Alex Barclay - I Confess

‘I hope he’s had a shower,’ said Johnny.

‘Ah, Johnny,’ said Clare.

‘It’s not like I’m going to say it to his face,’ said Johnny.

‘Sure, no wonder he smelled,’ said Laura. ‘The child was a mobile sweatshop. And he couldn’t have been more than six. Polishing the church when he should have been out kicking a ball.’

‘I’m sure I saw him with his arm in a sling at one stage,’ said Clare.

‘Still at it?’ said Murph.

Clare nodded.

‘Imagine my two polishing a church,’ said Laura. ‘They’d be up taking a shit in the font.’

‘Laura!’ said Clare.

‘Don’t pretend you’re shocked,’ said Laura.

The doorbell rang. Murph’s eyes widened, then he mouthed, ‘Is that him? I hope he didn’t hear.’ He mimed a shower over his head.

Everyone laughed. Johnny walked over and opened the door. A blast of wind and rain swept in with Patrick. He had his head bowed against it, the hood of his black jacket up. He pushed it back and smiled at everyone.

‘Welcome!’ said Johnny, shaking his hand. ‘Let me take your jacket.’

‘Thank you,’ said Patrick.

Clare flashed a glance at Edie, her eyebrows raised. Laura was less subtle. Edie tried not to laugh. Patrick was six foot two, broad-shouldered and muscular. He was wearing a tight black long-sleeved sweater with three black buttons at the neck, and black trousers. He was fresh-faced, his teeth were perfect, his brown hair cut with a neat side-parting.

Even Murph and Johnny were staring at him.

‘Father Lynch,’ said Murph, extending his hand.

Laura rolled her eyes.

‘Mr Murphy – you haven’t changed a bit,’ said Patrick.

‘I wish I could say the same to you,’ said Murph. ‘You’re showing myself and Johnny up. The ladies can’t know this is possible at our age.’

Edie glanced at Johnny.

Patrick hugged everyone. ‘You smell divine!’ said Clare.

Laura stifled a laugh. Edie’s eyes widened.

‘Right,’ said Johnny. ‘To the bar.’

Murph and Patrick strode after him.

Clare turned to Edie.

‘I did not say that on purpose,’ she said.

‘I know you didn’t,’ said Edie. ‘Your face!’

Laura looked at Helen. ‘You dirty bitch. That’s why you invited him.’

‘Obviously,’ said Helen.

‘What’s his scoop?’ said Clare. ‘Is he married?’

‘We need a bit more time to start getting that info out of him,’ said Laura.

‘He looks single,’ said Clare.

‘“Looks single”,’ said Laura.

‘He doesn’t look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders … that marriage brings,’ said Clare.

The others laughed.

‘What’s he up to, these days?’ said Laura.

‘He’s in hedge funds,’ said Clare.

‘What does that mean?’ said Laura.

‘That he’s rich enough to wear a jumper and hiking boots to a five-star establishment,’ said Helen.

Edie laughed. ‘As if I’d care.’

Clare raised her eyebrows. ‘I saw you giving a frowny look at his jumper.’

‘What?’ said Edie. ‘No, I did not.’

‘So, you’re telling me Patrick Lynch is rolling in it,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Clare.

‘From nothing,’ said Laura. ‘Fair play to him.’

‘Murph made a huge effort,’ said Clare.

‘The navy jacket and shirt,’ said Edie. She nodded her approval.

‘Never thought I’d see the day – Murph in velvet,’ said Laura.

‘It suits him,’ said Helen.

‘God, when I think of him, the poor divil,’ said Clare, ‘going from one house to the next for his dinner, making everyone laugh, and how sad he’d look, heading off. And the worst part of it was it wasn’t like he was going home to some savage who was going to beat him.’

‘Heartbreaking,’ said Edie. ‘And Mum would never let him stay for dinner. It was so awkward. And she would have known what was going on.’

‘That time he was in our house and the packet of ham fell out from under his jumper,’ said Laura. ‘And Mam would have been happy to give it to him.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Helen. ‘I can just picture his little face.’

‘And remember,’ said Laura, ‘the time he—’

‘Let’s remember,’ said Helen, ‘that we all had that little face once.’

‘And,’ said Clare, ‘is there not some unspoken agreement that we forget each other’s childhood shame?’

Murph stood outside his mother’s bedroom. He hadn’t seen her for two days. He put his ear to the door. He could hear a man’s voice, but it wasn’t his father, because his father was at work. He could hear the voice coming closer to the door, so he bounced away, and took a few steps back down the hallway. When he heard the door open, he pretended he was walking towards it. Dr Weston appeared with his big leather bag, closing the door gently behind him.

‘Hello, Liam,’ he said. He gave a nod.

‘Can I go in to see Mammy?’ said Murph.

‘Not today,’ he said. ‘She needs to rest.’

Murph frowned. ‘She’s resting the whole time.’

Dr Weston started to walk down the stairs.

Murph came after him. ‘Can I not just go in for a little minute?’

Dr Weston gripped the banister. Murph froze. ‘What’s so important that it can’t wait ’til tomorrow?’

‘You said tomorrow the last time,’ said Murph.

‘Well, I’m saying it again, now.’ He gave a nod, and then he looked up at him. ‘Sure, you’re a big lad, now. Aren’t you able to look after yourself, and not be bothering your mammy?’

Murph’s face flushed. Dr Weston’s three sons were all big lads, rough and tough. Murph knew they were older than he was, but when they were his age they were the same. Johnny, the one who played rugby, was fourteen but he was a bit of a bully, and Murph wasn’t sure being tough was all it was cracked up to be.

Murph stayed where he was on the stairs until Dr Weston left. Then he turned and ran up to his mother’s room. He put his ear to the door again. There was no sound. He let out a sigh, then ran downstairs, and out into the front garden.

Jerry Murphy drove up to the house, and parked the van in the drive. He jumped out, and reached Murph in four strides, sweeping him off the ground, and throwing him up on his shoulders.

‘I’m too big, Daddy!’ said Murph.

Jerry held on to his son’s little calves, and walked him around the side of the house. ‘Do I look like a man who can’t carry a smallie like you on his back? Sure, amn’t I doing it right now?’ He slid his hands down to Murph’s ankles, and lifted them, tilting him back, making him grab for the back of his shirt collar to pull himself up. ‘Daddy!’ he said, tapping him on the head.

Jerry laughed. When they got around the back, he swung Murph down on to the ground beside a small pile of red timber slats. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you and me are going to make a little house.’

‘What kind of a house?’ said Murph.

‘Ah, for one of your little cousins for her dolls. Now – grab me that hammer over there.’

He knelt down, and Murph stood smiling at the top of his head; his father was always helping people, and Murph loved helping him do it. And he loved hearing the things people always said about his father: ‘That’s a man you can rely on,’ ‘That’s a man who’d never let you down,’ ‘You could call Jerry Murphy any time, day or night,’ ‘Jerry Murphy’d give you the shirt off his back.’

When the little house was built, Murph stood back and put his hands on his hips.

‘I don’t know, Daddy, if she’s going to be mad about it.’

‘What?’ said Jerry. ‘What do you mean? After all our hard work.’