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

  His eyes stared intently with his mouth half open, not saying a word, just taking everything in, waiting to hear.

  ‘He has to watch out for you and me ma, and all the rest of the family. He’s up there now, living with Holy God. So you see, Harry will be watching the lot of you like a hawk. If one of you needs a hand or is worried about something, well, you just tell Harry about it. And Harry will be straight away telling Holy God and making sure Holy God doesn’t take his eye off any of you. OK?’ I said, bending me face into him.

  He shook his head, letting his eyes wander to the floor, thinking about this.

  ‘Now, Gerry. Into bed, love, and I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said, walking out of the room and closing the door quietly behind me. Yes, Gerry, I thought. If I still only had your innocence, I too would have Holy God to watch over me. ‘Oh, Harry, wherever you are. If by any chance you are listening to me, if you come across God, tell him I am lost without him. I need him back,’ I muttered, feeling cold as the grave.

  ‘Dinah, you go on off to bed. I’m going home, and I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I can. There’s a lot to do. We have to arrange the funeral, Dinah.’

  ‘But there’s no money te bury him! Wha are we going te do?’ she whispered, beginning to panic.

  ‘No! Don’t worry yourself about that now. I will work that out. Go on! Get to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘OK, Martha. What time will ye be over at?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dinah love. I have to make a few phone calls first. But I’ll get here as soon as I can.’

  I headed off down the hall and turned the handle on the front door. It’s locked. I suppose Jackser has the key. I put my head in the kitchen. ‘Goodnight, Jackser. I’m off home,’ I said. ‘Will you let me out? The door’s locked.’

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, puffing on his Woodbine and sipping on a mug of tea. ‘Oh! Are ye off so? Right!’ and he shook his head, trying to bring himself out of a trance, and stood up, looking at me, then dropped his eyes down to the floor and lifted his head, swinging it over to the window, and gave a little laugh down in his throat and started snufflin.

  I watched him. He’s looking very shifty. Then he looked at me with a glint in his eye. Fucking hell! I could feel myself getting very irritated.

  ‘Will you open the door, Jackser? I want to get home. It’s late,’ I said coldly.

  ‘Listen! Come over here, there’s somethin I want te tell ye,’ he said. Then he rushed past me, putting his head out the door and peering around to make sure no one could hear him, looking like a seedy little conman who wanted to sell me something he’d robbed. Then he closed the door quietly, and I watched him creeping over towards me, still throwing his head back to the door to make sure no one could hear him.

  ‘Listen!’ he said, with his eyes dancing in his head, snufflin and laughing like he was embarrassed and excited all at the same time. ‘Yer mammy thinks I’m in love wit you!’ He paused, watching my reaction, staring into my face. Then he rushed on. ‘She thinks I want te go te bed wit ye! Can ye believe tha? Isn’t tha a good one?’ he said, throwing his head back laughing. Then he stared at me, with his red bulging eyes swimming with lust. His head cocked down at me, and the silence that hung between us was pregnant with his anticipation.

  I swept my eyes from his brown wrinkled face with the big nose down to his short bandy legs covered with filthy greasy trousers that must have lost their colour not too long after the First World War. They probably belonged to Kaiser Wilhelm. The state of him, the little runt! My stomach turned over with disgust. Yeah, it’s clear to me now. This man has always been insane.

  ‘Is that right now?’ I said, moving towards the door and opening it.

  ‘She fuckin does!’ he said, laughing.

  I stood at the entrance of the door, feeling an icy coldness sweep through me, and stared at him. ‘Listen, Jackser,’ I whispered, wriggling my fingers at him. ‘Come over here. I want to tell you something.’

  ‘Shush! Don’t say anythin. Yer mammy will hear. She gets very jealous,’ he said, rushing over to hear what I had to say and trying to close the door, hoping I would step back in.

  I put my hand on the door, pushing it open, and he stopped to listen, cocking his ear close to my face, like he was going to be privy to some big dirty secret.

  ‘Your son is lying dead on a cold slab in the morgue up in that hospital,’ I said, with ice dripping between me clenched teeth. ‘Are you aware of that?’

  His head snapped straight up, and he stared at me with hard, cold eyes. Then they began to narrow, and I watched his hands drop down by his side and curl up into fists.

  The coldness, the icy calm suddenly vanished, leaving me with a rapidly growing red-hot fire. It swept down into my belly, and I tensed, feeling myself like a tightened coil. ‘Listen,’ I said, leaning my head into his face. ‘Say one more word to me about what is in your filthy, diseased mind, and I will rip your balls off, Jackser, with one of your very own Silver Gillette blades, then ram them down your throat.’

  I stared at him, and he blinked. Then his mouth curled. ‘Don’t fuckin threaten me!’ Jackser snarled, moving closer to me, looking like he would rip me head off.

  I looked around the kitchen, ready to pick up something and land it on his head if he pushed me. ‘Jackser! I am mad enough to do just that!’ I said slowly, leaning even closer to his face. ‘Remember! You taught me well, and you better pray I don’t come after you some dark night and carry out my threat!’

  ‘Ah! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinkin!’ he started to say, lowering his eyes and shifting away from me, like a vicious dog that has met its match and now slinks off feeling very chastised.

  I turned around, heading down the hall, while Jackser stood back, holding the door open for me. I swept out, listening as Jackser quietly shut the front door behind me, turning the key and locking it. I could feel me breathing coming very heavy.

  Jesus! For one minute, I was willing to do time for killing that bastard. I shook me head. No! He’s not worth it, Martha. He could never beat me. I can walk away, leaving him to stew in his own hell.

  I walked along the piss-ridden balcony, with the rubbish tumbled out of the overflowing chute, and headed down the stone stairs, stepping over dirty needles left behind by the junkies. I eyed the filthy mattress on the landing with what looked like a poor wasted human lying on it. He was curled up in a ball, trying to get the bit of comfort of a few hours’ fitful sleep.

  I leapt out the last few steps onto the street, feeling the noose around my neck loosen and fall away after my run-in with Jackser. I took in a deep lungful of pissy, rotten-vegetable air, looked up at the early-morning grey sky and felt glad to be free. Yeah! Where there’s life, there’s always the hope that one day I will see Jackser planted. I can stand on his grave and do a morris dance. I will even hire the full regalia! I sat into the car and rolled myself a cigarette, then switched the engine on and turned the car for home.

  10

  * * *

  I woke up slowly, then felt the rush of cold blood flying around my body. I paused. What is it? Then my brain rapidly engaged. Harry! Oh, sweet Jesus! That wasn’t a nightmare. I could feel a heavy weight sinking down into me chest and working its way into me belly. No! None of that! I better get moving. There’s a lot to get done. I lifted my head slowly off the pillow and squinted over to the clock sitting on the dressing table. I can’t read that clock. Which is the big hand? I opened both eyes, staring hard. Half past eight. Two hours’ sleep probably. ‘Well, that’s enough,’ I sighed, feeling my body ache.

  I swung my feet out of the big old Victorian bed, landing a long way down on the rug. I’m always forgetting how high that bloody bed is! One of these days I’m going to break me neck. Where’s that dressing gown? My eyes swept around the room, landing on a big fisherman’s jumper. That will do. I pulled it over my head, heading down the stairs, when I heard the barking. Ah! The big black hairy mutt is back. I wonder where he was o
ff gallivanting to? I unlocked the front door, and a blur of black hair shot across my vision. It streaked past me, banging my legs. I slammed the front door shut, whirling on him.

  ‘Sit! Where were you?’

  He finished doing his cartwheels and thumped his arse on the floor, bringing himself instantly to attention, with his two front paws straight out in front of him. He stared up at me, knowing he was in trouble.

  ‘Bonzo! You are a very bold boy,’ I said slowly, pointing my finger into his face.

  His paws started drumming out a tap dance, and his mouth curled into a grimace. It looked like he was laughing.

  ‘Right! Get into that kitchen!’ I roared, pointing my finger at the kitchen door.

  The gobshite sprang for the handle of the kitchen door before I was even finished getting the last word out and threw his weight on the handle. I watched as he thumped the door wide open, smacking it against the wall with an almighty bang. Then he was in. He was in such a hurry, he slid across the tiles on his arse, straight into the kitchen sink.

  ‘Take it easy!’ I roared down at him as he picked himself up from the floor.

  He ignored me, and I jumped out of the way as he crashed over to the press low down on the floor and gripped the handle with his teeth. He started pulling it backwards and nosed his way into the press. He grabbed his big bag of dry ‘Everything Your Dog Needs for a Healthy Diet’, then clenched it tightly between his teeth and dragged it across the floor, letting it sit at me feet.

  I picked up the bag and emptied some into his bowl, while he went back to the press and pawed out a can of Pedigree Chum and gently rolled it over to me. Then he dropped down on his belly, letting out a big sigh. His head leaned to one side, watching me spoon his meat into his bowl. I scraped every last bit of meat out of the can or he would go after it in the rubbish bin. It would only end up getting dragged around the floor, making a mess of me kitchen. Jaysus! He’s an awful savage, this dog.

  ‘Now! There’s your dinner!’ I said, stepping out of his way as he launched a flying tackle at it. Jaysus! One of these days, that dog will be the death of me! He weighs a ton and demolishes everything and everybody that happens to be in his way. No wonder he was dumped with the vet when he was only a little pup.

  ‘He’s a bit wild,’ the vet puffed, dragging him in by the scruff of the neck, saying, ‘I had a job trying to catch him.’

  We both stared down at the little ball of fluff whirling around the room, growling and chewing on everything in sight. ‘He’s half bearded collie, very nervous!’ the vet muttered.

  ‘I’ll take him!’ I said, sweeping him up in my arms, and he immediately started to attack my long hair, chewing it.

  ‘Now look at the size of you! You’re actually five years old, but you still haven’t got a blade of sense!’ I snorted at him, seeing the dinner vanish as he put his paw on the bowl to steady it for a good lick. He stopped to look up at me and made to rub his dirty chin all over me. It was covered in dinner! ‘No! Eat your dinner! I don’t want your mess,’ I said, rushing to get the kettle on and get moving.

  I sat munching on a bit of toast, dipping it into a soft-boiled egg, wondering where I should start first. Better ring the hospital, I suppose. Yes, that’s the first thing.

  I rinsed out the dishes and dashed up to shower, then dressed quickly and came hurrying down the stairs, whipping open the front door. ‘Bonzo!’

  He came flying out of the kitchen, straight out the front door, heading for the gate. ‘Here, boy!’ I roared, opening the side gate. ‘Come on! Go and get your ball!’

  The mention of ‘ball’ sent him flying at breakneck speed out to the back garden, and I slammed the gate shut, locking him in.

  He came rushing back, heading the ball, and stopped dead, staring up at me. He knew he was not going to get a game out of me, and he’d been fooled! ‘Now! Be a good boy and don’t jump over the wall.’ I looked up at the ten-foot-high wall, knowing it would not keep him in. I suddenly knelt down, giving him a big hug through the bars of the gate. I don’t know what I’d do without him, I thought, as I rushed in to sit down and ring the hospital.

  ‘You have to ring the coroner’s office, to see when they will be ready to release the body,’ they told me.

  I dialled the coroner’s office. ‘Hello, I would like to enquire, please, when you are ready to release my brother Harry’s body?’

  ‘He will be ready for removal this afternoon, from two-thirty.’

  ‘But we are not ready to make the funeral arrangements yet.’

  ‘Well, you have to claim him by tomorrow at the latest,’ a grumpy, bored aul man’s voice informed me.

  ‘But what do we do? There’s no money to bury him.’

  ‘Well, he has to be buried by Thursday at the latest. You can’t leave a body lying around, ye know!’ he barked down the phone at me.

  ‘Yes, I know that. But you have to give us time to organise the money!’

  ‘Well!’ he roared back. ‘If you don’t collect him by Thursday, we’ll bury him for you!’

  ‘You will?’ I asked. ‘How?’

  I could hear him sucking on his false teeth. Then he sucked in his breath, and I pressed the phone closer to my ear, holding my breath, not wanting to miss what he had to say.

  ‘We will bury him in a pauper’s grave!’ he roared.

  ‘A what?’ Me heart leapt. ‘You will do no such thing! My brother is going into no pauper’s grave!’ I roared down the phone. My heart was beating like the clappers, and a white-hot rage was erupting in my chest.

  ‘If you don’t collect him by tomorrow, Wednesday,’ and he paused for another suck on his false teeth, then he spat out, ‘the council will bury him in a pauper’s grave on Thursday. Your choice.’

  ‘No, you bloody will not!’ I hissed through me clenched teeth. ‘If you bury him in a pauper’s grave.’ I stopped to get a breath. ‘We will DIG HIM UP!’ I screeched, slamming down the phone.

  Jesus Christ almighty! The little bastard! I rushed into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and roll a cigarette, trying to think. I could see me hands shaking. He thinks he is the voice of authority. The bastards always get you when you are down and out. There is no respect for the poor. Who the fuck does that little aul fella think he is? I bet he still lives with his mammy! There has to be a way around this. What would get through to a little aul fella like that?

  I sat sipping and puffing, getting a picture of a skinny little aul fella with false teeth. A white face hanging down in soft folds. Probably wears brown trousers with turn-ups at the bottom. They’re too short for him after twenty-six years of washing. Now they’ve settled just above his ankles. He doesn’t need to go to the barber’s. He sweeps the six hairs from the side of his head over his bald dome. He wears 1960s prescription glasses. Yeah! He probably got them from the dispensary!

  Hmm! So what does he do for excitement? Ah! The highlight! He takes himself out on a Sunday, leaving his aul ma sitting in the armchair beside the fire. But he’s good to her. He leaves her with a shawl wrapped around her bony shoulders. Then leaves her behind, complaining she might as well be dead for the want of a drop of tea, and she knew she was ‘cursed’ the day she gave birth te him! Meanwhile, he rushes out the door wearing a trench coat he bought in 1932 with his first week’s wages.

  He gallops off, heading in the direction of the Phoenix Park, clutching a shopping bag under his arm. When he gets there, he waits for some unfortunate middle-aged woman walking her dog. Then he whips open his trench coat, reaches in to his shopping bag and drags out a bell, ringing it to get her attention. When she stops to fix her gaze on him, that’s it! He exposes himself! Dangling his little worm at her. While the poor woman stands there frozen in shock, yer man gallops off home te get the mammy’s tea. He’s now satisfied for another week, and that’s the nearest he gets to a woman!

  No, Martha. When you’re poor and down and out, the authorities walk all over you. They don’t care about all the suffering the ma an
d the family are going through. So, no point in expecting any help or sympathy. You’re going to have to be ruthless. Show no fucking mercy. Do what you have to do. It’s the last thing you can ever do for Harry. The last thing he will ever need. Let him rest side by side with all the other people who came into the world and had a normal decent life. You didn’t, Harry. You came in a pauper. Now they want to send you out a pauper. To lie for ever in an unknown grave with all the other lost souls who didn’t even get a quiet resting place they could call their own! No, if you can hear me, Harry, don’t fear! This aul fella needs, and is going to get, a red-hot poker shoved right up his arse. So here goes, just watch the ‘Abbey Acting’ of your big sister, Martha. I swear I can hear, or sense, that little giggle of yours when you were a little boy.

  Right! Plan B. I headed out into the hall and picked up the phone then dialled.

  ‘Hello! Coroner’s office.’

  ‘Hello! Yes! I have just been speaking to you a moment ago, regarding the arrangements for the removal of my brother Harry.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you again! I’ve nothin further to say to you.’

  ‘Well, Mr . . . What did you say your name was?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he muttered.

  ‘I really would like your name, please!’

  ‘Joe Hammond! Mr Hammond to you!’

  ‘Ah! Thank you, Mr Hammond. Now! I do think it fair to warn you I intend making my next phone call to the Times newspaper. I think it will be of considerable interest to the general public to know an elderly couple, whose only son committed suicide, and he was insolvent . . .’

  ‘He was wha?’ your man interrupted.

  ‘Insolvent! No money! And his elderly parents, “faded gentry” you might call them . . .’

  ‘They’re wha?’ he roared, interrupting me again.

  ‘Very dignified! Genteel! They have fallen on hard times, and they are forced to live on a very small stipend. Income, Mr Hammond!’