You'll see a great change in him, his sister said, allowing
him to go first into the ward.
She didn't say - specially since you haven't been here
since last year - but it was implied.
In the high sided hospital bed Dave's father appeared to
be already dead. Waxen, bluish lids, sweeping glossy black
eyebrows, fine prominent nose. He seemed his old handsome
self again, spruced up, ready to meet his maker. No longer
the dishevelled, unkempt, unshaven, huddled bundle of rags,
chain smoking in front of the television, lost in the imaginary
community he had come to rely on for company, resenting
unwanted visitors who asked silly questions during his favourite
programmes.
Just let him go, Dave remembered thinking last time. There
are worse things than being dead.
His sister did not agree. This was when people NEEDED family
- when they had no choice. Not when they were awkward, argumentative,
refused help.
THIS was when certain family members got a chance to show
what they were really made of.
Well, said Kay, addressing her father, you old bastard,
that's put an end to your drinking and your gambling and
your women.
Women? Dave was stunned. What do you mean? He would have
laughed if he hadn't been so genuinely shocked.
Oho, don't give me that, his sister said.
No really? Women? My Da?
Huh, I thought it took one to know one.
Thank you sister dearest, thank you for that, thank you
so much. Jesus, he thought, is it any wonder I stay away.
His first wife Irene had been a neighbourhood chum of Kay,
that was before he ran off with the English one, the blonde.
He and Irene were reasonably friendly again, but Kay had
never forgiven him.
I have to pick the kids up from school, Kay said.
Ok, I'll stay with him.
Oh really?
Yes - really.
I'll see you later then.
OK. see you later. He forced a smile. For God's sake. Just
go will you.
She was still there....if you want anything - if there's
any change - just call the nurse.
Oh please, just make her leave will you. He tried to think
of something civil to say. Do we have to have that television
on?
Up to you, she said, it drowns out the noise of the machines.
I always keep it turned down low.
She left, gradually, reluctantly, resenting the burden
of her father's illness, but unable to relinquish control.
It was her gig. She was the one who bore the brunt of it
all because she was the only one who hadn't moved away.
It was just one of those things, it wasn't planned, it wasn't
meant to happen that way....she knew they felt bad but she
still couldn't resist rubbing their noses in it. She just
couldn't help herself.
I think she's got a grudge against herself, that one, Dave
said to his father when he was sure she'd gone.
The only response was the whirring and clicking of the
machines.
I see what she means about the television though, he thought,
turning it down to a murmur. He looked at the screen for
a moment then back at his father.
Big John, with his trademark shock of curly black hair.
Bookie's clerk, tic tac man. A wild, mad, poetic figure
in his day. Or so it had seemed to his young son.
Rarely to be found off licenced premises. Dave remembered
all those hours spent in pub doorways with a bag of crisps
and a bottle of cream soda.
His tight lipped mother used to send him out with his father
in the hope that it would interfere with his drinking -
or to make sure he got home if it didn't.
It wasn't so bad. Except in the winter. Or if you needed
a pish.There were usually two or three rag arsed kids there
on the same detail. They all used to have a right laugh.
And they could always pick up a tanner or two. Running messages.
Or called into the bar after lock in to sing the auld come-all-ye's
to the slobbering bleary eyed punters - ah Jaysus lads -
the auld Galway Shawl - The Galway Shawl My Mother Wore
- sing the Galway Shawl......
But women? How? When? More to the point - who? Neighbours?
Friends?
Those starved looking wretches, in their freezing, ulcerated
cold water kitchens, with their chapped hands and their
chilblained shins. It seemed logical that sex was something
they endured, not enjoyed. Not something they'd have done
out of choice.
Dave studied his father's face.
Was our Kay right, he asked Big John, were you a fly man?
To his astonishment, the ghostly lips appeared to move.
He quickly pulled his chair next to the bed, bent his head
close to his father's.
Did you say something? What did you say? Dave grasped him
by the shoulder.
The lips moved again.
Norway, the old man seemed to whisper.
Dave repeated the word over and over. Norway? Norway? You've
never been to Norway!
His father moved a finger in the direction of the television.
Could you repeat the question please Ann, the contestant
asked.
Which country, beginning with N, won the first Eurovision
Song Contest, said Ann wearily.
Oh - Norway! grinned the man with the bad comb over.
Cor-rect! said Ann.
Fine wee woman that. Big John sighed and was content.
