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Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes(183)

By:Martha Long


‘I wonder if we’ve done the right thing,’ me ma asked, lookin at me.

‘Goin back te Dublin? If it was up te me, Ma, I wouldn’t be goin back.’

‘Jaysus!’ me ma said, lookin worried. ‘I wonder how the poor childre are.’

I started te feel sick at the mention of Dublin. Jackser came rushin back te me, an I could feel his grip tightenin aroun me. It was as if we’d never left him. ‘No, Ma! We’re still in Liverpool. Let’s get off.’ I tried te pull her up offa the seat.

‘We can’t! It’s too late,’ she said, chewin her lip. ‘We’ll only be locked up if we stay here wit no money an nowhere te stay.’

Me heart was poundin, an I was lookin aroun. The other people were starin at us. ‘Come on, sit down. We’ll be all right. We’ll have a better chance of gettin somewhere te live once we have the childre back.’

I looked at her. ‘How, Ma? How?’

‘We’ll go te the Corporation, an we’ll stay at the Regina Ceoli if we have te, but there’s no good te be had from stayin over here.’

I looked inta her face, not knowin wha te think. Then I lay down on the seat just wantin te sleep an wake up. Wantin everythin te be OK.





37


We made our way off the boat an headed up the quays. ‘So tha’s it,’ me ma said. ‘We’re back here again!’

I didn’t answer. The seagulls were screamin in the air an flyin down low aroun the ship. People were laughin an shoutin at each other, their relatives an friends delighted te see them again an pickin up their suitcases an walkin on. Some were on their own an hurried away, anxious te be where they were goin. I smelt the Irish air, an a bit a me knew I belonged here. I walked on wit me ma, feelin the damp mist get inside me. Aul fellas standin against the wall watchin the world pass by spat an choked on their Woodbines. I didn’t know their faces, yet I felt I’d known them all me life. Lazy bastards, they make me sick. We crossed over the bridge, an an aul woman coverin her head wit a black shawl caught me eye an nodded te us. ‘Cold aul weather, isn’t it, Mrs?’ she said, passin us by an hurryin on about her business.

‘Ah! Indeed it is!’ me ma answered.

How is it ye don’t see such poor people in London? Even the tramps is better dressed, even if they are wearin forty coats tied up wit string. But people here seem te have such worn-down faces. Even the young ones look old. I wonder why? I lifted me head, comin away from me thoughts, an noticed we were walkin down Parnell Street. ‘Where are we goin, Ma?’

‘I’m thinkin,’ she said, lost in her own thoughts.

An aul one wit a red-raw face, her scarf slippin offa her head showin grey hair, was walkin up an down in front of her stall, stampin her ankle boots inta the ground te keep out the damp. ‘Do ye want a few potatoes, Mrs? Look! They’re lovely.’

‘No!’ me ma said, shakin her head an walkin on. Then me ma screamed. ‘Run, Martha!’ an took off runnin. ‘He’s seen us!’ she screamed as she flew off headin towards O’Connell Street.

I stopped dead fer a split second, me head swingin on me shoulders tryin te see wha’s wrong. Then I saw him. Jackser! His legs pumpin towards me, holdin his overcoat gripped in one hand across his legs when he means business an he’s runnin fer his life. I turned, already too late. His hand was reachin out te grab me. I stuck me body out an leaned me head back, me legs goin like propellers, an he missed me by inches. I headed down onta the hill, an I could feel his hot breath on me neck.

‘Stop, ye bastard!’ he roared in me ear, reachin his arm out fer me. I ducked, divin across the road an roun the corner. I hesimitated fer a split second, duckin sideways te avoid a woman comin towards me, an Jackser’s hand plunged out, grabbin me by the collar of me coat, yankin me offa me feet an chokin me. ‘Get back here, ye bastard!’ he panted, swingin me aroun te look at me. ‘Where’s yer mammy?’ he roared, his eyes bulgin an big spits hangin outa his mouth. I stared at him, not able te get me senses back. He shook me, roarin inta me face, ‘Where is she?’

Jaysus! Wha’s happenin? Me teeth is rattlin in me head, an I can’t stop shiverin. ‘Come on, ye whore’s melt. I’m takin ye te the police!’ An he dragged me off in the direction where he first spotted me.

Police! Wha for? Fuck him, he’s bluffin, they can’t do anythin. He hasn’t got me ma, there’s nothin he can do. ‘Let me go!’ I roared.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ he said, givin me a box on the side of me head.

‘No!’ I screamed in a rage. ‘You’re nothin te me.’