About Matilda (8 page)

The child was sick, Reverend Mother.

I wonder why Sister Gabriel doesn't tell Reverend Mother about my slip, which isn't on the table anymore. Reverend Mother orders Sister Gabriel to get this mess sorted. Father Devlin is on his way. Whatever will he think?

Straight away, Reverend Mother.

Sister Gabriel pulls my slip from her pocket and warns me don't forget it again or I'll lament the day. She leaves the room and comes back with a mop and a bucket of soapy water. I get my slip on while Sister Gabriel is mopping. Her face seems kinder now and her voice isn't as angry either.

You should be doing this yourself, Matilda, she says, but I think you've caused enough trouble for one day. Finish what you are doing and go back outside.

Lucy Flynn is waiting by the door again.

See, I told youse not to stand there. Come on, let's go before Father Devlin comes.

Pippa comes over and grips my hand. Her palm is warm but her fingertips are icy. There are tearstains on her pink cheeks and her bottom lip sticks out when she asks why Daddy didn't come. I grip her hand tighter and promise her he'll be here. Pippa says he won't and Lucy says he won't. Lucy says they never do. Lucy says we're in the Holy Shepherd for good. We're Sheps. Get used of it.

Friday evenings we're brought to the big washroom at the top of the playground where the concrete floor is cold and cracked under our bare feet. We strip naked and fire our clothes in a bundle in the corner then line up and wait for our turn. I don't get embarrassed anymore because I'm seven now and I'm used of it. Along one wall there's a line of ten brown enamel tubs head high, my head, off the floor. There's a nun scrubbing a girl at every tub. The tubs are too big to call sinks and too small to call baths. Cobwebs cling to the corners of the whitewashed walls and to the rotted wooden beams above our heads. The summer sun beams through the small windows above the door making a neat square on the floor and everywhere there's the splashing of water and the stench of green carbolic soap.

Gabriel lifts me under the arms and plops me in the cold water. Her sleeves are rolled up and she goes at me with the scrubbing brush till my flesh is pinky red and raw all over and all the time she's howling, Sit still and be quiet. Anyone would think you never saw water. If you don't sit still you'll go nowhere tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Your grandmother rang to say she has a surprise and she'd like the three of you up in the house. If you don't sit still this instant you'll stay right here. I'll see to that.

It's hard to sit still when tomorrow I'm going home, maybe for good. I'd like to jump out of the tub and tell everyone that when I'm big I'll have money and I'll come back with sweets
and clothes and new shoes for everyone. But I can't. There're suds in my eyes that scald and my cheeks are on fire from green carbolic soap. That's how people on the outside know we're Sheps. The raw pink faces we have from carbolic soap. That and the shaved heads.

In the morning Gabriel drives Mona, Pippa and me to Nanny's in the nuns' blue mini-bus. When we get out the kids outside the shop stare at us and I hang my head walking past. A strange man opens the front door and I wonder is this another uncle? He's wearing a white string vest and faded blue jeans. His hair is tied in a ponytail. He has no socks or shoes and Gabriel stares at the man's feet like she never saw a man with no socks or shoes. I look at his eyes and suddenly I know it's Daddy. He smiles down at us and I want to move nearer but Mona grabs his hand first. Mona's coat is open and it's the first time I've noticed the tiny bumps under her jumper and that means she's getting a chest.

Nanny comes to the door in her apron all smiles for Gabriel.

Isn't it a great day altogether, Sister.

God is in his Heaven, surely, Missus Kelly.

And aren't you wonderful yourself, Sister? Look how big the girls are after getting. They're grand and healthy so they are.

Gabriel tells Nanny we're great girls and she's only thrilled to have us and we're excellent at religious instruction. The Sacred Mysteries, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Virtues and the Ten Commandments. Even little Matilda, who didn't know where Limbo was. Gabriel smiles down at me like I'm a great girl altogether but I know she's only doing it because Nanny and Daddy are here.

Daddy wonders what a fine woman like Gabriel is doing being a nun. Wouldn't she be happier getting a good man for herself? Any man? Nanny slaps Daddy on the bare shoulder and puts her hands to her cheeks to hide the blush.

You're awful to be coddin' Sister Gabriel. Take no notice, Sister Gabriel. Full of his fun he is.

Gabriel is as red as a slapped face herself and even though she's smiling I know she's mortified. She covers her mouth with her fingers and tells Daddy, You're an awful man, Mister Kelly. I'm sure now you don't mean a word.

I do. It's a mystery why all those women want to lock themselves away. Can't be natural.

Stop that now, Peter, says Nanny. A joke is a joke.

Pippa steps into the hallway and catches Daddy's other hand. Gabriel says, Well, I'd better be going or they'll have the guards out searching for me.

What's your rush, Sister, says Daddy. Come in and tell me all about yourself and while you're at it you can tell me who's responsible for shaving my daughters' hair.

Daddy leaves Mona and Pippa's hands go, folds his arms and leans against the doorframe, making room for Gabriel to go inside. Pippa moves away from Daddy and comes out and stands beside me on the footpath and that's a sure sign Pippa thinks there's going to be trouble.

Gabriel isn't having any of it. She ignores Daddy like she's gone deaf but nuns are always acting deaf when it suits them. She says, It was pleasing to meet you at last, Mister Kelly, and yourself of course, Missus Kelly.

She hurries out to the footpath and into the mini-bus. Her jaw is dangling as she drives away. I don't think she's met anyone like Daddy before.

You're an awful man, says Nanny to Daddy. That poor nun, she doesn't know if you're blaggardin' or serious.

Won't do her any harm, says Daddy. Bit too good-looking to be a nun. What is she, twenty-five?

If that, says Nanny. Nanny looks down the street after
Gabriel. A nun driving, she says. I never thought I'd live to see the day. Come on. Everyone come inside.

Grandad is sitting in his armchair by the fire. It's July and there's no fire, but he sits there as if there is, warming himself on memories of cold nights at sea in the Merchant Navy. He glances over at us and goes back to reading the newspaper and I don't know what to think. I'm just happy my uncles aren't here. I want to ask Daddy if we're home for good and are our brothers Sheamie and Danny coming home too? But I don't. I don't want to hear him say no.

Nanny stands in front of the mantelpiece and holds her arms out for us to give her a hug. I think she's going to say this is our home as long as she's alive and there's breath in her body. My heart hopes until I remember the last time she said it. Mona and Pippa give Nanny a hug and she kisses them on the cheek. I bend behind the brown sofa pretending to tie my shoelace.

Nanny asks how Mona and Pippa are getting on in school. Mona doesn't hear and Nanny asks again. Mona says she got three gold stars for English. Pippa says she's in the school play.

And what about Matilda? Are you still sitting next to your little friend Natasha? And tell me, what's this I hear from your school about you being a great little Irish dancer?

I don't want to stand up so I tie my other shoelace. I'm ashamed to tell Nanny that Natasha's mother came to the school to complain she didn't want Natasha sitting next to someone from the Holy Shepherd. So now I sit on my own at the back of the class where even girls with wallpaper on their books look down their noses at me.

Daddy goes out to the front bedroom and I follow him because I didn't get a hug yet. He tells me to wait in the hall and when he comes out his yellow eyes are happy and dancing
in his skull. He picks me up and when I give him a hug he squeezes like he never wants to leave me go. His beard tickles my face and I laugh. He holds me up to the ceiling, playing with me, but I'm not scared because I know Daddy won't let me fall.

He carries me back out to the sitting room and sits on the brown sofa and lifts his green canvas bag on to his lap. Mona, Pippa and me hold our breath and gather round him while he opens the zip. He puts his hand inside and pulls out a pair of old white socks and hands them to Mona and tells her to make sure they fit before she wears them to mass. Mona takes the socks from Daddy. She stares at them, wriggles them, catches them by the toes and shakes them, opens them at the top and looks inside. She's ready to pout when she catches Daddy winking at Pippa and me.

What did you really get us? No messin' now, Daddy.

Daddy puts his arm around Mona's waist and falls back along the sofa, pulling her to him, laughing and trying to tickle her and it's easy to see Mona is enjoying it the way she keeps jumping on Daddy every time he lets her go. I'd like a tickle too and so would Pippa and we move near Daddy and Mona on the sofa but Nanny cries, Stop. Stop or you'll break the chairs. Daddy leaves Mona go and looks back in the bag. He pulls out two shiny black spud guns with red nozzles for Pippa and me and a watch with a black leather strap for Mona because she's getting big now. We kiss him on the cheek and run straight to the kitchen to rob potatoes from under the sink and for Mona to admire her watch in the cracked mirror over the sink then run out to the front garden so the other kids will see we have something new and won't be ashamed to talk.

The girls stop playing hopscotch on the footpath and come to the gate and stare and sometimes I'm brave enough to stare back. Mister Murphy comes out his door in his train driver's
cap and tells us all don't be gawkin' out of our mouths at each other. Go off and play.

I'm happy. We're out of the convent, we're playing with our friends and Daddy's home. If we're good he'll bring Sheamie and Danny home too. We'll have our own home and Daddy will be happy because he has us and that's all he'll ever need. Mum will come back. Maybe she'll come tomorrow.

After tea, Daddy dresses in clean blue jeans and brushes his hair in Grandad's cracked mirror over the sink. Nanny shuffles by him carrying pots with dinner in them. Peter, she says, I hope you're not leaving those children to me while you're off gallivanting. I know about you. You've been out with those Delaney twins from around the corner. I had their mother wailing like a banshee over the back hedge this morning, her daughters were running with a married man with five children in the Holy Shepherd, the cheek of her. Still, she has a point. Taking care of your children you should be, not trotting around like a film star. Is it Hollywood you think you're in, parading up and down with Raquel Welch dangling from your arm?

He could charm her too, says Grandad from the sitting room.

You shut it, says Nanny.

Black cat, black kittens.

Daddy keeps brushing his hair. Nanny leaves the pots on the table and the steam from the bacon oozes from under the lid and up my nose when she reaches up to tap Daddy on the shoulder. Are yeh listening to me at all, Peter?

I am.

I'm getting too old for this. So is your father. The man has blood pressure and has to mind himself. Mind your own children. I'm not responsible anymore what happens.

Responsible? What do you mean by that?

Nanny turns pale and turns her eyes to the floor. I meant nothing, she says.

You should be glad to have your grandchildren up here.

Did I say I wasn't? I'm just letting you know you have responsibilities.

Daddy leaves the hairbrush on the windowsill and swigs cod liver oil straight from the bottle. He kisses Nanny on the cheek and tells Mona, Pippa and me to be good, he'll see us in the morning.

Grandad says, I see he's still wrapping you around his little finger, Annie. Nanny tells Grandad to shut his trap or he'll get no dinner and there's not another word from Grandad.

In the morning Nanny comes in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron and tells Daddy, It's a nice day, Peter. God knows how long it will last. Why don't you bring the girls for a spin? Buy them some new clothes; they can't go anywhere in those convent rags.

Daddy is sitting in the armchair in front of the television, drawing with a pencil on a book of plain white pages. I'm sitting beside him on one arm of the chair and Pippa is sitting on the other arm playing with her hair. Mona is asleep in bed. Daddy is drawing a Roman soldier because Pippa asked him to. She saw
Ben Hur
and thinks Roman soldiers are cool, but Pippa thinks everything is cool at one time or another. I think she just likes the word, cool. Daddy can draw anything. It can be yachts with tall white sails, airplanes flying through thunderstorms, houses, big, small or terraced, castles with lakes. And if we say, That's nice, Daddy, he'll say, I'll buy that for you when you're bigger. You have to be happy with a Daddy who'll buy you anything you want when you're bigger.

Well, says Nanny, are you going?

Daddy shoves the pencil behind his ear and looks up at Nanny.

Well, are you?

Daddy brings us to town and buys us bellbottom jeans, T-shirts and runners in Shaws big shop on the Quay. He has a red van he brought from England and the back is filled with cartons of cigarettes, bottles of whiskey and books with pictures of girls in bikinis on the cover. He leaves it all with a man on the Cork Road who owns a green van. He's Umbilical Bill, the man who got Daddy a ride on the cattle ship to London before.

Daddy drives to Tramore. It's teeming with cars but we find an empty parking space by the prom. There's a low wall with a railing on top in front of us and the land stretches out on both sides of the bay like two legs in the bath. At the end of the right leg, sticking up like a big toe, there's a man in a red jacket standing on a high white pillar. He's pointing out to sea. Daddy says he's the Metal Man and he's there to warn the ships away from the rocks.