The following is the fantasy world musings of the writer. Any similarities to any person dead or alive are coincidental.
All characters engaging in sexual activity are 18+
(Apologies to anyone who was enjoying my previous series, 'Me And My Shadow'. After the trolling, the reporting to moderators and countless attempts to get it re-submitted, I lost interest in it and deleted the whole thing)
I hope you enjoy my latest. A lengthy story, this first part being mostly background build up.
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December 9th, 1990
Having rang two of my three sisters already, Theresa, second eldest of my 3 siblings, was proving the hardest to track down. It was only 8am and her phone was ringing out, the message I left had eaten the last pennies I had as I used the payphone down the road from my parents house, to try yet again.
I really didn't want any of them to find out second hand that at the ripe old age of 84, Dad was dead.
As often happens in Rural Ireland, my job was quite varied as I was both the proprietor of the local convenience store (commonly known to the locals as The Paper Shop) and Landlord of O'Leary's bar in the same village. I was just opening up the store at 7am when Larry, the teenage boy who delivered the newspapers, came racing back down the road into the village on his BMX bike to tell me, "Eamon! Eamon! Your Da's dead." There it was, three words I'd known were coming, but dreaded anyway, spat from the mouth of a child with a matter of pointed finality that only one so young, could deliver.
I immediately rang my sisters Aisling and Roisin (pronounced Ashleen / Rosheen) to break the news but Theresa continued to evade me before I had gone over to see my old Mother with Mark, the local undertaker. It may seem a bit morbid getting a lift in a hearse to my parents' house, but needs must as my just new car had broken down the day before and I had to collect it at lunch time. Mum was sad of course whilst remaining matter of fact about it. The man was 86 and had thickening of the lungs and was unable to walk to his own gate anymore.
Being a time when mobile/cell phones were not in popular circulation, I borrowed a few coins from Mark and tried Theresa again, and this time I got through. She lived in England with her husband, Barry. So I knew she would have travel arrangements to make, and rearrange their schedules for their jobs as solicitors.
My other sisters both still lived in Ireland. Aisling was the eldest, a hard working, wealthy woman married to Gerrard and about to retire to Spain at the grand old age of 52, having fulfilled her calling as a hotel manager in Dublin. Then there was Roisin, who I fondly remember living in the house with. She would've been the baby at 38, had Mum and Dad not gotten slightly drunk on my Mum's birthday a few years later, and 9 months later I arrived. 32 years later Dad had still called me, "The Surprise." Some surprise, a 6ft tall, bald 32 year old with a trimmed, dark brown beard with ginger streaks. I remember the first time Dad saw my shaved head with the beard, he informed me, "Ya look like you've put your head on upside down."
It had always been noticeable to Roisin and I that our childhoods had been very different to the elder pair. It was almost like they were making up for shortcomings with them, cold and quite distant, where as to this day, I'd say that my Dad had been my best friend.
Arrangements were made with Mark and the body was taken away. I always think that sounds so cold, "The Body," But in truth, seeing him lying in bed after he passed, there was nothing there of him. It was an empty casing that used to house Patrick (Paddy) John O'Leary.
My sisters started to arrive with their husbands, apart from Theresa who hated flying so much that she and Barry were driving, currently on a car ferry somewhere in the Irish Sea. I got on well with all of them which pleased me, considering the range of ages there were. Barry was a bit much at times, however. He didn't like the fact that I inherited the pub that I had worked in since being a dish washer at 14. It was a complete surprise when I inherited it from the original owner, at the grand age of 29. That and the fact I already had my self made convenience store, bought with a loan from Dad which made Barry conclude that Dad had given me preferential treatment as I was the only boy. That's how he seen it anyway, I paid my Dad back every cent of that loan for the store, as his estate would clarify.
Eventually, everyone arrived and the mood was terrible, as you would expect. No amount of comfort from her children and eldest grandchildren would fill the void left in Mum's life, though she already was adamant she wouldn't move out of the now dilapidated, glorified Fisherman's Cottage that was sure to be bulldozed as soon as they both left it. It sat at the edge of a housing development and was worth quite a bit and the money we would all inherit was great, but somehow that old building with the dodgy extensions that Dad and his mates built (don't even ask about the electrics), was worth more than money to most of us.
It was clear everybody couldn't stay in the house. I had made sleeping arrangements for everyone, with Aisling and Theresa staying in the local hotel with their families, and Roisin, her husband Sean and her eldest of two sons, happy to sleep above the pub. It always seemed to work out that way with the two older sisters sticking together while Roisin and I were always looking out for each other. I guess it's just the way things were, as I didn't really live in the house at the same time for very long with either of the more senior sisters. Heck, Aisling was married with a child when I was born. So Roisin was the one I shared a room with, got up to mischief with and generally grew up as the annoying little brother with. She would normally be my co-star in stories like this, but that was just never gonna happen, as highlighted that first night when I literally bumped into her late at night in her skimpy little strap top and knickers, and the hottest action we got up to was boiling the kettle for a little hot whisky.
The funeral passed a few days later, and as Irish funerals have it, I had a private gathering in the bar afterwards. Family, friends and neighbours crowded it out, all telling stories about the old man.
It was that night that Roisin and I found out the true story about the old pet goat running away with the travelling funfair, when it was revealed that in actual fact, Dad had been hammering it's tethering post into the ground when the head came off the sledgehammer, killing the poor animal stone dead. I was pissing myself laughing, but Roisin was genuinely distraught and was also now mourning the loss her pet goat, all over again. Mum was saying nothing about whether she may or may not have been involved in the lie, it was good to see her mischievous smile return, if only briefly.
The very next day, my siblings began to leave for home, leaving me to look after Mum in that bloody house. At least Theresa had been apologetic, looking embarrassed and saying how Barry had work and the kid had school. I had no alternative than to stay there with Mum, and as I tried to fill in the holes causing the drafts coming in through the window in my old bedroom, I was certain she had to leave it sooner rather than later.
I didn't have to wait long. Nine days after my father passed, on the 18 December, my mother could not be woken. I had a little joke with her, lying as if asleep in bed as I waited for Mark the undertaker, saying, "Mam, they'd have looked after him well enough. It's bloody heaven!"
Back the family came, and we waited on Theresa driving from her home in England again. She was quite adamant that she wanted to stay in the house, for nostalgia or momentary madness. As it turned out, all siblings agreed to join her on the night before the funeral, that is if she and Barry ever arrived. The rest of their families decided, quite sensibly, to stay in the hotel throughout.
By this time, snow was falling and already starting to form a thick covering on the roads, fields and stone walls. I had stayed to light the fire and keep the house as warm as possible for them both. However, when Theresa's white Mercedes coupe pulled in and stopped, she was alone.
"You look shattered," I said, instinctively hugging her then asked,"Where's Barry?"
"He has a big court case and needs to prepare. And he says Nieve, the youngest, can't miss school again and Kerry, the eldest, has a course for university," she replied with a tone that suggested Barry was not her most favourite person right now.
I tried to tell her that she really should stay in the pub or hotel, but she wanted to be there when the undertaker brought the body home, I suppose to be with Mum for as long as possible. This was a softer side to my sister that I hadn't really encountered before. She was 14 when I was born, so by the time she was leaving for university in England, I would have been about 4. While she was there, she met Barry and as they say, the rest is history for the high-flying legal dream team.
I made us tea and as I gazed out into the darkness, I realised I was going nowhere as it was impossible to even see through the thick, sheeting blizzard. So we talked, probably more than we have at any other time of our lives. She told me stories about the legal profession, I responded with some stories about my brokering drunken arguments in the bar, and we learned that our two professions were not as dissimilar as you might think.
Looking at her, I realised I had never really noticed her before. That sounds stupid, of course I have seen her too many times to mention. But seeing her in this new guise, all tired and alone, she looked different, more vulnerable. Where Aisling and I took after my Dad's side of the family in being tall and thin, she, along with Roisin, was definitely from my Mum's genes, being average height with curly, brown hair with fairly sizeable boobs and bums and then, those deep blue lagoon eyes. As I was "Noticing" her, she looked up from the trail of steam that was rising from her tea cup that she had been studying. Thankfully I had been studying her eyes at this point and not her boobs, that were encased in a white, turtle necked pullover.
"I've made the beds up in my old room," I proudly said, adding, "It's the least drafty....Other than their room."
"Thanks, you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, it's going to be different without Barry's snoring to break the eerie silence," she said in a voice that reeked of sadness.
"You'll not be alone, I'm fucking stuck here anyway for the night."
"Oh shit, yeah my car nearly left the road after coming in this far off the main line, sure you can have the single bed in here."
"Not at all, you have your privacy," I insisted, secretly wanting to stay in front of the fire after putting another log on, as she went outside to brave the outside toilet. I heard her come back in some minutes later, teeth chattering and looking like she had been to the North Pole.
"That bastard tap in the toilet has frozen," she cursed as she washed her hands in the sink. "Imagine in this day and age, you can make a phone call from your car, but Ma and Da don't have an inside loo," she continued as she lathered her hands in soap then rinsed.
