Isat with me legs dangling over the edge of the armchair, taking it easy after a day of scrubbing and polishing, leaving the convent shining and the floor looking like glass. The nuns might, with a bit of luck, slip and land on their arse. I was fed up having them walk on me newly scrubbed stairs, then having te run back up and wipe their muddy shoeprints after they come in from their praying along the wet paths on the Cloistered Walk. All this so they could give themselves an airing, then creep past me, whispering, ‘Oh, the weather is beautiful and crisp. I enjoyed that. Goodness! Look at the shine off that floor, Sister,’ te the one making her way up behind her, stepping onta the wet floor and missing the bar of Sunlight soap – too bad! Then the two of them standing on me polished floor, looking like overgrown bats, saying, ‘Tut, tut, she’s a marvellous girl,’ moving over, dragging the mud across the floor, and leaning down the stairs te tell me, ‘You’re a grand girl; sorry, dear, to disturb the hard work,’ then lifting their habits and running off, leaving me te run back up the stairs and wipe off the mudprints sitting on me lovely white rubber lino and across me newly polished floor. I take great pride in doing a good job. But one of these days . . .
The door flew open and I dropped me legs, expecting a roaring match from Sister Eleanor, screaming, ‘Get your legs off the side of my armchairs at once! How dare you treat my chairs with such disrespect?’ Flying herself in all directions, sending us landing on the floor, getting her long navy-blue knickers hanging down te her knees in a twist. When the shagging springs of the chairs, sitting exposed, send ye flying inta the air with a ping up yer arse, the pain burns yer arse for hours afterwards. That’s if ye forget yerself and throw yer full weight inta it, not making sure te sit yerself down easy. An she thinks they’re lovely, wanting ye te treat them like priceless silk!
Tubby Jeffries put her nose in, looking around te see who was here. She looked at Sarah Manson, sprawled in the other armchair, chewing on her long rats’ tails she calls hair, then landed her face back te me.
‘Here! Do you want this Bunty, Martha?’
I looked at it dangling in her hand, reaching over te me. ‘Eh, dunno. No, not really,’ I said, not in the mood for the Bunty. I’d prefer a magazine with the problem pages. Forget it! Ellie whips them faster than we can get them!
‘I want it!’ roared Manson, flinging her rats’ tails behind her back and reaching out, snatching it. Then the door closed, leaving me staring at Manson with my comic.
‘Here! I want it after all,’ I said, grabbing it back, seeing the value of it because she wanted it.
‘Give that back here!’ Manson roared, jumping te her feet.
‘No! It’s mine!’
‘She gave it to me!’ screamed Manson, jumping up and down, getting all excited.
‘Well, she offered it te me first.’
‘Give me back that fucking comic,’ she roared, making a run at me.
I laughed, tearing out the door with yer woman tearing down the passage after me.
‘Give that back to me, Long! I’m going to fucking kill you!’
‘Temper, temper!’ I laughed, enjoying the chase down the passage. I looked back, seeing her tearing after me, grinding her teeth, looking like she meant business, grabbing air with her hands out, like she already had me in her paws.
I tore off down the back passage and headed inta the kitchen. I switched the light on and made a run for the other side of the kitchen table, hanging on te it, hopping from one foot te the other, laughing and watching her come flying in the door and stopping te gauge the distance between us. I laughed, watching her bang the door slowly shut with her foot, never taking her eyes off me.
‘Jaysus, Manson, ye’re acting like someone outa the bleeding cowboy fillums!’ I laughed, thinking this is great gas.
‘You’re not getting out of here alive,’ she said, staring at me like someone sleepwalking. ‘I want that comic, hand it over.’ She spoke slowly, putting out her hand.
I started te get hysterical, thinking she’s very determined te get the comic back, and I collapsed meself on the table, laughing at the whole idea of it. Yer woman thinks she’s a fucking cowboy or something. She’s acting like the tough guy outa the O.K. Corral. All she’s short of is spitting out a bit of chewing tobacca. ‘Nope! You is not goin teh get my here comic,’ I said, sounding like something outa a Western fillum meself, and holding it up for her te look at, screaming me head laughing.
‘Fuck you, Long! You are going to regret this.’ She suddenly sprang at the table, opening the drawers and spilling all Sister Mercy’s cutlery onta the floor, and picked up a huge carving knife, lifting it above her head, saying, ‘Are you going to give that back?’
‘No!’ I leapt from one foot te the other, watching her eyes glinting with madness, having seen that look before. Fuck! She’s outa her mind. ‘Stop, ye silly cow! This is no longer a joking matter!’ I screamed.
‘No! You’re right there!’ She lifted the knife over her shoulder, flicking it back, staring at me for a split second, then aimed it straight for me head. I ducked, grabbing the chair, and came up holding it, and flung it across the table straight at her, going for another knife, hearing the old clock that sat up on the wall since the bloody nuns arrived here hundreds a years ago smash.
Fuck! I raced for the door, trying te get it open, and Manson grabbed me, wrapping her arms around mine and pinning me. I swung around, knocking her outa the way, and headed for the scullery. She tore after me and I stood with me back against the sink, hoping te knock her off balance and escape out the door.
‘Bitch!’ she screamed, sounding like a banshee, then threw herself at me, sending me flying against the big machine for peeling the potatoes and knocking against the switch, and the machine started grinding away like mad with nothing in it. I held her arms, trying te pin them down, and she used her feet, pushing against the floor, trying te bear down her weight on me, and heaved and pushed until she had me head hanging over the potato peeler.
‘Stop, ye mad fucking bitch!’
Then she pushed her hand down on me head, bearing all her weight on it, trying te get me head inside the peeler. I could hear us grunting and her giving a little squeak of laugh, determined te do whatever it took te get what she wanted. Fuck! Help! I’m going te get me head mashed! This is not about a comic; this is about who is going te back down. Or maybe fucking not! This mad cow won’t stop until me head topples inta the basin. All peeled and mashed, ready for tomorrow’s dinner.
‘Aah! This is not funny, Manson! Ye’ll have me head in the potato peeler. For the love of Jaysus, stop!’
‘Yeah! I’m going to fucking shred you!’ she grunted, heaving herself more against me.
‘No, ye’re’ . . . grunt . . . ‘fuckin not!’
‘Hah!’ . . . grunt . . . ‘Long! You’re mincemeat.’
‘Ah!’ . . . grunt . . . I pushed back with me arse and pushed until I could get a grip on the floor, and lifted me foot, slamming it against the press and sending the two of us flying across the room, landing against a metal rack holding all Sister Mercy’s metal heavy pots. The whole lot came tumbling down on top of us as I tried te crawl away, managing te get a grip on a pot just as Manson sent me flying with a kick up the arse and grabbed hold of a big pot and flung it at me. I ducked sideways, putting the pot out in front of me, and it banged away from me, and I sent my pot flying at her and ducked down for another one. The pots started flying in all directions, and she took a flying leap at me, and we locked on each other again, rolling around the floor.
We didn’t hear the door open until Sister Mercy stood over us, screaming, ‘Stop dis! What in the name of all dat is holy is going on here?’ She was too shocked te say anything else, and just stood looking at the two of us and sweeping her head around the kitchen that looked like it had been hit with a bomb!
‘We heard you up in the chapel,’ she said, white as a sheet, her eyes staring outa her head.
I let go me fingers, uncurling them from Manson’s hair, and she stopped trying te throttle me with her hand wound tightly around the neck of me jumper.
Mercy suddenly came te her senses and ran at us screaming, ‘Get up! Get up! You pack of savages!’
I dived outa the way, hopping te me feet and making past her out the door. She grabbed a hold of Manson, shouting, ‘Pick up all dem pots! Me kitchen! Oh my God,’ she said, turning herself around, seeing the clock hanging by its springs. ‘Jesus! Me clock.’ Manson got an unmerciful clatter. ‘You stupid clown,’ she screamed. ‘Where’s dat other one? Long! Martha Long,’ I heard her screams after me as I flew up the passage, wanting te make as much distance from all the madness as I could manage in the shortest time.
I shot along the convent passage, feeling me heart going like the clappers, the sweat pouring outa me. I landed meself in the chair of me little waiting room, sitting in the dark, not wanting te draw attention te meself by putting on the light.
Me chest heaved up and down as I stared out the window inta the dark orchard, trying te make sense of what happened. She was trying te annihilate me! Dear God! How did all that happen? And I wasn’t expecting it! I didn’t even see it coming. Jaysus! That look she had in her eyes when she cornered me in the kitchen, just before she started throwing them knives at me! That look of madness, I’ve seen it so often in Jackser, with that twisted smile. There’s no sign of human flesh and blood behind them eyes, and the smile is enjoyment of what they are going te do te ye. Like ye are a bluebottle that has been tormenting them, and they finally made up their mind te get ye and put a stop te yer gallop for good. Standing and watching and judging yer movements, and calculating the effort they are going te have te put in te kill ye, just before they pounce.
I don’t understand. Generally she is very quiet. Well, sort of. She doesn’t bother about anyone and doesn’t chase Sister Eleanor looking for attention. It’s like she has no feelings; she doesn’t care about anyone and doesn’t need anyone te care about her. She just seems te get on with her own business, and yet come te think about it, she always seems te be watching people, taking everything in, but keeping her distance. She takes great enjoyment when someone gets inta trouble or accidentally hurts themself, then she laughs her head off, screaming like a fucking banshee. I shook me head, trying te get rid of the picture of her, not understanding how I never saw that before. She was so like Jackser with that look in her eye. I couldn’t let go in that kitchen. If I had lost me grip on her, or she’d managed te get the upper hand on me . . . God knows what might have happened. Fuck! Life can be very treacherous! Ye never know when trouble’s going te strike. Yeah! The only time ye can be sure, Martha, is when ye let your guard down. When ye are least expecting it.