"Paddy, Paddy, it’s a quarter to seven."
His mother shook him. He groaned, turned over and resumed his steady breathing.
"Paddy, you told me to wake you at quarter to seven," she shouted and shook him again. He sat up suddenly.
"It’s quarter to seven," she said as he fell back on the pillow.
"OK, OK, I heard you."
She turned, left the room and went down to put on the kettle. She had no idea why he wanted to be wakened at quarter to seven but she would do anything for a quiet life as far as he was concerned.
He was the youngest of three boys and had always been the difficult one. Since he was small he had been moody and unpredictable. He was secretive and whatever chance there was of hearing anything from him when she left him alone, there was no chance at all if she questioned him.
He arrived into the kitchen wearing his good jacket and a clean pair of jeans, sat to the table and poured a mug of tea. There was a long silence. His mother put the fry down in front of him. He buttered a piece of bread and started to eat. He asked her the time.
"It’s twenty past seven."
He jumped up grabbed his coat in the hall and banged the door behind him. It was a bright, crisp, autumn morning. He ran all the way to the station, bought his ticket to Dublin and went out onto the platform. He began to wonder again why if Mary was
coming to Ireland she was only going as far as Dublin and not coming home. She had been the first girl that went out with him more than a couple of times and she was the first one he had gone out with that he knew other fellows admired, and he was as proud as hell of that.
After a couple of months she had announced she was going to a job in England and this threw him into a depression, but he felt it could have been worse; she could have broken if off like all the others. All she would say was that she was probably going to stay in England and she didn’t respond when he said he might follow her and asked her to keep an eye out for a job for him.
On the train he closed his eyes and pretended to doze until the steward appeared announcing breakfast in the dining car at the front. He got up, lurched his way up to the dining car and sat down. The steward arrived and put a menu on his table. He lifted it and pretended to read. The steward came back.
"Tea and toast," he said.
"Plain breakfast; thank you sir," the steward said and was gone. It was the first time anybody had ever called him "sir". He felt he was mocking him. He sat looking out the window thinking: "maybe she’s coming back to live in Dublin. I could try for a job there". The steward came back and put a tray down in front of him. As he poured the tea a voice behind him said:
"How’ya Paddy?" He looked around. It was one of the lads from the pub who worked on the railway.
"Where are you going?"
"To Dublin."
"What’s on in Dublin?"
"I’m going about a job."
"How’s Mary?"
"Great."
"Did she get a job?"
"She did, but she’s not bursting about England."
Your man went on down the train and left Paddy to his breakfast. "They’ll have all that at home by the time I’m back, feck him," he thought. He finished his tea and went back to the carriage. He stared out the window at the countryside flying by, at the fields of cattle and of sheep.
"It’d be great to own a farm," he thought. "There’d be no women would push you around then. You’d be your own master and you’d have the pick o’ them."
The train arrived in Dublin leaving him with more than two hours to spend before meeting Mary. Thinking of seeing her made him nervous. He followed the crowd and got a bus for the city centre and felt everyone on the bus was looking at him. He found a pub, went in, sat up to the bar and ordered a pint. He asked the barman for directions to Dorset Street. Finishing his pint and giving himself good time, he made for the appointed meeting place. He was uncomfortable with the noise of traffic and he was nervous at traffic lights. He arrived at Dorset Street and found Tunny’s, which was not the sort of pub he would normally frequent. It was stylish and most of the people were eating as well as drinking. He ordered a pint, found a seat and took out his paper.
He looked around the pub. No sign of Mary. He got up and went out to the ‘gents’ leaving his paper on the seat. On his way back he had a good look around. With the paper up again he kept an eye on the door. There was a steady stream of people coming and going. There were a lot of women on their own. A barman came with coffee for a man opposite and took his empty glass. Paddy ordered a small one. It was ten past one. Maybe he had got the wrong pub. He asked the man sitting across from him: "Is this Tunney’s of Dorset Street?" "It is." He turned his attention to the door again. The barman came back with his drink. He paid him while keeping an eye on the people coming in. It was twenty past one. He took out a cigarette and put it back in the packet; he was smoked out. He got up and went to where he could see around the corner of the bar. She definitely wasn’t there. He went back and sat down. He was agitated and decided he would wait until half past, but no longer. A woman, who looked familiar but he couldn’t place, came in the door. She went to the far side of the bar, re-appeared around the corner and came in his direction. She came over to him:
"Hello, Paddy." As soon as she spoke he knew her; it was Maura Lynch from home who went to England last year. She looked different. Her hair was short and she was heavily made up.
"Can I sit down?" she said. She beckoned the barman and asked Paddy what he was drinking.
"Whiskey."
She ordered a glass of whiskey and a gin and tonic.
"God, I’m starving," she said as she looked around for a menu. She reached over and asked for the menu from the next table.
"Have you eaten?" she asked.
"No," he replied.
The barman came over and she ordered. She passed the menu to him. He wouldn’t normally want to eat but he was hungry from the smell of food.
"I’ll have the same," he said, without looking at the menu.
"Well how are things?" Maura said, "long time no see."
"Fine."
"Are you working?"
"I get the odd bit at the factory, but nothing permanent."
"You should come to England, there’s plenty of work over there," and after a pause she added "but maybe you’re as well off at home."
He resented all her questions; she was talking down to him. Just as he was regretting having ordered it, the food came. He was nervous eating in front of her and didn’t start until she did.
"Mary told me you’d be here." He was stunned. For a moment his mind went blank.
"She knew all along why I was here, the bitch," he thought. He felt the nerves in his stomach tighten. He put down his spoon and pushed the plate away. "The bloody auld bitch," he thought and a wave of nausea overcame him and receded. He broke into a sweat.
"She wasn’t able to come herself, so I said I’d tell you."
The nausea returned; he thought he might be sick. He could hear the noise in the bar as if he weren’t there.
"She asked me to tell you she has a boy-friend in England and it’s all off."
Paddy felt the blood drain from his face.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"She didn’t come; I’m over on my own."
He pushed the table back, stood up without a word and made for the door.
On the way to the station he was black with anger and kept repeating: ‘the f…..g bitches.’
He sat on a seat and waited for the train. He was always afraid that something would go wrong, but now that it had it was worse than he feared. If it weren’t for Maura Lynch he could have bluffed it, but now the whole town would know Mary had dumped him.
He went to the barrier and boarded the train. He sat into an end seat and a wave of nausea overcame him every time he thought of the words she used: ‘she has a boyfriend, ….it’s all off.’ He pictured the two women arranging it: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,’ he could hear her saying, ‘I’ll leave him in no doubt.’
As he sat staring out the window the light began to fade. He watched the countryside fly by, farmhouses lit up and the occasional pair of car lights picked their way through narrow country roads.
Eventually he fell asleep and when he woke he began to recognise signs that told him he was nearing home. His anger returned. He hoped he wouldn’t meet anyone before he was clear of the station. He went to the door as the train slowed, jumped off just before it stopped and ran out onto the street. It was dark and cold and there weren’t many people about. He walked quickly, and near the maltings he caught up with a girl he had taken out in the past.
"How’ya Betty?" She turned, startled.
"God, Paddy, you gave me an awful fright."
"Where’re you going?"
"Home," she said.
They walked on in silence when suddenly he grabbed her arm and pushed her up a lane at the side of the maltings.
"What are you…….." she started.
"Shut up."
He pushed her hard against the wall and heard the crack of her head against the stone. She began to scream. He put his hand over her mouth cracking her head against the wall again.
"Shut up or I’ll kill you," he said viciously.
He put his hand down and lifted her behind the knees. Her attempts to kick made no impression on his brute strength. He threw her to the ground and jumped on her. She began to scream again and lifted her shoulders off the ground. He butted her hard in the face with his head and a stream of blood from above her eye ran down her cheek.
"Shut up or I’ll f…in’ kill you," he shouted at her under his breath. He held her down and listened. There were footsteps approaching on the street. He jumped up and ran out the other end of the lane. Nobody followed. He stopped around the corner and could hear voices and crying. He turned and ran again, and two or three streets away he began to walk. By a circuitous route he arrived home. His mother was in the kitchen.
" You’re back," she said, "where were you?"
"Out."
He went straight upstairs to his room and threw himself on the bed, unmade since morning.