by Martha Long
‘Oh, poor you, ye little gobshite! What were you doing anyway, sticking your nose into the vegetables? You don’t even like them!’ I whined, as her whines got louder.
‘Right! I said, standing up. ‘I think you need something nice to make that better. What about a biccie?’ I opened the larder, taking out a big packet of digestive biscuits, then looked, seeing a blur of fluff as she was up and over so fast I barely got time to take the next breath. ‘Jaysus, Minnie! You’re a great Abbey actor! I should put you on the stage,’ I snorted, seeing her take the biscuit between her pressed lips and gingerly carry it back to her basket, with not a bother on the leg.
‘Ahh! You’re better already, Minnie,’ I said, seeing her turn around and drop it in the basket, then turn back to give me another dose of whines.
‘No! Forget it, Minnie. That’s yer lot!’ I snorted. ‘Now don’t push your luck.’
She gave me another dirty look and lifted up the biscuit, starting to make short work of it.
Jaysus! That dog is worse than a child, I thought, rushing back to get on with me business.
I walked through the shopping centre, then rambled into the bookshop. Oh! I thought, seeing a line of my books all standing to attention up on the shop’s bestselling list. It was number one! I stared – not able to take it in. That’s my book! I thought, looking around seeing shelf after shelf of books, with some of the big-name authors, and mine was in the place of honour. How did that happen? I can’t understand it! Jesus! It’s impossible, I thought, shaking my head, not able to get it through to me.
A woman with grey hair tied up in a bun and a grey wrinkled face that looked like it needed a bit of sunshine and a dab of Polyfilla saw me looking up at my book.
‘Oh! She’s very popular,’ the woman said, smiling at me.
‘Really?’ I said, wanting to hear more.
‘Oh, yes, everyone is talking about it. It’s a marvellous seller.’
‘Gosh, isn’t that great?’ I said. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Oh, it’s about a young child growing up in terrible poverty,’ she said, shaking her head with disgust.
‘Oh, right!’ I said, hoping she wouldn’t expect me now to buy it after all the attention she gave me.
‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘I believe the author is local.’
‘Is she?’ I roared, wondering how she got wind of that.
‘Oh, yes, and of course we like to encourage our local authors.’
‘Oh! Do you have many?’ I said.
‘Oh, indeed, yes, we do. We are famous for it!’
‘Right, thank you very much,’ I said, making me way out the door before I heard any more bad news. Jesus! Talk about Dublin being a village! Fuck! I wonder how they found out I live around here? Anyway, thank God they don’t know me to see, but someone does!
I was just heading out of the shopping centre and made it into the car park when I heard a roar. ‘Martha! Martha!’
I looked around wondering who was calling me, then I saw a woman waving at me like mad. It was one of the parents from the children’s school. I wonder what she wants? I thought, seeing her rushing herself like mad wanting to talk to me. We don’t have much to say to each other normally. I find her manner a bit too abrupt, so I give her a wide berth.
‘Martha, I read your book!’ She flew at me, coming to a skidding stop, breathing right down me neck with a big smile plastered on her face.
‘You did?’ I said, feeling myself turn all colours. ‘Oh, great, thanks!’ I said, turning and making for my car.
‘No, wait! Hang on. I want to talk to you,’ she said, grabbing hold of my arm, not wanting me to escape.
I couldn’t take in what was happening; I had gone into shock. How did she know it was me? Jaysus! I don’t give a fiddler’s fart what they say about me – I would soon put them in their place. But the poor kids! They could get an awful time with all the other kids repeating what their parents said.
‘I saw the children’s names. You dedicated the book to them,’ she said, beaming at me.
Oh, you dirty, thundering, stupid fuckin gobshite of a complete eegit, Martha! You bloody moron! I felt like crying with how thick I was.
‘The book was brilliant. Oh! I couldn’t get over how good it was. You are brilliant,’ she said. ‘Look! I have to give you a hug! I’ve been dying to meet you. That’s all I wanted to do since I knew it was you. Come here!’ she said, lunging at me. Then suddenly I was swallowed up and folded into a massive soft mound of flesh. She’s a lovely big woman. She looks like Diana Dors, the big blonde bombshell actress. But she’s dead now! I thought, wondering if it wouldn’t have been a good idea for me to do the same before I ever had my name plastered all over a bookshop.
Then I came back to me senses, realising I was getting smothered in a delicious smell of Miss Dior perfume. Then she pushed me back, still holding on to me, and said, looking straight into my eyes, with hers shining in her head, ‘Oh, you don’t know how I’ve wanted to do that.’ Then she leaned into me, whispering, ‘I went through a terrible time, and as I was reading your book, well, you have no idea how much you helped me. I realised we do survive. Life can throw the worst at you, but it need not break you! Thank you for that, Martha,’ she said, letting her eyes swim with tears. Then she smiled, trying to block them, saying, ‘All my sisters are reading the book now, and my daughter. I made her read it.’
My heart was swelling with her goodness and the fact she saw the book for what it was. A life just lived – not something to be used against me, but something that would give people a little glimpse into a way of life now long dead and gone. I felt very humbled that I had the bad judgement to underestimate this woman’s decent character. We stood talking while she told me some of what she had been going through. It was so terribly sad. You never know what goes on behind the front people put on. She is wealthy, with beautiful children, but she carried a terrible weight. Only now was she getting back on her feet because time had moved on and things were sorting themselves out. At last, life had finally given her a break and she could lift her head now and see the sunshine.
I lifted my head, looking into her face, seeing the honest goodness coming through in a big smile as she stared back at me, looking like I was someone worth knowing. We were equal; we both shared a common bond of pain and suffering. My face lit up as a surge of relief and happiness flew through me. I’m free! It’s OK. I haven’t done the wrong thing; everything will be grand.
‘Listen, Penelope,’ I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. ‘You have no idea how you have just helped me,’ I whispered. ‘Thanks for that. Thank you for your goodness in letting me know. Yes, it really helped me,’ I said, nodding my head, thinking about it. ‘Bye, Penelope. It was lovely talking to you. Take care.’
‘Oh! By the way, Martha! Ursula gave her copy of the book to your daughter. She wanted you to sign it. Did she give it to you?’
‘Eh, no, but I’ll be delighted. I’ll take a look in her schoolbag. That child can be very scattered. See you again, Penelope. Bye!’ Then I turned, heading off to make my way across the car park, wondering what happened to that child’s book. I hope Madam didn’t leave it down somewhere and walk off without it.
I got into the car and drove out of the car park heading for home. Suddenly, without warning, a gush of hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my jumper, trying to see out through a mist of blurring tears flooding my eyes, blinding me. I blinked hard, staring ahead, then whispered, not able to get over it, ‘People do care, they really do care. You can never underestimate the kindness of people when you get up close. My God, Martha, you are still learning. People are inherently full of goodness, and goodness can move mountains.’
I opened my shiny new laptop and stared at the reams of words now on a document. So, that’s that finished! I thought, staring at it, thinking I had continued to write. It was talking to Penelope gave me that courage. I had now seen the world through her eyes. It told me
there is room for everyone, even a little street kid. But as with the first book, I did not do it for the world; it was only for myself. The child in me still had a lot to say, so I allowed her to continue.
Yes, but now I have finished. This is as far as I want to allow her to go. It really is taking a lot out of me. I have to live it all over again, day by day, minute by minute, sitting inside her soul, becoming her again while she continues her journey through life. But now it’s enough. I am exhausted. ‘I’m worn out,’ I sighed, feeling relieved that it’s over. But it will be a long time before I can shift her out of my head and heart. She is becoming more powerful, more alive the longer I stay with her. It certainly helps me to grow – become more accepting of myself and who I really am. But the price is high on my health and I wonder in the long haul is it really worth that gain? ‘Only time will tell,’ I sighed heavily, feeling I need a good rest.
Rest? What a laugh! Two hopes, Martha – Bob Hope and no hope! I thought, looking out to see what Minnie is shouting about. Oh, bloody hell. She’s managed to bully herself a biscuit out of next door, I thought, seeing the old lady leaning over the wall and shovelling them into her. The poor old woman is duty-bound now to share her eleven o’clock tea break with Minnie, otherwise the poor old soul won’t get any peace sitting in that deckchair trying to get herself an airing.
‘That bloody dog would buy and sell you,’ I snorted, thinking she’s sharper than the two kids put together. Those two haven’t a blade of sense between them; they never stop killing each other. Minnie is blind, bothered and bewildered wondering which one to sink her teeth into and drag away by the knickers! She loves keeping law and order. I know she is only trying to copy me. Ah, gawd, she’s lovely. Yeah, I really do have a great life. I’m blessed! Sure, isn’t that rest!
I picked up the phone, asking to speak to the publisher.
‘Hello, Martha! How are you?’
‘Great! Listen, I have a finished manuscript. It’s a sequel to the first book.’
‘Wonderful!’ he said, sounding delighted. ‘What is the title, Martha?’
‘“Ma, I’m Gettin Meself a New Mammy.” Do you want to take a look at it?’
‘Yes, that would be great. Can you send it to me, Martha?’
‘Yeah! How will I send it?’
‘By email. I will get someone to phone you straight away; they can guide you through it. OK, Martha, great to talk to you. I will be in touch soon.’
33
I headed for home, then stopped the car when I neared, looking around for a ‘little brown man’ – the ticket parking fella in his shite-brown uniform. Risk it? Yeah, go on.
I dived across the road and went tearing into the travel agent’s, seeing there was one fella ahead of me discussing his holiday. Only problem was, he couldn’t make up his bleedin mind. OK! I thought, making a snap decision and appearing at his elbow.
‘Excuse me, would you mind awfulley,’ I whispered in me best ‘Missus Bucket’ accent, ‘if I may just ask a question to this nice lady here?’ I beamed, looking up into the pair of china-blue eyes staring back, then shook me head mouthing, ‘No?’
The eyebrows arched, making it to the ceiling. The nose pinched and the jowls sank, finally coming to rest before they hit the floor. You could hear a pin drop. ‘Really!’ he puffed, giving a practised sniff reserved for riff-raff like me, then turned the head, closing the eyes, waiting for the aul one to sort me out for being so rude.
‘Goodness!’ I shivered, feeling terribly rude. They’re very delusional around here about their ‘status’. You won’t get any real Dubliners living here. Over this side of the river they’re all a shower of culchies thinking they’re now aristocrats, never mind true-blue Dubs! They write back to the bog, saying, ‘We made it, Mammy! We’re now living in them big houses dash once belonged chew he English!!’ Well, that’s what the mammies will say when they’re bragging to the neighbours after Mass on Sunday!
Well! That’s why I’ve pushed me way in and I’m now living right smack in the middle of them. I’m making a stand for the Dubliners, right on me own patch of grass. I was thinking of getting a flag and sticking it on the roof! Pity I didn’t get the young fella to learn the bagpipes. Then, at the closing of the day, I could lower the flag while he plays ‘Molly Malone in them fair streets a Dublin’.
I stood watching him still trying to turn the face inside out, but then got a better look when he finally straightened it out. Not bad looking, I thought, if you’re desperate enough to put up with the ego. That fella loves himself, I sniffed. Anyway! He’s too young for me. I prefer them when they’ve matured like old wine. There’s many a sweet tune to be played on an old fiddle, I consoled meself. Jaysus, fuckin time is a bitch! It catches up with you to hand you old age, and just when the fun was starting … Now you have to go home early – you need your bed. Not to mention the goings-on wanting to look beautiful! That caper can take up to ten hours trying to get yourself ready, when once it only took ten minutes!
‘Oh, God,’ I puffed, feeling the guts sinking out of me with the melancholy of old age striking at me again. I watched your man’s hair stand up from me blowing the air then seeing him grab his stuff, moving himself further down the counter.
‘Yes! Would you mind waiting!’ screamed the dyed redhead, looking about forty but trying to pass herself off as twenty. I leaned in for a better look. Yeah, she’s hiding the wrinkles and bags under the eyes with a shovelful of pancake make-up.
‘I am with this customer!’ she snorted, going back to the fascinating fella with the ready tan, the big wallet and the St Laurent shiny suit – and he looked like he didn’t have a ball and chain in tow. No wife, girlfriend or clinging mother to be seen on the horizon. He wanted a holiday for one.
Fuck this! I yanked the door open, flying me head up and down the road, looking for the shite-brown-coloured uniform, then peeled me eyes back to the car. No. No ticket yet.
‘Listen, I have my mother in the car and I need to get her across the road to the hospital. She’s waving over at me. I think she’s having a chest attack … pain! Heart attack … Well, it may be serious. I offered to take her earlier to the hospital when she complained about the pain, but she refused to go,’ I said sadly. ‘She won’t go in because she’s worried about the cats. Six a them we have – all moggies! An a canary! He’s called Johnny!’ I said, half-smiling then looking very worried, with my face creasing and me head shaking.
I got nowhere. They just stared with the mouths open, then dropping the eyes to see any sign of what planet I might a come from. Then she sniffed, dropped her eyes back on the brochure, staring, then the mind was made up and she got back to business. He dropped the head, snapping it down with her.
‘Now! I would recommend the Bahamas,’ she whispered, sounding like a snake hissing, thinking she sounded sexy. ‘Definitely!’ she pouted, lifting the pointed finger to wave it at yer man. ‘It’s ideal! Made for a man of your calibre. Very sophisticated! Full of executive high flyers like yourself!’
He nodded like mad, rattling the head off himself agreeing with every word she said. Then she moved closer, pushing the brochure with her. He moved the head in for a better look, nearly tipping his chin on the desk while she rested her dyed hair – looking more like a blonde, dried-up dead bush! – letting it nestle close to his newly styled cut and blow-dry.
I stood sniffing, sighing and snorting, fretting and keening, then clamping and blowing the mouth off meself with the eyeballs boring holes in them. No good! The bleedin gobshites are not taking a blind bit of notice, I keened under me breath, nearly crying with the rage on me. Oh, bloody hell! I’m going to end up with a five-pound parking ticket!
I put my hand on me chest, hoping it might worry them I’m having a heart attack meself, then plunged the neck back out the door, swinging the head, with the eyeballs turning left to right. I was just in time to spot Adolf making his way slowly from the top of the road, easing his head in to squint at every car, checking to see i
f they had the car tax. Oh, holy Jesus! He’s coming!
‘Look, I better go!’ I squealed, sounding like me arse was on fire. The head was out lunging for the door, but then me arse turned, heading straight back for the desk. I was now ready to lose the rag.
‘Would you ever please just grab that ticket you have waiting for me? Martha Long is the name. I booked it by phone – one way to London travelling in two days’ time.’
She stared at me, trying to digest that mouthful, but didn’t stir to shift herself.
‘It’s serious! Adolf is making his way down the road and the ma is having apoplexy waving at me to hurry! For gawd’s sake, you’ll be the death of her! She’s a ninety-seven-year-old woman!’ I screamed, strangling meself, with the face turning blue and the eyeballs seeing stars.
‘Give her the ticket. Sort the lady out first,’ he snapped, shaking himself, lifting the neck.
I smiled. They were all now going into emergency mode. ‘Thanks! Oh, you’re a pal,’ I snapped, slapping the money on the counter and grabbing up the wallet with the ticket, then taking off out the door with the arms waving, the feet skidding and the legs flying across the road.
I looked back as I dived into the car, seeing them cheek to jowl staring at the empty car, looking for the mammy. I gave a big cheery wave and a thumbs-up, then looked up to see little Adolf gamely making his way down to me. He was looking all the business with the hat wobbling on his head and the little legs buckling under him. His eyes were now locked on me, desperate to grab hold. I roared up the engine, lashing away the car, then tore to a stop right beside him on the double yellow line, pulling down the window. His chin wobbled and the hat shook as he swivelled to take me in.
‘Ye’re lookin very prosperous,’ I grinned, pointing at the belly bursting out of the jacket. ‘You should take it easy. You’ll have a heart attack one of these days, Adolf! Then the missus won’t have to be creeping around behind your back with the milkman,’ I said, lowering my voice to a confidential whisper.
