About Matilda (36 page)

I'll get them.

When?

Saturday. I'll make dinner this Saturday.

What time?

Six o'clock.

Where's your guitar? I don't see it.

I left it in the convent. I didn't have anywhere to put it before.

You'll go back for it.

Of course.

When?

I'll go tomorrow. Look, I'm late for work, I'll have to rush.

He ignores me and tells me to sit across from him. He even points to the chair. I sit but I don't know where to look or what to do with my hands. I lay them on the table. I can feel my pulse beating off the wood. He rumbles through his knapsack for the little pamphlets he hands out when he's preaching and his voice is sweet and calm.

Here's one about Elvis Presley, Matilda. Elvis was given his voice to praise the Lord but, when he turned his back on the Lord and lived a life of sin and gluttony, the Lord punished him. Just as he punished Jim Reeves in that plane crash. Pat Boone, on the other hand, turned to the Lord. He gave away
the wild life and the Lord has repaid him with a good marriage of forty years.

He lets the pamphlet on the table and tells me to read this later. He has another pamphlet, about giving and receiving. It is better to give than to receive but you must give with a good heart. You'll read this too.

Yes, Daddy.

I've done the wrong thing living on my own. He's going to spoil this too. The flat feels cramped. My legs feel cramped. I find it hard to breathe because he knows where I live and he'll be back.

I'm getting nervous all over when the door opens and Danny walks in with the front-door key in his hand. I can see the way my father looks that he didn't recognize him straight away. He's grown since last year. His shoulders are bigger, rounder, and there's a wisp of hair above his top lip that teenage boys get. I can see in his eyes, he's surprised my father's here but tries not to show it.

Danny takes his coat off and leaves it on the back of a chair. He kisses my father on the cheek and sits in the armchair by the window under the photograph of the five of us as kids, his body shaking, and if I can see it my father can too.

My father takes the shiny wooden guitar from the black leather case and hands it to Danny. Danny's wearing clean pressed black pants and shiny black shoes. His hair is shiny and brushed across his forehead, so I know he's just come from serving as altar boy.

I bought you this for your birthday, Danny. You'll learn to play.

Thanks, Daddy.

How are you doing in school?

Danny's round brown eyes stare down to the floor and his cheeks turn pale. The heel of his shoe starts tapping on the
wooden floor. The light of the evening sun through the window catches the glass frame of the photograph. I look at myself, a little girl's face in a head of black hair trying to understand what was happening to her. We were going to Ireland to live with our grandmother. Our new beginning.

My father stands up and pulls his chair across and sits in front of Danny. Danny's eyes plead with me over my father's shoulders and I can't just sit and do nothing.

You leave him alone. Can't you see he's terrified? I've said it calmly. I didn't want to provoke him. Maybe I should have said nothing.

He turns around and there's that glare. I'm sick of people looking at me like nothing. Sick of my father thinking he owns us. Anger drives me out of my chair. He stands up to meet me and we're so close I can smell him, soap and cod liver oil. I was never this scared but I can't stop my finger pointing to his face.

Leave my brother alone. He's not doing anything to you.

Sit down and mind your own business, Matilda. Don't back answer your father. Don't be stupid all your life.

I know what you're up to. You're not doing to him what you done to the others. And don't ever call me stupid again.

He snorts, grins, talks to me like he's giving me this one chance because I'm stupid and don't know any better.

I won't warn you again, Matilda.

Good.

I feel his whole body stiffen. Whiff that cod liver oil. My eyes are in line with his chest. The plain white T-shirt ripples across it like a flag. My toes touch the leather tip of his Moses sandals. I want to pull back but if I do I'll lose. Surrender before I start. I'm tempted to look at Danny, but I won't take my eyes off my father's hands. They're by his side but I know how dangerous they are. I feel his toes tightening; even his
toes are solid. His huge open hand reaches up almost touching the light bulb. Ready to strike. Ready to beat me again. The light bulb sways and I yell, Hit me. Go on. Do it. I look him straight in the eye. I dare you.

I hear the cobbler downstairs pulling the metal shutter down over the window, locking up for the night. I feel my throat tightening, drying, ready to let me down just when I need it more than I've ever needed anything in my life. I keep staring straight into his yellow eyes; my eyes are still with me. My eyes won't let me down. I'm daring him and, for the first time, I see something I never saw in his eyes before.

He's thinking. He's thinking what he's going to do next. Wondering if I'm still afraid of him and what does he do if I'm not.

His eyes narrow; his cheeks lose colour. I can feel his rage. I hear him breathe. I've gone too far. My legs feel hollow and my head heavy with blood, but I've been here before. I've been kicked and punched all my life.

I point to the floor.

This is my floor. Mine. And I want you off it.

The veins in his temples are swollen and purple. His mind is made up and I know what's coming. Even before I see those long straight fingers curling into that fist, I know what's coming. I feel it before it lands. I see everything as clearly as I see the guitar on Danny's lap. The yellow eyes, the long narrow eyebrows, the long straight fingers curling into that fist, the photograph on the wall, the smell of cod liver oil. I take a step back and duck.

His fist swipes above my head. I pull the guitar from Danny's lap and crack it against the side of my father's head. I feel the sting shoot through my arms like I've hit an iron pole. He hardly budges. There's a blunt pain in my side but I blank it out. He caught me with his other fist under the ribs. I can't
think about it. If I think about it I'll feel the pain and I can't afford to feel anything. I swing the guitar again and smash it against his temples. The strings twang and snap. His head wobbles. There's no look on his face. It's as if all the muscles have gone limp. His face sags. His body sags. He drops to his knees in front of me like he's praying to a statue and I still see everything clearly.

I see the five of us as kids being torn from each other's arms outside orphanages and I hit him.

I remember how close the five of us were and I hit him.

I remember caravans, nuns, beatings, nights of terror and I hit him.

I remember Danny jumping off the convent wall and hiding in terror and I hit him. I remember a little girl being led upstairs by her uncle and I hit him.

I remember Mona's legs covered in blood and I hit him.

I remember Pippa falling on her face in the mud and I hit him.

I feel a hand tearing at my arm. I hear Danny yelling my name and dragging me away.

Stop, Matilda. Jesus Christ, will you stop.

My father is lying on the floor covered in chunks of guitar and the stub of the handle is still in my hand. Danny pushes me against the wall and pins my arms to my side. My father's satchel is at my feet and I kick it towards him and yell at him.

Get out and don't come back. Tramp.

He groans and crawls along the floor by the wall. He reaches for the doorknob and pulls himself up slowly. His fingers leave a trail of blood on the door. I don't want him to get up but I don't want him to lie there either. I pull away from Danny and make a kick but Danny pulls at my arm and I kick at fresh air.

My father stands at the door rubbing the blood from his forehead with the back of his hand and there's a blood smear
across his face. He stares at his hand. He stares at me but I don't care because I've been here before. He stares at Danny who's still pulling at my arm. My father could kill me now. We both know it. But when I look at him now, there's no fear. Just pity.

He stays at the door a while. Should I give him another chance? We'll start again, Daddy. I should say something. I can't just leave him standing there.

Get out. And shove your pamphlets up your arse.

I walk to the corner and take the sweeping brush and begin sweeping the floor as if everything is finished and there's nothing more to say.

He lifts the strap of the canvas satchel over his shoulder and turns and closes the door behind him leaving his blood on the doorknob.

I wait and listen to his footsteps fading down the stairs. The whirr of traffic as the front door opens, then silence when it closes.

I send Danny out on to the landing to check he really has gone and I collapse onto the chair. I'm shaking all over.

I won't cry, but I can't go to work like this. Danny comes back to say our father is gone and I send him to ring the Matron that I'm sick. When he goes, I don't know what to do. I sit down, then stand up, walk around the room. I have to do something. Do anything, keep going, wash cups, saucers, plates. Clean away the blood. I open the window and take deep breaths. The evening air is warm and sweet and down the street the queue for
Kramer vs. Kramer
has gone in.

I take the letters from the press and sit at the table. The first is from Sheamie and my heart nearly leaps out the window. He's working on a building site in Manchester. He's been offered a job as an apprentice electrician and he'll probably take it. The wages are poor to begin with so he'll need to have
savings. He spent enough nights on park benches when he came here. He's put off the idea of finding our mother. He needs to find himself first, but he'll be home for Mona's wedding. He's happy she's not inviting any of my father's family, otherwise he wouldn't come, even for Mona.

I smile. It sounds just like Sheamie.

PS Mickey Driscoll turned up here and stayed a few days before heading off to look for work in London. He says he has contacts. By the way, it was Mickey who robbed our money. He told me when he was drunk. Hardly matters now. Love from Sheamie.

I leave the letter on the table. I'll read it again when my head clears. The second letter is from the factory. Would I please call for an interview at ten o'clock in the morning.

Interview? What's an interview? No one ever told me about interviews.

Mister Phelan's unopened whiskey is in my press and he'll hardly mind if I take a sip. I drink it straight from the bottle and it's like lightning through my body till my toenails feel on fire. One swig becomes two and then three till I don't care about interviews anymore, but in the morning the inside of my mouth feels like it's grown a beard. I'm on the floor wrapped in a blanket and Danny is laughing down at me from the bed. He lifts himself up on his elbow and does an impression of Gabriel wagging her finger.

How many times have I spoken to you about fighting, Matilda? How many times have I told you to turn the other cheek? What am I going to do with you? By the way, that Matron said she wants to see you today.

I jump and, Jesus, there's pain. Like hot coals on my forehead.

Am I in trouble, Danny?

Don't know. I told her you were sick last night and couldn't work.

And?

And what?

And what else, Danny?

Nothing else. Just call to see her today.

I get showered and there's a bruise the size of a saucer under my ribs. I get dressed ready for the interview and, as I'm walking out the door, Danny sits up in the bed and calls me back.

Matilda, thanks for standing up for me.

I feel embarrassed and I don't know what to say, only, Go back to sleep, Danny. I'll see you later.

The man in the factory wears a suit and tie and a bright yellow shirt. He has an office as big as a field with three phones on his desk. All red. He says they're a big American company making games and jigsaws and my application was excellent, the job is mine. Machinist. All I have to do now is see Mister O'Leary through that door there and if I come through that test I'll be sent for a medical.

Test? No one told me anything about tests.

Mister O'Leary wears a white coat and has a stopwatch in his hand. He tells me I'm to put those different-shaped bricks there in the matching holes on that board on the table.

More bricks. I should have known there'd be bricks.

Matron is sitting behind her desk when I go in and she's not smiling, but there's nothing new about that. She leaves me standing while she writes what she has to write and phones who she has to phone then looks me up and down and tells me I look pale. Are you ill, Matilda? We don't want you
carrying infection in here. Now, I've been giving some thought to your position. As you know, I only took you on trial, however I've decided to make you permanent. She's certain I'm pleased. Make the most of this opportunity and who knows how high I can rise. In a few years I might even be in charge of my own vacuum cleaner.

But, Matron…

Not now. I'll speak to you tomorrow.

I get to the ward and Mister Phelan's bed is empty. Sheets stripped from it and lying in a bundle on the floor, and I know I could never work in a hospital. Seeing people you've come to care about die. Even if my mother was a nurse, this could never be for me.

There's a cough from behind the screen and I think I'm seeing things when Mister Phelan pulls back the curtain and walks towards me pulling up his trousers. He has one sock on and the one in his hand he leaves on the bed.

Matilda, he says, they told me you wouldn't be in today. Isn't it grand now you're here? What's up, girl? You look like you've seen a ghost.

Mister Phelan. I thought, ah, I thought you were dead.