Future Popes of Ireland. Darragh Martin
way of the triplets: John Paul set the tune and the other two followed. ‘Ssssh,’ Peg tried but it was hopeless. She could hear the commotion in the porch below; she’d be murdered.
Peg had a second to decide: try and placate the triplets or run and hide? Her legs made the choice immediately; in 7 Dunluce Crescent, escape was always the answer. She shot past her father’s closed door (as if he’d be any use) and dashed into her room. Well, Granny Doyle’s room with a camp bed in the corner and a chest of drawers for Peg, no space even for a shoebox. Peg’s heart raced as she heard Granny Doyle heave her way up the stairs. The triplets had only been down for the length of one cup of tea: she’d be mad. Peg examined the room for hiding places. There was the dusty wardrobe, no hope of Narnia behind Granny Doyle’s rain macs and dry-cleaned skirts. The covers of Granny Doyle’s big bed were an option, though the smell of Granny Doyle was enough to keep her away. Under the camp bed it was, a space Peg could just about crawl into. The walls were thin enough that Peg could hear Granny Doyle shush the triplets, John Paul cradled as she launched into some country lullaby.
Peg didn’t dare move, as much as she hated the room and its statue of the Sacred Heart. It wasn’t possible to switch it off, so Granny Doyle said, so Peg had to stare at the odd statue of Jesus, with his huge red heart, throbbing brightly in the dark. For some reason, it was the statue that made it hard for Peg to find sleep, not the restless triplets in the next room. Every night, she’d lie on the small camp bed, her body tight as a tin soldier, eyes fixed on the pulsating red candle. Granny Doyle had shared the room with the Sacred Heart since her wedding night. If the statue’s light had bothered her once, it didn’t now, and her snores always filled the room before Peg’s sobs.
At least he wouldn’t tell on her, Peg thought, peeping out from under the bed to stare at Jesus. He was too busy with his heart that never stopped beating, even after death: he wasn’t bothered with the misdeeds of Peg Doyle. Nor were any of the statues or pictures of the Virgin Mary, when she thought of it. Whatever Peg did – spitting out Granny Doyle’s soup or stealing a glimpse into the dining room – had no impact on the serene smiles of the Virgin Marys dotted throughout the house. She could become invisible, Peg decided; a thought to chew on. He’d keep her secret, this statue of the Sacred Heart, not a word out of him, even as Peg heard Granny Doyle cart the triplets downstairs, the hope of rocking them to sleep surrendered.
Peg would stay here until she was caught, she decided, settling into the carpet. She dug in her elbows, ready to wait Granny Doyle out. An hour passed. Two. Peg smelled the whiff of cabbage and pork chops from the kitchen: surely Granny Doyle would fetch her now. But no, Peg heard Granny Doyle’s footsteps up and down the stairs as she delivered a tray to her father’s room, no thought to check in on Peg. Tears welled up in Peg’s eyes, their provenance unclear, as she probably wouldn’t be in trouble now. Yet to be invisible had its own hardships, the statue of the Sacred Heart’s expression unmoved by her tears, its heart continuing to flicker as night crept into the room.
It was as if the statue knew, Peg thought, years later: the statue understood that 7 Dunluce Crescent was impossibly small for all the people and feelings it was suddenly asked to contain. From the beginning, the house had been impatient to expel some of its new inhabitants, unable to contain the miracles that would push against its walls. The statue intuited this: perhaps it even anticipated the trouble that would come, the sights it would be forced to witness. Yet it kept beating on, even as dark filled every corner of the room, while Peg sobbed herself to sleep.
The statue saw what Peg didn’t: the heave of relief when Granny Doyle found her, the sign of the cross, the kiss. Granny Doyle managed to shift Peg’s floppy limbs into the camp bed. She pulled the covers around her, bewildered at the devilment that such a quiet thing could get up to.
Little do you know, the statue might have said, for surely it intuited everything that Granny Doyle and Peg would do and say to each other before their histories ran out. It kept quiet, its scarlet candle throbbing away, its lips frozen in a solemn smile, its hands outstretched in a gesture of compassion, though they were made of stone, and limited, ultimately, in their ability to provide aid.
Series II:
(2007)
1
Rosemary and Mint Hotel Shampoo (2007)
Kiss to say, honey, I’m home.
‘Hello, Mrs Sabharwal.’
Peg rolled her eyes.
‘I’ve told you, I’m not changing my name.’
‘I know, but today—’
‘That’s not how it works, you don’t own me because a year has passed, I’m not a washing machine that you bought in Walmart.’
A smile from Devansh.
‘You remembered!’
Kiss to say, of course you remembered.
Pause to savour the scent of New York City on an April evening: young love and fast food and the promise of heat.
Pause to detect something else.
‘You smell nice!’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘What is that smell?’
‘I showered after swimming. Borrowed some lady’s fancy shampoo.’
Kiss to avoid questions about rosemary and mint hotel shampoo.
Kiss to avoid questions about what Peg was doing in a hotel on a Tuesday afternoon.
Peg removed the wine and take-out containers and brandished a brown paper bag.
‘One year: paper!’
Kiss to reward ingenuity.
‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to cook.’
‘We can have a feast.’
‘We can’t have Chinese with pasta.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll put some of this in the fridge …’
‘Come here.’
Kiss to stop motion.
‘You are looking sexy today!’
Peg opened the wine.
‘Today?’
Kiss to demonstrate love in the face of provocation.
‘You know I’d never be down on the librarian chic.’
‘I know.’
Peg found a way to take a sip of wine.
‘I had a meeting in the morning with a potential dissertation supervisor.’
‘And you thought you’d seduce them into accepting you.’
‘Exactly.’
A gulp of wine to wash down a lie.
‘Let me know if you need a reference. I’m happy to vouch for your many attributes.’
‘Generous.’
‘I’ll write a letter about your exceptional fingers which are excellent at typing …’
Kiss to demonstrate a relationship between word and thing.
‘… and I can recommend your ears which can listen to lots of lectures …’
Kiss to tickle.
‘… and these eyes …’
Kiss