Growing up in Belfast during the Troubles was not something I ever thought deeply about but as I get older (and wiser), I reckon it may explain my cold streak.
I suppose I am a victim. And although I don’t require therapy just yet, it does explain a lot. We are all victims, when we think of the actuality of daily life back then in north Belfast – albeit posh north Belfast, if there is there such a place.
Take the lotto ticket I found and have drooled over this past while. It isn’t mine, and should I win, the winnings won’t be mine. But I will keep them – of that I am sure. I would be a thief and a liar. And i wouldn’t care, even though I know that a lie leads a man from a grove into a jungle...
These were the thoughts going through my head when I hit a massive pothole and nearly smashed the car wheel in half.
“Holy God! What the hell was that?”
The children all laughed but the car was pulling forcefully to the right and I limped in to a grubby tyre depot just outside the town.
After waiting and waiting, with Fionnuala not answering the phone and the children beginning to moan, I began to get testy with the two workers standing there smoking and sniggering.
“What’s the story here lads? I have to get these wee ones home.”
“You’ve cracked the rim,” one of them said. “And your tyre’s banjaxed too. I can put your space-saver on. Have you somewhere you can get the rim welded?”
I pulled a face. What was he talking about? Of course, I didn’t.
“It’s a lot of dough. The welding will be about £40 and the tyre about £70, if you’re paying cash.”
The other one chipped in. “You can claim it back off the government if you want, if you can prove what pothole it was, get three quotes for the work, put everything in writing and have a month to spare. Or we can just fix her here and save you all the hassle.”
I left the wheel with them. I was to go back in two days. A lot of dough? At £110 I was the one sniggering now.
Genghis – real name Brian McCann, but known as Genghis McCann for his terrifying demeanour – was at the house when we got back.
“Is your phone on silent?” I asked Fionnuala in a tart tone.
“I don’t know where my phone even is, Fabien. I was having a scone with Uncle Brian. What’s the matter?”
As I told her the tale, Genghis left the table and went out to check the car. “What’s he doing? The wheel’s at the depot and it’s all sorted.” But soon Genghis was back and he was asking what was happening with the wheel. He was talking to me but looking at Fionnuala.
“£110? Pair of clowns. I’ll weld it for you and sort the tyre for £40 all in”
“That’s great, Brian.” Fionnuala was beaming but I was beginning to grimace. “Fabien can go back and get the wheel in the morning and drop it up.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean I have already made the deal with the two lads. I can’t just sail in there and take back the wheel.”
Genghis was asking what was happening with the wheel. He was talking to me but looking at Fionnuala. “£110? Pair of clowns. I’ll weld it for you and sort the tyre for £40 all in”
Genghis looked at me without emotion, though his hedgehog hair seemed to perk up slightly. “Do you want me to go, Fionnuala? I’ll be over that road in the morning and I’ll put the wheel back on in the afternoon.”
“That’s brilliant Brian. We really appreciate that.”
Later I was sullen. I had been usurped again and Fionnuala was acting oblivious. “It’s not a big deal Fabien. Genghis knows the lay of the land round here. That’s all. And it’s saving us a good bit of money.”
I laughed darkly but a message on my phone had now caught my attention. It was from Avril Beggs, director of the Bluepond Players: “Audition for Philadelphia Saturday 1300 see you there!!!”
I had forgotten about that. But it would be a good distraction. Saturday was lotto day after all.