave out the whole way home telling Daddy how it was awful to be coming from Mass and he wouldn’t give a proper Christian example to the child and how would he like if it was him who was lying in the street and people driving past him and walking out over him. Daddy said nothing back to her only got redder and redder and then when we were eating our dinner later on I saw a big long snot from my nose falling into my gravy like a little waterfall and then I knew I was crying and I didn’t really know why. I get really sad and I start crying before I know I’m going to. Then Mammy and Daddy always stop fighting and stop not talking and do start hugging me and saying sorry, sorry darling, sorry little love, oh it’s not your fault, sorry, sorry, sorry. I don’t know what they do be on about half the time.
Daddy collects Mammy and Assumpta Gill from Tescos. All the other fellas driving their cars are only pricks. I shout PRICKS and Daddy does laugh and says not to be saying bold words. Then I do shout it again and he laughs again and pretends to be cross. YOU’RE ONLY A PRICK AND A BOLLOCKS I do shout out the window like Daddy does and he says MILLICENT! And I know well he does be only letting on to be cross with me. He always smiles back at me straight away after. Daddy in the mirror is always smiling when Mammy isn’t with us. Daddy in the mirror is always sad when Mammy is with us. Daddy in the mirror never sings on the way home from Tescos, only on the way in. Assumpta Gill smells like fags. She does be telling Mammy about all them little bitches in work and how they’re all real sly. They do be forever getting Assumpta into trouble, licking on her. Mammy agrees away with her. Then when she’s gone, Mammy tells Daddy she’s an awful silly cow. I never say any bad words in front Mammy and Assumpta Gill because I don’t want to get Daddy in trouble.
I’LL BE GOING back to school soon at the end of this summer and then Daddy won’t be minding me any more and he does be saying what’ll he do without his baby girl in the mornings, he’ll have to go way and get a real job besides sitting down on the couch with me looking at Iggle Piggle and Peppa Pig and I feel real sad when he says that because I don’t want to go to school and leave my daddy all sad without me and it’ll be no good watching Peppa Pig without me. How’s it daddies can’t come to school anyway? Maybe they’ll have to now if everyone is still going around scared of the Children Snatcher Monster. A child got kidnapped in the city and the child was belonging to a lady that lives up the road from our house and the child was took away by a fella in a car from the house where he was getting minded near the big huge shopping centre inside in town. Mammy had her hand over her mouth when her friend came in to tell her about the lost baby and she kept saying oh sweet Jesus, oh sw
eet Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, and she started crying and then I started crying because I got an awful fright. Then Daddy came in and Mammy started giving out stink to Daddy saying you better not ever take your eyes off of her, do you hear me, don’t ever take your eyes off of her, and Daddy just stood there saying of course I won’t, and Mammy said sure I don’t know what way you mind her when I do be at work, sure you’re an awful eejit, you could let her run out onto the road or anything, and she kept giving out and giving out and I said Mammy, Daddy is brilliant at minding me, I wouldn’t ever go out near the road, Daddy never takes his eyes off of me, and then the two of them had a fight over me trying to hug me at the same time and Mammy was trying to hug me and so was Daddy at the same time, and Mammy was pushing Daddy away until Daddy started crying, and I got an awful worser fright than when Mammy had started crying because daddies never cry and Mammy must of felt right sorry for giving out stink to Daddy because she went real quiet and rubbed his arm up and down and held his hand and Daddy was trying to hide his face with his other hand and they must of forgot about me then because they started hugging each other like mad and I didn’t mind them having forgot about me for a while when I seen that.
Then later on I was sitting up on Daddy’s lap and I was after finishing my secret bottle that I’m still allowed have before I go down to bed even though Mammy says I’m way too big now to be sucking bottles like a baby and Daddy was rubbing my hair and I could feel the warmness of his breath on the top of my head and he was whispering I love you baby girl, I love you baby girl, I love you baby girl, and he kept saying it over and over until I was nearly asleep and when he took me over for a kiss off Mammy before he took me down I seen her give him a kiss as well and I felt real happy. But now I’m not able to go asleep because I heard Assumpta Gill saying to Mammy imagine he’s still out there, there’s a monster out there who snatches children imagine, oh Lord save us and guard us, Assumpta Gill was saying, but I wasn’t afraid of the Children Snatcher Monster when I heard Assumpta Gill saying it to Mammy earlier because Mammy and Daddy were there on either side of me and it was sunny outside and no monster would be able to steal a child on a sunny day in front of her mammy and daddy but now I’m in bed and Mammy and Daddy are off down the hall and through the kitchen and inside in the sitting room and the Children Snatcher Monster could easily be hiding outside in the hot press and my night light is no good at keeping away the dark because my room is full of dark over around the wardrobe and at the bottom of my bed and all. I don’t want to be calling Mammy or Daddy though because they might have a fight again over me being scared and Mammy might blame Daddy for me being scared.
I’ll hide in under the blanket. I won’t move and if the Children Snatcher Monster comes into my room he’ll think there’s no one inside in the bed. I’m not going calling Mammy or Daddy. I’ll roar and scream at the Children Snatcher Monster if he comes near me the way Daddy roars at the pricks and bollockses and stupid fuckers in the other cars and the way Mammy roars and shouts at Daddy over all the things Daddy done wrong to leave us without a bob to our name only what she gets from the poxy few hours that fat bitch allows her on the roster inside in Tescos. That roster does make Mammy awful cross. I wonder what sort of a yoke it is at all. Is a roster as bad as a dirty owl tramp? Mammy said one time that that’s all Daddy’s mammy is. Daddy’s mammy is my other nana. I never seen her. I’ll use the awful word Daddy said to Mammy, so I will, if that Children Snatcher Monster comes near me. I’ll say my prayer over and over again. Saying your prayers is the same as talking to Holy God so it is. Oh Angel of God my guardian dear to whom God’s love commits me here ever this night be at my side to light and guard to rule and guide. Amen.
Denis
YOU’D OFTEN SEE lads in films that are thrown in jail and afraid of their lives or being held prisoner and after getting the shite bate out of them, lying curled up with their knees up near their chins. The foetal position it’s called, because that’s the way a child lies in the womb. Small children do often lie that way in their cots to give themselves comfort. They’re reminded of the warmth and safety of the time before life. Them lads that are thrown in jail in the films are looking for that comfort back. There’s something in it; I know that. I’ve been lying that way for days now. Kate thinks I’m sick. She was in a right flap the first day because she never seen me sick before. I was never sick a day in my life. Now she’s only barely tolerating me. She isn’t far off of telling me cop the Jaysus on and go out and get things sorted out in the name of God before the sheriff comes and empties out the house. The crèche is closed since the child went missing. I haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of a job. I’m owed a small fortune. The sky is falling down. I drove around the country for weeks looking for Pokey Burke and Conleth Barry and four or five more bollockses that owe me money. I’m owed near a hundred grand. I had the taxman roaring in one ear and the lads roaring in the other ear, and plant strewn all over the country. I done four or five jobs there I was never paid a cent for. I done them on the strength of jobs done before where I was paid as I went along and there wasn’t enough hours in the day to get the work done. It’s always the subbies gets shafted for a finish. I have thousands of miles done looking for lads. I didn’t even know as I was driving around like a blue-arsed fly what I’d say if I found any of them. We done the second fixing for a hotel for a fella from Limerick – kitchens, stairs, bedrooms, ballroom, boardrooms, the whole shebang. Then it all went wallop and he done away with himself. What was I meant to say to his widow? Go handy there on the big spread for the funeral, hey, I has to get paid yet?
Things was building up a long time inside in me. I nearly drove over a gimpy lad up above in Lackagh that wouldn’t leave me in to a site to take plant back. There was no bollocks else up there; I could easily have drove out over him. I thought about it and all, gave it proper consideration. He’ll never know how close he came to being shipped back out foreign, flat-packed. I nearly went in through a plate-glass door of an office of a fat arsehole in Galway that wouldn’t come out and talk to me. I would’ve been happy with a promise, with a sorry, with a pay-you-next-Tuesday. I knew he was in there and he wouldn’t come out. I was standing outside his door, roaring in, and the little blondie wan behind a desk inside wouldn’t press the button to leave me in, she only sat there looking out at me with her mouth open. I had to take a hold of myself and close my eyes and make myself breathe slowly and deeply. I saw silvery stars, floating and popping in front of my eyes. I went back and sat in the van a while and smoked a fag and listened to my heart pounding in my ears. Palpitations, that’s called, when you can feel your heart beat. Then I pulled the wipers off of his Mercedes and fucked off. Imagine that. I pulled the wipers off of his car, like a bold schoolboy.
I couldn’t think as I drove the roads. I couldn’t listen to the radio. Whingers on Joe Duffy moaning and groaning about their shitty little problems, little jumped-up know-it-alls rattling on and on and on about whose fault it all is. Fellas that never done a day’s work in their lives, besides spouting shite about how everyone is wrong except them. They’d make you puke. How’s it they all have squeaky voices? They have the whole country afraid of their own shadows. I killed a man. There’s nothing as bad as a wanker who thinks his shit doesn’t stink, with a poncey accent, talking about how things was done all wrong. FUCK OFF, FUCK OFF, FUCK OFF, I shouted at the radio as I drove. Shouting at the radio. Isn’t that some waste of energy? I killed an old man. Kate wanted to know every evening how much did I get, did I send the invoices by registered post, did I call to the bank to know would they extend the overdraft, did I get back the plant? I sat there a few evenings picturing myself punching her into her mouth. I sat thinking about hitting my wife, and that was the only way I could stop myself from hitting her. She didn’t know. She doesn’t know me. Then I killed a man.
I knew Pokey Burke’s foreman was still knocking about the sites. I knew he had stuff took out of some of the houses, and not just the ones Pokey don
e himself – he had stuff swiped out of our ones too. The subbie always gets shafted. I heard he was still over abroad in Coolcappa now and again and he and a foreign lad and a couple more was doing patch-up work on a few of the houses in that disaster area out along the Ashdown Road. I drove over in Kate’s car one morning and I seen him coming out of a house up above near the top of the estate. Your wan whose house it was walked out along with him. She had a child in her arms. I drove off again, feeling like I shouldn’t have been watching him, like he was a fella like me and I shouldn’t be blaming him for the sins of another. Then I started thinking more about him and the thoughts kind of heated up and burnt the inside of my brain. He was always stuck to Pokey like shit to a blanket. Pokey always got his approval for the smallest plan – when to pour concrete into formwork, when to start foundations, when to eat his sandwich. Pokey hadn’t a hand of his own.
One of the lads told me your man Bobby went down every single day to his home-house where his father still lived, away off down past the weir. I said I’d corner him on the road and ask him to know where was Pokey and what was happening with the sites and did he know anything about the finances. I thought I’d get it all out of him; he’s a fella like me, we were forever smirking over at each other during them meetings Pokey used to love having. We were on the same level, I thought. I knew the father’s house straight away; Andy said there was a couple of acres of briars and brambles alongside it and a slatted house with a hole in the roof. I drove the van a half a mile down the road and up a boreen and crossed back through fields to the stone wall across from the cottage. Andy told me your man Bobby often walked down for his visit. I said I’d wait and watch across for him. Then I thought about him knowing where Pokey was and protecting him to feather his own nest and I got vexed and impatient and went in along the yard. I had it in my mind to ask his father where was he, the way the auld fella would think there was people looking for him and he mightn’t be thinking he had a grand boy for a son whose shit didn’t stink. I wanted the father to know his son fraternized with rats. I wanted to frighten him. I wanted to frighten someone, anyone, so I wouldn’t be the only one feeling this way.
