Born & Bred by Peter Murphy

you? And then we can talk about things like mates.”
    “I’d like that.” Danny’s voice was echoic, like he was holding his hand around the phone so no one else could hear their conversation. “But we can’t go on Fridays anymore.”
    “And why’s that?”
    “Because we had meat on a Friday and Granny would kill me if she found out.”
    “Well, we’ll just have to keep that our secret.” Martin hadn’t even thought about it. He’d have to be more careful. “Maybe we’ll do it on Saturdays instead, in the afternoons. They have lots of Westerns on in the afternoon.”
    “In the Grafton?”
    “No, but it’s good to see different kinds of films.”
    “Well okay, but I’d prefer the cartoons. Do you think that my granny will say yes?”
    “Don’t worry about Granny. I’ll have a word with her and I’m sure she’ll agree. Anyway, go on to bed now and I’ll talk with you next week.”
    Martin was sure that Granny wouldn’t be a problem. He’d heard that she was unwell. His sisters went as far as saying that she was dying—and not before time—but Jacinta didn’t want Danny to know, not until he had to. Until then, Granny would need his help with Danny. Granny had always liked him, saying he was “a cut above the rest” and Martin liked her for that.
    “Good night, Uncle Martin.”
    “Good night, Danny. And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
    He couldn’t let his sisters know that he was helping her. “She was the one that broke them apart with all of her meddling,” they always said when the old woman was mentioned. “And she drove poor Jacinta into the asylum, even if it is only for treatment. It’s not like she’s really mad or anything.”
    “Ah, but maybe she is better off in there—her being so delicate and all.”
    “Of course she’s better off in there. Not like the rest of us trying to find husbands and the pickings of men getting slimmer each year.”
    The years were taking their toll on his sisters, but Martin had little pity for them. They had all been in a hurry to leave school assured that their youth was all they needed—and that it would last. They were, as they often boasted, not the learning type. Martin was ashamed of them and the reputations they cultivated. “I hear your sisters are all rides,” cruel voices would jibe as he passed on the street but they never dared to say it to his face. He’d burst them if they did.
    He couldn’t wait to get away from them all and their narrow little minds. He’d show them all though—after he had made it big in New York. He’d come back and rub their smug little faces in their own shitty little lives.
    But he’d look after Danny until then—at least until he was able to look out for himself.
    **
    Nora still remembered how happy she was the day that he dropped by.
    It was a Sunday and she had been listening to the radio and the news just made her angry. The government was caving in to the British again and rounding up the men who had tried to get guns into the hands of those who’d defend the poor people of the North.
    It had split “the Cause” and the country. The Republic that Bart had fought for was being taken over by Gombeens and Quislings, again. He said that it might. “We can only lead the people to the water,” he used to say, “but we can’t make them drink.” It was his favorite saying when he was out canvassing in the pubs, buying drinks for feckless voters.
    “Now Nora,” he would remind her when she chided him. “The people want politicians now and have no time for statesmen. But we can rest knowing that we did our part, however it might turn out.”
    She missed him more and more as his like became fewer and fewer.
    “Are you sure that I’m not putting you to any bother?” Martin had hesitated when she insisted that he come in for a cup of tea and have a little chat while Danny was out playing football. “I could help you make it, if you like.”
    She always thought he was such a fine