The Furys (30 page)

‘It's perfectly disgraceful!' exclaimed Aunt Brigid. ‘These men seem to have no consideration whatever. I do hope that I shall get a boat back tomorrow.' She looked over at her father. It seemed to her that everybody had suddenly replied. ‘Yes! yes!' – even old Mr Mangan.

‘What about supper?' asked Mr Fury. He got up from the sofa. ‘Yes! What about it?' said Mrs Fury, and vanished into the back kitchen. ‘Can I help?' asked Miss Mangan, rising from her chair and hurrying into the back kitchen. Mr Fury heard his wife say, ‘No, no! Not at all! It's all right, Brigid!' He went out himself and carried back the bread, the cold meat, plates and knives.

‘It's a pity we didn't bring in some Guinness,' he said. ‘Tut tut!' exclaimed Mrs Fury. In a few minutes tea was made. All three sat at the table. Miss Mangan kept staring at her father. How long had that old man been sitting like that? Years. ‘Ah!' thought Aunt Brigid, ‘I'm sure he has seen much. And now one cannot get a word out of him.' What had he done with his ‘little bit of money'? Was it already gone? Spent! She trembled at the very thought. Not that she wanted any of it, oh no! But to think that it might be spirited away by the Furys! Why didn't he speak? He was like a sphinx. If only she had a key to unlock that door in her father's mind, how much she might learn! As it was, she knew nothing. Fanny was as silent as the grave. Maureen no better. That girl was hiding something. She saw it at once. As for Desmond …

‘It's Peter!' said Mrs Fury, rising at once on hearing the knock. ‘Peter!' said Mr Fury. ‘But at this hour! I thought the lad was in bed.' He looked at Miss Mangan as if to say, ‘Keep cool! Control yourself. There's nothing significant in Peter coming home at ten past eleven, you confounded fox!'

But Aunt Brigid was much too occupied with her own thoughts. Mr Fury had made to go to the door, but Mrs Fury was quicker. She seemed to have been waiting for it. They heard the front door open; a whispered conversation ensued, but they could not hear what was being said. Peter stood looking at his mother, one hand flat against the wall.

‘Did you go?' she asked.

‘The boy nodded his head, ‘Yes.'

‘Where have you been until now?' asked Mrs Fury.

‘After I left the chapel I went round to see Maureen.'

‘Oh! I see. Maureen was out: she came round to see me,' said his mother. She was totally unprepared for what followed.

‘She wasn't out! She was in. It's a lie! It's a lie!' his voice rose. Mrs Fury clapped her hand over his mouth.

‘Shut up! Shut up! Where have you been till now?'

‘I told you. Mother, I went round to Maureen's place. She
was
in. I saw her. She wouldn't open the door. I went round the back way. I saw her plain as daylight sitting at the table. I saw her husband too.'

‘Maureen was here, I tell you,' said his mother. ‘Here – here with me.' Then she caught his arm. ‘Come!'

They went into the kitchen. Only Aunt Brigid smiled. She smiled at Peter. She had heard the word ‘lie'. It was intriguing.

‘Well, so you got back, then?' remarked Mr Fury.

‘Yes, Dad.' The boy sat down at the table. Everybody looked at him as though momentarily expecting a revelation. Mr Fury pushed away his plate. Then he took out his pipe.

‘It's a b—,' he said.

‘Denny, how many times have I to tell you about using that word?'

‘Aw!' he growled. He went outside to the yard.

Mrs Fury looked at Brigid. ‘Denny's awful.' Then she turned to Peter: ‘You hurry up and get off to bed.' Then Mr Fury came back, trailing with him a great cloud of bluish-black smoke.

‘Have you still got that old rope of yours?' asked Mrs Fury. ‘Yes! And damned good tobacco it is,' he replied. Peter got up, said, ‘Good-night everybody,' and went upstairs. Mrs Fury followed immediately – an action that quickened Aunt Brigid's curiosity. The secrecy, the whisperings, the looks and gestures – the house was really mysterious.

Miss Mangan took a chair and placed it beside that of her father. ‘How awful Dad looks!' she thought. Mr Fury puffed away contentedly at his pipe. He was wondering how Mr Postlethwaite had got on.

‘Dad looks terrible,' said Miss Mangan sharply. She placed her hand on the old man's head and stroked it.

‘Does he?' said Mr Fury. ‘Well, let me tell you, Brigid, that he's a rare handful. Fanny has her hands full. I suppose you wouldn't think of taking “him” back with you? I'm sure if you did he'd open that mouth of his. He used to be talking once about nothing else but Belfast. His sister in Belfast. Always hoping he would catch the boat. Now he just sits there with his mouth shut tight as a trap.'

‘How could I take him back?' asked Aunt Brigid. ‘How could I take him back – now?' It seemed almost an ultimatum.

‘Why not?' continued Mr Fury. ‘Why did he ever leave Ireland? Don't you think Fanny has enough on her hands without him?'

Miss Mangan replied loudly, loud enough for the whole house to hear: ‘Nobody seemed more anxious to take Father than Fanny did. In any case, I think it was only right. He was always wanting to go to her. Her name never left his lips.'

Mr Fury blew a cloud of smoke into the air. He thought suddenly: ‘What the hell is that woman doing upstairs?' ‘You have only yourself. Brigid. I think it's only fair you should take your father back. It's time Fanny got a rest. She's reared a family. Now they're grown up, Mr Mangan won't get much show here. Fanny hasn't the time. He ties the woman down!' He put down his pipe, and folded his arms behind his head.

Brigid Mangan said, ‘Well?'

‘Yes, I'll tell you one or two things about old Mangan,' he said. Miss Mangan rose from the chair, and stood on the mat looking down at her brother-in-law. How thin his hair was getting, and grey too! His jaws were drawn up. She supposed that was due to working in a ship stokehold all his life. ‘Aye,' Mr Fury began, ‘I could tell you …' ‘Ssh!' Aunt Brigid put a finger over her mouth. At the same time Mrs Fury came into the kitchen.

‘Dad must go to bed at once,' she announced. Mr Fury immediately got up.

‘Can I help?' asked Brigid.

‘No! It's all right. I can manage,' replied Mrs Fury.

Peter had no sooner entered his room than his mother stepped in behind him. She closed the door. She sat down beside him on the bed. ‘Where were you until that time?' asked she. Peter saw at once that his mother was in no light mood.

‘I went to see the men working on the railway,' he began. ‘Then I came straight back here.'

‘Railway! What railway?' asked Mrs Fury. She seemed to pin the boy to the bed with her cool, penetrating eyes.

‘The railway sheds at the back of Maureen's street,' said Peter.

‘Have you been to Vulcan Street?' asked the woman. Her expression changed at once. She rose to her feet and looked down at her son.

‘No!' Peter said. ‘I haven't been to Vulcan Street, Mother.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, Mother.'

‘That's quite honest, then?'

‘Yes, Mother. I only went to see Maureen. But she never opened the door to me.'

‘That's a lie. Peter,' said Mrs Fury. ‘A lie. Maureen was with me most of the evening. She only just went when your father arrived back with your Aunt Brigid. Did you meet your father and Aunt Brigid?' She walked up to the window and turned her back on him. Peter got up.

‘No, Mother.'

The woman turned round. She went up to her son and said slowly, ‘Did you give the priest my message?'

‘Yes, Mother.' ‘Why does she ask all these questions,' thought Peter.

‘You are sure you're telling the truth?'

‘Yes, Mother.'

Mrs Fury went to the door. She opened it. She held the handle tightly in her hands.

‘Keep away from Vulcan Street,' she said. ‘If I ever find out you have been there, I'll kill you.' She made a sudden rush back and whispered into his face, ‘I'll kill you.' Peter fell back upon the bed from sheer astonishment. When he regained his composure she had gone. Why didn't she want him to go and see his brother? Why was she so afraid? He did not know. Nor could he find out anything. Maureen was no help there. Should he ask his father? Why couldn't he see his brother? What crime had he committed? Why did he never come to the house? Why did his mother hate this woman? None of those questions could be answered. Suddenly he said to himself, ‘I'll go tomorrow. Yes. I'll go tomorrow.' With this sudden decision the questions became more urgent, there was something almost burning in the intensity they had created. Why? Why? Why? He crossed over to the window and opened it. A week ago he had stood at another window, and had looked out upon green fields, great open spaces, stately trees. Here one looked out and saw nothing but a black pit. And over this pit there hung a kind of miasma. Hearing somebody coming up the stairs, Peter closed the window and sat down again on the bed. At the top the climber paused. He knew then that it was Aunt Brigid. He sat listening. The door opened. Aunt Brigid had a parcel in her hand. ‘Here, Peter,' she said. ‘This is for you.' She flung the parcel to the bed. Peter, smiling, exclaimed, ‘Oh, thank you, Aunt Brigid! Thank you!' The door closed again. When he opened the parcel he found a pair of pyjamas. ‘Oh my!' he said. ‘Oh my!' and immediately undressed. Just as he got one leg into the bright blue pyjamas, Mrs Fury called up, ‘Are you in bed, Peter?'

‘Not yet, Mother,' called back Peter, at the same time pushing his other leg in.

‘Then come down and help your father get Grand-dad to bed.'

‘Coming, Mother,' shouted Peter. He stood for a moment on the landing. Aunt Brigid was saying her night prayers.

2

‘At last!' said Mr Fury. ‘At last!' He lay down on the sofa and covered himself up. Mrs Fury had gone to bed. With Peter's help he had managed to get ‘him' upstairs. He was still surprised at his sister-in-law's generosity. Peter had appeared in the kitchen like a sort of bright blue apparition. But she hadn't even thought of buying him. Mr Fury, a pipeful of tobacco. ‘The skinflint!' he thought. ‘And she has money too.' He stretched himself so that his legs came to rest on the arm of the sofa. He wasn't used to sleeping on sofas. Well, with the best of luck he would be back in his own bed tomorrow. He hadn't begrudged his sister-in-law the space. Not at all. On the contrary, the change had been welcome. He had escaped Fanny's nightly sermon, Fanny's harangue, Fanny's regrets. And although he would return to his own room tomorrow, there were compensations. He needn't set the alarm for half-past five. He would be able to lie in. But how long was this strike going to last? He thought Fanny seemed pretty cool about it all. but perhaps that was mere showing off before Aunt Brigid. Yes. That was the important question. How long was it going to last? Tomorrow he must go down to the Mechanics' Hall and see about his strike-pay from the Federation. There were a lot of things to be done tomorrow. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day. Seemed like Fanny meant to have a holiday. There was only one thing he dreaded, though he had Peter to share it, and that was getting Mr Mangan down to the Post Office. What a job! He wondered how Fanny managed ‘him' so well. Visualizing the scene, he almost regretted his promise. If only he could wake up to find Brigid gone. And ‘him' too. But that was asking for a miracle. Then Miss Mangan had to be seen to the boat. Well, he didn't mind that. With this sudden thought he sat bolt upright upon the sofa. What boat?
Would
there be a boat? He doubted it. He lay down again. Then he had to call and see Mr Lake about Anthony's allotment money. ‘Bloody old Lake!' exclaimed Mr Fury. ‘Damned swine!' He could hear the two women talking excitedly over his head. Suddenly Mulcare came into his mind. Now if he came along he might be able to get Peter a job. Any job. Then Fanny and he would be on their own at last. He realized the truth of what she had said, again and again. Yes, at last they would have peace. He fell asleep seeing Anthony walking up Hatfields, his white canvas bag on his back.

Promptly at six o'clock he rose. He was astonished to see Aunt Brigid already up and dressed. She came bustling into the kitchen. Mr Fury pushed the sofa back to the wall.

‘Good-morning, Denny,' Miss Mangan said, and passed into the back kitchen to wash herself. Well, she was going. But she was very disappointed. She hadn't seen anybody. And to have missed the pleasure of meeting her eldest nephew was more than disappointment. It seemed deliberate frustration. ‘Good morning, Brigid,' called Mr Fury. ‘Is Fanny up?' As he called, his wife came into the kitchen.

‘Is everything ready, Denny?' she asked. Mrs Fury was fully dressed.

‘Yes,' Mr Fury replied, ‘everything's ready.'

‘Will you come upstairs a minute,' she said in a whisper; ‘I want to talk to you.'

The man followed his wife upstairs. Immediately the door closed, Mrs Fury said, ‘D'you think there will be a boat, Denny?'

Mr Fury hesitated. He wasn't certain. He looked at his wife. ‘I should think so,' he said. ‘I wish I had a morning paper, we might know where we are. I'm just as keen to see her back as you are,' he concluded.

‘Of course! of course! But will she get a boat?'

‘Why not? Why shouldn't she? I'll see she catches it, anyhow.'

‘All right. That's all I wanted to know. I do hope she goes off. I have enough to think about now.' She looked at herself in the mirror.

‘I never heard a word about this,' went on Mrs Fury. ‘Why did you burn the paper last night?'

‘Paper?'

‘Yes. The paper!'

‘Well – you see, Fanny – I …'

Mrs Fury put a finger to her mouth. Miss Mangan was coming.

‘Take the bag, Denny,' Mrs Fury said.