asked.
‘Twenty-five glorious years.’
‘Are they that long married? Lord Lord.’
‘You weren’t at the wedding yourself?’
‘God Brendan, what would take me to a wedding, I ask you?’
‘They want me to go over. I’m not going next or near it.’
‘Well, we all do what we want to do.’
Brendan thought about that for a long time.
‘I suppose we do in the end,’ he said.
They lit their cigarettes to smoke while they drank their big mugs of tea.
‘And they don’t want me there, I’d only be an embarrassment. Mother would have to be explaining me to people, and why I didn’t do this or look like that, and Father would be quizzing me, asking me questions.’
‘Well, you said you weren’t going so what’s the worry about it?’
‘It’s not till October,’ Brendan said.
‘October, is that a fact?’ Vincent looked puzzled.
‘I know, isn’t it just like them to be setting it all up now?’
They left it for a while but his face was troubled, and his uncle knew he would speak of it again.
‘In a way, of course, once in a few years isn’t much to go over. In a way of looking at it, it mightn’t be much to give them.’
‘It’s your own decision, lad.’
‘You wouldn’t point me one way or the other, I suppose?’
‘Indeed I would not.’
‘It might be too expensive for us to afford the fare.’ Brendan looked up at the biscuit tin, maybe this was an out.
‘There’s always the money for the fare, you know that.’
He did know it. He had just been hoping that they could use it as an excuse. Even to themselves.
‘And I would only be one of a crowd, if I were to go it would be better to go on my own some time.’
‘Whatever you say yourself.’
Outside they heard a bleating. The sheep with the foolish face, the one that had suffocated her lamb was still looking for it. She had come towards the house hoping that it might have strayed in there. Vincent and Brendan looked out the kitchen window. The sheep still called out.
‘She’d have been a hopeless mother to it even if it had lived,’ Brendan said.
‘She doesn’t know that, she’s just living by some kind of instinct. She’d like to see it for a bit. To know that it’s all right, sort of.’
It was one of the longest speeches his uncle had ever made. He looked at his uncle and reached out to touch him. He put his arm gently around the older man’s shoulder, feeling moved to the heart by the kindness and generosity of spirit.
‘I’ll go off into the town now, Vincent,’ he said, taking his arm away. ‘I’ll write a couple of letters maybe and maybe work pulling a few pints tonight.’
‘There’s enough in the biscuit tin,’ Vincent said gently.
‘There is, I know. I know.’
He went out into the yard and passed the lonely ewe still calling for her lost lamb and started up the old car to drive to the town. He would go back for their silver anniversary. It was only a little time out of this life. The life he wanted. He could give a little time to show them he was all right and that he was part of the family.
3
HELEN
THE OLD MAN looked at Helen hopefully. He saw a girl in her twenties with a grey jumper and skirt. Her hair was tied back in a black ribbon but it looked as if any moment it might all escape and fall wild and curly around her shoulders. She had dark blue restless eyes and freckles on her nose. She carried a black plastic shopping bag which she was swinging backwards and forwards.
‘Miss,’ said the old drunk, ‘can you do me a favour?’
Helen stopped at once, as he had known she would. There were passers-by who went on passing by and those who stopped. Years of observation had taught him to tell one sort from the other.
‘Of course, what can I do?’ she asked him.
He almost stepped back. Her smile was too ready, too willing. Usually people muttered that they didn’t have change or that they were in a hurry. Even if they did seem about to help a wino they didn’t show such
‘Twenty-five glorious years.’
‘Are they that long married? Lord Lord.’
‘You weren’t at the wedding yourself?’
‘God Brendan, what would take me to a wedding, I ask you?’
‘They want me to go over. I’m not going next or near it.’
‘Well, we all do what we want to do.’
Brendan thought about that for a long time.
‘I suppose we do in the end,’ he said.
They lit their cigarettes to smoke while they drank their big mugs of tea.
‘And they don’t want me there, I’d only be an embarrassment. Mother would have to be explaining me to people, and why I didn’t do this or look like that, and Father would be quizzing me, asking me questions.’
‘Well, you said you weren’t going so what’s the worry about it?’
‘It’s not till October,’ Brendan said.
‘October, is that a fact?’ Vincent looked puzzled.
‘I know, isn’t it just like them to be setting it all up now?’
They left it for a while but his face was troubled, and his uncle knew he would speak of it again.
‘In a way, of course, once in a few years isn’t much to go over. In a way of looking at it, it mightn’t be much to give them.’
‘It’s your own decision, lad.’
‘You wouldn’t point me one way or the other, I suppose?’
‘Indeed I would not.’
‘It might be too expensive for us to afford the fare.’ Brendan looked up at the biscuit tin, maybe this was an out.
‘There’s always the money for the fare, you know that.’
He did know it. He had just been hoping that they could use it as an excuse. Even to themselves.
‘And I would only be one of a crowd, if I were to go it would be better to go on my own some time.’
‘Whatever you say yourself.’
Outside they heard a bleating. The sheep with the foolish face, the one that had suffocated her lamb was still looking for it. She had come towards the house hoping that it might have strayed in there. Vincent and Brendan looked out the kitchen window. The sheep still called out.
‘She’d have been a hopeless mother to it even if it had lived,’ Brendan said.
‘She doesn’t know that, she’s just living by some kind of instinct. She’d like to see it for a bit. To know that it’s all right, sort of.’
It was one of the longest speeches his uncle had ever made. He looked at his uncle and reached out to touch him. He put his arm gently around the older man’s shoulder, feeling moved to the heart by the kindness and generosity of spirit.
‘I’ll go off into the town now, Vincent,’ he said, taking his arm away. ‘I’ll write a couple of letters maybe and maybe work pulling a few pints tonight.’
‘There’s enough in the biscuit tin,’ Vincent said gently.
‘There is, I know. I know.’
He went out into the yard and passed the lonely ewe still calling for her lost lamb and started up the old car to drive to the town. He would go back for their silver anniversary. It was only a little time out of this life. The life he wanted. He could give a little time to show them he was all right and that he was part of the family.
3
HELEN
THE OLD MAN looked at Helen hopefully. He saw a girl in her twenties with a grey jumper and skirt. Her hair was tied back in a black ribbon but it looked as if any moment it might all escape and fall wild and curly around her shoulders. She had dark blue restless eyes and freckles on her nose. She carried a black plastic shopping bag which she was swinging backwards and forwards.
‘Miss,’ said the old drunk, ‘can you do me a favour?’
Helen stopped at once, as he had known she would. There were passers-by who went on passing by and those who stopped. Years of observation had taught him to tell one sort from the other.
‘Of course, what can I do?’ she asked him.
He almost stepped back. Her smile was too ready, too willing. Usually people muttered that they didn’t have change or that they were in a hurry. Even if they did seem about to help a wino they didn’t show such
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