Paddy's Will

Shortlisted for the 2011 Hennessy Literary Awards

Paddy wasn’t an easy man to like.

     ‘I’m not an easy man to like,’ he said ‘I was told I can be very abrasive.’

     Talking was difficult for him. The tubes in his nose had made his throat so dry his voice was no more than a whisper.

     ‘A brave man told you that Paddy,’ I said and he smiled at me.

     At the end, when he was physically at his weakest, he never changed, never softened his words.

     ‘You’ve been a good friend to me Gerard.’ He called me Gerard when he wanted to tell me something important, ‘but you can be an awful gobshite sometimes.’

     I was sitting in my usual seat at his bedside and he’d called me Gerard at least once every day for the previous three weeks.   

     ‘Did you hear me?’ he asked.

     ‘No.’ I lied.

     ‘I said you can be...’

     ‘Yea, I heard ya.’

     The cancer in his belly had sucked out every ounce of flesh from under his skin. The stocky man that he used to be was long gone. Only his eyes and the way he looked at you were the same. And his voice, weaker but still the same.

     ‘Brush my hair before Mary gets here.’ And his hair, that was the same too.

     Mary was Paddy’s wife and he adored her, not that he’d admit it. None of us thought he’d ever settle down, but late one Thursday night about six years ago she got into the back of his taxi. He got chatting to her, she chatted back to him and that was that. No kids though. I knew he would have liked kids and she definitely wanted them.

     ‘I reckon I’m firing blanks,’ he’d said to me one night after a few pints, ‘I mean the amount of girls I’ve ridden over the years, I should have a dozen kids by now.’

      I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

     When Debbie left me it was Paddy that got me through. I never saw it coming, was so shocked that she was gone I could hardly find the strength to get out of bed. When I did show up for work I was worse than useless and they let me go. I’d no money for rent so the landlord gave me notice. It was Paddy that got me going again. He’d ring me in the morning to wake me.

     ‘What are you up to today?’ he’d ask and I’d make up some story so he’d leave me alone.

     ‘I’ve to go down to Spar,’ I’d say, ‘to get some milk and bread.’

     He’d ring again later to make sure I went. When I started to get my head back together he gave me a few shifts driving his taxi and when I told him I wanted Debbie back and for everything to be like it was before, he turned to me and waited until I was looking him straight in the eye.

     ‘That would be great,’ he’d said, ‘I know you idolised that girl and you’d make all sorts of allowances for her, and maybe she will come back, and if she does and you manage to sort everything out between you, just remember,’ he stopped until he was sure that I was looking directly at him, ‘just remember, she’s a cheatin’ bitch and she’ll always be a cheatin’ bitch.’

     I was staring at him like a zombie trying to take in what he’d said when he slapped me in the face, not hard but hard enough to wake me up and I stayed awake. Debbie never came back and I stopped waiting for her.

     Paddy lent money to people who needed it. Nothing was ever written down.

     ‘Keep everything simple,’ he’d said.

     If you needed to borrow five hundred euro he’d lend you the five hundred and you paid back six, plain and simple. He only loaned money to people he knew and he never offered, they had to ask. Occasionally, if a payment was very late he would call me.

     ‘I just have to collect a few bob,’ he’d say, ‘I’ll need you to mind the car when I get out.’

      He liked to bring me with him. I have a tough looking face, not rough looking but tough and I can handle myself if it comes to it. One time we pulled up outside a house on a fairly rough looking road. A man, about thirty, was mowing the grass with an electric mower. He was a big lad, heavy, not fat though, looked like he worked out a bit. Paddy got out of the car, I sat in the passenger seat, watching. Paddy had his back to me so I couldn’t hear what was said but your man was obviously pleading poverty, pulling his pockets out of his trousers. All of a sudden Paddy leaned down to the mower, pulled the cable out of it and hands it to your man. Then he picked up the mower and carried it to the boot of the car.

     I opened the door thinking I’d help him but Paddy calls to me real loud, ‘That’s ok Ger, he won’t cause any trouble, he knows which side his bread is buttered.’

     I looked at your man standing there holding the cable in his hand. He looked back at me and then looked down at the ground where his mower used to be.

On the day of Paddy’s funeral I hesitated before stepping up when the hearse arrived at the church.

     ‘I want you to carry my coffin,’ he’d said. ‘My brothers will carry me too, but I want you at the front.’

     Terence, Paddy’s eldest brother nodded to me, then he nodded towards the front of the coffin.

     ‘Paddy said,’ he said.

     He wasn’t heavy to lift but I can still feel the edge of his coffin on my shoulder.

About two months later I was standing on the back step of Paddy’s house looking out at his wooden shed. The path leading up to it was cracked and covered with weeds and grass.

      ‘Gerard, I need you to clear out the shed for me,’ he’d said as he handed me a padlock key, ‘I don’t want anyone else to do it, only you’.

     The kitchen door behind me was open and I could feel the warmth of the house on my back.

     ’Do you want a cup of tea before you start?’ It was Paddy’s wife Mary. His widow now. She was standing at the kitchen window, her arms folded across her chest, looking out at the shed.

     ‘No, maybe in a bit. I think I’d better make a start.’

      I looked at the key in my hand, feeling it’s smoothness with my fingers then walked down the path. The padlock was well oiled and the door swung open easily. The shed was stacked with junk.

     ‘When you open the door you’ll think the shed is full of junk,’ Paddy had said, ‘but there’s some good stuff in there so take your time sorting it.’

     Half-empty paint tins, rusting garden tools, three rakes, one missing some of its teeth, a coil of perished garden hose, two bicycle frames, three bicycle wheels without tyres. I lifted each item out and placed it on the grass then stood up to straighten my back. When I looked into the shed it seemed to be just as full as before I’d started.

      ‘And don’t just stand there looking at it,’ he’d said, ‘get stuck in, it won’t be that bad.’

     I started again. Two old paint tins filled with assorted screws and bent nails, an electric lawnmower that looked new but had no cable, a dozen planks of rough wood. The first plank I lifted stabbed me in the hand with its splintered edge.

     ‘Mind you don’t get splinters,’ he’d said, ‘some of the timber is very rough.’

     I pulled a long splinter out of my palm, squeezed a bead of blood then sucked it.

     ‘How’re ya gettin’ on?’ It was Mary. I hadn’t heard her walking up behind me in her slippers.

     ‘Grand, yeah. No bother.’

     ‘It’s just rubbish, isn’t it?’ She was looking at the stuff lying on the grass.

     ‘Yeah, so far anyway.’

     She saw the blood on my hand and took my hand in hers. Her hands felt warm and soft as she rubbed the splinter mark with her thumb. 

     ‘Mind Mary for me,’ he’d said. ‘She always fancied you anyway.’

     I put my hand behind her neck and pulled her towards me so her forehead pressed against my lips. She slipped her arms around me. When I looked at her face she was crying.

     ‘Make us a cup of tea, would ya?’ I said.

     She smiled at me then and wiped her eyes.

     Watching her go back into the house I knew I loved her and I wondered if she could ever love me. 

     All that was left in the shed was an old kitchen table and some bread boards from a baker’s van leaning against the back wall. I grabbed three of the boards but as I lifted them another two fell away from the wall to reveal a blue zip up sports bag.

     ‘You might find an old sports bag’ he’d said, ‘that’ll be important Gerard.’

     The bag felt heavy in my hand as I lifted it onto the table. It looked like one of those bags for carrying a bowling ball but Paddy never bowled. I thought maybe I should call Mary and let her open it with me. Then I thought maybe she wouldn’t like what she saw so I’d better take a look first. I pulled the zipper. After an inch it jammed so I closed it again then pulled it back, harder this time. The zipper snagged in the same place but kept moving and opened about six inches. I pushed the sides apart and peered in.

     ‘Don’t be afraid of it,’ he’d said, ‘it’s not a dead body or anything.’

     I closed the zip again, my hands were shaking. I stepped out of the shed to go and get Mary and stopped. I didn’t think I should leave the bag where it was, but I wasn’t sure I should bring it into the house. I stood frozen unable to go forward or back.

     ‘What’s wrong, what is it?’ Mary had seen me from the window and come out onto the step.

     ‘What? I’m not sure. I’ll bring it in.’

     I went back into the shed, picked up the bag and holding it in my arms like a baby I carried it into the house passing Mary on the step. I brought it into the living room and sat on the couch. Mary followed me in and sat beside me. I could feel the heat of her leg pressed against mine. I put the bag on the floor in front of us and pulled back the zipper, it gaped open. The two of us sat there with our hands on our knees staring down into the bag.

     ‘How much do you think there is?’ Mary whispered.

     ‘I don’t know, but there must be thousands.’ The bag was packed with money. Some of it bundled into wads with paper tape around them, some sticking out of envelopes, more of it loose. Tens, twenties, fifties.

     ‘I’ve never seen so much money,’ said Mary. She was still whispering, ‘Where did it come from? He wouldn’t have robbed it, not Paddy.’

     ‘Everything I do is legit.,’ he’d said to me, ‘well, not according to the taxman, but you know what I mean.’

     ‘No – nothing like that,’ I whispered.

     She slipped her hand on top of mine wrapping her fingers around my palm squeezing it. Her hand felt small in mine as I squeezed her back.

Almost two years later Mary had twin girls. She idolises them, we both do. Once a month, on a day when the weather suits we wrap them up warm, put them in their big double-buggy and walk them up to the graveyard to tidy Paddy’s grave.

     ‘Don’t forget to come and visit me,’ he’d said, ‘and keep the grave tidy, nothing fancy, just tidy.’

     I drive the taxi now. Mary owns it and I drive it, mostly night shifts so we have the days to ourselves. Nothing feels better than to come home on a cold night, slipping into the bed beside her and the way she wraps herself around me to warm me up.

     ‘Don’t come home smelling of chips,’ he’d said, ‘she hates that.’

Published in The Irish Independent - July 2011.