gathered the last modicum of my attention. I glazed over with the effort of attention he required.
‘In Ulster now they’ve had these killings, knee-cappings, that bombing.’ He paid out his insight slowly like a fisherman with a length of line. ‘Would you credit it that
sex crimes are not one iota higher than they ever were?’
He was drinking the last of a mug of tea. Lately he had taken to joining me with his last cup before he went out.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘but that they’re not lower than they ever were, though it’s hard to get the truth of it.’
‘The legendary purity of the Irish.’
‘How’s that?’
I was sorry I had mentioned it.
‘Nothing. It was just something I read in a book . . . It was a book about Chicago or somewhere in the States. One chapter was about this gang of bankrobbers and killers – public
enemies one to seven – “mad dogs” the papers called them. And the guy who wrote the book had this great bit where he said: “There is no record of irregularity in their sex
life; in that they preserved the legendary purity of the Irish.” ’
‘What would their names be then?’ Kennedy asked.
‘Names?’ Anybody I had told that story to had laughed. Nobody had ever asked for their names. ‘It’s a while since I read it. I don’t know. O’Bannion
probably.’
For a second I thought I had offended him, but he said innocently, ‘Ah. There’s a lot of them RCs in crime.’
On the other hand, since being confined to the house I had seen less of Jackie. Not that I should have been confined to it – or was particularly since whenever boredom overtook me I swung
out between my sticks with an old Chirnside Amateurs sock pulled on over the bandaging. Still, I spent most of my time about the place. I didn’t much want to meet Brond or the mysterious
Anders – in fact the way I was feeling I didn’t even want to meet Mr Morrison. When I thought of that behemoth of nostalgia butted into firewood against the tenement wall, the person I
least wanted to see again was the old gentleman.
At the beginning, though, I used the excuse to hang about the house because I had the notion that with everyone else out of the way – gone home for the summer or at work – Jackie and
I would get to know one another better. Like the song said: Getting – to – know – all a – bout you.
‘God bless all here!’ I said hopefully, limping into the kitchen the morning after they’d put on the plaster.
‘Have you nothing to do?’
She rattled greasy breakfast dishes into the basin.
‘I’ll dry for you, if you like.’
‘I can manage.’
My backside rested comfortably on the edge of the table. It was nice to get the weight off my foot.
‘How long are you going to be like that?’ she asked in a tone less kind than interested.
‘Not long. I’m a quick healer. I lost three of the toenails,’ I added, trying to strike a balance between being brave and being honest.
‘Not meaning to be uncivil,’ she said knocking one plate on another, ‘but since when did your lodging money buy you the use of the kitchen?’
That had been the first day and after it Jackie cooled as Kennedy warmed to me. I was surprised one morning when she put her head round the door of the lodgers’ sitting room and smiled at
me.
‘There’s a lady to see you.’
I thought of my mother, but it was Margaret Briody who came and stood just inside the door. She was wearing jeans and my head was level with her crotch because she was taller than I remembered.
Over it the cloth was frayed, faded blue and stretched.
‘It’s nice to see you,’ I said.
Jackie offered us tea and she refused and then Jackie told her to sit down which I should have done and all the time I was looking at her and wondering what beautiful chance had brought her.
‘Burst toes sounds horrible,’ Margaret said wincing.
Half the winter we had kept benches warm in the same two Ordinary classes, but apart from the
‘In Ulster now they’ve had these killings, knee-cappings, that bombing.’ He paid out his insight slowly like a fisherman with a length of line. ‘Would you credit it that
sex crimes are not one iota higher than they ever were?’
He was drinking the last of a mug of tea. Lately he had taken to joining me with his last cup before he went out.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘but that they’re not lower than they ever were, though it’s hard to get the truth of it.’
‘The legendary purity of the Irish.’
‘How’s that?’
I was sorry I had mentioned it.
‘Nothing. It was just something I read in a book . . . It was a book about Chicago or somewhere in the States. One chapter was about this gang of bankrobbers and killers – public
enemies one to seven – “mad dogs” the papers called them. And the guy who wrote the book had this great bit where he said: “There is no record of irregularity in their sex
life; in that they preserved the legendary purity of the Irish.” ’
‘What would their names be then?’ Kennedy asked.
‘Names?’ Anybody I had told that story to had laughed. Nobody had ever asked for their names. ‘It’s a while since I read it. I don’t know. O’Bannion
probably.’
For a second I thought I had offended him, but he said innocently, ‘Ah. There’s a lot of them RCs in crime.’
On the other hand, since being confined to the house I had seen less of Jackie. Not that I should have been confined to it – or was particularly since whenever boredom overtook me I swung
out between my sticks with an old Chirnside Amateurs sock pulled on over the bandaging. Still, I spent most of my time about the place. I didn’t much want to meet Brond or the mysterious
Anders – in fact the way I was feeling I didn’t even want to meet Mr Morrison. When I thought of that behemoth of nostalgia butted into firewood against the tenement wall, the person I
least wanted to see again was the old gentleman.
At the beginning, though, I used the excuse to hang about the house because I had the notion that with everyone else out of the way – gone home for the summer or at work – Jackie and
I would get to know one another better. Like the song said: Getting – to – know – all a – bout you.
‘God bless all here!’ I said hopefully, limping into the kitchen the morning after they’d put on the plaster.
‘Have you nothing to do?’
She rattled greasy breakfast dishes into the basin.
‘I’ll dry for you, if you like.’
‘I can manage.’
My backside rested comfortably on the edge of the table. It was nice to get the weight off my foot.
‘How long are you going to be like that?’ she asked in a tone less kind than interested.
‘Not long. I’m a quick healer. I lost three of the toenails,’ I added, trying to strike a balance between being brave and being honest.
‘Not meaning to be uncivil,’ she said knocking one plate on another, ‘but since when did your lodging money buy you the use of the kitchen?’
That had been the first day and after it Jackie cooled as Kennedy warmed to me. I was surprised one morning when she put her head round the door of the lodgers’ sitting room and smiled at
me.
‘There’s a lady to see you.’
I thought of my mother, but it was Margaret Briody who came and stood just inside the door. She was wearing jeans and my head was level with her crotch because she was taller than I remembered.
Over it the cloth was frayed, faded blue and stretched.
‘It’s nice to see you,’ I said.
Jackie offered us tea and she refused and then Jackie told her to sit down which I should have done and all the time I was looking at her and wondering what beautiful chance had brought her.
‘Burst toes sounds horrible,’ Margaret said wincing.
Half the winter we had kept benches warm in the same two Ordinary classes, but apart from the
Similar Books
