“Was that you?” Johnny asked.
“Sorry?” Father Pius said.
“That racket, was that you? Did you fall on the keyboard?”
“No, I was just . . . I’m sorry,” Father Pius apologized.
“Right, let’s get it going, then. What’s it to be?” Johnny asked.
“‘Adeste Fideles,’” Father Pius said.
“Oh, right,” said Johnny and off he went. Father Pius began to play, and Johnny began to pump. Father Pius wasn’t quite sure, but if memory served him right, “Adeste Fideles” was about three minutes and twenty seconds long. There were now two and a half minutes to go to the beginning of Mass, and it would be nice to finish just as the serving priest was genuflecting at the altar. So off he went, glancing up at the small mirror in which he could see the altar. He played beautifully, and indeed the twiddles and toodles added to the piece. Then, suddenly, with about a quarter of the piece left, the organ died. Father Pius leaned over and pulled some of the switches, trying to check the vents, valves, and reeds. Everything seemed to be all right. He heard the congregation stand as the priest arrived at the altar. Too late to start again now. He left his seat and went around to the back of the organ. Johnny Brennan was sitting on the pump, smoking a cigarette.
“The organ, it stopped. What happened?” he asked Johnny.
“It’s finished, the piece is finished,” Johnny answered, taking a drag from his smoke.
“No, it wasn’t finished, there was a good quarter of the piece to go.” Father Pius spoke in a hushed voice.
Johnny Brennan stood and walked to the priest and stood face to face with him. “Father, there is five hundred and sixty-one pumps in ‘Adeste Fideles,’ and you have fuckin’ had them.” He walked back to the pump and sat to finish his smoke.
Hard as it was, Father Pius was settling in nonetheless. The invitation to celebrate the wedding of Tommo and Marion and then to join the party later was just what he needed to touch base with the younger members of the parish.
His visiting of Connie was a different matter. Even though he could see that Connie did not know who he was, he enjoyed making her tea and listening to the stories that came in fragments from her lips.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Redser Browne, it turned out, was a tonic. He had a wonderful sense of humor and made Agnes laugh a lot. Mind you, she didn’t see too much of Redser over the next few weeks, she was too busy. She saw him on the Thursday night after the wedding. He took her to the dog track on race night, where Agnes had an amazing streak of luck.
They had settled themselves in a seat near the bar. Redser gave Agnes a race card, which she thought was silly because the dogs were numbered one through six in every race. From where they sat they could see the dogs for the first race walk around the parade ring.
“There they are!” Redser pointed out. He then went on to describe the betting system. There was a forecast, where you pick the first two dogs to cross the line, or you could reverse that, in which case it didn’t matter which way they finished as long as they were the correct two dogs. He went on to describe the trio, triella, with the field, without the favorite, lucky four, super six, all in great detail. At the end of this, Agnes still had no idea what he was talking about and she handed him two shillings.
“Number four to win,” is all she said.
He was a little disappointed that she was not going for one of the creative bets he had described. “Okay. Why did you pick number four?” he asked, scanning the form of the number-four dog in the program.
“I watched him in the parade ring. Just before he left it he had a piss. I always find that if I do that before I leave the house I walk much faster, don’t you?” Redser stared at her for a moment.
“Yeh. Sure. Number four to win.” Redser returned just minutes before the “off.” He handed Agnes her ticket. He was holding a huge bunch of tickets for himself.
“Jaysus, how many bets have you done?” Agnes asked when she saw the bunch. Redser just winked and smiled.
“You have to cover your arse with these bookies.” He held up the bunch. “Whoever wins, I’m covered.” Redser was covered in most ways, except if number four won—which he did, by a long way, to Agnes’ shrieks of delight.
“I won, I won, did you see that? I won. Wasn’t he brilliant?” she cried with delight.
“Yeh. Fantastic,” replied Redser unenthusiastically, tossing his bundle of tickets on the ground. Redser went and got himself another bundle of tickets and of course did Agnes’ bet, which was? Yes. Number four to win. Which it did, again. And again, and again. Remarkably, the dogs wearing number four won the first five races in a row. Agnes was delirious. By race number five, Redser was depressed. He selected his combinations of dogs yet again, and prepared to leave to place his bets, not before putting his hand out for Agnes’ two shillings.
“Let me guess?” he said to her. “Number four to win again?”
“No way,” Agnes replied. “He’ll be exhausted by now.” She smiled a knowing smile. Redser was fit only for suicide at this point.
Marion returned from her honeymoon at Butlin’s Holiday Camp and settled into the flat that Tommo had rented in a tenement just around the corner from Agnes. On one of their tea breaks sitting on the apple boxes, the ugly subject of sex came up.
“Tommo was very nervous, Agnes!” Marion began. “He wouldn’t take his clothes off at first. So I helped him.” They giggled.
“Marion, were you not even a little scared?” Agnes asked, recalling her own discomfort with Redser.
“No. Not at first. Not until I pulled down his underpants. My Jaysus! Agnes, I nearly fuckin’ died.” She looked about her, checking for eavesdroppers. She went on. “His mickey! Agnes, it was bigger than me!”
Agnes howled with laughter, the look of shock on Marion’s face making the story all the more funny. “I know.” Agnes laughed. “It’s huge!”
Marion stopped and stared at Agnes. “What do you mean?” Marion asked.
Agnes stopped laughing abruptly. “What?” She blushed.
“You said, ‘I know.’ How do you know?” Marion was suspicious.
Agnes was flustered. “I didn’t mean I knew about Tommo’s mickey, I meant in general. Men’s mickeys are huge! That’s all,” she explained. Marion continued to stare. Agnes was getting more uncomfortable. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Agnes was decidedly mortified now.
“You done it! Didn’t you?” Marion accused. The truth is that Marion never for one moment suspected that Agnes had been with Tommo. She was just shocked that Agnes would even consider sex before marriage.
“No. Shut up!”
“You did. Who was it?” Marion had a little smile now. She was enjoying Agnes’ discomfort. Agnes did not reply. They sat in silence for a few moments, Agnes wanting the conversation to go away and Marion deep in thought.
“REDSER,” Marion accused. “Redser Browne.” Marion could tell from the look on Agnes’ face that she had hit the nail on the head. She began to laugh and laugh. Agnes dived on her, trying to put her hand over Marion’s mouth. Marion pretended to make an announcement. “Agnes lost her cherry!” she tried to get out through Agnes’ hand. They wrestled with each other among the empty cardboard boxes, both laughing so much it hurt.
“You two, stop that!” It was Marion’s mother calling to them. They wrestled on. “Stop it now, both of you!” It was a scream now from Mrs. Delany, and she was pulling roughly at Agnes to get her off Marion. They stopped wrestling and stood brushing themselves off. Mrs. Delany’s scream had startled them.
“Jaysus, Mammy, what’s wrong with yeh? We were just having a bit of fun!” Marion said to her mother.
Mrs. Delany looked pained. “Well, it’s no time for fun. Agnes, you must go down to the Mater Hospital—now! It’s urgent. Marion, you go with her and take care of her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was the first Sunday Agnes had not visited Dolly. But Dolly understood. She was only too aware how much Nellie Nugent had meant to Agnes. Dolly had asked to get released for the funeral on the Sunday but was refused. Only events concerning direct and immediate family would be considered for a temporary release. So instead she stayed after Mass in the prison chapel and prayed for her.
At the funeral Mass in St. Jarlath’s, Father Pius told the assembled traders that he knew very little about Nellie, which put him in the same boat as the rest of them. “But I do know this,” he went on, “our biggest fear in this life is that we will end up alone. That we will pass from this life and nobody will notice, or care.” He now looked directly at Agnes. “Nellie Nugent was not alone. And someone does care. Now, as she sits with our heavenly Father, safe in His care, she knows for sure that here in our mortal world, a world full of pain and grief, she was loved, very much loved!”
Agnes thanked Father Pius after the Mass for his beautiful words. She was very sad. He took her hand and squeezed it.
“Agnes, you still have your mother,” he tried to console her.
She gave a tiny smile in recognition of his effort. “No, I haven’t, Father. Not for a long, long time. But thanks!”
They laid Nellie to rest in Glasnevin Cemetery, the burial attended by more friends than she knew she had.
Nellie’s death was the catalyst. So much needed to be done. First, Agnes went to the Canadian Embassy for her interview. It went well, and they made an appointment for her to take her medical three weeks later. The next step was to get a passport. Agnes got the relevant forms from the police station and filled them in as best she could. She literally tore the flat apart looking for the photographs. They were school ones, but Agnes was sure that she looked old enough in them to pass. She found them in, of all places, her mother’s bedside drawer. She took the photographs and the form to the police station, where the form was stamped. The policeman passed comment on the photographs: “You are a lot younger here,” he said.
“I know, they’re school ones. I didn’t want to spend the money on new ones if I didn’t have to,” Agnes explained.
“Oh, you can tell it’s you all right; I was just saying, that’s all. Where are you going, then?”
“Canada. I’m emigrating there,” she said with a broad smile.
“Good for you. I have a cousin in Nova Scotia. He’s there ten years. Loves it! You’re dead right, love. Make a good life for yourself.” He stamped the photos, and the form.
“Just bring all of that to the passport office and they’ll do it all for you. And good luck to you!” He smiled.
“Thanks,” Agnes answered.
Agnes told nobody except Marion about the Canada thing. Not even Redser, whom she continued to see and was getting quite fond of. Sure, he was as rough as a bear’s arse, but in other ways he was a good man. They went to the pictures, or for a drink, and only occasionally to the dog track—Redser still went to the track every week but only took Agnes the odd time. She now waited for her passport to come and for her medical. In the meantime, she worked the stall just as hard as before, taking as much as she could in cash, and saving as never before. When the passport arrived, she was delighted.
Marion screamed with laughter at the photograph.
“Of course, you never had a school photograph, did you?” Agnes jeered.
“It would have to have been a very fast camera,” said Marion, laughing.
Agnes left the passport at the embassy next day. They explained that once Agnes had cleared the medical they would attach the visa and she would have ninety days to enter Canada to make it official.
Ninety days. That was the problem. She knew from the start that the plan could only go so far. But Agnes had hoped that by the time she had everything organized she would have come up with an idea to finish the plan off. She hadn’t. It was just five days to her medical, and then she would have just ninety days. Could she pull it off in ninety days? It didn’t seem likely; frankly, it seemed impossible. She went into a depression. Marion tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. She was stressed out and began to throw up every time she thought of the ninetieth day arriving. She was snapping at everyone, and this month her period pains were worse than ever, she was doubled in pain. Visiting Dolly was now so painful—sitting there exchanging benign conversation, and desperately trying not to mention Canada, or even hint that there was anything going on. In all the planning and hard work, it never once crossed Agnes’ mind that she might not pass the medical. She had never been sick, she had never attended a doctor, and she felt fine. In any case, the medical day came, and no amount of planning could prepare her for what was to transpire. The medical would solve her Canada dilemma once and for all.
She was not expecting the doctor to be so handsome, the first one anyway. Agnes was to be seen by three doctors. A general practitioner, a specialist, and an ENT doctor. The handsome one was the GP, Dr. O’Reilly. She first gave a urine sample. Then a nurse took a blood sample from her. Then it got embarrassing. She had to strip naked and wear a flimsy gown. Over the next half-hour, she was weighed, probed, squeezed, and measured. She was glad when it was all over. It had exhausted her.
For some reason Agnes had thought that she would leave the doctors and the result of her medical would be posted to her. So she was quite surprised when the nurse asked her to wait in the reception area for a few minutes and Dr. O’Reilly would have preliminary results for her. She flipped through a magazine as she waited. It was an American movie magazine. Full of pictures of the stars, Marlon Brando, Grace Kelly, Anna Magnani, whom she had loved in
The Rose Tattoo.
Time passed, and she was called into Dr. O’Reilly’s office. He sat behind his desk wearing a huge smile.