In Slumber

‘How did you come by it?’ I asked.

‘It came by me,’ answered Lavery.  ‘Was here long before I set up shop.  When the Jesuits ran the place.  Ida’d probably know.  She knew the last ones.’

Phyllis, appalled: ‘You mean to say in all the time you’ve been here you never thought to ask about it?’   

‘Why would I?’

‘It’s only the company namesake.’

‘It’s just a painting of a bird.’

‘Did you never think to use it for promotion?’

‘Ida said it was rubbish and would probably lose us readers.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ I said.  ‘What do you make of it yourself?’

‘I haven’t a notion.  It’s a painting, that’s all.’

‘So you’d hardly be put out if you were parted from it, would you?’

‘Now hold on a minute.  I didn’t say that.  How much is it worth exactly?  Do we know?’ 

Lavery and I looked at our nearest Berrills anticipating a swiftly conveyed estimate.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Phyllis.  ‘I’ve no chops in those forms of evaluation.  Come to me for judgment on behaviour, clothes, politics, hairstyle, your choice of wallpaper or whatever.’

‘Oran said she might fetch a few grand,’ I said.

‘He was talking about the stag,’ said Phyllis.

‘What stag?’asked Lavery.

‘Just another phoney they have in their possession, in the manner of this one.’

‘If we’re talking thousands, then you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m letting you walk away with it, boyo.’

‘Money money money,’ snarked Phyllis.

‘I’m not a cold man,’ said Lavery, quietly.  ‘Despite what you think.’

He paused and walked towards the painting whereupon he gave it a more considered inspection – it felt like the first time he was allowing it more than just the onceover.  And his mood suddenly changed as he scanned the bird up and down.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Phyllis asked.

‘I’m not saying this newspaper is going to disappear or anything, but it is a definite likelihood that I will not be running it in the near future.  And tell me: why wouldn’t I hang onto a souvenir of my time spent here?’    

There is a thing that happens when one becomes abruptly aware of the fragile nature of one’s employment.  And what an especially jarring thing it is when you’ve been taking your occupation for granted so long, not an uncommon phenomenon for the compliant slave.  You might be inclined to gripe about the rolling miseries of your day-to-day, and the nuisance of personalities, even just their proximity to you might be a source of aggravation, not to mention the conceivable embarrassments if social gatherings are frequent in your particular workplace, the constant dread and trivial animosities which can arise.  But when confronted with your job’s potential to go away, a real terror is likely to come over you knowing you may lose that regular stipend.  I’d suspected for some weeks Lavery had had enough of the place, but it turned out that I really didn’t believe something like a closure could ever happen.   

‘You’re not selling up, are you? said Phyllis.  ‘All because of that debacle with the boy.  Sure, you know yourself he was just a bit slow.’

‘I’m not certain anyone will have an interest in the place.  You must be aware of the trouble that’s come from this.  He might have been slow, as you say, but he was cherished enough by a great many to put the town crazy, and weaken the foundations of this place to boot.’

‘Haven’t you balls of steel,’ said Phyllis, scornfully.  ‘And what will happen to the poor scamps on your payroll?’

‘Oh, like our burglar here.’

I was still too drunk and bewildered to comprehend the grievous nature of my recent actions.  I’d almost forgotten how I’d come to be in the building.

‘I suppose I’ll have to see if the Democrat has a spot for me,’ I said. (Stated to provide cover.  In fact, I was in shock by the revelation and didn’t want to let on.)

‘You cheeky bastard,’ said Lavery.  ‘Not a moment’s hesitation and you’re off sleeping with the enemy.’

‘Betrayal’s all this fella knows.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

 

Temper in the room dulled.  Lavery was no longer interested in entertaining us this evening.  He was now preoccupied with his crumbling operation and said he wished both Phyllis and I well and on our ways. 

 

Walking home together, it occurred to me that I had never accompanied Phyllis in public before.  My immediate feeling was vigilance and – to my horror – not insubstantial shame.  I was also a born Earlshipper and dwelled with the scurrilous reputation of the Berrills for as long as anyone.  Even though I was now friends with them, a prejudice stirred within me which I’d previously not been keen to acknowledge, something ingrained in me, but faint and fleeting, thank God.  I detested myself for being grateful there was nobody around to see us.  Her height was even more apparent as we walked together, perhaps because of our shadows unfolding asymmetrically on the pavement.  I had adapted to the dimensions of Isolde Terrace where our difference in stature had become moot, so outside on the dark, empty street, just the pair of us, I imagined I looked like the wee apprentice of some towering wizard.

 

‘How did all that come about?  You and Lavery pairing up . . . for this evening, I mean.’

‘I was as surprised as you are,’ she replied.  ‘He called round to see us.  Can you believe it but he apologised to both of us for acting the maggot when he was young.  It was a bit pathetic, but I can’t say I wasn’t touched.  Oran has a stronger hold on that business than myself.  Wee boys and their slumbering traumas.  You know yourself.’

‘I suppose I do.  It was nice of him to give yous a call.’

‘It was.  I never had anything against the man, per se.  I was aware of his designs on me for some years, and . . .  well, it’s nice when someone pays you a bit of attention.  Especially at my age.’

‘I understand.  Not completely – but sort of.’

‘You’re a lucky man,’ she then said.

‘How so?’

‘He only let you off because I was there.’

‘Maybe he just has a soft spot for me.’

‘Tomorrow, when you shake off that head of drink, you’ll realise.’