The Granny (19 page)

Nellie began to take Agnes to the wholesalers’, showing her how to buy. This was important, she would emphasize to Agnes. “Being a good stall trader is not about how good you sell, it’s about how good you buy.” She would point things out to Agnes that Agnes wouldn’t have dreamed of looking at. For instance, when buying potatoes, track where the potatoes came from. Always buy potatoes that were grown near coastal areas rather than in the Midlands. The reason for this was that the coastal-area land was much sandier and thus there would be less muck on the potatoes. That meant more potatoes per four-stone bag. She would even have Agnes checking every bag of potatoes for stones. Every time they would go to weigh out potatoes for a customer and find a stone in it, they would keep it to one side. Then, once every fortnight, Nellie would bring a huge bag of stones down to the wholesalers and say, “These are not potatoes; give me back my money.” The wholesalers rarely argued. They would just simply stick the stones on the scales and pay her back, pound for pound.

If Agnes had gone looking for a mentor, she couldn’t have found a better one. And not just that—she had also found herself a very strong mother figure, and she needed it, for at home things were getting worse and worse.

Agnes’ mother, Connie, had virtually vanished into a cocoon from which she emerged very seldom and for only brief periods. So, on top of the hard work and learning that Agnes was going through, learning the tricks of the trade down in Moore Street, the rest of her day would be spent washing and cleaning the house, pandering to her mother’s needs, paying the bills, and keeping the wolf from the door. She entertained herself one night a week only, Friday, when she would go dancing with Marion and a gang of the young wans from the markets. This was her night of pleasure. Her dancing had so improved that Marion was suggesting Agnes should enter into competitions. Agnes sunned the idea, for it usually meant that one had a permanent partner, and Agnes hadn’t time for a boyfriend. Mind you, this last week she had taken a couple of kisses from the odd partner, and she even made a date—with a soldier, no less. She didn’t mention this to Nellie, as
her
track record with soldiers was not good.

Dolly had settled into prison well. Agnes kept her promise and visited her every Sunday, taking away her dirty washing and giving her fresh underwear. It was exhausting, though. A typical day for Agnes was to rise at 3:30 a.m., wash, and make her way down to Moore Street. Which was about an hour and a half before Marion arrived. They had come to an arrangement. Agnes now had the key to Marion’s mother’s shed also, so she would drag the makings of the stalls from both sheds and build the framework, leaving the base and the apple boxes for both stalls built and ready for Marion. Agnes would then head down to the fruit-and-vegetable wholesalers’, where she would meet with Nellie. Together they would make the choice of the day’s produce for sale, and when this was completed Nellie went for her breakfast to Rosie’s and Agnes would head back to her flat. When she got back to the flat, Agnes would raise her mother from bed. She would wash her, dress her, and sit her at the kitchen table. She would cook a breakfast for both of them and have breakfast with her mother. Even though Agnes’ mother rarely responded, Agnes carried on conversations with her mother as if she were taking in every word. When they finished the breakfast, Agnes would clean the dishes and leave them on the draining board and then take her mother for a walk to the shops. Connie was well known and liked in the shopping area, so Agnes would leave her there and she would potter from shop to shop, chatting away idly. In the area, most people knew of Connie’s dementia, and indeed, on the rare occasions when Connie did come out of her cocoon and talk in the present tense, it would be mostly with these people in the shops, whom she had seen all her life. Agnes, in the meanwhile, would now make her way back to Moore Street, where she would start racking up the stock with Nellie and be ready for the arrival of the horse and cart. With the stall racked out and everything ready to go, Agnes and Marion would sit on an apple box and have their cup of tea. Agnes looked forward to this, as Marion always had something to say, a story to tell, and rarely did these moments pass without Agnes’ laughing. The early morning at the stall was its busiest time, so Agnes would split her time between serving and selling. By midday, when things had calmed down a little, Nellie would pop off to Maher’s Pub for a bite of lunch. When Nellie returned, Agnes would then leave, heading back up to the shops to collect her mother and take her back to the flat. There she would cook a lunch for both of them and put her mother down for a nap before returning to the stall in Moore Street. By 3:30 p.m., things would start to wind down, and Agnes would begin to separate any excess stock that had gone off, to dump. Then, leaving all her boxes and rubbish ready for Jacko the box collector in a huge pile, she’d have a cigarette with Marion. Anything that could be saved for the following day would be put into a fresh box and brought down to the shed. Nellie would then say her good nights very briefly and head home for the rest of the day. Agnes would dismantle the stalls and pack them away for the night, returning home just in time to make dinner for her mother. By 7:30 p.m., Agnes was in bed and asleep. Absolutely exhausted. So, needless to say, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time, she now was sorry she had agreed to date the soldier.

On the night of the date, as agreed, Agnes was waiting beneath the huge clock outside Clery’s store. He arrived on time and suggested that they take in a movie, and he produced two tickets for the Metropole to see
From Here to Eternity.
Agnes hadn’t the heart to tell the chap that she had already seen the movie three times. Nor could she remember his name, so she didn’t ask him. When they were seated comfortably in the balcony seats, he put his arm around her. She squirmed out of it. They sat watching the adverts.

“Would you like some popcorn?” he asked.

“I’d love some!” Agnes lied. So the chap left to fetch his date some popcorn. The next thing Agnes knew, she was being shaken and someone was shining a torch in her face.

“Are you all right there? Come on, we are locking up.” Agnes looked around. The cinema was empty. Beside her on the empty seat was an untouched bag of popcorn. She had fallen asleep. She never saw the soldier again.

Agnes was loading her pram with the makings of Nellie’s stall when Marion arrived the next morning.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” called Agnes up the lane.

“Morning, Agnes. How did your date go with the soldier?” Marion asked.

“Don’t talk to me, a fucking disaster,” Agnes answered.

“Couldn’t have been worse than mine,” Marion replied, waving off Agnes’ moaning.

“It was,” Agnes insisted.

“Couldn’t have been.” Marion was equally insistent.

So Agnes began to recount the events of the previous evening to Marion. Her story went on all through the building of the stalls, and by the time Agnes had finished the telling, the stalls were ready for racking and the girls had drawn two cups of tea from the boiler in Maher’s Pub. Throughout Agnes’ story Marion had laughed and been shocked in all the right places, and they now sat with their tea and crates beside the empty stalls. Before Agnes lit her cigarette she said, “Now, don’t tell me your night was worse than that.”

“Well, as bad as that.” Marion backed up a little.

“I warned you about going to that dance,” Agnes admonished Marion. “So go on, what happened?”

“Well, when I got there the place looked all right. The music was loud—now, I mean really loud. I got myself a drink, and I stood near the bar watching. You should see them deaf and dumb people doing the sign language, it’s amazing. Hands flying in all directions. I watched for a bit, and I seen how they say hello, it’s kinda like this.” Marion lifted up her hand opened and closed it. “So, anyway, I’m standing there for about three or four songs; the next thing, I see this fella; now, he’s a beauty, and he comes walking towards me. Then I realize that he’s not coming towards me, he’s coming
to
me. So I give him the sign for ‘hello’ and he gives it to me back. Then he points to me and back to himself and wiggles his hips.”

“He wanted to dance with you,” Agnes interpreted.

“Exactly. So we goes onto the dance floor, and, Jesus, he’s a great dancer.”

“Sounds great so far.” Agnes is getting excited for Marion.

“But wait.” Marion holds up her hand.

“Oh, sorry, go on.” Agnes sips her tea.

“While we’re dancing he taps me and does a sign like this.” Marion now points to her eye and puts her arm over her shoulder and pats her own back and then mimes riding a horse.

“I . . . back . . . horses.” Agnes shouts out the last word as if she is in a quiz. “He backs horses. He’s a gambler?” Agnes asks.

“Is right,” says Marion.

“Jesus, it is good, this sign language,” Agnes comments.

“But wait.” Marion snaps with the hand up again.

“Go on,” says Agnes.

“So I nodded, letting him know I understand, and he nods back. Well, I decided to have a go.” Marion now stands and points to her eye and then mouths the word “like” and points to her feet. Agnes interprets. “I . . . lick . . . shoes. What the fuck does that mean?”

“I like walking,” Marion corrects. “Look at me mouth.” Marion mouths the word “like” again. Agnes looks closer. Marion mouths the word “like” again.

“Nah, still looks like ‘lick’ to me,” Agnes says.

“Shut up. Well, he understood,” Marion asserted.

“Right. Well, go on—it sounds to me like you were on your way,” Agnes encouraged.

“But wait.” The hand again.

“Go on, then. But hurry, Nellie will be here any minute. She’ll go mad if she just sees us sitting here, and I won’t hear the end of this bleedin’ story.”

“All right. So, anyway, all night we’re doing this. He goes to the bar, buys me drink, I’m having a great time. Then he uses the signs to ask me can he walk me home.”

“What signs did he use?” Agnes asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Marion answers with the hand up again. “I says ‘yes,’ and when the dance ends and the band are playing the National Anthem I slipped into the ladies’. Well, I came out, right, and he’s standing with his back to me with another fella. ‘I’m going to a party,’ says the stranger to him. ‘Would you like to come?’ he asks my fella. ‘No,’ says my fella, ‘I can’t, I’m stuck with a fuckin’ deaf one in the ladies’.” Agnes squealed and screamed with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Marion says sternly. Agnes continues to laugh. After a few moments Marion is smiling. “Agnes, stop it, really, it’s not funny.” Marion’s smile turns to a laugh, and she now joins Agnes in hysterics. They could not finish their tea, for every time the laughter stopped and they would make to take a sip from the cup the laughter began all over again, harder than the previous time.

“Oh, Marion Delany.” Agnes was gasping for breath. “What are we like? Neither of us will ever get a man,” she cried, but she was soon to be proved wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was Friday night. Of course this meant dance night. As prearranged, the girls all met in Madigan’s Pub. The rule in Madigan’s Pub is that women will only be served in the snug. Now, although the snug takes up just one-quarter of the area of the pub, half of the customers, the women, were squeezed into it. As usual, Marion was late. Agnes sat at the table with Nine Warts Philomena and Giddy Eye, and they had kept a spare seat for Marion, in front of which stood a bottle of Guinness and a glass on the table ready for her when she arrived. By the time Marion arrived, the snug was crowded with young girls in their dance frocks and their hair that was lacquered into sculptures. Marion spied the gang as soon as she entered and hurried through the crowd to the table.

“Sorry I’m late.” Marion was breathless. “I had to do me ma’s feet.”

“You’re all right, Marion, here.” Agnes pushed the bottle of Guinness over to Marion.

“I swear to Jaysus, my mammy’s toenails grow like bamboos. Look at this one.” Marion held up a dark-gray nail clipping that resembled a mud flap from a motorbike.

“Ah Jesus,” the others cried in unison.

“Marion, for fuck’s sake, throw that away,” Agnes groaned.

“It’s big, but isn’t it?” Marion proffered it to Agnes.

“Marion,” Agnes screeched.

“It’s all right. For God’s sake, you think you’d never seen a nail before.” Marion dropped the nail clipping into the ashtray. Again the girls spoke in unison: “Not in the ashtray,” they cried. Marion picked the nail clipping out and looked around and decided to just toss it over the partition that surrounded the snug. Marion raised her glass and made a toast: “Here’s to Friday night, I hope I get a hand on me muff.” The girls squealed with laughter, and they all touched glasses and took a drink. Marion wiped her mouth before she spoke. “So—where are we going, the National or the Macushla?”

“I’m barred from the National,” said Giddy Eye, seemingly to the light fitting on the ceiling. The girls looked up briefly.

“Since when?” asked Agnes.

“Last Saturday night,” replies Giddy Eye, this time to the ashtray. The girls all looked at the ashtray.

“Jesus, barred? For what?” asked Nine Warts Philomena.

“The bouncer said I told him to fuck off. I wasn’t even talking to him.” Giddy Eye’s adrenaline was pumping now with the telling of her story, and the eye was darting in every direction.