On The Mend

Sean was watching from the living room window; his mother would appear any moment on her way back from early mass. It was the only time he had to himself, between 5.30 and 6.15 each morning, and that was when he went rummaging.

He knew his mother had a stash of money somewhere in the house, but so far he’d been unable to find it.

Unknown to the rest of the family, he had regained most of his memory, but there were still chunks missing. He was fly enough not to let on and he was so good at maintaining his childlike persona that he was sure no-one really suspected him.

He spied his mother walking with Theresa from next door, heads bent against the dreich Scottish weather, whispering to one another. Whispering about him? He was paranoid about who his mother spoke to and what she spoke about. He knew it was mostly about him and his business. She was always spreading lies about him. He would have to put a stop to it. How could his beloved mother have turned against him? So often he had to remind her who was the man of the house and who her loyalties should be with. She shouldn’t be telling bloody Theresa any of their business, she wasn’t family.

Lizzie was dismayed when she saw her son peering out of the window. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath, “I hope he’s in a better mood than last night.” The old woman rubbed her right arm. It wasn’t quite so painful this morning and it would ease once the bruising came out.

Feck it, she thought, if he starts his nonsense this early, I’ll lamp him with the poker.

Lizzie was exhausted. She was getting on in years and wasn’t up to coping with her son’s behaviour. If the truth be told, Sean was breaking his mother’s heart. Never in her life had Lizzie dreamt that one of her sons would lay hands on her. They had each, in their own way, provided for her and made sure she had the best that money could buy. Sean had changed. He’d changed long before the attack, but the head injury had made things much worse. She knew he was on the mend and had regained much of his memory. When he got into one of his tempers he would let slip and revert to his old self. But it was the hatred of his brothers that most appalled her and this, she was convinced, was down to the attack so therefore it wasn’t his fault. Because of this, she would protect him and cover for him.

She busied herself around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She never knew how many would arrive; her kitchen was open to all and sundry. Her three sons and their workforce were welcome any morning. Before he had been hospitalized, Sean had been a regular at the table for breakfast. It was a chance for the brothers to catch up and it was always an enjoyable start to the day. Now, however, Sean would hurriedly consume his meal before anyone else arrived and disappear through to his room. He wouldn’t come out until the last plate had been cleared, except for the few occasions when Tiny Carter and the new guy, Gerry Fairnie, came to eat. Gerry went out of his way to draw Sean out and never spoke or referred to him in the way the others did.

Lizzie liked the young man and sympathized with his predicament. His children were in foster homes and he wasn’t allowed to see them. And the poor lass he had been married to, taking her own life the way she did. Lizzie had known Gerry’s wife since she was a child and a nicer girl you would not meet, but she had been led astray and paid a hellish price.

Gerry seemed well taken with Sean which was most unusual, Sean being a hard man to like. But he and Gerry got on like a house on fire and the old woman encouraged him to visit.

Sean had a bee in his bonnet about Theresa this morning, wanting to know what she and Lizzie had been whispering about on the way home.

“Don’t worry, lad, I didn’t let slip that you’ve taken to throwing your weight about in here and that your poor old ma has bruises the size of dinner plates. Because if I did, big and all as you are, she’d bray you from here to hell and back again. The truth is, lad, I am black affronted at what you’ve become. You’re a woman-beater.”

“What are you cawing about, you stupid old bat?” Sean sneered at Lizzie. “When did I ever beat you? If you’d lay off the bottle you’d be steadier on your feet, that’s how you get the bruises. Don’t blame me or I will give you the back of my hand. So shut your blethering and fix me some breakfast.”

“You can wait till the others arrive. I’m running behind and I can hardly use this arm, thanks to you. As for me laying off the bottle, I’d have to fight you to get near it.”

Sean turned away, the anger blazing across his face. Slyly, he moved the huge griddle his mother used to make her famous tattie scones and positioned the metal handle over the naked gas flame. He left it in position until the handle was almost glowing red. The kitchen was beginning to fill up, Sean sneaked the iron plate back to its original position and waited for the fun to begin.

For the first time in weeks Marie and Errol had joined the throng. Marie got up to help her mother. She broke several eggs into the frying pan. The bacon was already fried, as was the black pudding, and only the scones were left to be done.

“Don’t let her do them, Ma, they’ll be burned,” called Michael.

“‘Well done’ is the phrase you’re looking for,” Marie bit back.

Sean watched the proceedings with bated breath, he didn’t care which one of them got burned. He hated them both.

Marie let out an ear-piercing scream as the red-hot metal seared into her hand. The kitchen was in an uproar as Lizzie and Paddy tried their best to tend to Marie’s hand. It was already blistering.

“What the fuck happened?” Paddy demanded.

“The handle was scorching hot and I lifted it.”

“It must have been over the gas flame,” said one of the lads.

“No, it was over there,” Marie said pointing to where the griddle had been positioned.

“It’s the hospital for you, young lady,” stated Michael.

“I can’t, I’ve got an important meeting at eleven this morning.”

“I don’t care. This needs seen to, and no argument.”

“Look, let’s go straight to the Nuffield and get her sorted right away.”

Marie was sheet white and looked like she was ready to pass out.

Sean didn’t open his mouth, he just sat there taking everything in. But Lizzie’s weren’t the only pair of eyes watching him.