Thursday, August 28th 2014

'Jesus, Jack, éirí amach as an leaba sin! It's two o'clock!'

Jack groaned as his mother tore open the curtains, flooding the room with daylight.

'Cá háit a bhfuair tú an feckin' traffic cone sin? As if we need more shite in this house!'

Squinting, Jack rolled over. Sure enough, in the corner of the room, there was a massive orange traffic cone with his suit jacket draped over it. A breadcrumb trail of his clothes led from the door to his bed.

'Níl 'fhios 'am,' he muttered, shielding his eyes. His head throbbed, his mouth dry as sawdust.

'Oh the smell of drink in here! Get up and get showered. Mark's downstairs.'

Jack sighed dramatically and sat up, clutching his temples. She tossed him a box of Panadol and a dusty cup of water from his bedside. He didn't care—it washed away the filmy taste of vodka, Red Bull, and regret.

Twenty minutes later, he stumbled into the kitchen.

It was bedlam, as always. His mother flitted between tasks—serving breakfast (lunch) while prepping dinner, while the kettle whistled, the radio blared, and the washing machine rattled like it was about to take off.

Mark was at the table, sipping orange juice. Jack collapsed into a chair.

'How's the head?' Mark smirked. Jack exhaled loudly. 'That bad?'

He winced, remembering the tequila shots. Five? Six? It didn't matter. He just didn't want to think about his bank balance.

'So, how was last night?' Mam asked, placing the kettle in front of him, eyes alight with gossip.

'Grand,' Jack mumbled, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea.

'Did you have fun?'

'Yeah.'

Mam sighed, unimpressed. 'Jaysus, you're full of chat.' She mimicked him in a dramatic moan.

'I'm dying here, mam!'

'Well Mark, did you have a good night?'

'Amazing, Cathleen! Although we were promised chicken fillet rolls, and they never materialised. Pure false advertising.'

'Yeah, feckin' scandalous,' Jack agreed, taking a gulp of tea. The Debs committee had promised breakfast, but by 7AM, the function room looked like a scene from The Walking Dead. Teens in ballgowns staggered around like zombies, some vomiting into bushes, one passed out on the ground, another getting fingered against the wall.

'Ah, but your Jack got King of the Debs!'

'Did he, now? Maith an fear!' Mam clapped his back proudly. 'No fear of him telling me en'hin!'

'I literally just woke up,' Jack groaned.

'And who got Queen?'

'Róisín Ní Laocha.'

'Oh, she's a very pretty girl.'

'Jack seemed to think so,' Mark winked and Jack sighed, already anticipating the line of questioning.

Mam lit up like a Christmas tree. 'Oh, did he now? Were ye snogging on the dancefloor, a mhac?'

'Jesus, Mam,' he cringed, glaring at Mark, who was enjoying himself far too much.

'No stopping Jacko's moves,' Mark teased.

Mam grinned proudly. 'Well, you certainly didn't get that from your father. I remember the night we met—'

Jack groaned. 'Mam, I could tell this story backwards.'

Right on cue, the postman poked his head in.

'Few heavy heads this morning?'

'They had their Debs last night,' Mam beamed.

'Ah, them were the days! Nothing a fry-up and flat 7Up won't fix!' He tossed a stack of letters onto the table.

Mam flicked through the post and froze.

'Here it is.'

Jack felt his stomach lurch.

The Round Two CAO offers.

His mother stood over him as he hurriedly tore open the envelope and pulled the letter free.

'Dear Jack, bladdy bladdy blah...'

He scanned through the text.

'Thank you for your...' he continued in a mumble.

We are pleased to offer you a place...

'I got it,' he said, exhaling. 'English and Irish in UCD.'

'Maith thú! I feckin' said you'd do it!' Mam whooped in joy, jumping around the kitchen with glee and clapping him on the back.

'Fair play, lad,' Mark grinned, 'I told you you'd do it.'

Jack smiled, relief washing over him. He wasn't stuck on the farm. He was getting out.

'Congrats, Jack,' Mam said, setting down two plates of fry-up. 'Maybe now you'll lose that sour puss.' She hovered, watching him eat like he was five again, 'how do you feel?'

'Yeah, I'm delighted,' he said, although he was too hungover to reflect just how relieved he really was. This was his ticket out of Spiddal - for three years at least. Away from the farm. Away from his parents. Away from everything. He was so sick of the small town mentality. He hated how everyone knew him and practically everything about him, sometimes before he did!

'Good, good' she began, setting down a plate of food in front of the pair of them, a full Irish, and hovered for a second over him, watching Jack like she had when he was small and sick in bed, 'I remember when you were little, you'd always crawl into our bed after a nightmare. You'd grip my arm so tight, even in your sleep. You never wanted to let go.' She laughed lightly, shaking her head. 'And now look at you. All grown up. Off to Dublin. Seems like only yesterday you were a little boy.' Jack forced a smile, but something inside him twisted painfully. He wasn't that boy anymore, that was for sure, and that scared him as much as it excited him.

'I'm all grown up,' he confirmed and she stared into space sadly for a second before jumping back into action.

'-and c'mere to me Mark. Jack tells me you are off to University Limerick to become a lawyer. Fair play to ya! I'll know who to call when the TV licence inspector tries to take us down, I'll tell ya something for nothin'. What do they call it?'

'Mates rates.'

'I dunno if you can afford me, Cathleen!'

Oh, the cheek of ya!' she cackled gleefully, playfully hitting him a smack on the arm, 'have ya found housing yet?'

'Yeah, I got digs. Not ideal, but it'll do for first year.'

'Aye. And come here to me, how's Laura? What does she make of ya heading down to Limerick and her up in Dublin?'

'She doesn't really have a choice!' Mark laughed, and she watched him with a smile, cradling her tea between both hands. Jack stared into his breakfast plate and continued to eat, shovelling a forkful of baked beans that he had sprinkled with chilli flakes into his mouth. 'Ah, she'll survive, sure we managed the last year fine. And Limerick is closer to her than here. And I've the car so-'

'Of course, sure she's the year above ye. Yeah, and you've the car, exactly. How long have ye been together again? Two years? Three?'

'Three,' he confirmed, 'feels like way longer though.' Which it did. Jack had been there on the night they had met. They were in second year and a group of them had gone out to a house party for Junior Cert results' night for a lad two years above them. None of them had known who was having the house party, and it had eventually been shut down by the Gardaí, but not until after midnight. But it was wild, and it had been where both of them had gotten their first shift. It had also been the night they drank for the first time.

'I remember going up to Laura that night,' he began, 'because you were too afraid to. That was the worst I've seen you'

'Ah, feck off,' Mark smirked, 'you weren't exactly at your best either.' He was right. That night Jack had painted the window of the chipper with his vomit and Mark had to carry him home. He had never experienced a headache like that since. He had been in a bad way. Although he felt somewhat similar now.

'Aw she's gonna make a great nurse.'

'Doctor,' Jack corrected.

She turned to him for a second and gave him a look, but then continued chatting to Mark, 'we're still naggin' Jack to get his lessons finished. Eighteen years old and not even an 'N' plate to his name! Would ya believe it?'

'John had a heart-attack, mam! They said they'd get me an instructor ASAP. I can't control the man's cholesterol.'

'Ah sure look...' she said, throwing her eyes to heaven and then turning back to Mark, 'C'mere to me, you may get Laura to introduce our Jack to some of her med'cine friends. A handsome lad like himself will have no bother nabbin' a jersey-puller up in Dublin!'

Mark smirked. 'Will do, Cathleen. Although I don't think your son needs my help pulling women. Sure, the whole year wanted him to take them to the debs.'

'Ah sure it was the same back in the day with Séamus. All the girls wanted him! D'ya know me and his father weren't far off marriage at ye're age!'

'Oh my God, mam. I'm barely eighteen. Times have changed.'

Cathleen shrugged her shoulders and raised a hand and her eyebrows defensively. 'I'm just saying.'

At that moment, the back door swung open and a man entered the kitchen. He was covered head to toe in dirt, and wore a torn up tracksuit, a luminous orange beanie that sat erect like a cone on the tip of his head, and a very worn gilet with nothing on under it; revealing a hairy white chest, a blotchy farmer's tan, and a beer belly.

'Jesus Christ Seamus, get them feckin' wellies off your feet before setting foot in my kitchen! D'ya think I've nothing better to be doing than cleaning up after you? Christ, what'd your last slave die of?'

'Aw, shettle down woman. Sure, I'm shtill on the mat, aren't I?'

'Don't feckin' tell me to settle down, you'll be sleeping out in the field with them sheep!' Before he closed the door, a collie as dirty as Jack's father popped her head in the kitchen door, although his mam whipped her head around and the dog stopped in it's tracks. 'Don't you dare, Molly,' she warned, pointing a finger at the dog - who stayed just outside the doorway, letting out a sigh of disdain. 'Honestly Mark, this place is a like a feckin' zoo.'

Jack grabbed a slice of toast and tossed it outside to the dog, who caught it midair, and then disappeared down the yard.

'How are you getting on at the market, Seamus?' asked Mark while Jack's father took off his boots with great difficulty, and entered the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea and turning up the radio.

'Ah not too bah-d, not too bah-d. The lasht of dem'll be gone by th'end udda week. Then we'll be shendin' out the ram come Septem-bur. How's your father getting on?'

'Yeah dad's the same. Where'd yee get your ram from? O'Reilly's?'

'Yah, and d'ya know what? I reckon the fecker's gay. Doesn't bat an eyelid fur dum. I tell ya we'll be shteerin' shtone clare of O'Reillys nexsht year.' Jack's father walked to the fridge, kicking the brick aside that held the broken door shut and pulled a fresh jug of milk out, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

'Christ above, give me strength,' muttered his mam.

'What's wrong with ya now, woman?'

'Would you ever get that feckin' fridge door fixed! It's my turn to have the girls over for book club later in the week and if they see that-'

'Ah feck 'em, I'll do it lay-her.'

'I have a number for a handyman-'

'Ah would ya shtop with dah, shure why would we call someone to fix it when I've a working pair of hands?'

'I've been asking ya and asking ya for weeks to fix it!' She shook her head in annoyance and rolled her eyes again, yanking the milk bottle from her husband's grip and poured him a glass. Jack's ears tuned in to the radio, to the very nasally voice of a reporter he recognised, but couldn't name.

'-Taoiseach Enda Kenny confirms that following a cabinet meeting in the Dáil this afternoon, a public referendum on legislation surrounding gay marriage will be held no later than mid 2015. Tánaiste Joan Burton says-'

'Oh for feck sake, turn that shite off. I swear to God they'll be wanting to marry dogs next, so they will!' said Jack's mother with annoyance, and switched off the radio. She then turned to her husband, 'the smell of your feet, Seamus! Get up into that shower and give them a wash for feck sake!'

'Jaysus Cathleen, what's up your hole?'

'Don't start with me, Seamus. I haven't sat down all day. I'm ran off my feet cleaning the kitchen, and making you your lunch and him his breakfast and your dinner. I'm wrecked and I-'

'Jesus! Sit down there, Cathleen,' interrupted Mark as he stood up and offered her his chair, making his way to the sink, 'I'll wash up. Pour yourself a cuppa tea.'

'Oh Mark, you're a dote,' she said, her tone changing completely, 'it's a pity our Jack wouldn't take a leaf out of your book! Honestly, I don't think he'd know a bitta housework if it slapped him across the face!'

'I'm still eating, mam!' he protested.

'Right. Go on, so...' she said with a sigh of defeat, 'c'mere to me anyway, I bumped into Patricia down in SuperValu the other day- Actually Mark, you may tell your mammy they've the lovely garden lanterns back in, I got myself a few. Oh, they're gahr-geous!'

'Will do. Sure she was none short of storming down head office last year when everything sold out in an hour.'

'And she does right. It's always the same with their gardening stuff! Sure they knooow it'll sell out, why don't they just order more? Anyway, where was I...'

'Patricia,' said Jack.

'Yes, sin é! I was talking to Trish down in SuperValu, and she was telling me that Joan and Tim were-'

'And who are these people?'

Cathleen glared impatiently and continued, '...that Joan and Tim were thinking of setting up a 'No' branch for Spiddal. To do our bit, ya know? There's talk of quite a high 'Yes' vote at the moment for this referendum, ya know? Speaking of the gays...you won't believe what I heard from the grapes-'

'Through the grapevine,' corrected Jack.

'Céard?'

'You heard through- Nevermind.'

'I heard from the grapevine anyway that Siobhán's young lad is wearing dresses and makeup now out over in London town.'

'Siobhán who?' asked his father.

'Siobh-án. You know Siobh-án. Her husband is a Minister of the Eucharist over in Carrickeeny. Tom, I think's his name is...Big bald man, with the rosacea cheeks-'

'Siobhán who?' repeated his father.

'What do you mean 'who'? Siobhán, Siobhán! You know'er! She works down in the post office. Big brute of a woman with the gammy leg. Went down on it and was on crutches for two years and piled on the pounds.'

'Big Sinéad Begley?' asked Jack - Begs' mam.

'Ah tsk tsk, ya knew who I meant. Anyway, Sinéad's eldest son moved over to London there three year ago, and now he's saying he's a woman, would ya believe it? Christ almighty, have you ever heard such tripe!'

'Well if he has legs like his mother, I sh-ertainly hope he's not wearing dresses!' said his father, and the two lads scoffed, although Cathleen ignored him and shook her head with annoyance. She was quite the large woman in fairness, as was her husband. It was a miracle Begs hadn't inherited those jeans, but he was mad into the football so he managed to keep off the weight.

'Jesus, that's mad. I remember him back in school. So he's a trans-sexual now is it?' asked Mark.

'Níl a fhios 'am what that makes him. A gay or a transexual...but frankly, I'm not interested in hearing about it. Oh, the shame.'

'It must be a bit weird for Begs alright,' admitted Mark, 'your brother becoming your sister.'

'Ye two should be careful about who ye associate with. The world's changing, and not all of it is for the best.' Jack scraped the last of the fried egg into his mouth and joined Mark at the sink, rolling his eyes as his mother went off on one. ' I mean, the poor woman. Could you imagine?'