The Mammy Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Brendan O'Carroll
having an affair. As the prayer ended, and the coffin was lowered into the grave, Agnes muttered under her breath: ‘Yeh dirty bastard.’
Meanwhile, only four hundred yards away, the real Redser Browne was buried with just four men in attendance. Fittingly, they were all barmen from Foley’s pub.
Chapter 4
AGNES BROWNE COULD TAKE A LOT OF ABUSE. She’d had a lot of practice. She was beaten regularly by her father, she was beaten in school and of course Redser beat her, but at least he only beat her when he felt he had a good reason!
She never told anyone about the beatings from Redser. She tried once - the very first time, it was. They had just moved into the flat in Larkin Court and she was as happy as a lark. They got a bed from Redser’s granny in Ringsend (she’d had it in the attic) and they had ordered a new formica-topped table, four chairs and a settee from Cavendish’s in Grafton Street - two pounds and fifty pence a week over three years with a week free every Christmas. The table and chairs arrived on a Friday and although Agnes was disappointed that the van man hadn’t brought the settee as well, he promised he would bring it the next day, Saturday. Redser ate his dinner off the new table that night. He hardly noticed it and his only comment before he pushed his plate away and went to dress for his darts match, was: ‘It doesn’t make the dinner taste any better.’
Agnes always rose early on a Saturday. She didn’t have to work because she had an arrangement with Marion - Agnes looked after both stalls on a Friday and Marion did both on a Saturday, but still she would be up at 7am. That Saturday she boiled a pot of water and filled the trough to make a warm, bubbly bath. She bathed Mark and dressed him. Then at exactly half-past eight, she carried Mark and his go-car down the stairs, strapped him in and headed for the second-hand market on George’s Hill. The highlight of Agnes’s week was her Saturday rummage through the mountains of clothes, shoes and bric-a-brac of this market. She knew all the dealers’ nicknames and why they had them. For instance, ‘Bungalow’ was a retarded man that ran and fetched for the dealers. They sent him for chips or cigarettes or whatever. He got his name because, like a bungalow, he had nothing upstairs. On the other hand, Buddha, who sold bedsteads, buckets and sewing machines, was very smart and got his name from the way he spoke, every sentence beginning with ’But eh ...‘
This Saturday, Agnes just skimmed around the dealers instead of stopping, rooting and chatting, because she wanted to be back in time to meet the van man with her new, her brand new, settee. She arrived back to the flat at about eleven o‘clock. As she entered the building old Mrs Ward, who lived in the ground-floor flat, met her on the landing.
‘Your fella’s gone out,’ she announced. Mrs Ward fancied herself as the ‘Keeper of the Castle’ and the residents of the building used to say ’you couldn’t fart but she knew about it and by the time she was finished telling someone else about it, it was a shite!‘ Agnes didn’t even look at her as she struggled up the stairs with child and go-car. She just replied, ’I know.‘
‘Overtime, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Gone up to his mother’s?’
Agnes didn’t reply, half because she was nearly breathless and half because she didn’t want to. Failure to reply never stopped Mrs Ward, for even as Agnes was opening her door two floors up, she could hear the old bat carry on below: ‘Hard to get them away from their mothers, these young bucks.’ Agnes closed the door to a muffled: ‘Oh yes, they love their mothers ... love them!’
She plonked the go-car down and took off her headscarf. As she was unwrapping the baby she glanced over at her new table and chairs ... lovely! The table was in a mess from the remains of Redser’s breakfast. A dirty mug, the sugar bowl, a bottle of milk and the teapot scattered around, the
Meanwhile, only four hundred yards away, the real Redser Browne was buried with just four men in attendance. Fittingly, they were all barmen from Foley’s pub.
Chapter 4
AGNES BROWNE COULD TAKE A LOT OF ABUSE. She’d had a lot of practice. She was beaten regularly by her father, she was beaten in school and of course Redser beat her, but at least he only beat her when he felt he had a good reason!
She never told anyone about the beatings from Redser. She tried once - the very first time, it was. They had just moved into the flat in Larkin Court and she was as happy as a lark. They got a bed from Redser’s granny in Ringsend (she’d had it in the attic) and they had ordered a new formica-topped table, four chairs and a settee from Cavendish’s in Grafton Street - two pounds and fifty pence a week over three years with a week free every Christmas. The table and chairs arrived on a Friday and although Agnes was disappointed that the van man hadn’t brought the settee as well, he promised he would bring it the next day, Saturday. Redser ate his dinner off the new table that night. He hardly noticed it and his only comment before he pushed his plate away and went to dress for his darts match, was: ‘It doesn’t make the dinner taste any better.’
Agnes always rose early on a Saturday. She didn’t have to work because she had an arrangement with Marion - Agnes looked after both stalls on a Friday and Marion did both on a Saturday, but still she would be up at 7am. That Saturday she boiled a pot of water and filled the trough to make a warm, bubbly bath. She bathed Mark and dressed him. Then at exactly half-past eight, she carried Mark and his go-car down the stairs, strapped him in and headed for the second-hand market on George’s Hill. The highlight of Agnes’s week was her Saturday rummage through the mountains of clothes, shoes and bric-a-brac of this market. She knew all the dealers’ nicknames and why they had them. For instance, ‘Bungalow’ was a retarded man that ran and fetched for the dealers. They sent him for chips or cigarettes or whatever. He got his name because, like a bungalow, he had nothing upstairs. On the other hand, Buddha, who sold bedsteads, buckets and sewing machines, was very smart and got his name from the way he spoke, every sentence beginning with ’But eh ...‘
This Saturday, Agnes just skimmed around the dealers instead of stopping, rooting and chatting, because she wanted to be back in time to meet the van man with her new, her brand new, settee. She arrived back to the flat at about eleven o‘clock. As she entered the building old Mrs Ward, who lived in the ground-floor flat, met her on the landing.
‘Your fella’s gone out,’ she announced. Mrs Ward fancied herself as the ‘Keeper of the Castle’ and the residents of the building used to say ’you couldn’t fart but she knew about it and by the time she was finished telling someone else about it, it was a shite!‘ Agnes didn’t even look at her as she struggled up the stairs with child and go-car. She just replied, ’I know.‘
‘Overtime, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Gone up to his mother’s?’
Agnes didn’t reply, half because she was nearly breathless and half because she didn’t want to. Failure to reply never stopped Mrs Ward, for even as Agnes was opening her door two floors up, she could hear the old bat carry on below: ‘Hard to get them away from their mothers, these young bucks.’ Agnes closed the door to a muffled: ‘Oh yes, they love their mothers ... love them!’
She plonked the go-car down and took off her headscarf. As she was unwrapping the baby she glanced over at her new table and chairs ... lovely! The table was in a mess from the remains of Redser’s breakfast. A dirty mug, the sugar bowl, a bottle of milk and the teapot scattered around, the
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