His Father's Son: To save the son he loves, a desparate father must confront the ghosts of his past (17 page)

Joey laughed in Paddy’s face.

“I mean it, Joey, every penny.”

“How will you manage that, a loser like yourself?”

“I don’t know, but I grant ye this: I will stick by your side till this debt is paid. I can help ye get your boy back too.”

Joey looked at Paddy with disbelief. Was this man a complete and total mentaller? He knew he should be angry with Paddy, should be belting him round the head, knocking sense into him, but wasn’t his type beyond learning. He was somewhere between a child and a dumb animal, a hapless kind and as ignorant as a bag of arses, for sure and certain.

Joey stood up. The air in the cabin was making it hard to breathe. He wanted out. He was already fully dressed, sleeping in his clothes like a right knacker. He reached for the door handle and brought in the morning light. “I want nothing more to do with you. Save your promises for the next eejit ye can con into handing over his last penny.”

“Joey, come on, you don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No ye don’t. I can tell you’re a good fella, aren’t ye just a bit messed up?”

“I was fine before I met you.” He walked through the door of the cabin. Paddy followed him into the corridor. “I have enough worries without a jinx like you following me around. Now would ye ever feck off and find someone else to annoy.”

“Joey, stop, would ye. I feel bad enough. Don’t I only want to make it up to you.”

“You cannot.”

“I can. Sure, I can get yeer money back with interest. I just need a bit of time. Let me help you find your boy, sure aren’t two heads better than one.”

“Usually, I’d say they were, but in this case I think I’d make an exception.” He strode back into the cabin and pulled down his bag.

“What are ye doing?” said Paddy.

“Packing. Tis you or me.”

“No, ye can’t do that. The ship’s full. They’ll not allow it.”

“I’ll sleep in the corridor, then.”

“Joey, see sense, man. You’ll be chained up – haven’t they your card marked already for yesterday’s showing.”

He lifted his bag and Marti’s Superman picture was placed gently under his arm. “I’m outta here.”

Paddy stood in front of him and stretched his arms apart to try and block the way, but Joey barged past and he was nearly knocked over. “Joey man, I thought we were friends.”

“Friends like you I can do without,” he said, and kicked the door shut when he left.

Guard O’Dowd said he was marching Marti up the road to Mam, where if there was any sense left in the woman she would belt the b’Jaysus out of him with a riding crop or some manner of painful strap. Guard O’Dowd still had his very big hand on Marti’s neck when he walked. When Marti didn’t walk fast enough there would be a squeeze on his neck and the guard would say by Christ it’s a whipping such as never was seen in the world I’d deliver if ye were a son of mine. The bicycle made a squeaking noise from the buckled front wheel and Marti could hardly steer at all with the handlebars all pushed to the side. He felt bad when he looked down at the bicycle, but Guard O’Dowd made it hard to look down at all when he was forever at the squeezing with his very big hand.

There were far too many boys about the place acting the giddy goat for Guard O’Dowd’s liking and wasn’t his job like throwing apples into an orchard morning, noon and night on account of their antics. It would never have been countenanced in his day, said Guard O’Dowd, when a man would be thanked for giving a young cur a wrap in the snot locker and the streets were a quieter place and safer entirely. These days it was desperate, verging on the diabolical, with all the carryings on about the place making old ladies scared to come out of their homes, afraid of a mouthful of cheek or worse. Guard O’Dowd squeezed Marti’s neck hard when he said a mouthful of cheek, and then there was a shove and a jolt and he was told, “Move yeerself.”

“I am moving,” said Marti.

“And I’ll have none of yeer lip,” said Guard O’Dowd. “Oh yes, it was a fair old gas at the time, was it not, a fair old hooley ye had to yourself with the fire.”

“Ah, you’re hurting me.”

“That’s the general idea, boy. I bet there’s not a minute, not a second nor a millisecond of thought ye gave to the people you could be hurting with the fire, now was there?”

“There was nobody there.”

“Ye had the whole place in a state of fear and panic, so ye did. Old ladies worried in their homes, their poor hands trembling with the thought of the fire approaching, not knowing if they were to be burnt out of house and home.”

Marti didn’t believe it when he said about the fear and panic and he thought it was all just a holy show to make him scared, but he was scared enough anyway. He had never been taken home by a guard before and Mam was sure to be mad angry and say it was a hot arse he had earned. Hadn’t he only just started at Saint Joseph’s All Boys Catholic School and here he was mitching and stealing, lighting fires and being taken home by a guard already. It would be the hot arse for sure. It might even be worse, thought Marti, but he didn’t know what worse might be because he had never been in so much trouble ever before.

When they got to Aunt Catrin’s gate Guard O’Dowd took away his big hand and said, “Hold up there a minute, boyo.” He stared at the rabbit traps hanging around the shed where Uncle Ardal kept the pigeons. Guard O’Dowd was in a fury and said he’d told Uncle Ardal about the traps he didn’t know how many times. He pulled away at them and threw them into a big pile on the ground and then he said it’s lucky yeer Uncle Ardal is there’s no cats trapped and calling for dear life, and wasn’t a cat the only companion some old ladies had in the whole world.

Guard O’Dowd knocked very hard on the door of the house and called out. He started to write something in his little black book and said Uncle Ardal had seen the last of the traps. “By Christ, he has. As sure as there’s a breath in me he’s seen the last of them traps this day.”

There were lights came on in the house and when the door was opened Aunt Catrin stood on the step and folded her arms. She had the woman’s look for making the milk sour and even when Guard O’Dowd spoke to her about the traps she kept her eyes on Marti.

“Ye can take it up with Ardal yeerself. Do I look the type to keep pigeons?” said Aunt Catrin, and Guard O’Dowd was quiet in front of her, staring at her eyes. “Now what are ye doing with this boy?”

“Tis the mother I’m after.”

“Ye can take it up with me. The mother is unwell.”

The guard’s voice was different when he spoke to Aunt Catrin. It was like he was frightened, thought Marti. There was a quieter tone about him altogether and the anger was all gone. “He’s after having a bit of a burn up down the old railway … had the whole place in a state of panic, old ladies calling the station so they were …”

“Is that all?” said Aunt Catrin. “I thought it was the Houses of Parliament he burnt to the ground the way ye were talking.”

“Ah now, ah now.”

“Ah now nothing,” said Aunt Catrin. “This boy has a sick mother, I told ye. Now don’t be bothering us with the like of this when we have real problems to deal with under my roof.” Aunt Catrin grabbed Marti by the ear and pulled him into the house, and Guard O’Dowd was left with an open mouth and one foot on the front step.

“But …”

“Go way catch some proper criminals. I’ll deal with this one myself,” said Aunt Catrin, and the door was slammed shut. Marti was glad it was all over and that there were no questions asked about the bicycle or about Pat, and then Aunt Catrin looked down at him and he knew he was in big enough trouble without mention of other things.

“This is a fine display, is it not?” she said. “Brung home by the guards when yeer own mother is lying through there with some manner of illness.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marti. He felt the shame when Aunt Catrin said Mam was ill, but he knew she was always ill and it was just the sadness Dad called the Black Dog. Marti knew he had been a bold boy and had well and truly earned the hot arse like Mam would say, but he wanted her to say it and not to hear Aunt Catrin giving out at him. He didn’t like to look at her when she was like this because she scared him with the look on her. It wasn’t like when Mam was giving out at all because she seemed like it was all a cod, but Aunt Catrin seemed like it was real.

“Oh, it’s sorry ye are, is it? Well, sorry isn’t good enough when ye have a sick mother lying there in need of the love and comfort of her only son.”

“It’s only the Black Dog. She always has it,” said Marti.

“Oh is that what it is
only?
” said Aunt Catrin. “Well let me tell you there’s people have died of less in this family, yeer mother is very sick and may be going up the hill soon.”

Marti knew up the hill meant the Cabbage Farm because Pat had told him that was where you went to get your head looked at. He didn’t want Mam to go up the hill and leave him all alone with Aunt Catrin, and the thought made him sadder than he was already.

“My own brother, yeer Uncle Barry, was the same way, but then I’m sure you’ve never heard of him, have ye?”

“I haven’t.”

“No I didn’t think so. Sure yeer mother ran off to Australia and left me to mind him. I’m sure she didn’t tell ye that either.” Aunt Catrin trembled when she spoke about Mam and Marti wanted her to stop the talking, but she just kept on and on about Mam sunning herself in Australia whilst she was left to pick up the pieces of a shattered family, but hadn’t it caught up with her now and no mistake.

“Ye with a sick mother and acting the maggot … having guards at the door. I will have to be taking a very close look at how you are brung up from now on in, Marti Driscol. Now take those wet things off by the fire and get to yeer bed. There will be no tea for ye this night. You can take an empty belly to bed, will match yeer empty head.”

When Marti went through to the fire, Mam was lying sleeping on the sofa wearing the baggy jamas with the very long sleeves over her hands. The fire was nearly out and Aunt Catrin put a clod of peat on to burn and keep Mam warm and heat the place in general. There were little sparks when the clod of peat was placed on the fire and there was a hissing sound when the wetness on it started to turn to smoke which smelled nice but stung the eyes.

When Marti looked at Mam sleeping she had a very peaceful and happy face. It made him sad to look at her lying there because she only ever looked that way when she was sleeping. He felt like there was a very tight little knot inside him when he looked at her and he thought about Aunt Catrin’s words. He knew he didn’t ever want to be bold again if it would mean Mam had to go to the Cabbage Farm because he didn’t want her to go anywhere. Marti knew he had no dad now and when he looked at Mam lying sleeping with the very peaceful and happy face he didn’t want to lose his mam as well.

He wondered why she couldn’t look that way all the time and he wanted to know but he didn’t know who to ask, or if there was anyone at all in the whole world who would ever be able to tell him. He couldn’t ask Aunt Catrin because she was a bockety-arsed old witch, like Pat said, and he couldn’t ask Pat, even if he was his best friend, because he didn’t want Pat to know Mam might have to go up the hill to the Cabbage Farm.

He could think of only one person who would know why Mam couldn’t have the face all the time and that was Dad. He thought about the times Dad made Mam laugh when they were in Australia and it seemed like such a very, very long time ago that he wondered if even Dad would still be able to make her laugh. Marti wondered if there ever had been a time when they were all together at all or was it really just a dream, and the very tight little knot inside him got tighter and tighter and he felt the tears coming.

Marti scrunched his eyes up because he didn’t want to see Mam lying sleeping anymore and when he put his hand up to his face there were salty warm tears rolling down his cheek.

“Oh ye can bubble away,” said Aunt Catrin. “You’ll get no sympathy under my roof. Tis changed days ye are facing, Marti Driscol, changed days entirely.”

The Captain’s Bar was a sorry affair with all manner of polished brass about the place, ropes tied in knots and a big old bell sparkling for all the world to see. A man with a duster in his hand was rubbing away at the bell so hard that little chimes were heard in time with the jerk of his elbow. The place was empty of customers but that wasn’t going to put him off, thought Joey. The thirst was back with him – wasn’t he pure blue mouldy for a drink.

There were people heading off for breakfast all over the ship, happy people on their holidays. The sight of them put the heart crossways in Joey. If he heard one more “Grand day” or “Fine morning” he was liable to kick someone’s arse into their neck. A drink was needed and all he wanted was a quiet spot to get down to business alone.

“Howya?” he said.

The man with the duster turned round. He looked at Joey like he was something else that needed cleaning in the place. “Hello,” he said, and his eyes went up to the bandage.

“I was wondering, could ye pour me a little one?”

“Certainly.” The man was what they call a hard neck in Ireland. He had no respect in him but sure wasn’t it a free bar, open all hours, and he would serve drink now whether he liked it or not.

“On second thoughts, make it a large one,” said Joey. He dumped his bag and sat down at the bar, gently placing the Superman picture in front of him. “Wouldn’t it be grand to have superpowers like yeer man,” he said, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.