Margie had her lips tight together to stop the laughing. Her glass was well down already and she was rocking back and forward nearly spilling the rest.
“Aw there’s money there,” said Seamus. “Straight up. You know she was the daughter of Hoof Hogan.”
“Hoof Hogan?” Willie Henry was frowning, eyes half closed as if in deep thought. “I never heard of him now.”
“God you must have heard of Hoof Hogan,” said Seamus. He left his glass carefully on the empty chair beside him and loosened the top button of his shirt. “Made big money in England so he did and then came home and bought a pub down in Carndonagh. They lived in Troy Park. Hoof had a wile drouth on him from when he came back.”
Margie nodded, recovered. “Aye sure he drank most of what he had but he still managed to leave a fair whack behind,” she said. “Didn’t he marry that Prod from the Waterside whatdidyoucallher? From some English or Welsh family away back wasn’t she?”
“Who?” I asked, hearing but not taking it in right. Aisling stood submissively in a gymslip when I strapped her to the cross that time. Soft linen faded to a thread nearly.
“Aw gee,” she said screwing up her face, “it’s on the tip of me tongue. English I think they were. Their name began with a t and hold on a minute till I think – the first vowel was u or maybe i. Naw, wait a second, wait till I try and remember, I think it started with an m — I’m not sure — but I’m definitely right about the vowel. U it was. Muggeridge ... Mulder ... Murrick ... Hold on, I’ve got it. Jenkins.”
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The Wake - Table of contents
HumorTHE YEAR is 1968 and the Swinging Sixties are still swinging - though not in Ireland. But wait! An old woman dies in a northern Irish town and her wake becomes a rendezvous for lesbians, bisexuals and political revolutionaries. And in there among t...
