‘Take off your shoes,’ Shay shouted. ‘Molly, Charlie, come back, they’re all wet and muddy.’
‘Ha!’ Molly shouted, running into the sitting room, little Charlie scampering after.
‘Back. Now!’ Shay roared. ‘Alright, nothing nice for lunch.’
Molly ran back out. ‘Ham, I want ham.’
Shay leaned down and tried to unravel her shoes, wet from the downpour that came about half way through the walk home.
‘You too, Charlie, take those shoes off.’
‘I want melon,’ Charlie said.
‘Let’s take these off and get lunch ready.’ Shay pulled back the straps on Charlie’s shoes, grabbed them from underneath and felt something soft.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he shouted, knowing what it was before he looked. ‘Bloody dog shit.’
‘Uugh,’ Molly uttered.
Shay tackled the stairs and washed his hands. He peeped into his bedroom; it was empty. At least Lisa had got up and gone to work, he thought.
Bangers exploded outside. He gave his ears a good shake. He went back down and dumped Charlie’s shoes in the back porch, reminding himself to clean them later. The wind was picking up and rattled the front door.
‘Why growling outside, Daddy?’ Charlie said, standing near the door.
‘Ah, it’s just the rain and wind,’ Shay said, walking into the sitting room, which was a mess. ‘Right, clean this up or there’ll be no lunch,’ he said.
The kitchen was in a worse state. Lisa had left dishes piled up on the sink. The dishwasher hadn’t been working for ages. Dirt marks from the kids’ shoes ran all the way into the kitchen. He grabbed some kitchen roll and bent down to clean it.
He was still thinking about what he had done. And wondered what else he would end up doing before all this was over.
‘Molly took my car,’ Charlie shouted.
‘Molly, just give it fucking back, will you,’ Shay roared, uttering the word before he even knew it.
He wiped the floor and threw the tissue into the overflowing kitchen bin as the fight resumed. He turned on the tap. Everything was just dumped into the sink. He took out the bigger items and placed them on top of wine glasses, knowing the pile might not hold. The tap ran as he recalled the words of Hall.
‘We want ears on the priest and Leo.’
‘How?’
‘That meditation room for starters.’
‘But he might be meeting Leo anywhere.’
‘You said yourself that’s where he talks to people in private. You said there’s a corridor from the priest’s house to the centre. We want you to look after that room. You have access to it.’
‘You won’t get approval for that, will you?’ Shay said. ‘Bugging a priest’s room where all sorts of people come in and out.’
‘Let us worry about that,’ Hall replied.
‘This,’ Hall said, holding a small ziplock bag, with what looked like a thick black button inside. ‘Put it somewhere it won’t be seen. Peel the back off it and push the adhesive hard against the surface. Can you think of anywhere to put it?’
I can think of somewhere alright.
Hall handed him the bag. Shay got the feeling Hall just knew he was going to do it.
‘Ham. Ham. I want ham,’ Molly shouted, rousing him from his thoughts. She was standing beside him, hopping up and down. She pulled at the fridge and rummaged inside.
‘In. Now,’ Shay shouted through gritted teeth, reefing her back hard and slamming the fridge door.
She protested at the rough treatment.
‘Mean Daddy,’ she said.
‘Melon.’
Shay looked down at little Charlie’s face.
‘You can see Daddy’s busy. Go inside.’
The plates on top of the pot went first, sliding and clattering into the sink. Then the glasses buckled under the weight of the pot, one falling out to the ground. Shay managed to break the fall with his foot. More clattering followed, as everything else fell off the draining board. Knives and cutlery spilled out through the gaps. He felt like screaming.
The priest had agreed to meet him that morning. Shay rang to say he needed to talk, said it was to do with their last conversation.
‘Daddy? Daddy?’
Shay swung around. ‘What, Charlie?’
‘Molly gone toilet,’ Charlie said, pointing into the sitting room.
Shay marched in. Molly stood over by her princess castle, one leg bent in towards the other, a puddle at her feet.
‘Jesus, Molly, what are you doing? You know not to leave it to the last second. Up to the toilet, now.’
Molly burst out crying.
‘Come on. Up.’
‘No. I don’t want to.’
Shay grabbed her arm. She continued to cry and fought against being pulled. Somewhere his brain told him to stop pulling her, but he wouldn’t. He pushed her up the stairs. Shay took off her leggings and underwear, washed her down and told her to go in to her room and put on another pair.
‘Can’t . . . find . . . any,’ she said from her room, between sobs.
Shay went in to see her sitting on the floor, her knees pulled in to her chest.
‘Here,’ Shay said, pulling out leggings from her drawer.
‘Don’t like those,’ Molly said, digging her head into her chest.
‘They are the only ones there. The rest are in the wash. How about jeans?’
‘No.’
‘Fine, do what you want,’ Shay said, throwing the leggings at her face, closing the door behind him. He could hear more crying, but followed his legs and hard mind down the stairs.
‘Daddy, melon,’ Charlie said.
‘Jesus, bloody fucking melon.’
He pulled the melon out of the fridge and hacked off a slice.
Shay had taken up the priest’s half-hearted offer of a cup of tea when he called up. That would give him time. He had figured that under the front of the altar would be good. He peeled back the tape and pushed the device up hard.
‘Charlie has melon. I want some ham.’
Molly was back down, a tiny skirt on and bare legs.
‘Could you not find something else to put on?’ Shay said to her.
Molly shook her head.
‘Ham,’ she said.
‘Jesus,’ he said, pulling out a slice from the fridge and giving it to her.
Shay’s head was spinning. In the distance he heard the Luas rattling.
The peace in the sitting room didn’t last long.
‘Daddy, Charlie ate some of my ham. I didn’t eat his melon.’
‘Right, I’m turning on the television,’ Shay said, ‘until we have lunch and then I’ll turn it off.’
He went up to the toilet, locking the door behind him. The roaring kicked off again and little feet came pounding up the stairs. They were shouting and screaming. They pushed and shoved at the door. They banged their fists against it. Shay tried to roar above them, telling them he was in the toilet, that the door was locked. He was half way through. The screams and banging got so bad he had to get up and shuffle over. He pulled the bolt back and reversed.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ he shouted as he sat back down. ‘Can ye not give me a second to go to the toilet?’
‘Molly said ghosts are outside,’ Charlie said, upset.
‘No I didn’t,’ Molly said. ‘I said, there are ghosts at Halloween.’
‘Out!’ Shay roared. He clenched his fist and banged it against the tiles. ‘Out.’ He could feel the throbbing from his fist. Charlie’s crying became more hysterical. Molly joined in.
‘Go into your room.’
‘Lights . . . no . . . on,’ Charlie said.
‘Get in and leave me fucking alone. In, in.’
The kids stared at Shay, their eyes swimming in tears. They pattered out of view.
Shay sat there, his chest straining. He finished off. He stank out the place. He reached up to open the window. When he went into their room, Molly was under the blanket and Charlie was behind the board at the end of his bed, a nervous, giddy smile on him.
‘Do you hate us, Daddy?’ Molly asked, peeping out from the blanket.
Shay fell down on his knees.
‘No, of course not. I’m sorry, little ones.’
He reached for their hands, feeling weak and drained, wincing as he recalled what Pat had said when he came in with the cups of tea.
‘Everything you say to me, Shay, is in confidence. You can trust me.’