The Chisellers (16 page)

They had built up a great relationship with the owner of the Carrick Inn and, although he would have taken an unlimited supply, the two boys confined themselves to a keg each a week. Things didn’t always work out according to plan, of course, and on more than one occasion Buster found himself forty miles down the line in Portlaoise, freezing cold and trying to hitch home in the early hours of the morning. Still, the risk was worth it and it provided much-appreciated pocket money for the two boys who, although working - Dermot in a local factory making barbed wire, and Buster in the same bakery as his father as a trainee baker - still found good use for the money.

Rory had brought a new friend, Dino Doyle, along to the party. Like Rory, he was a qualified hair stylist and, like Rory, he was homosexual. Agnes was unaware of Rory’s homosexuality and still held out hopes that he would meet a nice girl some day and settle down. Indeed, Rory had tried to tell her on one occasion. It was on one of Rory’s midweek days off. Agnes had taken the day off as well, and Agnes and he sat in the kitchen having a quiet cup of tea.

Rory looked up into his mother’s face. ‘Mammy?’

‘Yes, luv, what is it
^?
’

‘I want you to know something ...’

Agnes smiled at her son. ‘Yes, luv, what do yeh want me to know?’

Rory hesitated before breaking what he knew would be earth-shattering news to Agnes. ‘I... I’m gay, Mammy.’

Agnes held onto her smile and said casually, ‘That’s nice — I’m happy too,’ and she stood up and began to clean the kitchen.

Apart from Frankie, who Agnes knew wouldn’t be there, both Cathy and Simon were also missing from the party, albeit temporarily. Simon was on late shift at the hospital where he was now a senior porter and would arrive back to the house at about 10pm, still in time for the ‘shenanigans’. Cathy had slipped out of the party momentarily to go two doors up to Cathy Dowdall’s house, where Cathy was putting her young baby to sleep. Nobody in Wolfe Tone Grove, nor indeed in Finglas, was surprised when Cathy Dowdall became pregnant just a year ago. Cathy Browne had lost count of the amount of false alarms her best friend had had before eventually falling prey to the ‘joys of motherhood’. Her baby, Emmet, now three months old, was a beautiful child, and both the Cathys doted on him.

Cathy Dowdall’s mother had stuck by her daughter throughout the pregnancy and the birth, and although young Cathy never revealed who the father was, she made the concession of lying to her mother by telling her that the father was a solicitor. This made her mother feel a lot better, thinking that, illegitimate or not, the child would at least have some brains. Cathy Dowdall didn’t dare tell her mother the real truth, that Emmet’s father was, in fact, a butcher from the meat counter in the local supermarket. Carmel Dowdall was never to find out her daughter’s secret and never even asked where the 2lbs of bacon, 1lb of homemade sausages, 2lbs of mince, a Sunday joint and a chicken came from every Saturday.

Baby Emmet was a bit restless and Cathy Dowdall said she would hang on a little longer before returning to the party. Cathy Browne hurried back as she was expecting her own special guest. While Cathy Dowdall’s search for a good time resulted in the birth of a beautiful baby, Cathy Browne’s search for love had come to fruition too, she believed, about two months ago when she met Mick O‘Leary. It was love at first sight for both of them. They had seen each other virtually every day since their first meeting, sometimes during the day, sometimes at night, depending on how Mick’s shift was working. Mick came from Bishopstown in Cork, and was in Dublin only because his job had taken him there. This coming weekend Cathy was to make the trip to Cork to meet Mick’s parents, but tonight it was Mick’s turn to be introduced to the Browne clan.

As Cathy was rushing back to Number 43 and the party, she saw the shadowy figure of a man walking towards her half-way up the street. His swagger made Cathy think it might be Mick and this was confirmed when he called her name. His step got a little quicker and when they eventually met at the gate of the Browne household they hugged each other and kissed passionately.

‘Sounds like a hell of a party,’ Mick said, nodding towards the house.

‘Yes, it is. You’re about to meet the Brownes at their best — or worst?’ Cathy said demurely.

‘Well, you’ve talked so much about them, Cathy, I feel I know them all already. So come on, let’s go and meet the Browne brood.’

Cathy giggled, and holding hands the two of them entered Number 43. They looked into the front room which was jampacked with the older neighbours. Peggy McDonald was very drunk and treating the audience to a rendition of ‘Frankie and Johnny’. Peggy was just coming to an important line in the song for which she leaned down to her husband’s face and spat out: ‘That there ain’t no good in men!’ This brought a huge cheer from the women in the room and howls of laughter from the men. Cathy and Mick withdrew quickly.

In the hallway Mick looked up the stairs and saw a young boy sitting on the top step. He had what appeared to be a sketch pad on his knees and his hands were working furiously.

‘Who’s that?’ Mick asked.

‘That’s me youngest brother, Trevor. He just keeps drawing all the time - I think he’s a bit slow,’ Cathy answered, and pulled Mick towards the back door where the main action was taking place. They went down the two steps to the back yard and Cathy walked over to the bar where Buster and Dermot were now pissed drunk and trying to sing ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ in harmony with the record that was playing in the marquee.

‘Dermo! Dermo! Where’s Mammy?’ Cathy called over the din.

Dermot turned to Buster and said, ‘Buster, is my face red?’

‘Red? No, Dermo, your face isn’t red.’

‘Then she mustn’t be up me arse.’

The two exploded into laughter, wrapping their arms around each other as only drunk men can.

‘Dermo, I’m serious, where’s Mammy?’ Cathy was now a little annoyed.

Dermo copped on. ‘Sorry, Cathy, I was only messin’. She’s inside somewhere - you go in and get her and I’ll give your man a drink!‘ he offered.

Cathy squeezed Mick’s hand. ‘D’yeh mind, Mick?‘

‘Not at all! You go and get your mother, girl, I’ll have a chat with the barman.’

Cathy vanished into the marquee and Mick stepped up to the bar.

‘What’ll it be, sham?’ Dermot asked.

‘Oh, a pint of Guinness, I suppose, seeing as how yeh have it there.’

‘We have Guinness, we have Smithwicks, we have Harp, we have any draught yeh want, sham, isn’t that right, Buster?’

‘That’s right, Dermo.’

‘Browne and Brady, purveyors of fine draught beers,’ Dermot chuckled as he began to pull the pint.

With two-thirds of the glass full, he placed the pint on a drip tray to allow it to settle. Dermot now turned his full attention to Mick.

‘So, sham, you’re the boyfriend we’ve all been hearing about?’

Mick smiled. ‘Well, be Jaysus, I hope so. Otherwise I’ve wasted a lot of money over the last couple of weeks entertaining somebody else’s girl.’

Dermot laughed heartily, liking the man immediately. ‘I can tell by your accent that you’re not from Dublin. Where are yeh from?’

‘Cork,’ Mick said simply, and nodded towards the pint which was now ready for topping up.

Dermot took the pint up, pushed the pump handle forward, and began to top off the creamy pint of Guinness. He placed it in front of the foreigner from Cork and continued with the questions.

‘So, tell us, what’s your name, sham?’

Mick picked the pint up, studied it as a first pint should be studied, then answered, ‘Well, me name is Michael, but the boys in the station call me Mick.’ And he began to take a long mouthful from the cool pint.

‘Well, then, Mick it is! Now listen, Mick, if ever yeh need a bit of cheap gear — station? What fuckin’ station ?’

Mick withdrew the glass from his mouth and carefully and slowly licked the white creamy moustache left on his top lip. He then smacked his lips and turned his face to Dermot. ‘Finglas Garda Station, I’m a Garda there.’

Dermot could have done with some help from Buster as he stumbled backwards, but Buster was doing his best to stand up straight while still throwing up behind the two stolen Guinness kegs. Mick O‘Leary smiled and took his pint to the doorway of the marquee.

He arrived just in time to meet Cathy, who had her mother by the hand, and Agnes in turn held Pierre by the hand. The trio stepped outside the marquee into the fresh night air to meet Cathy’s boyfriend. Cathy made the introductions.

‘Mammy, this is Mick.’

Agnes looked up into the face of the man, and at that moment for the first time realised that her daughter was now a woman. His features were plain, with the exception of a slightly oversized, pointed nose. His smile was toothy and his handshake was warm. Agnes smiled at him.

‘You’re welcome to our home, son, I hope you’re lookin’ after my daughter.’

‘Be Jaysus, missus, I’m minding her like the crown jewels,’ Mick replied, and held onto his smile.

Pierre coughed. Cathy took over once again. ‘Mick, this is Pierre. He’s my mother’s ... my mother and Pierre are ... he’s kind of like a father to us,’ she finally settled on.

Pierre beamed. Had she had a month to prepare, Cathy could not have picked an introduction that would have flattered him more. Pierre extended his hand, and Mick took it and shook it warmly.

‘It’s very nice to meet you, Pierre.’

‘It is also very nice to meet you. I have tremendous respect for men in uniform. I wore a uniform myself, you know ... yes indeed, when I served with the French Foreign Legion.’

Agnes interrupted. ‘Don’t mind him, Mick, he’s full of shite.’

‘No, no, my darling, it is true,’ Pierre exclaimed.

‘Sure it is, Pierre luv. Next ye’ll be tellin’ me that ye’re really James Bond and you’re only workin’ in the Pizza Parlour as a fuckin’ cover.’

Mick and Cathy burst out laughing. Pierre pretended to be hurt, but also saw the joke.

‘Here, Pierre, take Mick over to the bar and get him another drink. I want to have a word with me daughter,’ Agnes instructed.

Pierre put his arm around the young man’s waist, for his shoulders were too high, and guided him back towards the bar, while beginning a story of how he had single-handedly captured six Algerian terrorists with only a toothbrush and a Gillette razor as weapons. The mother and daughter looked at them as they walked away.

‘Well, Mammy, what d’yeh think?‘

‘He looks all right. But Jesus Christ — a guard! I don’t know, Cathy.’

‘Ah for Christ’s sake, Mammy, it’s a job, not a disease-’

Agnes turned towards her daughter and looked into her face. It was a face she recognised well - she had seen it in a mirror twenty-four years before. She took both of Cathy’s hands in hers.

‘Tell me, sweetheart, what do you think?’ Agnes asked.

For a moment Cathy dropped her eyes, then, lifting her head, she returned her mother’s glance.

‘I know it’s only a couple of months, Mammy, but I think I love him.’

Agnes squeezed Cathy’s hands a little tighter. ‘And when he kisses yeh, luv, d’yeh feel a little feather runnin’ up and down your spine?‘

‘Yeh! I do!’ Cathy answered excitedly, not realising that anyone else would have felt this.

‘Then you’ve found the one - and don’t you ever let him out of your sight, luv.’ Agnes said this with a big smile and went to let go of Cathy’s hands, but Cathy held on a little longer.

‘Is that what you felt, Mammy? With Daddy - the feather runnin’ up and down your spine?’

Agnes’s smile was a sad smile. ‘No, luv. With your father it was an ice cube. I didn’t get the feather ’till I met Pierre. Now come on, let’s go and get our men.‘

Cathy gave her mother a huge hug and the two ‘girls’ went to join their partners.

There followed a couple of hours of singing and dancing and the night air above Wolfe Tone Grove was filled with laughter and merriment as the drunken crowd celebrated the twenty-first birthday of a good man. Agnes Browne was filled with joy and pride in her family, and although the ferry had taken a small piece of her heart across the water to England, what was left of that heart now overflowed with happiness.

Rory danced crazily with his friend Dino - the two lads obviously didn’t have any luck with the girls that were there, Agnes thought. Cathy sat on the lap of her Garda boyfriend, and they talked and looked at each other as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Mark celebrated the official age of becoming a man, though Agnes knew that this boy had been a man since he was fourteen. Dermot and Buster Brady for some reason were upstairs, putting things into the attic, and Trevor was sound asleep in his bed.

Suddenly the music stopped and Agnes heard the DJ blow into a microphone and announce: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen! A bit of quiet, please. We’ll have a few words from the man of the moment - Mr Mark Browne.’

The announcement was greeted with a huge cheer intermingled with a bit of friendly name-calling from Mark’s football team-mates, and as Mark took the microphone, Agnes rose from the back step and walked to the doorway of the marquee to hear his speech.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Mark began, only to be met with jeers and calls of ‘Go on outa that!’ Mark laughed but went on. ‘Friends and family! I can’t thank yis all enough for the many presents I’ve received. It’s great to see so many friends here, both from town and from Finglas, in our new home. I asked the DJ to let me speak for two reasons, and neither of them were to make a speech. The first reason was to say thank you, not the one I just said, but a special thank you to a very special person.’ All heads turned to the doorway where Agnes Browne stood. Betty went behind the DJ stand and returned with a huge bouquet of roses. Mark took the bouquet from Betty, cradled it in his right arm and continued his speech. ‘I have here in me arm a bouquet of roses — there’s twenty-one yellow roses and three red ones. I want to explain what they’re for. The twenty-one yellow roses, Mammy, are to remind yeh of where yeh were and what yeh were doin’ twenty-one years ago. I hope I was worth it.’