sea2

You love going shopping with your Dad. The bus into town is a chance for him to show you buildings hes worked on or tell you stories about places you pass. Every pub has a story.
Thats where Ball oMucks wife came in and dragged him out in front of all the lads, and him begging like a kid. He laughs. Your mother would never do that to me. He winks at you. Please God. And laughs again.
You like listening to the pub stories best. Man stories. They always end in laughter or in someone who deserves it getting a hiding. You know that he doesnt tell these stories to the girls, maybe not even to Mum.
They have great music in there on a Sunday. Ill take you in there for a drink when youre old enough.
You beam.
Your friend Seans Dad goes in there.
You wait for the next part of the story but it doesnt come.
Its a Saturday afternoon a few weeks before Christmas and you are sat with him on the bus. Hes not himself today. No stories. Hes had a few days off work this week and stayed at home with the rest of you. You know something is wrong but no one has told you anything.
Last Sunday some stones got thrown through the window at church while you were at mass. Mum and Dad have been looking worried but everythings alright now because you and Dad are going shopping.
The trip round town is quicker than usual; theres none of the usual meandering or stopping to chat to people in the street. Dads got a list that Mums given him and the pair of you have worked through it methodically. Your Dads carrying four big bags and hes given you a couple of lighter ones to carry.
Right, well get the meat and then go home for the scores.
The markets packed on a Saturday afternoon. All the best bargains are here if you know where to look. Clothes, food, toys, even books. Everythings cheaper than in the proper shops.
Theres a row thats all butchers shops and that is where youre heading. Your Dad always uses the same one. The best cuts, he says, and reckons that growing up on a farm makes him an expert.
Afternoon, Jim, your Dad says to the man behind the counter. Jim says nothing and stares blankly back over the racks of steak, chops, sausages, joints. Bits of dead things.
Ill take my usual beef joint, a pound of bacon and half a pound of sausages.
You watch Jim go silently about his business. Its turned cold now and youll be glad to get home and see the results. You should make it in time for final score if you dont have to wait too long for a bus.
Jim wraps the meat up in plain white paper and hands it over and your Dad pays him. You both turn to leave.
Why dont you fuck off back to Ireland?
Jims voice.
You both freeze. Your Dad speaks.
What?
You heard me. Or are you deaf, you Irish cunt?
One of your Dads hands, carrying two bags, comes up onto your shoulder. Come on, son. And he guides you out of the shop. As youre going through the door one of the customers in the queue pipes up.
Thats right, fuck off.
Your Dad takes his hand off your shoulder, drops the bags and hits the man a belt in the face that knocks him to the ground. You stare down at him and know he will not get up. His front teeth are bloodied and loose and he spits and lisps as he calls you a pair of bastards.
You walk out of the shop.
Dont tell your mother, alright, Johnny?