About Matilda (37 page)

By, Jasus, no. There's fight in this dog yet. Mind you, if it wasn't for yourself I'd a died a thirst, ha, ha. Tell me, do you have that message?

Of course I do.

Slip it in under the mattress there before that bitch turns up.

Are you going somewhere, Mister Phelan?

A walk. Can't a man go for a walk in this place without twenty bloody questions? Tell me, did you get any news?

I did, Mister Phelan. I went for an interview this morning.

Out with it. Are yeh listening there, Stacey?

Mister Stacey sits up in the bed and fixes his pillow behind his head. I am, he says.

Go on, Matilda. What happened?

By now, all the old men are sitting up in their beds listening and my face is as red as a slapped arse in the middle of the ward.

I had to do a test, Mister Phelan.

And?

They said I had the fastest hands they ever saw.

Of course they did. And did you get the job?

What did you say in the application form, Mister Phelan?

Ask Stacey there, he's the expert. He might be half-dead in the bed but the brain is still operatin'. Isn't it, Stacey?

What did you write, Mister Stacey?

Mister Stacey beckons me over with his finger. A bit closer, girl. A little bit more. I don't want the world to know our business.

Tell me, Mister Stacey.

I done what everyone else does, Matilda.

He laughs out loud and calls me closer till his mouth is almost touching my ear. I can feel his breath in my ear-hole. Then he shouts so the whole ward can hear.

I lied!

The ward is in uproar when Matron with her Sergeant-Major walk barges in. What's this ruckus? Then she looks at me. Why are you still here?

The ward is silent. The old men lie back in their beds, their ears deaf and eyes blind. Mister Phelan, who was doing a jig between the beds, is frozen. One leg off the floor, the one without the sock.

I need to talk to you, Matron.

I told you already, tomorrow.

I won't be here tomorrow.

And why not?

I'm leaving.

What do you mean you're leaving? You can't leave. You can leave to go back to the Holy Shepherd for yourself and work in the laundry till someone feels good and ready to take you out but that's about as far as you'll be travelling, young lady.

I got a better job.

Oh, you did, did you? We're not good enough for you now. Is that what you're saying?

It's not like that, Matron. I wouldn't do that.

We were good enough to take you out of the Holy Shepherd but we're not good enough for you now. Is that what you're telling us, Miss all-of-a-sudden-high-and-mighty?

I'm really sick of people who think they have it over me. I'm ready to give her an earful, that I'm leaving and that's all there is to it, but there's a roar from Mister Phelan that makes me smile. He's fired up and ready to go, so I just leave him to get on with it.

Bollox this, he says. He stomps his foot on the floor, the one without the sock, and tells Matron to leave that girl alone. Do you want to keep her here till she's dried up and withered like the rest of us, you included, and only fit for a bed herself? She's seen enough misery in her life. Then he looks at me. Well, Matilda, haven't you?

I suppose I have, Mister Phelan.

You're to call me Frank.

Oh, says Matron, so it's Frank now, is it?

Mister Phelan shoves his big purple nose close to Matron's face.

It's still Mister Phelan to you.

Matron pulls her head back. Well, she says, backing down, I wouldn't have it said I stood in anyone's way, but I do have people to answer to, as well you know. I have my orders.

By now, the ward is silent. You can hear the rustle of starched sheets as Mister Stacey sits up in his bed to listen.

Matron pulls back from Mister Phelan's nose and straightens her blue skirts and tidies her hair. She nods her head that I can leave and turns on her heel and heads back up the ward in her soft white shoes, while she's reaching into her pocket for her rosary beads.

There are tears behind my eyes and I don't know whether to laugh or cry and even Mister Phelan's purple nose sniffles when he tells me, Call up an' see an old man sometime, Matilda.

I say I will, and try not to let it show that some day I'll call and they'll tell me he's gone for good.

He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his sock on, then slips his feet into his shoes. He bangs his heel on the floor to make sure they're tight then stands up and pulls his braces over his shoulders. He offers me his hand, but I kiss his cheek instead and, as I'm walking out the door, I hear him tell the other men, By Jasus, lads, I never lost it.

Walking back to the flat, I feel strange. I don't know if something is over or something is beginning or is it just another day? Danny will be out in a year or two and he'll need a place to live. I don't want him coming out to nothing. I walk past the Infirmary where my father carried me in his arms to have stitches in my leg.

I have time to kill, so I walk out the Cork Road past the green in front of the houses where I trained with the other kids before I raced. It's empty, bar a little girl in a summer frock playing with her doll and pram. I stand beside a wooden bench at the edge of the green and watch her play, trying to imagine what that feels like.

I walk towards town past the convent then past the Apple
Market. Umbilical Bill waves to me and I wave back from the other side of the street. I'm walking against the crowd but hardly notice them. It's like back-walking over my life, trying to make sense of everything, but I could walk for ever and never make sense of it.

Back at the flat, Pippa is waiting by the door with her hands in the pockets of a shabby brown coat with a cheap fur collar. The crowds are passing by and I walk up behind her and tap her on the shoulder.

You'd want to be careful, Pippa. You never know who you could run into.

She lifts her head. Her cheeks are pale and she looks fed up.

I hear your flat is the safest place to be these days, she says.

I knew there had to be a reason you were here.

Ha, ha. Very funny.

You asked for it.

Sorry, Matilda. Don't be like that. Mona was here. She's sorry too.

Mona was never sorry for anything in her life.

She waited for ages.

What for?

She wants the three of us to meet up tomorrow to pick out her wedding dress. We didn't go to Kilkenny. We wouldn't go without you. You know that, Matilda.

Do I?

We're just not used to you being out. That is, I'm not. Everything's a mess. I don't know where I belong. I rang the hospital and they said you left hours ago. You're my sister, Matilda. I don't have so many I can afford to lose one.

I take the key out of my jeans pocket and slip it in the lock and, when I open the door, the sunlight stretches along the hall floor. I walk to the end of the stairs and call back, Are you coming in or not?

She comes in and closes the door behind her and follows me upstairs. Danny locked the windows before he left and the room feels stuffy. Koala is sitting on the window ledge.

Pippa waits by the door of the flat like she's not sure whether to come in or not.

Come in, Pippa.

She takes her coat off and sits at the table and fumbles for a cigarette in her purse. I fill the kettle and plug in the flex and lift the bottom window sash. The fresh air seeps in with the beeping of a car horn and the garble of the people below me on the street. A light breeze gently lifts the netted curtains and lets them drop. Pippa lights a cigarette and drops the burnt match into the saucer on the table. She looks at me with her blue eyes and the teardrops on her eyelashes hanging like raindrops on a leaf. You just couldn't be angry with her. How can I blame her for wanting to feel safe?

Aren't you talking to me, Matilda?

I move back to the window and sit on the windowsill with one foot on the window ledge and the other on the floor. Koala is in my arms and my chin resting on my knee and I'm looking out on the traffic and the people heading home with their parcels and carrier bags. The world is getting ready for the weekend. I've never had a weekend. One day has always been the same as another.

Pippa says, I like the flat, Matilda. You've done well. I'm stuck with that Missus Schultz. I'm fed up living in the country. And she keeps calling me Vippa. Vippa, have you the brekvest ready? Vippa, vare are you now? I swear, Matilda, she's driving me veckin' vonkers.

I was thinking of getting somewhere bigger, Pippa.

Really? Can you afford it?

I thought you'd like to share.

Me?

No, the koala. Yes, you.

I have no money.

You could get a job in one of the factories. It'd be a lot better than where you are. Then we'd have a place for Danny to live when he gets out. I don't want him coming out to nothing.

I look back and her face is brightening. We can be a family, Pippa.

The pink glow comes to her cheeks and that makes me feel good. I could never be angry with my brothers and sisters. They're the most important people in the world. The past doesn't matter now. I won't let it.

The kettle boils and Pippa takes the mugs from the press and I turn back to look out the window.

The sun is setting and the clouds are a lovely shade of pink. There's a warm breeze on my skin that lifts my hair and lets it drop.

Pippa wants to talk and make plans. But there'll be time enough tomorrow. Today, I just want to be a girl having a cup of coffee with her sister.

Thanks to my reading group of one, Olivia Hamilton, who read an early draft and waved it through. To Edel Coffey, for her solid advice on hard necks. To all the staff at Penguin Ireland, but especially to Patricia Deevy for having the gift of second sight. Above all, I am indebted to my dear friend Kate Walker, a wonderful writer, who took me under her wing and taught me never to use a clicheí. My heartfelt gratitude, Kate.