‘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.
‘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!’
Agnes lifted her head to Monica who was sitting open-mouthed, not with shock, but asleep. Agnes chortled. She leaned over and gently touched Monica’s arm.
‘Monica, love ...’
Monica jumped. ‘What? What! Oh Agnes, what was that? ... I missed the end of it ... what was it?’
‘Ah nothing, Monica, I was just shite-talkin’, listen, let me out, love, will yeh, and go on t‘your bed.’
Agnes gathered her cigarettes and her handbag and put her coat on. Monica walked her to the side door, opened it, peered out first to make sure there were no police about, and quietly said goodnight to Agnes. When she stepped out into the night air Agnes took a deep breath. The door closed gently behind her, but when the bolt was pushed into place it banged like a gunshot!
‘Holy Jaysus - Monica!’ Agnes yelped, the words coming in bursts of steam from her mouth into the cold night air, Behind the door she heard Monica say, ‘Shh!’
‘Ah shush, me arse, yeh frightened the fuckin’ life outa me,’ Agnes replied gruffly and gathering herself together she started for home.
It wasn’t as easy a journey as it usually was. The path had become somewhat uneven, causing Agnes to walk a zig-zag route. Another thing, the steps she was taking were a little unsteady. And the kerbs? Well, they were ridiculously high. Still, Agnes soldiered on. After about one hundred yards or so she began to feel ill. Must be something I ate, she thought, even though she had not eaten a real meal for days, just a couple of sandwiches here and there. She stopped and leaned against a building. Her stomach heaved and she knew it was coming up. She prepared for it, taking out the palate that held her two front teeth. She bent over and threw up with enthusiasm.
‘Are you all right, beeautiful Agnes Browne?’ a voice from behind asked, as a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. The accent was clearly French. Agnes knew it was the Pierre fella from the pizza place. Where’s me fuckin’ teeth? she thought. They had been in her hand just seconds ago. She opened her hand and looked, but all it now contained was a tissue she had taken from her coat pocket. She must have put them in her pocket while taking out the tissue. She didn’t turn. She didn’t move.
‘Mademoiselle Agnes, with ze sparkle eyes! Are you okay?’
Agnes was afraid to answer, for with the two teeth missing ‘Yes’ would have sounded like a sow breaking wind, so she grunted, ’Neh,‘ and nodded her head slowly. She put her hand into her pocket, and felt the teeth. She tried to drop the tissue and pick up the teeth in one gentle movement. She couldn’t. The teeth were now caught in the tissue.
‘Turn around! Let me gaze at you.’ He started to pull at her shoulder. Oh no! Agnes thought, without me two front teeth I look like a fuckin’ vampire! He had started to turn her. She swiftly pulled the teeth from her pocket and pretended to cough, while ramming the palate into her mouth. He turned her fully around. She tried to speak. She couldn’t. The tissue was sticking out of her mouth. She said: ‘I’m grand, thank you,’ but it came out as ‘Arf arf arf arf,’ and she turned and went to walk away. He ran in front of her.
‘I am fery new to Dooblin, would you show me around sometime?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry no, love,’ she replied.
All he heard was: ‘Arf arf art!’
‘Oh marvelloose, what about next weekend? Friday?’
‘Arf arf art!’
‘Good. We meet in Foley’s at eight o’clock?‘
‘Arf arf art!’ Agnes was red with frustration.
‘Au revoir,
then,’ and off he walked. Agnes was trying to roar after him that it was not a date! She stood shouting after him ‘Arf arf arf arf!!’ Two men walked past her, and one shouted, ‘Sit, Fido, sit!’ and they both laughed.