I Confess

Clare raised her eyebrows. ‘I saw you giving a frowny look at his jumper.’

‘What?’ said Edie. ‘No, I did not.’

‘So, you’re telling me Patrick Lynch is rolling in it,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Clare.

‘From nothing,’ said Laura. ‘Fair play to him.’

‘Murph made a huge effort,’ said Clare.

‘The navy jacket and shirt,’ said Edie. She nodded her approval.

‘Never thought I’d see the day – Murph in velvet,’ said Laura.

‘It suits him,’ said Helen.

‘God, when I think of him, the poor divel,’ said Clare, ‘going from one house to the next for his dinner, making everyone laugh, and how sad he’d look, heading off. And the worst part of it was it wasn’t like he was going home to some savage who was going to beat him.’

‘Heartbreaking,’ said Edie. ‘And Mum would never let him stay for dinner. It was so awkward. And she would have known what was going on.’

‘That time he was in our house and the packet of ham fell out from under his jumper,’ said Laura. ‘And Mam would have been happy to give it to him.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Helen. ‘I can just picture his little face.’

‘And remember,’ said Laura, ‘the time he—’

‘Let’s remember,’ said Helen, ‘that we all had that little face once.’

‘And,’ said Clare, ‘is there not some unspoken agreement that we forget each other’s childhood shame?’

7 (#ulink_e53d14c3-2640-5b5f-b488-8d9561874d93)

MURPH (#ulink_e53d14c3-2640-5b5f-b488-8d9561874d93)

Castletownbere, 1981

Murph stood outside his mother’s bedroom. He hadn’t seen her for two days. He put his ear to the door. He could hear a man’s voice, but it wasn’t his father, because his father was at work. He could hear the voice coming closer to the door, so he bounced away, and took a few steps back down the hallway. When he heard the door open, he pretended he was walking towards it. Dr Weston appeared with his big leather bag, closing the door gently behind him.

‘Hello, Liam,’ he said. He gave a nod.

‘Can I go in to see Mammy?’ said Murph.

‘Not today,’ he said. ‘She needs to rest.’

Murph frowned. ‘She’s resting the whole time.’

Dr Weston started to walk down the stairs.

Murph came after him. ‘Can I not just go in for a little minute?’

Dr Weston gripped the banister. Murph froze. ‘What’s so important that it can’t wait ’til tomorrow?’

‘You said tomorrow the last time,’ said Murph.

‘Well, I’m saying it again, now.’ He gave a nod, and then he looked up at him. ‘Sure, you’re a big lad, now. Aren’t you able to look after yourself, and not be bothering your mammy?’

Murph’s face flushed. Dr Weston’s three sons were all big lads, rough and tough. Murph knew they were older than he was, but when they were his age they were the same. Johnny, the one who played rugby, was fourteen but he was a bit of a bully, and Murph wasn’t sure being tough was all it was cracked up to be.

Murph stayed where he was on the stairs until Dr Weston left. Then he turned and ran up to his mother’s room. He put his ear to the door again. There was no sound. He let out a sigh, then ran downstairs, and out into the front garden.

Jerry Murphy drove up to the house, and parked the van in the drive. He jumped out, and reached Murph in four strides, sweeping him off the ground, and throwing him up on his shoulders.

‘I’m too big, Daddy!’ said Murph.

Jerry held on to his son’s little calves, and walked him around the side of the house. ‘Do I look like a man who can’t carry a smallie like you on his back? Sure, amn’t I doing it right now?’ He slid his hands down to Murph’s ankles, and lifted them, tilting him back, making him grab for the back of his shirt collar to pull himself up. ‘Daddy!’ he said, tapping him on the head.

Jerry laughed. When they got around the back, he swung Murph down on to the ground beside a small pile of red timber slats. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you and me are going to make a little house.’

‘What kind of a house?’ said Murph.

‘Ah, for one of your little cousins for her dolls. Now – grab me that hammer over there.’

He knelt down, and Murph stood smiling at the top of his head; his father was always helping people, and Murph loved helping him do it. And he loved hearing the things people always said about his father: ‘That’s a man you can rely on,’ ‘That’s a man who’d never let you down,’ ‘You could call Jerry Murphy any time, day or night,’ ‘Jerry Murphy’d give you the shirt off his back.’

When the little house was built, Murph stood back and put his hands on his hips.

‘I don’t know, Daddy, if she’s going to be mad about it.’

‘What?’ said Jerry. ‘What do you mean? After all our hard work.’

‘No – I know,’ said Murph. ‘But … are you going to be cutting holes in it later? For the windows?’

‘Jesus – I hadn’t thought of windows.’

‘And is it not supposed to have a floor in the middle to put furniture on?’ He glanced at his dad. ‘It looks funny.’

‘It looks funny, you think. What does it look like to you, so?’

Murph frowned. ‘I don’t want to be mean. I know you wanted to do a nice job on it. But it looks a bit … like a kennel.’

Jerry stood up, and laughed. He put his hands on his hips. ‘Jesus – you’re right.’ He started rubbing his face. ‘Amn’t I some eejit? Let me see if I have anything at all in the van, so we can sort something out.’ He disappeared around to the front of the house.

Murph heard a knock from the upstairs window. He took a few steps backwards so he could see properly. His mam was standing at her bedroom window with a big smile on her slender face, her eyes huge, her dressing gown up high around her neck. She waved at him, and he waved back. She pointed down at the little house, like she wanted to get a better look. Murph went over, and dragged it on to the grass where she could see it. She smiled.

‘I think I have something for that house!’ Jerry shouted.

When Murph looked up, Jerry was standing a distance away. Between his two boots was a little ball of fur that he let go as soon as Murph turned.