Old Friends: The Lost Tales of Fionn Mac Cumhaill Read online

  Connie called an ambulance.

  Arthur said, ‘I’m fine. I’m not sick.’

  ‘Just in case,’ said Connie.

  ‘Should I call the guards?’ said Brian.

  Arthur had had some water and Lucozade. Connie wasn’t letting him drink as much as he wanted. Just a little at a time. And then some chocolate. And cookies. He got a little bit sick but then ate more.

  By the time the ambulance men came, Arthur was standing again and feeling OK. They took his temperature and his pulse and said he was grand.

  His mother kept holding his hand. He found it all quite hard to take on board, because as far as he was aware, he had seen her only a few hours before.

  Not long after, the Garda inspector from Macroom came into the kitchen where he and Connie and Brian and his mother were sitting around the Aga with other neighbours who had gathered in to share in the good news. She was accompanied by the guard that Arthur remembered from the fire-extinguisher incident – the one who said he was Connie’s friend.

  By now, his mother was feeding Arthur stew and tea and ice-cream and chocolate – anything he asked for. And Pumpkin, who seemed to have grown much sleeker, was licking his legs.

  ‘God save all here,’ said the inspector.

  Arthur was bracing himself for a bollocking.

  ‘Will yis have a mug of tea?’ asked Connie.

  ‘Seeing as it was Her Ladyship here who took you off the last time, Connie, and me who had to interview Arthur at school, I’d be afraid of what the two of you might put in it,’ laughed the guard.

  ‘We McLeans don’t hold grudges,’ said Connie, adding a drop of Powers whiskey into each cup before he applied the tea.

  ‘And so, now, tell me, where were you all this time, young man?’ asked the inspector, getting serious and turning to Arthur.

  ‘I was down in the rath. I fell asleep or something.’

  ‘You can’t have been – my lads looked in there twice and they were sure there was no one there.’

  ‘It’s the truth, though,’ said Arthur.

  ‘We even had sniffer dogs,’ she continued. ‘They came on nothing more down there other than a peculiar den, maybe a very small fox den, but with no smell or sign of a fox anywhere around.’ She laughed. ‘Come to think of it, one of the dogs came out yelping after sticking his nose in the den, whatever was in it. Maybe a mink or something. But you’re not going to tell me you were hiding down there, now, are you?’

  That was an odd question, Arthur thought.

  ‘No, Guard.’

  ‘It wouldn’t fit a lad a quarter your size. You must have been away with someone. Who took you away?’ she insisted. ‘You don’t have anything to fear from them. We will deal with them.’

  Arthur didn’t answer.

  ‘Hmmm? You’re probably still in shock. Maybe I’ll ask Guard Curtain here to call out to you another day and you can tell him a bit more. Would that be OK, Helen?’ said the inspector to Arthur’s mother, finishing her tea and whiskey.

  ‘The main thing,’ intervened the younger guard, ‘is that although you put the heart sideways in all of us, you are alive. And that has given every man and woman out there a great lift today.’

  ‘Well, that’s true enough,’ said the inspector. ‘And I suppose, what harm? You’re back and you’re not going to give us all any more frights like that, now, are you?’ She was looking very sternly at Arthur.

  ‘No, Guard.’

  ‘And you should be very thankful to Guard Curtain here, by the way,’ she said as she was leaving. ‘He was the one that persuaded me to look for Connie’s release so he could help find you.’

  Guard Curtain winked at Arthur as he left.

  ‘You’re some cur,’ said Connie with a note of praise, when things calmed down and the gardaí had all left. ‘I’ll give you that. You do know that the good inspector thinks it was all a ruse to get me out on early parole?’

  The next day, when he was alone with her, Arthur vowed to his mother as he had already done to himself never to do anything that might cause her such grief again. When he had seen her ashen face, it was like getting a glimpse from the grave of how his death would have destroyed her. He loved her and didn’t want even to think about it again.

  With Connie back, things got better on the farm. Connie was the same as before, as if nothing had happened. Arthur, too, was nearly the same as before, as if nothing had happened.

  Connie was teaching Arthur the drums, and had bought him an electric guitar. The two of them made a lot of noise in the milk-tank shed after the evening milking.

  School was a mixed bag. Arthur still didn’t see why he couldn’t be at home minding the three extra calves Connie had given him as a reward for springing him from jail. And he was still being ignored by Sullivan and falling completely off the scales on most other subjects too. He didn’t hate going to school so much, though. Other teachers were OK. He was doing well in Irish with Mrs Moriarty. Mr Kirwan had heard about the door incident and wanted him to try out alongside final-year lads for the first hurling team. And on his first day back, after the others were done asking him where he’d been and if he was alright, Ciara came over to him and touched his hand, kind of accidentally, for a few minutes as she sat next to him on the wall. That had felt very nice. She and he talked nearly every day now.

  But then the social worker came back. Connie opened the door. He didn’t know that Arthur was sitting on the sofa under the stairs and could hear everything

  ‘I want to talk to Arthur McLean. You must be the uncle. May I come in? The name is Malley.’

  He didn’t sound nearly as officious as when he’d been talking to Arthur’s shy, nervous mam. Arthur disliked him even more this time.

  ‘Afraid not, friend; we don’t need what you’re selling.’

  Arthur was very relieved to hear those words. He wasn’t ready for more questions about his home and his mother. But he was hoping Connie was not going to get in trouble with Malley for stopping him coming in.

  ‘Look,’ said Malley, still in an apologetic tone, ‘I’m sure you mean no harm, but you should understand that you are not going to help the boy’s case by obstructing me in my work.’

  ‘Arthur is fine. He is happy as a pig in shite when he’s at home. If you want some real work, why don’t you go and investigate old Magill. He’s been tormenting the children of this area for two generations.’

  Malley was sounding shaky now. ‘You may as well know, we get regular reports from his principal and from concerned neighbours. And we know that he ran away from home for a week. We are not in the business of ignoring a cry for help. The boy’s chances of being left in this setting are already highly unfavourable.’

  Arthur curled up on the sofa. He had never even thought of that.

  Connie just laughed and then started talking in a fast, quiet tone that Arthur hadn’t heard before.

  ‘First, your reports from neighbours are from one neighbour only. Am I right? Do yourself a favour and go ask any other neighbour. Second, Arthur didn’t run away. You have no basis for saying that. Third, I need you to go back to your office and write a report that says Arthur McLean has the best, most loving, most hard-working mother who ever stood on hind legs. Because that is the simple truth. And then you close the file on Arthur and move on to someone who does need your help. Fourth, and it’s really most important you understand this, nobody is going to take Arthur McLean away from his family.’

  ‘I hardly think it suitable that a man in your position should be telling me how to do my job. And I don’t like what sounds like veiled threats. What if I were to have a word with your parole officer?’ Malley’s voice was squeaky now.

  Connie laughed again.

  ‘So you don’t like to hear threats, only to make them. Well, don’t view this as a threat. It is merely a sincere and entirely factual description of the situation you have walked into. I failed my beloved brother’s son once. Every day I was away pained me as much as the day Seán
died. It won’t happen ever again. Have you ever seen the Nine Stones on Mount Leinster, Joe Malley? No? Well there is a circle of old friends surrounding Arthur now, each as hard as those granite rocks. If you open your eyes you might see them looking back at you. You need to watch the hedge when you are out walking or look in the eyes of the guard who stops you on the road home or maybe take better note of who works at the cubicle near you in your office. Or listen more carefully to the little foreign doctor who is working in the A & E the next time your wife goes in with bruises.’

  ‘That’s not only insane, but scurrilous.’ But Joe Malley now sounded like a scared kid.

  Connie continued as if Malley hadn’t spoken.

  ‘I’m only trying to tell you something that you need to know. You have no business here. Anyone who tries to come between Arthur McLean and his family will rue the day. This is not a threat. It is a plain statement of fact, the kind that it is better to know in advance than to find out afterwards.’

  ‘I’m going now.’

  Connie changed tone as if he were talking to a neighbour.

  ‘How do you find the new Passat on the juice, Joe?’

  ‘Jesus!’ said Joe Malley as he shut the car door.

  Arthur heard the car turning on the pebbles and starting to head off. Then the car stopped and Malley was back. Connie hadn’t moved from the doorway.

  ‘What’s that in the laneway?’

  ‘I see nothing,’ said Connie.

  ‘There’s a huge, orange truck roaring up the lane towards me with a crazed midget looking out the window, swearing at me and giving me the finger.’

  ‘I can’t see any orange truck.’

  ‘It was there a minute ago,’ said Malley, sounding desperate. ‘Where is it gone? Jesus Christ. It was straight in front of me. What’s going on?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that at all,’ said Connie calmly. ‘When you go home, have a nice cup of tea. Then remember to write that report and close that file. And just forget about us. And do take better care of things in your own home from now on, won’t you, Joe?’

  Malley went. His car never left first gear as he crept down the lane.

  Connie came back inside, humming away to himself as if nothing had happened. He still didn’t seem to notice Arthur on the couch. He had a quick chat with the dogs, then picked up his jacket and headed off out for the evening.

  The next day, Arthur’s mother said to them, ‘Look, will ye both be on your best behaviour because there is going to be a fellow, that social worker guy, calling in on us. In fact I thought he was supposed to come yesterday.’

  Arthur kept looking at his breakfast cereal. Connie kept studying the Racing Post.

  ‘Do you hear what I’m saying?’ she continued. ‘I just need you both to make a little effort so we can get this guy off our backs. OK?’

  ‘OK, Mam,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Yes,’ said Connie. ‘We’ll try our best. Won’t we, Art?’

  He winked across at Arthur.

  There were no follow-up visits from Malley.

  Magill hadn’t gone away, though. Arthur’s mam was still avoiding returning his texts. And Arthur didn’t even need to intercept his letters, as she was dumping them herself. Arthur couldn’t work out why she was avoiding him, because he knew she was worried about how he was doing in school.

  One morning it got a little crazy. Magill was waiting at the postbox which was conveniently near the speed limit sign where his mam normally dropped Arthur. Posting a letter at ten to eight in the morning!

  As Arthur got out, Magill came straight over and sat into the front seat.

  ‘I know you are a very busy young woman,’ he said, ‘but we do need to talk.’

  What could Arthur’s mother say at that point? Arthur got into the back so she wasn’t left alone with Magill. She pulled the car in off the road.

  ‘You know, we don’t have to carry on like this. I’m sure a…nice…young woman like you has better things to do than sitting getting an earful from me every other day.’

  Arthur could see his mother turning pale under the gaze of Magill.

  Suddenly he realised why his mother had been so freaked out by all the text messages. And why she had been trying so hard to avoid a meeting with his principal. He couldn’t absorb it. This leathery goat who was leering at his mother had a grandson in sixth year!

  ‘Not to say that I don’t enjoy meeting you,’ he laughed smarmily. ‘Quite the contrary. But I am certain there are…more pleasant things we could be talking about.’

  ‘OK,’ said Arthur’s mother, in a resigned tone.

  Magill continued: ‘What I mean is, you and I could work together to sort this problem out and make young Arthur here less of a worry for us.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘There are treatment programmes available these days.’

  Arthur felt a chill sweep over him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said his mother.

  ‘Well, there are other young lads taking medication and doing very well. You wouldn’t believe me, would you, if I told you that two of the quietest boys out there on the school grounds used to be hooligans too.’

  ‘Give Arthur drugs, you mean?’ said Arthur’s mother. ‘No, thank you. We’re against…I’m against that.’

  ‘Typical,’ muttered Magill, dropping his head in his hands and abandoning the smarm.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Of course, it’s always the ones most in need of a strong hand that think they know better than the professionals,’ fumed Magill, his manner returning to normal. ‘Well, young lady, let me tell you some home truths then. This smart alec here is making poor Miss Sullivan’s life impossible. She is only trying to do a day’s work – which I trust you can relate to. Do you work at all yourself, or are you depending on State handouts like so many of the single mothers we see coming in here these days?’

  His mother squirmed. She was no good at defending herself.

  Arthur could hear a familiar voice behind him speaking angrily: ‘Listen here, you fat little badger fart, that’s no way to talk to a widow woman, who works harder every single day than you’ll ever work in your life.’

  But nobody else heard it.

  The principal continued: ‘The other children are now giving her backchat too and one or two of them are swearing at her. Ciara O’Connor, one of the quietest girls from one of the slightly better families in this godforsaken backwater, ups and says to Myra Sullivan yesterday, “Miss, I think you are basically a mean person and I don’t care a damn what you say to me from here on.” Did you ever know the likes of that? The poor woman is only trying to give these children a better way of living than their parents.’

  ‘Has Arthur been rude to this teacher, Mr Magill?’ his mother asked meekly.

  ‘Well, not directly, but some of these other children have.’

  ‘So. I’m sorry to hear that, but I really don’t see how I can help.’

  ‘Miss Sullivan says that Arthur is putting them up to it and staying in the background himself, looking out the window. They all watch your boy now and take their lead from him.’

  ‘Specifically, what are you saying?’ his mother said.

  The principal became angry.

  ‘Specifically? Specifically, is it now? Aren’t we getting very grand? Do you not understand what I am saying, woman? I hope you are not taking his side. That is what has half the children ruined. Parents. “Oh, my little Johnny would never do anything wrong…” ’

  His face curled up like a nasty little bronloider’s, for all the world, when he said this.

  ‘I was just asking what you meant.’

  The principal shouted, ‘I’m saying that he is the ring-leader, the root cause, the wily fox … He is behind all the ructions. Now do you understand that?’

  ‘I really don’t like your shouting. I don’t think it’s right to be talking like that about any person, young or old,’ his mother said.

  ‘But what
would I expect? As if he wasn’t a gurrier already, coming from the inner city, and then to bring him into that house to be further tutored in blackguardism by a notorious jailbird the likes of Con McLean. Do you want him to end up like his uncle? Is that what you want? Con was just like this when he was here. Always quietly daydreaming, in a world of his own, you’d think, never wanting to spend a minute at his books, and up to a power of mischief at the back of it. You couldn’t beat sense into him and believe me, I gave it a good try.’

  Arthur spoke: ‘I’d rather end up like him than like you anyway. I don’t want to end up buried alive.’

  Mr Magill reddened with rage. ‘What more need I say? Your son and brats like him are the reason they never should have taken the stick out of the classroom.’

  ‘No more,’ said Arthur’s mother.

  Arthur saw that she bit her lip to hold back the tears.

  Finally satisfied that he’d struck home, humiliating her as was his daily amusement, Magill switched back to being Mr Smarm.

  ‘Well, my dear, as I’m trying to tell you, if you cooperate with me instead of trying to pull away from me, all sorts of good things could happen.’

  He opened the door and stepped out.

  ‘There we go. See you again. See you, Arthur, and do try to remember what we’ve discussed.’

  That night he heard his mam talking to Connie. She wasn’t telling him anything much about Magill, but she was saying, ‘I just don’t know what to do, Con. He’s so far behind. And that lousy cow Sullivan just gives him zeros. He’s not that bad.’

  She was sobbing a bit, Arthur thought, and he didn’t want to be hearing that sound ever again.

  ‘They say he’ll probably only get into the woodwork and technology stream next year.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with tech? It didn’t do me any harm.’

  His mam said nothing.

  Then Connie said quietly, ‘Listen, isn’t he happy enough, Helen? That’s the main thing. Don’t worry about anything else. Everything else will fall into place.’