Free A Mad and Wonderful Thing by Mark Mulholland Page B

planted an orchard in the far field. Geese and chickens ran free around a tall ash tree in the front yard, and a single cow was kept in the near field for milk and butter. They had three children — three sons — and the boys grew tall, and they were well schooled by Claire, and one by one they followed each other into the Garda Síochána na hÉireann — the Irish police force.
    Liam graduated to a quiet rural posting and twenty years of bachelor life until a local priest intervened and arranged a marriage with the solidly built Annie Watson.
    I assume Annie was uncomfortable with the notion of sex. I don’t know this for sure; but then, somehow, I do. Éamon’s mother has an aversion to affection — an embrace can put her off her whole day. Liam was forty-seven, and Annie forty-six, when the priest intervened again and suggested an adoption. This, I only know from observations, mathematics, investigation, and a little help from Delaney. I guess — with their ages — that rules were broken, but that might happen when it suits. Liam’s poor health led to the offer of a transfer to desk-sergeant in the bigger town on the coast, and so it was man, woman, and boy that set up home in Dundalk. The matter of the adoption, once done, was never again discussed. The boy is Éamon, and he was never told. It was a matter left for another day, and that day never came.
    Liam and Annie are too shy to be sociable. Having arrived as middle-aged strangers in a strange town, they exist on the edge of everything. For a peephole into the life that surrounds them, they cling to a daily ritual of Mass in Saint Joseph’s — the Mass being part devotion, part habit, and part social outing.
    But Éamon had a lonely childhood. With no brother or sister, and no relatives in town, I guess he was seen by other children as something of an oddity in the way that children mechanically see anything other than what is standard as an oddity, and ridicule it. I guess the faculty to be an occasional arsehole must be built into our DNA. Anyhow, Éamon retreated to places of his own construction, and without reference it passed Liam’s and Annie’s notice that some of these places were dark. How could they have known? And to Éamon it was normal; every childhood is normal to the child.
    All this changed one day. It was a school day, and the morning lessons had just started when a knock at the door brought a new boy — me — to class. I was given the empty space next to Éamon on the double bench. I sat down, turned to Éamon, and smiled, and followed Éamon as we left the classroom for the morning break. Reaching the corridor, we walked side by side and, turning for the yard, I placed a hand on Éamon’s shoulder and again smiled to him. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m Johnny Donnelly.’ Éamon smiled and, suddenly, life for us both sat lighter.
    Although I was as shy then as Éamon was odd, our inhibitions were abandoned once we were free of the school. There was never enough time to do all we wanted to do. I insisted that we join the football team together. I planned the cycling adventures and fishing trips. I showed Éamon how to build forts and jumps, and how to play tennis and snooker. I brought Éamon to music and reading — passing records, comics, and books to my friend. And what did Éamon do? He stuck by my side, and I don’t know how to explain it, but he gave me a kind of strength. And when I was figuring out what I was going to be and what I was going to do, I took a great comfort in Éamon being there. I decided early that I would never involve him; that Ireland’s war was my war, and not Éamon’s.
    For the remainder of our primary schooling, we travelled together on the bus and remained side by side throughout the day. No longer did Éamon worry about the bullying of the schoolyard or the ridicule on the street.