Although it was a village when he was a child, it was now a suburb of the ever expanding city. There were double yellow lines on one side of the narrow Main Street and cars parked along the other. Traffic was almost continuous both ways and Garry found it difficult to cross. He parked in the church grounds and had gone in for a look; when he was a child he had been an altar-boy. The house was half way down the village street and he had seen in the paper that morning the notice of sale and times of viewing. He had no intention of buying it, but he had lived in it as a child and had never been back. He was curious to see it.
His father had died when he was twelve and his mother, brother and he had moved away shortly afterwards. He had fond memories of what in today’s terms was a simple and happy childhood in the village; a short walk to school, home for lunch, and in winter a blazing fire when he came in. During the fine warm days of summer school holidays, out all day swimming, and fishing for crabs and messing about in boats at the harbour, hoping someone would take him and his friend Michael out into the bay to fish.
Garry crossed the street in a break in the traffic and looking down the footpath he could see the auctioneer’s notice outside his old home. The house was small; a hall door and one window downstairs and two windows upstairs. As he approached he saw that the timber door and windows that he remembered had been replaced with white plastic ones. The door was open so he went into the narrow hall where a woman from the auctioneers handed him a glossy brochure that he put straight into his coat pocket.
There were other people wandering around, brochures in hand, viewing the property. Everything was much smaller than he remembered. He went into the back room where when he was a child there had been a table against the wall opposite the fireplace. The room seemed tiny. He remembered family meals at that table and he had a clear image of himself and his brother sitting to the table to do their homework when they came in from school. Half of the back wall of the room had been knocked out and an extension with an opaque plastic corrugated roof added. He went through this kitchen and sitting area into the former kitchen, the original entrance had been at the end of the hall. Again it was tiny and the old ceramic sink had been replaced by one of stainless steel and there were cheap and dated cupboards on the walls. The gas cooker of his childhood had been replaced by an electric hob and oven.
At this stage Garry was sorry that he had come and decided that he would not go upstairs. He wanted to preserve the image of his bedroom that he had carried with him since he was a child. He also hoped that what he had seen of the downstairs would fade and his childhood image of it would return.
He made his way back to the hall and bumped into Frank O’Donnell whom he had met some years after Garry’s mother sold the house. Frank’s family had bought it and he had lived there until he was married.
‘Hello Frank, Garry Donovan, perhaps you remember. I lived here as a child before you.’
‘Of course, I remember. Hello. Are you thinking of buying back the old home? I’m only here for old times’ sake, to have a snoop, a stroll down memory lane.’
‘I’m here for the same reason. I saw it advertised and thought I’d like to have a look. It’s my first time back and I’m sorry I came. It’s grubby and so much smaller than I remember.’
‘I feel exactly the same. I have memories of a very happy childhood here and what I see doesn’t enhance that one bit.’
‘How about a drink next door?’
‘Sure.’
At that moment a voice on the stairs behind Garry and Frank said:
‘Did I hear you two say that you both lived in this house as children?’
‘That’s right,’ Garry said.
‘You’re not going to believe this, but I lived here too. We only left ten years ago.’
‘We’re going for a drink to Twomey’s, would you like to come?’
‘A quick one.’ Neville Blackmore introduced himself.
The three former residents went next door to Twomey’s Pub from where they had heard singing and the occasional fracas over the years. None of them had ever been in Twomey’s when they lived in the house, nor since, for that matter; all of them had moved well away from the village.
‘Are you interested in buying the house?’ Garry asked Neville.
‘No, I only came for a look when I saw it in the paper. Whatever it sells for will only be the start. You’d have to spend as much again or even more to modernise it. I wouldn’t like to live on the village street these days; it’s as busy as O’Connell Street. When I lived here it was beginning to turn from a village to a suburb.’
The drinks arrived, and Frank said:
‘This is like any modern city pub. I bet it had its own distinctive character when we were kids. They try to create atmosphere these days when they modernise, but most of the time they fail miserably, but this is not too bad.’
This gave rise to a dialogue between Garry and Frank:
‘I’ll tell you who used to inspect the inside of this pub every day,’ Garry said: ‘Billy Malone, next door on the other side. He was a terrible man to drink. He didn’t have far to go, but even in that short distance if you met him you could see he was unsteady on his feet and his eyes were glazed.’
‘Mrs Malone must have been the patient woman to put up with his drinking.’
‘I’d say she had no option. Since there were no children I often heard my mother say she didn’t know what she did with her time. Apart from shopping she seemed never to leave the house, and when you did see her on the street, which wasn’t often, she was straight out of a band-box; even first thing in the morning she was made up to the nines and dressed to beat the band.’
‘We used to hear the terrible rows and shouting that came from next door especially if there was a back window open, and even if there wasn’t. It could be at any time of day. I’m sure he used to beat her.’
‘My mother told me afterwards that he did. We used to hear the rows too. The poor woman must have lived in hell.’
‘He died just before we left,’ said Frank, ‘and I’m sure it was a great relief to her.’ And turning to Neville, ‘so you never knew him, but she was still here?’
‘Yes, she was there on her own.’
‘Did she come out of herself after he died, or was she the semi-recluse she always was?’
‘She was quiet all right,’ Neville replied.
Garry and Frank went on recounting incidents about the next door neighbours. Neville listened intently, but made no comment. Frank called for another round. Neville said he’d have to go and wouldn’t have one, but after the drinks came he sat quietly listening to the stories about the Malones.
‘How well did you know her?’ Frank asked Neville.
‘Quite well, but she moved away while we were here, and we never saw her again.’
‘She died a couple of years ago,’ Garry added.
‘Are you sure?’ Neville asked.
‘Yes, I saw her death in the paper. She died somewhere in Tipperary. Her only next of kin mentioned was a sister.’ Neville stayed, and in a gap in the conversation came in:
‘You’re not going to believe this, and I’ve never told anyone before.’
He half looked away and left a silence that both Garry and Frank had an instinct they should not fill if they were to hear whatever the incredible thing that Neville had signalled. They looked at him expectantly. He looked back to them and a slight grin lit his face and faded.
‘I was seventeen and in sixth form. One day when I came in from school my mother told me Mrs Malone had called and asked if I would go in and unblock the waste pipe of her hand basin. I had no particular skills in that department other than common sense. I found a wrench and a couple of other tools and knocked on Mrs Malone’s door. She thanked me for coming and explained that the water in the hand basin had been slow draining away for some time and finally the waste pipe was blocked completely. I told her I was no plumber, but I would see if I could help. She led the way upstairs to the bathroom and just as she had said the hand basin with the plug out had water in it. I asked her for some plastic to cover the floor and some old towels. She left me to it and I emptied the hand basin with the towels, squeezing them into the bath. I then proceeded to loosen the ‘S’ bend and had taken off one end when I got a whiff of perfume. I had started to poke into the ‘S’ bend when I suddenly realised that she was standing behind me. I said something like:
"I hope I don’t soak your floor," when she said:
"Neville, will you stand up?" I stood up and turned to face her. She held me firmly on both sides of my head and kissed me full on the lips. I remember I dropped the wringing wet towel onto her foot. I don’t know if you remember the state of your hormones at the age of seventeen? Mine were to say the least, active and volatile. This sent them coursing wildly through my body like an erotic dream. All she said was:
"I bet that surprised you. Come with me." I followed her to her bedroom where she proceeded to undress both of us and, as they say in polite society, she took away my virginity. To say ‘I lost my virginity’ would sound like culpable negligence, which it wasn’t. It was with my complete consent and active participation.
Garry and Frank sat looking at Neville both in a trance of utter incredulity. Eventually Frank said:
‘You’re having us on.’
‘I’m not. When I woke from my first ever post coital sleep she was sitting beside the bed holding a mug of tea.
"I thought you might like this." I took the tea and all I could think of to say was:
"I’d better get back and unblock that hand basin." She went downstairs. I dressed and went back to the bathroom and succeeded in unblocking the pipe. I tidied up and went down. She met me in the hall:
"Neville, thank you very much, but I have a feeling that I may want you again. Keep an eye and if the potted plant is missing from the front window it’s a sign that I need your help with the plumbing." I said I would and left.
‘And was there more?’ Frank asked.
‘Indeed there was. The plant was missing at least once a week, and naturally I felt obliged to help a neighbour!’
‘And how long did that go on?’ Garry asked.
‘It lasted until the following year when I fell madly in love with a girl in my year in College, and whether because of that, or she’d have gone anyway, she moved down the country back to her home place.’
‘Well be the holy,’ said Frank, ‘I’m sorry we didn’t live on in the house until I was seventeen; Mrs Malone was a fine looking woman.’