Chapter 8

Eight

P addy

Pulling up to the kid's school, I was briefly reminded how soon we were taken out of primary school. Pa never thought school necessary, considering we were all just going to work for him as we got older. Things like uniforms, textbooks and report cards were all a mystery to me, it was almost a relief to learn that Cillian and órfhlaith weren't subjecting their little ones to follow in their footsteps.

I parked the car, finding myself lost amongst the sea of children and teachers, but Elijah—he wasn't exactly hard to miss. He was the only Black kid in what looked to be an all-white class. Straightening up my waistcoat, I strutted over to where he and his professor were standing, watching as she sent off students to their parents with warm waves of goodbyes.

The flash of recognition filled Elijah's eyes, as he pulled at the teacher's hand and pointed in my direction.

"Good afternoon," I said in my most convincing civilian tone. "I'm Mr. Sullivan, and I'm here to pick up Elijah." She laughed, the scarlet burn to her cheeks making her look more nervous.

She was young, probably about Queenie's age, but something about the way she dressed made her appear older. Perhaps it was because teachers never quite did it for me. One look in her eyes told me that she didn't share my sentiment. Some women were predictable that way.

"You know, when his mom told me this morning that she'd be sending the nanny in her place from now on, I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm wearing the pin, aren't I?" Sensing my annoyance, she cleared her throat.

"That you are. Mrs. Washington was in a slight rush this morning. So, I was wondering if you could pass on something to her for me?" She bent down to Elijah. "Hey, darling. Remember that book I saw you eyeing earlier? Why don't you go and grab it off my desk while I have a quick word with your nanny?

"Okay, Miss Taylor." Adjusting his book bag, he headed back into the school, his professor waiting until he was out of earshot to address her concern.

"It's about his participation in class. Elijah, I have to say, is amazingly talented and gifted. He's probably one of my brightest. But…he really struggles getting along with the other kids. If this was about his performance alone, that would be another whole other conversation. He scores so well on class assignments, and he always turns in his work. But there are times where he'll just hide away in the bathroom for thirty minutes to an hour at a time. I was wondering, is something going on at home that could be affecting his confidence?"

First day on the job and already I'm thrown into the deep end of the pool of problems. Guess I had to start acting like a real nanny.

"Well, the truth is, I'm quite new in this job. But I'll make it my priority to find out. Is there anything else you I could help you with?" At that she smiled.

"Only if it involves conversations over drinks and dinner." Like I said, predictable. But the Sullivan's curse had me patient enough to pass over what was predictable. I didn't chase after what I could easily get.

The reward was only in the challenge. Especially since I could have any woman around for a good lay, but I needed to feed that urge inside me that got off on a woman's pain. Otherwise, the real me stayed dormant, and if I couldn't have both, my choice was to abstain from it at all.

"How about we leave that up for another time?" I turned her down gently, as thankfully Elijah returned back in sight, easing away some of that discomfort. I held up my hand for her to shake.

"It was nice to meet you…"

"Mrs. Taylor," she filled in the blanks.

"Mrs. Taylor. I guess you'll be seeing a lot from me from now on. Don't want to take any more of your time."

Side by side, the kid and I walked over to the car, as he got comfortable in the passenger seat, and I made my way over to the driver's side.

"You good? You don't need any help with your seatbelt or anything," I asked, strapping myself in.

"No, I'm okay," he said, as I patted him on his shoulder. Next up was getting us out of here, and back to the house.

"Hey kid, you're a little quiet today. Why don't you start by telling me how your day was?" His wee shoulders shrugged, as he wrestled the book bag on his lap to this car's floor.

"Ehhh…it was okay, I guess."

"Come on, you can do better than it was okay. What'd you learn? What'd you do? See anything good with that—" I snapped my fingers, trying to recall the things my nieces and nephews went on about. "Ahhh…show and tell! You see anything good at the show and tell?"

Another shrug. Christ! With some kids, it was like getting blood from a rock.

"Not really." Scratching my head, I reminded myself that it was a kid that I was dealing with. I couldn't risk getting all frustrated or annoyed.

"Well, that's fine, because I want to talk to you about something. Your teacher says that you're really smart, but that you disappear from class from time to time. Mind telling me what that's about?"

"You're going to tell my mom," he whined, to where I held up my hands to dismiss his mistrust.

"Hey kid. One thing you don't have to worry about with me, is that if you tell me something, I won't go blabbering off to your mum if you don't want me to. So, is what your teacher saying true?" He let out a deep sigh.

"Yes."

"You want to tell me why?"

"I don't know. Because some of the kids in my class make fun of me, call me names. Sometimes they push me, other times they hit me. Everyone at my school is white, and other than my teacher and a few other kids, I think they don't like me because I'm Black." Shite. This one was a heavy one, even for me. I didn't pretend we lived in a post racial society where race no longer mattered.

Government changed laws because there were those brave enough to fight for things to change, not because every white person believed Blacks were equal.

Other than my accent, I never really had to deal with any of that extra shite, but I did remember how badly they treated us Irish when we first moved here. At least I had that to draw from.

"You know, I had a hard time fitting in with people when I was a kid too."

"But why? You seem so cool?" I don't know why that shite put a smile on my face, but it did.

"Well, you know how people treat you differently because of your skin color? People treated me differently because of my accent, the way I spoke. People didn't like me because of the country I came from. It was so bad my brothers and I would get into fights over it. You'll learn this as you get older, but it's like it's in a human's nature to hate people they fear or don't understand. But that's not your problem, it's theirs. It don't hurt if every once in a while you beat some senses into someone. Always worked for me."

"Yeah well, all the kids are so much bigger than me."

"Listen kid, size doesn't matter when you learn how to fight. My little brother Cilly used to be small like you, but he wasn't afraid to get his arse kicked. Plus, he grew up to be big like me. That's what will happen with you, I just know it."

"You never get scared of getting hurt?" Truthfully, the battles I fought at home were far scarier than the ones I fought in the street. I could have either cried about it or done something. I always chose the latter.

"You gotta get hurt sometimes. You can't go through life being scared of what others are gonna do to you. Plus, people only pick on you when they think you're weaker than them. Once you show them you're not, the cowards, they bugger off. Listen, I know your mum wanted you back by two-thirty, but my older brother owns a boxing ring where some of the greatest fighters in Boston go to train. You wanna spend an hour or two learning how to throw a punch?" His face lit up with joy, in a way mine never did when I was that young.

"That would be so cool."

"Grand. If you think I'm cool, wait until you meet my big brother, Bellamy."