Naw.
Same with myself, a couple of months just, still feeling my way about. I’m staying with the lassie and that, helping her out. Her man’s working down in England temporarily. Good job but, big money. Course he’s having to put in the hours, but like I was saying to her, you dont mind working so long as the money’s there — though between you and me Tommy there’s a few staying about here that look as if a hard day’s graft would kill them! Know what I mean? naw, I dont know how they do it; on the broo and that and they can still afford to go out get drunk. Telling you, if you took a walk into that pub down at the shopping centre you’d see half of them were drawing social security. Aye, and you couldnt embarrass them!
They were at the gate. When the old man made as though to continue speaking McGoldrick said, I better be going then.
Right you are Tommy, see you the morrow maybe eh?
Aye, cheerio Mr Murray.
Heh, John, my name’s John — I dont believe in the Mr soinso this and the Mr soinso that carry on. What I say is if a man’s good enough to talk to then he’s good enough to call you by your first name.
He kept a watch for the two boys as he walked back down the road; then detoured to purchase a pie from the local shop, and he put it under the grill to heat up. At 1.20 p.m. he was sitting down with the knife and fork, the bread and butter, the cup of tea, and the letter-box flapped. He had yet to fix up the doorbell.
The eldest was there. Hello da, he said, strolling in.
You no late?
He had walked to the table in the kitchen and sat down there, looking at the pie and stuff. Cold meat and totties we got, he said, the totties were like chewing gum.
What d’you mean chewing gum?
That’s what they were like.
Aye well I’d swop you dinners any day of the week. . He forked a piece of pie into his mouth. What did you get for pudding?
Cake and custard I think.
You think? what d’you mean you think?
The boy yawned and got up from the chair. He walked to the oven and looked at it, then walked to the door: I’m away, he said.
Heh you, you were supposed to be here half an hour ago to take that wean to the nursery.
It wasnt my turn.
Turn? what d’you mean turn? it’s no a question of turns.
I took her last.
Aw did you.
Aye.
Well where’s your bloody brother then?
I dont know.
Christ. . He got up and followed him to the door, which could only be locked by turning a handle on the inside, unless a key was used on the outside. As the boy stepped downstairs he called: How you doing up there? that teacher, is she any good?
The boy shrugged.
Ach. He shook his head then shut and locked the door. He poured more tea into the cup. The tin of paint and associated articles. The whole house needed to be done up; wallpaper or paint, his wife didnt care which, just so long as it was new, that it was different from what it had been when they arrived.
He collected the dirty dishes, the breakfast bowls and teaplates from last night’s supper. He put the plug in the sink and turned on the hot water tap, shoving his hand under the jet of water to feel the temperature change; it was still a novelty. He swallowed the dregs of the tea, lighted a cigarette, and stacked in the dishes.
A vacuum cleaner started somewhere. Then the music drowned out its noise. He became aware of his feet tapping to the music. Normally he would have liked the songs, dancing music. The wife wouldnt be home till near 6 p.m., tired out; she worked as a cashier in a supermarket, nonstop the whole day. She hardly had the energy for anything. He glanced at the fridge, then checked that he had taken out the meat to defrost. A couple of days ago he had forgotten yet again — egg and chips as usual, the weans delighted of course. The wife just laughed.
He made coffee upon finishing the dishes. But rather than sitting down to drink it he walked to the corner of the room and put the cup down on a dining chair which had old newspaper on its top, to keep it clear of paint splashes. He levered the lid off the tin, stroking the brush across the palm of his hand to check the bristles werent too stiff, then dipped it in and rapidly applied paint to wall. It streaked. He had forgotten to mix the fucking stuff.
Twenty minutes later he was amazed at the area he had covered. That was the thing about painting; you could sit on your arse for most of the day and then scab in for two hours; when the wife came in she’d think you’d been hard at it since breakfast time. He noticed his brushstrokes were shifting periodically to the rhythm of the music. When the letter-box flapped he continued for a moment, then laid the brush carefully on the lid of the tin, on the newspaper covering the chair.
Hi, grinned a well-dressed teenager. Gesturing at his pal he said: We’re in your area this morning — this is Ricky, I’m Pete.
Eh, I’m actually doing a bit of painting just now.
We’ll only take a moment of your time Mr McGoldrick.
Aye, see I’ve left the lid off the tin and that.
Yeh, the thing is Mr McGoldrick. .
His pal was smiling and nodding. They were both holding christian stuff, Mormons probably.
Being honest, said McGoldrick, I dont really. . I’m an atheist.
O yeh — you mean you dont believe in God?
Naw, no really, I prefer taking a back seat I mean, it’s all politics and that, eh, honest, I’ll need to get back to the painting.
Yeh, but maybe if you could just spare Ricky and myself one moment of your time Mr McGoldrick, we might have a chat about that. You know it’s a big thing to say you dont believe in God I mean how can you know that just to come right out and — hey! it’s a big thing — right?
McGoldrick shrugged, he made to close the door.
Yeh, I appreciate you’re busy at this time of the day Mr McGoldrick but listen, maybe Ricky and myself can leave some of our literature with you — and you can read through it, go over it I mean, by yourself. We can call back in a day or so, when it’s more convenient and we can discuss things with you I mean it seems like a real big thing to me you know the way you can just come right out and say you dont believe in God like that I mean. . hey! it’s a big thing, right?
His pal had sorted out some leaflets and he passed them to McGoldrick.
Thanks, he replied. He shut the door and locked it. He remained there, listening to their footsteps go up the stair. Then he suddenly shook his head. He had forgotten to mention Allende. He always meant to mention Allende to the bastards. Fuck it. He left the leaflets on the small table in the lobby.
The coffee was stone cold as well. He filled the electric kettle. The music blasting; another of these good dancing numbers. Before returning to the paint he lighted a cigarette, stopping off at the bathroom on his way ben.
Samaritans
Heh what d’you make of this man I’m standing in the betting shop and this guy comes over. Heh john, he says, you got a smoke?
A smoke. .
Aye, he says.
So okay I mean you dont like to see a cunt without a smoke. Okay, I says, here.
Ta.
Puts it in his mouth while I’m clawing myself to find a match.
Naw, he’s saying, I dont like going to the begging games. .
Fair enough, I says, I’ve been skint myself.
Aw it’s no that, he says, I’m no skint.
And out comes this gold lighter man and he flicks it and that and the flame, straight away, no bother. Puffs out the smoke. I’m waiting for the bank to open at half one, he says, I’ve got a cheque to cash.
Good, I says, but I’m thinking well fuck you as well, that’s my last fag man I mean jesus christ almighty.