The Mammy (7 page)

‘Just there.’

She closed her coat quickly, picked up her glass of stout, and as she supped it she glanced around the room again to be sure nobody was watching.

‘On your diddy?’ Agnes was aghast.

‘Shhh, for fuck’s sake, Agnes, do yeh want to take an advert in the bleedin’ paper?’

‘Sorry ... on your diddy?’ Agnes’s voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper.

‘Yep.’

‘What did Dr Clegg say it was?’

‘I didn’t go yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if this lump is caused by me havin’ them organisms ... I’d be scarlet, that’s the why.’

‘Don’t be stupid, he’s a doctor, he knows all about organisms. It wouldn’t bother him.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I’m sure of it. We’ll get Fat Annie to mind the two stalls, and I’ll go down with yeh.’

‘Would yeh, Agnes? Ah, you’re a pal! I’ll tell yeh, it’s sore. Some days I can hardly lift me arm.’

‘It’s probably a cyst - that’s it!’ Agnes sounded sure.

‘Yeh, probably.’ Marion was relieved.

‘Mr Foley? Same again, please, and two packets of nuts.’

Chapter 9

LIFE WAS TAKING AN UPSWING FOR MARK and his interest in girls was beginning to dominate his waking and sleeping hours. Rory’s interest, however, was confusing for him. What he liked most about girls was their clothes, the feel of nylons and he longed to try out their make-up. In school the other boys called him ‘sissy’, but not to his face. All of the other boys knew that Rory, ‘sissy’ or not, was still a Browne, and you didn’t take on the Brownes.

This protection was not afforded, not directly anyway, to Cathy, being the only Browne girl in the girls’ school. She attended the Mother of Divine Providence Girls’ School in Ryder’s Row. It was a strict school run by nuns. For ten years of age, Cathy was a bright child. She was also well liked by her classmates. Cathy was very pretty. Her shoulder-length, raven-black hair always had a shine, as did her large brown eyes that were barely visible beneath the fringe that always needed to be brushed aside. Indeed it was this hairstyle that was to lead to the incident that would later be referred to as ‘the case of the fringe and the nun’.

That day, Monday, had started badly for Cathy. She awoke to Mark’s call that it was eight o‘clock. The warm June sun exploded into the room when Mark pulled the curtains back.

‘Get up, Cathy,’ Mark yelled.

‘I’m up, I’m up,’ she replied sleepily, trying to bury herself beneath the blankets.

‘You’re not up - now, get up!’ he said as he yanked the blankets off her, leaving her lying on the bare bed in her nightdress.

‘Ah Marko,’ cried Cathy.

‘Ah nothin’! Now c‘mon, Cathy, get up.’

Mark made sure everyone was up before he left the house for school. He had been up himself since five o‘clock with his mother, as he was every morning. He would do his milk round with Larry Boyle from quarter-past five to half-six, then it was around to McCabe’s shop. He’d pick up fifty papers and run on his paper round, arriving back to the flat at about half-seven or so, have a porridge breakfast and get the others up, before he left for school at quarter-past eight. Although the school was only ten minutes away, he had to leave early to drop Trevor to his Granny Reddin in Sean McDermott Street. Granny Reddin would mind the three-year-old until Mrs Browne picked him up that evening.

Cathy rummaged through the underwear drawer. No knickers! She rummaged through the boys’ drawer, Mammy often threw knickers in there by mistake. Nope! No knickers. She wandered out to the bathroom. The clothes-horse was full and, right enough, there was a pair of knickers on it, but they were damp. She stood for a moment, scratching her head. It’s a pair of pinnies today, she thought. Pinnies were a pair of her mother’s knickers, the slack gathered to the front and tied together with a nappy-pin. This kept the knickers from falling down or drooping. It looked awful but it worked, and they kept her arse warm.

After a slice of toast, Cathy left for school, in her pinnies. She skipped through the early-morning inner-city traffic and at the comer of Cathedral Street met up with Ann Reddin, her cousin. The two then headed up to Moore Street and Agnes’s stall. Cathy liked to call there every morning on her way to school. Agnes had her daughter’s ‘lunch’ ready for her - a sandwich of strawberry jam and a piece of fruit. She gave her the once-over and then sent her on her way. Cathy would eat the fruit at her first break and the sandwich for her ’big’ break, when she would be given the tiny free bottle of milk, provided by the State, to drink with it.

With the little bit of sunshine, the sisters had turned off the heating, and the classroom was a bit chilly as Cathy and her thirty-two classmates stood to recite the ‘Hail Mary’ in Irish. After the ’Amen‘, they all said the ’Sign of the Cross’ aloud and sat down. The teacher, Sister Magdalen, began to clean the blackboard. The chalk dust rose, and for a few moments was caught in the streaks of sunlight that came through the four long, sixteen-paned windows. Sister Magdalen started to write on the board.

Cathy, as was her way, held her head in one hand and glanced dreamily around the class. The framed Proclamation of Irish Independence was surrounded by the photographs of the signatories. They died for us, Cathy thought. Then there was a huge crucifix, upon which hung a sad Jesus, with blood streaming from his speared side. He died for us as well, she thought, wondering if anybody lived for ‘us’. There were four pictures along the windowless east wall. Nearest the light switch was John F. Kennedy. He died. She wondered if it was for ‘us’ or did he just die? Next to him was Pope John the twenty-third, who was, according to Sister Magdalen, a good man who meant well. The first of the living was next: Éamon de Valera, President of Ireland. Cathy often thought that being President of Ireland must be an awful job, because Mr de Valera always looked so unhappy. She was glad she was a girl and never had to worry about becoming president! The final picture was of Archbishop McQuaid, a man to be feared, a man who held the keys of heaven and the power of hell. A shudder ran through Cathy. In two weeks she would make her confirmation and come face-to-face with Archbishop McQuaid. She was dreading it. If he asked her a question from the Catechism and she didn’t know the answer, he would put her out of the church, and she would be damned forever. She pushed the thought from her mind and looked to the blackboard. The word ’doctor’ was written there in large capital letters. Sister Magdalen spoke.

‘The doctor will be giving all of you a general examination today. However, we shall not let that interfere with our lessons, or our preparation of you all for the Holy Sacrament of Confirmation. You will leave the classroom in groups of five. You may strip in the cloakroom down to your knickers, and then wait quietly on the seats outside the Tea Room until you are called. There is to be no ... listen carefully! ... NO talking. When you are finished with the doctor, dress and return to class quickly and quietly, is that clear?’

There was a chorus of ‘Yes, Sister Magdalen.’ Cathy, however, was not one of the chorus. She had gone pale. Strip! she thought in a panic, strip to the knickers? She was lightheaded. The nappy-pin holding up her mother’s knickers felt like an anchor. She began to blush. Her hands began to shake. She stared at the crucifix: Please, Jesus, help me, don’t make me take off my clothes ... please, Jesus, do something.

Sister Magdalen was speaking again. ‘You five will go first, and we shall go anti-clockwise from then on.’ She was pointing to the row of desks nearest the door. Cathy counted the seats in groups of five up to where she was sitting. She would be in the fourth group. She had to buy time - she had to get a seat that would put her in the last group. She would then have a chance to sneak out during ‘big’ break, which lasted thirty-five minutes. This would be enough time to get home, dump the pinnies and change into her own knickers, which would be dry by now. Even if they weren’t, better a damp pair than to be called ‘Droopy Drawers’ for the rest of her school days, and beyond!

At the eleven o‘clock break, she went into action. During the ten-minute break she had approached all thirteen girls who would be in the final three groups. She offered her fruit, her sandwich and milk, but to no avail. By quarter-past eleven she was back in class, in the same seat where she had begun the day. Sister Magdalen had instructed the girls to take out their Catechism, and the learning of answers to Archbishop McQuaid’s questions began in earnest. At twenty-past eleven there was a gentle rap at the door. Sister Magdalen crossed the room, her crucifix dangling from her waist, and opened the door. There followed a murmuring through the half-opened door and the good sister re-entered the room and announced, ’All right, girls, the doctor is ready for you. The first group - off you go!‘ The first five victims rose slowly. It was as if they were bound for execution. They huddled together and trooped out the door. The lessons continued.

‘Who is God?’ Sister Magdalen boomed.

‘God is our father in Heaven, the creator and Lord of all things’ they all sang back.

Cathy watched the clock. The time ticked by.

‘What is the Blessed Trinity?’ boomed Sister Magdalen, this time her long, pale finger pointing at Cathy. Cathy stood up.

‘There are ...’

‘Stop.’

‘... three ...’

‘I said stop! Cathy Browne!’ Cathy stopped and peered at the teacher through her fringe. The nun walked slowly towards her. ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself to you?’ She glared at Cathy. Cathy didn’t know how to answer this question. The nun’s arms shot out from under her bib and she held them out as if she were ready to be nailed to the cross. ‘Do I look like a parrot to you?’

Cathy was tempted to answer: No, Sister, a penguin, but she knew better.

‘I asked you, Miss Browne, do I look like a parrot?’

‘No,’ Cathy mumbled.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No, Sister Magdalen.’ Cathy spoke louder.

‘Good. So you know that I do not intend to tell you each and every day to get that hair out of your eyes, do I?’

‘No, Sister Magdalen.’

‘Well, do it!’ the sister screamed, and the whole class jumped!

Cathy put her hand to her forehead and with a flick of her head, the hair flew back to leave her beautiful, but now frightened, eyes bare.

The sister smiled. ‘Good, now, what is the Blessed Trinity?’

‘There are three divine persons in the one God: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost.’

The door opened and the first five victims were back.

‘Sit down, Miss Browne,’ Sister Magdalen said as she walked away from Cathy. Cathy sat, and her fringe dropped down again. She looked at the clock: twenty to twelve.

Christ, she thought, twenty minutes - not long enough! At this rate Cathy would be stripped before the big break.

Don’t panic, she told herself, maybe the next group will be longer. They weren’t. They were back in class before twelve o‘clock. At sixteen minutes past twelve the third group returned. It was time. Cathy’s group rose. She was shaking as she walked out. The corridor was empty and the five went without a word to the cloakroom to strip. Cathy undid the leather straps on her sandals and slowly began to remove them. Her breath was coming in short gasps. As she pulled off her socks the tears began to well up in her eyes. Suddenly a woman came into the cloakroom. She was a pretty woman — not a magazine model, but pretty. To Cathy she was an angel, for she said: ’Sorry, girls, the doctor is going on his lunch break, so go back to your class and you will be the first after lunch.‘

Cathy was the first to be dressed. She returned to the classroom, and, as one of the group explained to Sister Magdalen what had happened, Cathy stared at the giant but sad Jesus and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

The school yard was filled with screeches and yelps as the two-hundred-plus girls enjoyed the big break. In the middle of the yard a skipping rope was turning and a group were singing ‘Down in the valley where the green grass grows’. These were the third-class girls. The fourth-and Fifth-class girls were bouncing balls up against the side of the bike shed singing, ‘Plainy a packet of Rinso’, while the sixth-class girls were giggling and talking about sixth-class boys and who kissed who. Cathy Browne was oblivious to all of this as she stood behind the bike shed and plotted her escape, her only comrade her cousin Ann.

‘Why do you have to go home?’ asked Ann.

‘I just have to, that’s all. Now will you bend over?’

Ann bent over beside the railings to be Cathy’s ‘step up’ on to the top. Cathy stretched her leg up and gripped the railings, ’A one, and a two and a ...‘ Cathy stumbled because Ann straightened again. ’But if you’re caught, you’ll be killed,‘ Ann announced.

‘Ann Reddin, if you don’t bend over and stay bent, I’ll give you such a kick in the hole that me shoe will come out your mouth!’ Cathy was angry. Ann bent over.

But even as Cathy was standing on her back Ann was still talking. ‘If you’re caught you better leave me out of it!’ she grunted as Cathy pushed off her back and clambered over the railing. Cathy’s feet had barely touched the ground when she took off, running flat out for home. Within ten minutes she was standing on the landing outside the flat. She pushed open the letter box and tugged the piece of blue wool that hung across it. She pulled the wool out and bit by bit the door key made its way to the opening. She quickly slid the key into the lock and opened the door. She ran to the sink. The knickers were dry! She changed into them rapidly, discarded the pinnies and in less than two minutes she was bounding down the stairs to the street.

Cathy arrived back at the school panting and perspiring. The children were still in the yard. She had made it! Or had she? She had no way back in. How could she have been so stupid? She hid in the doorway of the butcher’s shop next to the school’s main gate — a locked gate. The only person that had a key to that was the principal - her teacher, Sister Magdalen! A car slowly passed her and stopped at the gate. The wine-coloured car was polished and gleamed in the afternoon sun. A man stepped from the car. It was the doctor. He fished in his pocket and took out a key. Cathy saw a ray of hope. She stooped low and scurried along the plinth of the railing until she got to the gate pillar. The doctor was fiddling with the lock. Cathy’s mind screamed: Please don’t look over here, doctor ... please ... please. The doctor did not look over, but as the lock clicked open he spoke, as if to the gate: ‘Wait until I am back in the car and then walk along the side of it as I drive in. I’ll drive slowly.’