Sean Happens 3

Dad was sitting dozing outside the kitchen on a hard wooden seat. His balding head and ear were scarlet, and the sun had taken a blowtorch to his nose. His yellowing vest kept his belly from spilling over his shorts. An ashtray and can of can of lager were sitting underneath his chair. His eyes fluttered open when Mr Martin guided Sean towards the backdoor.

‘Whit the fuck yeh daeing, yah fucking poof?’ Dad scrambled to get up, but had to lean on the metal arm of the chair to pull himself upright to his full five-foot-seven height and almost toppling it.

Mum appeared at the back door with a checked dishtowel in her hand, in her bare feet. She looked past Dad at Sean.

Mr Martin’s hand fell from Sean’s shoulder. He glanced at Mum then back at Dad. A foot taller, overshadowing him.  His voice calm and clear-cut as he addressed him. ‘There’s a certain intimacy with those terms that you use that I would consider to be a case of jealousy. My dear little man.’  

Dad sneered and his face went through a few contortions as he tried to interpret whether it  was an insult or harmless banter. Deciding was too complex, he swelled up and flexed his shoulders. ‘I’ve a good mine tae smack yeh wan, yah poofy wanker.’

‘Go ahead little man. Be assured I may be a painted old thing, but I have had some training in these arts.’

Mr Martin picked a dod of mascara from his eyelash as he winked at Sean and grabbed his arm when his legs wobbled.

Mum got between Mr Martin and Dad, waving her arms. ‘We’ll need tae call the police,’ she told them, while looking at Sean. ‘The condition yeh’ve got him in.’

‘Call the police, fuck aw! I’ll deal wae this.’ Dad breenged forward to throw a punch. But found himself sparkled beside the wee-bit-box hedge. Mr. Martin used Da’s momentum to his advantage and landed a clean punch on the side of his nose, causing it to burst open.

Mum stared so hard at him it was as if he was going to burst into flames. Even as he tried to get up, he was already sinking down again holding his nose and groaning.

Mum walked around Miss Martin’s petticoats and ducked her head down to look into Sean’s eyes. She shook his shoulder and his head wobbled, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. ‘Whit huv they done tae yeh?’

Miss Martin wiped at her mascara. ‘My deepest regrets. A case of mistaken drinkentity. We thought it was some kind of pop drink but it was Irish moonshine. Not a good year, either. A rather silly thing to do.’

‘Yeh, got a child drunk.’ She took Sean’s hand, kneaded his fingers. ‘I’m calling the police. I’lll need tae get him into his bed.’

‘Nae Police,’ gurgled Dad. ‘I’ll settle wae that poofy cunt, later.’

‘Yes, you could do that,’ said Mr Martin. ‘But you know when we get lawyers involved and it becomes a sticky-wicket, about who gave what to whom? And why was a little boy allowed to visit two gentlewomen unescorted?’

‘Shut it,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t care whit yeh dae wae yer wee fiddly bits, but yeh sound like a right cunt, blaming a wee boy for whit yeh’ve done.’

Mr Martin rocked on his heels. He sounded apologetic. ‘You’re right, of course. I can only apologise. It’s been one of those days when nothing I say or do seems to be the right thing.’

Mum cocked her head. ‘I guess we aw huv days like that.’

‘Yer get getting it, yah poof.’ Da made no effort to get up, but honked blood into the privet.

‘Perhaps I will get it,’ said Mr Martin, narrowing his eyes. ‘Perhaps the police will be able to find poor Shadow. The boy’s pedigree dog you stole off us and sold to a couple in Saltcoats for £1200?’

Mum’s head whipped around as if she’d been in a car crash. ‘Yeh said yeh sold the puppy for £150!’

‘He’s jist saying that,’ cried Da, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.

‘Well,’ said Mr Martin. ‘Call the police and we will find out?’

Mr Martin stepped back sharpish when Sean boaked. The splatter of sickness came in multi-coloured hues, splattering the path and knocking him to his knees. Tears in the boy’s eyes as he choked and spluttered and sank down onto the burnt grass. He glanced at his dad and shook his head as if trying to work out who was in a worse state fatigued his brain.  

Mr Martin pulled out a perfumed hanky and held it to his own nose. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. And there were tears in his eyes too.

Mum was more practical, helping Sean to stand and guiding him by the arm away from the puddle of sickness. ‘Better out than in,’ she said, meeting Mr Martin’s eyes with a clenched grin.  

‘Let’s get yeh tae bed,’ she told Sean.

Mr Martin poked around his flat chest in his pink velvet dress before finding what he was searching for with his fingers, pulling wads of £100 notes out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘Perhaps this could help with dry-cleaning costs and for odds and sundry?’

Mum counted it with her eyes but quickly stuffed it into the side pocket of her slacks. ‘He does need some new clothes and stuff,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Dad stumbled and swayed past them into the kitchen.  

Flinging an arm around Sean’s shoulder, she crocked her back, guiding him towards the door. ‘He’s not got many friends,’ she admitted. ‘At first, I thought yeh were a godsend. It got him oot the house. Yeh were aw he’d talk about. But noo I’m no so sure. I don’t think I can let him see yeh again. He’ll need tae learn.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Mr Martin, pursing pink lips. ‘We all have our frailties. I should know that more than most. Mum’s always knows best. But perhaps when we get the house shipshape and have our grand opening, you could come and see for yourself?’

‘I will,’ she smiled at him for the first time. ‘I mean, we will.’

‘He’s an exceptionally lovely and gifted boy,’ said Mr Martin, holding his scented hanky over his nose and dabbing at his eyes.