The Malloys, 2

They arrived at the big old house the Malloys lived in. Big Mike pushed the trolley up to the front verandah where a big, gray-haired, woman stood looking down at them. This woman was huge. Her bare arms were like a pair of Christmas hams and her floral-print dress would be big enough for a tent.

"What the hell have you got there, Big Mike?" she rumbled. "Is the Supermarket selling kids now?"

"No, I just found him in the street. Nancy, this is Michael Thomas Malloy and he wants to see Tommy - says that Tommy's his father."

"Does he just? So Tommy's chickens are coming home to roost. Well you can bugger-off, Kid. We don't need any more around here."

The boy struggled up out of the trolley and stood there, favouring his right foot. He looked like he was about to cry. "I can't see him? I've come a long way."

"I don't care how far you've come and, no, you can't see him. Go away."

Nancy crossed her big arms and stood there glaring at him. She was obviously not someone to argue with, and the boy caved right away. His head went down.

"Oh. Sorry. I'll go then." He started walking away, pushing the trolley.

"Yeah, you do that."

"Nancy!" Big Mike protested. "He's got nowhere to go."

"Not my problem."

"It's not his fault that Tommy is his father."

"Not mine either."

"Couldn't he at least meet him? Every kid should know his father, even if it is Tommy."

"Sometimes they're better off not knowing. It's about time you cut these lawns. Look at the state of them!"

"I'll get there. I've been busy. You're a hard woman, Nancy."

"I am, and you should be glad of that with the father you've got."

"Sometimes I'm glad of it."

"Don't be smart. Mow the lawns."

Nancy stood there, like the original immovable object, watching the defeated boy limp away. She had a change of heart.

"Wait a minute, Kid. What's wrong with your foot?"

He stopped and looked back. "It's nothing. It's just sore because I twisted my ankle."

"That's not nothing. What does Big Mike mean, you've got nowhere to go?"

"I haven't. My mother moved to Aussie without me. She told me to go and find my father."

"Stupid woman! Haven't you got any other family you can go to?"

"No, there's no-one. My Mother's family wanted nothing to do with her after I was born.

"I can understand that. Look at the man she had! What are you going to do then?"

"I don't know!" Michael was tired, he was exhausted, he was sore and he'd had enough of this. His temper flared. "I don't know and I don't care. Not your problem, is it?"

"Don't you tell me what's my problem and what isn't! All right, you can meet your father. Get your butt back over here and sit down. Big Mike, go and find Tommy. He's meant to be working at the Council Workshops, and if he isn't, I'll bloody kill him."

"Do I have to?" Big Mike knew how to deal with Nancy. He'd had practice.

"Yes, you have to, now get! You, get your butt back here and sit down before you fall down."

Big Mike grinned and winked at the kid as he passed him. "You're in, Kid. Keep your mouth shut and you'll be right." He hurried back down the street.

Michael limped back to the verandah and sat down with a sigh, looking straight ahead.

"You've got spirit then," Nancy said. "You didn't get that from Tommy."

She looked back behind her and called into the house. "Sarah! We've got one out here who needs nursing. Bring a bucket of hot water so he can soak his foot. Bring a bandage too, you can strap his foot up."

"Thanks, but you don't have to worry," Michael sighed.

"I'll worry if I want to. You just sit there and shut up. Sarah will fix you up. she used to be a nurse. Why did your mother dump you? You a bad egg?"

"No, I don't think so. I haven't been in trouble."

"Why would she dump you then?"

"Because I'm gay. She can't handle that."

"You've got your troubles, haven't you? You're gay with Tommy for a father and a bitch for a mother. Poor little bugger. Well, I've got better things to do.Stay there and Sarah will fix you up while you're waiting for Tommy, if he shows." She walked away into the house.

A tall, dark-haired girl, with a steaming bucket of water in her hand and a baby on her hip, came out and looked down at him.

"Are you the patient? What's wrong with your foot?"

"That'd be me, and it's not a lot, I just twisted my ankle."

"Ouch! You're sure it's not broken?"

"It's not, I think. It hurts, but not that much. I wouldn't walk on it if it was broken, would I?"

"Probably not. Okay, get your shoe off and we'll have a look."

She came down and stood in front of him while he undid the laces and started, gingerly, easing his sneaker off.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" She put the bucket down, grabbed his sneaker and whipped it off.

"There," she grinned. "Now it's off. I'm Sarah, Nancy's first-born. Who are you?"

"I'm Michael Malloy."

"Michael Malloy? You're Tommy's other kid?"

"Yes, that's me. I don't know him though. Have you heard about me?"

"Of course I have. I'm your big sister. Get your sock off and stick your foot in the bucket."

He tried, but jerked his foot out again. The water was way too hot.

"Oww!"

"What's the matter? Too hot?" Sarah bent her arm and dunked her elbow in the bucket, pulling it back out quickly.

"Okay, that's too hot. Sorry. Here," she passed the baby to him. "Meet your nephew. That's Paulie. Wait here a minute. Look after Paulie and I'll get some cold water."

He sat holding the baby - carefully, he knew nothing about babies and it looked like it would break easily. It was sleeping and didn't wake up - lucky kid.

Sarah returned in a couple of minutes, carrying a big plastic bowl with some water in it and she had an old towel slung over her shoulder. She put the bowl down in front of him, poured in some hot water from the bucket, tested the temperature and poured in some more. She tested it again and nodded.

"Okay, that's good enough. Put your foot in."

He lifted his foot, dunked it in the water and pulled it out again.

"It's still too hot."

"No, it's not." She she put a hand on his knee and forced the foot back into the water, holding it there. "Don't be a wuss, Boy. It's got to be hot to work. It'll get better."

It did. He wasn't sure if the water was cooling or if he was just getting used to it, but it got better. Meanwhile, Sarah was stripping his other foot. She lifted and inspected it.

"Phew! You're a bit smelly. It pongs. Oh boy, you've got blisters. Right, shove this one in too." She pushed it in with the other foot and stood up.

"I'll be right back, don't go away."

She went back inside and returned with a bottle of Dettol, poured some of that into the bowl and swirled it around, using his 'good' foot as a stirring spoon. Michael relaxed and let his poor, sore, feet soak until Sarah decided that he'd had enough. She took them out, gently patted them dry, and then bound his sprained ankle up in a tight bandage. It felt much better.

Sarah had only just finished that when Big Mike returned, accompanied by a skinny, weedy, little man dressed in oil-stained blue overalls. They were arguing as they came in off the street. Sarah stood up and took her baby back.

"Here we are then," she grinned. "You've already met Big Mike. Michael Thomas Malloy, meet Thomas Michael Malloy. Tommy, your other boy has come to see you."

The little guy stood there looking him up and down. Michael was surprised. He'd always imagined that his father was a big, big man. This guy was no taller than he was. Probably weighed less too.Tommy rolled a cigarette, coughed when he lit it, and then he had another look. "What d'you want?"

"Want?" Michael gulped. "I just wanted to meet you. Mum said that I should."

"Yeah. Okay, now you've done that." Tommy walked up the front steps.

"I've, umm, I've got nowhere to go," Michael gulped."Mum's gone to Aussie and left me behind. She says that she doesn't want me around."

"Neither do I. You can bugger-off, Kid. There's too many mouths around here as it is."

"Oh. I . . alright. Sorry. Goodbye then." He put his socks and sneakers into the trolley.

"Thanks, Sarah, for fixing my ankle up. It feels much better now." He started pushing the trolley back to the street.

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," Sarah protested. "Tommy, this is your son and he's homeless. You can't just throw him out in the street."

"Oh yes I can. His mother's had him for 14 years and she doesn't want him; why the hell should I take him on? I don't even know the kid and I don't want to."

"Tommy, he's yours! He didn't ask to be born."

"I didn't ask him to either. He was just an accident. Go away, Boy."

"You rotten Little Shit!" a red-faced Nancy came roaring out of the house, pushing Tommy back out of the doorway. "You are the worst father, ever, in the history of the world! Michael, you get back in here. You are going nowhere."