The Fields (8 page)

Donohues’ is already packed when I arrive. Saidhbh’s brother Eaghdheanaghdh (pronounced Ay-anna) comes to the door in a Billy Idol T-shirt and grunts at me. He says nothing about my outfit, because for all he knows I could wear the Vision in Grey look all week long. Instead, he grabs the bottle of fizz out of my hand and sends me straight inside, right into the thick of things.

The Donohues’ hallway is tiny and the door into the sitting room is wide open, so once you’re inside their front door you’re pretty much into the heart of the house itself.

Their sitting room is jammed with men and women standing, discussing, chatting and making jokes. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and tastes like booze. James Last and His Orchestra are banging away on the stereo. Taighdhg Donohue’s beard is trimmed and he’s wearing a new brown jumper. He has prime place in the centre of the room and is deep in discussion with some other beardy fella who’s scratching the side of his face with concentration.

Yes fuckin way, I’m taking this right up to the Dáil, the fella’s saying. They’re fuckin chancers, the lot of them!

Taighdhg is nodding, and scratching his own beard in return, while at the same time keeping one eye out around the room and
patting and shaking hands and making quick comments with various people who squash past him on their way to the kitchen for a refill.

Good man, Taighdhg! Right you are, Mick! Saw the Cats were on top today! Should fuckin hope so! How’s she cutting, Taighdhg? Up the middle like a plough, Dick!

Taighdhg’s wife Sinead is standing at the kitchen door, handing out drinks and wearing a big pink shimmery plungy dress that shows off her loose and leathery low-hanging boobs.

Go on, ya, get this down ya, warm ya up, hairs on your chest, cut a hole in it, murder it, go on, ya boyo ya, for the day that’s in it, more power to your elbow.

Mutton dressed up as lamb, is what Mam calls Sinead Donohue. She’s called her this ever since she arrived late for midnight Mass with newly dyed hair, thick make-up, ski-pants and a big bag of booze clanking around her ankles. Mam knows Sinead to see, and they might even pass an odd comment to each other out on the road, but they’re not friends. Sinead is a Dublin tour guide in her real life, which means that day in and day out she brings buckets of foreigners around Trinity College so that they can see the Book of Kells and hear how Ireland is the best country in the world, and how when everyone else in Europe was going mad with the plague and biting each other’s heads off, everyone in Ireland was like, Ah sorry, love, I can’t come to bed yet because I haven’t finished illustrating this here magical gospel manuscript. Or else she takes them to Kilmainham Gaol and shows them the very spot where the Brits had to tie poor ole rebel hero James Connolly to a chair and shoot him dead, because he was already wounded to bits from the glorious battles of Easter 1916, and because the Brits are savage fecking bastards. And if there are any Brit tourists in her group on that day she’ll make it all into a big joke thing and say, Present company excluded!

Being a tour guide means that Sinead is kind of a bit famous and full of herself. Which puts all the other mams’ noses out of joint no end.

Sinead is doling out cans of Harp and kissing everyone that comes into the party. She looks like she’s had a few Harps already, coz her eyes are blank and she’s smiling a lot at nothing much. Standing just in front of her, leaning below the massive pride of place painting of mountains and sheep, is Fr O’Culigeen, still dressed in his black priest’s outfit, not wearing his Simon Templar gloves, but with his hair even more slicked back than ever. O’Culigeen is sipping orange juice out of a small glass with his tiny tight mouth. He’s swaying back’n’forward from his waist up, using his hips as if they were a see-saw, and he’s talking to Kent Foster’s mam, Joy.

Well, I’ve read that he does all his own stunts, the chancer’s saying to her, all serious, and I’d believe it too. The fittest man in Hollywood, they call him!

The only other people I recognise in the crowd are Mozzo’s mam Janet, who knows Taighdhg from doing adult Irish classes at Coláiste Mhuire ni Bheatha, and Barry O’Driscoll, father to Liam O’Driscoll from the Villas. Liam’s in school with me and gets driven from home to class and back again, including lunch trips, every day of term. The world and his wife think that Barry smothers his son. You’d swear the lad was made of glass, they say. He won’t break! But the story from The Mothers’ coffee mornings goes that Barry O’Driscoll’s younger brother, Garrett, was drowned as a child and Barry never got over it, and is terrified that anything bad might happen to Liam.

Master Jim Finnegan! comes a roar out of Taighdhg, making everyone stop for a second. Come over to me here and let me shake your hand!

Some of the adults move aside and let me through. Taighdhg crunches my hand, grabs my shoulders, squeezes me a bit, says
that I’ll make a fine footballer and then tells me that Saidhbh and Mozzo are inside helping with the grub. I say, Thank you Mr Donohue, and edge my way over towards the kitchen door, where Sinead Donohue is still standing sentry, kissing everyone in sight while holding a bowl of KP peanuts in one hand and a can of Harp in the other. She sees me straightaway and lunges down to my height, sloppy kissing me roughly on the eye with her big wet lipstick mouth.

For God’s sake leave him alone, Mam, comes a voice from inside the kitchen. You’ll traumatise the poor fella!

I peek around Mrs Donohue’s shimmering body and see Saidhbh, leaning against the sink, dressed in a black mini and baggy white blouse with the top button done up, and a silver chain with a tiny Jesus cross on it hanging round her neck. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and her dark eyes are as gorgeous as ever.

Look at you, she says, nodding me up and down. A real spiv!

Inside I’m giddy and thrilled that the Vision in Grey look has done the trick.

So, I say, dead cool, what’s up?

Just waiting for the vol-au-vents, Saidhbh says, pointing to the oven and then to the massive mound of cocktail sausages sitting in the bowl in front of her, waiting to be delivered to the partygoers.

Cool, I answer.

Saidhbh looks over at her turned-away mam, carefully reaches behind the sausage bowl, pulls out a can of Harp and tilts it towards me saying, You want some?

Can’t, I whisper, it’s the breath! Dad’ll test me later!

Understanding, she nods, and offers me a glass of Crazy Prices lemonade instead.

I take a slug, go ahhhh, as usual, and then stare ahead of me, snatching tiny looks at Saidhbh.

She says nothing, but when I look at her I see that she’s smiling.

She breaks the silence with, Sausage? shunting the massive pile of sausages in my direction.

Thanks, I say and grab one of the pre-stabbed sausages by its cocktail stick and take a bite.

Lovely, I say, after a few chews.

They’re from Tom the Butchers, says Saidhbh.

You know he’s marrying Julie Kennedy?

I do, she says.

Funny, I say.

The back door opens and Mozzo, wearing a long black shirt, black combats and black Docs, walks in from the garage playing with his fly and making contented noises.

What a slash! he says out loud, loud enough for Mrs Donohue to hear. Hit the spot!

Oh, Moz, you’re a gas man, she says, as if the word ‘slash’ was the funniest thing in the world.

We aim to please, he says in her direction, before stopping in his tracks when he sees me holding a cocktail sausage and talking to Saidhbh. He acts like they do in Abbot and Costello when they see a ghost – he stays frozen, with his mouth wide open for around ten seconds. He then says, And who the hell have you come as?! and bursts out laughing at his own joke and runs over and punches me in the shoulder.

Glad you could make it, Finno, great hoolie, eh?

He doesn’t wait for a reply but reaches over to the crate of Harp behind Mrs Donohue and, plain as day, pulls himself a can and cracks it open, right so she can hear it. She turns around, gives him one of her ‘gas man’ looks and goes back to kissing the guests.

Mozzo’s swinging out of Saidhbh, his arm hooked heavily around her neck.

And how’s my own little dirtbird? he says, nuzzling into her and winking over at me while doing licky signs with his tongue.

Your dirtbird is talking to our guest, answers Saidhbh, stiff as a board, elbowing him off her shoulders.

Oh, I see, says Mozzo, standing to attention, and looking a bit annoyed at me. Well, did we tell ‘Our Guest’ that me and the lads did none other than catch one of them fuckin queer bikers last night? And did you tell ‘Our Guest’ how we gave him a good fuckin kicking for his money?

Saidhbh throws her eyes up to heaven and shakes her head at the same time.

You’re such a prick, Declan, she says and storms out of the kitchen.

In her flowers, he says turning to me, glugging back fully on his can.

How did you catch him? I ask.

Who?

The queer.

Surprise attack! says Mozzo, and he mock punches me in the balls, soft enough to be a mock punch, but hard enough to wind me.

Taighdhg and all his teacher friends from Coláiste Mhuire ni Bheatha are ganging up together and trying to get a quiz going, but Sinead is having none of it.

Quiz me arse! she says real tough like, and everyone except Fr O’Culigeen hoots with laughter at her being so rude. One of the younger teacher fellas gets down on his knees, pretends his can of Harp is a microphone and starts quizzing Sinead’s bum.

So, tell me, Mrs Donohue’s Arse, he says, what’s it like down there?

Everyone hoots again, coz this really is rude. O’Culigeen is morto, and turns back to Joy Foster and tries to talk to her about Burt Reynolds some more.

Taighdhg pretends he hasn’t heard the rude jokes, and goes over and starts jostling O’Culigeen, asking him to be quizmaster.

Come on, Father, he’s saying, you’re the only man for the job. And we can even call you Bunny if you like!

Taighdhg is referring to Bunny Carr, the presenter of top quiz show
Quicksilver
, who happens to have a wife with polio who’s stuck in a big iron lung like a criminal mastermind. Mam calls Bunny Carr a Great Man. Patience of a saint, she says, with a poor wife like that. Can have all the success in the world, and where does it get you? I know neither the hour nor the day!

Yeah, says Janet Morrissey, stop the Lights, Father!

Everyone hoots at this too, coz it’s the expression that people use on
Quicksilver
when they want to skip a go.

O’Culigeen licks the bits of spit from the slit corners of his mouth and says that in theory he’d like nothing better than to be quizmaster. He then hums and haws and tries to be polite, but he can see that Sinead has Eaghdheanaghdh’s guitar in her hands and is waving it in front of Barry O’Driscoll, who’s meant to be gift at it, so he says that he doesn’t want to upset the lady of the manor.

I’ll always defer to the ladies, he says, sounding like some fancy eejit from the telly. And he’s talking rubbish too, coz you can see that he’s dying to be quizmaster and have everyone think that he knows everything, and be all-important.

Listen to the Father! barks Sinead, before nudging Barry O’Driscoll, Now come on, Barry, let’s be having you! Play away!

Barry toys with the guitar, but doesn’t do much. He can see that Taighdhg is still gagging for a quiz, and that the whole thing is starting to become a big deal between him and Sinead. Taighdhg and Sinead can sense this, so they decide to show everyone that it’s a jokey big deal by flicking vol-au-vent lids at each
other in a friendly way while Taighdhg’s gang chant, Quiz, Quiz, Quiz at the top of their lungs. I sit on the couch, a vision in grey with my glass of lemonade, next to Eaghdheanaghdh, who’s so moody he’s practically dumb, and watch as everyone makes arguments for which is better, quizzes or sing-songs. Mozzo’s still knocking back Harp in the kitchen and Saidhbh hasn’t appeared since she called him a prick.

Because Taighdhg and his gang are teachers, they love having quizzes. They love knowing the answers to every single question in every single round, nodding to each other and patting each other and smiling to themselves when they remember the names of the two girls in Brotherhood of Man, or what Bagatelle means, or the capital of this place in Africa, or the year when some youngfella got himself tortured for Ireland. Mam says it’s because that’s their job, knowing things like that. It would be like Dad being told to stand up in public and tell everyone about office furniture and get a free bottle of whiskey for his troubles. He’d love it. And he’d charm them all, and probably sell a few honey maple bookcases into the bargain. On the other hand, Sinead Donohue, who’s mostly in tour-guide mode even when she’s not being a tour guide, wants everyone singing and clapping and banging and stamping all night long so we can all go home with scratchy voices and say what a brilliant old-fashioned hoolie they had at Donohue’s last night. Just like the old days back down the bog when Red Rocks Farrell and Clops Connelly would have you in tears with ‘Danny Boy’ at four in the morning.

In the end, thanks to the busy-body go-betweening of Fr O’Culigeen, a compromise is reached. Taighdhg and his lot are allowed to organise a rapid-fire round of quiz questions. While Barry O’Driscoll is told to tune the guitar and get ready for a right ole sing-song.

We’ll put ‘em to shame with their quizzes, says Sinead out loud to no one. And we’ll bate them stupid at that too!

Everyone thinks that having a quick quiz followed by a sing-song is a genius decision, and O’Culigeen stands there, grinning away, proud as punch, getting orange juice and compliments shovelled in his direction.

Like Solomon cutting the baby in half, says a little specky runt, gumming for a sniff.

I wouldn’t go that far, says O’Culigeen, but not really meaning it.

The whole party is split up into two teams, captained by Taighdhg and Sinead, and we shout out any answers we think are right while O’Culigeen, with the
Quicksilver Quiz Book
before him, tots up the scores on the spot. It’s tough going, with Taighdhg’s gang arguing over every little detail of every question asked, and Sinead’s team shouting out any sort of interference they can think of.