About Matilda

by Bill Walsh

Why don’t yeh spake proply, den?

  In a week Mickey tells us there’s a job on. That’s how Mickey talks because he watches too much television and that’s what happens when you watch too much television. He won’t tell us what the job is because we’re on a need-to-know basis.

  There’s a narrow lane at the back of Grace’s supermarket where the delivery lorries park. There’s the ruin of a castle with weeds growing through the floor. The lane is always quiet, maybe the odd old woman with a wicker shopping bag taking a short cut to town, or kids on the mooch hiding in the castle; but at four o’clock on a cold March morning there’s just the ten of us dressed in tartan.

  Sheamie tells us we have to wait here on the footpath. I don’t ask why because I don’t care as long as I get the five pounds Mickey said I’d be paid if we done our job properly and keep stum afterwards.

  Keep stum. That’s what Mickey calls keeping your mouth shut.

  I see the headlights rounding the corner and the green truck pulls up beside us. I know the driver but there’s no point running now; he’s already seen Sheamie and me. It’s our father’s friend, Umbilical Bill, and he doesn’t have his usual friendly face on. He doesn’t even talk as he snaps the lock off the door of the delivery lorry with a crowbar.

  I jump in the back with Danny and Lucy. It’s dark but we manage to pass the cardboard boxes filled with cartons of cigarettes to the others outside, forming a line to the back doors of the green truck, and in under five minutes Bill is gone one way and we’re gone the other way with five pounds each. None of us knows what to do with five pounds. Some of it has to be put away for Sheamie but there’s loads left over. At this rate Sheamie will have his escape money in no time. Maybe I’ll buy loafers like kids on the outside and get the cobbler to put metal tips in the heels. I’d like that and in a few weeks I’m certain I have enough.

  The woman behind the counter in Mark’s shoe shop looks me up and down when I ask for size five loafers. They’re nine pounds she says, as if all who ever belonged to me never had nine pounds between them.

  Would you wrap them for me, please?

  Passing the Apple Market, Umbilical Bill waves me over to his fruit stall. It’s cold and Bill is flogging yellow T-shirts that say, Shit Happens, and you can see the tattoo on the back of his hand telling the world, I love Mum.

  I like the Apple Market when my father’s not around. You can buy anything here from a spanner to a carrot or the shirt off a trader’s back. I’ve seen them do it. Take the shirt off and wave it in the air. I’m not asking five pounds. I’m not asking two. I’m not even asking one. I never know what they’re asking, but it’s great to watch.

  Bill hands me a brown paper bag full of apples and whispers not to mention anything to my father about our, a, well about, you know.

  What are you talking about?

  He coughs and talks under his breath. About our little arrangement.

  I won’t, Bill.

  Great stuff. There might be another job on this week.

  I walk back to the convent with the bag of apples under one arm and the black loafers under the other and it’s some comfort to know we’re not the only ones worried over my father.

  In the morning, the bed sheets are covered in blood and I don’t know what to do. I search the other bedrooms for Pippa and Mona but there’s no sign. I run downstairs but there’s only Gabriel feeding Polly the budgie. She looks at me through the bars of the cage. Her bushy black eyebrows search me from head to toenails.

  Bleeding, Matilda?

  I’m goin’ red, but I don’t care. I turn my face away and point, Down there, mother.

  Gabriel doesn’t look surprised. Oh, you’d better come with me.

  I wonder where she’s bringing me. Father Devlin for confession? Reverend Mother? Jesus, am I in trouble?

  Gabriel brings me upstairs and leaves me standing in the corridor when she goes into the bedroom Doyler uses on the nights Doyler sleeps over. Through the window I can see Pippa and Mona down by the chestnut trees with Sheamie. They’re digging a hole to hide our money and I have to move to block Gabriel’s view when she comes out with one hand behind her back. She closes the door behind her. She doesn’t say a word when she hands me the blue plastic packet and walks away down the stairs.

  What do I do with these? I’m left standing in the corridor under a picture of the Blessed Virgin. She’s blue, I’m red and I wonder if she ever bled like this.

  I run downstairs for Pippa. Grab her by the arm and pull her upstairs and tell her what’s happened but she won’t talk to me over what I done to her in Grace’s supermarket. Shoved all the sweets in her hand and ran off. I thought she’d run too, but she stood there bawling like a baby. She bawled so much the fat manager took pity and let her keep the sweets anyway. Now I have to tell her I’m sorry before she’ll take the sulky look off and talk to me.

  That’s your period, she says.

  I know it’s me fuckin’ period. Do you think I’m stupid or something? I want to know more about it though.

  I don’t know much more. It’s to do with eggs.

  That’s it. I’m not eatin’ any more eggs.

  Won’t make no difference, Matilda. I never eat eggs and I still gets them.

  You get periods?

  Ages ago.

  Does Mona get them?

  Of course.

  Some sister yee are, all pally-wally the two of yee with yeer periods. Don’t tell me, whatever you do.

  Nobody told me before I got them either, Matilda, so don’t blame me.

  I show her the blue plastic packet and ask her what to do?

  Open it for a start.

  I rip the packet open and inside there’s cotton wool in a net bag with strings at the side. Pippa takes one, opens the strings out, and steps into it over her jeans like it’s her knickers.

  The strings go here and the pad covers your fanny.

  I burst out laughing, but just the same I take off my jeans, put it on and get dressed again.

  Ah, Jesus, look at the state of me, Pippa. It sticks out like a willy.

  You have to wear a dress, Matilda.

  I never wear a dress. How am I going to steal in a dress?

  Pippa shrugs.

  The bleeding lasts for days and then I’m free and in a few weeks there’s almost a hundred pounds buried under the chestnut tree. Sheamie says he’ll leave at the end of May, before our father turns up for summer.

  This time I think I really do want Sheamie to leave. I know Pippa is probably right and it’s all a stupid idea. Sheamie might never find our mother. But it’s the only way I’ll ever get out of the Mad School. It’s the only thing that gives me hope.

  13

  My father’s sister Aunt Margaret is coming from England to get married and the five of us are invited to the wedding. I don’t know anyone in the convent who was at a wedding and I’m pure faintin’. Our cousin Jennifer is coming from London with her father, our Uncle James the millionaire, and her mother, Aunt Peg. Jennifer is the flower girl. I’d like to be a flower girl in a long pink dress and being brought to the hairdresser to have my hair done up in ringlets and the pink ribbons tied in properly. I dreamed about it last night. The altar overflowed with flowers and the sunlight through the windows turned the chapel into a sea of gold and when the organ played ‘Here Comes the Bride’ the guests shuffled in the pews turning to look at Aunt Margaret in her wedding gown, all white and smiling, strolling down the aisle on Grandad’s arm and me in front with my flower basket, everyone saying how pretty I looked and oh, my, Matilda’s hair is only fabulous.

  Saturday morning is so warm the tar on the road bubbles. Gabriel drops the five of us up to our grandmother’s house in the mini-bus and there’s a white Rolls-Royce decked in pink and ribbon parked outside. Another long white car is parked behind, with its windows dazzling in the sunshine. Nanny comes to the garden gate to thank Gabriel for bringing us up but I rush past her and straight through the hallway to the sitting room. Grand
ad is stretched back in his new green leather chair, which now has a new hollow. The horse racing is on television and there’s a glass of stout in his hand and he’d sit there all day by the looks of him.

  Well, Grandad, Pippa and me say.

  Slow down there now, hold yeer horses the pair of yee. She’s in the front room.

  Any winners, Grandad?

  He doesn’t answer and that means he has. We stop running and sit on the new green sofa pushing and shoving each other to torment him.

  Oh, here, here. He puts his hands in his trouser pocket and hands us a pound note each. Take that and hide it before anyone sees.

  Thanks, Grandad.

  We run back the way we came, passing Sheamie and Danny in the hallway.

  Grandad has money, lads.

  We burst into the front bedroom that smells of hairspray and fresh flowers and there’s Aunt Margaret fixing her veil in the mirror. She’s even prettier than in my dream. She says she can’t remember when she saw us last and look how long your hair is. You were like two boys before.

  The penguins don’t cut it much anymore, says Pippa.

  The women in the room laugh at the way we call the nuns penguins and Aunt Margaret says she’s glad she’s getting married before you two hit the town. There won’t be a man safe. Come over here and give your aunt a hug.

  We’re careful not to crumple her veil and I’m delighted she even spoke to us with all the women here telling Margaret how stunning she looks. Mona follows us in and the three of us sit on the bed listening to the women from the street gabble on.

  Tell me now, Margaret, did you buy that dress in London? Of course you did, I could tell by looking. You wouldn’t see the likes anywhere here and isn’t it only a fabulous day for you now. You don’t always get weather like this in May. Weren’t you lucky just the same? God no, Annie, I couldn’t touch another drop of sherry. Well, maybe just one more, the blessing of the Virgin Mary aren’t you only great now, so you are.

  The other women laugh, Don’t be talkin’ about virgins on a day like this, Hannah. Hannah giggles and offers her glass to Nanny. Just a little more, Annie, a little, that’s grand now.

  Pippa nods towards the window and squeezes my arm so tight the blood stops flowing. I see them through the netted curtains walking up the footpath. High hats and grey suits. Uncle Philip and Uncle John. For once I wish my father were here.

  Nanny goes to the sitting room to tell Grandad Margaret is ready. I don’t understand why Margaret and Grandad are leaving first. Why can’t we go first and be at the chapel before them? I don’t ask though in case it’s a stupid question and you can’t ask grown-ups stupid questions when they’re full of sherry.

  Everyone goes out to the front garden. The afternoon sun is high above the red-brick chimney of Denny’s meat factory and the sky is blue and clear. The boys are playing football on the street. The girls come to the garden gate to watch Margaret walking out the footpath on Grandad’s arm and they say, Oh, isn’t she lovely? Pippa and me hold hands by the door because we don’t know where the safest place is, the house or the garden. But we agree, no matter what, we’re not to take money from our uncles.

  Promise me now, Pippa.

  I promise, Matilda. You know I wouldn’t do that.

  Yes, you would.

  I know I would but I won’t today.

  When Margaret leaves with Grandad I watch the second car pull up to the gate. The driver gets out and holds the back door open for Nanny. Uncle Philip and Uncle John are leaning on the garden wall chatting to Mossy Brennan. Pippa tightens her grip on my hand when Nanny tells them to make sure the doors are locked before they leave. Pippa says, Matilda, ask Nanny if we can go with her. But Nanny is already getting in the car with Danny and Sheamie and Mona. We’re left at the front door surrounded by neighbours mad to chat because the weather is nice and they’re all pissed on sherry and we don’t know what to do till Nanny calls to us, Would you two hurry up, there’s room for everyone, and I never ran out that footpath as fast in me life.

  After the wedding we go to the Bridge Hotel and, even though we’ve spent all morning getting ready, the five of us look like Sheps. Our clothes are clean, but tatty and out of date. The lobby is full of relations we’ve never met. The men in suits, the women in long frocks, and they all know who we are. Peter’s children, God help them.

  Here, girl, put that in your pocket.

  Thank you.

  Which one are you?

  Matilda.

  The function room is packed. We sit by the window with Nanny, Grandad, Uncle James the millionaire, Aunt Peg and our cousin Jennifer. Women in dainty white hats and frilly white aprons bring food on trolleys and it never ends until our bellies are stuffed. Roast beef, roast pork, ham, turkey and sherry trifle. Danny thinks he died and went to Heaven. His round brown eyes pop out every time he fills his gob and, if Sheamie ate everything in the Bridge Hotel, he’d still be the skinniest boy I ever saw.

  After the meal we move to the bar while the tables are cleared. The bar smells of beer and cigarette smoke and everywhere there’s a clinking of glasses. The five of us are standing at the bar with Nanny when Uncle Philip walks in jingling the change in his trouser pocket.

  Everyone having a good time, I hope. What can I get you to drink, Mammy?

  A sherry. And don’t move from here. I’m going to find your father.

  Nanny squeezes her way through the crowd. Uncle Philip smiles down at me like he expects me to smile back. I want to run after Nanny but all I can do is gawk around the room like I hardly notice he’s here. Uncle James’s four sons are standing by the window with glasses in their hands. They’re men now and they talk about their careers in the bank, the law, the civil service and a thing called the stock market, where you can make money for nothing. Returns, it’s all about returns. Things I haven’t a clue about and I think how I was nearly their sister if my father had let Danny and me live with Uncle James when we were young. Would I be like a sister to them now or would they talk about returns while they treated me like a maid in a little white hat, fetching and carrying and wiping their arses in general?

  Uncle Philip takes a fistful of change from his pocket and starts sharing it out between the five of us. Mona snaps the hand of him. So does Danny. Sheamie counts his.

  Here, Matilda. Put that in your pocket.

  No, thanks.

  Go on, take it.

  No, thanks.

  What about you, Pippa?

  Pippa’s pink cheeks turn scarlet. She lowers her head and her bright blue eyes lift to plead with me for help, but Pippa doesn’t need help because Nanny is back with Grandad wondering where can we sit and didn’t you get that sherry yet, Philip?

  Just giving the kids a few bob, Mammy. I’ll get it now.

  Oh, says Nanny. There’s a surprise. Wouldn’t you think he’d have bought himself a suit?

  I know before I turn round. One look at Sheamie’s long face is enough to know it’s my father. Sheamie is fit to cry because he won’t be able to run away until my father goes back to London. He’d be too scared to chance it.

  Sheamie might be upset but I feel like I’ve been let out of jail. My father is at the door with Mona. He bends and puts his arms around Mona’s slim waist and kisses her on the lips. I run to kiss his cheek and this time I really mean it. I’m safe from Uncle Philip when my father is here. My father isn’t that bad and he looks great in his new blue jeans, blue T-shirt and black runners, not giving a shit what anyone thinks. I like that about him and I don’t feel different in my blue poncho anymore. My father is here and I’m safe. Nothing else matters.

  We move back to the function room. The hotel lights are turned down. Above our heads a great silver ball spins and catches the light like a million tiny mirrors. The tables have been moved back to the walls and there’s a space in the middle of the room for dancing. The bar is full all day. Some men never leave it. Uncle James stands there rubbing his fat belly, drinking whiskey soda and buying a
drink for anyone that stands near. I hear his deep voice every time I go to the toilet.

  Put your money away, it’s no good here.

  Uncle John is on his own. He’s perched, like an eagle, at the end of the bar, surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke and the stink of his own farts. His claws wrapped around a fresh pint of stout and his beak stained black from the last one.

  White tablecloths are covered with glasses. Empty, half empty, full. Stout, beer, ale, red and white wine. Grandad swirls his brandy glass while he puffs on a fat cigar like a Texan. There’s a band, three men in shiny red shirts and black waistcoats playing guitar and a fourth playing drums and singing into the microphone. There’s a small black box in front of them with flashing lights that change colour with the music, and all I want to do is dance and dance but I wouldn’t dare. I’ve never danced before.

  I’m sitting beside my father. Sheamie is on the other side of him drinking Coke and talking to one of Uncle James’s sons about stock markets and stuff, even though a fool could see he’s just being nice to Sheamie ’cos it’s a wedding and any other time he wouldn’t give Sheamie the steam off his piss. Mona is across from me drinking white wine. Daddy said she’s old enough. She’s almost fifteen. Pippa is sitting beside Mona drinking lemonade, looking around at everyone. Danny is sitting beside Grandad drinking Grandad’s stout when he thinks Grandad isn’t looking. Everyone stands and cheers when the bride and groom stand up to dance. Nanny and Grandad dance next and before the first song is over the dance floor is covered in suits and frocks.

  Jennifer, the flower girl, is dancing with her father, our Uncle James. She looks pretty in that pink dress and the ribbons in her hair. My feet are tapping under the table to the beat and when the music gets faster my arse starts banging off the seat. The chair legs bang off the floor and I’m having a great time till one chair leg lands on my father’s foot and, when I look down, his runner is tore. The yellow eyes glare at me. Oh, fuck, I’m dead.

  Like dancing, do you, Matilda?

  Sorry, Daddy. It was an accident.

  He bends down slowly to take off his runners and suddenly dancing doesn’t seem such fun. He leaves the runners under the table and stands up over me. The disco lights flickering across his forehead make him look like he’s covered in confetti.