The Personal Services Serialised Soap was published in the Cork Evening Echo, 2017

Episode 1

The door opens.  Call me old fashioned, but I just love the sound of that jangle, it takes me back to my childhood.  The net curtains flutter and fall as the door wafts closed.  There’s a young fella standing just inside the door, looking as if he’s going to bolt. ‘I’ve never done this afore,’ he mutters.

‘Well, we all gotta start somewhere, love.’

‘How does this work?’

‘Tell me what you want.  I can do anything you like as long as it doesn’t cause harm.’

‘It’s just that I got this bad back, so I gotta be careful.’

‘Well, I’m not a doctor, but I’ll put on a white coat if it lights your fires.’

‘It were the doc that told me to come to you. He said you’d help loosen me up a bit, like.’

‘That’s what I do best, love.’ I persuade him to slip out of his jeans, oh, and what a sight for sore eyes.  I don’t mind doing the old ones, sure I don’t, we all get there, but to have my hands on a nice young butt now and again…  I’m only human.

‘See, I do gardening and tree surgery,’ he says, once I have him stretched out.

‘Do you, dear?’ I rub a bit, get him warm.  Now he’s relaxing.

‘I started out clearing up the debris, and before you know it the boss has me hanging in ropes with a chain-saw in my hand.  Ow, Jaysus.’

‘Sorry.  It was the hanging-in-ropes image. Is that OK?’

‘Yeah, feels great. You’re strong for a woman.’

‘That’s why my clients keep bouncing back, love.  Go on.’

‘Anyways, the work gets scary after a while, up the cherry picker…’

I chuckle.  ‘Is that a euphemism?’

‘Uh? It’s kind of a one man crane, a raised access platform.  Gets me places I can’t reach otherwise.’

‘H’m, I could do with one of those critters.’

‘Anyways, I’m in the basket, leaning out over this wire, trying to cut back this tree so as it doesn’t bring the feckin’ electricity down all over Mardyke, when this bloke comes out the flats and asks what the feck I’m doing.  Wasn’t it fecking obvious? Catching birds, I says. Oh, funny guy, he says, I’m going to call the City.  Do, I says.  I work for the City, see, keeping the lines clear.  But as I’m leaning over, something goes snick in me back, like.  Oh, Jaysus.’

‘I’m not hurting you am I?’

‘That hit the spot, is all.’

So I see.  Now, I’m not a prude by any means.  In my profession you truly can’t be, but it’s hard to keep the mind on the job, so to speak when the client is, ah, distracted. I work away. He finally gives a long sigh of satisfaction.

‘All done,’ I say. He clambers to his feet, does a few bends and stretches, then yawns widely.  With pleasure, I hope, not boredom.  ‘Will you be back for more?’

‘Bet your bottom dollar.’ He zips up, shrugs into a hoodie which bears the legend I’m up for it if you are, and gives me the sexiest smile I’ve seen in a long while. He fishes in his pocket, slaps some notes into my palm, then looks up sharply. ‘Hey, you’re not a woman at all, are you?’

I wink.  ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

He flushes bright red and the door jangles wildly as he barges past old Jim who is just at the moment trying to get in.

‘Up to yer old tricks, Madam? Jim asks.

Episode 2

The bell jangles.  I love the sound of that bell.  It’s a forewarning that Cork life is about to enter, tethering me to this community. I push through the tassled curtains which hide my inner sanctum – my clients have a strange aversion to being watched.

‘Hi, Madge.’

‘Jim.   Nice day, eh?’

‘Isn’t it just?’

Now, old Jim isn’t exactly a client.  He’s a gossip if the truth be told, and since his wife died he’s been using me as a sounding post.  Personally, I reckon he talked old Sal to death, but me, I like to let people talk, it’s surprising what they give away.  I fuss about and make tea while he parks his tattered self on my velour chair and combs his fingers through the grey remnants of fuzz under the flat cap.

‘Did you hear the one about the whore and the parrot?’ he says.

‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

Now old Jim doesn’t hear anyone except himself and wouldn’t know sarcasm if it belted him on the bum, so he carries on and tells me the one about the parrot even though I’ve heard it a dozen times.  I say really? in the right spot and laugh when he’s finished.  But then he adds something that makes my ears prick up. ‘Say again?’

‘I said Biddie Baker died last night.’

‘I thought that was what you said, it just didn’t seem possible.’

‘No, she’s been in Shandon Street for ever, eh?’

‘Since before I came over the pond,’ I agree.

Now, that old poisonmonger wasn’t one of my clients, either, and I’m not exactly upset, if you get my meaning.  I’ve watched good people die horribly, and horrible people live long, safe lives; there’s no rhyme nor reason to any of it. Mostly people don’t appreciate what they have because they haven’t experienced the alternative.

‘Her funeral’s tomorrow, will ye be there?’

‘Of course,’ I say.  Might as well make sure the lid’s fixed tight, at that. I wonder if it’s lead lined.

‘But you know, Madge, she said a funny thing to me before she died.’

He waits, so I oblige.  ‘And what was that?’

‘She said you had a tattoo, with Latin words.’

De Oppresso Liber.  I see it every night when I wash, but nothing can wash away the memories it invokes, or the increased heart rate that comes hard on their heels. I wonder when the hell the nosy biddy managed to see my tattoo.  I argued myself silly a while back about whether to have it removed, but it involves skin grafts, and the smell of hospitals does bad things to my mind.

‘Well, she must have been thinking about someone else,’ I say, breaking a silence that’s slightly too long. ‘She was losing it a bit, you said yourself last time you were in.’

‘Ah, well, she was coming up for 98. God help us if we all live that long.’

‘True enough.’ I glance at the clock. ‘I have a client due any minute.’

‘Well, thanks for the tea, Madge.’

I wince as he clatters the bone china cup down into the saucer.  Perhaps I should buy some solid mugs for extra special guests.

I make myself a cuppa and sit down for a moment, crossing my ankles on the desk. I dunk a chocolate biscuit while admiring my new heels.  It’s not easy finding pretty shoes when you’re size 10½.

The door handle clunks down. I hastily make myself decent and paste a smile of welcome on my face.  ‘Annie, dear, you’re looking truly frazzled. Come and tell auntie Madge all about it.’

Episode 3

The jangle of that door-bell reminds me I’m alive, and God knows, there are times that surprises even me.  Annie is one of my regulars.  She’s getting on a bit, but still in love with herself, and that’s unusual.

‘What can I do you for, today?’ I ask.

‘Just a quickie today, Madge.’

‘What, not the full McCoy?’

She sighs.   ‘You have no idea how I’d love to lie back and get a good going-over, but life gets so damned complicated at times.  Alan’s being a pain and Julie’s at work so I’ve got to get the grand kids from school in an hour, and they have no respect.’

‘Get your togs off, then.  Hop up onto the couch.’

‘Start at the feet and work up, would you, Madge?’

‘My pleasure.’  Some have a thing about butts, some about bellies, but no-one’s enigmatic about feet.  It’s love or hate; all or nothing. ‘Now, lie back and get it off your chest.’

They all talk, sooner or later. I put it down to the couch, with its white faux leather and glitzy trim. It takes people into a different world, one where they’re special and the pressures of living vanish.

 ‘I thought it was hard being Mum,’ Annie says, ‘but then you get older and you’re looking for a rest and your kids want you to be Mum all over again.  I’m tired, you know, with all that fetchin’ and droppin’. Oh, it’s just today, then just tomorrow, and just the next day, and Oh, gran, you’re the best.  I don’t know why they had the kids at all if herself can’t be after taking the time out to rear them. I mean, she goes on about how hard it is, and her with a four bedroomed house and two bathrooms.  Two!  I ask you, and us back-along with just the four walls, an outside lav and a line of kids.  Oh, God, Madge, that’s good.  Press harder will you, dear?’

I press and she practically growls with enjoyment.  If I say so myself, I’m good at what I do.  I’ve seen a few bones in my time, and know only too well how they all fit together. Yeah, I’ve seen it all, and then some.

‘See the thing is, they want it both ways.  They want the kids, but they also want the freedom.  In my day if you had kids you couldn’t work, and that was that.  It was the law.  I’m not saying that was right, but new things aren’t always for the better, you know.  Not that I’d have thirteen kids again, not if I had the choice.  Just look at me!’

We both look.

‘Sure, you’re a big baggy in places, love,’ I agree, ‘but you have lovely skin, still.’

‘Oh, do you think so?’

‘There’s youngsters would give their eye teeth for skin that clear,’ I lie.

We’re silent for a minute while I work away where she most needs it.  Then she gives a big sigh.  ‘Madge you’re a bloody treasure.  There’d be a sight less stress about the place if there were more like you.’

I chuckle. ‘There’s more like me than you know, love.  They aren’t all as open about it, is all.  There, get yer togs on.’

‘Lord, is that the time?  I’d better hurry and get those kids.’ She tips me a wink as she smartens herself up. ‘Go on, show us your prison tattoo, Madge.’

Hells chiming bells, was that all over the neighbourhood? I’d have the bloody Guards knocking on the door next.

Episode 4

The bell jangles, and I’m disconcerted as the Guard shuts the door firmly behind him. He’s young and fit, with eyes like black lasers. I feel as if every dishonest thing I’ve ever done is emblazoned on my forehead.

‘Hello, officer, what can I do for you?’

‘I’ve heard rumours,’ he says.

‘Rumours?’ I echo.

‘That you’re the best.’

My breath expels slowly.  ‘Well, I try to please, and people come back for more.’

He takes off his jacket carefully.  I can see what his problem is, all right.

‘And – ’  I indicate the rest of the uniform.  ‘Shoes and all, then lie face-down.’

‘I always thought I’d end up mugged, or something,’ he says to the couch. ‘I didn’t expect some daft pratt who was half asleep to pile into the back of my car.’

I expect it woke the daft pratt up PDQ; after all, it’s not every day you drive into the back of a cop car.

‘Did my neck in, pretty much, anyways.’

Without the uniform and surrounded by frills, his Gestapo-esque appearance evaporates. He’s quite cute, actually, even with those blossoming love handles. I feel him relax under my expert hands and smile to myself.

Most people only dream of getting their hands around a cop’s neck.

‘I never wanted to be a guard, not really. I was all set to go into the army, but I didn’t pass the medical.’

‘Me, I’d call that luck.’

‘That’s what my Ma said.  But being a guard isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  You set out meaning to help people, but end up as everyone’s whipping post.’

‘There’s people say that’s fun.’

‘Ha! I’m no masochist.  Just, some days I think everyone hates me.’

‘We all think that some days, love.’

‘Yeah, but it’s the uniform, see.  The minute people see me they think I’ve got something on them.’

‘Most people are hiding something.’

‘Including you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, you don’t look like a terrorist or a murderer or anything.’

‘We never do,’ I say.

There’s a brief silence, then he laughs.  ‘I like you, Madge. You’re not scared of me, are you?’

‘In your uniform you’re scary.  When you’re stretched out butt-up on my couch, there’s a different, ah, dynamics to the situation.’

‘Yeah, but you know what I mean, I mean, crime’s mostly about money, isn’t it? Embezzling, fiddling tax returns, cheating on benefits.’

‘That’s been going on since taxes were invented. It’s human nature.’

‘Yeah, but you know?  I’d really like to catch one really bad guy in my lifetime. Retire thinking I’d actually done some good.’

‘The trouble with really bad guys is they sometimes come with a price that doesn’t include retirement.’

‘Yeah, and I’ve got a six month old kid.  Makes you think different, doesn’t it?  Have you got kids?’

Not any more. I press and a vertebra snicks under my thumbs.

‘Ow! Sorry, shouldn’t have asked’

‘Well, you know? Life has a way of making its own plans while you’re still trying to decide. When I was your age I didn’t envisage being here doing this.’

I tap his butt and step back.  He rolls off the couch and grabbed his pants from the chair.  He rolls his shoulders.  ‘You really are good. That feels a ton better.’

‘Just as well, ’cause I think you just ruined my reputation.’

He winks. ‘I do my best.’

At that moment the bell jangles. Jim’s beady eyes give us a once over.  ‘Everything OK, Madge?’

I look at the guard. He looks at me. We manage not to laugh.

Jim spreads news faster than the Shandon Bells.

Episode 5

The bell jingle-jangles.  The prof. limps in wearing a three piece suit, some egg stains, and a hassled expression. He slumps his bulk into the slouch chair and kicks his brogues off.

‘Feet,’ he grunts.

I sit and put his foot in my lap. I grease my hands and get started.

‘I don’t understand the young folk today,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

I kinda like youngsters, myself, but admittedly I don’t have to deal with them day in, day out, to use one of his favourite expressions.

‘Day in, day out,’ he sighs. ‘I get up there on the podium; I speak, I lecture, I sometimes yell.  I try to excite them, and get excited by my own subject, but they sit there like crash-test dummies, the ones who even bother to come.  Do I see an expression?  Nope.  Do I see enthusiasm?  Nope.  I ask for questions, but do I get questions?  Nope.’

He glares at me.  ‘Why do I bother?’

‘Because you care?’

‘Define care.’

‘Um…

‘To feel concern or interest arising from a sense of responsibility, blah de blah. Who does care, these days?’

‘So you don’t care?’

He casts me an irritated glance.  ‘I didn’t say that.  It’s just that some reciprocal care would be nice – for my feelings. To let me know my time isn’t being wasted.’

‘Most people don’t get that from their own kids.’

‘That doesn’t make it right.’

‘No. But it doesn’t mean the kids don’t care, either.’

‘Up at UCC, they’re like the tide,’ he says. ‘They wash in and wash out, year in, year out.  Some fly, some swim, some slosh around hopefully in the shallows, while others sink and disappear. Do you know how many kids go through UCC each year?’

‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘20,000. Enough to fill a regiment.’

‘God forbid.’

I take a deep breath. Gradually the white noise abates, along with the mental collage of dismembered young bodies.

‘And when we tell them they need a degree to get a good job it’s not entirely true.  They need a good degree to get a good job and any degree to get a job stacking shelves. It’s a numbers game.  When there are 300 applications for a job, they first chuck out the ones without degrees.  It used to be they’d chuck out the ones written in green biro or with spelling mistakes, but these days the recruiting staff don’t know their bare skin from their bear skin, never mind the students.’

‘That could be unfortunate in the Canadian midwinter. Wanta swap feet?’

He shifts, sticks his other foot into my lap, leans back and closes his eyes.

‘But, you know?  They surprise me sometimes.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Come the exams you see some of the stuff you’ve hurled at them regurgitated, and you think, by God, they were listening after all.’

‘Or just soaking it up. They say kids’ brains are like sponges. And they do have to enjoy life while they can, don’t you think?’

He sighed.  ‘That’s why I come to you, Madge. Not just for the lap dance, but because you’ve got things in perspective.’

‘I have?’

‘You’re better than a shrink.’

I’ve been called an Agony Aunt, and the guy wasn’t joking, but never a lap-dancing shrink.

‘Right, all done.’

He laces up his shoes, and says, ‘When I come here I feel a hundred years old and I exit like a teenager; well, nearly. Aurevoir, mon ami!’

He blows me a kiss and executes a passable pirouette on the way out. Good job the seams on his pants hold fast. My next client is standing there with her mouth open. I wonder if she’s one of his students.

Episode 6

I put my hand on the bell to silence it. ‘Oh, Madge,’ Jeannie says, and bursts into tears.

‘Come on, love, tell Madge all about it. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Turns out it isn’t so much a ‘tell’ as a ‘show’.  She shrugs out of her leather jacket with the skull and crossbones on the back, and bares a shoulder, exposing an inflamed mess that might look like a butterfly one day. Her tear-stained eyes are wide with panic. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Ah – I think you just have to wait it out, love. Some people have a reaction to the coloured inks. It doesn’t look infected, so it’ll probably settle down in a few days. You just have to keep it dry and clean.’

‘I mean, I can’t go home! My Mum’ll kill me!’

‘I doubt that. But why on earth did you do it?’

Her voices squeezes to the uncertainty of a six-year-old, ‘I just wanted to.’

Why does every generation have to rebel? I did, and when my parents lost their cool, I assumed they’d never been there, never done what I’d done. Kids fool themselves something rotten. Then, when you get to be a parent you just don’t know how to do it any different because the kids won’t bloody listen, and you lose them over small things like chewing gum and tattoos. Nature’s having a laugh at all of us.

‘The thing is,’ she starts. ‘Oh, what’s the point; you wouldn’t understand.’

‘What wouldn’t I understand?’

‘How painful it is. How stupid I feel.  How much I want it just gone.’

I pause, then roll up the sleeve of my dress.

She stares at my tattoo. ‘That’s Latin? What does it mean?’

‘To free the oppressed.’ I raise one brow. ‘You see, I was young once, too.’

‘And did your Mum mind?’

‘Yes, she minded a lot.’  My older brother there one minute, gone the next, then me following, to a cause doomed to failure, though we didn’t realise that at the time. ‘I should do your legs.’

That was why she came to me, what her mother paid for.  A congenital disorder that meant she would never excel at sports. She threw off her boots, clambered awkwardly onto the coach, and closed her eyes the better to endure the pain.

‘Your Mum will understand,’ I said eventually, when the tears stopped flowing.

‘No, she won’t.’

‘She will, because she loves you. She knows how hard it is for you. The minute you get home, just tell her; get it over with. She’ll want to make sure it doesn’t get infected.’

‘I don’t care if it does.’

I work away for a bit in silence, then say.  ‘All done.  Are you still a vegetarian?’

‘Of course.  I’m never going to eat meat again, it’s disgusting. We shouldn’t kill animals.’

As she bends to haul on her chunky biker’s boots, and slings the jacket over her shoulder, I wonder where she thinks leather comes from.

‘Well, love. Just tell her, OK?  Trust me.’

Back on form, she performs a well-rehearsed, sneer.  ‘Why the hell should I trust you, you old faggot. You aren’t even normal.’

‘What’s normal, love?’

The bell jangles angrily as she slams out of the door.

I lean back and smile. The young, eh? She’ll apologise next time she comes in. It happens all the time: talk first, think last. I remember doing it myself, once upon a time. One of the most profound skills in life is knowing when to keep silent, and I wonder if any of us ever get the certificate for that.

Episode 7

Sweet bells, sweet chiming Christmas bells… now that’s a blast from my childhood, but there’s nothing sweet about the woman barging through the door, larger than life. Bolstered by a few too many designer chocolates, her expensive clothes fit too snugly to do them justice.

‘Hello, I didn’t expect to see you again, Felicity.’

‘It’s Mrs Webber.’

Well, that puts me in my place. She didn’t actually say, for the likes of you, but it’s what she means. Not for my appearance, if you get my drift, but for my station in life.  Never mind the Stations, this one’s god is station: who is above her (not many) and who below (the rest of us, including god, probably).

The mental image of her actually meeting someone above her perceived status is almost unimaginable, all that flesh vibrating with obsequiosity. Now, that’s a bit of a mouthful, but it kinda builds a picture, don’t it?

Eyes like marbles wedged into a sandpit, she gives me the once over.  ‘I thought I’d give you another chance.’

‘That’s so amazingly generous.’

‘It is.  My back still isn’t right – ’

‘Despite all those highly bribed specialists?’

Her face turns puce. I’m thinking, heart attack or stroke?

‘They were not bribed.  I paid the fees they demanded for the service they provided. Now, are you going to help me or not?’

‘Not,’ I say.

There’s a long silence.  From somewhere I discover a smidgen of sympathy; she came here knowing that would be my response, but didn’t have the sense to truly believe it.  After all, money buys everything, doesn’t it?

But sympathy only goes so far. In all my years of helping people, she’s the only one to bring litigation for malpractice to my door.  It hadn’t crossed her mind that I might have qualifications coming out of my ears, that I wasn’t working the Harley Street scam because I didn’t want to. Maybe she still chooses not to believe it.

‘I need you to help me,’ she said.  ‘You’re the only one who ever could.’

I leaned back and crossed my arms. ‘Mucked that one up, then, love.’

‘But you can’t just – ’

‘I can.  Please leave nicely before I throw you and your upholstered rear-end out of the door.’

‘I’d see you in prison.’

‘Been there, got the tee-shirt.’

The bell jangles harshly.  Jim is there holding the door open, in invitation. Just my luck he’d heard.

‘You won’t sort me out, yet you sort out that dwarf who just left?’

Her sneer wasn’t a patch on Jeannie’s, yet she blanched visibly at my expression and took a step back.

‘That lovely girl is better than you in just about every way imaginable. Now squeeze into that ridiculous status symbol outside, and try not to drive over any human beings as you leave.’

‘Shouldn’t tangle with Madge,’ Jim advises.  ‘She’s killed better men than you.’

I wince.  Thanks, Jim.

Felicity leaves in a cloud of venom. I told her she should lose some weight, but she’s not prepared to miss out on those society luncheons.

I put the kettle on, and Jim parks himself on the sofa.

‘Saw the car outside, thought you might need a hand,’ he says.

‘I appreciate the thought, Jim, but I’m capable of dealing with my own problems.’

‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t be a good neighbour if I didn’t try, would I?  So why were you in the clink?  Did you kill someone?’

I sighed.  ‘Jim, things are never that simple. It wasn’t just one, it was several.’

His beady eyes light up at the thought of all that gossip.

Episode 8

The bell jingles diffidently. Bridie whispers around the door jamb, ready to scuttle away at the least sign, ‘Am I on time?  It is today, isn’t it?’

‘Perfect, love. I’ll get a cuppa, shall I?’

She sidles to a chair.  ‘I can’t stay long.  I can’t leave my babies on their own.’

‘No, of course not.’

She takes small nervous sips, her eyes darting everywhere and nowhere, then they brighten. ‘I’ve got another one, a tabby. I wasn’t going to take in any more, but she was left on my doorstep in a box, and her just a few weeks old.  Too young to have left her mother, really.  How can people do that?’

‘You’re an angel in disguise, love.’

She goes pink with pleasure.

I haven’t a clue how old Bridie is.  She could be sixty or a hundred; huddled into those shapeless clothes you’d never guess.  Thursday she gets her money and her shopping: cat food, sliced bread and baked beans. Twice a week she goes to mass, and Friday she comes to me. The rest of the time she watches soaps.

The neighbours think she’s nuts.  What I know is, her sense of smell died long ago. The doctor told me her house is a bio hazard.  Today she’s not so bad, but sometimes the smell lingers for hours.

She forgets she’s supposed to pay me, but I never remind her.  I’m the only person she speaks to aside from the welfare. I’m about to ask does she want a once-over, but next thing she’s folded over, weeping silently. I sit on the chair arm and put my arm around her.  ‘What’s up, Bridie?’

‘They want to put me in a home,’ she finally says, through her hiccups. ‘They say I can’t look after myself, but I do, don’t I?  I have, since Tom left.’

That’s a new one on me. ‘Your son?’

‘No, my fiancé. We were going to have babies one day, but I think it’s too late, now.  He went to England to get a job.  I said I’d wait for him.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know.  He promised. I got letters. I read them sometimes. They say he loves me, he misses me.  When the letters stopped coming I knew something bad must have happened, but I keep hoping.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I say. Tom probably has a houseful of kids somewhere else, and grand-kids most likely. Probably deep in her heart she knows that.

‘The cats are keeping me company till he comes home, but I don’t know if he likes cats. I can’t remember.’ She dabs her face with a paper hanky.  ‘If they put me in a home Tom won’t know where to find me. And what will happen to my babies?’

‘If he comes looking, I’ll tell him where to find you, and if you have to leave, I’ll look after you babies, love.  Don’t you worry.’

‘You won’t murder them?’

Jesus wept.  ‘Cross my heart, I won’t murder them.’

She rests her hand on mine; I try not to look at her fingernails.  ‘People say you’re bad, but you can’t be, if you like cats.’

To tell the truth, I don’t have a clue about cats, but what’s a girl to do? ‘If it happens, I’ll send you a letter every week telling you how the cats are getting on. I promise.’

As I watch her shuffle up the hill, I think, what a sad waste of a life, waiting for a shit bag who was too cowardly to tell her he wasn’t coming back.

I prop open the door to allow a breeze through.

That sorts the bloody bell out, doesn’t it?

Episode 9

The bell jangles furiously. I don’t know the man standing there mutilating a cap between his hands. I peg him around the fifty mark, but his hands say he’s younger.

‘Hello?’ I raise my brows.

He raises his.  I come as a bit of a shock to those not in the know. ‘I was told you’re called Madge.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Oh.  Well, Eileen, that’s my wife, said if I didn’t come she’d leave me.’

‘Blackmail works for me.’ I don’t get this whole macho thing, like men not going to the doctor till that hernia is almost past repairing.

‘It’s the bus strike. It made me lose my rag.’

‘So, you’re a bit tense, then?’

‘I nearly hit her. It’s not what I do.’

‘Of course not. The lower back, is it?’

‘How did you know?’ He hesitates.

‘I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.’

Eventually I get to work. My, he’s as knotted as an old tree.  Gradually he forgets to be worried about the possibility of me taking advantage, and talks.

‘So, anyways, I’m using the car to get to work, and it’s causing problems for the missus, getting the kids to school.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Then the electricity bill arrives. It’s more than it should be; like double.  I say I won’t pay till they sort it out. They say I obviously used the service, so should pay up. I say I won’t. So they cut off my electricity; and me with kids.  Then my neighbour comes round to ask why our electricity had been cut off, and they worked out he hadn’t used any for six months becuase he was feckin’ robbing mine.’

‘I didn’t think that was possible.’

‘Nor did I till it happened. Then the TV broke.  I mean, what’s a guy to do if he can’t watch the match on his day off?’

‘What indeed.’

‘And the kids got ansty, too, so I got another TV and there wasn’t any money left for the missus to do the shopping.’

‘That would have made her mad.’

‘You don’t know the worst of it. Then she says she needs the car to take the little ’un to the hospital appointment because the buses aren’t running. So I say how am I supposed to get to work? So Derek, her brother, lends me this old bike he hasn’t used in a while.’

‘Sorted!’

‘Hardly. See, I haven’t ridden a bike for years, and I’ve got all these guys hammering their horns at me because I didn’t signal, or something.’ He sighs. ‘Then I get a puncture.’

‘Bummer.’

‘Yeah, so now I’m really late for work, and my boss docks me two hours. So I say I can’t do this till the buses go back on, and he says get a feckin’ taxi, and I say that would cost more than I earn, and he says if I don’t go in he’ll sack me; there’s plenty more labourers where I come from. Then my feckin’ back starts playing up.’

‘That’ll be tension, I guess. But the bus drivers have a point, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah, I’d be mad, too, if I were them, but they get compensated and I don’t.  But what got me really mad was Eileen’s brother, Derek, the one that lent me the bike?’ His voice was sour.  ‘He’s a bus driver, and his car was sitting on the drive the whole time.’

Families, eh? ‘Ok, all done. Does that feel better?’

‘Not much. But at least the missus won’t leave.’

Well, you can’t win them all. I go to bed thinking of my first client tomorrow. That cheers me up.

Episode 10

It’s one of those nights.  Every five minutes I wake up, thinking I’m hearing that damned bell, like a premonition. Sometimes I feel as if I’m drowning under the weight of people’s dissatisfaction. Life here isn’t bad, like the old days, but whatever people have, they want more. Life is dealt out free, from a stacked deck, admittedly; but the baggage we accumulate for ourselves.

The bell jangles and Siobhan bounces in. She’s dove-tailing youth with middle age, expecting her first child, on her own terms, because though the ridiculous biological urge to procreate (her words) doesn’t fade with age, the ability does.

‘Hi, Madge, how are you today?’

‘Fine thanks.  And yourself?’

‘Fit as a fiddle.’  She bursts out laughing. ‘Talking of which, I’m playing tonight at the Sin É, are you coming down?’

‘Maybe, why not? When’s the baby due?’

‘Three months, give or take.’

‘You know the gender?’

‘A girl; as far as I know.’ She cast me a sidelong glance, we share a smile. ‘But any pink fluff goes straight down the charity shop, I swear. Babies should wear bright colours.  And she’s going to be called O’Donovan, like me. That whole thing about giving a child its father’s name is dumb, when their part in the process is so – short.’

Her laugh is infectious. ‘Mum and Dad keep asking who the father is, as if that will make a wedding inevitable, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with him. He was good company for a while, then it wore off.’

‘You don’t think he’d want to be dad? It doesn’t have to mean marriage.’

‘No. He’d have wanted me to get rid of it. Besides, a baby belongs to the mother.’  She pondered for a minute.  ‘Of course, there are a lot of dads out there who’d disagree. I’m getting cramp in my calves, now, from the weight.’

‘All in a good cause, love.’

‘You know, the only thing my parents are pleased about is that I didn’t have an abortion. It’s very difficult for them, being torn about the rights and wrongs of it all, but once she’s born they’ll grow to love her.’

Maybe. Love should be unconditional, but usually isn’t.  The thing is, you can’t plan your children’s lives, and parents discover that too late.  Mine would be mortified if they could see me now.

‘Can I ask you something, Madge?’

‘Shoot.’

‘Are you married?’

‘What do you think, love?’

‘No, seriously.’

I pause, reflecting. ‘I tried it once, briefly. She got married again after we divorced, and is happy now, as far as I know.’

‘Did you have kids?’

‘Ah, not any more. They don’t recognise me.’

‘That’s sad.  But you weren’t always…’

‘No.  This is teenage rebellion cutting in.’

She giggles. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, well, I was a late developer. I was brain-washed by government, advertising, convention, and expectations.  I tried so hard to be what others wanted me to be, then one day I realised it wasn’t what I wanted.’

‘And that’s what the dresses are all about?’

‘Oh, no, I always liked dresses. It’s a shame more men don’t wear them.’

She laughed. ‘Madge, you’re the best. You don’t judge people, do you?’

‘I’m hardly in a position, am I?  Off you go now.  You’re doing OK.’

I wonder if she gets that I admire her for being brave enough to fly in the face of convention; it’s not always easy, especially faced with hard-core resistance, something my next client has in spades.

Episode 11

Bob’s glare would ring bells in hell. He’s seen the ‘unmarried mother’ leave the premises. Unfortunately he didn’t manage to fight free of youthful indoctrination. And Siobhan thought I wasn’t judgemental?

‘Come and get comfy, that’s right, slip it all off.  So, how’s life treating you?’

‘I can’t complain, but the pension doesn’t go far these days. I told that traffic cop I was a pensioner, but the louse still gave me a ticket.  No respect, that’s the trouble, and my Ma being a pillar of the community in her day.’

That’s not exactly what I’d heard on the grapevine.

He eases distastefully onto the couch as if wondering what he might catch. I get going on the bits I can help with. He’s tense, OK, but I wonder what he’s got to be worried about. His bank account would keep Cork city in lights for a few years.

‘How’s the tennis elbow?’

‘It’s as bad as it ever was. I was told you were good.’

‘I’ve been treating the shoulder, love, not the elbow. Your doctor told you to take painkillers and give it a rest.’

‘I’m right-handed,’ he grumbles. ‘I can’t do anything with my left hand.’

Frustration can make people grumpy.

‘Well, there’s plenty out there looking for work. You could afford help since you sold your mother’s estate on Southside.’

‘I was swindled.  The construction company said they could only put ten new houses on the site, and that my house would stay. It was in my family for generations.’

‘Once you sold it to them, they could do as they pleased.’

‘I should have got more, for forty houses.’

‘Well, you’ve no dependents other than your lovely wife, and you can’t take it with you.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘And how is Bridget?’

‘She’s in the home, now, full time, her not being able to do housework or anything. They’re charging me a small fortune, and the state’s not paying a penny towards it!’

‘And you think they should?’

‘Father Andrew agrees it’s wicked they don’t help, when I’d already left it to the church. I mean, that’s what the welfare state is for, isn’t it?’

‘Actually, it was instigated to pay subsistence to those who’d otherwise be on the street, starving, not that you’d know it these days.’

‘Of course, my wife is in the best home I could find.’

To keep up appearances, I’m sure. Well, she’s finally discovered payback time for fifty years of unappreciated devotion.

‘Society’s going to the wall, that’s what it is. People don’t know their place any more.  And what the girls are wearing!  It’s enough to make Ma turn in her grave, so it is.’

‘I expect she did that when you sold the house.’

Oops, that didn’t do anything for his tension.

‘Well, in my day women had to wear a hat to mass.  And all that nonsense about abortions…  They shouldn’t have got knocked up in the first place. Spoiled goods Ma used to call them, God bless her dear soul. They were lucky to get married at all.’

Now I’d heard that the dear soul had been shipped off somewhere for five months as a young woman, returning slimmer than when she went, if you get my drift. I’m amazed that Bob can hide behind self-righteous superiority when he knows, and everyone else knows he knows.

It’s kinda sad, really. When you lie to others you’re lying to yourself, and that’s fairly dumb.

As we bid each other good day, I look down the road and realise my own past has unravelled.

Episode 12

The bell of doom jangles. My past has caught up with me. I knew it would, one day.  They’re not in uniform, but there’s no mistaking the type.  Huge frames, heads like bullets covered with coir matting, and muscles nature never designed. It doesn’t matter how far you run, your past is forever snapping at your heels.

‘Mark Maddigan?’

I grimace and hold out my hands, wrists together. ‘You got me, guys.’

The one with a mouth like Captain Scarlett steps forward, his hand out.  ‘Corporal Slowinski. Pleased to meet you, Sir.’

‘Ma’am,’ I say.  ‘My name’s Madge, now.’

His hand slowly drops.  I feel sorry for him.  He didn’t choose this mission, after all. He’s just doing his duty, as I did a long time ago.

The Desperate Dan lookalike pauses, wondering how to proceed, then takes a deep breath.  ‘Madge,’ he says, chewing it around a bit. ‘Pleased to meet you.  Finally.  We’ve been all over, searching.’

‘I wasn’t exactly hiding,’ I say. ‘Just keeping my head below that metaphysical parapet.’

‘Do you think we’re the enemy?’

His question is sincere.  I sigh.  ‘I know you think you’re not.  But life’s not that simple, is it? Tell me: what’s black and white and red all over?’

‘A newspaper?’

‘The army.  No shades of grey, and everyone’s blood is red, whatever side you’re on.’

There’s a long pause, then, ‘How are you keeping?’ Jones asks.

They’ve obviously looked at my record.  It reads: went bonkers, kicked out of the army for medical reasons. ‘I’m fine,’ I say.  ‘New land, new life.’

‘New gender?’

Ah, Dan has a sense of humour, despite that chin. ‘Are you going to get to the point?’

There’s a clearing of throats. ‘On behalf of the United States of America we would like to – ’

‘Yeah, yeah, etetera, etcetera.  Just deal out the dirty.’

‘Madge, don’t knock that we’re trying to thank you.’

That was a reprimand.  ‘Sorry.’

‘You did your duty and more, and we’d be very pleased if you would accept your country’s small gesture of gratitude.’

He takes a small box out of his pocket and opens it nervously.  I hold out my hand.  I get that he’d find it uncomfortable to pin a valour medal on a soldier wearing six inch heels and a frock decorated with daisies. I open the box and check it out. ‘Pretty,’ I say.

I’d walked away from this once before, and they’d come half way round the globe to make sure I took it.  I’m kinda proud and sad at the same time.

He adds, ‘There’s also a pension gathering dust back home.  Even if you don’t want the ‘blood money’ as you called it, maybe you could find it a better home than a bank?’

I think of all the sad, desperate tales my clients unload daily. Where would I start?

Then that damned bell goes jingle jangle again, and here they are, crowding through the door, gawping.  The grapevine must have been on overtime because they’re wearing smiles like I’ve never seen before.  I’m not sure if it’s because I got a medal, or relief that the weirdo who’s been living in their midst for ten years isn’t a murderer after all. Spice is fine between the pages of a novel, but not in your own backyard.

They crack open champagne, and soon a party is in full swing. I fold my arms and watch, as I’ve always watched, from the outside. It’s just as well they don’t know all my dark secrets.