The Granny

by Brendan O'Carroll

  ‘You go that way, I’ll go this way,’ Dermot whispered.

  ‘Okay, Dermo,’ Buster answered and then added, ‘Dermot?’

  ‘What?’ Dermot asked impatiently.

  ‘Which way am I supposed to go? I can’t see which way you’re pointin’ in the dark.’

  Buster felt himself being turned around by the shoulders and pushed. ‘That fuckin’ way.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Dermot had a box of matches in his pocket, but didn’t want to strike a light unless he had too. As he felt his way around he felt some things that were familiar — a bale of straw, a rope of some sort, a shovel which he nearly fell over. Suddenly Buster called him from the far side of the room. ‘Bingo, Dermot.’

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I’m after findin’ a fur coat!’ Buster answered gleefully.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Dermot answered as he felt his way over to where Buster’s voice had come from.

  ‘Ah — maybe it’s not brilliant,’ Buster said in a very even voice.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s after lickin’ me!’ Buster answered with a rattle in his voice.

  Dermot struck a match, and the two men were treated to a live performance of the MGM Studios trade mark. The growl of the lion couldn’t even be heard above the screams of the two men.

  Luckily for the Boot Hill Gang, Clarence, the Garibaldi family’s oldest lion, had been fed that day. He didn’t want to eat the men, he just wanted to play with them. Unfortunately for the Boot Hill Gang, lions have claws.

  Shortly after being admitted to casualty at St Patrick’s hospital, Buster Brady was rushed to the operating theatre where Dr Pat Watson spent the next three hours performing very delicate surgery upon him. By the end of it Dr Watson was very pleased with his work and was able to tell Dermot Browne that, given time and a bit of rest, Buster would make a full recovery. The only lasting sign of the evening’s escapade would be that the Boot Hill Gang from that day onward would boast only three testicles between the two of them.

  Dermot first ’phoned the Brady family and informed them that he and Buster had had an accident, but that everything was all right and that Buster would be fine. He then ’phoned Mark and asked him to come and collect him from the hospital and drive him back to Finglas. There was little conversation in the car during the trip home. Mark simply shook his head and said, ‘One of these days, Dermot, I’m telling you, you two are going to go too far.’

  Dermot didn’t answer, he just stared out the window into space.

  Back in the recovery room in St Patrick’s hospital, Buster Brady too stared into space. Dr Watson had just broken the news to him, and Buster was trying to work out what a ‘testicle’ was.

  Chapter 9

  WITH ONLY DERMOT IN THE BOYS’ BEDROOM Agnes saw little point in having five beds there, especially since it meant that Dermot was squeezed into a comer. She mentioned this to Pierre and he immediately volunteered to remove and store the extra beds, as well as centralise Dermot’s bed. When Agnes accepted his offer, Pierre was quite surprised and delighted. He felt that this moved him a little closer to co-habitation, his ultimate goal. Early the following Monday morning, Pierre rolled up his sleeves and began to shift the furniture. Manoeuvring the beds down the narrow stairway on his own was difficult, and by the time he had the last bed out of the house, Pierre was pumping perspiration. He next pulled the mattress off Dermot’s bed and moved it to the doorway at the top of the stairs. When he returned to the bed base he was greeted by a smiling brunette named Cheryl. She was standing with her hands propping up enormous naked breasts. Her brown eyes were staring at Pierre from the cover of Mayfair magazine, Dermot’s bedside reading. Pierre lifted the magazine and began to flick through the pages. He then sat down on the edge of the bed base and began to read. He became most interested in an article which had the headline ‘Turn me on, set me loose!’ This was an in-depth look at what it was that turned normal women into ‘sexual animals’. When he was only halfway through the article Pierre again began to perspire, and by the end of the article he had made up his mind. It was time to turn Agnes Browne into a ‘sexual animal’.

  Tony McMullen’s knowledge of the hardware industry was the envy of many a counterhand at Lenehan’s Hardware Store in Capel Street. In the years he had spent in the hardware business everything had passed through Tony McMullen’s hands, from a torque wrench to carpentry pins the width of a human hair. He was indeed a valued senior member of counter staff in Lenehan’s. Of course, Tony was like all men - just when you thought you had seen it all, something would come along and change all that. He scratched his head and once again began to flick through the stock book. He found the index page and scanned everything listed under the letter ‘N’. No luck. It didn’t help that the customer had a French accent and mumbled. He looked up again at the French man.

  ‘Nipple clamps?’ he asked, with a puzzled frown on his forehead.

  ‘Eh yes, nipple clamps - eh, would you keep your voice down please?’ Pierre answered.

  McMullen closed the stock book and called across the counter. ‘ARTHUR! Nipple clamps? Do we have any?’

  Arthur, who had been showing an elderly lady where the starter fuse was inserted in a fluorescent light, stopped what he was doing and looked up at the ceiling as if expecting to find the answer to Tony’s question there. He scratched under his chin, looked back at McMullen, shrugged and answered, ‘I don’t think so, Tony.’

  A few of the younger customers stared at Pierre. Some began to giggle. McMullen wasn’t giving up.

  ‘Is it an oil nipple or a water nipple you want?’

  ‘Breast. Breast nipples,’ Pierre mumbled.

  ‘Brist? What do you mean, brist?’

  Pierre cupped his hand beneath his breast as he had seen Cheryl do in her cover pose. ‘Breast nipples,’ he said, pointing to an imaginary nipple about four inches out from his breast.

  Tony McMullen’s expression changed completely. Even his ears moved back as if pinned to the side of his head. His face reddened, with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. ‘Now you listen, pal, perverts like you should be locked up! Now get your arse out of this shop.’

  Pierre was confused. He was sure that this man was an adventurer like himself and just misunderstood how effective nipple clamps could be. ‘No, no, it is not perverted. It is very pleasurable, let me show you.’

  Pierre went to pinch McMullen’s nipple. McMullen slapped his hand and now came around the counter.

  ‘You try that again and I’ll box the fuckin’ head off you. Now, out!’ he roared.

  Pierre beat a retreat. He was more than a little shaken following the events in Lenehan’s. However, he had less trouble purchasing the other items he needed from the Costume Shop and Saddlery. With all the pieces in place, except for the nipple clamps of course, Pierre looked forward to transforming Agnes into a sexual animal. He even had an idea for replacing the nipple clamps which he believed was quite creative, and was very proud of his lateral thinking. Pierre arrived that evening at Agnes’s house with three bottles of champagne cider, a bouquet of flowers, and smelling like the Avon Lady’s briefcase. Agnes was thrilled by this gesture. It was just what she needed. Her mind had been preoccupied of late by the disintegration of her family and she was feeling very low and, to be honest, unwanted.

  The evening began wonderfully. They put on some soft music and the first two bottles of cider vanished quickly. Agnes poured her heart out to Pierre. About how she felt her family was falling apart, and how she blamed herself. Pierre tried to explain that this is the way families are meant to go. Children become adults, and adults must go their own way and make a life for themselves. His explanations fell on stony ground, for Agnes argued that it was possible for them to become adults and still retain the family unit, even though they were scattered or married or whatever. As the evening wore on, the fire in the hearth began to die, and Agnes’s thoughts turned to bed, exactly where Pierre’s thoughts had been f
rom the moment he had walked in the door. Agnes drained her glass and, collecting up her purse, cigarettes and lighter, stood up.

  ‘Are you going to stay the night, Pierre?’ she asked.

  ‘I would love to,’ Pierre answered, with a playful leer in his voice.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Agnes answered equally playfully. ‘Well, come on then, lover boy,’ and she giggled.

  ‘You go up first, I will follow.’ Pierre was getting excited, for his moment was coming.

  ‘What?’ Agnes was puzzled.

  ‘Go on. I have a little surprise for you.’

  Agnes went on up to the bedroom. She was tickled with anticipation. She stripped and changed her underwear, donning her good Playtex bra. She got into bed and settled herself. When she could hear Pierre’s footsteps ascending the stairs she turned towards the wall, leaving her back facing the door. She did this because she knew Pierre would begin by kissing her all over her back, and she liked that.

  She couldn’t see the tears in Pierre’s eyes as he entered the room. Tears or no tears, Pierre was determined to see this through!

  It was the crack of the bull-whip that removed the smile of anticipation from Agnes’s face. She turned slowly to see what had made the noise.

  ‘Sweet loving Jesus!’ were the words that came from her lips as she half-sat, frozen at the sight that lay before her.

  ‘Come, you sexual animal,’ Pierre said in a guttural voice.

  ‘Have you gone fuckin’ mad, Pierre?’ Agnes now stood out of bed face-to-face with Pierre, who was naked except for a Lone Ranger mask and two plastic clothes pegs, one of which he wore on each nipple. Pierre let out a theatrical laugh and cracked the bull-whip again. The bull-whip ripped a large gash in the net curtains on its outward journey and burst the pillow on its return journey, sending feathers billowing around the bedside light.

  ‘Come on, sexy! I hit you then you hit me, Agnes baby.’ Except for the name, this was a direct quote from ‘Turn me on, set me loose’.

  ‘Right! Me first!’ Agnes roared.

  Agnes’s right cross to Pierre’s chin bent him nearly completely backwards. He tried hard to stay on his feet, swinging his arms in an effort to counter-balance his arched form. There was a sharp ‘click-click’ as the two plastic pegs released their grip on Pierre’s now blue nipples and with a slight smile of relief he buckled into unconsciousness.

  In fairness, Agnes embellished the story a little more when she retold it the next day to the other stall holders in Moore Street’s market. Carmel Dowdall laughed so much that she had to slip away to Guiney’s to buy a new pair of knickers, after wetting the ones she came to work in when Agnes reached the point in the story where she described the two clothes pegs and Pierre’s blue nipples. For his part, Pierre du Gloss learned that turning Agnes Browne on was one thing, but setting her loose was dangerous!

  Chapter 10

  TREVOR WAS SITTING ALONE IN THE ART ROOM. It was lunch time. He had decided not to take a lunch break but instead to finish the illustration he was working on. It felt weird to be working on Christmas scenes while the autumn sun was beaming through the window. But in the advertising world today was old news, everybody worked on tomorrow. The ring of the ‘phone on Sue White’s desk was like a fire alarm, and jarred Trevor’s thoughts awake. He let it ring for a few moments in the hope that whoever it was would realise it was lunch time and hang up. They didn’t. So he answered the ’phone. It was Nicky in Glasgow.

  ‘Hello?’ Trevor said softly.

  ‘Hello. Who’s that?’ Her voice was nice.

  ‘Hutchinson & Bailey,’ Trevor answered.

  ‘I know that, who are you?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s Trevor, Trevor Browne, I’m an artist here.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re Trevor.’ The young woman laughed.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Trevor. This is Nicky in Glasgow. I was looking for Sue.’

  ‘Oh! She’s not here, she’s gone out, I’m afraid ... em, Nicky.’ For no reason Trevor blushed.

  ‘She’s probably gone looking for another date for you!’ Nicky announced. This time they both laughed.

  ‘She keeps you up to date then, Nicky?’ Trevor relaxed.

  ‘I know exactly what you’re going through, Trevor. I was her victim for two years while she was here in Scotland. She means well though. She really does.’

  ‘Oh I know that, in fact, and don’t tell her this, some of the girls were really nice, it’s not them it’s just — well - yeh know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how I know. Listen, Trevor, tell her I called and that I’ll call her later, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he answered with a smile. Slowly Trevor returned the handset to its cradle. He liked her.

  Sue was the last to return to the art room from lunch. Whatever had happened on her lunch break, it had her in a very happy mood. Then she and Tony had a few quiet words, and that seemed to change her mood completely. Trevor wondered what it was that had made her so happy and now so sad. At the four o’clock tea break he would find out.

  ‘I spent my lunch hour,’ Sue began, ‘driving out to look at a place in Cookham. It’s gorgeous, Trevor. A three-bedroomed house, right behind a country pub called The Swan Uppers. The back garden sweeps down to the Thames, and it’s right beside a golf course - you know how much Tony likes golf?’ Sue really was enthusiastic.

  ‘Yes, I do. It sounds great, so what’s the problem?’

  Trevor’s question stopped Sue in her tracks. She hung her head for a moment, and when she brought it up again she looked across the room at Tony with the expression of a child who had just had her favourite toy stolen. In a disappointed tone she announced, ‘Tony says it’s too expensive to rent.’

  And is it?’ Trevor asked.

  Sue looked at him like he had just joined the enemy ranks. ‘Yes!’ The conversation was over.

  Trevor had arranged to have a drink with Tony and Sue after work that evening. They often did this. Straight after shutting down for the day they would head around the comer to a tiny little pub called Mrs Muffin’s. There they would have a few drinks, a few laughs and talk shop for a couple of hours. Trevor wasn’t looking forward to this evening. Tony and Sue were fabulous company, unless they were fighting. When quitting time came, Sue was not in the art room. She had gone up to Mr Bailey’s office to make a presentation on a new soft drinks concept she had. She had already been up there for two hours, which generally meant the presentation was going well. Tony left a little note on her desk saying that he and Trevor would be waiting in Mrs Muffin’s and the two men headed off to the pub.

  ‘Two pints of mild,’ Tony called, before returning to the main topic of conversation with Trevor. ‘A hundred and twenty-five pounds a week is just out of the question, Trevor. Oh, we could manage it all right, but then I wouldn’t be able to save. If I can’t save then there would be no money for our own place, for when we get married.’

  ‘You two are getting married?’ Trevor asked the question not because he was surprised that Sue and Tony might marry, but the way Tony had said it, it sounded like they were getting married the next day.

  ‘Well, yes - eventually, I hope. I haven’t asked Sue yet, but I’m sure we will, what do you think?’ he asked.

  Trevor got a little flustered at being asked such a momentous question by someone who to all intents and purposes was a stranger. So he drew on one of his mother’s sayings.

  ‘I’ll tell you, Tony, when God made you two he matched you,’ then he raised his glass to Tony. Maybe it was the clink of the glasses, or maybe Trevor really did hear a little bell going off in his head. Whatever it was, what was about to happen next was totally out of character for Trevor. He was not a spontaneous man, yet on this occasion as the thought struck him he spoke it out loud. ‘Maybe I could help?’

  Tony was in mid-mouthful, and he swallowed and wiped his lips. ‘What do you mean?’

  Trevor had started so now he had to finish. ‘What if
I were to share in this house in Cookham? I could chip in forty pounds a week, no problem. You would actually be doing me a favour because I hate the kip I’m living in now. I wouldn’t be in the way or anything, would I?’

  Tony slowly ran his finger around the rim of his pint glass and stared into the froth. After a few moments he looked up at Trevor. ‘You wouldn’t be in our way, but are you sure you want to do this? I mean this place has a one-year lease, that would mean you’re stuck with us for a year at least.’

  ‘If I have to be stuck with someone for a year, I can’t think of anybody else I’d rather be stuck with than you and Sue.’

  As if by magic at the mention of her name, Sue entered Mrs Muffin’s. The presentation had obviously gone well, and she seemed to have got over her mid-afternoon disappointment over Cookham. Once she had a drink in her hand, Tony wasted no time.

  ‘Sue, if we are to move to this place in Cookham, we really can’t afford it on our own, but we could take in a lodger!’

  ‘Thanks, Tony, I know you mean well, but I’ve been thinking about it. You’re right, we can’t afford it, and as much as I love the place I don’t fancy living with a stranger.’

  Trevor went to speak but was stopped by a sharp wink from Tony.

  ‘What if...’ Tony began, ‘the stranger was our Trevor here?’ Tony was only short of pushing his tongue into his cheek as he spoke, for he already knew the reaction this would bring from Sue.

  Sue didn’t speak. Instead she snapped a look at Trevor. Trevor simply smiled and nodded his head. There followed a burst of laughter from the three and a group hug.

  Chapter 11

  VERY FEW OF US REALLY UNDERSTAND or witness the full consequences of our ‘pranks’. This was particularly true of Dermot and Buster. For instance, sitting in a café, Dermot would pour the contents of the salt cellar into the sugar and leave. He would not know that the elderly woman who would use their table next would be violently sick following her first mouthful of salted coffee. Or that this sickness would have an adverse effect on the reputation of the café and its owner, who struggled every day to make the business pay. To Dermot and Buster it was just a giggle. But sometimes, consequences do catch up with us, and they did for Dermot Browne and Buster Brady on the night of 17 September 1981.