“I said to her, sure what’s there to be afraid of, all the way up here, and what do you care what them bitches say—and if that Guard’s got nothing better to do than give out to kids for mitching, then fuck him anyway. But there’s no talking to a woman that’s looking to make a big fuckin’ deal outa nothing.”
He digs through his pockets for his smokes. “She’s never satisfied, that one. I could bring her the sun, moon, and stars, and she’d find something wrong with them. She wasn’t happy when I was here, and she wasn’t happy when I was gone. And sure”—Johnny’s hands fly up in outrage—“sure, I’m back now. Here I am. Sitting here. I’ve a plan to put the lot of us on the pig’s back. And she’s still not fuckin’ happy. What the fuck does she want from me?”
Trey isn’t sure whether he wants her to answer or not. “Dunno,” she says again.
“I even brought your man Rushborough here for her to meet. Does she think I wanted to bring him into this kip? I did it anyway, just so’s she could see I wasn’t talking shite. That man who complimented your mammy’s stew, he’s eaten at the finest restaurants in the world. And she looked at him like he was some latchico I picked out of a ditch. Did you see that?”
“Nah,” Trey says. “I was eating the stew.”
Her dad lights a cigarette and pulls hard on it. “I asked her for her opinion and all. Told her the whole plan—what d’you reckon, says I, that oughta make for a better Christmas this year, amn’t I right? D’you know what she did?” Johnny stares past Trey’s ear and gives an exaggerated shrug. “That’s it. That’s what I got offa her. All I needed was for her to look at me and say,
“Maybe,” Trey says, feeling that some response is required of her.
Johnny looks at her then, taking a second to focus his eyes, and appears to recall who she is. He makes the effort to smile at her. Tonight, with the spring and shine taken off him, his boyish look is gone; he seems small and wispy in the armchair, as if his muscles are already starting to shrivel towards old age. “Not you, sweetheart,” he reassures her. “Sure, you’re Daddy’s great girl. You’ve all the faith in the world in me, haven’t you?”
Trey shrugs.
Johnny looks at her. For a second Trey thinks she’s going to get a slap. He sees her ready to bolt, and closes his eyes. “I need a fuckin’ drink,” he says, under his breath.
Trey sits there looking at him, slumped with his head leaned back and his legs splayed at random. There are purple shadows under his eyes.
She goes out to the kitchen, takes the whiskey bottle from its cupboard, and puts some ice in a glass. When she gets back to the sitting room, her father hasn’t moved. A thin trail of smoke trickles upwards from his cigarette. She squats beside his chair.
“Daddy,” she says. “Here you go.”
Her dad opens his eyes and looks blankly at her for a second. Then he spots the bottle and lets out a small harsh burst of laughter. “God,” he says, softly and bleakly, to himself.
“I’ll get you something different,” Trey says. “If you don’t want that.”
Johnny stirs himself, with an effort, and sits up straight. “Ah, no, sweetheart, that’s lovely. Thanks very much. You’re a great girl altogether, looking after your daddy. What are you?”
“Great girl,” Trey says obediently. She pours some whiskey and hands him the glass.
Johnny takes a deep swig and lets his breath out. “Now,” he says. “See? All better.”
“I’ve got faith in you,” Trey says. “It’s gonna be great.”
Her dad smiles down at her, pinching the top of his nose like his head hurts. “That’s the plan, anyhow. And sure, why shouldn’t it be? Don’t we deserve a few nice things?”
“Yeah,” Trey says. “Mam’ll be delighted once she sees it. She’ll be all proud of you.”
“She will, o’ course. And when your brother comes home, it’ll be great for him to have a nice surprise to come back to. Isn’t that right? Can’t you just see the face on him, when he steps outa the car and gets an eyeful of a house the size of a shopping center?”
Just for a second, Trey does see it, as vividly as if it could actually come true: Brendan’s head tilted up to the shining rows of windows, his mouth opening, his thin mobile face exploding like a firework with delight. Her dad is good at this.
“Yeah,” she says.
“He’ll never want to go roaming again,” Johnny says, smiling at her. “He’ll have no need.”
“Mrs. Cunniffe says can you ask Mr. Rushborough is there any gold on their land,” Trey says. “And Tom Pat Malone says can their Brian help dig the gold outa the river.”
