by Lee Dunne
Redmond and I looked at each other. We drank the bubbly and we were both thinking she was a right nut case.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ Redmond said to me. ‘This dame is not only a lust-pot she’s a comedienne as well.’
She threw back her head and laughed, taking no notice of the fact that he had called her a nympho in well-chosen slang.
‘You Irish, you’re so modest it’s almost a fault.’
‘Look, for Jeysus sake,’ Redmond said to her. ‘What are you blathering on about?’
‘Your beautiful story, it is poetry.’
‘Now a joke’s a joke, Irenee, but you know, don’t go too far. A fella’s only got so much patience.’
‘It must be one of the one’s I haven’t read,’ I said to her.
She finally seemed to realise that Redmond thought she was joking.
‘Listen, Harry. Before I married my ex I was a newspaper woman, so don’t try to tell me anything about writing. I was the literary critic of five national newspapers.’
Redmond looked at me and he looked so puzzled that I felt really sorry for him. ‘Give us a drink for the lord’s sake.’
Irenee filled the glasses again. ‘Don’t you think its fantastic, Paddy? That such a talented person can be so off- hand about his work?’
‘Yeh,’ I said, oh yeah. I’m always on at him about the same thing. He just doesn’t listen.’ I couldn’t look at Redmond.
Irenee shook her head in puzzlement. ‘To think that he won’t even allow anybody read his work? Why, it’s almost criminal.’ She turned to Redmond. ‘You’ve got no right to hide your talent. I won’t allow you to go on doing it.’
Redmond looked angry but she walked over to him and put her lips to his face. ‘You crazy man, I’m in love with you.’
I could feel myself blushing because I knew she was serious.
‘Do you think I’d make a monkey out of the man that I want to marry?’
He didn’t answer her, but he turned to me. ‘You and your bleedin’ brain waves,’ he said helplessly.
‘So it was you, Paddy. You persuaded him to let me see that story. I’m truly grateful to you.’ She walked over and kissed me on the face, and I knew for sure that she believed what she had been saying.
‘May I read it, please? It’s one I haven’t seen.’
‘Will you leave off, for Jeysus sake,’ Redmond yelled at me.
‘I only want to read it.’ I gave him a wink. ‘What harm can that do?’
He got my meaning. ‘Yeh, okay. You read it.’
Irenee handed me the sheets of foolscap, then she took Redmond by the hand and she took him into what could only have been a bedroom.
I sat down on a chair and the handwriting was about the best I had ever seen, firm and bold, lying slightly to the right, and clear as print.
The story was called ‘My Lonely Love’, and I wanted to laugh at the idea of Redmond sitting there trying to be all literary. But from the first two lines I didn’t feel like laughing, and it got to me so much that I felt it was happening to me, right there and then.
It was about a fella giving one to a domestic servant and it was about every fella who ever did. While he was with her in the long grass he loved her and he told her so, and at the time he meant the words that poured out of him. Then, when the sex was finished and he let her go home alone, he hated himself for being such a bastard, but still he let her go. And he was sorry about that. He wanted to go after her and say good night to her in a gentle voice, but he didn’t have the guts to get that much involved. And he suffered at his lack of guts, and he told stories to the fellas in the pub, and everybody laughed and told him that he was a great character altogether, but he never laughed himself, not once.
That was the story, and to be fair it wasn’t too badly written. But, God, I couldn’t for the life of me see what Irenee was going on about. It was just another short story, and if it had any literary merit, well, I couldn’t see it.
I sat there a while, trying to make up my mind about Irenee. She was either some kind of a nut or just so much in love with Redmond that she couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
They came back into the room and I didn’t give a second thought to what they’d been doing. I was too busy trying to think of what to say.
Irenee looked at me expectantly. She wanted my opinion and she was hoping that I was going to back her up. At the same time Redmond wanted me to shoot the story down as hard as I could.
‘It’s a good story,’ I said. Redmond bristled a bit and I winked at him. ‘I’m not saying its perfect or anything, Harry, but you certainly can write.’
He turned to Irenee. ‘Could you make a sandwich or something, darlin’?’
‘Why, sure, gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it. I was so excited by the story that I clean forgot.’
‘That’s alright, but do it now before you forget again.’
She smiled at me and went out of the room. ‘What’re you on about?’ Harry asked me angrily.
‘Listen, I said, ‘She’s a nutter, so let her give herself a good time with the story. You don’t want to blow her out and her loaded with dough. Now, do you?’
He thought about that for a second or two. ‘No, not really I don’t. But, what if she keeps on at me to write more stuff?’
‘Honest to God, Harry. I don’t know what you’re so worried about. As long as she finds you in the bed when she wakes up in the mornings she won’t fret much about anything else. Anyway, you can always say you’ll do it tomorrow, and then tomorrow you can say you’ll do it the next day. It shouldn’t be any problem for a bullshit artist like you. And I’ll tell you this, if you sling her in just because she thinks you’re a genius, you’re crazy.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘I know you are. It’s just that she makes me feel tied down. I’m not used to being crowded.’
‘Well, get used to it and stop talking rubbish. You’ll never get another chance like this as long as you live. It’s like winning the Irish Sweepstake.’
He nodded, agreeing with me despite himself. ‘Okay, I’ll play along and see how it goes.’
He went to live with her soon after that and they seemed happy enough together. For a little while they had a bit of trouble with his mother. She kept appearing at the door with a priest, trying to get him back home. But Irenee saw to it that she got a nice few quid every Friday and after that they had no more bother with the mad Ma. And I did all right as well. Two nights a week I saw Redmond and it was a marvellous change to have him buying the drink.
*********
Meanwhile, though I was choking to death in the office, I tried hard to do the work properly, but my complete lack of interest must have been obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes in his head. But, nobody passed any remarks, so I just got on with it and didn’t worry.
I had problems, though, trying to find a way to tell Ma that I was going to get away before very long. Every day she asked me if I was alright, but I couldn’t take it as a cue to tell her that everything was all wrong. I tried, God knows I did, but the words wouldn’t come, so I ambled through my daily routine, hoping for some kind of inspiration that never turned up.
The singing at night kept me from going mad. It was at least a taste of what I wanted most, but I missed Redmond standing at the back, winking his eye to let me know I was doing okay. I was probably jealous too, thinking of him sitting somewhere nice, drinking champagne or something with his double-rich Yank. But I couldn’t help liking the bastard. Imagine getting attached to a layabout like that! When you think about it, it doesn’t seem possible.
It was the sleeveen grin that I missed most, the crooked mouth and the dry wit that had been my school book. And the obscene tongue that never failed to make me laugh, and the endless stories, mostly lies, that he told as though t
hey were gospel truth.
He never mentioned anything to me about going to America. Irenee told me during a party at her flat. She had to return home and Harry was going too. They both felt that he would be able to get down to his writing over in the States. The change of environment would stimulate his talent, she said. I agreed with her, wishing that it was me going instead of Harry.
He didn’t talk much about it in the weeks before they left and he wouldn’t let me see them off. Irenee came into the office on the day they were going, and when we kissed goodbye she handed me a note from Harry. I went back to my desk and when I sat down I opened the envelope. There was a five pound note in it, which was a godsend, and there were six words printed on the postcard: ‘Sing “Patsy Fagan” for me sometime.
I knew that had to be a gag. Redmond didn’t like Irish songs and he wasn’t the least bit sentimental. At least, I was sure he wasn’t.
I sat there thinking about him and all the things we’d done together, and I knew that he had been a really big part of my life. Cahill came up and stood by my desk. I looked up at him and he threw a file down in front of me. ‘I want an assessor out to those people not later than this afternoon.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, ‘I’ll see to it right away,’ I said, almost choking on the bile I had to swallow.
Chapter 16
During the couple of months following Redmond’s departure I started drinking a bit at lunchtime which was something I’d rarely done before. This made the afternoons in the office double hard and a couple of times I was so high that I still don’t know how I got away with it.
In the evening I drank in the singing houses, but I never went to Campion’s again.
I still saw Breeda, but the steam had gone out of it for me. She didn’t seem to notice it, but then she was usually drunk before she had sex. Even the odd things that she liked so much to do didn’t excite me the way they had done for so long. And as we drifted away from each other I began to have a nibble here and there, and being a bit of a singer made it easy.
Redmond never wrote to me, but Irenee dropped me the odd line. He was going to start writing any day now, and they were still together. But the fact that she never mentioned drink left me thinking he was pissing it up. And since he’d left, his mother had become a right ‘Red Biddy’ drinker. Whatever money Redmond - or Irenee - sent her, went on plonk, and she was footless every time you saw her. She was a woman that I’d never had much time for. A miserable, calculating old bitch she’d always been, but, during the time she was drinking herself to death, she was a nice happy old soak, and you couldn’t help liking her.
Like most of the women on The Hill she’d had very little out of life. But I’ll tell you one thing, when Mrs. Redmond got the chance she took it with both hands, and I can’t ever remember an oul’one dying as happily as she did.
An oul’fella named Gill, who had knocked about with her since she’d come into the few quid from Harry, told me she died on her back singing a dirty song, but he was such a filthy sleeveen of a man that I just couldn’t believe him. In fairness, I did know that Red Biddy drinkers did some desperate things at times, but that just seemed a bit too strong to me.
I began to get more one-night stands with the little dance band, and though I gave Ma half of everything I earned, I knew that she wasn’t keen on me singing. It was too uncertain to Ma’s way of thinking. Not having had a day of security in her married life, she thought that a regular day job was the most important thing in life. But, I didn’t discuss it with her, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good.
Most nights it was after twelve when I got into bed, so I gave up the paper round. I didn’t say anything to the people in the shop. I just stopped going and that was something else that caused a bit of bad feeling between Ma and me. It wasn’t fair, she said. The people were entitled to notice so that they could find someone else to take my place. I didn’t argue, though I felt like telling her to shut up. I didn’t feel any obligation to anyone, least of all to people who paid ten bob for six mornings work, winter and summer.
I began to find it hard to get out of bed in the mornings and that was what, finally, started Ma on at me about my drinking. She knew by looking at me when I finally got out of bed that I’d had a skin full the night before, and some times she didn’t talk to me for days on end.
The saddest part was that I didn’t care. For to long I had worried in case I ever hurt Ma. Now, I did what I wanted to do and if she felt hurt as a result, I thought to myself that it was just too bad.
The one-night stands were great experience for me and I soon learned to pace myself for an evening’s singing without ending up with laryngitis. And the practice killed any nerves I’d had about performing, so that I really felt right for the chance that had to come along sooner or later.
Every day I bought the Irish Independent and I went straight to The Stage column. For months there was nothing of interest to me but I felt that one day I’d find there my chance to really get into show business.
At this time, Breeda and I broke up for keeps. I’d had enough and I liked her so much that I told her out straight, thinking she was the one woman who would understand. It was also the first time in my life that I’d ever been totally honest with a female. If I’d let her down a few times or got so drunk that I couldn’t perform, she’d have given me the push, but when I levelled with her she went berserk and when I tried to reason with her she attacked me. As true as God, she tried to stick me with a pair of scissors, and she was so strong that I had to punch her before she passed out. In a way, it was funny, like, this was the first time I’d ever hit her with all my heart, and she didn’t get a chance to enjoy it.
I told Larry about it and I think he was a bit wary about seeing her too much after that. He was a full-time Inspector now, so I didn’t see him as often as before, but we had a few drinks whenever we could, and it was only his encouragement to wait for the right moment that kept me in the office so long.
When I saw the advert in The Irish Independent I knew it was the one I’d been waiting for, and as I wrote the letter of application for the job, I was sure that I would get it. For once, it wasn’t ego that made me feel like this, I just felt it was fate.
A few days later I got a phone call at the office, and when I said hello the fella at the other end told me he was calling about my answer to his advertisement in The Indo.
The ad had been for a vocalist who would also play parts with a repertory and variety show that toured all over Ireland. ‘My name is Jimmy Frazer,’ he told me, ‘and I’d like to meet you for a chat.’
I was delighted that I’d gotten this far. The photo I’d sent had been a good one and I believed that if I could get talking to him and maybe sing a song or two I’d be away in a hack. So, I arranged to meet him in Feeney’s boozer, one of the bars I used to practice singing in front of an audience. I was well known there and Johnnie the pianist would help me all he could.
I didn’t go home from work. I was a bit nervous and Ma was bound to start asking questions why this was so and I didn’t feel like being cross-examined.
Instead, I had a couple of pints and a sandwich, while I sat and worked out my patter and what numbers I was going to do. That kept me busy, and it was only when I got up on the bike to cycle across town to Feeney’s, that I thought about this chance to get away from The Hill.
Jimmy Frazer was a complete stranger to me and we hadn’t talked much on the phone. You had to be careful what you revealed with Legs O’Boyle listening in all the time at the office.
He sounded like a reasonable fella, and the fact that I was working in an office and wasn’t a full time professional hadn’t seemed to bother him. And I felt that this was a good omen.
I had to wait half an hour in Feeney’s lounger before Johnnie the pianist arrived for his gig. I told him what I wanted and he gave me a quick run-through a couple o
f numbers and said he’d give me a bit of ad lib music for my patter. I bought him a drink and we sat and chatted until Jimmy Frazer arrived.
I knew who he was the minute he walked into the lounge. He had Show Man written all over him and when I stood up he came over to me with a grin on his face. He was a big man with a smooth handsome face and he looked like a straight fella.
We shook hands and I bought a round of drinks. He told me that he ran a small touring show and that he needed a singer who could also play parts in drama. And he told me right off that my appearance was just what he had hoped it would be, and that provided I could put over a number, I was in.
I sang ‘The Birth of the Blues’ with Johnnie really supporting me on the piano. I was singing well. I could feel it, and though there weren’t many people in the early lounge, I got a great hand when I ended the number. Then I did a few minutes patter that had the audience laughing well, and when I finished up by singing ‘Patsy Fagan’ I felt that I had really done a good turn.
I thought of Redmond then, and I wondered how he was doing over in the States. Even this lounge, which was one of my favourites, didn’t seem the same without him, and his mouth on him like a torn pocket, standing looking at me.
When I sat down, Jimmy Frazer told me that the job was mine if I wanted it. I was thrilled, and we shook hands on it, and had another drink. I made arrangements to join the show in County Meath on the following Monday week, and he agreed to wire me confirmation of his offer. I asked him to send it to the office because when Ma found out about this, I had to break it to her in my own way, though in the moment I wasn’t at all sure how that was going to be.
From that night on I was in a rough state of nerves because now that the thing had happened I was faced with giving a week’s notice in the job, as well as having to tell Ma. And I didn’t fancy facing Mr. Hayes with the news, not after all the effort he had put into me.
The telegram arrived just before Friday at lunchtime and I went and had a drink as soon as I got out of the office. I needed a few if I was going to go home and tell Ma. But I didn’t go home. I just sat in the Stags Head drinking, just unable to find the guts to get off the stool.
