just after Easter?’
‘So what if we did? Does that mean they have to come round here and break our hearts? If it were an Olympic sport, Eammon Bourke could bore for Ireland.’
‘Evelyn Bourke is my friend.’
‘Bully for you. See Evelyn Bourke then, have her round to dinner, go shopping, go to her place, do whatever you fancy, but why in Christ’s name do you have to drag me into it?’
‘It’s nice, don’t you think, that we socialise as a family from time to time? Anyway,’ she said, ‘it’s not a sit down dinner; I’m preparing a finger buffet. Pinwheel sandwiches and baby quiches, that kind of thing, you know.’ At the words ‘finger buffet’ Frank slumped back in his chair, his face ashen.
Suddenly something crossed Dennis’s mind. ‘What do you mean, “socialise as a family”? You’re not expecting me to be there? And they’re not bringing Mick with them, are they?’
‘He’s invited, of course,’ their mother replied, ‘and Evelyn didn’t say that he wouldn’t be along.’
‘That means he will. Mick Bourke is a pain in the arse,’ Dennis said.
‘He must take after his father then,’ Frank said, before his wife could complain about her son’s language.
‘Well, this is very nice I must say,’ she exclaimed bitterly.
‘This is all the gratitude I get for the effort I make, for slaving after you all.’
‘Slaving?’ Frank said. ‘Gratitude? Don’t start me! Answer me this: does anybody like going to the doctor? No. They don’t. Nobody likes going to the doctor. I am the doctor. I work like a horse to keep us all in comfort, and I don’t think I ask a lot in return. I want to go hill walking. I want to listen to my opera records. All I want is a bit of peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask? Is it? Well, is it?’ They all knew better than to reply to this rhetorical question, and he answered it himself. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, butseemingly I was wrong. I can’t even have my lunch in peace without being pestered to buy pianos and told that I’m going to have to spend Sunday eating pinwheel sandwiches with Eammon Bourke. Sweet Jesus Christ, all I want,’ and his voice broke with emotion as he said it, ‘all I want is to be left alone.’
Chapter Seven
It was past eleven when he got to Francis Street and found the place. Looking up, he saw a single lit window. The ground floor was all in darkness. As with many of the buildings on the street it was occupied by an antique shop with a metal grille fastened over the window, through which he peered at the heavy furniture of another time. Amongst the mahogany sideboards and dusty decanters there was a mirror that reflected back to him his own pale, hunted-looking face. There was nothing else for it. He pressed the button on the doorjamb and expected to hear the bell ring far in the distance, but did not. Perhaps it wasn’t working. He pressed again, then held it down. What he heard now was the clatter of feet on the stairs and a woman’s voice calling, ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’ But her voice was full of merriment and she was laughing as she opened the door, until she saw who was standing there. Her face, smiling and expectant, closed immediately He’d known she’d be surprised to see him but was taken aback at how shocked, even frightened, she looked. She didn’t speak.
‘I was just passing.’ A ridiculous remark, he knew, so absurd that he even hoped she might laugh, but her face remained shut and cold. ‘I wondered if I might … could I come in for a minute?’
‘It’s very late.’
‘I’ve brought you something,’ he said, fumbling open his briefcase. She looked like she wanted nothing from him, until he pulled out the book she had been reading in the pub some nights earlier and handed it to her.
‘Oh great! I thought I’d lost this for ever.’ It changed the atmosphere totally. They both laughed and smiled.‘It’s very kind.’ At that moment, a few
‘So what if we did? Does that mean they have to come round here and break our hearts? If it were an Olympic sport, Eammon Bourke could bore for Ireland.’
‘Evelyn Bourke is my friend.’
‘Bully for you. See Evelyn Bourke then, have her round to dinner, go shopping, go to her place, do whatever you fancy, but why in Christ’s name do you have to drag me into it?’
‘It’s nice, don’t you think, that we socialise as a family from time to time? Anyway,’ she said, ‘it’s not a sit down dinner; I’m preparing a finger buffet. Pinwheel sandwiches and baby quiches, that kind of thing, you know.’ At the words ‘finger buffet’ Frank slumped back in his chair, his face ashen.
Suddenly something crossed Dennis’s mind. ‘What do you mean, “socialise as a family”? You’re not expecting me to be there? And they’re not bringing Mick with them, are they?’
‘He’s invited, of course,’ their mother replied, ‘and Evelyn didn’t say that he wouldn’t be along.’
‘That means he will. Mick Bourke is a pain in the arse,’ Dennis said.
‘He must take after his father then,’ Frank said, before his wife could complain about her son’s language.
‘Well, this is very nice I must say,’ she exclaimed bitterly.
‘This is all the gratitude I get for the effort I make, for slaving after you all.’
‘Slaving?’ Frank said. ‘Gratitude? Don’t start me! Answer me this: does anybody like going to the doctor? No. They don’t. Nobody likes going to the doctor. I am the doctor. I work like a horse to keep us all in comfort, and I don’t think I ask a lot in return. I want to go hill walking. I want to listen to my opera records. All I want is a bit of peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask? Is it? Well, is it?’ They all knew better than to reply to this rhetorical question, and he answered it himself. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, butseemingly I was wrong. I can’t even have my lunch in peace without being pestered to buy pianos and told that I’m going to have to spend Sunday eating pinwheel sandwiches with Eammon Bourke. Sweet Jesus Christ, all I want,’ and his voice broke with emotion as he said it, ‘all I want is to be left alone.’
Chapter Seven
It was past eleven when he got to Francis Street and found the place. Looking up, he saw a single lit window. The ground floor was all in darkness. As with many of the buildings on the street it was occupied by an antique shop with a metal grille fastened over the window, through which he peered at the heavy furniture of another time. Amongst the mahogany sideboards and dusty decanters there was a mirror that reflected back to him his own pale, hunted-looking face. There was nothing else for it. He pressed the button on the doorjamb and expected to hear the bell ring far in the distance, but did not. Perhaps it wasn’t working. He pressed again, then held it down. What he heard now was the clatter of feet on the stairs and a woman’s voice calling, ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’ But her voice was full of merriment and she was laughing as she opened the door, until she saw who was standing there. Her face, smiling and expectant, closed immediately He’d known she’d be surprised to see him but was taken aback at how shocked, even frightened, she looked. She didn’t speak.
‘I was just passing.’ A ridiculous remark, he knew, so absurd that he even hoped she might laugh, but her face remained shut and cold. ‘I wondered if I might … could I come in for a minute?’
‘It’s very late.’
‘I’ve brought you something,’ he said, fumbling open his briefcase. She looked like she wanted nothing from him, until he pulled out the book she had been reading in the pub some nights earlier and handed it to her.
‘Oh great! I thought I’d lost this for ever.’ It changed the atmosphere totally. They both laughed and smiled.‘It’s very kind.’ At that moment, a few
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