Maria looked back, but the three people were already out of sight. She gave me a quizzical look, "Was he really wearing eye shadow?"

Happy she was now engaged with me, I replied. "Yes, and he had red stuff rubbed on his cheeks. Why does he wear make-up like that?"

She shrugged, "He probably just likes women's things, some men do." Her answer flummoxed me. I wanted more explanation, a rationale for why a man would make up like a woman, why the two women with him, nor my sister seemed bothered by it, and more importantly, why it bothered me?

But there was no time for more questions, as we saw Town Granny climbing the stone steps of her small backyard. She was looking out for us, and by her stance, it was clear we were somewhat late. We upped our pace and ran to her.

A short, compact woman dressed in a white cotton blouse, buttoned tightly at the neck, a blue pinstriped pinny tied tightly around her ample middle.

She stood at her gate, straight and stern, "Dermot's finished his dinner; he's off down the town; what kept yous?" she asked.

Maria didn't hesitate, "Sorry Granny, it's my fault; I woke up with this thing in my eye and was worried about it," she said, pulling back her hair.

Granny took a cursory look, "You have a stye; Milly has the cure." She lifted the latch on the gate, "Come and get your dinner first before it dries up altogether."

......

Town Granny lived in a small house, part of a terrace built to house the returning soldiers who'd fought in the First World War.

Her husband, our granddad, was long dead. We knew nothing of him because he was never spoken of. Town Granddad was an enigma to us; he played no part in our life's narrative.

.......

Maria and I followed Granny down the steep concrete steps, through the back door, into a narrow kitchen, then straight into the small living room.

The sulphurous smell of over-cooked cabbage hit me, instantly ridding me of what little appetite I had.

......

Of course, Pope Paul IV and Jesus were there, each having their very own walls to hang from. They were joined in reverence by America's finest Catholics, JFK and RFK, who hung in proud profile from a third wall.

A table and four chairs formed the centrepiece of the small room. A recess to the right contained a coal-burning range, which pumped out a hazy heat, creating a stiflingly uncomfortable temperature on what was already a warm summers day.

I pulled at the collar of my t-shirt, "Can I open a window, Granny?" I asked, wanting respite from the smell and heat.

"No, the room will fill with flies." She pulled out two chairs, "Come on now, sit yourselves down."

Soon, a new dilemma was put in front of me: Town Granny's dinner.

I winced at the plate, on which lay a shrivelled chop with its culinary companions: three dried potatoes and a mound of odorous old cabbage. Beads of sweat pricked my forehead as I wondered, 'How will I get through this?' Granny proceeded to add insult to her injury by brandishing a jug, peeling back a thick brown skin and depositing a glutinous gloop of gravy from it.

When it splatted on the plate, I couldn't hide my repulsion, "NO! I don't like gravy, granny – I only like it when it's part of a stew," I implored, instantly regretting my outburst.

She ignored my plea and plonked another plop on my plate, "Don't be acting the maggot; there's starving childer would be glad of that feed," she said, sailing her gravy boat over to Maria.

While she saw to Maria, I scraped gravy from my chop and began plotting my way out of this dinner. Maria's good eye met mine as granny glooped her plate. In her glance, I knew she saw what I was thinking.

But she followed her glance with a swift smirk, and that simple gesture reminded me my sister was not herself. Maria always supported me with my foodie fussiness – that sly smirk came from the fierce tall- man, I knew it.

Maria began to eat her food with a casual relish. I looked at mine 107

and knew I had to get this grub gone before my sister's cure could begin.

Granny's eagle eye was trained on me, determined to watch me consume every morsel of her meal. I began cutting into the chop while silently praying for divine intervention.

And to my relief, it came – a rap at the door diverted Granny. I wasted no time cutting and scraping half the chop into my lap. Granny moved to the door. Before turning the knob, she scrutinised my plate. On seeing the diminished chop, she smiled, "Good lad, eat that up now, you need it, there's not a pick on you," she said, opening the door and disappearing into her small hallway.

Maria usually picked at her food, but I noticed her eating with an intense relish, further evidence of the fierce tall-man's possession of her.

Still, I used her distraction to my advantage and managed to get both parts of the chop into my pockets. Two potatoes sank nicely into the mug of milk, but the cabbage was a problem.

There really was only one solution, and that was my tried and tested: side-of-the-plate-illusion.

I deftly mashed the remaining spud and moved it to the side of my plate, stuffed the cabbage into it and created a narrow moat that ran halfway around the rim, giving the illusion of a mostly empty plate.

Happy with my work, I relaxed in the knowledge the mostly clean plate should appease Town Granny.

On hearing her talking animatedly at the doorstep, I seized the moment – grabbed my milky-spuddy mug, raced to the toilet by the

kitchen and flushed it away. I returned to the table just as Maria finished her plate.

She lifted her head, looked at my plate, "You've done alright there, Gerard."

I nodded at her plate, "So have you. You told me you don't like Town Granny's dinners; how come you've woofed it all?"

She stared at her plate, "I don't usually, but I was dead hungry – I don't know what's got into me."

My body bristled at Maria's admission that something had got into her. But when the door opened, an electric current shot through me, lifting me to my feet, forcing me to exclaim – "It's you!"

Granny, perturbed by my rude greeting of her guest, shot back, "It's who?"

The woman: short, round, and rotund, answered for her, "It's me, Milly. Who did you think I was, Raquel Welch?" she asked, a guttural laugh made her ample bosoms wobble, which in turn rattled the row of holy medals pinned to her pinny at the right breast.

Slumping to the chair, I was angry with myself for my impetuosity. I stumbled over my words, "Erm – no one – erm – hello Milly."

In truth, I was stunned to see she was one of the three Guardians of the Congregation who prayed the Rosary outside of St Patrick and St Felim's Cathedral.

Her appearance lifted me; I felt the forces for good were on our side. But I had to keep quiet; Town Granny already saw me as odd, so I

suppressed my relief at seeing Milly and affected nonchalance.

Granny gave me a raised eye, but a glance at my plate cheered her, "You ate a good dinner; will you take a mineral?" she asked, taking my plate and empty mug.

I didn't know what a 'mineral' was, so I answered, "No thanks," rather than risk any more culinary chaos.

Milly smiled at me, "Isn't he bonny for a boy."

I hated being called bonny, and not wanting her focus on me, I diverted her accordingly, "Maria's got a stye in her eye, can you cure it, please?"

"And he has manners, too; you're a pet," she said, placing her hand on Maria's shoulder.

Maria slowly rose, standing with her back to Milly, who turned her around at the shoulders until she faced her. "Push back your hair," she instructed. Maria complied while Milly rose on her toes to look at the eye. I watched as she studied the stye with her studious eye.

Eventually, she returned to the flat of her feet, "Tis a familiar sight alright, my Saints will put this right." She grabbed Maria's head and thrust it into her bosom with force. Maria yelped, then mumbled something illegible as Milly's breasts muffled her.

I moved in closer, fascinated by Milly's ritual, and determined to decipher what Maria mumbled.

But all I heard was gibberish, as though Maria was speaking in a different language.

I moved away, frightened of this foreign tongue emanating from my beloved sister – I watched Milly do God's good work.