At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [136]
And God help me, he never asked anything of me, never ever a thing, save a kiss, and even that I refused him.
“Jim.”
“Yes, Da?”
“Turn back your cuffs if you’re to brush the floor. You’ll have your good shirt destroyed.”
He hadn’t realized he was brushing the entire shop. His father was at the till. Quickly he said, “Da, you could go down and see him.”
“Go down and see who is it?”
“Mr. Doyle. Maybe it’s not too late. You could explain what happened.”
“What’s this you’re on about? Why would I be knocking on Mick Doyle’s door?”
“You were friends, Da.”
“Irrah, will you get on out of that. Mick and me ended years back. I left the army and ’twas only his jiggery-pokery had him follow me down to Glasthule.”
Clink, customer. Clink clink, customer customer. “Now ladies,” his father said and his fingers tapped on the counter.
He held the door for the ladies’ departure. The margarine smile showed he had drink detected on their breath. “’Tis fond of the rain,” he pronounced, looking out in the road. “General Weatherall in command.” The door closed and he turned to take in the sweep of the shop. “My my,” he said, “but Gordie used love the old decorations.”
They both knew this wasn’t so. Or if it was, it wasn’t Gordie who had told them. What Gordie had loved was messing and scrapes and toss-ha’penny in the street. But the shop was how he would remember it. Shop, Christmas, home.
His father took off his hat that he had quickly put on when the customers came in. He looked inside its crown as though for corroboration and sighed. “There’s good news coming,” he said, his voice belying the words. “I can feel it in my bones. There’s good news on its way.”
Though it had to be said, when news came it did not appear to be tidings of joy. They came home from chapel after carols being sung, Mr. Mack and his son, to find the parlor door ajar. Gas on inside and lady talk coming out that had squirks of amusement in it. Mr. Mack could hardly persuade himself but he heard spoons kinking on saucers. He crept up to the jar and by the splay he saw Aunt Sawney with her go-to-Mass hat and the sugar tongs out. Her interlocutor he could not quite discover, but through the peep in the jamb she appeared a corpulent customer. And rather a sing-song voice for the avoirdupois she carried.
“Have ye enough of milk?”
“Thanks again, Miss Burke.”
“Call me Aunt Sawney, why wouldn’t ye?”
“God increase you for that, mam.”
Two lumps of lump sugar were ferried with the sugar tongs to a china cup on outstretched saucer. “Sugar for snap. Ye have the two of ye now to be thinking of. And when his lordship at the door has his fill of prying he may fetch a cup and join us himself.”
It took a moment for Mr. Mack to apprehend who she intended. “Is it you, Aunt Sawney? I didn’t notice you were inside. Jim!” he called. “I was only looking at this door and there’s a fierce dust on the—Jim! Fetch a cloth like a good boy and give this door a rub-down. Hello, Aunt Sawney,” he said entering, chafing his hands against the chill of her look. “Oh, forgive me now. Had I known you had company visiting, I wouldn’t, why it’s, well if it isn’t, how are you, Nancy child?”
“Grand this day, thanks be to God, Mr. Mack.”
His gaze took in the bay window of her front. “’Tis a long while now and we heard sight of you.” His gaze lifted to her still shining face. “Anything strange?” he inquired.
“Strange enough,” she answered.
His fingers were tapping on his waistcoat pocket where long ago he had kept a fob. Up to his mustache, back to his fobless pocket. The room was