APRIL 11TH 2003
JOEY
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?”
It was a question I had expected Tony to ask me when I walked into work twenty minutes late, having been kept late after training to talk to selectors.
It wasn’t, however, a question I had expected my father to ask.
And definitely not here.
“What’s going on?” My gaze flicked to Tony, who was leaning against the tool drawer, with a cup of tea in his hand, and a sympathetic gaze on his face.
Instantly, my back was up.
There was only reason my father would come here.
“Is she dead?” It was the first thought I had, and surprisingly, I managed to ask it without collapsing in a heap on the floor. “Is Mam…”
“Your mother’s grand,” Dad growled. “It’s your mother’s grandfather. He’s on the way out.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Granda Murphy?”
“How many great-grandfathers do ya have, boy?”
Just the one.
Not that I’d seen much of him for a while.
Fuck.
Guilt swarmed me.
I’d been so busy with life that I’d pretty much checked out on my great-grandparents for the last few years.
Sure, I still saw Nanny regularly when she handed off the smaller boys, but I’d be a liar if I said that I had spent any decent chunk of free-time with either one of them since first year.
Since Darren left.
I just…put them on the backburner, thinking they would always be there.
You’re a prick, Joey.
“What’s wrong with him?” Panic gnawed at my gut. “Where’s Nanny? Is she okay?”
“I just told ya, boy. Are ya hard of hearing now, as well as thick stupid? He’s fucking dying,” Dad snapped. “The man’s nearly ninety. It can’t be that much of a surprise to ya,” he continued. “Your mother was trying to ring ya about it. If you want to see him, you’d want to go now before he kicks the bucket.”
Stunned, I just stood there, unblinking, as I tried to digest the words coming out of his mouth.
The man who took on the role of raising my mother and aunt when his own daughter died, only to then have to take on the role of sheltering my mother’s children from the raging storm that was our father.
He was the first man whose touch I didn’t fear.
He was the man who taught me how to ride a bike.
He was the man who took me to the cinema for the first time.
He was the man who was never supposed to go anywhere because we needed him to stay right here and not fucking leave!
“Where is he?” I strangled out, feeling my heart thud so hard in my chest, I thought it might burst. “Is he at their house?”
“He’s at the hospital,” Dad replied. “And I’ll give ya a spin over now, if you sub me a tenner until I get paid at the post office.”
I stared blankly at him. “My grandfather’s dying, and you want me to give you money to take me to see him?” I shook my head in disgust. “I’d rather slit my wrists than feed your drinking habit, old man.”
“Nah, because you’re too busy feeding your own habit, aren’t ya, boy?” Dad sneered. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You’d do well to remember that.” Stalking past me, he yanked the door of our car open and hissed, “Keep your fucking money – and find your own way to the hospital while you’re at it!”
“Are you alright, Joey, lad?” Tony asked me when my father had driven away. “Do you want a spin to the hospital?”
“I, ah…” Shaking my head, I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled a ragged breath. “No, I should get to work.” I looked around aimlessly. “I’m supposed to work, and I’m already late…”
“None of that matters right now,” Tony said, steering me to his parked van. “Hop in and I’ll take you to see your grandfather.”
“Ah, right, Tony, cheers,” I mumbled, feeling shook to my core, as I climbed into the passenger seat of his white transit. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, son.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Anytime.”
Granda had contracted pneumonia, Nanny Murphy explained, when I found her in the hospital corridor a little while later.
Apparently, he’d been sick for a few weeks, and they never told us. Instead, she continued to help me with the boys, even though her husband’s health had taken such a massive decline and had to be going through the mill herself.
My mother wasn’t present at the hospital due to a rift in the family a few years back, caused by my father, but her sister Alice was, and so was Shannon.
I didn’t want to go inside the room that my great-grandfather was dying inside.
“Go in and see him, pet,” Nanny begged, squeezing my hands in hers. “He’s been asking for his little Joe.”
A tremor racked through me. “I don’t think I can do it, Nan.”
“You can,” she promised, reaching up with her small hand to stroke my cheek. “I promise.”
Fuck…
Sucking in a sharp breath, I forced myself to open the hospital room door, and walk inside.
He didn’t look one bit like the formidable man from my childhood as he laid in the bed, with tubes and wires all around him.
He looked so small and frail.
“Joey,” Aunty Alice said with a weary smile, as she slowly stood and offered me the chair by his bedside. “I’ll give you a minute alone with Granda.”
You don’t have to go, I wanted to scream, but I just nodded and said, “thanks,” instead.
“How are ya, Granda?” I heard myself say in a shaky tone, when I finally grew a pair, and walked over to him. “I hear you’re not feeling great.”
‘Joseph,’ he wheezed, gingerly raising his hand. “Your name is Joseph.”
‘Yeah, Granda,” I whispered, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “It’s me.” Scooping his frail hand up, I gently squeezed. “It’s Joey.”
‘Your birthday is on Christmas Day,” he whispered, breathing labored. ‘A holy day.’
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s me.” Winking down at him, I said, “You have the right grandson.”
“My favorite grandson,” he wheezed, and then gave me a tiny smile. “My Joseph.”
“Ah now, don’t let the rest of them hear ya say that,” I said with a smile, as tears burned the back of my eyes. “Tadhg would be well pissed off.”
A labored cough escaped him and my guilt roared to life inside of me.
“Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Granda.” Jesus, I was a piece of shit. “I should have come to see you more often.”
“Nonsense,” the elderly man croaked out. “My Joseph. You’re not Noel, Christian, Christopher, Klaus,’ he continued to ramble, breathing ragged. ‘Not, Casper, Gabriel, or any of the Christmas names they had in mind.”
‘Casper? Klaus?’ Reaching up, I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand. ‘Thank fuck for that.’
‘Because you’re Joseph,’ he urged in a raspy voice, covering our joined hands with his other one. ‘You’re my Joseph.’
“Are you feeling alright, Granda?” Frowning, I reached over and touched his clammy forehead. “You’re rambling.”
‘Loyal, kind, forgiving, fearless, nurturer, protector.’ He smiled up at me. ‘Joseph acted… He took on a role…. He was the father of the lost.’
I frowned, confused. “Granda, it’s me. Joey.”
‘I named you Joseph,’ he croaked out, swallowing hard now. “Did you know that?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t know. How’d that come around?”
‘Your father wanted to name you Theodor after him,” he strangled out, breathing labored. “He said you were going to be just like him…” he paused to cough wheezily. ‘But you were no Teddy. You were Joseph.’ He coughed again. ‘So, I bribed him with a tenner for the pub, and called you what I wanted you to be called.’ He smiled up at me. ‘My Joseph. My brave, brave boy. Terrible burdens. A cursed cross to carry. But always rising from the ashes. Always getting back up. Always the… protector.”
“Yeah.” Panicked, I looked around the empty room, feeling at a loss. “Granda, I’m just going to go and get the nurse for you, okay?”
“Don’t give in to them,” he rasped, holding onto my hand with strength I was surprised he was capable of. “Promise me that you’ll… never… give in to them.”
“Give in to who, Granda?” I croaked out.
Gasping and wheezing for air, he looked me right in the eyes, green eyes on green and whispered, “the demons your father put in your head.”
