a man who can’t carry a smallie like you on his back? Sure, amn’t I doing it right now?’ He slid his hands down to Murph’s ankles, and lifted them, tilting him back, making him grab for the back of his shirt collar to pull himself up. ‘Daddy!’ he said, tapping him on the head.
Jerry laughed. When they got around the back, he swung Murph down on to the ground beside a small pile of red timber slats. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you and me are going to make a little house.’
‘What kind of a house?’ said Murph.
‘Ah, for one of your little cousins for her dolls. Now – grab me that hammer over there.’
He knelt down, and Murph stood smiling at the top of his head; his father was always helping people, and Murph loved helping him do it. And he loved hearing the things people always said about his father: ‘That’s a man you can rely on,’ ‘That’s a man who’d never let you down,’ ‘You could call Jerry Murphy any time, day or night,’ ‘Jerry Murphy’d give you the shirt off his back.’
When the little house was built, Murph stood back and put his hands on his hips.
‘I don’t know, Daddy, if she’s going to be mad about it.’
‘What?’ said Jerry. ‘What do you mean? After all our hard work.’
‘No – I know,’ said Murph. ‘But … are you going to be cutting holes in it later? For the windows?’
‘Jesus – I hadn’t thought of windows.’
‘And is it not supposed to have a floor in the middle to put furniture on?’ He glanced at his dad. ‘It looks funny.’
‘It looks funny, you think. What does it look like to you, so?’
Murph frowned. ‘I don’t want to be mean. I know you wanted to do a nice job on it. But it looks a bit … like a kennel.’
Jerry stood up, and laughed. He put his hands on his hips. ‘Jesus – you’re right.’ He started rubbing his face. ‘Amn’t I some eejit? Let me see if I have anything at all in the van, so we can sort something out.’ He disappeared around to the front of the house.
Murph heard a knock from the upstairs window. He took a few steps backwards so he could see properly. His mam was standing at her bedroom window with a big smile on her slender face, her eyes huge, her dressing gown up high around her neck. She waved at him, and he waved back. She pointed down at the little house, like she wanted to get a better look. Murph went over, and dragged it on to the grass where she could see it. She smiled.
‘I think I have something for that house!’ Jerry shouted.
When Murph looked up, Jerry was standing a distance away. Between his two boots was a little ball of fur that he let go as soon as Murph turned.
Murph jumped as a tiny black-and-white border collie pup shot towards him. By the time Murph crouched down, the dog was flinging himself into his chest, wriggling against him, trying to lick his neck. Murph stood up with him, hugging him tight, and they rubbed the sides of their faces together. Then Murph settled him into his arms, with his front paws up on his shoulders.
‘Daddy!’ said Murph. ‘I love him!’
He held the dog up to show his mam. She beamed down at him from the window.
Jerry laughed, and patted the back of Murph’s head. ‘Sure, you’re best pals already.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ said Murph, and he looked up again, but his mam was gone. ‘And thank Mammy for me.’ He paused. ‘Or could I thank her myself later?’ His eyes were shining.
Jerry squeezed Murph’s shoulder. ‘You can, of course.’
Murph beamed.
‘So,’ said Jerry, ‘what are you going to call your new pal?’
Murph thought about it. ‘Rosco.’
Jerry laughed. ‘From the television? The lads that climb in the car through the window?’
Murph nodded. ‘Rosco P. Coltrane.’
Jerry patted the dog’s head. ‘Rosco P. Murphy, it is so.’
That night, Murph woke up to a terrible choking sound, his heart pounding. He got up, and went to the door, pressing the handle down slowly, and edging the door open. He heard the sound again, and it was coming from downstairs. His chest tightened. He wanted to go into his mammy and daddy’s room, but he wasn’t allowed. This time, he knew they wouldn’t, though, because he was scared. And his mammy always told him to come to her when he was scared. He crossed the hallway, and opened their door gently. He walked in on tiptoes, and up to the bed. His mother was asleep, and even though she was asleep, she looked tired, and he didn’t want to wake her. His daddy wasn’t there, so he thought maybe that was him downstairs.
He sneaked down and stuck his head in to the dining room. He saw his father inside, sitting in the dark, his back against the wall, his legs out in front of him, his chin to his chest. His arms were loose at his side, and he was sobbing and sobbing. A rush of fear swept over Murph. He’d never seen his father cry. He went up to him, then turned his head away for a moment from the smell of whiskey. He looked down and saw an empty bottle by the leg of the table. He had only ever seen his father have one glass, and not even finish it.
‘Daddy!’ he said. ‘Daddy!’ He patted his shoulder. ‘It’s OK … it’s OK. I’ll …’ He tried to think of what his mam would say to him when he was small and he was having a nightmare or he was worried about something and he couldn’t get to sleep.
‘It’s OK, Daddy,’ he said. ‘No one’s coming to get you.’
He knelt down beside him, looking at his shirt, soaked with tears. He was thinking of his mam again, and what she would say.
‘What is it, Daddy? Did someone say something to you?’
His father raised his head, confused. After a moment, he focused. ‘Liam.’ He tried to sit up. ‘Liam …’
‘Yes! Daddy – are you all right?’
Jerry shook his head slowly. ‘No, no … no, no.’ He started to sob again. Murph started crying too, because he didn’t know what was wrong, and that was even scarier. He thought again of what his mam would say. He knelt in close, and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
‘If I find out,’ said Murph, ‘that anyone was being mean to my …’ And his mam would say ‘to my little man’, so Murph said, ‘If I find out that anyone was being mean to my … little dad …’
And his dad, all six foot four of him, with his big head, and his huge hands, and his broad shoulders, started to shake, and then Murph realized it was because he was laughing at the same time as he was crying, and Murph didn’t care what he was laughing at, because he was laughing, and his dad reached out and grabbed his face like it was a football, and he looked at Murph with such love in his eyes that Murph thought his heart would burst.
The next morning, nothing was mentioned at breakfast about what had happened. When Murph came home after school, he went out to play with Rosco in the garden. When
