Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House Read online

  Then I saw a picture of her face, smiling, happy. Suddenly it twisted, and then in a flash I was left seeing the horror on her face again as I let fly, losing the rag. In an instant, everything was wiped out. All gone! No, Sarah! It hit me like a punch in the stomach. ‘She’s gone! She won’t be coming back,’ I moaned, sounding like an animal in pain. ‘Gone,’ I muttered as I turned me head back towards the house, dragging with me a terrible sense of grief at having lost her again.

  23

  * * *

  I woke up wishing I could carry my head under my arm; it’s too heavy for my shoulders. My heart feels like a dead weight. I wandered into Sarah’s room, hoping for a miracle. Maybe last night was just a bad dream. No! Me eyes take in the room exactly as I prepared it for her homecoming. Her bed is made up, the little cream chest of drawers sitting next to it with the pink lampshade standing on top. The two matching cream wardrobes, but one is made up of complete shelves only.

  I bought the self-assembly pack one Christmas week and stayed up until one o’clock in the morning trying to put it together. I painted the walls a light creamy-pink colour and bought a cream carpet. God! I was so proud of my handiwork when I stood back to admire it. Then I locked the door, putting a huge red ribbon across it and presented it to her on Christmas Eve. I had an awful job trying to keep her out of the way. She had to sleep in the guest room. She kept trying to sneak in, but I had the door locked, and all she could hear was me cursing, banging and hammering. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she had said, when she finally got her room back. We were happy then.

  I opened the wardrobe door, seeing all her clothes neatly folded. She had taken only what she could squeeze into two suitcases when I let her go off on holiday two years ago. She never came home! Only called to tell me she wanted to live with her father.

  My eye wandered down the shelves. The shelves I had put in. I opened a big antique jewellery case with all the jewellery I gave her every year on her birthday. It’s still there. She didn’t take any of it, not even the jewellery I got from her father a lifetime ago. I looked at it, remembering happier days when I wore it. It’s mostly silver, and it wasn’t expensive; we didn’t have much money. But it meant the world to me at the time.

  I gently closed the wardrobe, catching the whiff of a perfume I gave her, the scent plummeting me back down the years. ‘Mummy, I love you!’ Her innocent face smiling up at me when I gave her something special. I lifted my head, trying to blink back tears that streamed down my face anyway.

  I stared at the bookshelves on the far wall, with the extended shelf underneath. Her desk. That was a hell of a job to fix. The plaster was rotten. Charlie and me, we had a hell of a job fixing the rawl plugs to take the screws. She used to sit there every evening, doing her homework at that desk. Yeah! I made that for her.

  Ghosts! This house is full of ghosts! I wandered out and sat down on the stairs. I couldn’t take another step. The life is gone outa me. Suddenly me heart exploded in a sense of terror. There’s nothing left! It’s all gone! I’m back to being completely on me own.

  Without thinking, I opened me mouth and starting roaring me eyes out, crying like a baby. Then I paused to wipe me snots.

  What’s that? I could hear something. I held me breath, waiting to hear the sound again. Nothing. I wonder if the neighbours can hear me bleating? Fuck them. I can sit here and cry if I bloody well want to, and as loudly as I want! It’s my house, and there’s no one listening anyway! There’s no one to hear me. So I can do what I want!

  I was about to open my mouth and have another bawl when I stopped. There it is! An unmerciful howl went up! It sounds like the banshee.

  It’s Bonzo! He’s crying his heart out! Every time I cried, he joined in. I stopped and listened for a minute. He’s howling in sympathy with me. ‘Ahh, me poor Bonzo!’ I shouted. ‘Wait! I’m coming!’

  I ran down the stairs and tore open the front door, letting him in. Then I locked the door again, hearing the clicking of the key locking out the world.

  ‘Come on! I’m over here,’ I said, turning around to sit back down on the stairs. Bonzo came creeping over on his belly, whining and staring up at me with his big, mournful, chocolate-brown eyes. ‘Why are you crying, Bonzo?’ I mumbled to him. ‘No need for the pair of us to be bleedin miserable.’

  He gave a whine, then nudged me lap, hoping I would let him rest his head.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, patting me lap. I stroked his head, feeling his skin cold. ‘You’re freezing, Bonzo! Even with the big black fur coat on you! Poor you, left out in the freezing cold. But it’s not much warmer in here,’ I said, looking at him and shaking my head.

  ‘No! There’s no bright light, no TV blaring out their adverts telling me what to buy myself for Christmas or how to make myself happy. Or make myself better looking, or have a happy family, get myself a man, or be the envy of all the other women. No! There’s no cheerful, warm, welcoming fire lighting in the grate. That would mean I’m living, and I’m not really alive any more, Bonzo. No titbits for you. I don’t want to eat, so I’m not cooking.

  ‘This was all a mistake, Bonzo. I wasted my life. I got what I wanted. To be away from Jackser and Sally, from the poverty, violence and robbing. But it’s all the same in the end. I’m more unhappy now than I was then. Ah! I’m not bothered,’ I sighed. ‘Life isn’t really worth the effort. There’s nothing left I want from it.’

  I stared at Bonzo, and he gave up listening to my monologue, bored out of his skull. He gave one last look up at me, then snorted and gave himself a big heave, then dropped down on the floor, curling himself into a ball, and fell fast asleep. I stared at him, wishing I could bloody sleep.

  24

  * * *

  I opened my eyes and stared around the room. Jesus! I never thought I would end up in this place again. The children’s home! I stared out the window, seeing the trees still fighting back the storm. Rain lashed against the windowpane, then there came an almighty bang. I felt as if the bed shook. It was the crash of thunder. I waited, counting the seconds. One, two, three. Then a huge flash, a streak of lightning, raced across the sky. The storm is quite close. I wonder what time it is? I need to get out of this place. I feel shut up in here.

  I lit up a cigarette, thinking Sister Eleanor will go mad. Well, too bad! I can always go home if she starts, even if I have to walk. I’m not in the mood to be trifled with! Trifled! I wonder where I got that from? I think I’ll creep down to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. Creep! Jaysus, I’m now creeping around at my age! Stop it, Martha. You don’t have to be intimidated by this place. Or that nun! You are a grown woman, not a child!

  Hmph! Right! Where’s the kitchen anyway? I want to find out what time it is, I thought, as I crept past her room.

  ‘Are you all right, Martha?’

  I stopped dead, with my heart lepping. Jesus Christ! That woman hasn’t changed one bit! Does she ever sleep? ‘Eh, grand, Sister Eleanor! I’m just going back to bed,’ I croaked, heading back to the bedroom with a suffocating feeling in my chest.

  I’m feeling trapped! I have to get out of this place. It’s giving me the creeps. I paced up and down the room, then gave up and climbed back onto the bed, easing my back against the headboard, and started to doze.

  ‘Good morning, Martha! Did you manage to get some sleep?’

  My eyes shot from her to the window. It’s morning! The trees were still having a mad dance with the wind. But the storm had lost its fury. I swung my feet off the bed and sat on the side wearily. ‘Ah, I’m not too bad, Sister,’ I said, eyeing her short grey skirt. Very daring! It’s now about two inches above her ankles. And the white blouse with a small gold cross that now replaces the huge gold crucifix she used to wear around her neck. It’s finished off nicely with a navy-blue cardigan, the kind your granny would wear to bed. Wow! Yippee! The ’80s are here! Freedom!

  She now clutches a handbag under her arm with real money in it, and she can even go where she likes now, without having to ask p
ermission. They don’t even have to go out in pairs any more. In the past, one went to watch the other and report back to the Reverend Mother! ‘Psst! She didn’t keep custody of the eyes! Nooh! I caught her looking in shop windows.’ Horror, gasp, sharp intake of breath. ‘But me, I kept me eyes peeled, cast down, even when a dog stopped to piss, eh, urinate, Mother, on the hem of me habit! Tsk tsk. That’s not all, Mother! Nope! Not finished yet, Reverend Mother! You may need to sit down! She was looking at men’s jocks – knickers! – in the men’s section of Cleary’s store, while I was busy heading over to the nun’s section for our smalls.’ Gasp! Hand on mouth. Swoon. ‘Sister dear, get me the smelling salts.’

  Oh, no! Not on yer nelly! Our Sister Eleanor has now tripped gaily into the dull ’80s. She’s now a swinger! Now she goes off on her own and DRIVES A CAR! What next? My God! The Church has gone to pot!

  I was sitting on the bed with a smile on my face, getting the picture of Sister Eleanor in the old days and comparing them with how she is now, when I suddenly heard her roaring my name, waking me out of my trance. Gawd! She’s still at it. Nothing ever really changes with her.

  ‘Come on, darling!’ she says, rushing across the room and sending the window flying open, her eyes whipping around to see what else needs her ordering. Then she grabs me. ‘Come along now, pet. We have to get moving. Oh, let me see! What have I got to do this morning?’ All the time pushing me ahead of her, keeping up a running commentary with herself, while stopping to pick up a child’s coat thrown on the corridor. ‘Really!’ she mutters. ‘These children are so untidy.’

  I ignore her and head off down the stairs, looking for the kitchen.

  ‘Now, darling!’ she roars, coming up behind me, finally remembering I’m here. ‘Have some breakfast. I’ll just put on some scrambled egg and a bit of toast,’ she says, flying past me into the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, no, Sister. I won’t bother. A cup of tea will do me.’ I sit myself down at the long wooden table and pull out my roll-ups.

  ‘No, Martha! Now, come on! You need to eat. Sure, you’re starving yourself to death! Have just a boiled egg, then, and one slice of toast.’ She stands there staring at me with the saucepan in her hand, looking like she’s frozen solid, waiting to whip herself into a frenzy of action.

  ‘No, honestly, I don’t want anything,’ I said, sucking on the cigarette, dying for a cup of tea.

  ‘But, Martha, you are never going to get your health back if you don’t eat! You can’t go on like this!’ Then she reached for the kettle, pouring the boiled water into the teapot, and I was relieved at getting a cup of tea at last.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Sister,’ I said, staring at the floor. ‘I can’t seem to pick myself up.’

  ‘Right! Have your drop of tea, and I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, rushing out the door.

  This is really depressing, sitting in this place. I sure have come the full circle! I never thought I would fall this low again. I’m ended up right back where I fuckin started! Except, when I first started out, I had fire in my belly. Life was exciting, even if it was difficult and sometimes I found myself on the streets. But I always had hope! I knew life was waiting for me, and I could always keep going, no matter what happened.

  But now it’s like all the stuffing has been knocked out of me. Too many things have happened, too many knocks to the ground, especially the last five years. But I managed to keep going, get to my feet and keep moving. But now I can’t do that any more. Christmas was OK, but I’m happy it’s over. I cooked a small turkey breast and had a couple of friends over for dinner in the evening. But it was hollow. They laughed, and I pretended everything was grand, but the hole in my heart, where Sarah should have been, was paining me. I wonder why things have changed so much between us? She grew up! Maybe we’re just too alike, so now we clash? Jesus! It should have been easy. We have always been so very close. No! I don’t understand it. I can’t figure that out. I wonder does she miss me?

  The wind gave an almighty roar, and the windows rattled, frightening the life out of me. I gave a shiver, looking out at the terrible weather. I felt myself getting heavier. The thought of facing back into that house, and the long, dark winter staring ahead of me, was paralysing me with depression. I can’t stand the bloody damp, and the cold doesn’t help. Especially since I don’t even light the bloody fire or even eat. No! I don’t think about Sarah much any more. There’s just a constant ache inside me, like I’ve made a fool of myself and everything I’ve achieved means nothing. It was a complete waste of time. Maybe I should have taken a different road when I found myself pregnant and had to go off to that home for unmarried mothers in the country.

  I should have stayed there, had the baby and given it up for adoption, then got on with my own life. I was still only eighteen! I wish I’d had someone just for myself! But I never stood still long enough for a man to get close. I was either afraid, didn’t trust them, or I was putting Sarah first. Anyway, there is no divorce in ‘Holy’ Ireland! Most men of my age are married, homosexual, or ex-priests going around agonising about their ‘lost fucking souls’.

  ‘I’m going through the long dark night of the soul,’ one of them gasped, giving me ‘mother of sorrowful’ looks over a lemonade and a pint of whiskey for him. ‘Twenty years I gave the Church! I was a priest, you know!’ he sniffed, looking mournfully into the bottom of his glass, hoping to find the answer to his soul-searching there.

  Not on yer bloody nelly! I’m outa here! ‘Eh, I’m just off to the loo,’ I breathed, smiling sweetly at his miserable, sorry-looking face, then making a grab for me coat and bag. Bloody hell! Are there any normal men out there? I thought, flying down O’Connell Street and lepping into me car. Glad to get home and shut me own front door, thinking, Ah, no! Who needs a man? Not me! I’m better off on me own. The world has too many problems. Hmph!

  Aaah! Shut up, Martha. You’ll drive yourself mad thinking like this. Isn’t poor aul Sister Eleanor being very good to you? Ah, indeed she is. Gawd! Yeah! When I was really in need of someone, with all that being in and outa the hospital, well, it was her that came flying to the rescue. She was blind bothered and bewildered trying to placate me. I couldn’t do any of the things I was used to – flying around like a blue-arse fly, always on the move. No! I had ended up like an aul one of ninety on me last gasp! I nearly went mental. But there she was, flying in with packets of tobacco, clean nightdresses, new! Me favourite biscuits, Kimberleys, to go with me night-time cup a tea. And now! Here I am, over all that.

  So why am I still not moving? Oh, I’m going to go mental! Wish I knew what the hell is keeping me down. Oh, shut up, Martha. You could be left, upended, to work this out on your own. Hah! That might have put a fire under your arse! No. Might not. Thanks be to God I do have Sister Eleanor. So, be grateful. Snort! I dropped me chin in me hands, not able to figure out life any more. It’s all beyond me, I sighed. How do you get the will to live?

  Sister Eleanor came rushing into the kitchen and grabbed my cup. I was left wondering if there was any tea left in the bottom when she dashed it under the tap, rinsed it and turned to me, saying, ‘I have made an appointment with a doctor for twenty past nine this morning. Will you come with me and I’ll drive you there?’

  ‘What doctor?’ I asked her.

  She glanced down at the buttons of her coat and coughed, looking very shifty. ‘Well! Ahem, cough. They have a psychologist. I looked it up in the book. It’s in his consulting rooms. It’s private, of course! No need to worry, Martha. The convent will pay. He’s very good, Martha,’ she whispered, bending down to me. ‘So they say.’

  ‘Who?’ I roared.

  ‘Well!’ she paused, trying to think.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ I screeched, jumping to my feet. ‘So now you think I’m mad!’ I rasped out in a hoarse voice.

  ‘No! No! No! Of course I think no such thing! But, Martha darling, you have to get some help. What else can I do? You won’t eat, you can’t sleep, you are depre
ssed! And if you go on like this, God knows what might happen to you! Come on, at least listen to what he has to say. Or . . .’ Then she stopped to think, holding her forehead. ‘OK! I will give them a call to cancel the appointment. Then I will have to see if I can get you an emergency visit with another doctor. See if they can fit you in somewhere with a general practitioner. Wait here! I won’t be a minute,’ she muttered, rushing out the door.

  ‘You are in luck, darling. Come on, quickly. We have an appointment with another doctor.’

  I trailed out behind her, saying, ‘Maybe you are right, Sister. I need to get living again. It would be great if I could lift this heavy weight dragging me down.’

  25

  * * *

  We drove in to the surgery, and Sister Eleanor parked the car. As she was rushing me in the door, she said, ‘Now! You wait here for me after you’ve seen the doctor. I have to go on a message, and I’ll come back here as soon as I can and collect you. Then I can drop you home. Is that OK with you, Martha?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. Thanks, Sister,’ I said, looking down at my red monkey suit. It was styled on the romper suits toddlers wear going to bed, without the feet! Now they were back in fashion for adults. Jaysus! He’s going to take one look at me and get me locked up immediately!

  I walked up the stairs and onto a landing, heading straight through a door standing wide open. ‘I have an appointment to see the doctor,’ I said to a bored-looking woman painting her fingernails.

  She barely looked at me and muttered from her fingernails, ‘What’s your name?’

  I told her and she said, ‘Take a seat over there and wait.’

  I looked behind me, seeing a row of grey-plastic chairs lining the grey-white walls, and sat down to wait, feeling very nervous. What am I going to say? What can he do? There’s no cure for the way I’m feeling. It’s something I have to work out myself. Jesus! What am I doing here? This is only looking for trouble. Once you get involved with the likes of these people, they don’t let you out of their clutches. Doctors record everything. So, letting them think there is something mental wrong with you . . . Well! It’s like having a criminal record! It follows you through life: