Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [30]
The driver gave him a sideways glance. “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll ditch that black rig-out. Here, give us that oul’ hat too. You’ll not be needin’ that where you’re goin’. Ye’re out, right? Jumped ship. The hat gives the game away.” He held out his hand.
Slowly Matt removed his black felt hat and handed it to his companion. Their eyes met for an instant, and then with a quick flick, the hat went sailing over the hedge and disappeared. The reins snapped. “Now while you’re at it, why don’t ye ditch that oul’ jacket too?”
Without a word, Matt began to remove the jacket, looking about as he did so for a place to lay it down.
“You can leave that there.” The driver patted the seat beside him. “By the way, the name’s Mattie Duggan. How about yerself?”
“Molloy, Matthew also.”
“Ah, go on! I don’t know about you but the Mammy called me after Matt Talbot, ye know, the holy fella who looks after the drunkards.” He laughed. “She thought he’d look after me too, in that department, keep me outta har’ums way. Piss poor job he’s done, I’d say, and me drivin’ a wagon for J. Arthur Guinness for a livin! Sure, isn’t that pullin’ the devil be the tail? How about yerself?”
“No, nothing like that, just a name.”
“Fair enough. So I suppose it’s off home now to face the music.”
“The music …” He reached for his jacket but a restraining hand touched his arm.
“Hold the head now and take it ’aisy. I’m not takin’ a run at ye but tis plain as the hole in a monkey’s arse, you’ve left the priests, right?”
There was no reply.
“What else is a young seminarian doin’ walkin’ the roads of Ireland, of a Wednesday mornin’, in the middle ’eh nowhere, lookin’ like he’s got the worries of the world on his shoulders.” He leaned over then, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m after gettin’ ye to ditch the rig-out. There’s no need goin’ advertisin’ the fact, now, is there? Look at ye now, roll up them sleeves over the elbows and ye could be me assistant and no one ’id twig the differ.”
Matt Molloy began to roll up his white shirt sleeves, exposing his pale arms with their fine dark hair. “I’ve let her down again,” he blurted out without thinking. “I tried to make a go of it–”
“Now look here, son, I’m tellin’ ye now, the mothers of this world are the best and the worst of it,” he said with the conviction of a preacher. “Problem is, some of them just don’t know when the feckin’ job’s done. It’s simple as that.” He paused to take a deep breath and once more unleashed the leather reins onto the horses’ rumps. “Time comes when they have to be told where to get off.” The horses had picked up the pace and he now had to shout above the clatter. “I remember at school, when I was a young fella, one of the Brothers used to roar at us when we’d be slackin’ off: ‘Excelsior, gentlemen, onward and upward, and for the love of God, quit blamin’ the world for yer misfortune. Get off yer arse and do somethin’ about it.’ That used to spur us on for a while anyways. That’s what I’m sayin’ to you now. Don’t go lettin’ her rule the roost; otherwise you’ll never get to crow when it comes your turn. And wouldn’t that be a sorry state of affairs?”
There was no reply.
“What you need is a drop of the pure to straighten you out,” he said with a new air of joviality. “I always says, Never go into battle without powder in your musket. I tell ye now what we’ll do. We’ll stop for a quick one before I drop ye off at the bridge and that’ll get ye fired up and ready to take herself on. What do ye say?”
“I have no money.” His head began to flip back and forth as if seeking a way out.
“I’ll buy you a pint, son.”
It had been a long day and he was thirsty. The situation at home had also begun to play on his mind. “All right so.”
“Now, that’s the spirit, son.”
“Nora, my dear, that was the beginning of it. Himself and Mattie Duggan got drunk that day and that’s how he was when he arrived home. Of course he liked how he felt, liked his newfound courage. He spoke his mind and liked having the guts to do so but once it wore off, he was back