Little Drifters: Kathleen’s Story. Kathleen O’Shea

free from its wires and flung it straight through the window.

      It came down in the garden with a loud crash. We jumped up to look out at the television set, all broken up and smashed on our garden.

      That was it. We’d had a television for about two hours. Then it was gone. We hadn’t even managed to watch anything on it.

      Daddy’s tempers seemed to be worse than ever in the new house and poor Mammy bore the brunt. There were times he got so mad with her he’d fight her like he would a man, slapping, hitting and throwing her about all over the place. For us it was frightening and we all tried to run out the house whenever we felt the threat of a violent outburst. Now Daddy had a new grievance – the baby.

      ‘That feckin’ child ain’t mine!’ he’d tell her whenever he heard Riley screaming out from his cot upstairs.

      Mammy would sigh, pure exhausted with the constant fighting.

      ‘Of course he’s yours, Donal,’ she’d reply, just like she’d said a million times before this.

      ‘No, he’s not. That child ain’t mine. I know he’s not mine.’

      During these moments we’d dodge and weave through their legs, hoping to reach the front door to escape out of the house before things could get any worse. If they were fighting near the front door we had no choice but to run upstairs and hide in their room instead, hoping Daddy wouldn’t come up while he was still mad. None of us really thought too hard about what Daddy was saying – we all knew the baby was his too. It was beyond our comprehension to imagine anything else. Daddy was sick, that was the trouble, and his paranoia told him all sorts of things that just weren’t true.

      One day Daddy’s rage started early and went on all day long, gaining power and momentum every time he came in the house. There was nothing Mammy could say to calm him down, and by evening he’d already drunk himself into a storm of fury.

      ‘Why don’t you just admit it, woman?’ he bawled at her, sending plates and cups flying as he swept a heavy arm across the kitchen table.

      ‘Admit what?’ she yelled back, darting behind the table to get away from him. ‘I ain’t done nothing, Donal. It’s all in your bloody head. You’re just so …’

      But she never got to finish her sentence. Daddy flew across the room and jumped on top of her, pushing her back onto the ground. He had his large hands around her neck now and his eyes were like a man possessed – frenzied and demonic. He was pushing hard onto her throat, putting all his weight onto his taut arms, and she was choking, gasping for breath while her eyes bulged with terror. We had been playing by the fire but when we saw them like that we all ran out the house, terrified.

      ‘He’s going to kill Mammy!’ I whimpered, as Tara and I clung tight to each other in one of the dog sheds in the garden, a place where we liked to hide to get away from their fights.

      ‘For sure, he’s going to kill her this time!’ Tara agreed. Colin was sat in a corner, making marks in the dirt while Brian kept watch at the opening.

      ‘We can’t go back,’ Brian declared. ‘We don’t want to see poor Mammy dead in the kitchen.’

      Brian was always the grown-up one of us – making the decisions that were best for us all. He was right. We’d seen it for ourselves – Daddy had lost control completely this time and there was no way Mammy could survive this attack. We let the hours pass by and must have dropped off for a while because the next thing we heard was my Mammy’s voice calling all our names.

      ‘Brian! Tara! Kathleen! Colin! Come on, you lot. Come inside now.’

      We all looked at each other in surprise – she was alive!

      We scrambled to our feet, shivering from being outside so long and having had nothing to eat for our tea. I was so happy to see my Mammy was alive I ran straight into the kitchen to see her, but when I caught sight of her face I almost recoiled in horror. She had the most terrible red eyes you’ve ever seen in your life – like the devil.

      I must have looked pretty upset because Mammy said: ‘Now, don’t be making a fuss there, Kathleen. Have your tea now.’

      We sat at the table, eating our bread and drinking tea in silence.

      Finally Brian asked: ‘Where’s my father, Mammy?’

      ‘Your father’s down at the pub,’ she replied, busying herself with the cleaning and washing up.

      Some time later, when we were all finished and warming up by the fire, Aidan and Liam came back from working in the fields.

      They were talking loudly and being boisterous between them until they caught sight of Mammy.

      ‘Jesus! Mammy! What did he do to you?’ Liam exclaimed loudly.

      ‘What did he do to me?’ Mammy spat bitterly. ‘What does it look like he did?’

      ‘That’s it, Mammy!’ he said. ‘That’s the final straw there. I’m going to kill my Daddy for what he’s done.’

      Liam was boiling with rage. He couldn’t bear to see what my father had done – none of us could. We couldn’t look Mammy in the face. It was horrible to see those red swollen eyes.

      ‘Don’t be saying that now, Liam.’ Mammy shook her head.

      ‘No, really! I’m going to kill him!’

      ‘You can’t kill your father,’ she repeated. Now she was stood against the wall as Liam paced back and forth in the room. ‘You better not be touching your father,’ she warned him again. Aidan meanwhile was sat silent next to us, staring into the fire, a look of utter despair on his face. He caught Liam’s eyes – I could tell what he was thinking right there. We all could. He wanted Daddy dead too.

      Nothing more was said but Mammy set about getting the older boys their tea. None of us wanted to go to bed that night. We were all too shaken up by what had happened and we needed the comfort of the fire and each other. Liam went upstairs. He seemed in a strange mood but we tried not to pay it any mind. Liam was always trying to protect our Mammy but it often left him battered himself from Daddy’s violent outbursts.

      It was late when my father finally staggered in, up to the eyeballs with the drink. He didn’t look at my Mammy. Nobody said a word. He just plonked himself on a stool by the range and sat there, warming his hands and feet at the fire. He couldn’t have been there more than a few minutes before we heard the clump-clump of Liam’s feet overhead. Then he flew down the stairs in a second and before we knew what was happening he came up behind my father and whacked him over the head with a large ashtray.

      In a stomach-churning whump we heard the ashtray make contact with Daddy’s skull and then his head split open and blood started pouring out.

      ‘Liam! No!’ Mammy screamed.

      But it was too late – Daddy’s head was oozing thick dark blood. He hadn’t even fallen off his stool – he just rocked back and forth slightly, not saying a word. Then he staggered to his feet as Liam stood back, breathing hard, a look of pure hate on his face.

      We could all see he was drawing his arm back to go at Daddy again.

      ‘Stop, Liam! Don’t!’ Mammy screeched, racing over to Liam and grabbing hold of his arm, pinning it back at his side. They struggled like that for a bit as Daddy swayed from side to side before stumbling out the front door.

      ‘Let me go, Mammy!’ Liam was shouting. ‘I’m gonna kill him!’

      Mammy ran to the door and shut it against my father, then leaned back on it to stop Liam from following Daddy outside.

      ‘Please, Liam, don’t do this!’ she was crying, pleading with him now. ‘Think of the little ones!’

      ‘I am!’ Liam roared. ‘I AM thinking of the little ones. He’s killing us all!’

      ‘No, no, no,’ Mammy sobbed. ‘You