The Mammy

by Brendan O'Carroll

  Agnes herself spent the time without the children with Marion. The two drank, talked, walked, and even took a couple of coach trips down the country. Marion was more full of life than Agnes had ever seen her and they laughed themselves silly. However, when the sun began, to set a little earlier, and the scent of summer had got thinner in the air, Marion’s enthusiasm began to flag. By mid-autumn she was getting tired more easily. She became the victim of huge mood swings, the brunt of which were borne by an increasingly depressed Tommo. It was, Agnes reflected, as if Marion knew she had just had her last summer. Once again Agnes tried to get Marion to give the stall a break for a while and spend the time at home.

  ‘I’d die at home all day every day,’ Marion would say with a wry grin. Agnes wondered if she knew. She suspected that she did, for Marion began to do funny things - things that were out of character. For instance, she now held Tommo’s hand - in the pub, out shopping, all the time. And one chilly morning when Marion came over with the bovril for the morning break they had an unusual conversation.

  When the fags were lit it was time for the ritual chat, but instead of the usual chatter, Marion opened with a question: ‘Have you any dreams, Agnes?’

  ‘Oh Jaysus, I have. I’d love to win the sweepstake and get the fuck outta here.’ The two laughed. Then came a pause.

  ‘Ah no, I mean real dreams,’ Marion asked again.

  ‘Like at night in bed?’

  ‘No ... How do I mean it? Yeh know, sometimes you feel that life is passin’ you by ... you’re doin’ nothin’, oh you’re busy all right, but your not doin’ anythin‘. D’ye ever feel that?‘

  ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re bleedin’ talkin’ about.’

  ‘Ah yeh know...’

  ‘I don’t know, Marion, I don’t. Busy doin’ nothin’ -what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Cliff Richard!’ Marion exclaimed.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You told me once that you’d love to dance with Cliff Richard. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I mean! That’s a real dream. That’s something that could happen!’

  ‘Oh sure, Marion. Cliff will stroll down Moore Street to my stall and say: How yeh, Agnes, give us five red apples and, c’mere, will yeh dance with us?‘

  ‘Could happen. I’m not sure about the apples though!’

  The two women laughed again, and Agnes was relieved that Marion wasn’t going off her rocker. But Marion wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Do you know what I’d like to do before I die?’

  Marion said this without looking at Agnes and likewise Agnes looked away, scratched her neck and tried to sound as casual as she possibly could. ‘What?’

  ‘I’d love to learn to drive!’ Marion answered, excited.

  ‘What? Drive? Drive what?’

  ‘A car, of course!’

  ‘But you haven’t got a car.’

  ‘So? People do learn Spanish.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with drivin’ a car?’

  ‘People learn Spanish and they don’t go to Spain, so why shouldn’t I learn how to drive?’

  Agnes had no answer for this perverted logic. She just sat open-mouthed. Marion took this as a request for more information and went on.

  ‘There’s a drivin’ school in Talbot Street. I called in, and it costs nine pounds for fifteen lessons. That’s a savin’ of over two pound, cause it’s fifteen shillings a lesson. It’s a special pre-Christmas offer. What do yeh think?’

  Agnes still did not change her expression. She was digesting all of this, slowly. She spoke slowly too. ‘You’re goin’ to pay out nine pounds ... to learn to drive something you haven’t got?’

  ‘It’s me dream ...’

  ‘Fuck the dream! Get a cheaper dream. You’re out of your mind, Marion, really, it’s ridiculous!’

  Neither of the two women spoke for a while, well not to each other anyway. Agnes would take a sup of bovril and say, ‘Drive, me arse,’ to herself, and other than that all was silent. Marion stood and took the mugs, brushed down her apron and screwed the stopper back on the flask. She was just about to leave, but instead she put her hand on Agnes’s arm and said: ‘If you could dance with Cliff Richard for nine pounds you’d fuckin’ jump at it!’ And she walked back to her stall.

  And it wasn’t over. That night after the Bingo, Marion brought up the subject again. The two were on their second round of pints, the post-mortem on the Bingo was finished and as usual both were taking in what was happening at the tables around them.

  ‘There’s Dermot Flynn,’ Marion pointed out.

  ‘Dermot Flynn? Where?’ Agnes strained her neck.

  ‘Over there, at the domino table.’

  ‘Oh I see him. He’s lookin’ well.’

  ‘Is he happy with his move out of town?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since they moved. You can be sure she’s happy. She has notions, that wan!’

  ‘Yeh, town wouldn’t be good enough for her.’ Marion confirmed that Dermot Flynn’s wife was a snob.

  ‘Mind you ...’ Marion continued, ‘when you can drive you can move where you like.’ She took a sip. Agnes saw the bait splashing in the water. She was tempted to change the subject and annoy Marion, but she had already given it some thought. Marion was right, Agnes would pay nine pounds to fulfil her dream and dance with Cliff - she’d pay ninety pounds if she had it! So, if Marion could fulfil her dream, stupid as it was, then why shouldn’t she? So she rose to the bait.

  ‘I was thinkin’ about that, Marion.’

  ‘About what, Agnes?’ Marion was milking it!

  ‘You learnin’ to drive, what you said today.’

  ‘Oh yeh! Janey, I forgot about that - what about it?’

  ‘You’re right!’

  ‘Am I? D’ye think so, Agnes?‘ Marion was excited now.

  ‘Yeh,-yeh are, do it!’

  ‘Ah I’m delighted you agree with it, Agnes. The man in the school said he could take us out next Tuesday night for the first one!’

  ‘Lovely. Wait a minute! What do yeh mean us?’

  ‘Us. You and me. I’m not gettin’ into a car with a stranger on me own.’

  ‘Well, I’m not gettin’ in with yeh - who’ll be drivin’?‘

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Yeh can fuck off, Marion Monks, if you think I’m goin’ to be your first victim!’

  ‘Ah ye’ll be all right, Agnes. The car has controls on his side as well, it’s ... it’s bisexual, he can take over any time he likes. You just have to sit in the back - mortal support, that’s all!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Agnes ... for yer pal.’

  ‘NO, NO, NO!’

  ‘I’ll get you a cider. PJ, when you’re ready?’

  ‘You can buy all the cider in China, the answer is NO. N.O. - NO!’

  Chapter 16

  MARION’S TINY GREY EYES SPARKLED with excitement as they gazed from the small, elongated rear-view mirror.

  ‘Are you all right in the back, Agnes?’

  ‘Never mind me, you watch the fuckin’ road.’ Agnes was terrified. She couldn’t believe she’d let Marion talk her into this.

  ‘Agnes, relax for God’s sake.’ Marion turned around in the driver’s seat. ‘I’d hate to see you if the car was goin’.‘

  ‘Don’t touch anything you, d’ye hear me? Wait till yer man comes out. Don’t touch anything - oh shite, we’re movin‘!’

  ‘We are not! Ah, Agnes, will yeh stop! If I’d known you were goin’ t’be like this I wouldn’t have let you come!‘

  ‘Let me come? Let me fuckin’ come? You dragged me here, yeh bloody bitch.’

  Marion saw the driving instructor close the door of the office building and make his way to the car. ‘Say nothin’, Agnes, here’s the constructor!‘

  Marion sat properly in the car, facing forwards. The instructor walked around the vehicle, clipboard in hand, as if examining the vehicle - and
that is exactly what he was doing. The women’s heads followed him around the car.

  ‘What’s he doin’?‘ asked Marion.

  ‘Dunno - is he lookin’ for a way in?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s his car! He’s probably doin’ a safety check.’

  ‘He knows we’re from The Jarro, Marion, he’s countin’ the fuckin’ wheels!’

  Both women howled with laughter. The instructor stopped and looked at the laughing women. They both stopped abruptly. Marion spoke, trying not to move her lips: ‘Oh Suck, he diddle like that!’

  Agnes looked closer at the man now. He was completely bald, with a flat nose. She whispered to Marion: ‘Jaysus, look at the puss on him, someone hit him with a fryin’ pan.’

  ‘Agnes, fuck off! I’ll start laughin’ again.’

  The instructor tapped on Marion’s window. Marion looked at him, po-faced.

  ‘What?’ she yelled.

  The instructor made a fist of his hand and moved it in a circular motion.

  ‘He wants a wank!’ said Agnes.

  Marion burst out laughing again.

  Agnes covered her face with her hands. ‘Well, he can fuck off.’ And the two howled harder.

  The instructor put a hand to his mouth. ‘Roll down the window, please,’ he yelled.

  ‘What’d he say?’ Marion asked Agnes.

  ‘He wants to know if you’re a widow,’ Agnes replied.

  Marion shook her head in exaggerated movements and yelled ‘Nooo!’

  The instructor looked puzzled. ‘Wind the knob!’ He pointed downwards.

  ‘What’d he say?’ Marion asked again.

  ‘I’m not sure. Something about his knob - he does want a wank, the pervert!’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll open the window, we’ll hear him better.’

  Marion opened the window and Agnes leaned forward to catch what was being said. Marion smiled. ‘I couldn’t hear you with the window up,’ she explained.

  ‘That’s what I was ... oh never mind. I just want to check the brake lights. Press on the brake pedal.’

  Marion looked down at the pedals. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on one of the pedals. The instructor shook his head.

  ‘No, no, Mrs Monks, that’s the accelerator. We mustn’t get these two mixed up. The brake pedal stops the car, the one you are pushing makes it go faster!’

  Agnes jumped up and tried to crawl between the two front seats. ‘I’m gettin’ out! Fuck this!’

  Marion pushed her back. ‘Will you relax, Agnes. I’m only learnin’. Now!‘ she declared as she pushed her foot down on the brake pedal.

  ‘That’s it,’ exclaimed the instructor and he walked to the back of the car to check that both lights were working. Marion watched him in the mirror, Agnes turned to see him bathed in red light, and Marion spoke to the back of Agnes’s head. ‘Will you relax! What’ll he think of us?’

  The instructor made a note on his clipboard and put his pen away.

  ‘Ah shut up! Who cares what he thinks? He looks like a big penis!’ The women giggled.

  ‘Shh ... he’s comin’,‘ said Marion.

  ‘Ask him his name. I bet it’s Mickey! I bettcha!!’

  The passenger door opened, and the instructor sat into the seat. He slammed the door shut. ‘Right, Mrs Monks, let’s begin.’

  ‘Please call me Marion.’

  ‘Okay, Marion ...’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Marion asked. Both women waited expectantly.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry.’ He put his hand out. ‘Tom.’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh?’ Marion said, disappointed.

  ‘Tom O’Toole,‘ he finished.

  The women burst into hysterical laughter. Tears flowed from Agnes’s eyes and her cheeks were streaked with mascara. Marion gripped her stomach with both hands and bent forward until her forehead touched the steering wheel. Agnes fell back and rolled from side to side in the back seat. The instructor was startled at first but as the laughter continued he became very irate.

  ‘Ladies ... please!’

  It took a little time, but the two women eventually stopped ... for the moment. The women were now infected with the dreaded giggles. For the present, though, they were quiet.

  The instructor began: ‘Now, turn the key and push the accelerator gently.’

  Marion did this, and the engine gunned into life.

  ‘That’s good. Now, depress the clutch.’

  ‘What?’ Marion asked.

  ‘Depress the clutch.’

  ‘How do I do that?’ asked Marion, but before the instructor could answer, Agnes was in with: ‘Show it your electricity bill!’ The women were off again, howling and slapping the seats. Suddenly Marion stopped and slumped forward. Agnes carried on laughing a little longer, but then noticed that Marion was not moving. She prodded Marion’s back and still with a laugh in her voice said, ‘Hey, Kaiser!’ Marion did not move. Agnes jumped up and out of the car. She ran to the driver’s door and pulled it open. Marion had started to come round.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Marion mumbled.

  ‘Are you okay? Oh Marion, love, are you okay?’

  ‘I ... I think so ... but I feel tired ...’

  ‘Has she been drinking?’ the instructor asked accusingly.

  Agnes ignored him, helped Marion gently out of the car, and stood her against the passenger door. Marion looked deathly white, even her lips had paled. She was shaking. Agnes wanted to do something, anything, to help Marion, but she could think of nothing, to either do or say, so she took Marion in her arms and hugged her tightly.

  The instructor was now out of the car. ‘If the lesson is cancelled, I still have to be paid.’

  ‘How would you like me to cancel the rest of your baldy little fuckin’ life?’ Agnes spat at him.

  He retreated to the office. Marion and Agnes stood embracing by the car. The evening traffic rumbled past them on Talbot Street. Without being aware it, as she held Marion, Agnes had mascara running down her face, and was patting Marion’s back and hoarsely whispering, ‘There, there, there ...’

  Chapter 17

  AGNES’S WORDS WERE COMING IN SOBS.

  Marion’s death had come swiftly. Everyone had been prepared for a drawn-out painful death from the cancer that was eating away at her, but, true to form, Marion’s heart attack caught them all by surprise. It was now three days since Marion’s funeral. Agnes’s shoulders heaved with shudders of grief, as she sat in the snug of Foley’s lounge.

  ‘I was plannin’ on gettin’ her to Lourdes,’ she said to Monica Foley, wife of the publican and the only other person on the premises, for it was one in the morning and the drinkers had long since gone. Monica simply nodded her head and replied, ‘I know, I know ... terrible.’

  ‘I ... I was hopin’ for a miracle ... yeh, a miracle ... Yeh know what I mean, Monica?’

  ‘I do ... I do, Agnes. Well, maybe you got your miracle?’ Monica tried, by way of consolation. ‘Marion went quickly and peacefully, and when it comes down to it, wouldn’t we all want that?’ She was genuinely sad for Agnes, but it was late and she really wanted Agnes out of the pub and home.

  ‘I never thought of that. Yeh ... I know what yeh mean there, Monica ... a miracle ... yeh ... could be!’ Agnes took a slug of her cider. Monica glanced at the glass, only one slug left, thank God. Agnes moved closer to Monica. Her voice now took on a conspiratorial tone.

  ‘Monica ... if I tell you something ... now, it’s weird ... but promise me yeh won’t tell a soul ... will ya?’

  ‘Is it a long story, Agnes? ’Cause it’s very late.‘

  ‘This won’t take long, Monica, but it’s ... well yeh know, it’s ... just promise me!’

  ‘I promise ... I do, I promise.’

  ‘Good ... well, I’ll tell yeh,’ Agnes picked up the glass to take the last drop, then changed her mind, put the glass down and to Monica’s disappointment took out her cigarettes and matches. Thirty seconds later Agnes was puffing, and ready to begin her tale.r />
  ‘Right! Well, Monica, fifteen years ago ...’

  ‘Fifteen years? ... Ah, Agnes, this is goin’ to be a long one.’

  ‘Shush, shush ... it’s not ... and anyway it’s worth it! I swear.’

  ‘Well, go on then, I’m listenin’.‘

  ‘Okay, so where was P Oh yeh. For the last fifteen years I have been meeting Marion Monks every mornin’. We’d push our prams down through The Jarro. Sometimes we’d chat, sometimes we’d have nothin’ to say, so we’d ... we’d eh ... say ...‘ Agnes stopped.

  ‘Nothin?’ Monica offered.

  ‘Exactly!’ Agnes said and belched. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘one thing never changed ... when we got to St Jarlath’s church, Marion would run up the steps, pull open the door ...’ Agnes paused, the memory filling her eyes and her throat closing slightly, ‘and she’d yell ...’ again a pause, this time quickly filled by Monica: ‘Hello, God, it’s me, Marion.’

  ‘Yeh ... that’s it! How’d you know?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘Everybody in The Jarro knew about that, Agnes. Is that the story? ’Cause if it is I heard it before.‘

  Monica stood up to give Agnes the hint. Agnes patted the seat where Monica had been sitting.

  ‘Sit down! ... Sit down ... you haven’t heard this bit ... sit, sit down!’

  Monica sat with a sigh. ‘Agnes, really, it’s late. Please hurry it up.’

  ‘I will ... I will ... Anyway, I’ve watched her doin’ this day after day and year after year. I thought it was stupid! ... And I told her that ... but still, every mornin’ she’d be up them steps: “Hello God, it’s me, Marion!”’ There was a pause. Agnes at last drank the end of her drink and squashed the cigarette-end into the ashtray. ‘I could hear those words in me head as I walked up them steps three days ago ... behind Marion’s coffin. How could you do this, God? I thought. This woman never forgot you. What does she get for it? Then as we walked through the doors of the church, and started down the aisle ... I got me answer! The organ struck a very low tone and in the middle of the drone I heard, as clear as day, a warm, strong voice say: “Hello, Marion, it’s me, God,” and I just knew she was going to be all right!’