The Mammy (18 page)
‘Mister?’ asked Mark.
‘Yes, Mark?’
‘What’s your name?’
‘My name? Harry - Harry Webb.’
‘Happy Christmas, Harry Webb.’
‘You too, Mark Browne.’
Mark joined the other two and the three sneaked back into the safe, busy streets of Dublin.
Chapter 24
IT WAS A QUIET CHRISTMAS EVE. As it fell on a Sunday, this meant that only a few shops were open, and even those were only open for half the day. Agnes set off early down to Capel Street to collect the tools for Mark. She had the fifteen pounds in her handbag and seven pounds to spare. She strolled down O‘Connell Street, taking in the festive atmosphere. At the bottom of Henry Street she stopped for a chat with some of the dealers, out trying to sell off the last of the Christmas wrapping paper. Next she went to the newsagent in Talbot Street, where she bought two hundred cigarettes and a newspaper. She had started buying a newspaper every day now, to see what would be on the telly. She crossed over O’Connell Street again and walked toward Middle Abbey Street. This brought her past the front of the Capitol theatre. As she passed she saw the usher standing in the hallway. He had a black eye and his right arm was in a sling. Poor man, she thought. Then she heard a voice crying: ‘Concert tickets! Last of the concert tickets!’ It was a ticket tout. Agnes’s heart lifted. She went over to him.
‘Are they Cliff Richard tickets, love?’ she asked.
‘Naw, he finished up last night,’ the man answered.
Agnes just said ‘Oh’, and went on her way. So, he had come and gone. Ah well! She got to Lenehan’s and paid the balance of her bill. As she made her way home she was filled with the excitement of all the surprises she had for the children.
By six o‘clock she had cleaned and stuffed the turkey. The ham was boiling away in the pot, and the trifle was setting in the larder. Two bathfuls of water saw the entire family bathed, as they did it in relays. Instead of calling them to the kitchen, Agnes let the children have their tea by the fire on the floor. The Christmas lights were twinkling on the tree and the laughter of the children at the television programme they were watching lifted her spirits. Agnes began to hum to herself in the kitchen: ’Santa Claus is coming to town ... Oh you better watch out ...‘ There was a knock at the front door.
‘I’ll get it!’ cried Mark.
Agnes wondered who would be calling at tea time on Christmas eve? She went out to see, wiping her hands in the tea towel as she went. Mark opened the door, and for a moment Agnes could not make out who it was.
‘Harry!’ Mark cried.
Agnes’s chin dropped. So did the tea towel.
‘Cliff!’ She said.
‘Hello, Mrs Browne,’ he said softly.
‘Cliff!’ Agnes repeated.
Mark looked from one to the other and shook his head. ‘No, Ma! This is Harry ... he’s a friend of ours.’
Agnes was about to topple over and Cliff brushed past Mark to catch her in his arms. Suddenly it all clicked for Mark. He ran to the television and turned it off. Quickly he switched on the radiogram, putting the needle on whatever record was there. It was a Cliff Richard one, of course.
Agnes recovered a little and brushed her hair back. The music played softly. Cliff smiled at her.
‘What about a dance?’ he asked softly.
She smiled coyly. ‘Oh yes!’ she said.
He took her in his arms and they began to sail around the room.
The children looked on entranced - Dermot, mouth open, Simon scratching his head in wonderment but knowing something nice was happening, Cathy with her knees tucked under her chin and giggling away to herself, Rory with a tear in his eye, and Frankie standing up slowly as recognition dawned on him.
Agnes looked at her children as she swirled around. The fire glowed on their faces and the Christmas lights sparkled in their eyes. She felt dizzy and a little faint, just for a moment. She closed her eyes and in the distance she could hear Marion give a yelp of laughter, and she laughed happily herself.
Mark slowly and gently lifted Trevor on to his lap.
Trevor laughed and pointed at the dancing couple. ‘Harwee?’ he gurgled.
‘Yeh, Trev, that’s ... Harry,’ Mark whispered back.
Trevor smiled and pointed again. ‘Mamma?’
Mark smiled a beaming smile and whispered: ‘Yeh, Trev, that’s her ... that’s our Mammy!’
Sometimes this turbulent, tragic, sad and busy world turns on its head and comes to a sudden halt just to accommodate somebody’s dream ...
Dream on, Agnes Browne! For everyone’s sake, dream on!
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