To her mother the additional mirth added the final touch of hysteria to the situation. Pressing her handkerchief to her mouth she giggled irrepressibly. It was more than nervousness — she felt that in a peculiar way she was laughing with her child — they were laughing together.
It was in a way a defiance — those two against the world.
While Markey rushed upstairs to the bathroom for ointment, his wife was walking up and down rocking the yelling boy in her arms.
‘Please go home!’ she broke out suddenly. ‘The child’s badly hurt, and if you haven’t the decency to be quiet, you’d better go home.’
‘Very well,’ said Edith, her own temper rising. ‘I’ve never seen anyone make such a mountain out of — ’
‘Get out!’ cried Mrs Markey frantically. ‘There’s the door, get out — I never want to see you in our house again. You or your brat either!’
Edith had taken her daughter’s hand and was moving quickly towards the door, but at this remark she stopped and turned around, her face contracting with indignation.
‘Don’t you dare call her that!’
Mrs Markey did not answer but continued walking up and down, muttering to herself and to Billy in an inaudible voice.
Edith began to cry.
‘I will get out!’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve never heard anybody so rude and c-common in my life. I’m, glad your baby did get pushed down — he’s nothing but a f-fat little fool anyhow.’
Joe Markey reached the foot of the stairs just in time to hear this remark.