Read Online After the Lockout by Darran McCann - Free Book Online Page A

be … He opened the door of the hall and walked into the middle of the floor. The place smelled of bleach and soap powder. The chairs were stacked neatly to the side. The floor was mopped and clean, except for the muddy footprints he himself had just left on the not-yet-dry floor. He removed his shoes and went to the store cupboard to look for a mop. After he had cleaned up his mess, he locked the front door of the hall after him and sat on the steps to pull on his shoes. Hearing someone coming, he looked up the street and froze when he saw it was Victor Lennon.
    â€˜Morning, Your Grace,’ the Victor fellow said.
    For the first time since he was a child, Stanislaus seemed unable to tie his laces. He abandoned the knot and started again. Lennon did not stop as he passed, and Stanislaus left off warring with his laces to watch him disappear up the road. Where was hegoing, so early in the morning? Or coming from? He wore the same ragged uniform and still had his suitcase. He hadn’t been home yet; where had he been? Stanislaus looked back to his laces, tangled stupidly, and methodically set about undoing the tangle.
    When he got home Mrs Geraghty was cleaning up at the sink. Father Daly was at the table, using a slice of bread to mop up the fatty juices and gristle that remained of his breakfast, while looking at the newspaper laid flat beside his plate.
    â€˜I started without you, Your Grace, I wasn’t sure how long you’d be.’
    Mrs Geraghty set a plate of liver and kidneys down for Stanislaus and he tore hungrily into it, cutting through the liver and releasing a dark, pungent trickle of blood onto the plate. He still wondered about Victor Lennon, to be slinking home at this hour. Mrs Geraghty might be able to shed some light. She was usually able to. ‘What time did the festivities finish at last night, Mrs Geraghty?’ Stanislaus asked.
    â€˜There’s no need to shout.’
    Father Daly did not look up from his paper. Stanislaus forked his food and took a gulp of his tea. He wanted to know everything and by God they would tell him everything. He began again, louder this time. ‘Tell me all, Mrs Geraghty. What happened after we left? Did Mr Lennon enjoy himself?’
    â€˜Oh, he enjoyed himself all right, talking out of turn,’ she said vexedly. She paused and closed her eyes a moment, as if struck by a sudden pain. On opening them Stanislaus met her with a look that demanded she go on. ‘Well, he was talking to TP McGahan and they were doing an interview and everybody was listening to them.’ She took a scouring pad from the sink and started scrubbing roughly at the work surface, as if she couldever scrub roughly enough to make Stanislaus stop asking her questions. Stanislaus let his knife and fork drop loudly.
    â€˜What did he say?’
    â€˜I can’t remember exactly.’
    â€˜Give me the gist.’
    â€˜Father, I have too much work to be gossiping,’ she said, throwing the scouring pad into the sink.
    If Mrs Geraghty was offended, surely others would be too. It hadn’t taken long for their Victor, their boy of Easter Week, to reveal his feet of clay.
    â€˜I just saw Victor this morning. He looked a little the worse for wear,’ Stanislaus said coyly. Mrs Geraghty stopped and turned slowly. Now she was interested. ‘Yes, it was the strangest thing,’ Stanislaus went on. ‘He was coming up from the far end of the street, and he was wearing the same clothes – that silly uniform – and carrying his suitcase. It was as though he hadn’t been home.’ Stanislaus picked up his cutlery and ate a large forkful of kidney. Mrs Geraghty’s expression turned distracted and grave.
    â€˜It was terrible, the things he was saying last night,’ she said. ‘He was full drunk as well, honestly, he was a disgrace. I suppose that’s what happens you when you go away to the big city with all its loose morals and