Page 6 of Pyg

COWARDLY SWINE

M y grandmother’s acidic voice hissed through the gap in the doorway like a gas leak and I pressed my ear between the banisters.

“I don’t know what you were thinking bringing that… that thing into my home. It’ll be full of fleas or mange. Probably both. Get rid of it, or I will.”

Mum laughed, and I scrunched my eyes shut, waiting for the sound of the slap of my grandmother’s hand across her face. But it didn’t come.

And that was a bad thing as it meant worse was brewing.

“ That thing is no concern of yours. Pyg doesn’t have fleas, and she doesn’t have mange. The boys will look after her, so you need not worry.”

“Those boys are?—”

“Don’t.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Eleanor. You think you’re so clever, pecking away at me. You think it’ll finish me, don’t you? Peck, peck, peck until I’m gone and then you and those little swines will have all this.”

Mum scoffed. “All this? Have you opened your eyes in the last twenty years? This place is in ruins because you’re too tight to?—”

“How dare you! I give you and those little runts a roof over your head. From my own coffers, I fund your life of privilege and comfort.”

“A life of shabby-genteel poverty more like. I’m only here until?—”

“Until what? Until that dirty lump of a man comes to whisk you into the sunset?” She expelled a wicked laugh, and I could picture the sneer of her lips as they twisted around her spiteful words. “Well, he hasn’t come for you yet, has he? You just lay back and let him have his filthy way, you silly little whore.”

I didn’t know what a whore was, but coming from my grandmother, it wouldn’t be a compliment.

“Mother, Mother. For the last time, whores get paid. I did it for free and I enjoyed every glorious minute.” She laughed, clearly pleased with whatever reaction her words had provoked on my grandmother’s face. I could almost see my grandmother’s mouth puckering in disgust like she’d bitten into a lemon.

“Imagine, my daughter rolling around with that bit of rough. Could you have sunk any lower? I shouldn’t have listened to Father Higgins.” Her shrill voice drifted back and forth as she paced. “When you got pregnant, I should’ve sent you off to Ireland to one of those laundry places for disgusting girls who can’t keep their legs shut?—”

“Oh, shut up, Sylvia.”

My grandmother sharply inhaled. “If your father were still here?—”

“What? You wouldn’t be such a twisted old recluse?”

My body clenched at the sound of the slap. It must have been a hard one, as Mum gasped. Anxiety twisted in my gut, but then she laughed again; my mother really didn’t know what was good for her sometimes.

The stairs behind me creaked, and I spun around. My little brother stood frozen, his eyes wide with horror. I raised a finger to my lips, then patted the threadbare carpet next to me. Bernard tiptoed down and squeezed up close.

“Are they fighting?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Where’s Pyg?”

“I shut her in the bedroom like you said to.”

“Good lad.” I hugged an arm around him.

Bernard jutted his chin towards the kitchen door. “Will she be alright?”

“She always is.”

* * *

The doorbell chimed with three short rings. Bernard and I stood up from where we’d sat on the stairs, awaiting our visitor. Our hair was combed, and we were wearing shirts, shorts, and polished shoes — our Sunday best. Mum hopped down the hallway, muttering something inaudible under her breath, a zesty scent trailing behind her. She stopped for a quick glance in the hallway mirror, scrunching her fingers in her hair and pinching at the edges of her rouged lips. She turned to us as she wiped her palms on her apron.

“Boys, have you shut Pyg in the studio?”

We nodded and stood straight as Mum opened the front door.

“Henry,” she said, her voice low and warm.

“Hello, El.” The priest stepped inside, his hand grazing Mum’s arm as he passed.

“Hello, Father Higgins,” Bernard and I said in unison.

“My goodness, have you grown since last month? George, you must be a whole head taller.” The priest’s face split into a wide grin.

Bernard beamed as Father Higgins patted his head.

“I’ll see you both in a while,” the priest whispered and gave us a wink.

Mum led him through to the drawing room, Bernard and I followed, but stopped to hover in the doorway. Grandmother’s sour face lit up at the sight of the clergyman.

“Father Higgins, how wonderful to see you. Oh, I have been looking forward to our prayers and discourse. Eleanor, fetch the tea, will you? Father must be parched.” She flicked her twiggy wrist, dismissing Mum. Father Higgins turned and threw her a small smile, unseen by my grandmother.

Mum playfully nudged me as she passed. Father Higgins folded his tall frame into the armchair opposite our grandmother. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the high sash windows, shining on the priest and making his blonde hair glow like a halo. He leaned forward and took the old woman’s hand, which elicited a rare smile from her lips.

“How are you, Mrs Shaw?”

Her fleeting smile fell away. “Oh, Father, I’m grateful you’re here. It’s been a testing time, what with Eleanor and those little b… boys, and now she’s gone and got them a dog, would you believe? My patience has worn thin.” She released a haughty groan. “I try, I do try. But they push me to the very edge…” Her willowy voice withered into an anguished sob.

The priest’s gaze flicked to us in the doorway, but his face reflected nothing but empathy for the old woman as he appraised her with his blue eyes. He continued to hold her liver-spotted hand.

I clenched my fists as the injustice of it all pulsed through me. The old witch never tries. She’s nothing but vile to all of us. Why does Father Higgins buy this crap?

“Well, God’s will is that we are patient and kind to those in our charge. It’s these challenges we’re faced with that present our truest test of character. This week, shall we read from the New Testament for a change, perhaps Corinthians?”

The old woman nodded solemnly.

“Excuse me, boys.” Mum strode past, holding an ornate tea tray. Grandmother huffed and sat back as our mother placed the cups and saucers on the table and poured the tea.

“Milk, Father?” she asked with a smile that shone through her eyes.

The priest nodded.

“No milk for me. Where’s the lemon?”

“I shall fetch it now, Mother.” Mum strained her words through gritted teeth.

Grandmother tutted, Mum ignored it and smiled at the priest again.

“I baked, Father. It’s a new recipe from the Women’s Institute with lemon and poppyseed. Would you like a slice?”

“That would be?—”

Grandmother slammed her hand on the table, and the teaspoon clattered off her saucer. “There’s no time for all that fuss and nonsense. Just leave us to it, Eleanor. Father Higgins will be out to take your confession afterwards, and to give his lessons to the boys. But this is my time.”

Mum nodded and turned to leave.

Grandmother pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled quick breaths. “On second thoughts, Father, no Corinthians today. I’d like to hear from Isaiah, please. Or anything about adulterers. The Book of Revelation, perhaps? That’s the New Testament, yes. Yes, that would?—”

Mum clicked the door shut behind her, closing off the conversation.

“C’mon, boys. Let’s have some cake in the studio whilst we wait for Father Higgins.”

“Can Pyg have cake too?” Bernard asked, as Mum shepherded his slight frame away from the drawing room.

“Of course. In fact, she can have Grandma’s slice!”

Bernard giggled.

I couldn’t summon a smile with fresh rage pulsing through me. How could Father Higgins just sit there and say nothing? That cowardly swine.