The Chisellers by Brendan O'Carroll

nobody to turn to with his fear of coming home each night. Twice more he had been chased by gangs of skinheads and on the last occasion just barely escaped. He longed for the summer so that he could walk home in the daylight. Agnes had now extended Frankie’s ‘period’ by another month, but made it very clear that this extension was a temporary reprieve, not a change of mind. Agnes’s most pressing concern was young Simon. Following her decision on Frankie, Simon saw the opportunity for him too to depart school and get a job. This didn’t go down well with Agnes at all. Frankie, she explained to Simon, was being thrown out of school, where the teacher had described Simon as a slow but lovable pupil. Nevertheless, Simon stuck to his guns and had now fixed himself up with an appointment for an interview for a job as a porter in St Patrick’s hospital.
    Having just broken this news to Agnes, Simon sat awaiting her pronouncement on it.
    ‘So yeh’ve got yourself an interview?’ Agnes asked.
    ‘Ye ... ye ... ye ... yes, Ma ... Ma ... Mammy,’ Simon tried to be as firm as he could.
    ‘D’yeh realise what an interview means?‘
    Simon looked at his mother blankly, not really understanding the question.
    ‘The man ...’ she began slowly, ‘will ask you questions.’
    Simon’s brow rose, his mouth hung open and he slowly nodded his head.
    ‘And you will have to answer them - speak to him.’
    ‘Su ... su ... so?’
    Agnes leaned over and placed her hand on Simon’s hand. ‘You have a stutter, luv,’ Agnes exclaimed, as if it were going to be a surprise to Simon.
    ‘Su ... su ... su ... so?’
    Agnes was trying to be as gentle as she could. ‘Do you not feel a stutter might affect your chances of gettin’ the job?’
    ‘Na ... na ... no, wa ... why should it ? ’ Simon asked, quite genuinely not seeing a problem.
    Agnes exhaled. ‘Jesus, son. If someone needs a bedpan and calls you, by the time you say wa ... wa ... wa ... what d’yeh want, they’ll have shit in the bed!‘
    ‘Mm ... Mm ... Ma! ... I’map... p ... porter, not a bl ... bleedin’ nu ... nu ... nurse.‘
    Agnes had to acknowledge the boy’s resolve. ‘All right. Of course I wish you well, I’m just afraid of yeh being disappointed, that’s all. If you get the job yeh can take it.’
    The boy smiled and hugged his mother. ’D ... d ... don’t worry, Mam, I ... I’ll get the job!‘ Simon declared confidently.
    Ten days later Simon was standing in the toilet just off the personnel office of St Patrick’s hospital. Outside in the waiting room there were twenty other hopefuls for the porter’s job. Simon looked at himself in the mirror. With a hand each side of the sink he leaned close to his reflection and inhaled deeply.
    ‘How ... now ... brown ... ca ... ca ... cow!’ he said to his reflection. Once again he inhaled deeply. ‘Around the rugged rock the ra ... ra ... ragged ra ... ra ... rascal ra ... ra ... ah, fuck it!’
    Behind him in a cubical the toilet flushed, the door opened and out strode a young man, maybe a year or two older than Simon. The fellow walked straight to the exit door, opened it, then turned to Simon, paused for a moment, and said, ‘Fuck me! I can see I’m up against it!’ He laughed as he exited.
    Simon’s heart sank. He returned to the waiting room and sat down. Each time he caught the eye of the young man Simon would blush a little. He fixed his gaze on the door of the personnel manager’s office and waited.
    The door opened and yet another young applicant left the room. This one looked a little dejected. Simon chastised himself for feeling glad at the applicant’s expression. The secretary entered the office and closed the door. She had brought in a new batch of applications. Minutes later she opened the door again and called, ‘Mr Simon Browne, please.’
    Simon had been quite calm up to that — bordering on confident. He couldn’t explain what happened the minute he heard that young lady