shoo.’
Her voice brought relief to Donal’s face. She was treating the doctor like a bold child.
‘High and mighty Eileen O’Connor,’ he said venomously, looking around him. ‘Too good for this town … educated in England … what did it get you? A house falling down for want of a coat of paint, a husband covered with dirt over in a yard and a lean-to, a crowd of children one more wild than the next. …’
‘We have the best children in town,’ said Eileen. ‘Are you going now or shall I send one of them over for your wife?’
‘The best,’ he laughed. ‘This one will be in the churchyard before much longer, you sent that Maureen away before she disgraced you, and what about young fellow-me-lad strutting about in a Tommy’s uniform?’
Eileen forced herself to laugh. Once she heard the sound of it it encouraged her and her second attempt was almost a peal.
‘My God, Matthew Lynch, isn’t it true what they say about drunks! They weave more fairy tales and have more imagination than the people who write books. Listen, will you get out of here before my Sean comes back and kicks you out. …’ She wiped her eyes at the amusement of it all. The children looked at her amazed. Even Peggy, who had come to stand at the door with Niamh in her arms, smiled without quite knowing why. The doctor, deflated and unexpectedly defeated, began to leave. Eileen’s laughter annoyed him more than he could believe. He had only said what was true, why was she laughing? The door slammed and Eileen sat down. Her mirth hadn’t subsided. Cautiously the children moved towards her and Peggy advanced into the room. When the door downstairs banged, Eileen leapt up and looked out of the window.
‘Look at him, the poor buffoon, heading for a few quick ones now to give him the courage to face the wife. Oh dear, there’s nothing so desperate as a drunk man – whatever you two girls do, and you too, Peggy, and you Niamh little heart, for God’s sake don’t marry a drunk. …’
Donal felt excluded. ‘Doesn’t he know what he’s saying? Is he really unreliable?’ he asked anxiously.
‘When he’s like that he’s only got old potatoes rattling around in his head, not brains. Poor fool.’ His insults burned into her like a hot rod pushed down the back of her throat. But she was winning, she was managing to make him ridiculous. She didn’t have to deny what he’d said about Donal if she laughed at everything he said. She watched him pick up a newspaper from a bench near the bus stop, and then he shouted something to her. The window was closed so she couldn’t hear.
‘He’s saying something, Mam,’ said Peggy.
‘I’m sure he is.’ She shivered. ‘Come on, Peggy, since I’m home anyway let’s all have a cup of tea.’
‘He keeps pointing to the paper,’ said Donal.
‘Come on away and we’ll close the curtains, it’s dark almost.’ Peggy scuttled out to the kitchen as Eileen opened the window slightly.
‘That’s cooked your goose … America’s in the war now. … Your snot-nosed boy’ll be sent to fight … it’s getting worse, not better … you’ll lose two sons you cackling old hen … your big Tommy of a son’ll be mincemeat in no time now.’
Eileen closed the window quickly and joined the little group by the fire.
‘What’s he saying, Mam?’ Donal, worried still.
‘Oh, more rubbishing and rawmaishing out of him … the man doesn’t know what day it is … he just goes on and on and on. …’
There were, of course, other mothers who didn’t know if their sons lived or died, but Eileen got no comfort from thinking about them. For some reason which she couldn’t quite explain to herself she had pretended to other people that she heard from him. When a well-meaning or even just curious friend or neighbour would ask, ‘Any word at all from Sean in England?’ she would nod brightly and say yes, she heard from him, he was fine. She said it with quick darting looks in the direction
Her voice brought relief to Donal’s face. She was treating the doctor like a bold child.
‘High and mighty Eileen O’Connor,’ he said venomously, looking around him. ‘Too good for this town … educated in England … what did it get you? A house falling down for want of a coat of paint, a husband covered with dirt over in a yard and a lean-to, a crowd of children one more wild than the next. …’
‘We have the best children in town,’ said Eileen. ‘Are you going now or shall I send one of them over for your wife?’
‘The best,’ he laughed. ‘This one will be in the churchyard before much longer, you sent that Maureen away before she disgraced you, and what about young fellow-me-lad strutting about in a Tommy’s uniform?’
Eileen forced herself to laugh. Once she heard the sound of it it encouraged her and her second attempt was almost a peal.
‘My God, Matthew Lynch, isn’t it true what they say about drunks! They weave more fairy tales and have more imagination than the people who write books. Listen, will you get out of here before my Sean comes back and kicks you out. …’ She wiped her eyes at the amusement of it all. The children looked at her amazed. Even Peggy, who had come to stand at the door with Niamh in her arms, smiled without quite knowing why. The doctor, deflated and unexpectedly defeated, began to leave. Eileen’s laughter annoyed him more than he could believe. He had only said what was true, why was she laughing? The door slammed and Eileen sat down. Her mirth hadn’t subsided. Cautiously the children moved towards her and Peggy advanced into the room. When the door downstairs banged, Eileen leapt up and looked out of the window.
‘Look at him, the poor buffoon, heading for a few quick ones now to give him the courage to face the wife. Oh dear, there’s nothing so desperate as a drunk man – whatever you two girls do, and you too, Peggy, and you Niamh little heart, for God’s sake don’t marry a drunk. …’
Donal felt excluded. ‘Doesn’t he know what he’s saying? Is he really unreliable?’ he asked anxiously.
‘When he’s like that he’s only got old potatoes rattling around in his head, not brains. Poor fool.’ His insults burned into her like a hot rod pushed down the back of her throat. But she was winning, she was managing to make him ridiculous. She didn’t have to deny what he’d said about Donal if she laughed at everything he said. She watched him pick up a newspaper from a bench near the bus stop, and then he shouted something to her. The window was closed so she couldn’t hear.
‘He’s saying something, Mam,’ said Peggy.
‘I’m sure he is.’ She shivered. ‘Come on, Peggy, since I’m home anyway let’s all have a cup of tea.’
‘He keeps pointing to the paper,’ said Donal.
‘Come on away and we’ll close the curtains, it’s dark almost.’ Peggy scuttled out to the kitchen as Eileen opened the window slightly.
‘That’s cooked your goose … America’s in the war now. … Your snot-nosed boy’ll be sent to fight … it’s getting worse, not better … you’ll lose two sons you cackling old hen … your big Tommy of a son’ll be mincemeat in no time now.’
Eileen closed the window quickly and joined the little group by the fire.
‘What’s he saying, Mam?’ Donal, worried still.
‘Oh, more rubbishing and rawmaishing out of him … the man doesn’t know what day it is … he just goes on and on and on. …’
There were, of course, other mothers who didn’t know if their sons lived or died, but Eileen got no comfort from thinking about them. For some reason which she couldn’t quite explain to herself she had pretended to other people that she heard from him. When a well-meaning or even just curious friend or neighbour would ask, ‘Any word at all from Sean in England?’ she would nod brightly and say yes, she heard from him, he was fine. She said it with quick darting looks in the direction
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