Free The Mammy by Brendan O'Carroll Page A

stepped on to Gardiner Street and a car screeched to a halt, its horn honking loudly.
    ‘Ah, keep yer hom for someone what loves yeh,’ screamed Agnes.
    The driver gave her a two-finger salute and drove on. Both women returned the gesture.
    ‘Bleedin’ cars, think they own the road,’ Marion said as a token of support to Agnes’s outburst.
    Just one hundred yards up Summerhill and they were outside Dr Clegg’s clinic.
    ‘Jaysus, Agnes, I’m shittin’ meself.’
    ‘Ah, you’ll be grand. Come on, in yeh go - you’ll see!’ The women hugged each other and entered the clinic.
    That evening at six o‘clock the Browne children sat or stood around the kitchen awaiting their tea. They chattered amongst themselves while Agnes busied herself at the cooker. She was distracted, and was doing things ’arseways‘. She poured the boiling water into the pot but forgot to put tea-leaves in it; she had put bread under the grill to toast it but never turned the grill on. She kept remembering the look of pure terror on Marion’s face as she said: ’He wants me to go in for tests next week in the Richmond Hospital.‘ Marion had burst into tears. They didn’t go straight back to Moore Street like they had promised Fat Annie they would, instead they stopped at the pub on the comer and had a drink. Dr Clegg had told Marion that it might be a malignant tumour and if it were, she would have to have a breast removed. Marion was frantic.
    ‘That’s only the start, Aggie! First a breast, then a leg, then another leg - bit by bit - and then they bury the bits that are left.’
    Agnes slapped her on the face and did some hard talking. ‘Listen you, you’re ’way ahead of yourself! It could turn out to be nothing. And so what if they take a breast - look at Mona Sweeney in the pawn shop, she has only one diddy and she’s grand! Now get a grip.‘ They had finished the drinks in silence and made their way back to their stalls, and a very irate Fat Annie.
    The chattering of the children was rising to a screeching match.
    ‘Shut up!’ Agnes screamed. ‘All of yis, shut up. This is not the Phoenix Park. If yis have to talk, talk quietly, yis are drivin’ me round the fuckin’ bend.’ All went quiet for a moment, then Cathy spoke up. ‘It’s Dermo, Ma, he’s makin’ Marko mad.’
    ‘It’s not me, it’s him,’ Dermo said, pointing at Mark.
    ‘Shut up, I told yis, and Cathy, your brother’s names are Dermot and Mark, keep those nicknames for the street.’ Agnes put the pot of tea on the table and a huge plate of hot, buttered toast. She wiped her hands on her apron and took it off.
    ‘Mark,’ she ordered, ‘pour out the tea, and there’s two slices of toast for everyone. I don’t want to hear any arguing.’
    She left the room and bolted herself in the toilet. Peace and quiet. Mark poured out the tea and the toast was seized upon. Dermot started up again, but this time in a quieter voice. ‘She’s a slut,’ he said with an impish grin on his face.
    Cathy was next. ‘She is not. Maggie O’Brien is very nice, and if Mark loves her that’s his own business.‘
    ‘Shut up, you don’t know anything, you’re a kid!’ Dermot said with some authority. ‘Anyone will tell you, that for a penny worth of liquorice Maggie O’Brien will let you see her bum.‘ Dermot knew these things.
    Mark finished pouring out the tea and with a smile, said to Dermot: ‘Well, I’m meeting her at the back of Foley’s - and I won’t need any liquorice.’
    The whole crowd of them went ‘Wooooo!!’
    Dermot was not convinced. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Cause I have something the other fellas haven’t got.’
    Dermot thought for a moment. ‘You mean hair on your willy?’ He laughed - and so did the entire gang except Mark.
    ‘No - charm!’ Mark spat out defiantly.
    Agnes returned and all went quiet. She poured herself out a cup of tea, sugared and milked it, and leaned against the sideboard. ‘Right youse, finish that tea, and into