‘Morning, Brendan, go on ahead. He’s down in the office there if it’s Gerry you’re after.’
‘It is, thanks, Mrs Feeney.’
‘Do you want a bacon sandwich? I’m making one for the girls.’
‘No thanks, I’m alright, Mrs Feeney, I had a big breakfast,’ I said. I never felt comfortable eating in other people’s houses for some reason.
Mr Feeney never got dressed for work when he was at home in his office, he’d wear a shabby white-ish dressing robe over his hairy body. It didn’t have a tie cord so it hung open to reveal loose boxers that were usually striped. His beer belly slunked out over the elasticated waistband and he wasalways barefoot. He had a habit of pacing when he was on the phone, so I could hear his feet slapping on the wooden floor of his office as I made my way down the hall. I got glimpses of him walking back and forth through the half-open door; that cotton-caped, coffee-mug-holding, crotch-scratching, almost-prehistoric-looking man. His eyes were blearied and he was unshaven and his voice was croaky as he spoke into the phone in one hand while beckoning me inside with the other when he saw me standing there.
Mr Feeney was fair in business and a good judge of character. He had high standards and was very professional. He balanced his books and paid me fairly, even giving me bonuses at Christmas and in the summer holidays. He was consoling to families and conducted funerals with a kind of majesty. He had good relations with local businesses who supplied him with flowers, holy relics and coffins. And the priests appreciated him for his punctuality in respecting the churches’ busy schedules.
But he was never any of these things before 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
And when it came to my granny’s funeral, there was no one else we would have considered for the job.
As I entered his office he pulled out the chair in front of his dark mahogany desk for me to sit down as he continued to talk on the phone. I could always tell when he was talking to a customer because he pronounced his words more clearly and slowly with a gentle tone. I caught a whiff of stale sweat as I sat. He held up his fingers to indicate ‘two minutes’.
He flopped into his leather swivel chair as he was finishing the call and as soon as he put the phone down, I spoke.
‘Is Ronan not being taken to school no more?’
‘Mornin’ to you, too, Brendan,’ he said, switching back to his usual way of talking, and taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Who’re you on about?’
‘The boy that Matty took to school on Monday: Ronan McCoy, his mum is Emma McCoy.’
‘Oh aye, no, she phoned there on Tuesday to put a hold on things for the week and phoned again there yesterday to cancel the pickups until further notice.’
‘What does she mean by that?’
‘Well, in all honesty, Brendan, I got the impression the young fella won’t be going back to school a-tall. His ma mentioned there might be other arrangements for his education in the new year, so maybe they’re thinkin’ about home schoolin’ or somethin’.’
I sighed. Speechless.
‘What’s with the interest in this, Brendan? Sure that’s one less vehicle for you to clean.’
‘One less friend.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He’s my friend, Mr Feeney.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know that, Brendan. I’d heard what happened to him over at the farm, it’s friggin’ devastatin’ so it is, I’m sorry, son.’
I’d heard people say it was a farming accident, but I wasn’t going to talk about it with Mr Feeney, so I just nodded briefly.
‘Has his ma and da not phoned you to tell you all this, Brendan? Or the school? I would have thought someone would have told you what’s happenin’?’
‘No, Mr Feeney, no one’s telling me nothing and I’m friggin’ sick of it.’
‘Well, I don’t know the ins and outs ma’self – maybe give the McCoys a ring? Do you want to use the phone there?’
‘No, Mr Feeney, it’s OK, I’ll have a wee think first. Just a bit shocked so I am. I thought Ronan might be coming back next week but he’s definitely not by the sounds of it?’
‘Well unless he’s gettin’ there some other way than with Matty, then no, I don’t think he is.’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘well I’m going to crack on here.’
‘Don’t be doin’ no half-assed job now that you know your wee mate isn’t going to be sittin’ up in the back.’
