As a child, adults always seemed bad tempered and perpetually irritated by the presence of children. I seemed to be surrounded by grown ups who regarded me as an unexploded grenade with the pin about to be pulled. There were some exceptions. Mrs Kathleen Sorensen who lived in No. 1. was kind to absolutely everyone. Back then, women from the traveller community came around once a week begging. Most people fobbed them off with a few coins. Mrs Sorenson not only welcomed them into her home but would sit them down in her kitchen and give them a hot dinner. Then there was Dr Bob and Molly McCarthy, parents of my friend Rosemarie, who lived in No. 31.
I took my second driving test at 21 and failed. Fed up with my failure, I took the car for a spin down to Fountainstown and didn't get home until some two hours later than I should. I pulled into the driveway. My mother was on her hands and knees in the front garden weeding ferociously. Our eyes locked; I could see she wanted to kill me. She painfully got to her feet and said, "Come with me." I dutifully followed her through the open front door. She picked up the phone and dialled. As soon as the other person answered, she silently handed the receiver to me. It was my father. He told me they were worried sick, that they thought I might have crashed the car and was in some hospital unable to contact us. I apologised and told him I just didn't think. He quickly forgave me as he always does. My mother was another story. Not feeling safe in the same house as her in that moment, I headed straight to Rosemarie's house.
Rosemarie wasn't home but Molly was. She greeted me with a delighted smile as she always does and led me in to the kitchen. Molly's next-door neighbour, Vincent Kearney was sitting at the kitchen table having his dinner. I sat at the other end of the table. Molly gave me a glass of Ribena and a Club Milk. I told her my troubles. "Serves you right," said Vincent, as he vigorously sawed though a slice of bacon, "worrying your parents like that." Molly smiled sympathetically. While I drank my Ribena, she gently unplugged my hearing aid and cleaned the wax from the ear piece. My own mother didn't do that.
Another time when I had to leave the house in a hurry, I can't remember why, I took refuge in McCarthy's. They kept their house lovely. Always so clean and calm; it was like entering a boutique hotel. Rosemarie was home with her father, Molly and two of Rosemarie's aunts. I joined them in the kitchen. I announced that my cousin was home from Australia. "She's brought home this awful joke," I said, "wait until I tell you." Rosemarie standing behind her father, started frantically waving her arms and silently screamed the word 'No'. I reassured her saying "It's ok: it's not a dirty one." Rosemarie drew her finger across her throat but I kept going. "It was Christmas morning. Sam and Max came down the stairs to find loads of presents around the Christmas tree but all the presents were for Max. There was not a single present for Sam. Sam went up to his parents and said, "Mum, Dad, why are there no presents for me?" His mother looked at him and said, "But Sam, you're terminally ill."" Rosemarie doubled over laughing, Dr Bob chuckled but the aunts looked distressed. One of them leaned towards me and gently placing her hand on my arm said, "And was he?"
Rosemarie's birthday parties were fabulous. Every girl in Endsleigh was invited. About a year ago, my mother came across a photo of one her parties. It was taken of all the guests lined up in front of their house. Patricia Kearney, Claire Jackson, Anne-Marie Hayes, Frances McCarthy, Deirdre O'Hanlon, Donna O'Leary, my sister Louise and I are instantly recognisable. I have a huge yellow ribbon in my hair. I reckon it must have been her sixth birthday judging by the size of us and the fashion; white ankle socks in polished T-bar shoes and lace collars on our dresses. When I showed the photo to an American friend, she pointed to me and said, "That has to be you with the banana skin on your head."
The only blight in that house was their dog. A black woolly vicious poodle called Trudy. I have scars on my knees from scaling their garden wall at 90 miles an hour to get away from that dog. Even Deirdre O'Hanlon. who loves all dogs and is scared of no-one, used to sprint for the gate when Trudy was let loose. Deirdre's dog wasn't much better. It was part spaniel with a muddy brown coat and missing half his brain. I can't remember his name so I shall call him Barker because that's all he ever did. One night I went to see the film, American Werewolf in London in the Palace cinema with my then boyfriend, Shaun O'Sullivan, on McCurtain Street. I don't watch horror films. I don't see the point in paying good money to get terrified; I didn't sleep for three weeks after seeing Jaws. Ten minutes into the film, I told Shaun I was scared. He told me I was free to leave and I did. Being perpetually broke, I always walk home from town but this night I was so rattled, I decided to get a taxi part of the way.
The taxi driver had a beard. His hairy face reminded me of what I just left behind so I was happy to cut the journey short at the top of our road. Walking quickly towards my house, I looked up at the night sky. It was clear and the moon was almost full. 'No werewolves tonight,' I said to myself with relief. Just then my peace was shattered by a loud shrill yapping. I froze in fear. Then daring to look behind me, I slowly turned around. It was Barker. Pure rage fueled by fright coursed through my veins. Bring my face within inches of his, I barked back, "Get away from me you stupid, useless, f***ing dog!" Barker yelped and took off in fright. Taking no more chances, I straightened up again and ran the rest of the way home in case I met any more teeth fanged creatures of the night.
I had just got into the kitchen and put on the
kettle when my brother Stephen came in. He seemed to be having
trouble breathing. "What's wrong with you?" I said. Stephen wiped his eyes and said, "That
poor dog, I think you gave him a heart attack." Stephen
told me that he had been sitting on the wall outside Long's house talking to two friends when they heard me screaming. They
looked up to see me running home and a streak of lightning shaped like Barker gunning for his.
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