AS IT HAPPENED, CATHY’S CONFIRMATION DAY was a great success. By the time the hairdresser was finished with her, Cathy was more than pleased with the outcome. On the day she wore a pink two-piece suit decorated with tiny flowers around the edge of the lapel, a white high-collared blouse and white shoes. Archbishop McQuaid gave her the Sacrament of Confirmation, and to her relief Cathy was not even asked a question. The one-and-a-half-hour ceremony was followed by lunch in Bewley’s Café which, as always, was sumptuous. Then began the obligatory visiting of friends and relations. Transport for the day was provided by Ned Brady, a local baker. Ned had an Austin Cambridge and supplied the car, himself as driver and the petrol for five pounds. By the end of the day Cathy had visited twelve aunts and uncles, seven of her mother’s friends, including Marion and Tommo, and finally Foley’s pub. Agnes and Cathy arrived home at nine o’clock, exhausted. No sooner were they in the door than Cathy began emptying her pockets and handbag of half-crowns, ten-shilling notes, and the odd pound note. Agnes went to her bedroom and took off her ‘good’ dress and with a huge sigh of relief peeled off the roll-on that had seemed to be shrinking as the day wore on. When she returned to the kitchen Cathy was sitting at the table with her Confirmation money all sorted.
‘Well, how’d you do?’ Agnes asked her.
‘Sixteen pounds and twelve shillings,’ Cathy answered with awe in her voice.
‘My God, you lucky thing! When I made my Confirmation I got all of eight shillings, and I was delighted.’ The battle-cry of all parents.
Cathy just sat and surveyed her money. All this money, more than she had ever seen. Agnes sat down at the table opposite her.
‘So, have you decided what you’re going to do with it all, love?’
‘Yeh,’ Cathy answered, pleased with herself.
‘So what’s it to be?’
‘Well, I thought, two shillings each for Dermo, Rory, Simon and Frankie. Half-a-crown for Marko. That’s … eh … ten-and-six right? Then one-and-six to buy Trevor a ball. That leaves sixteen pounds, and I’m keeping a pound for meself!’ The child was glowing with the chance of being Santa Claus.
‘That still leaves you fifteen pounds, love. Do you want me to save it for you?’ Agnes asked.
‘No, Mammy – that’s for you!’
‘For me?’ Agnes was taken aback. Fifteen pounds was three weeks’ profit from the stall.
‘Yeh! for you, Ma! To buy anything you want.’
‘Oh you’re very good, love, but I couldn’t!’
‘Mammy, please take it. I want you to have it. Buy some Cliff Richard records with it!’
Agnes laughed. ‘With that kinda money I could buy all his records. No, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with it – I’ll put a carpet on the floor! A nice bit of exminister, none of that tintain stuff, real exminister with underfelt and all. Wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘Lovely, Mammy. Can I go with you when you’re buying it?’
‘Not only can yeh come, you can pick it!’
Cathy was ecstatic. ‘Great!’ she screeched, and ran around the table for a hug.
‘Shh!’ Agnes whispered, ‘you’ll wake the boys. Go on off to bed, and hang that suit up. I might have to pawn it!’ Cathy had started to walk away but turned around, shocked with the mention of the word ‘pawn’.
‘Only jokin’, love,’ Agnes laughed. And so did Cathy as she floated into her bedroom.
Agnes was struggling with the go-car down the steps, followed by Cathy holding Trevor. The ‘baby’ was huge for his age, but unlike all of her other children who had been walking everywhere by their third birthday, Trevor insisted on being either carried or pushed in the go-car. Trevor was also slow to speak. At three Mark was reciting the alphabet, Dermot was telling lies and Cathy could sing you any song. But not Trevor. It wasn’t that he was slow, he was just bone lazy. His vocabulary consisted of about thirty words. Agnes suspected that he knew a lot more, but just did not want to use them. His most common phrases were of course the ones you didn’t want him to use – things like ‘Fuck off’, ‘Oh shit!’ or ‘Ask me arse’ came out clear as day. He also had, for some reason, decided on obscure names for things and no matter how Agnes tried to teach him the proper names, he stuck steadfastly to his own choices. For instance, ‘breakfast’ was ‘ragga, ragga’. This sounded nothing like breakfast but when Trevor said ‘ragga, ragga’ he got a cereal. His penis was ‘moo moo’! Agnes tried to get him to say ‘willy’, but no way would he change. At this moment in time Trevor was shouting ‘Go day’, which meant he knew he was going to be pushed around Dublin in his go-car.
When Agnes reached the bottom of the stairs she took Trevor from Cathy and placed him in the go-car. She fixed the straps around him and then asked Cathy, ‘Where’s the rope?’ The rope was used along with the straps. Because Trevor had mastered the art of unclipping the straps, Agnes now also tied him into the go-car. The rope was tied around one ankle, brought around the side bar, across his chest, around the back of the go-car, back across his chest, around the side bar on the opposite side and finally tied to the other ankle. The neighbours called the child ‘Houdini’.
Just as Agnes, Cathy and go-car were about to exit onto the street in walked Mrs Ward. She beamed at the trio.
‘Good morning, Mrs Browne,’ she said.
‘Good morning, Mrs Ward.’
‘Hello, Cathy.’
‘Hello, Mrs Ward.’
‘Ah … and hello, little Trevor!’
‘Fuck off,’ answered Trevor with a smile, and with that the trio were out in the street.
Today was the day that the new carpet was to be chosen. Agnes headed down James Larkin Street towards the city. About one-third of the way down the street she noticed that there were builders working on a shopfront across the road from Foley’s pub.
‘What’s that goin’ on?’ she asked Cathy.
‘It’s a new chipper.’
‘A chipper? Sure we already have Macari’s! What do we want with another one?’
‘No, it’s not that kinda one, Ma! It’s goin’ to sell pizzas.’
‘What are they?’
‘I dunno, but Cathy Dowdall says they’re lovely.’
‘Are they foreign?’
‘Must be.’
‘Well, the Brownes won’t be eatin’ anythin’ foreign, so they can keep it!’
They were now abreast of the new shop and Agnes glanced in the window. What made her stop was the carpet. She had never seen carpet in a chipper, for a start, and on top of this, the carpet on the floor was exactly what she had in mind for the flat. She backed up to look at it properly. A man came out of the shop. He was tanned and handsome and very attractive. He looked at Agnes standing there, her face pressed up against the shop window and at the same time trying to shield the reflection with her hand. He was French, had just arrived in Ireland to help set up his father’s pizza parlour and this was his first contact with an Irish woman.
‘Whee h’air nut h’open yit, lady,’ he tried.
Agnes turned and stared at him. He was really handsome.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I say … de place es anot h’open!’
‘The place is not open, is that what you’re tryin’ to say?’
‘Yes … dis ees it!’
‘Do I look like I give a shite?’
‘Yes, that’s right, we h’open tonight.’
‘No, I said shite … sh … ah it doesn’t matter! Look, where did you get that carpet?’
‘Sorry, you spik too fast.’
‘Too fast? Right. Where … did … you …’ Agnes pointed, ‘getto … that … carpet … eh … carpeto?’ Agnes now was on one knee slapping the ground. Another man joined the first one and both looked at Agnes as if she were mad. Agnes tried again, this time to the second man. ‘Scuso meo … the carpeto … which shoppo did you get it in … o?’
The second man wrinkled his forehead, turned his head toward the shop door and yelled, ‘Hey, lads! Come out an’ look at this wan! She’s a looney.’
‘You speak English!’ Agnes exclaimed.
‘I’m from Sheriff Street, love, we nearly all do up there.’
‘Well, he doesn’t.’ Agnes pointed at the foreigner.
‘Ah, he’s French, but he’s all right. They got the carpet in McHugh’s of Capel Street, love.’
‘Ah thanks. It’s nice isn’t it?’
‘Yeh, it is. It’s nice, all right.’
‘I’ll see yeh, thanks.’ Agnes took hold of the go-car and pushed on. But the Frenchman grabbed her arm and stopped her.
‘Hello! My name ees Pierre,’ he smiled.
‘Eh, lovely. I’m delighted for yeh.’ Agnes went to move on but he wouldn’t let go. She looked down at his hand. No wedding ring. He let go.
‘What ees your name, ladee?’
‘My name is Agnes. Agnes Browne.’
‘You ees fery beeautiful, Agnes Browne.’
Agnes blushed and pushed away from him. ‘You mind your mouth, yeh … yeh … Frenchman!’
Agnes scurried down the street towards town. Just before she turned the corner she looked back. He was standing where she had left him, one hand in his pocket, and looking after her. He raised his other hand and waved at her. Agnes threw her head back indignantly and went around the corner.
‘He’s nice looking, Mammy!’ Cathy said.
Agnes giggled and said, ‘Yeh, he is!’
Buying the carpet was a cinch. They knew exactly what they wanted when they walked in the door of McHugh’s. It took all of five minutes. Cathy was a little disappointed, but she said nothing as she could see that Mammy was beaming.