The Granny
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1 - DUBLIN 1980 ROTUNDA MATERNITY HOSPITAL
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
PART TWO
Chapter 17 - DECEMBER 1988 DUBLIN CITY
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Praise for Brendan O’Carroll and his bestselling novel The Mammy
“Cheerful ... as unpretentious and satisfying as a home-cooked meal ... with a delicious dessert of an ending.”
— The New York Times Book Review
“Irreverently comical ... Reads like Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes on Prozac ... jaunty, charming ... It’s refreshing to enter O’Carroll’s fun-loving working-class Dublin world.”
— Entertainment Weekly
“A heartwarming and very funny book.”
— Roddy Doyle, author of Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha and A Star Called Henry
“How to lose weight: Read The Mammy. You will laugh your arse off and your tears will do away with your water retention problem. It is an uproariously funny account of growing up in inner-city Dublin — a laugh-out-loud book with a Dickensian twist to it.”
— Malachy McCourt, author of A Monk Swimming
“An almost surefire winner ... one of those books that demand to be read in one sitting.”
— The Irish Voice
The youngest of eleven children, BRENDAN O’CARROLL was born in North Dublin in 1955. An acclaimed playright and stand-up comedian, he is the creator of the popular Irish radio show, Mrs. Browne’s Boys. The Mammy, the first novel in his bestselling Mrs. Browne trilogy, was the basis for the feature film Agnes Browne, directed by and starring Anjelica Huston. The Chisellers and The Granny are the second and final books in the trilogy. All three novels are available in Plume editions.
PLUME
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
Published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Originally published in Ireland by The O’Brien Press.
First American Printing, August 2000
Copyright © Brendan O’Carroll, 1996
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK — MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
O’Carroll, Brendan.
The granny / Brendan O’Carroll. p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-12771-1
1. Grandmothers — Ireland — Fiction. 2. Women — Ireland — Fiction.
3. Dublin (Ireland) — Fiction. I. Title.
PR6065.C36 G73 2000
823’.914 — dc21
99-089125
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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To say hello to
Sarah Mary Browne
and to say farewell to
Rita Fitzsimons
I miss you more than words can say
Introduction
Somebody up there loves me? My delight at seeing The Chisellers at number one in the bestsellers list was matched only by seeing The Mammy right behind it in the number two spot. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. The day before The Chisellers was launched I made my debut as a playwright, director and actor in the Tivoli Theatre in Francis Street with The Course. I cannot tell you how hard I worked on that play. When the Dublin Theatre Festival rejected it I was gutted. I sat down and read the play again, and again. The play is funny. I tried to see what it was that they were rejecting but I couldn’t. Despite warnings of doom and gloom from those who believe they know what you all like, we went ahead and produced the play. It has broken all box-office records since. Somebody up there loves me? No. It’s not somebody up there. It’s YOU. Make no mistake, you have done this.
I try never to forget the great swell of support and help I receive from the wonderful people I have around me - Tommy Swarbrigg, Tom Bluett, Shay Fitzsimons, Dermot O’Neill, Evelyn Conway, Mary Cullen, Jimmy Staunton, Ashley Browne, Alan Kelly, Dorothy Yelverton, Jenny Gibney, Brendan Morrissey, Esther Doorley, Niall Murray, Annette Dolan and Mike Pyatt. From the building of a set for the play to finding a cotton bud just when it’s needed, each and every one of these people has gone the extra mile. Let me please acknowledge now how much you all have enriched my life, and that of my family, by becoming a part of it. I love you.
I have, of course, kept a special place for Gerry Browne. Someday he will write his own book, or else I will pen his story. Then you will all know this kind, warm, hard-working, unselfish and wonderful man that I am so proud to stand beside and say, this is my friend.
For my wife Doreen I have left this final paragraph, to say only this: I have made so many mistakes in my life that it would be impossible to count them. But asking you to dance with me twenty-seven years ago certainly wasn’t one of them. Thanks for all you have given.
Brendan O’Carroll July 1996
Chapter 1
DUBLIN 1980 ROTUNDA MATERNITY HOSPITAL
AGNES BROWNE WAS NO STRANGER to childbirth. Within fourteen years of marrying her now deceased husband Redser, she had given birth to seven children. But that was when she was between twenty and thirty-four years of age, young and fit. Now, at forty-seven, she wasn’t able for it. With her eyes tightly closed and her fists clenched, she took a huge breath and let it out in short bursts, �
��Ssst, ssst, ssst, ssst, ssst, ssst,’ ending with a soft moan.
Her son Dermot, one of her twins — her fourth delivery and now twenty-five years of age - leaned close to her ear to speak. ‘Mammy, for fuck sake will yeh stop,’ he whispered.
‘That’s easy for you to say, Dermot, you have no idea what childbirth is like,’ she answered through clenched teeth.
‘I’ll take your word for it, Mammy. Now give it up. People are staring at us!’
Dermot was right. Besides Agnes, her sons Rory, Dermot and Trevor, and her daughter Cathy, there were ten complete strangers in the waiting room. Every eye was staring in wonderment at this woman in a headscarf and trench coat holding a huge bag of fruit on her lap and going through the motions of childbirth.
Dermot’s comment prompted Agnes to open her eyes and she glanced at the strangers, all of whom immediately found things on the walls, ceiling and floor to look at. Agnes gathered herself together and sat up straighter. As she did this a melon rolled out of the bag of fruit and landed square between her feet with a thud. Everybody jumped. The room was silent for a moment as they all stared at the melon. Suddenly everyone erupted in spontaneous laughter.
‘Congratulations, Mammy, we’ll call him Pip,’ Dermot announced, and again the room broke up with laughter.
The door of the waiting room opened and the laughter stopped. In through the doorway peered the head of Ward Sister Mary Sheridan. She looked around with a scowl on her face. Now everybody was staring at the floor or the walls and trying desperately to act innocent. The Ward Sister said nothing and closed the door.
‘My Jesus, did yeh see the face on that one?’ Agnes asked this question of the entire room. Nobody answered. ‘I wouldn’t say she ever needs to buy yogurt, she just gets a pint of milk and stares at it.’
Once again everyone in the room laughed, but this time they either covered their faces or laughed through their nostrils so as not to be as noisy. When the laughter died the room once again fell into silence. After a couple of minutes Agnes suddenly stood up.
‘Nobody tells yeh anythin’ in this bloody hospital,’ she announced.
‘Mammy, sit down. If there’s any news they’ll come in and tell us,’ Rory Browne said to his mother.
Agnes thought for a moment and then suddenly said, ‘I’m goin’ out to ask. That’s my son’s wife in there and I’m entitled to know,’ and with that she left the room.
Mark Browne dabbed Betty’s forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Betty lay motionless, her eyes closed. She was resting between contractions. The last contraction had been particularly long and painful. With the feel of the cool cloth across her forehead and down her cheek Betty smiled and opened her eyes to see Mark’s smiling face looking down at her. She squeezed his hand.
‘I’m not doin’ very well, am I?’ Betty spoke in a weak voice.
‘You’re doin’ great,’ Mark answered quickly.
‘Thanks.’
Mark once again dipped the cloth in the cool water, squeezed it out and began to dab Betty’s face. ‘Everybody’s outside in the waitin’ room, except Simon - he’s up in your mother’s waitin’ for her to come back.’ Betty’s mother was away on a pilgrimage at Knock that day. Her prayers were for a short labour for her daughter and the birth of a baby girl.
Betty smiled at the thought of the Browne family sitting out in the waiting room. ‘It’s a wonder your Mammy isn’t in here with us cheerin’ me on,’ she said.
They both laughed. But no sooner had Betty spoken than from behind Mark she saw the delivery room door open slightly and Agnes Browne’s head, wrapped in her headscarf, dart through. Agnes’s head bobbed as she tried to check behind the screens around each of the beds in the delivery room.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Betty exclaimed as she turned her head away from the door. Too late - Agnes had spotted her.
‘Yo hoo, Betty! I have some fruit for yeh!’ Agnes called quietly and with a lilt in her voice.
Mark swung around. ‘Mammy, for God’s sake get out,’ he snapped, ‘you’re not allowed in here.’
Before he had finished speaking Agnes was confronted by Nurse Mary Sheridan who blocked Agnes’s view of the bed and simply said, ‘Out.’
‘I’m just checkin’ — ’
‘Out.’
‘Just lettin’ her know we’re all here.’
‘Out!’ Nurse Sheridan opened the door and, gripping Agnes’s coat, began to usher her out into the corridor. But not before Agnes waved goodbye to Betty with the advice, ‘Don’t push till they tell yeh, Betty. See yeh later.’
Out in the corridor Agnes straightened her coat under the stare of Nurse Sheridan.
‘I just wanted to give her some mortal support,’ Agnes said by way of explanation.
‘I’m sure she’s delighted. Now, Mrs Browne, stay out of there, all right?’ Nurse Sheridan turned her back and went to re-enter the delivery room.
Agnes called after her. ‘Nurse, how’s she doin’, really?’
Although Nurse Sheridan was annoyed at Agnes’s intrusion, she could hear the genuine concern in the woman’s voice and she softened a little.
‘She’s doing well, Mrs Browne. She’s got a bit to go yet, but still, she’s seven centimetres.’ Nurse Sheridan turned and was gone, leaving a puzzled Agnes behind in the corridor.
Agnes re-entered the waiting room and with an air of authority walked back and took her seat. As she did so she was followed by every head in the room. For a few moments Agnes sat quietly.
‘Well?’ asked Dermot.
‘Well what?’ Agnes answered very smugly.
‘How is she?’
‘Oh, I’m very pleased with her, she’s doin’ well,’ Agnes answered as if she had personally examined Betty. ‘Although she has a bit to go yet, about seven litres.’
‘Seven litres? What does that mean?’ Dermot asked.
‘Oh, it’s a gynaecological term, Dermot, you wouldn’t understand,’ Agnes brushed off the question and extracted her packet of cigarettes from her handbag.
Two hours later there was still no news. Dermot had gone down to the newsagent’s across the road from the hospital and bought a deck of cards. Now he, Rory, Trevor and one of the other men who had been waiting for hours in the waiting room were sitting in a comer playing Don.
Agnes was staring across the room at a young man who spent the whole time biting his nails. Agnes was thinking that if this man’s wife didn’t have her child soon he’d have chewed his hand off. At this point the man looked up and caught Agnes’s eye. He smiled and she smiled back.
‘Is it your first?’ she asked.
‘Yeh.’
‘Ah that’s nice. Is she !ong in there?’ Agnes asked, nodding towards the door.
‘Four hours.’
‘Don’t be worryin’, son. The first is the longest. Oh don’t remind me! On me first - Mark, that’s the baby’s father inside - I was ninety-six hours in labour.’
The man’s eyes opened wide and he gave a short, silent gasp.
The man playing Don in the comer with Mrs Browne’s three sons muttered softly, ‘Ninety-six fuckin’ hours!’
Dermot smiled. ‘Don’t mind what she’s sayin’. The first time I heard her tellin’ that story it was sixteen hours. Jaysus, by the time I’m havin’ a child she’ll be sittin’ in the waiting room tellin’ everyone that she was so long in labour that Mark was born with a moustache.’
The four men laughed. Agnes eyed them suspiciously.
Finally the door of the waiting room opened slowly and in walked a dazed Mark Browne. His blue eyes were glazed and he had a smile on his face from ear to ear. Nobody moved. Mark looked over at his mother and his eyes cleared as if he had suddenly woken up. He could see the question in her face.
‘It’s a boy,’ he said simply.
Agnes and Cathy threw their arms around Mark and hugged him warmly as tears streamed down their faces. Trevor, Dermot and Rory jumped up simultaneously, sending playing cards scattering across the room
. They first congratulated their brother and then they began to congratulate each other. Just in the nick of time, it seemed, Simon and Mrs Collins, Betty’s mother, entered the waiting room.
‘It’s a boy,’ the Browne family all announced together.
Thirty minutes later the Browne family and Mrs Collins stood in a semi-circle around the baby crib at the bottom of Betty’s bed, their eyes glowing with pride as they beheld the newest Browne to enter the world. Betty Browne sat propped up by four pillows, sipping a cup of hot tea. She was delighted with her new offspring and thrilled that the event should bring so much joy to so many people. Her smile beamed. Agnes looked at Betty and she too was smiling in delight. Betty gave her a wink.
‘Where’s Mark?’ Agnes asked.
Betty pointed at the door. ‘Gone to the toilet.’
‘I think I need to go meself,’ said Agnes, ‘the excitement is killin’ me.’
She got to the door of the Ladies just as the door of the Gents on the opposite side of the corridor opened and Mark stepped out.
‘Are yeh all right, Mammy?’
Agnes turned and smiled at her eldest son, as proud of him as she always had been. She walked over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
‘I’m fine, Mark, and I’m so, so happy for yeh, son.’
‘And I’m happy for you - Granny!’ Mark grinned, and turned back towards the ward.
Agnes stood in the hallway for a moment. Granny? Granny!
The word fell like a sack of coal across Agnes’s back. She felt her shoulders dip and her spine bend. For some inexplicable reason she hadn’t thought about it like that at all. She looked down at the back of her left hand — it looked wrinkled and her wedding ring seemed to sink into the flesh of her fourth finger. For the first time in her life Agnes Browne felt old.