Read An Irish Christmas Feast for Free Online Page B

forthrightness, ‘I see. I see. Would you like to step inside?’
    â€˜I cannot do that,’ came the polite reply, ‘but thank you all the same.’
    Jacko suddenly knelt down and took the boy’s hands gently in his.
    â€˜And to think,’ he chided himself tearfully, ‘I treated you so roughly and you my very own grandson, my flesh and blood.’
    â€˜Don’t blame yourself,’ young John J. Mulholland’s tone held a wealth of tenderness, ‘how could you know who I was until I told you?’
    At this juncture he helped Jacko to his feet.
    â€˜There are certain conditions to be fulfilled,’ he warned, ‘before all this comes to pass.’
    â€˜I’ll play my part.’ Jacko spoke fervently, the tears coursing down his dishevelled face.
    â€˜Know one thing now for certain,’ he said, ‘and that is your grandfather won’t be found wanting no matter what the score.’
    â€˜First you must marry,’ young John J. insisted, ‘and, which is more, if all the heavenly calculations are to be accurately realised, you will go to the altar with your bride in six months’ time to the very day.’
    â€˜My bride!’ Jacko asked. ‘Who is she to be?’
    â€˜My grandmother, of course,’ came the emphatic response.
    â€˜Yes. Yes,’ Jacko entreated, ‘but her name. Tell me her name.’
    â€˜Her name,’ said young John J., ‘is Mary Moles.’
    â€˜Yes. Yes,’ Jacko promised slobberingly. ‘I’ll face her at first light and propose.’
    â€˜Now,’ said young John J., ‘I must leave you. I have a long journey and further delay could be fatal.’
    â€˜Will I see you again?’ Jacko Mulholland asked plaintively.
    â€˜Of course you will,’ came the positive response. ‘You will teach me how to fish and how to tie flies like a true grandfather.’
    â€˜And,’ Jacko paused before posing the next question, ‘will I have much time with you?’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ came the heart-lifting assurance, ‘you will see me to the very threshold of manhood and when your job is done you will depart this worldly scene for the happier climes of heaven at the great age of eighty-four years. Now I must bid you farewell.’
    So saying young John J. took his future grandfather’s hand and kissed it gently. Then he was gone.
    The street was empty but it was no longer desolate. Lights were coming on in the houses and there was the sound of a baby crying for its morning milk. There were other sounds, laughter and song snatches and the crowing of roosters and there were odours, the tantalising aroma of frying rashers, the age-old smell of turf and timber smoke and the salty tang of the distant sea in the rising breeze.
    Like all lonely men Jacko Mulholland adored the morning. He regarded it as the fairest of all the day’s times, unsullied and pure, ever adorning and gilding. A whistling milkman cycled past, his gallons rattling from either handle-bar.
    â€˜A happy Christmas to you Jacko,’ he called and redoubled his pedalling.
    â€˜And the same to you Eddie,’ Jacko Mulholland shouted in his wake.
    Later, after he had shaved and breakfasted, Jacko closed the front door behind him. The earliest of the Christmas morning mass-goers were abroad, mostly elderly, fearful of being without a seat in the crowded church. Their reactions were mixed when Jacko, taciturn for fourteen years, extended the compliments of the season. Some responded instantly while others were so overcome by shock and surprise that words failed them.
    â€˜It’s you is it?’ Mary Moles valiantly strove to hide her surprise when she opened the door and saw him standing there. He followed her into the kitchen where her aged parent sat at the head of the table spooning porridge into a toothless mouth. Between spoonfuls he protested, in undertones, about the perfidy of