This wasn’t going according to plan at all. Say nothing.
‘Do you want a kiss or what?’ she asked him.
‘Yeh,’ he answered without hesitation.
‘Well not here — go ’round the back,‘ she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
‘Okay.’ Mark was now prepared to do anything he was told. He went around the back of Foley’s pub. Passing under the toilet window, he heard a cough, and then a fart, and a cigarette butt narrowly missed him as it flew from the window. He climbed as quietly as he could over some beer crates and stopped, looking left and right. He had never been around here before.
‘Go right,’ she ordered. She
had
been here before. He went right until he came to a comer. It was damp, and enough light spilled from the pub for him to see he was at some kind of back gate. He stopped and turned. She walked up to him and stood before him with her eyes closed. He looked at her in wonder.
She opened her eyes. ‘Are
you
all right? Kiss me!’ She closed them again.
Mark Browne was about to have his first kiss. He moved right up to her until his nose touched hers, and pushed his face hard against hers. Their lips met, their noses squashed and it lasted all of three seconds. When he pulled away, Mark saw stars before his eyes.
This is great, he thought. Then he thought, I must see this girl’s bum.
‘Wait here,’ she said.
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘I have to do me pee, wait here!’ She vanished around the side of the building. Mark was thinking to himself, I’m never going to see it, when the door he was standing beside began to open slowly and quietly. He froze, terrified. It was Dermo.
‘What the fuck ...?’ he barked, annoyed.
‘Here,’ Dermo said and disappeared. It was a stick of liquorice. Mark smiled, and to the now closed door he whispered, ‘Thanks, Dermo.’
Chapter 11
THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A SECRET in Moore Street. Within days, news of Marion’s visit to the clinic and the doctor’s request for her to go into hospital for tests was all over the markets. There was a path worn to Marion’s stall by other dealers who had a solution for her illness, or a story of someone they knew with a similar complaint to Marion’s that turned out to be nothing. Fat Annie suggested that it might be an ingrown boil and some time was spent by the other dealers discussing how best to get a poultice on the inside. Doreen Dowdall said it could be an extra nipple, for in a James Bond movie she had seen a man with three nipples and Doreen was convinced it was quite common. Mrs Robinson said one of her twin daughters Splish, or was it Splash?, had had a lump on her breast and it turned out to be nothing more than a cyst.
‘It’s simple,’ she said. ‘All they do is lance it.’
Bridie Barnes asked: ‘Does that mean that a fella in a suit of armour runs at it with a spear?’ All the ‘girls’ laughed, including Marion.
In general, Marion’s problem was treated as a simple matter and nobody really worried about it - except Marion. Agnes had convinced herself that it would turn out to be nothing and that Marion would soon be back to her old self, once the tests were done and the results were in.
Agnes decided she herself needed a lift and planned to concentrate on home for a while and get the front room papered and decorated. The opportunity of doing a bit of work in the house perked Agnes up. There’s something about a newly decorated room that puts a woman in good form, she said to herself.
Over the next few days the weather picked up and the Moore Street market was starting to buzz with life again. Agnes found herself in as good a humour as she had been in a long time. So, it was indeed with a light heart that she went to visit Marion in the Richmond Hospital. Marion had been admitted that morning for her tests. Within just three hours of her admission Marion was sitting up in bed, tests completed and just twenty-four hours of bed rest ahead of her. Agnes had knocked into Tommo at teatime that day and Tommo had assured Agnes that Marion was ready for visitors. After feeding her family, Agnes put on a bit of make-up and headed for the Richmond, just fifteen minutes’ walk away.
‘Monks — Marion Monks,’ Agnes said to the porter at the reception desk in the hospital. He flicked through some file pages, and ran his finger down a list until the requested name appeared under his nicotine-stained finger.
‘Monks. Mrs Marion. St Catherine’s ward,’ he announced.
‘Where’s that?’
‘Through the door, take a right, half-way down the corridor take a left, two flights of stairs up, then straight in. Second door on your left.’
Twenty minutes later and after a grand tour of the hospital, Agnes eventually found the ward. St Catherine’s ward was a narrow room about ninety feet long.
There were ten beds along by the two longer walls, each with an identical iron bedstead, and each partnering identical steel bedside lockers. The beds were separated by curtain dividers which, when Agnes entered, had been pulled back to allow the patients to see the visitors as they entered. Agnes stood inside the doorway and scanned the beds down along the left-hand wall, and the faces of the patients now staring back at her. No sign of Marion. She felt uncomfortable standing there, on show. She turned quickly and repeated the procedure along the right-hand side of the room and, five beds down, she saw Marion waving furiously.
‘Agnes! Agnes! Over here, love,’ Marion called.
Quickly Agnes moved towards Marion’s bed, removing her headscarf and running her fingers through her hair as she went. She put the obligatory bottle of Lucozade and packet of ten cigarettes on the bedside locker and gave Marion a big hug.
‘Sit down! Sit down,’ said Marion.
Agnes duly sat and pulled the chair a little closer to the bed.
‘Well, how are yeh?’ Agnes asked, full of concern.
‘I’m grand! No pain, no uncomfortable feelings! Really, I’m grand.’ Marion spoke with a smile and Agnes relaxed. As with all hospital visits first things come first. Then Marion pointed to each patient in the ward and described their illnesses in detail, what their visitors were like and what their bad habits were. It seemed that everyone else in the ward, except Marion of course, was a little bit mentally disturbed. Agnes was not surprised that after only a few hours in the ward, Marion had already gathered full case histories on her ward mates. That was Marion. Eventually the conversation turned to Marion’s case again.
‘Marion ...’ Agnes began hesitantly.
‘What?’ Marion knew there was a hard question coming.
‘What did they do to yeh?’
‘Oh now,’ began Marion with authority, as if she had that day begun medical school rather than been a patient. ‘They done a lumpectomy and a cervical by-hopicy. Then they test them bits, and they find out what’s wrong with me!’
Agnes was leaning with one elbow on the bed and her hand tucked under her chin, marvelling at Marion’s grasp of the medical details.
‘Well, you look marvellous, Marion, really marvellous. I think they cured yeh!’
‘Ah no, they haven’t even started yet. These are just tests to find out what’s wrong with me,
then
they’ll cure me.’
‘Ooh! I see!’ Agnes answered.
Suddenly Marion leaned towards Agnes and spoke in a half-whisper. ‘Do yeh know what they done to me?’
Agnes pulled her chair even closer to the bed. ‘What?’
‘They shaved me!’
Agnes sat back a little and stared at Marion’s face. The hairs were still on the moles so they hadn’t shaved her chin. Agnes was puzzled. ‘They
shaved
yeh! Where?’
Marion glanced around the ward, coughed and patted herself just below the stomach, at the same time tilting her head sideways.
For a moment Agnes still looked puzzled. Then a look of realisation came across her face. ‘What? DOWN THERE!’ Agnes yelped.
A few visitors’ heads turned towards Marion’s bed and some of the patients leaned forward to see what was going on. Marion’s face turned crimson. She nodded politely, smiled at all and sundry, and then through her teeth to Agnes she said, ‘Agnes, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Oh! I’m sorry, Marion.’ She added in a lower tone, ‘I don’t believe yeh.’
Marion just nodded her head in an exaggerated fashion and said, ‘Yep! Shaved me they did! Baldy!’
‘Say yeh swear.’
‘I swear.’
‘Well, my God!’ Agnes was open-mouthed.
Now both women glanced around the ward as if expecting spies. For a few moments nothing was said, then Agnes prodded Marion in the side and said, ‘Marion, give us a look!’
‘I certainly will not!’
‘Ah, go on! Give us a look!’
‘NO!’
‘Marion Monks. I’m your friend. Now, give us a look.’
Marion glanced around the ward. ‘Pull around the curtain,’ she said.
With a swish the curtain went swiftly around the bed so the other visitors could see nothing. But they could hear, and what they heard was Agnes’s voice as she exclaimed: ‘Ooh! Oh my God! D’yeh know what, Marion? It suits yeh!‘ And the two women howled with laughter.
Agnes left the hospital in an even happier mood than when she had entered it. Marion was in good spirits. She seemed to be well and there didn’t seem to be anything to worry about on that front. With a pep in her step, Agnes Browne was going home to her newly-decorated room, where she would make herself a cup of tea and listen to the sweet sound of her children sleeping.
Chapter 12
AGNES WAITED IN THE EARLY-MORNING SUNSHINE by her stall for Cathy to arrive and collect her lunch. She was in a daze. She stared over at Marion’s empty stall space with a heavy heart. It was a week now since Marion had gone into hospital, and she still was not back.
It had been late, after twelve the previous night when Agnes finally left Marion’s place for home. Tommo had walked Agnes back to her flat in Larkin Court. Agnes thought nothing of Tommo’s offer to walk her home. Little did she know he had a reason for it - he wanted to talk to Agnes out of Marion’s earshot. As they strolled down George’s Hill in the bright moonlight, Agnes was nattering away about how well Marion was looking and how she knew it would be nothing to worry about. Suddenly Tommo stopped in his tracks. Agnes had walked on a bit before she realised Tommo was not by her side. When it dawned on her, she too stopped, and turned to look back at him. Tommo stood, his head bowed and his huge form shuddering as he sobbed audibly. Agnes was taken aback.
‘What’s wrong with you, Tommo?’ she asked.
‘She ... she’s not well, Agnes ... she’s not well at all.’
‘Well, of course she’s not well, Tommo! Any surgery, even minor surgery, take’s a lot out of yeh ... And you may as well get used to it, ’cause if they have to take the breast ... she’ll be feeling down for a good long while!‘ Agnes spoke with authority in the hope that she could lift Tommo’s spirits. She didn’t. He sobbed louder now and was gasping for breath. So much so that he tried, but was unable to speak.
‘Ah Tommo, you’ll have to get a grip on yourself.’ Agnes was now standing hands-on-hips. Tommo just sobbed on.
Agnes opened her handbag and rooted out her cigarettes. She lit one hurriedly. The smoke from the first draw wafted upwards towards the smiling moon. She dropped the pack back into her bag and clipped it shut. Tommo’s sobs were less frantic now and he was breathing deeply. A young couple linking arms passed them, the young girl recognising Agnes.
‘Good night, Mrs Browne,’ the girl said.
Agnes smiled at her. ‘Eh ... yeh, good night, love. Straight home with yeh now!’
The couple chuckled and strolled on. Agnes smiled after them, then turned with a more serious face to Tommo and spoke in a hushed but firm tone. ‘Will you cop on, Tommo. Standin’ there sobbin’ like a big fuckin’ sissy! Anyone would think it was the end of the world!’
‘It is ... for me, Agnes,’ he replied, his voice now deeper after his massive flow of tears.
‘Why? What’s the story?’ Even as she asked the question Agnes knew and dreaded the answer. Her body prepared for it, her knuckles going white around the handbag strap, her chest tightening, and her toes curling up as if to try and keep her feet firmly on the ground. Tommo looked her into the eyes, and spoke just two words.
‘Six months.’
As Agnes now stared into the space that was Marion’s empty stall spot on this sunny morning, those two words echoed in her head.
‘Ma! Mammy!’ A little voice pierced her stupor and she jumped, startled. It was Cathy.
‘What the feck do you want?’ Agnes snapped.
‘Me lunch.’ Cathy’s reply was quiet and puzzled.
Agnes bent and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry, pet ... I got a fright. I was miles away ... I’m sorry ...’
Agnes let the child out of the tighter-than-usual hug but held on to her shoulders. She smiled into Cathy’s face.
‘You look lovely, chicken, except for that bloody woolly hat!’ and with that she pulled the hat off the child’s head. Cathy tried to pull it back on but it was too late. Her mother saw the damage. Agnes said nothing for a few seconds, she just stared at the child open-mouthed. Cathy hung her head.
‘Where’s your fringe?’ Agnes asked. The question came out as if the child had mislaid it.
‘Gone,’ Cathy answered without looking up.
‘I can see it’s gone, I’m not Ray fuckin’ Charles. Where’s it gone? How’d it go?’
Agnes’s voice was getting angry.
‘Me sister cut it off.’
‘You haven’t got a sister ... unless you count Rory ...’
‘No ... me teacher sister ... Sister Magdalen, she cut it off!’ Tears now welled up in Cathy’s eyes.
‘Why?’ Agnes said with agony in her voice. She too now had a watery gaze.
‘Cause I was bold!’ It was all too much for Cathy, she broke into tears. Agnes hugged her only daughter tightly. She used the traditional cure, tapping Cathy’s back and whispering in her ear, ‘There, there, there!’
When she calmed down, Cathy recounted the whole story to her mother. When Cathy had finished, Agnes smiled at her. ‘Not to worry, love. Listen, next Saturday you an’ me will go into the hairdresser’s and get a style put in that head of yours that would make Lulu jealous. ’All right, love?‘