Feeding Strawberries to Pigs Read online

  ‘You make him sound like a horse, Mammy he was gay.’

  ‘Gay? Well he was never miserable and he was always good to his mother. And I remember Martin Shaughnessy didn’t he have great curly hair?’

  ‘It sounds like you kept an inventory of them for spare part surgery. If you put their good bits together they would probably make an acceptable man, but the sum would definitely be more than the parts.’

  ‘Come on in now, you’ll only have the neighbours guessing there’s something wrong, sitting on the front wall swearing and smoking like a hussy!’

  Back in the house, Peggy put the kettle on and sighed. The ‘phone rang but she let it go to answer-phone, a Christmas present from her son.

  ‘Sure it’s only someone trying to sell me something, no one ever calls me.’

  Anne knew it was time to leave, once her mother went into martyr and Mother of Sorrows mode.

  Once Anne had left, Peggy played the message.

  ‘Hello Mrs O’Driscoll, this is Brendan Doyle calling from Easthorpe Council about Easthorpe on-line , please call me on 01376 292929.’

  Peggy was perplexed, there seemed to be so many things that bewildered her these days. ‘Still, he has an Irish name so I’ll call him back.’

  Brendan explained that under a new initiative Peggy was entitled to receive a free computer from the council.

  ‘No thank you, sure what would I do with a computer?’

  ‘Come on now Peggy, you sound like a bright young woman to me,’ Brendan poured on the charm.

  ‘Huh, I’ll be eighty-two next birthday!’

  ‘Go on with you, you sound like a young woman of thirty to me. What part of Ireland are you from Peggy?’

  ‘County Kerry, I came over here in 1938.’

  ‘Listen to me Peggy, you’re a Kerry woman and if you had the guts to leave all you knew and come to England in 1938, learning to use a computer will be child’s play. Are you in tomorrow?’

  The next day Brendan arrived carrying a big box. Peggy thought he was smashing, she noted his lovely delicate ears and rosy cheeks. Once everything had been set up, Brendan had a cup of tea and a piece of Peggy’s fruit cake before starting her first lesson.

  When Anne checked her e-mails the following week she thought her brother was winding her up or someone was sending her a virus. Before she opened the e-mail from ‘Peggy O’Driscoll’ she rang her brother.

  ‘Didn’t she tell you? Mammy’s gone ‘on-line’, she’s only done it to get one over Aunt June.’

  Anne opened the e-mail and could hardly believe her eyes her mother was even using icons and signing off as ‘POD’. The e-mail explained that a nice young Irish man ‘ unfortunately he is too young for you and happily married’ was teaching her to use the new computer that the Council had given her. And that she had found a solution to all Anne’s problems. ‘Come and visit me next week and all will be revealed.’

  The following week Anne was unable to park outside her mother’s house. When her mother opened the door Anne could hardly believe her eyes. Peggy had had her hair cut and had restored the auburn tint of her youth. She was wearing a black trouser suit, pink top and matching earrings. Anne felt positively dowdy in her jeans and grey fleece. Anne could hear laughter and the buzz of voices, her mother had a full house.

  ‘Here you are then Anne, come in, have a glass of wine. Sure why didn’t you make a bit of effort with yourself. You wore those old jeans last time you were here.’

  ‘I would have if I’d known you were having a party.’

  ‘It’s a reunion! Come and meet some old faces!’

  Anne went through to the sitting room there were five men drinking Guinness, her mother wasn’t kidding, they were all in their eighties and nineties. They struggled to get up when she walked in but she asked them to stay seated. Her mother made the introductions.

  ‘Here is my youngest daughter Anne, Anne you must remember Pat Doyle, Declan’s father and Michael O’Flaherty, Patrick’s father and Gerry Shaughnessy, Martin’s father.’

  Anne shook their hands although what she really wanted to do was wring her mother’s scrawny neck. As soon as she had shaken all the hands and made polite enquiries about their sons she frogmarched her mother to the kitchen.

  ‘So that’s your game Mammy, matchmaking! How on earth did you dig that lot up! Some look as though they should have been buried long ago!’

  ‘Sure that’s not very nice. I found them at www.findapaddy.com, the website for finding your old Irish Association friends. Hasn’t Pat Doyle got lovely ears just like his grandson Brendan?’

  ‘Brendan?’

  ‘Brendan’s the one who persuaded me to accept the computer from the Council and he’s taught me how to use it. Do you know that there’s a web cam in my old home town? I’ve been watching who goes in and out of Keane’s bar all morning. They show you the church on Sundays and there’s more in the bar than the church these days.’

  ‘So what about Declan, Patrick and Martin then?’

  ‘I’m sorry Anne, but they’re all happily married to nice Irish girls. Never mind, I’m sure with all these web cams and Irish sites I’ll soon be able to find you a nice man.’

  Anne didn’t know whether to laugh or hit her mother.

  ‘Look I’m fine. I’m not ready for another relationship yet.’

  ‘Yes Anne, but you’re not getting any younger.’

  Anne thought that was rich coming from a silver surfer.

  Three months later just as Anne was getting used her mother’s e-mails, a letter arrived. She recognised her mother’s handwriting and her habit of sticking the stamps on upside down. Her mother’s writing looped across the page, telling her about yet another web site she had found about the ‘old country’ and how she had begun tracing her ancestors on the Ellis Island site. Anne almost missed the final paragraph which was the whole reason for the letter.

  ‘Now be sure to keep the 2nd of June free. Pat Doyle and I are to be married in Listowel. We will be honeymooning in the Ring of Kerry. I can’t wait to tell June, she won’t approve, but then she needs to move with the times. Of course if you can’t make it in person, you can always watch our Wedding via the web cam.’

  A SOFT SPOT FOR RABBITS

  1971

  Form 4A filed into the biology lab. There was a buzz in the air, 30 pubescent girls were going to get what they had been thinking about for the last six months, they had finally reached the part of the curriculum that was so blandly called Human Reproduction. But the girls from the Convent of the Sacred Heart knew this meant just one thing-SEX. Learning more about sex was good enough, but sex as taught by the dark haired, slim hipped Mr. Ashley was just heaven.

  Teresa Driscoll looked at her class mates. The starter bras were out in force today pushing whatever development a girl had to the forefront. The skirts had been hitched up an inch or two by rolling the waist band, lip gloss abounded, and eyelashes had been curled. The gymslip army was dressed to kill. A record in the charts seemed to play as Mr. Ashley walked into the room, the Carpenters ‘Close to you’. Now they had the desire and all they needed was ‘the know how’. Teresa knew they were wasting their time she deserved him and believed he wanted her too.

  An image kept playing and re-playing in her thoughts. She saw them sitting under a tree her head resting on his shoulder while he read her poetry. He looked very romantic, even if in real life his true desires seemed to lie in the perfect labelling of the chambers of the heart.

  Mr. Ashley coughed and Teresa watched as a fine bead of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

  ‘Good morning Form 4A.’

  ‘Good morning Mr. Ashley,’ they replied in sing-song unison.

  Thirty pairs of eyes held onto his every word.

  ‘Today we should be covering the topic Human Reproduction.’ The ‘ should’ did not go unnoticed thirty pairs of eyes seemed to widen, thirty mouths let out an involuntary oh.

  He continued, ‘Because you are pupils at a Rom
an Catholic school you are not allowed to learn about human reproduction, the church in its wisdom’ did Teresa detect a smirk? ‘Has decided, that it is more appropriate to use animal reproduction, as the model for the syllabus. The animal I have chosen is the rabbit.’

  Then with a flourish, he pulled down the new rubber blackboard. It revealed a chalk drawing of two copulating rabbits.

  There were shrieks of laughter, blushes and giggles. Teresa looked on stony faced she had always liked rabbits, but was not interested in their sex lives. This was it, the moment she made her mind up, she was going to seduce Mr. Ashley and sort the nuns out for once and all.

  She listened as Mr. Ashley said that in mammals it was the male that was more dominant in any sexual encounter and that the female was passive and at the mercy of her reproductive cycle. Males were able to tell when to copulate with a female in order to ensure that his genes would be passed on.

  Teresa had seen Mr. Ashley snogging Madame Huet the timid little French teacher in an alleyway one lunch time. His hands had been all over her. Teresa knew all about sex, seduction and reproduction. She felt confident enough to teach Mr. Ashley a lesson.

  At the end of the class Teresa waited until everyone had left and approached Mr. Ashley, ‘Sir I don’t think I understood much of that lesson.’

  ‘Teresa, you should have said.’

  ‘And have everyone laugh at me?’ She lowered her eyelids and gave Mr. Ashley one of her most seductive looks.

  ‘Would you like to book a tutorial, Teresa?’

  ‘Oh yes please Mr. Ashley’ Teresa gushed and gave him her most irresistible smile. She watched where his eyes were focused and was delighted when she realised he was looking at her cleavage. Ah a breast man, she smiled to herself and bent forward to get her diary from her bag providing him with a better view.

  She was free at 1 pm the next day, and she smiled her sweetest ‘come to bed’ smile at him as she left the lab. She had to wash her hair when she got home and think carefully about what perfume she would wear and of course what questions she would need to ask.

  The next day Teresa finished her lunch which she had chosen carefully, avoiding any foods that would taint her breath. She had brought her toothbrush and toothpaste with her just in case, and she made her way to the toilet block where she would re do her hair and check her make up and apply more perfume. She rolled her skirt up another inch and undid another button on her blouse. She had worn her most shapely bra, and she had to admit that she looked like every man’s fantasy school girl as she made her way to the biology lab.

  Mr. Ashley was waiting for her sitting behind his desk wearing an immaculate brilliant white lab coat; it made her think of the dishy Doctor Kildare. He smiled at her as she entered the room.

  ‘Ah Teresa, come on in.’

  He pointed to the chair one of two.

  Teresa felt nervous now she realised that the lab had windows on 3 sides and she could be seen by anyone who passed by.

  ‘I’ve a surprise for you in my office Teresa.’

  Teresa felt her breath quickening; of course, he had and knew he had an office at the end of the lab which he kept locked.

  ‘I love surprises!’ Giggled Teresa.

  ‘Well come along then and as she got up to follow him, the door of the lab opened and Madame Huet came in carrying a cardboard box.

  ‘Ah here is the other half of the surprise!’

  Teresa blushed as she noticed a look in Madame Huet’s eyes.

  She followed Mr. Ashley to his office; Madame Huet sat on the second chair opposite his desk with the box on her knees.

  Inside the office was a huge wooden hutch which housed a very large grey rabbit with floppy ears. Teresa couldn’t help but smile, but when she looked closer she realised that the rabbit was not alone, lying next to it were four things that looked like sausages.

  ‘Ooh it has babies!’ Teresa unbeknownst to herself, despite her makeup and seductive intentions, at this moment looked like just a sweet innocent 15 year old who loved furry animals.

  ‘Yes hence me choosing the rabbit to explain reproduction.’

  ‘And in Madame Huet’s box?’

  ‘The daddy, come and see.’

  Madame Huet had taken the rabbit out of the box. She looked at Teresa and Teresa noticed her eyes rested on her hem length and cleavage for a few minutes before she spoke.

  ‘We must keep the male rabbit away from the mother and her babies.’

  Mr. Ashley explained, ‘Because Teresa, the male would attack and kill the babies and sometimes even just introducing a male may result in the mother killing and eating her own babies.’

  ‘Well humans don’t do that, daddies always protect their young, you shouldn’t have taught us about rabbits and how they reproduce!’

  Mr. Ashley explained, ‘The Catholic Church feels that if we teach about human reproduction we are treating the subject too clinically, which is a shame because whilst humans rarely eat their own young, they need to learn that human reproduction celebrates love not sex. We are superior to rabbits. We make a commitment to our young that transcends the act itself.’

  Teresa watched as the pair exchanged a glance which made Teresa feel very uncomfortable. She felt they were capable of looking into her soul.

  ‘Teresa we can explain the act, but not its significance, which is something that some people will never learn.’

  Madame Huet smiled at Teresa and said, ‘rabbits have sex and humans make love.’

  Teresa felt a little affronted now and felt like they were treating her like a silly child, ‘Well humans like sex too! There wouldn’t be prostitutes and the like if they didn’t.’

  She stormed out of the room and felt the tears coming as she ran down the corridor and ran straight into Sister Rita, who shouted at her and then she saw her tears.

  ‘Teresa Driscoll, you are wearing mascara.’

  Teresa’s frustration got the better of her now. ‘I have just been made to watch two people having sex, and all you can think of is my mascara.’

  Sister Rita went to the biology lab, and did indeed discover Mr. Ashley and Madame Huet in a compromising position in the office. Their expulsion was immediate.

  In school Teresa played the victim, but in the early hours of the morning when she struggled to get back to sleep she saw Mr. Ashley’s face and heard his words ‘love not sex, and we make a commitment to our young that transcends the act itself’.

  She doubted that Mr. Ashley and Madame Huet had any knowledge of what she had endured, but she would never let her father force himself on her again.

  BREAKFAST AT O’FLAHERTY'S

  1998

  Brendan O’Flaherty removed the piece of cardboard covering the broken pane in his window and stuck his head out to see what all the commotion was about. A large removal van had blocked the road. Someone was moving into the new bungalow opposite. Brendan disliked all things new. ‘What was good enough for my forefathers is good enough for me.’ was his motto. According to Brendan new bungalows were the scourge of Ireland. To have new neighbours, in a new bungalow on his own doorstep was abhorrent to him.

  The van’s sign read ‘Reilly’s Removals of Renown-Dublin, Liverpool. Birmingham and London- repatriation our speciality.’ Brendan grimaced and cursed under his breath. Wasn’t that typical! Once the rats had left the sinking ship in droves, and now at the first sniff that things had changed for the better, they were all scurrying back. He watched the furniture being carried off by skittish removal men with tattoos and hair gel. There were leather sofas, marble occasional tables, and a mahogany dining suite, brass beds and boxes by the dozen. The wages for deserting the old country had bought foppish frippery he thought. Finally a computer screen with all its paraphernalia was carried in with great reverence.

  ‘Bah new fangled trickery,’ said Brendan and he settled into his favourite chair. He had only a few sticks of furniture yet managed well enough, just as his fore fathers had done. He’d been born and raised in th
is house along with his five brothers and six sisters. He’d heard the news in town about ‘the new bungalow’ they said it had five bedrooms, three N-suites whatever they were, a conservatory and study. What would anyone want a conservatory for, unless you were going in for jam making?

  The next day there was a knock on his door, he opened it to find a suntanned woman of around sixty pretending to be forty. She was wearing slacks and a jumper with a gold insignia on it, a flamboyant scarf was tied around her scrawny neck and her gold shoes looked most unsuitable for the country roads. She smiled at him.

  ‘Hello I’m Fiona Cholmondey, your new neighbour; I’m the daughter of Kitty Boyle.’

  Brendan winced at her accent, took a long look at her and decided he liked her even less than he’d liked her mother.

  ‘Bah,’ he said and shut the door. Later he noticed a sign on the Bungalow gate. He fetched his opera glasses and read.

  ‘Backtoouroots- Bed and Breakfast of distinction.’

  Outraged, he sat down and wrote to his grandson. Colm was not a bad boy, even though he worked with computers in Dublin. Brendan was flattered that Colm loved visiting his grandfather to ‘chill out and get away from it all’. However the last few visits Colm had told Brendan that he was concerned about him, and felt he was getting a little too old to fetch water from the well, and that his failing eye sight would benefit from electric light. Colm kept nagging Brendan to get some work done. However, the water and power companies had made it quite clear; he had refused the ‘utilities’ for free in the seventies, if he wanted them now he would have to pay.

  The next day he found a pink card lying on his mat. He squinted and read, ‘Fiona Cholmondey, Sales Ex-eecutive, formerly of Knightsbridge, London. Properties of distinction,’ he struggled to read the small print at the bottom of the card, ‘New properties considered.’

  The talk in town the next day was of Fiona and how her business was aimed at attracting a better class of British tourist for hunting and shooting weekends.’ Brendan thought the first thing to be shot should be her.