Chapter 9

WITH ONLY DERMOT IN THE BOYS’ BEDROOM Agnes saw little point in having five beds there, especially since it meant that Dermot was squeezed into a corner. She mentioned this to Pierre and he immediately volunteered to remove and store the extra beds, as well as centralise Dermot’s bed. When Agnes accepted his offer, Pierre was quite surprised and delighted. He felt that this moved him a little closer to co-habitation, his ultimate goal. Early the following Monday morning, Pierre rolled up his sleeves and began to shift the furniture. Manoeuvring the beds down the narrow stairway on his own was difficult, and by the time he had the last bed out of the house, Pierre was pumping perspiration. He next pulled the mattress off Dermot’s bed and moved it to the doorway at the top of the stairs. When he returned to the bed base he was greeted by a smiling brunette named Cheryl. She was standing with her hands propping up enormous naked breasts. Her brown eyes were staring at Pierre from the cover of Mayfair magazine, Dermot’s bedside reading. Pierre lifted the magazine and began to flick through the pages. He then sat down on the edge of the bed base and began to read. He became most interested in an article which had the headline ‘Turn me on, set me loose!’ This was an in-depth look at what it was that turned normal women into ‘sexual animals’. When he was only halfway through the article Pierre again began to perspire, and by the end of the article he had made up his mind. It was time to turn Agnes Browne into a ‘sexual animal’.

* * *

Tony McMullen’s knowledge of the hardware industry was the envy of many a counterhand at Lenehan’s Hardware Store in Capel Street. In the years he had spent in the hardware business everything had passed through Tony McMullen’s hands, from a torque wrench to carpentry pins the width of a human hair. He was indeed a valued senior member of counter staff in Lenehan’s. Of course, Tony was like all men – just when you thought you had seen it all, something would come along and change all that. He scratched his head and once again began to flick through the stock book. He found the index page and scanned everything listed under the letter ‘N’. No luck. It didn’t help that the customer had a French accent and mumbled. He looked up again at the French man.

‘Nipple clamps?’ he asked, with a puzzled frown on his forehead.

‘Eh yes, nipple clamps – eh, would you keep your voice down please?’ Pierre answered.

McMullen closed the stock book and called across the counter. ‘ARTHUR! Nipple clamps? Do we have any?’

Arthur, who had been showing an elderly lady where the starter fuse was inserted in a fluorescent light, stopped what he was doing and looked up at the ceiling as if expecting to find the answer to Tony’s question there. He scratched under his chin, looked back at McMullen, shrugged and answered, ‘I don’t think so, Tony.’

A few of the younger customers stared at Pierre. Some began to giggle. McMullen wasn’t giving up.

‘Is it an oil nipple or a water nipple you want?’

‘Breast. Breast nipples,’ Pierre mumbled.

‘Brist? What do you mean, brist?’

Pierre cupped his hand beneath his breast as he had seen Cheryl do in her cover pose. ‘Breast nipples,’ he said, pointing to an imaginary nipple about four inches out from his breast.

Tony McMullen’s expression changed completely. Even his ears moved back as if pinned to the side of his head. His face reddened, with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. ‘Now you listen, pal, perverts like you should be locked up! Now get your arse out of this shop.’