A short story by Hugh Gallagher: The decorator comes to call

If there's a china tea-cup you don't like, if you're feeling depressed with the way your wallpaper is hung, send for Seamus Gillespie.

A more decent man you'll never meet.

Kind, considerate, good with the children, in many way's he is a saint.

In our town he is famous but for all the wrong reasons.

You see, Seamus is a painter and decorator, in his spare time.

The wife had been nagging me for weeks, “That kitchen needs wallpapering, and the hall and stairs, and the bathroom and...”

I was at my wits end when who should I get chatting to in Molloy's Bar, but big Seamus.

“I'm your man,” he announced, as I related my troubles to the barman one Friday night.

“I'm thinking about tackling the job myself first, Seamus,” I explained.

His unshaven jaw sagged. I'd insulted him. I tried to recover my standing. After all, it wouldn't be wise to cross a man of his size.

“Ach, Seamus, mucker. Sure, I was only joking, man! How much?” I squirmed.

He moved closer, like a tiger moving in for the kill. “Now, that would depend!” he said.

“On what?” I asked.

“On how many rooms you wanted done!”

He flattened and rubbed his greasy black hair with the palms of his huge hands. The barman plonked another pint in front of him.

“Here, Seamus! I'll get that,” I suggested but he was having none of my tricks.

“I don't need nobody to buy me drinks,” he said huffily. It was several minutes before he spoke again. “It was me. I did this place ye know,” he said, sweeping his right hand around with a flourish.

“Is that a fact, Seamus,” says I, staring at the walls and the ceiling. There wasn't much to see. It looked alright, mind you, but I couldn't see whether or not it matched properly because the lighting was so dull. The only section which stood out clearly was the red and yellow striped paper behind the bar.

“It's looks grand, Seamus,” I said, bringing a broad grin to his solemn face. “I'm just looking for the hall and stairs and the kitchen done. The hall is split in two with a dado rail. You just have to do the top half. Do you think you could manage that?”

“Dead easy. No problem!” he replied.

“How much, then? I enquired.

“You get the wallpaper and paint – strip the ould stuff – say... £80, the lot!”

Now I know a bargain when I see it. Quick as a flash I produced £40. “I'll give you the rest when it's done!” I explained.

“Sound, you're on!”

As good as his word Seamus turned up dressed in a white bib and braces on Monday at four-thirty. I had stripped the old wallpaper at the week-end with the help of the children, Gary, Eddie, Mary and Cathy. The wife Mary helped as well, of course, in between bouts of nagging. Just to try to make things right with her I even painted all the ceilings and skirting boards.

“Are you sure your man Gillespie will be alright?” was her constant enquiry. No matter what I said she continually quoted all the rumours she had heard.

“I heard he was a head-bin. Did you not hear about him falling through Doherty's ceiling,” she said. “People say he just gets up in the middle of a job and chucks it in. And, oh aye – Mrs McLaughlin – know her down the road. Well, she swears he put her wallpaper on upside down!”

“Ach. And I suppose it's Gospel, just because that ould gossip said so,” I complained. “Did you actually see the wallpaper yourself. Come on now, be fair. Where is your evidence. Answer me, Mary!” I demanded, but she kept silent.

Seamus was into his third roll of paper on the hall and stairs when I began to regret not tackling the job myself. He had knocked over a half full bucket of paste unto a dust sheet, and worse still he tried to blame me. My son Gary ran around shouting, “Daddy's spilt the water!” When I thought about it, the wallpaper paste did seem rather thin. The wife refused point blank to clean it up. She called me into the sitting room when Seamus began papering around the wall lights in the hallway.

“What's he at?” she roared.

“Shush, Mary! He'll hear ye,” I whispered.

“I don't care, the big galoot. Look at the mess he's making of my good wallpaper! He's chopping the stuff to ribbons with them big scissors of his. He's can't paper. Go out and stop him, this minute!”

“Naw!”

“Right then, I will!” she said.

“Listen! If you do, I'm going down to the pub. Right now, do ye hear me. You can't treat people like that. It's embarrassing, that's the truth, Mary! He needs a chance!”

“So, that's it, is it now! You're sticking up for him out there. It's him or me then! You decide?” she declared.

“Or the pub,” I added sarcastically.

She quickly put on the children's overcoats and slung on her own. She grabbed her handbag and was on her way out when I made a fruitless effort to stop her.

“Aw God, Mary! Where are you going?”

“My mother’s!”

“I knew she'd materialise, sooner or later!” I said. “Interfering busybody!”

“I'm away,” roared Mary. As she slammed the front door I could hear Gary asking her where they were going. “A walk!” was all the reply he received.

“Listen, Seamus. Do you think that there paste is strong enough?” I asked, when I had calmed down.

“Aye, surely! That stuff would hold a ship,” he said.

I'll say one thing for Seamus. He was fast. At ten o'clock he had only one roll of wallpaper to put up.

“Hi, Seamus,” I said.

“What!” he replied.

“Would you mind if I went down to Molloy's Bar for the last hour or so. You can leave the key in the door when you're finished?”

“No bother to me,” he answered and carried on papering. As I passed him some paste splashed on my coat but it brushed off easily. “See you later,” he shouted as I closed the door.

It was ten minutes to drinking up time when Seamus ambled into Molloy's. I asked him if he'd have a pint and to my surprise he accepted.

“It's finished,” he announced, smiling, hopping up unto a bar stool.

“Great stuff,” I replied. “I'll have to go now. Did my wife come back yet, Seamus?”

“Naw! Not before I left, anyway.”

I collected Mary and the children from her mothers in silence. Gary and Cathy were sleepy, so I got a taxi for the short journey home. My mother-in-law refused to speak to me. When the taxi arrived at our house Mary, carrying Gary in her arms, went to open the front door. I was busy paying the driver and helping the children out when she came running back and ordered everyone back into the cab.

“What's wrong with ye now woman, for God's sake?” I asked.

“I'll be back when it's fixed. Take me back to the address we've just come from, driver!” was all she said.

I stood scratching my head as the car pulled away.

When it was out of sight I rushed up the steps and gingerly pushed open the front door and switched on the light.

What a sight greeted my eyes!

Every second sheet of wallpaper was lying on the floor and stairs or hanging off.

After staring in disbelief at the mess for a while I made a mad rush at the walls and ripped it all off. Not that it required much effort. I threw the lot in the bin and went to bed disgusted. If I could have got hold of Seamus there and then, I would have done him grave bodily harm. But then, look at the size of the big eejit, I thought, before I went to sleep.

On Tuesday morning, bright and early, I went out and bought eight rolls of the same wallpaper and did the job myself. I phoned my workplace and told them I was sick. In a way, it was the truth. Later, in the evening, Mary returned with the children. After seeing my efforts I was forgiven.

At about quarter-to-ten I answered a knock at the door. The wife was taking a bath and the children were fast asleep. It was the bold Seamus in his working gear. He pushed past me.

“Great job, eh!” he declared, feeling the wallpaper. “And not a air bubble in sight. Sorry I'm late by the way!” He lifted the plastic bucket and went to the kitchen sink to mix paste.

“Naw... Aah. Here, hold on a minute, Seamus!” I stammered. I put my hand in my pocket. He turned off the cold water tap. “Here's your money!” I said, handing him £10. “It's all I have left. The wife... Aah, she wants me to tile the kitchen instead, now!”

“I'll do that for ye, sure!” he offered.

“Naw. I've... I've already asked Jim Devine,” I lied.

“Well, do you see you. You're an ungrateful, lousy sod!” he shouted and marched out of the house.

“Who was that at the front door, love?” said Mary, emerging from the bathroom in her pink dressing gown.

“Eh! Aw, it was nobody, love! Nothing to worry about. Just... Just an insurance man. I didn't buy it,” I stuttered, breathing a sigh of relief as she appeared to believe me.

She changed the subject. “By the way, when are you going to do that kitchen?” she asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I replied. “Or next week. Do you want me to get big Seamus?”

A china tea-cup sailed past my right ear and smashed against the fire-place.

I swept up the pieces and said no more.