Read by David McGrath
Elaine was maybe a little drunk. Someone was in her bed. ‘Mammy!’ she shouted. ‘I think someone’s in my bed.’
‘What?’
‘There’s someone in my bed.’
Mammy came out of the kitchen and looked upstairs at Elaine. ‘No there’s not.’
‘There is.’
‘There couldn’t be.’
‘Well, there is, Mammy.’
Mammy came upstairs, stood by Elaine at her bedroom door and saw that there was someone in Elaine’s bed.
‘What?’ John shouted from bed.
The women didn’t answer him.
‘What is it?’
‘Get out here, John!’ Mammy shouted.
John poked only his head out of Mammy’s bedroom for fear of being seen by Elaine in his underpants. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘There’s someone in Elaine’s bed.’
‘No there’s not.’
‘There is.’
‘There couldn’t be.’
‘Well, there is, John.’
Elaine would have to see John in his underpants—that’s all there was to it. He joined the women at the bedroom door and the three of them stood staring at the someone in Elaine’s bed. ‘Did you bring someone back, Elaine?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Elaine said.
‘She certainly did not,’ Mammy said.
‘So what?’
‘So someone’s sleeping in my bed, John.’
‘Start again,’ John said.
‘Oh for God sake!’
‘Calm down, Elaine,’ Mammy said. ‘John, Elaine came home. I made her a cup of tea. We chatted in the kitchen. I asked her who was out.’
‘It doesn’t matter who was out, Mammy.’
‘Elaine said she was going to bed. I stayed downstairs to wash up. Elaine called down to me that there was someone in her bed. I came upstairs. There was someone in her bed.’
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s three in the morning.’
‘So honestly now, the person-in-the-bed has nothing to do with Elaine?’
‘No,’ Mammy said. ‘That’s what we’re trying to tell you.’
The women waited while John went into Mammy’s bedroom and began struggling with his trousers.
‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers,’ Elaine said. She held a heel in her hand, high, ready to strike. She went to the bed on her tippy-toes, pinched a corner of her blanket, making sure she had it good and gripped then pulled it with all her might. She revealed a naked man—a naked dwarf. ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Elaine said.
‘Mother of God,’ Mammy said.
‘What?’ John shouted from the floor of Mammy’s bedroom. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a little person,’ Mammy shouted.
‘What?’ John shouted.
‘A little person, John.’
‘A child?’
‘No.’
‘They’re called dwarves, Mammy.’
‘Stop that, Elaine.’
‘That’s what they’re called.’
‘Dwarves?’
‘Yeah.’
John came into Elaine’s bedroom, trousered-up, chest punched out and ready for action. He stood beside the women. There was a dwarf in Elaine’s bed. And he was naked. ‘Where’s his clothes?’
‘How are we supposed to know?’ Elaine asked.
The naked dwarf had a big mullet like a lion’s mane. His buttocks were bountiful. He had a rash.
‘I know him,’ Elaine said.
‘Elaine!’
‘I knew it,’ John said. ‘I knew it.’
‘For God’s sake, John, would you stop,’ Elaine said. ‘I don’t know him, know him. I saw him tonight in Matt the Millers. He was handcuffed to a lad.’
‘Handcuffed to a lad?’
‘Yeah. To a stag.’
‘Why was he handcuffed to a stag, Elaine?’ Mammy asked.
‘It’s what the stag parties are doing now, Mammy. They hire dwarves and handcuff them to the stags.’
‘What’s the point in that?’ John asked.
‘Good craic,’ Elaine said.
‘Good craic my arse. Lads handcuffing dwarves to themselves?’
‘Why do they handcuff dwarves to themselves, Elaine?’
‘For God’s sake I don’t know,’ Elaine said. ‘It’s funny seeing the stag having to go to the toilet with a dwarf handcuffed to him. The dwarf shakes him when he’s going. Apparently piss gets everywhere.’
‘I don’t think that’s very funny,’ Mammy said.
‘That’s not funny at all,’ John said.
The naked dwarf turned over in bed and three of them got a full frontal view, balls and arsehole and the whole shebang.
‘Holy Mary Mother of God,’ Mammy said, there are less graphic views in the window of Kennedy’s Butchers.
‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Mammy,’ Elaine said, sniggering.
‘Ah, put the blanket over him,’ Mammy said.
Elaine threw the blanket to John who said fine—he’s put the blanket on the dwarf—it’s not like he was afraid. John flapped the blanket in the air and let it faintly fall on the naked dwarf.
‘Ah he’ll smother like that John,’ Mammy said.
John pulled the blanket down off the naked dwarf’s face and down to his neckline. ‘Now,’ John said. ‘He won’t smother like that.’
‘Where the fuck do I sleep?’ Elaine asked.
‘Elaine!’ Mammy said. ‘With that language.’
‘No seriously,’ Elaine said. ‘Is he actually sleeping here? We’re not calling the guards or anything?’
‘Isn’t he drunk, Elaine?’ Mammy said. ‘Were they giving him drinks, they were?’
‘Yeah, they were.’
‘Ah the poor little divil,’ Mammy said.
‘So I just sleep on the floor do I?’
‘Come on,’ Mammy said. ‘I’ll get the bed in Jenny’s room made up for you.’
Elaine and Mammy left John alone with the naked dwarf and John, wanting to somehow manage the situation, shook the naked dwarf a little bit.
‘Oi,’ John said. ‘Lucky McSpud—are you awake?’
The naked dwarf came to just below the surface of comatose, opened an eye and quickly got the gist of John. ‘Fuck off.’
‘The little bollocks.’
‘What?’ Mammy called from the spare room.
‘He’s after telling me to fuck off in here.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Mammy said. ‘Come out of there now. Let him sleep.’
In the morning, the dwarf came downstairs no longer naked. He was dressed in John’s clothes, an old Chelsea jersey, a tracksuit bottoms and black shoes, all of it folded in and tucked up. Elaine was alone and sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast, drinking tea. ‘I don’t remember anything,’ the dwarf said. ‘Which way is out?’
‘You can have a cup of tea if you want?’
‘You have anything stronger?’ the dwarf said trying to sound like he was Keith Richards.
‘Like what? Drink?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Mammy has Jameson in the press there for hot whiskeys and Irish coffees. If you want that?’
The dwarf went and got the whiskey. He sat back up at the kitchen table, unscrewed the cap and took a great big gulp of it. His body rejected it and vomited it back up.
Elaine laughed. ‘You’re fucked you are.’
‘Whatever,’ the dwarf said.
‘How old are you?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Did you get sexually abused or something?’
‘No. Why?’
‘You know you were naked, yeah?’
‘I’m aware.’
‘Mammy’s gone down the street to see if she can find your clothes. I told her you weren’t really wearing any. Not in the traditional meaning of the word.’
‘Well. I hope she finds it. They’re expensive.’ The dwarf sipped rather than slugged on the whiskey. ‘I was rude to that fucking guy upstairs.’
‘John?’
‘With the Chelsea jersey.’
‘John loves Chelsea.’
Mammy came in the back door holding the dwarf’s costume from the night before. It was a spandex skin-suit with a giant rubber cock sticking out from the groin. Mammy was mortified.
‘My cock suit!’ the dwarf said.
Elaine watched Mammy drag it in, sniggering into her tea. ‘I told you, Mammy.’
‘Just what the hell is it?’ Mammy asked.
‘Thanks Mammy,’ the dwarf said and took it from her. He rummaged through a zip pocket. ‘Fucking bingo,’ he said on finding his phone. ‘Thank fuck.’
‘Who’s drinking the whiskey?’ asked Mammy.
Elaine and the dwarf fell silent.
‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning,’ Mammy said.
‘I’ll head off,’ the dwarf said.
‘Are you drinking whiskey at ten o’clock in the morning?’ Mammy asked the dwarf.
‘Hair of the dog,’ the dwarf said. ‘You know how it is, Mammy.’
‘Yes,’ Mammy said. ‘I do know how it is. I had a husband drank himself to death. And I’m not your Mammy.’
‘Mammy,’ Elaine said.
‘What is your mother’s number actually?’ Mammy asked the dwarf.
‘Mammy,’ Elaine said.
‘Mammy nothing,’ Mammy said.
‘I’m going to go,’ the dwarf said and gathered up his cock suit.
‘We put you up in this house, young man,’ Mammy said. ‘We located your lost possessions. We haven’t called the police. In return, I want your mother’s phone number.’
‘Are you fucking serious?’ the dwarf asked. ‘I’m twenty-three years old.’
‘Yes. I am serious,’ Mammy said. ‘And I don’t care if you’re a hundred and twenty-three.’
‘My mother lives in Germany.’
‘They have phones in Germany last time I checked.’
‘For fuck sake,’ the dwarf said.
‘You can eff and blind all you want,’ Mammy told him. ‘Get her number for me.’
The dwarf handed his mother’s number over to Mammy. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Matilda.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Mathew.’
Someone said hallo on the other end.
‘Hello,’ Mammy said. ‘Is this Matilda? Matilda, my name is Bridget Doyle. I’m calling from Kilkenny in Ireland. I have Mathew with me. Now he’s fine, but he was drunk last night here in Kilkenny and he was handcuffed to a stag. A stag. For money I suppose. Were you doing it for money?’
‘Yeah,’ Mathew said.
‘Yes, Matilda. They were paying him. And having wandered out from Matt the Millers and down the street, he broke into our home, and he ended up in my daughter’s bed. We let him sleep here, Matilda, and like I said, he’s fine, but I’m very worried about the course of action his life is taking. He’s here beside me, drinking whiskey at ten in the morning, eyeballing me furiously.’
Mathew stopped eyeballing Mammy furiously.
‘You don’t have to tell me about it, Matilda. Didn’t I have a husband die from it? I know. I know.’
Elaine looked at Mathew and Mathew looked back.
‘It’s some suit with a big mickey sticking out of it,’ Mammy went. ‘But he actually wasn’t wearing it when we found him in the bed. No. He was nude. Completely nude. He’d taken it off out on the street I think.’
Elaine looked at Mathew. ‘You have a rash by the way.’
‘It’s the suit,’ Mathew said.
‘Well he’s here if you want to talk to him?’ Mammy asked. ‘OK. No problem, Matilda. And I’m sorry if you’re upset but it’s just, I would like to know if it was my child wandering the streets drunk and nude and breaking into people’s homes. And I hope he sees that he’s loved and needed. And starts to act with dignity, for his own sake, and for his own wellbeing. And that he seeks help with the drink. Because it’s near impossible to do it alone. Like I said, I seen a man try and fail.’
Mammy wound it up. ‘This is my number if you ever want to talk, Matilda. OK, Matilda. Goodbye. Bye now. Bye. Bye. Bye.’
Mammy put the phone down. ‘You’re to call your mother. Where is it you live? Dublin?’
‘Yeah,’ Mathew said.
‘Do you have money or means to get there?’
‘I have a return train ticket.’
‘Elaine, find out when the next train goes for him, will you?’
They got a bag so Mathew could put his cock suit in it. Mammy didn’t want him walking the streets of Kilkenny gripping a big bendy mickey on a Sunday. There’d be families.
And Mathew left, and life went on, the story of the naked dwarf in Elaine Doyle’s bed became talk of the town, and Mammy was down in Tesco telling the whole queue she called his mother on him, and the queue said fair play to you, Bridget, and then life quietened, and Mammy checked the post and looked at her phone more often and became more and more withdrawn as the days went on. And she was sad—that’s what it was. John didn’t notice. But Elaine did. And one evening after dinner, Mammy stared off into space and Elaine finally said something. ‘What’s the matter with you, Mammy?’
‘Nothing,’ Mammy said. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘Come off it, Mammy. You’re sad or something.’
‘Sad?’ John asked.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mammy said.
‘Come on, Mammy. There’s something wrong. What is it?’
‘It’s just,’ Mammy said. ‘It doesn’t matter, honestly.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mammy said. ‘You try, Elaine. You know, we do try.’
‘OK, we try. And?’
‘Well you know, I never got so much as a thank-you card from that woman out in Germany.’
(c) David McGrath, 2020
David McGrath was born in Ireland. He has won several short story competitions including the Bare Fiction Prize. He has had stories published in a number of anthologies and literary journals and was MVP for Liars’ League a few years back. He is the author of one novel, published in 2015, and has another couple in the pipeline. He lives in London.
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