would I see yer bloody wallet? Maybe ye give it tae that fancy wommin, seein’ as ye give her my Dora’s house.”
“It’s my house. Dora said she wanted me tae have it after she died.”
“Aye, she did, did she? Well, she was dotin’ and didn’t know what she was sayin’. She told Barney Bap and Screw-loose John she was leavin’ it tae them, too. She left that house tae half the bloody country afore she went.”
“Well, she told me afore she went dotin’, and Mrs. Hailstone paid me rent,” said Gusty, his voice quick with annoyance. “And you’re only pissin’ out that windee tae embarrass me in front-a her!”
“I’ll piss wherever I want.”
“Och, you’re nothing but a contrary oul’ shite! Come on, Veronica.”
Man and beast left the room while old Ned lurched in the direction of the window to water the bindweeds in the backyard.
Young Herkie, concealed in the field behind the Grant residence, was not much interested in what was happening beyond the hedge that shielded him from view. He lay surrounded by discarded sweet wrappers, engrossed in his Cheeky Weekly comic, bum-crack on show for all the birds to see.
Suddenly a noise alerted him. He looked up in time to see an upstairs window being thrust open. As he watched, an old man came into view, undid his flies, and let loose on a group of ducks leisurely grooming themselves below. He then stuck his head out the window and shouted something before banging the window shut again as the ducks ran squawking from the downpour.
Herkie, stifling a giggle, wondered what to do. His ma had instructed him to check out the big house to see if there was a woman about it. The man he’d seen at the window was definitely an oul’ boy. Oul’ boys were good news, because they were usually deaf and half blind, which would make his task a lot easier. Maybe he could make a beeline for the back door now. The Opal Fruits were all eaten anyway. There wasn’t a blackbird in sight, so he had no use for his slingshot. Besides, he was bored and wanted some action.
But just as he was contemplating this, the back door opened and a man emerged carrying a bucket. He was surprised to see the mechanic-and-new-landlord, Mr. Grant. Grunting at his heels was Veronica, the piglet Herkie had tormented a few days before.
Crouching farther down behind the hedge, he watched intently as Mr. Grant lit up a cigarette, sat himself down on a crate, and began inspecting his reflection in a near window, elongating his neck, rubbing his stubble, and pulling faces. Herkie wondered what he was playing at. Maybe he was crazy—his ma had told himthat most country people were a bit odd. All that living in the middle of fields and staring at animals gave them bumps in their brains and things like that.
By and by, Grant lost interest in his reflection. He stood up, grabbed a rake, raised it up to a first-floor window, and knocked on it a few times.
After about a minute, the window flew open and the oul’ boy stuck his head out.
“Hi, I’m goin’ tae the Cock,” said Mr. Grant, “tae see Etta about the night. D’ye want anything, do ye?”
“Aye, right, Etta Strong’s hard up tae want a boy like you. Get me a pouch-a that Peter’s Flake and a quart of them Glassy-ear Mints.”
With that, the window was pulled shut before Mr. Grant had time to reply.
In the silence that followed, all Herkie could hear was “Away with yeh, ye oul’ shite!”
So Mr. Grant lived in the big house with an oul’ boy. What would his ma say about that? Deciding that he’d had enough information for the time being, he gathered up his sweet wrappers, stuck the comic in his pocket, and slipped away up the field to report his findings.
Chapter thirteen
T he phone rang as Father Connor Cassidy was firming up his Sunday sermon. He did not welcome the intrusion.
“Good morning, Saint Timothy’s, Father Cassidy speaking.”
“Hello, Father. It’s Doris Crink here, at the post office.”
Oh dear,
“It’s my house. Dora said she wanted me tae have it after she died.”
“Aye, she did, did she? Well, she was dotin’ and didn’t know what she was sayin’. She told Barney Bap and Screw-loose John she was leavin’ it tae them, too. She left that house tae half the bloody country afore she went.”
“Well, she told me afore she went dotin’, and Mrs. Hailstone paid me rent,” said Gusty, his voice quick with annoyance. “And you’re only pissin’ out that windee tae embarrass me in front-a her!”
“I’ll piss wherever I want.”
“Och, you’re nothing but a contrary oul’ shite! Come on, Veronica.”
Man and beast left the room while old Ned lurched in the direction of the window to water the bindweeds in the backyard.
Young Herkie, concealed in the field behind the Grant residence, was not much interested in what was happening beyond the hedge that shielded him from view. He lay surrounded by discarded sweet wrappers, engrossed in his Cheeky Weekly comic, bum-crack on show for all the birds to see.
Suddenly a noise alerted him. He looked up in time to see an upstairs window being thrust open. As he watched, an old man came into view, undid his flies, and let loose on a group of ducks leisurely grooming themselves below. He then stuck his head out the window and shouted something before banging the window shut again as the ducks ran squawking from the downpour.
Herkie, stifling a giggle, wondered what to do. His ma had instructed him to check out the big house to see if there was a woman about it. The man he’d seen at the window was definitely an oul’ boy. Oul’ boys were good news, because they were usually deaf and half blind, which would make his task a lot easier. Maybe he could make a beeline for the back door now. The Opal Fruits were all eaten anyway. There wasn’t a blackbird in sight, so he had no use for his slingshot. Besides, he was bored and wanted some action.
But just as he was contemplating this, the back door opened and a man emerged carrying a bucket. He was surprised to see the mechanic-and-new-landlord, Mr. Grant. Grunting at his heels was Veronica, the piglet Herkie had tormented a few days before.
Crouching farther down behind the hedge, he watched intently as Mr. Grant lit up a cigarette, sat himself down on a crate, and began inspecting his reflection in a near window, elongating his neck, rubbing his stubble, and pulling faces. Herkie wondered what he was playing at. Maybe he was crazy—his ma had told himthat most country people were a bit odd. All that living in the middle of fields and staring at animals gave them bumps in their brains and things like that.
By and by, Grant lost interest in his reflection. He stood up, grabbed a rake, raised it up to a first-floor window, and knocked on it a few times.
After about a minute, the window flew open and the oul’ boy stuck his head out.
“Hi, I’m goin’ tae the Cock,” said Mr. Grant, “tae see Etta about the night. D’ye want anything, do ye?”
“Aye, right, Etta Strong’s hard up tae want a boy like you. Get me a pouch-a that Peter’s Flake and a quart of them Glassy-ear Mints.”
With that, the window was pulled shut before Mr. Grant had time to reply.
In the silence that followed, all Herkie could hear was “Away with yeh, ye oul’ shite!”
So Mr. Grant lived in the big house with an oul’ boy. What would his ma say about that? Deciding that he’d had enough information for the time being, he gathered up his sweet wrappers, stuck the comic in his pocket, and slipped away up the field to report his findings.
Chapter thirteen
T he phone rang as Father Connor Cassidy was firming up his Sunday sermon. He did not welcome the intrusion.
“Good morning, Saint Timothy’s, Father Cassidy speaking.”
“Hello, Father. It’s Doris Crink here, at the post office.”
Oh dear,
Similar Books
