Rose of Tralee (21 page)

He turned away just as Mr Molloy came at him, a fist upraised. Colm guessed that the older man meant to push him or shoulder him out of the cubicle, or something of that sort, but he did not give him the chance to do more than take a couple of steps. His young fist slammed into that long, blue-shadowed jaw and Mr Molloy thumped, like a felled ox, into the pale-pink carpet of the changing cubicle.

For a moment there was a stunned silence, then Colm swung round to face Nell, certain that now she would not be afraid to admit that Mr Molloy’s attentions had not been welcome, for surely it had been fear which had caused her to turn against him,
the feller who had taken her out only the night before.

But Nell was bending over Mr Molloy, shaking his shoulder, all but crying. ‘What have you done, Colm O’Neill?’ she shouted. ‘Oh, poor Mr Molloy – just you get help, or I’m goin’ to tell everyone in Switzer’s that you attacked him for no reason at all at all!’

‘But Nell ... he was carryin’ on wit’ you, an’ you’re me gorl,’ Colm said, his voice low and bewildered. ‘Why only last night ...’

‘Last night? A bit o’ fun an’ you start thinkin’ you’re someone special,’ Nell said sneeringly. ‘Oh, I do believe you’ve killed him stone dead, so I do.’

‘He’s movin’. He were only dazed, like,’ Colm said. ‘Nell, I t’ought ...’

But Nell was pulling and heaving at Mr Molloy to get him in a sitting position, crooning softly the while, ‘You’re all right, sir, so y’are! Come on now, sit yourself up straight, you’ll be right as rain in two minutes ... lean on me, sir, lean on your Nell.’

Colm about-turned and left the cubicle. He walked through the department in a daze of disbelief. That his Nell could turn on him like that! But surely she would see reason when she realised Mr Molloy was not badly hurt? He ought to report the older man.

He would do nothing immediately. He would let tempers cool, then try to see Nell by herself so that they could work out what best to do, for she would not want, any longer, to work close to Mr Molloy.

Colm went back to his own department and was given orders to take parcels to various parts of Dublin. He set off on a round which meant he would not be back in the store until lunch-time. I’ll ask Nell to come out with me so’s we can eat our carry-out together, he planned. Then we’ll talk through the whole miserable business and see what’s best to do.

*

But by lunch-time Colm was walking the streets of Dublin with his cards in his pocket and despair in his heart. What a cheap little jade Nell had turned out to be. She and Mr Molloy had dreamed up a fine story between them, in which the only vestige of truth was that he had punched the older man on the jaw and put him out for the count on the changing-cubicle floor. According to Nell, it had been he, Colm O’Neill, who had been pestering her there with unwanted kisses, when Mr Molloy, attracted by her distressing cries, had come to her rescue. And what had Colm done when Miss MacThomas had been wrested from his grasp? He had gone berserk, refusing to listen to Mr Molloy’s gentle reprimand, and had hit his superior, knocking him down and rendering him unconscious.

The Head of Department had told Colm crisply that not only would he leave the store forthwith, without claiming any of the wages due to him, but he would do so without a reference. ‘Young fellers who behave so bad don’t get references from
this
firm,’ he had said, glaring coldly at poor Colm across the big, polished mahogany desk. ‘Your mammy will be much distressed, since it was she who persuaded us to employ you, but that you must explain to her yourself. You’re lucky, so you are, that Mr Molloy has decided not to take you to court for assault. Miss MacThomas urged him not to do so, to be sure, but it was his own generosity which carried the most weight. Indeed, you have reason to be grateful to the gentleman, because we ourselves could have prosecuted you for causing an affray, but Mr Molloy said being sacked without a character would be sufficient punishment.’

By now, Colm knew better than to try to defend himself. He did say, ‘What were other members of the staff doin’ whiles I were layin’ waste in the changin’ cubicle, sir?’ only to be told, not gently, that they had been unaware of the fracas since it was first thing in the morning and they were all at the opposite end of the room, setting out their wares for the day.

‘But no doubt if called upon to give evidence against you, they would remember seeing you both entering and leaving the cubicle . . . and would also remember poor Mr Molloy staggering out of there, with a black bruise on his chin, some two or three minutes later,’ the Head of Department said frostily. ‘Now go, O’Neill.’

Colm had left and now he walked along Grafton Street, deprived even of the bicycle, since that was Switzer’s property, wondering rather desperately what on earth he should do. It would be useless to try to pretend to his parents that he was still in work. For one thing, his mother would be back at Switzer’s the following week and would soon be told, if not the truth, at least the version that was going around, and for another, he had always been straight both with the mammy and the daddy and did not intend to change now.

He was sure, however, that his mother would believe his version of the story, and knew with equal certainty that Caitlin would, too. She had never liked Nell, never trusted her and, being a loyal little sister, would accept his word on what had happened in that changing cubicle without a moment’s hesitation. But his father was another story. Daddy doesn’t know me so well for one thing, Colm reminded himself, and he doesn’t know Mr Molloy at all. But surely he’ll believe me when I tell him what really happened?
Aw, janey, but it’ll ruin his holiday, having me on his hands all the time and no money coming in.

There was nothing he could do about it but try his best to get a job in the meantime, so he could at least show that he had alternative employment. And where would a strong and sturdy eighteen-year-old find work in Dublin at a time when such strong, healthy young men were eight a penny and jobs were so hard to find?

Still, there must be something. Delivery boys were always wanted. But not, of course, those who had been sacked from Switzer’s for bad behaviour without a character.

Slowly beginning to realise the predicament he was in, Colm continued, morosely, to pace the streets.

‘Well, lad, it’s not the end of the world! Aren’t we after findin’ a silver linin’ to every cloud, then? I wanted you to come over the water wit’ me, to find yourself a well-paid job, and hasn’t Switzer’s played right into our hands, like? No one over there is goin’ to ask whether you’ve socked a floor walker on the chin, are they? They’ll know you’re my lad, so you’re reliable, an’ they’ll see for themselves that you’re strong. What d’you say?’

Caitlin, sitting at the table eating rice pudding, stared from her father to her brother as the daddy spoke. She had finally taken it in that there was nothing they could do to help poor Colm over the dreadful calumny which that wicked Nell and horrible Mr Molloy had put upon him and now, she could see, there was equally little they could do to prevent Colm being carried over the water by their daddy. It was even fair, she acknowledged it, that he should have Colm’s company, for did not she and the
mammy have each other, as well as all their friends here in Dublin? But she had listened when Daddy was explaining to Mammy that almost the only recreation for a man on his own in the big city of Liverpool was the drink now, and wasn’t he eager to keep away from pubs and the sort of bad company that spent all their spare time drinking? So it would be a big help to the daddy if he and Colm were together.

Nevertheless, she knew that she and Mammy would miss Colm dreadfully, and wished there were some way that the wicked Mr Molloy and the wickeder Miss MacThomas could be brought to book for their sins. Then and only then would Colm be able to go back to his job in Switzer’s, where he had been so happy. But Colm was answering his father now, so Caitlin, still spooning rice pudding, listened. Would Colm simply give in and agree to go over the water with the daddy? Or would he come up with some brilliant idea so that he would be able to stay?

‘You’re in the right of it, Daddy,’ Colm was saying, far less morosely than might have been expected. ‘Sure an’ me faith in women has reached rock-bottom, so it has, for wasn’t I convinced that Nell was fond o’ me? And didn’t she turn me over to the enemy, so to speak, and dive into the arms of that ugly ould feller wit’out a t’ought for meself?’

‘She’s a wicked girl, indeed she is,’ Eileen said mournfully, putting her pudding spoon down in her empty dish. ‘I never t’ought it of her ... a liar is bad enough but to deliberately get me innocent son into trouble ... I tell you, Miss MacThomas had better rue the day she lied about me son, for there’s them as know me for an honest woman and I shan’t hesitate to tell the trut’ an’ why should I not? Oh yes, Nell
MacThomas will be known for the lyin’ little whore she is be the end of the week.’

‘What’s a whore?’ Caitlin asked, when no one said anything. ‘Is it another word for a liar, mammy?’

‘It’s a nasty word, a word I never would have used but that I’m so upset,’ Eileen said quickly. ‘Oh, Caitlin, alanna, ‘tis a wicked ould world, an’ the sooner you know it the better.’

‘Well, mammy, if you can tell folk the trut’ of it, why must Colm go over the water wit’ me daddy?’ Caitlin asked composedly, stowing away the word ‘whore’ in the back of her mind for future investigation, for if it didn’t mean ‘liar’, then what exactly did it mean? ‘For there’s the trut’ about Mr Molloy too – why should you leave him out, when it was as much his fault – more – that our Colm got his cards?’

‘Mr Molloy’s a powerful man, though an outrageous wicked one,’ her mother said. ‘Still, never fear, the word’ll go round about him, too. But the bosses, they don’t listen to what ordinary folk say. We’ll mebbe reach a stage or two above Miss MacThomas so that she’s known to the staff for a liar with a wicked tongue, but a floor walker – well, I don’t reckon we can do much there, save to make sure that the ordinary folk know that he’s lied for his own advantage. And that everyone knows he’s not above havin’ a bit o’ slap an’ tickle wit’ one of the shop assistants,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘He’s a married man ... yes, mebbe Mr Molloy will regret the day he lied about me son an’ all.’

‘But it won’t get our Colm his job back,’ Sean said. He reached for his mug of tea and took a long draught. ‘Never fear, alanna, your brother may feel uneasy about leavin’ home, but he’ll soon settle down in Liverpool. There’s friendly folk there, an’
plenty of entertainment for a man an’ his son, an’ pretty girls ...’

‘Pretty girls? You’ve never said nothin’ about pretty girls before,’ Eileen said with pretended indignation. ‘The last t’ing I want is for me only son to take up wit’ an English girl.’

‘Most of ’ems Irish livin’ in Liverpool,’ Sean assured them. ‘Their grans an’ grandas came over at the time o’ the great famine an’ stayed on. Oh, our Colm will do very well in Liverpool . . . I’ve dacint lodgings, so I have, wit’ a good sort o’ woman ... an’ you needn’t worry yourself over her, Eileen me dote, for she’s not a young woman. No, pushin’ seventy is Mrs Caldicott ... an’ she’ll mek him as welcome as she’s always made me. Shall you be after cuttin’ that cake now, alanna? I can’t wait to sink me teeth into it!’

That evening, whilst her elders talked over Colm’s future, Caitlin went over to Cracky’s tenement. He lived at the very top of a tall and tottery building, with a great many brothers and sisters, a good-natured, rather feckless father and a thin, wispy little mother who had once, Caitlin knew, been remarkably pretty. But now she was worn down by the wickedness of Cracky and by the good-natured indifference of her husband, who liked a quiet life and would not get one, he said frankly, if he interfered with his youngest son.

It was a pity, Caitlin considered, that Cracky was such a bad boy. Not just naughty or high-spirited, but downright bad. He stole from market stalls and from any shop that didn’t guard against him, he knocked at doors and ran away, threw stones at passing carriers, jeered at girls – other than Caitlin – and always denied all wrongdoing, not being above
blaming anyone handy for his sins.

Caitlin could not count the various wickednesses into which he had dragged her. Not reluctantly, but sometimes ignorantly. When autumn came, all the chisellers took themselves off into the countryside around Dublin and boxed the fox in the orchards. Only Cracky raided the orchards with a ‘borrowed’ cart and sold the subsequent mound of apples in the nearest market. Only Cracky mitched off school whenever it suited him to do so, in order to sell his ill-gotten gains or simply to enjoy himself. Lately he had taken to wriggling through the small downstairs windows at night in order steal anything which he could lay his hands on and, though he only attacked the big houses, Caitlin believed her brother, who had said that Cracky would end up in the Joy for his sins and then, perhaps, he would realise that crime truly did not pay.

But Caitlin liked Cracky and knew he would never get her into more trouble than she could cope with. The problem was, his parents never told him off and when he wanted, or needed, something or other, expected him to provide it for himself. So he did and got an undeserved name, Caitlin thought, for being a bad lot.

Certainly the Brothers who taught him had a low opinion of their pupil. ‘Born to be hanged, so y’are,’ Father O’Halloran said, applying the stick to whatever part of Cracky he could get at, for Cracky had never yet stood still to be beaten. ‘If we have any more complains of ye, young Fry, I promise ye’ll not live to be old.’

A fat lot Cracky cared! So now he had another good reason for bunking off school and didn’t hesitate to use it. He frequently invited Caitlin to share his
expeditions during school hours, but so far she had declined. Her mother was not as easygoing as his and would very likely beat her to a pulp if she missed school. Besides, Mammy would never expect her to provide food for the family or a new pair of shoes for herself, so she had no reason to steal.

But right now she wanted Cracky for a discussion and speedily found him. He had tied a rope to the arms of a lamp-post and was selling a dozen swings for a farden, and not doing too badly out of it. No one could get you up in the air like Cracky could, because most chisellers would be afraid you’d break your neck if they swung you round at that speed. But Cracky never considered things like that and was making a mint. Not, admittedly, of fardens, but he was reaping a couple of bites of apple, a length of good string, a chunk of soda bread and so on. He would end up richer in one way or another, Caitlin knew. ‘Hey, Cracky,’ she called, cantering along the pavement and skidding to a breathless stop beneath his chosen lamp-post. ‘You know that girl I was tellin’ you about, that girl me brother Colm likes?’