I’ve been here fer weeks now, seven weeks, an I’ve had no word from me mammy. It’s gettin worse, the same routine every day. I sit in the yard on the bench every mornin after breakfast. I get a cup a tea an a sambidge at lunchtime. Then I have te sit on the bench again an wait fer the childre te come in from school. The heart is goin outa me. I’m not bothered about eatin. I don’t feel hungry. An the childre don’t talk te me, only te fight wit me all the time. An the people don’t bother wit me, except te side wit the childre when I fight back wit them fer pickin on me an callin me names. The English people don’t like the Irish. An I definitely don’t like the English.
‘Mary! Go and take your bath. I’ve run the water for you.’
‘OK!’ I said, followin the auntie te the bathroom.
‘Now don’t be long.’
‘No, OK,’ I said as she closed the door.
I stepped inta the bath, dippin me toe in first an then lowered meself in. Lovely! I took up a huge bar of Sunlight soap an started te wash meself. Then I washed me hair. The door opened, sendin in a draft. An the auntie poked her head in. ‘Hurry up, Mary! Come out of the bath now and get dressed. Quickly!’
‘OK,’ I said, disappointed, enjoyin meself in the bath, cos this was the only place no one could get me an start tormentin me.
I got dressed an was dryin me hair when the auntie rushed in an said, ‘Come quickly! There’s someone waiting to see you.’
Me mouth dropped open, an me heart gave a jump. Me! I rushed out, followin the auntie up inta the parlour, an there was me ma! I gaped at her, an the auntie went out, closin the door behind her.
‘Quick!’ me ma said, openin the door quietly. ‘Come on!’ an she opened the front door an grabbed me. ‘Run, Martha!’ an she ran down the street an jumped inta a waitin taxi. ‘Go, Mister!’ An she poked the driver in the back, an he hesimitated te ask where to now, an she said, ‘The city. Hurry!’ An we took off just as the front door opened, an the auntie an the mum an dad an young ones all came rushin out te gape after us. Me ma looked back an muttered, ‘They won’t fuckin get us again!’
I looked back, an the man was rushin back inta the house while the women stared. The auntie had her hand on her head, an the mum had her hand on her mouth. The young ones were runnin up an down the path laughin, an some were gapin.
‘Wha’s happenin, Ma?’ I turned te look inta her face, an she winked at me not te say anythin in front of the driver.
She leaned forward an said, ‘Can ye go a bit faster, Mister? I’m in a hurry!’
He shot forward, an we fell back in the seat. Then we hit the city centre, an me ma looked aroun. ‘Pull over there, Mister!’ an she pointed te a big shop. The man pulled in, an me ma said, ‘We’re gettin out here.’
I jumped out, an me ma paid the driver, an then we rushed inta the big shop an out through another door, an walked through crowds a people. An then she said, ‘Come on in here!’ an we went inta a café, an she ordered a pot a tea. ‘Them bastards wouldn’t tell me where ye were. I couldn’t find out where they’d put ye. They said I could visit ye when I had a place of me own an I could be classed as fit te take care of ye.’
‘So how did ye find me, Ma?’
‘I met a very respectable man who took pity on me. I was sittin on a bench in a park cryin. An when he heard I’d lost you, cos I had no home of me own, he said I could stay in his home. An he’s willin te take you. He’s a real respectable gentleman. So then I was able te tell them I had a home fer you. An they gave me the address after checkin wit the home ye were in. An they said I could come an visit ye. I told the taxi man te wait fer me, an I left him a few houses down so they wouldn’t see him. Tha way we were able te get away quickly before they knew wha was happenin.’
I looked at me ma. Her eyes was shinin, an she was very happy. But she looked very tired, too. It’s only hittin me now. I’m out! Back wit me ma, we’re together again! Me heart lifted, an me belly gave a jump wit gladness. Me ma stares inta me face. ‘Wha happened te you? You’re lookin very white, an ye’re still very thin.’
‘Yeah, Ma! I’m white from all the washin I got. An I didn’t like the food any more.’
‘Yeah!’ me ma said, starin inta me face. ‘Were ye frettin?’
‘Yeah, Ma! I was. I missed ye somethin terrible.’ An I felt me chest fillin up. I wanted te start cryin.
‘Well,’ me ma said, lookin away from me. ‘Them bastards won’t get a second chance te do tha te us again. We’ll keep away from the authorities!’ Me heart jumped in fear at even the mention of tha word.
‘Come on,’ me ma said. ‘We’d better get movin.’ Then she headed inta the tilet, an I followed her in. Another woman was there wit a young one about my age, an I watched the mammy comb the young one’s hair. It was lovely an shiny an straight, parted down one side an a big clip in it. I stared while she buttoned her coat up wit the navy-blue velvet collar an a half-belt at the back. An the young one stood still while her mammy fussed aroun her. She looked lovely, an I wished I could look like tha. Me ma came outa the tilet an said, ‘There’s no paper in there,’ an laughed at the woman, but the woman ignored her.
An I said, ‘Never mind, Ma! The English don’t shit, tha’s why they look as if they’re in pain all the time.’ I stared at the woman, feelin fire in me belly. An she turned the young one te the door an flew out.
Me ma laughed an looked at me. ‘Wha happened? Why did ye say tha? Did she do somethin on ye?’
‘No, Ma! But people seem te think we’re dirt.’
‘Ah, fuck them!’ me ma said. ‘Let’s go.’
We walked through a big shop, an I stopped te look at the childre’s coats. I tried on a pink coat wit brass shiny buttons an a half-belt, an wandered down te show me ma, who was lookin at jumpers.
‘Look at this, Martha! Isn’t it lovely?’
‘Yeah, Ma,’ I said, lookin aroun te see if anyone was watchin me.
‘Come on, I’m goin,’ me ma said, an headed fer the door. I followed her out slowly, ready te roar, ‘Wait, Ma! I want ye te buy this coat,’ if I was followed. Tha way no one could say me ma was robbin, an I could play the innocent. But no one followed. An I rushed off, catchin up wit me ma an havin another look aroun before I started te walk wit her.
We got off the bus an walked te the man’s house. The house was huge, an I stood on the step while me ma rang the doorbell. An I was delighted wit me new coat. I looked very respectable. The door opened, an an elderly man, he could have been in his forties, or even in his fifties, smiled at us an said, ‘Come in!’ An he stood back, holdin the door open, an we stepped inta the long hall wit a shiny mahogany table an a big statue sittin on it of a woman wit an arra in her hand. I could smell furniture polish an food cookin. An there was a lovely rug hangin on the wall wit old pictures, an a carpet runnin down the centre of the polished floorboards.
‘Come in, my dears! Let me take your coats.’ I took me new pink coat off an handed it te him. He bent down an smiled at me, ‘And you are?’ he said, takin me coat.
‘Martha!’ I said.
‘What a lovely name,’ he said as he hung me coat on a coat stand beside a big pot holdin walkin sticks wit silver tips an black umbrellas. Then he hung me ma’s up an rushed us inta a big room wit a huge fireplace an a roarin fire. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. Come close to the fire,’ an he smacked a big cushion, fixin another on the back, an waved me ma inta a big leather armchair beside the fire, wit a table an a lamp lightin on it. Me ma hesimitated, smilin at me, an sat herself down on the edge. Then he looked at me, standin not knowin wha te do. ‘Come! Sit over here by the fire, dear,’ an he pulled a big leather stool over beside me ma, right in front of the fire.
‘Thanks, Mister,’ I said shyly.
‘Call me James,’ he said, givin a big smile showin a mouth of gorgeous white teeth. Then I stared at his face. He only had one eye, the other one was marble. An he had a terrible scar under it. It was all white an pulled together in lumps. He saw me lookin an watched me wit his one eye, lettin me take it in. He was still smilin, so I looked at his good eye, wantin him te know I didn’t think he was ugly.
‘Thanks, Mister!’ I whispered.
He nodded an whispered back, ‘Thank you, Martha.’ Then he rubbed his hands together an said, ‘You must be famished. The food’s in the oven. Dinner won’t be long,’ an he walked out, closin the door behind him.
‘Ma! He’s a terribly nice gentleman,’ I whispered, leanin close te her.
‘Ah, indeed he is,’ me ma said, smilin an lookin aroun her. ‘It’s true wha they say, strangers will help ye when ye’re down, quicker than yer own family.’ I remembered me ma’s family, an them throwin us out onta the street when I was young. There’s no point in botherin them.
We heard dishes rattlin outside the door, then it opened an the man rolled in two trays on wheels, an left it, rushin over te bring a small table in front of the fire. ‘Supper by the fire! More cosy!’ he said, an set the table wit knives an forks, an a plate wit a silver cover on it. An he whipped off the cover, an there was lovely meat, an gravy, an carrots, an white lumps tha looked like potatoes. ‘Casserole and dumplings! My favourite,’ he sang. ‘Tuck in!’ he said te me. I looked at him an laughed. ‘Go on! Put some meat on those bones!’
I started te eat, an it was meltin in me mouth. ‘Did you cook this all by yerself, Mister?’
‘James!’ he said, swallowin a big mouthful. ‘Yes! Indeed I did, little lady.’
‘Do ye not have a wife te cook fer ye?’
‘No!’ he said, concentratin on gettin a piece of meat onta his fork. ‘I’m a widower,’ he said, munchin on his food an lookin at me wit his good eye.
‘Do ye have any childre?’ I asked, lookin aroun te see if any appeared.
He went quiet an looked at the fire. I said nothin, feelin he was a bit hurt. ‘Yes, I did once,’ he said slowly, thinkin. ‘Two ... a boy and a girl, but they died with my wife. A terrible car accident took them away from me,’ an he sat starin at the fire.
‘I’m very sorry, Mister,’ I whispered. ‘Ye’re still missin them, aren’t ye?’
Then he looked at me an said slowly, very quietly, ‘Yes, I do. Very much!’ An he put his knife an fork down, not finishin his dinner, an looked at me ma, eatin her dinner. ‘Is that hot enough for you, my dear?’
‘Ah! It’s grand,’ me ma said, smilin an puttin down her knife an fork, feelin shy.
‘Did everything go well for you today?’
‘Ah, yeah! I have her back,’ an she nodded te me.
‘Yes! That’s all that matters,’ he said, jumpin up. ‘Pudding!’ he said te me. I looked at him wonderin did he mean black an white puddin. ‘Chocolate pudding! Always a favourite with children. Hm! Yes?’
‘Eh, yeah!’ I said happily.
‘Sir will be back with Madam’s order in a jiffy,’ he bowed, rushin off wit the trolley.
I laughed. ‘Ye’re a funny man!’ I said.
‘Oh! You ain’t seen nothing yet!’ he said, soundin like Humphrey Bogart. An he swung the cart out the door, closin it behind him. I wanted te run after him. But he was gone, an I didn’t want him te think I was runnin loose aroun his house. So I watched the door, waitin fer him te come back.
The room was a bit dead without him. I looked at some of the photographs sittin on the piano. There was one of him in an army uniform wit wings on the shoulders, an he was holdin his hat under his arm an standin very straight. He looked a lot younger, an his face hadn’t a mark, an his two eyes were perfect. An he was lovely lookin altogether, wit black curly hair an gorgeous eyes. Then there was another of him half sittin on a table wit his arms wrapped aroun a blonde woman wit wavy hair, an wearin a skirt an jumper wit a matchin cardigan an a pearl necklace. An another one of an old woman wit a blouse buttoned up te her neck. It was all frilly. An she had a brooch at her throat, an her hair was gathered up in a bun, wit soft waves at the front, an she was holdin a little girl of about three wit blond curls. An a little boy of about five or six was standin beside the granny’s chair. ‘Look, Ma! Tha must be the man’s family, there’s his wife! An I bet ye tha’s his childre. An tha’s their granny,’ I said, gettin a closer look.
‘Yeah!’ me ma said, not movin from her chair. ‘He’s a lovely man altogether.’ An I could see me ma was tired an noddin off from the good food an the heat off the fire. I heard him comin, an I rushed back te me stool.
The door pushed in, an the man rushed in wit the cart again an stopped. ‘Bad news, little lady, no choc pud!’ Me face dropped! ‘But no fear!’ An he waved his finger in the air. ‘I managed to save us some smelly cheese from our resident mouse.’
‘Oh!’ I said, gettin worried, cos I don’t think I like the sound of smelly cheese. An I watched his face an kept me eye on the bowls wit the cover on them.
‘But some would think me a magician! So ...’ an he waved his hands over the bowls, sayin foreign words, an then whipped the cover off te get a look an shouted, ‘It worked!’ wavin the lid in the air. I looked, an it was hot apple tart an ice cream wit melted chocolate on top. ‘You must be very special,’ he said, shakin his head at me, lookin very serious. ‘My magic only works for special people.’
I wonder if tha’s true! He’s lookin at me so seriously, an I know he wouldn’t tell lies. But I don’t believe in Santa, or anythin like tha, I never did. Only once fer a little while a few years ago. But tha came te nothin, an I learnt very quickly not te be kiddin meself. No! James is only messin. I dipped me spoon in an it slid down me neck, makin me face shiver, it was so sweet, an landed in me belly before I could stop it. ‘Yum! Delicious!’ James said, smackin his lips an laughin at me makin faces. It was so gorgeous.
‘Were you fightin in the war, James?’
‘Yes,’ he said, lookin at me. ‘Royal Air Force.’
‘An wha did ye have te do?’ I asked him.
‘Oh!’ he said, lettin out his breath an thinkin. ‘I flew ahead, marking out the spots for the other chaps coming behind me to show them the way and where to drop their bombs. They called us “The Pathfinders”!’
‘So you were a fighter pilot?’ I asked him, shocked with surprise.
‘Yes!’
I kept lookin at him, not knowin wha te say. He’s so nice, ye’d never think him a very important man tha’d make funny jokes an talk te us an treat us like we were important, too. ‘I read about youse in the Hotspur an the Victor. I read boys’ comics when I’ve run outa the Bunty an the Judy. An youse fighter pilots were very brave altogether!’ I could hardly get me breath, thinkin about him flyin all them planes.
He looked at me, shakin his head an smilin. Then he leaned over te me an waved his finger, sayin quietly, ‘You know, you too are not without courage, little girl! There’s plenty of fire,’ an he leaned closer, lookin inta me eyes wit his one eye, ‘in those blue velvet eyes. You have courage! And one day you will become a wonderful woman!’ Then he jumped back an clasped his hands. ‘Right!’ he said, gatherin up the dishes. ‘Time to dispose of these.’
I felt me chest risin, an I got a tingle in me belly, an I lifted me shoulders an raised me head, straightenin meself up. I felt very proud in meself altogether. He says I have great courage! A bit like them fighter pilots. Me! I really admire James no end. If I was a boy, I’d want te be exactly like him. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met in me whole life. An ye’d never think te look at him he was a great man. But he certainly is. ‘Ma, do ye want te know somethin?’
‘Wha?’ me ma said, her eyes half closin an her face red from the heat of the fire.
‘James is better than an aul fillum star, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, yeah!’ me ma said, shakin her head in agreement.
I sat meself in James’s chair, makin meself comfortable. God, we’re so lucky. Then the doorbell rang. Me ma opened her eyes, lookin at me an listenin. The front door opened, an we heard a man’s voice. ‘G’night, Sir. We are looking for a woman and child, Sir, believed to be living at this address. A Miss Kathleen Smith and her daughter Mary.’
‘Step in, Officer,’ we heard James say. An another door opened. The front door was shut, an we heard footsteps goin inta another room an the door closin.
‘It’s them, Martha!’ me ma said, grabbin me. The room started spinnin, an I felt the blood drainin outa me. Me ma’s eyes were starin in fright, an she was the colour of a ghost. ‘Come on, quick! Let’s get out before they come in,’ she said, lookin aroun.
‘No, Ma! No!’ I whispered. ‘Wait, they’ll catch us if we go out there. Do nothin. Wait, let’s see wha happens.’
‘Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!’ me ma joined her hands lookin up te heaven. I was shakin an watchin the door.
The other door opened, an the men’s voices said, ‘Thank you, sorry to bother you.’
‘No bother,’ James said, shuttin the door.
He came in, an we stood starin, holdin our breaths. ‘The police, I’m afraid,’ he said, runnin his hand through his hair. ‘They want to interview you. They believe ... it was reported to them, you absconded with the child without authority.’
Me ma was rubbin her mouth wit her hand an lookin at me. ‘We have te go. They’ll put her away again. An this time they won’t let me near her. I’ll never get her back.’
‘No, no, my dear!’ James said, puttin up his hands. ‘Don’t panic. We can sort this out.’
‘No! Thanks fer all yer help. But I’m not takin tha chance.’ An she said, ‘Come on, Martha. We’d better move before they come back.’
James stood away from the door an said, ‘No, please, there is no need for this! I have contacts. We can have this sorted out.’
‘Ah, no!’ me ma said. ‘When the police get involved, then tha’s trouble.’
‘No, no!’ James said, puttin his hand out te me ma. ‘These chaps are only doing their job. They must follow through with their enquiries, we’ll ...’
‘No!’ me ma said. ‘We’re goin now. Where’s me coat?’ An she grabbed her coat off the stand an then grabbed mine. ‘Come on, Martha,’ an she made fer the door. I was standin beside James an didn’t know wha te do. ‘Come on, I’m tellin ye,’ me ma roared.
‘Please, at least stay the night. You are putting yourself and this child in great danger by walking through the streets at this hour. Tomorrow morning, after a good night’s rest, perhaps you will see things more clearly!’
Me ma hesimitated. I looked at her, wringin me hands. ‘No!’ she said. ‘Once they get their hands on ye, they don’t let go. They might even lock me up.’
‘Good gracious! What in heaven’s name would they do that for! You are not a criminal!’
‘No!’ me ma said. ‘But tha’s not how they see it! I’m goin. Come on, Martha.’
I looked at James, an he was very downhearted. My heart was breakin, too. ‘I am sorry, dear, very sorry!’ he said te me in a whisper.
I turned after me ma, flyin out the gate an stoppin te look up an down the road, then she headed off in the direction of the bus. I hurried after her, lookin back at James. He lifted his hand slowly an gave me a wave, then turned away an went in, closin the door. I felt like me whole world had emptied, an there was no one left but me ... an me ma.
It was drizzlin an dark, an I pulled me collar of me coat up, thinkin me new coat will be destroyed wit the rain. Only a short while ago I was in heaven. Now we’re worse off than ever before. I had a feelin it was too good te last. Nothin good ever lasts fer long. An now it’s gone. Me ma looked aroun at me trailin behind her an started te run. ‘Hurry up, Martha. The bus is comin.’
I rushed after her an jumped on the bus. We sat beside each other, not sayin a word. Then I remembered, ‘Ma! Where’s the bag wit our clothes?’
‘Ah, them!’ she said, turnin her head away in disgust. ‘They’re gone long ago. Someone robbed me bag when I put it down beside me in a café.’
‘So everythin’s gone,’ I muttered, lookin out at the dark streets, drizzlin, not a soul in sight an everythin closed up fer the night. I could see houses flashin past wit big gardens an trees an lights on. The people cosy inside, probably sittin beside warm fires, thinkin of stirrin themselves outa their armchairs an headin off te warm beds wit soft mattresses an big eiderdowns te snuggle under. I looked aroun the bus. The conductor was sittin restin himself wit his eyes closed an his legs stretched out. A coloured man wit a big turban on his head, wearin blue overalls an a big heavy overcoat, sat starin ahead, goin wit the rockin of the bus an holdin his sambidges, wrapped in bread paper, loosely between his hands on his lap. The whites of his eyes was bloodshot, an he looked like he was very tired, but this is somethin he just has te do, an there’s nothin tha can change it. I wanted te ask him was he fed up an tell him I was feelin the same. An maybe he’s feelin lonely, an we could cheer each other up an laugh. An maybe put our heads together an come up wit a plan te make life easier, tha we could be family or somethin. I stared at him, thinkin, no, he wouldn’t know what I was talkin about, an I’m still a child. People just laugh at the likes of me. Things are not workin out the way I thought they would. I’m not able te bring in any money, so we’re lost without tha. I don’t know wha te think or do any more. It’s just beyond me.
‘Come on, move,’ me ma said. ‘We’re gettin off,’ an we stepped onta the shiny wet footpath. All the shops were closed, an the rain was gettin heavier now. It was blowin inta our faces, pushin us back, an we had te fight te keep movin. ‘Jaysus Christ! What a fuckin night.’ Me ma was startin te cry. I looked at her face collapsin, an she moaned, ‘No one gives a fuck about ye when ye’re homeless. We might as well be dead fer all anyone cares.’ An she looked aroun her at the empty streets, her face red, an her nose runnin. An she wiped her nose wit the edge of her headscarf.
‘Don’t cry, Ma. It’s all right! Look, Ma, we’re together again, nothin’s changed. We need te be careful, tha’s all. An we’ll come up wit somethin. So stop worryin, Ma!’ I held her eyes, an she quietened herself down.
‘Yeah! There’s no point in lookin fer anyone te help us. Fuck them!’ she said, lookin aroun her te curse the world. We walked on, rushin through the rain, in a hurry te nowhere.
We passed a church an stopped. ‘It’s all locked up,’ me ma said, lookin at the dark church. ‘We can’t go in there.’ We moved on, lookin at the dark streets ahead of us. There’s nowhere we can go in an sit down. ‘Jaysus! I curse the day I was ever born,’ me ma started te cry again.
‘I’m really fed up, too, Ma! I’m freezin from this rain, an I’m exhausted.’
I was talkin te meself. Me ma was mutterin away, lost in her own world. ‘We’ll go back,’ she said.
‘Go back where, Ma? To the man?’
‘No! Tha’s no good. Te the childre. I’ll get me own place in Dublin. An tha bandy aul bastard won’t stop me.’
Me heart was sinkin. Even the mention of tha aul fella was makin me want te get sick. ‘No, Ma! Tha’s not a good idea at all. Keep far away from him, Ma. He’s no good.’
‘Yes, I know tha!’ me ma shouted. ‘But what else can we do?’ An she waved her arms aroun her. ‘Anyway, I’m not goin back te him. Not on yer life I’m not. No! I want te get the childre, an I’m not goin anywhere near him.’
‘But how are ye goin te do tha, Ma?’
‘We can watch an wait. An go in when he’s not there. He won’t be expectin us te turn up.’
‘OK, Ma,’ I said slowly, thinkin it would be lovely te see the childre again. I left it at tha, too tired te ask any more questions, like how are we goin te get our own place?
‘We go tomorrow. I have the ten pounds tha man gave me when I was goin out te get ye today. We’ll buy our tickets, an this time tomorrow night, we should be on the mail boat headin back.’
We walked on, stoppin at traffic lights, wonderin which way we’d go. Only a dark road up ahead wit houses an trees, nothin up there. Down te the left, a high wall wit fencin over it an a big factory behind it. We turned right, headin down past shops shut up fer the night an a picture house showin a cowboy fillum startin next week. I had a look. Mexican outlaws swaggerin on their big boots wit spurs hangin outa them, holdin a gun in each hand an wearin big hats. ‘Desperados on the Run’, it said! It would be nice te see tha, wonder how much it costs te get in. I looked, an me ma was halfway down the road. I hate tha, now I’d have te run te catch up. She never waits fer me. ‘Wait, Ma!’
‘Come on,’ she said, turnin aroun, then moved off again. We crossed the road an turned onta a narra street wit cobblestones an old houses tha looked like they were ready te fall down. People came outa a pub, slammin the door open, an it swung back wit the force. An two aul fellas were shoutin an singin, ‘I Belong te Glasgow’, an then one of them started te tap dance on his bandy legs. When he got te ‘So what’s the matter with Glasgow, cause it’s going roun and roun’, he sang it very fast, an I sidestepped him, keepin me eyes on him at a distance. ‘Come ere, chicken. Do a dance wiv me!’ he said, roarin an wavin his arms out at me. The younger fella eyed me ma, who was standin waitin fer me.
‘Come on, Martha,’ she shouted, an I moved off.
‘Ah, no! Don’t go. Come back in an ave a drink wiv us!’ the older fella wit the flat nose roared, makin a run fer me ma wit his arms wide open.
He wrapped himself aroun me ma, who was laughin an tryin te get free, sayin, ‘Ah, no! I don’t drink, an we’re in a hurry.’
I went up an stood beside her, watchin yer man an sayin, ‘Come on, Ma. We have te go.’
‘Go on, Martha. Tell er te stay, sure ya only live once.’ I was eyein him, an the young fella was watchin an laughin.
A woman about me ma’s age came down the street wit a newspaper filled wit chips. ‘Jimmy MacVeigh! Yer missus is lookin fer ye! Ye’re te go home.’
Jimmy pulled away from me ma an looked at her. An puffed his chest up, dribblin all over his chin, an clenched his fists, shoutin, ‘Tell tha woman te go an mind her own business. I’m about me man’s business.’
The woman laughed, an opened her parcel a chips, an took a handful, an said, ‘Tell her yerself. She’s on her way down te get ye.’
Then she filled her mouth, an Jimmy was watchin her an said, ‘Give’s a few a them chips, Angie, me darlin.’ An he staggered over te Angie te help himself te her chips.
The younger fella said te me ma, ‘Ye don’t live around here, then. Where are ye goin this hour?’
‘Ah, we’re movin on,’ me ma said. ‘There’s nothin here fer us.’
‘Look, do ye want te come wiv me an have a cup a tea an a few chips?’
Me ma looked at me. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. I hesimitated, thinkin of the chips an hot tea.
‘Come on,’ he said, grabbin me ma’s elbow. ‘It’s just aroun the corner.’
We went inta a café an sat down at an empty table. An yer man went up te the counter an ordered three plates a chips an three cups a tea, an came back an sat down beside me ma. I sat opposite them an waited fer me chips, an yer man was talkin away te her. The chips an tea arrived, an I made short work a them. When the plate was empty an the last of the tea drained outa the cup, I put it down, feelin very sleepy now. It was nice an warm in here, an lovely te sit down. They were still eatin, an yer man was talkin away, usin his hands all the time te make his point. Me ma was listenin an half closin her eyes an lookin away. She does tha when she’s wit strangers. ‘I know, yes, tut, tut, tha’s terrible!’ she kept sayin an smilin.
I looked aroun me, an two people were sittin at another table. An aul one wearin a head scarf, wit her ears stickin out an the scarf tied on her chin, was talkin away te an aul fella. ‘I sez te him, I sez, there wos ten fags,’ then she stopped te think, lookin up te heaven. ‘No! I’m tellin yer lies. There wos nine fags in tha packet!’
‘Yesh! Go on,’ the aul fella was noddin, leanin his belly against the table an puttin his elbows down wit his greasy fingers in the air, nearly sittin on top of her across the table.
‘Wot wos I sayin?’ she asked the ceilin, as yer man dipped his hand onta the plate an shoved a handful inta his gummy mouth, not botherin te use the fork, an started te chew, his bottom lip stuck out an kept goin up an down, coverin his nose as he tried te eat the chips wit his gums. ‘An nows they’re gone,’ she said, wavin her arms an starin at him wit bulgin eyes, an her lipstick was plastered all over her face, not just on her mouth.
‘Yesh! I wos perceptible te him.’
‘Yes, you wos!’
The woman waved her finger at him in agreement. ‘I sez tha to myself. You wos perceptible to im. You wos onta him right aways, you wos.’
‘Yesh, I wos, washn’t I?’ the aul fella said happily.
‘Right! We’ll be off,’ the fella said, gettin up.
An me ma said, ‘Come on, Martha! He’s givin us somewhere te stay fer the night,’ she said, smilin.
‘No, Ma! Don’t go wit him!’ I watched him go te the door an wait fer us. He was smilin, but I didn’t like the look of flint in his eyes. He’s a vicious bastard, I thought. ‘Ma! Let’s keep goin!’ I said, followin me ma.
‘No, we can’t,’ she said. ‘If we stay on the streets, we’ll be picked up.’
‘Listen te yer mam,’ he said te me, grabbin her arm an rushin her out the door, leavin me te trail after them.
‘He’s no good,’ I muttered after me ma, an he looked aroun givin me a sneer tha was supposed te be a smile, an shook his head at me ma, sayin, ‘She’s a lippy one, an no doubt about tha!’ Then he grabbed her arm again, sayin, ‘Cor, it ain’t half chilly! Let’s be movin,’ an he started te trot, pullin me ma behind him. I had te run te keep up. An I was cursin me ma fer bein so soft.
He turned inta a hall an up stone steps wit an iron banister, an along a cement passage, an put the key inta a door. An he went inta a dark passage an opened another door, an switched on a light. There was a big bed in the corner against a winda, wit a gas cooker in the other corner, an a table an a dresser holdin cups an plates. ‘Roight, let’s hit the bed,’ an he switched off the light an pulled off his shoes an trousers. I sat on a chair, pullin off me boots, an didn’t look in tha direction. I heard the bed springs creakin. An I got in at the bottom, leavin me ma te climb in beside him. I pulled the hairy blankets over me an shut me eyes, bringin me feet up under me an rollin meself tight inta a ball.
Then the noises started, an me ma was complainin. I didn’t want te hear. I put the pilla over me head, blockin out the noise, an waited fer the rockin an creakin of the bed te stop. I was holdin meself very tight, not takin a breath, an I felt I wanted te scream. I can’t stand it. Me ma is a fuckin cow! Why is she wit him? She’s always walkin inta trouble. The noise just won’t stop. I can’t believe she’s lettin him do horrible things te her. Why is she such a fuckin eejit?
‘Ma!’ I roared, pullin the pilla off me head. ‘I want te go now or get some sleep.’ Yer man stopped an pulled away from me ma. An then it was quiet. I was just dozin off when I felt his foot tryin te get between me legs. I leapt up. ‘Get yer bastardin foot away from me!’ I roared at him.
‘Wha’s happenin?’ me ma asked, raisin her head offa the pilla.
‘Sorry! I wos stretchin meself.’
I looked at him, an he turned over, buryin his head under the blankets, an me ma said, ‘Shush, go te sleep.’ I lay down again, movin meself well outa his reach, an lay at the edge of the bed, finally dozin off.
‘Come on,’ yer man was sayin, bucklin up his trousers an searchin the floor fer his socks. Me ma was fixin her skirt, an I jumped outa the bed an looked fer me boots. I didn’t take me trousers off goin te bed. ‘I’ve got te be movin.’ An he tied up his shoelaces an grabbed his overcoat.
I put on me pink coat an waited fer me ma te button up hers. ‘Are we right, then?’ she said te me. An I rushed past him holdin the door open fer us, ready te slam it shut behind us. An we’re on the street again. He gave a half-wave te me ma an hurried off in the other direction.
‘Come on, Ma. Let’s go,’ I said, anxious te be away from him an this place.
Me ma was lookin after him an turned te me. ‘I suppose we’d better get the bus down te the train station?’
‘Yeah, let’s find out where we get it.’
She stopped te ask a woman fer directions, an I moved on ahead, not wantin te be beside her. ‘Wait!’ she laughed, rushin up te me. ‘It’s down here, the woman said. Come on!’ I let her go ahead an trailed after her. When we got on the bus, she asked the conductor te let us off at the train station. I looked out the winda, leavin her talkin te herself. ‘Pity we couldn’t get a place here. We coulda brought the childre over, an we’d be well away from him.’
‘Ah, fuck off! Ye’re only good fer findin Jacksers,’ I wanted te say. But I just kept lookin out the winda.
‘Next stop train station!’ the conductor roared up.
‘Come on, this is our stop,’ me ma said, gettin up. I followed her offa the bus an inta the station. She went up te the ticket hatch, an I watched a big black hairy dog stop an cock his leg against the pillar an give a big piss, sprayin the leg of a woman in a big hat wit a feather stickin out, an she jumped an shook her leg, an I roared laughin. She was complainin te the railway man about the dog, an it came back an sniffed her cloth travellin bag she left beside the pillar, an then it lifted its leg again an gave another piss all over the bag. ‘Mrs!’ I roared. ‘Look what it’s doin now.’ Enjoyin meself no end.
‘This is outrageous!’ she screamed, pickin up her bag an droppin it again. ‘It’s ruined!’
Me ma came back, holdin the tickets. ‘We’ve an hour’s wait. An we won’t get te Euston station fer hours. Then we’ve te catch another train te take us all the way te the boat. An we’ll have te get off tha one an change again. Jaysus! It’s goin te be a long aul journey.’
We sat down te wait. ‘Ma! Can we get somethin te eat? I’m starvin.’
‘I haven’t much money left. We’d better go easy on it. Come on, then, an we’d better be quick. We don’t want te miss the train.’
We went inta a shop across the road, an me ma bought a packet a biscuits an a bottle a milk. An we went back te the station an sat down an had two each, savin the rest fer later. An I took a few sups of the milk.
‘Train for London now sitting on platform two!’ the man’s voice roared outa the loudspeakers.
‘Come on, tha’s us!’ me ma shouted, jumpin up.
The man checked our tickets, an I ran ahead. ‘I’m here, Ma!’ an we rushed inta an empty carriage an shut the door behind us. ‘We have it all te ourselves,’ I said, stretchin me legs out on the seat. Oh, lovely! No smelly tilet. The door whipped open, an the woman wit the feather hat an the smelly bag put her head in. She looked at us fer a minute, then shut the door an moved on. I looked at me ma, ‘She doesn’t think much of us,’ I said, laughin.
‘Ah, fuck her!’ me ma said, laughin. Then we heard the whistle blowin, an the train shook, an I looked out. The man waved his flag, an the train took off.
I dozed, lookin at the fields an cows an houses flashin past. An then I was out cold.
‘Get up, Martha! We’re here.’ I lifted me head, an the train was pullin inta Euston Station. Me ma opened the door, an I followed her out, holdin onta her coat, cos I was still dopey. ‘Wait here,’ me ma said, leavin me standin beside a pillar. Then she appeared back, wavin an shoutin. ‘Come on, quick. It’s over here.’ An she took off, vanishin in the crowd. I woke meself up an raced in the direction I saw her headin. An she was givin her tickets te the man. ‘Hurry!’ she said te me.
‘You have to be quick, Madam! The train is leavin in three minutes.’
We ran down the platform, an the man was standin wit his flag an his whistle in his hand, an he saw us comin. All the doors were bein banged shut, an we leapt up onta the train, an the door was slammed shut behind us. We hurried down the passage, lookin fer an empty seat, an the whistle blew, an the train got ready te move. ‘In here!’ me ma said, openin a door. An we sat down in an empty carriage. ‘Jaysus! Tha was lucky!’ me ma said, tryin te get her breath back. Then the train moved, an we took off outa the station slowly.
I looked out at the rain pourin down, an it was very dark. Thunder was roarin an flashes of lightnin. ‘God, Ma, the weather is very bad here.’
‘Yeah! Just as well we’re not out in it,’ me ma said, openin the biscuits an givin me one. ‘Here, have a sup a milk.’ We ate another biscuit, an me ma said, ‘We’ll save these fer later.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, still feelin hungry. Then I lay down, havin the whole seat te meself, an dozed off again.
‘Wake up! We’re at the boat,’ me ma said, shakin me. I stood up, ready te move. ‘No! Sit down, wait till the train stops,’ me ma said, lookin out the winda. It was pitch black outside, an I hated havin te move. ‘Right! Let’s go. We have te hurry if we want te get a seat.’
But we needn’t have worried. There was plenty a room on the boat, cos there was very few people travellin. I followed me ma over te the long seats in the corner of the room, an we shut the door behind us. It was empty. I put me back te the wall an stretched out. Then the door opened an two more people came in an sat down at the other end an put their bags on the seat an stretched themselves out, the aul fella restin his head on his suitcase. An his wife got up an shut the door. ‘Here, have a biscuit,’ me ma said. ‘We might as well finish them. An ye can drink the rest a the milk.’ I put the empty bottle on the floor an lay down, puttin me hands under me head.
‘I wonder if we’ve done the right thing,’ me ma asked, lookin at me.
‘Goin back te Dublin? If it was up te me, Ma, I wouldn’t be goin back.’
‘Jaysus!’ me ma said, lookin worried. ‘I wonder how the poor childre are.’
I started te feel sick at the mention of Dublin. Jackser came rushin back te me, an I could feel his grip tightenin aroun me. It was as if we’d never left him. ‘No, Ma! We’re still in Liverpool. Let’s get off.’ I tried te pull her up offa the seat.
‘We can’t! It’s too late,’ she said, chewin her lip. ‘We’ll only be locked up if we stay here wit no money an nowhere te stay.’
Me heart was poundin, an I was lookin aroun. The other people were starin at us. ‘Come on, sit down. We’ll be all right. We’ll have a better chance of gettin somewhere te live once we have the childre back.’
I looked at her. ‘How, Ma? How?’
‘We’ll go te the Corporation, an we’ll stay at the Regina Ceoli if we have te, but there’s no good te be had from stayin over here.’
I looked inta her face, not knowin wha te think. Then I lay down on the seat just wantin te sleep an wake up. Wantin everythin te be OK.