‘THIS CAN BE A WONDERFUL TIME OF LIFE –’ Pierre began.
‘Shut up, Pierre,’ Agnes snapped. Agnes didn’t like Pierre talking when she was thinking.
There were four people sitting in the kitchen of Agnes Browne’s home in Wolfe Tone Grove. Along with herself and her beau Pierre, on the far side of the kitchen table sat Agnes’s daughter Cathy and her own beau, Garda Mick O’Leary. For a few moments there was silence. Then Mick coughed, one of those coughs that you know is going to be followed by a sentence.
‘It’s the way my work is, Mrs Browne. Guards get transferred all the time. I suppose I’m just lucky that it’s Wicklow and not Donegal, somewhere real far away.’
‘That’s exactly me point, son. Just because you’re getting transferred is not a good enough excuse for the two of you to get married. I mean, where will you live down there?’
Mick and Cathy looked at each other as if both were going to speak. Mick leaned back, allowing Cathy to go on.
‘Mick has found a beautiful mobile home at the back of a cottage that we can rent. It’s near Brittas Bay, Mammy, just a few hundred yards from the beach!’ Cathy’s voice was excited.
‘Ah yes. Mobile homes today are a lot more comfortable than they used –’ Pierre began.
‘Shut up, Pierre,’ Agnes said again. Agnes had no objection to what was being said. She didn’t mind the idea of her daughter moving away from Dublin to live with the man she loved. She didn’t even mind that they would start their married life in a caravan; in fact she thought that quite charming. But there was something niggling at her. It was Mick O’Leary – she couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something about him. At first she had liked him a lot and was happy that her daughter had found a man she loved, but the more she came to know Mick the more concerned she got. There definitely was something about him that unsettled her. Her own mother used to describe it as his ‘gimp’. That was it, there was a peculiar gimp about him. These days ‘gimp’ would probably be translated as ‘karma’. Mick O’Leary had bad karma.
Agnes stood up from the table. ‘I need a cigarette,’ she announced. She left to go into the front room where her handbag was. Pierre followed. When the couples were separated by a wall, two different conversations took place. In the kitchen Cathy looked dolefully at Mick and asked, ‘Well, what d’yeh think?’
‘Well, I’m prepared to go along with this sham so far, Cathy, but I’ll tell yeh, you’re old enough to know your own mind and I don’t give a fuck what she says, we’re getting married.’
‘I know we will, Mick, but wouldn’t it be better if she was in favour of it and there would be no hassles then?’ Cathy pleaded.
‘Yeh, I suppose so.’ Mick crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling.
In the other room Agnes was rooting in her handbag for her cigarettes, and Pierre came up behind her.
‘Why do you ask me to sit in on these family conversations?’
‘For mortal support,’ Agnes answered with a cigarette between her lips, scratching a match on the side of a box.
‘But you won’t let me speak.’
‘Mortal support doesn’t include speakin’,’ Agnes said matter-of-factly, and made her way towards the door.
Before she got there Pierre said, ‘I think they should marry!’
Agnes stopped in her tracks and slowly turned. She took the cigarette from her lips and exhaled the smoke slowly.
‘Do yeh now, Pierre, and why d’yeh think they should marry?’ Agnes asked him.
‘Because they want to.’
‘I see, because they want to! And if Cathy decided to pour petrol over herself and put a match to it, would that be all right, if she wanted to?‘
‘Don’t be ridiculous, that’s not what I mean. They are in love.’
‘Love, me arse! For a marriage to work it needs a lot more than just love.’
‘Agnes, you sound like a woman that has never been loved.’
‘And, Pierre, you sound like a man that has never been fuckin’ married.’
With that Agnes turned on her heel and re-entered the kitchen. After a few moments’ pause for thought,Pierre did likewise. He took his seat by Agnes’s side and Agnes began to speak to the couple.
‘Well, I don’t have to tell the two of you that marriage is a huge step. You’re both adults and if your minds are set on it I’ll not stand in your way. I’ll just ask you this, to be kind to each other and remember how together you feel right at this moment, because it’s only that togetherness that will make your marriage work. Love will make your marriage happy, but first you need to make your marriage work.’
The young couple smiled and hugged each other, then Mick stood up, walked around the table and kissed Agnes – and got quite a surprise when Pierre leaned over and kissed him. After a couple of cups of tea the wedding date was set for the twenty-fourth of August, and preliminary wedding lists were drawn up.
News of the impending marriage was received with mixed reactions in the Browne household. Mark and Betty were delighted for the couple and Mark immediately promised them a wedding present of a suite of furniture. Rory and Dino both wanted to go to Hickey’s fabric shop with Cathy to help pick out her wedding dress and bridesmaids’ fabrics. Dermot and Buster Brady threw up – a Garda in the Browne family was unthinkable. Simon and his girlfriend Fiona Rock were delighted for the couple and Fiona was doubly delighted when Cathy, having no sisters, asked Fiona to be her maid of honour. Trevor Browne’s heart sank when he heard the news. Not that he was disappointed for Mick and Cathy – quite the opposite, he was delighted to see Cathy so happy. His heart sank because he wished it was him announcing the news that he was about to marry Maria Nicholson.
Trevor’s plan was not going well. He now had just one painting to complete, a beautiful piece by Nicholson, fittingly called ‘Relief’. Yet Maria Nicholson herself was no nearer to finding the mysterious artist and Trevor no closer to declaring his love for her. But he had made one giant leap forward. On two mornings in succession while passing her in the corridor he had said, ‘Good morning, Maria.’ But her replies were disappointing. On the first morning she answered, ‘Good morning, Terry,’ and on the second she didn’t even venture a name, she just said, ‘Yes it is, isn’t it?’ On the evening when he completed the Nicholson piece Trevor sat in his bedroom putting the final touches to the tiny frame when Rory entered the room wearing one strawberry pink sock and in search of the other.
‘Trevor, yeh didn’t notice a sock lying around, did yeh?’
‘No, and if it’s the match for that one you’re wearing I’m sure I would have.’
‘Very funny. I like bright colours, okay?’ Rory suddenly noticed the tiny painting in Trevor’s hand. ‘Jesus, Trevor, that’s beautiful. How much will it sell for?’
Trevor chuckled and told Rory that this painting wasn’t for sale – and he went on to explain to Rory that a true artist didn’t create his paintings for sale anyway, he painted them because he had to. This is why so many painters died penniless.
‘Well, if you’re not goin’ to sell it, what are yeh goin’ to do with it?’
‘I’m going to give it to someone.’
‘A friend of mine.’
‘A friend? Oh, a friend! Who is she?’ Rory sat down opposite Trevor on the bed ready to be filled with gossip.
‘Ah, it’s a long story, Rory. It doesn’t really matter.’ Trevor tried to brush Rory off, but Rory wasn’t having any of it.
‘It must matter if you’re doin’ a paintin’ like that. It is a girl, isn’t it?’
Trevor looked into Rory’s face and two things struck him. Firstly, Rory was genuinely delighted that it might be a girl, and secondly, Rory wasn’t surprised that Trevor might have a girlfriend. Rory’s confidence in his female pulling power relaxed Trevor and for the first time he told somebody else the entire story of Maria Nicholson, the pictures and his failure to get a response. Rory sat silently throughout the whole story, although changing his expression at every twist and turn in the plot. By the time Trevor had finished, Rory sat, his circular glasses sliding down his nose and his mouth agape. Trevor indicated the end of the story with a shrug of his shoulders.
Rory almost attacked him. ‘Jaysus, Trevor, yeh have to tell her!’
‘I can’t! I just can’t.’
‘Yeh have to. Jesus, Trevor, that’s beautiful, I nearly feel like riding yeh meself!’ The two young men laughed, but as soon as the laughter died down Rory returned to the attack.
‘I’m serious, Trevor, you have to take that girl – Maria is it? – you have to take her aside and tell her how you feel. I can’t tell you how many of my gay friends, before they came out, were in love with people and didn’t tell them and every single one of them regrets it to this day. Some of them are still depressed about it years later. For God’s sake don’t let this chance go by.’
‘So what do I do, Rory? I just walk up and say I love yeh?’
Rory thought for a moment. ‘No, Trevor. After all you’ve done so far all you have to do is give her this picture yourself! Yeh don’t have to say anythin’. Yeh don’t have to tell her yeh love her, just walk up to her and give her this last picture yourself. I swear to God, Trevor, that’ll do the job. If it doesn’t she’s a hard-hearted bitch and you’re better off without her anyway.’ Again the two men laughed.
‘I’ll do it,’ Trevor announced. ‘I will, I’ll walk up to her and I’ll give her the picture. Jesus, thanks Rory, that’s all I needed, yeh know, somebody to tell me that I have to do it. And I do, I have to do it.’
The two brothers hugged each other, and Trevor looked forward to the following day. He slept well and dreamed about handing his picture to the beautiful Maria Nicholson. The next day was Friday and Trevor shared the bus into town with Dermot and Buster who were both going to collect their dole money from the unemployment exchange.