THE LAST ‘DATE’ AGNES BROWNE HAD BEEN ON was when Redser had taken her to the dog-racing in Shelbourne Park. It had cost her a fortune. As soon as Redser lost all his money – and that took only four races – he began to ‘borrow’ hers. By the night’s end they were both penniless, and had to walk home. That was the night Redser proposed – well ‘proposed’ is a bit strong! What had happened was they were walking along the canal towards Pearse Street, but not into Pearse Street – Redser couldn’t go near Pearse Street as he was a marked man following an incident involving some ‘Teds’ from there and a cut-throat razor – so that night they had turned off the canal and walked down by the Meath Hospital. As they strolled past the back of the biscuit factory, Agnes felt the moment was right.
‘Redser?’
‘What?’
‘D’yeh love me?’
‘Don’t be stupid, a’course I do!’
Agnes took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m pregnant.’
She waited for a reaction.
He didn’t look at her, he didn’t stop walking, he simply said, ‘Are yeh?’
‘Yeh,’ Agnes answered softly.
There was silence for the next fifty yards. Then he said, ‘We better get married so.’
Agnes was thrilled. She stopped, glowing inside. ‘Will we? Really, Redser?’
‘Yeh, I said so, didn’t I?’
Agnes threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, Redser!’
‘Hey will yeh fuck off – give over.’ Redser was embarrassed by any overt affection unless there was a lot of drink taken. ‘I’ll get yeh a ring at the weekend,’ he said. Redser knew a man who had access to these things.
‘I don’t want a ring,’ Agnes said.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a waste of money. Yeh can’t do anything with a ring. I want a bike!’
‘A fuckin’ bike?’
‘Yeh, a bike, but a good wan!’
‘An engagement bike!’ Redser was confounded.
Agnes knew what she was doing. Firstly, with a bike she could have a bit of independence, and secondly, she knew that any engagement ring from Redser would eventually end up in the pawn. She lost on both counts, for when they were only two weeks married Redser sold the bike anyway to get money for the bookies.
But the point is, Redser never asked her out again. He ‘took’ her out, but every girl knows that there’s a huge difference between being ‘asked out’ and being ‘took out’.
And so with Friday looming, Agnes felt like a teenager going on a first date. One minute she was going, next she wasn’t. She told the children about her date with the Frenchman. There was some resistance.
‘Yeh can’t, Ma. Mammies don’t go on dates,’ Mark protested. He was not happy at all. Not at all.
‘Well, this Mammy is!’
‘I think it’s great, Ma!’ Cathy chirped.
‘Thanks, love.’
‘Frenchmen lick your teeth when they’re kissin’, Cathy Dowdall says,’ Cathy added.
‘Stop that talk! That Cathy Dowdall has too much to say for herself,’ Agnes snapped.
Agnes intended to use her little breaks from the stall each day to scour the shops around Moore Street for something suitable to wear for the date. It was hard to decide. Nothing too fancy, not for Foley’s anyway. Nothing too skimpy, she didn’t want to give the Frenchman the wrong idea. Then again she didn’t want to look like a housewife. It was so hard to decide. On top of this, it was the week before Halloween. It was a busy time and the fruit and nuts were flying off the stall. Along with the fruit, Agnes would shift a few fireworks. These were illegal, but she would sell them under the counter – or from under the skirt to be exact. In case of a policeman stopping and searching a dealer, the dealers would keep the boxes of ‘bangers’ in their knickers. Agnes still laughs at Marion’s comments – once when she had her knickers full of fireworks she said that if she sat on a cigarette end by accident, ‘They’d find me fanny in America!’
So, what with the fruit sales and fireworks, Agnes got precious little time to look. She eventually settled on a navy midi skirt with a cream twin-set. She left her good coat into Marlowe’s Cleaners, so in essence she was all set.
Agnes began getting ready at six o’clock on the Friday. She was hoping for a relaxing bath, but it wasn’t to be. No sooner had she filled the bath and got it foaming, thanks to the Quix washing up liquid she added, and immersed herself, than Trevor came into the bathroom and began to strip. Within minutes, Cathy too was in the bath. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ Agnes said aloud as she washed Cathy’s hair.
By half-past-seven she was dressed and putting the finishing touches to her make-up. In the sitting room the children were waiting for Agnes to make her grand entrance from the bedroom. There was an air of excitement about, although Mark showed no signs of interest whatsoever. When Agnes emerged she sailed into the centre of the room and did a twirl, saying, ‘Well, what do yis think?’
The children were dumbstruck. Cathy said ‘Wow!’ and began to clap, and the others joined in. Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. Was this beautiful woman really his mother? Agnes looked stunning! He stood up and walked towards her, his eyes wide.
Agnes stood straight and awaited his rebuke. ‘And you, Mark, what do you think?’
The boy smiled. ‘I think Dublin has a very lucky Frenchman tonight. You’re beautiful, Ma, really, just beautiful.’
‘Thanks, love.’ Agnes hugged him in relief.
The other children jumped up and they all hugged each other, cheering loudly!
‘Mind me frock, for Christ’s sake,’ Agnes yelled. They went to the door to see her off. She walked to the top of the stairs and turned back to them. Six glowing faces, with smiles as wide as the doorway. She was as proud of them as they of her.
‘Straight to bed with yis, and I’ll see yis in the morning,’ she ordered.
They all nodded with a chorus of ‘Okay, Mammy!’ and Agnes turned to descend the stairs.
Mark called after her: ‘Mammy!’
Agnes turned. ‘Yes love?’
‘Don’t take any liquorice off him!’
‘What? I don’t like liquorice.’
‘Good!!’ Mark smiled and closed the door.
Agnes turned a few heads when she made her way through the lounge in Foley’s to the snug. PJ brought her over her glass of cider. ‘I take it you’re not going to the Bingo tonight then, Agnes?’
‘No PJ, not tonight.’ Agnes gave little away.
PJ didn’t enquire any further. Agnes hoped that the French fella would slip in quietly and they could leave with as little fuss as possible. She could see the entrance from where she sat. She decided that as soon as he walked in she would wave at him. Bang on the rendezvous time the door opened and in walked Pierre. His dark hair was slicked back with Brylcreme. He wore a tan polo-neck under a dark brown jacket and cream pants. He stuck out like a sore thumb. He was carrying a huge bunch of flowers. He glanced around the lounge.
‘Sweet Mother of Jaysus!’ Agnes said aloud when she saw him. ‘He thinks he’s fuckin’ Elvis!’ If only Marion was here now for moral support! She slid down in her seat hoping he wouldn’t see her, and that he might leave, thinking she hadn’t shown up. He didn’t see her. His face changed to a disappointed expression and he turned to leave. From behind the bar PJ called to him, ‘Hey, Sham!! She’s in the snug!’
‘Snook?’ Pierre held a hand to his ear.
‘No, the snug, back there.’ PJ gestured with his thumb.
Pierre made his way to the snug. He stood at the doorway, transfixed. ‘Sacre bleu! Agnes Browne, you are a veesion of heaven!’ he said aloud.
There was a cheer and a round of applause from the lounge.
‘What’d he say?’ asked a deaf old man.
‘SHE’S A VISION OF HEAVEN!’ his wife roared in his ear.
Pierre wasn’t finished. ‘I would cross the h’Alps bare feeted, I would suffer torture, any pain to be with such a beeauty as you.’ He proffered the flowers.
‘What’d he say?’ Again the shout from the deaf old man.
‘HE’S FUCKIN’ MAD INTO HER!’ his wife shouted back. This was received by another cheer and applause.
In a panic reaction, Agnes jumped up and walked towards him. ‘Come on you, yeh fuckin’ eejit, let’s go.’
They left to applause and cheers, Pierre giving salutes to all and sundry, Agnes as red as a beetroot.
It turned out to be the most magnificent evening Agnes had ever known. They went to a posh French restaurant, with tablecloths and candles on the tables. When they got out of the taxi, Pierre held the door open for her. Each time she came back from the toilet, Pierre stood and held her chair. Agnes didn’t eat much, half because of her excitement, half because she didn’t like eating anything she couldn’t pronounce. There was soft music and Pierre bought a bottle of champagne. Agnes wasn’t sure she’d like it, and was pleasantly surprised when she found it tasted quite like cider! There was a tiny dance floor in the restaurant and Pierre took Agnes up and they danced cheek to cheek. Agnes was thrilled – but wished that Pierre was Cliff Richard. Well, you can’t have everything. They left the restaurant, got a taxi to St Jarlath’s church, and began to walk home from there. Pierre slipped his hand into hers. He looked up at the clear winter sky.
‘I love the stars,’ he said.
‘Me too.’ Agnes answered. ‘Spencer Tracey, Olivia de Haviland …’
‘No, no I mean the real stars.’
‘What d’yeh mean real stars? Spencer Tracey? He’s brilliant.’
‘No, these stars … in the sky.’ He pointed.
‘Oh, yeh eejit, them! ‘
Before long they reached James Larkin Court, and the two stood at the bottom of the steps. Agnes let go of his hand.
‘Well, Pierre, that was the best night I’ve ever had.’
‘Me too. It was fantastique!’
‘Thanks.’
‘No, no, sank you.’
‘Ah no, thank you!’
Then they were both silent. He smiled at her and put his hands in his pockets.
‘Well then …’ he said.
‘Yeh, well then … listen, good night!’
Agnes turned to climb the steps.
Pierre called after her. ‘Agnes!’
When she turned back to him, he had his arms stretched out.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘No keess goodnight to feenish such a beeautiful evening?’
Slowly Agnes descended the steps. Her legs felt unsteady, and her heart was thumping. When she stood face-to-face with Pierre he wrapped his arms around her and gently touched his lips upon hers. Her lips relaxed. His mouth felt warm and strong. Her eyelids fluttered and slowly closed. She was just about to melt into his arms when suddenly she felt something dart into her mouth. It was Pierre’s tongue. Her eyes opened quickly. He’s lickin’ me fuckin’ teeth! she thought. She let out a yelp and pushed away.
‘Ahh! Yeh dirty bastard!’
‘What? What is it? What did I do?’ He was shocked. Agnes’ slap had caught him by surprise and stung his cheek.
‘Yeh … yeh pervert!’ Agnes took the steps two by two and slammed the door, leaving behind one very sore and confused Frenchman.