The Granny

by Brendan O'Carroll

  ‘Seven years - Jesus Christ!’ Trevor lay back on the pillow, his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

  Four hundred miles away in Mountjoy Prison, Dermot Browne was also lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He could just about make it out, for the cell was in darkness. It was way past ‘lights out’ and Dermot still wasn’t asleep. There are no words that can describe the downward tumble you feel when your world goes from encompassing everything you see to twelve foot by six foot of mass concrete. The tiny window from Dermot’s cell in C-block overlooked the exercise yard. This would be his view for the next seven years.

  Not since the day he was first locked up had Dermot initiated a conversation with anyone — not even with Buster, who was in the same block but a floor below. His nights were spent mostly lying awake; if he was lucky he would get one or two hours’ sleep. Instead, he spent his nights just thinking. He thought about his mother - he would imagine her every night taking out the mugs, pouring the tea, and settling herself down at the kitchen table for the nightly chat with them all. She had no-one now. He thought about his sister Cathy, how unwell she had looked in the courtroom and the pale colour of her face. He tried not to worry that her husband was treating her badly; he couldn’t afford to worry. In prison you just can’t allow yourself to worry because you can do nothing about what’s happening on the outside. He thought about Buster - three years as an accessory. He’d be out in a little over one year. Dermot was glad that Buster had got it a little easy. He thought about his brother Mark and how everything always seemed to go the right way for him - or was it that Mark just always did the right thing? He thought about Rory - homosexual or not, at least he had someone who loved him in Dino, and tonight they would probably go to the pictures or whatever and if they were lying like himself on a bed in the darkness staring at the ceiling it would be from choice. But mostly he thought about Mary Carter. The baby couldn’t be his. He was sure he wasn’t the only one Mary Carter had slept with in the past few months, and yet the thought of her being with another man filled him with rage. He couldn’t understand this, he didn’t know what caused it. But he told himself that the baby just couldn’t be his.

  These were the things that filled all of his thoughts each night, except for one more thing. At the end of each night he would think of a woman alone - the widow Cullen. She would be alone tonight and every other night for the rest of her life because Dermot had gone too far. Dermot closed his eyes and sobbed quietly.

  As is often the case with long-term prisoners, Dermot refused visitors for his first few weeks. The majority of long-term prisoners would usually have had a couple of short visits to prison before a big sentence, for smaller crimes before the ‘big one’. This enabled them to get used to prison life before they had to serve a long sentence. But this was not the case for Dermot. He had a dreadful time settling in and became completely withdrawn. It was sad for Buster, for if ever he needed his best friend, it was now. When he found himself ignored by Dermot he felt alone and afraid.

  However, Buster took to prison life a lot quicker than Dermot did. He even started taking some of the courses that were available in the prison education scheme. He began to do leather work, then woodwork, but the course he enjoyed most was a letter-writing course. Here Buster learned how to construct sentences and how to place those sentences in such a way as to give structure to a letter. He found it challenging but enjoyable. Unfortunately for Buster, his letter-writing course became somewhat akin to playing table tennis alone, for the only address Buster had to write to was his home address, and neither his mother nor father would reply to any of his letters. So he wrote instead to Dermot’s mother. Agnes replied, but only once in the blue moon. Father Gibney, the prison chaplain, lined up a couple of pen-friends for Buster, but soon they too stopped writing.

  Dermot, on the other hand, received at least two letters a week from his mother. She tried her best to keep them lighthearted and full of local news and gossip, and would read them over and over to herself before posting them to ensure that her writing didn’t reflect how desperately she was missing him. Initially Dermot didn’t reply, as he felt he had nothing to say, but as time wore on he began to write at least one letter a fortnight home. When eventually he wrote that he would like to see Agnes on a visit, she was delighted. She arrived in the visiting room with a carton of cigarettes, some fresh fruit, and a few bags of liquorice allsorts, Dermot’s favourite sweets. The visit went reasonably well, although Agnes was taken aback at how pale Dermot had become in just three months of incarceration. She tried not to show her shock and joked about how much weight he was losing. During the thirty minutes they spent together, Agnes spoke virtually without taking a breath, for she was afraid that if she stopped talking either one or both of them would begin to cry. Once they had got through the first visit, subsequent visits became easier and Agnes noticed that Dermot started to seem a little brighter each time. He was still very intense and withdrawn though, and Agnes continued to worry for his well-being.

  In his first year of imprisonment, Agnes visited Dermot on eight occasions. Thanks to her visits, Dermot was able to share in the major events in the Browne family. It was Agnes that brought him the news of the birth of Simon’s son, Thomas. She spent the entire half-hour visit speaking of how beautiful the baby was and her excitement in the telling of the story sent Dermot back to his cell that day feeling better than he had felt at any time since he had come to prison. On another visit, Agnes described every inch of the interior of the new direct-sales store Mark had opened for Senga Furnishings on the south side of Dublin. Like his mother, Dermot was thrilled for Mark, although on that day the sparkle in her eye as she recounted Mark’s progress made Dermot feel dirty.

  Just as a blind man has a heightened sense of hearing, when you are imprisoned and not affected on a daily basis by the hustle and bustle of the outside world you become extremely sensitive to people’s body language. At the end of each of Agnes’s visits, Dermot would always feel a little unsettled. He felt sure that Agnes was holding something back. He couldn’t imagine what it was, and often in his letters and indeed in Agnes’s visits he would probe into areas that he thought might be the cause of it, but to no avail. He sensed Agnes’s tension even in the early visits, caused by her worrying about Cathy and how things were going for her down in Arklow. Like Agnes, Dermot suspected that Mick O‘Leary might be giving his sister a hard time and that Cathy was covering it up. When he questioned Agnes about this, she readily admitted her fears. They had spent a long time discussing it quite openly, so openly in fact that Dermot realised that although Agnes had not discussed it previously so as not to worry Dermot, this was not the ‘thing’ that she was holding back. It was on her ninth visit to Mountjoy that Agnes was to reveal the thing, and Dermot stumbled upon it quite by accident. They were about midway through the visit when Dermot asked, ‘Tell me, Ma, have you heard how Mary Carter is doin’?’

  ‘Mary Carter?’ Agnes answered as if she was hearing the name for the first time. The tone of voice and the sudden quick movement of her eyes told Dermot immediately this was the thing, and Dermot suddenly burst out with, ‘Ah ha! So that’s it!’

  Agnes became flustered and even blushed. ‘That’s what? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’ve been visitin’ her, haven’t you?’

  ‘The odd time.’

  Neither spoke for a few minutes and Dermot rolled and lit up another cigarette. He became agitated now, turning sideways in the chair and crossing his legs, looking at Agnes half-over his shoulder.

  ‘Did she have the baby?’ Dermot finally asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s a boy. She’s called him Cormac,’ Agnes answered flatly.

  Dermot exhaled a long stream of smoke. ‘Cormac, yeh? That’s a nice name.’

  Agnes didn’t speak.

  ‘He’s not mine, Mammy!’ Dermot said this without looking at Agnes. She didn’t reply.

  Dermot turned and placed his elbows on the visit
or’s table and, looking straight at Agnes, he repeated his statement, this time more slowly. ‘He’s not mine, Mammy!’

  ‘Okay,’ Agnes replied without even raising her head.

  ‘What do you mean, okay?’

  ‘I mean okay. If you say he’s not yours, okay! What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to say something like, of course he isn’t, or yes, son, I know he’s not yours, or - anything, but Jesus Christ, Mammy, okay?’ Dermot’s frustration was now starting to show and his voice was getting louder. In the background a warder lifted his head, moved off his stool and began to walk slowly towards their table.

  ‘How can I say all that? I’ve held Cormac in me arms, Dermot. I’ve looked down into his face. He looks up at me, smiling, and what do I see? I see you. As you were in my arms twenty-five years ago. If he’s not yours, Dermot Browne, then you’ve a double going around Dublin somewhere that’s after fathering that child.’

  ‘It could be anyone’s! She’s a junkie, for fuck sake, mother.’ Dermot stood up as he said this and his chair flew back. His voice was near screaming pitch.

  Agnes also stood up and pushed her face across the table towards his. ‘Yes, she is, God love her. But she’s trying her best to be a mother and with no help from anyone! The least she could expect is a little decency and recognition from the father of her child.’

  The warder was now standing behind Dermot, but didn’t know what to do.

  Dermot lowered his tone. ‘Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You’d love me to be just like Mark, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No, son. I don’t want you to be just like Mark, but I don’t want you to be just like your father either!’ Agnes cried.

  Dermot drew his arm back as if to swing a punch. Now the warder knew exactly what to do. He flung himself at Dermot and in one practised movement, threw Dermot to the ground, lying on top of him. The warder was quickly joined by two colleagues who restrained Dermot on the ground.

  Agnes screamed at them. ‘Christ, don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him.’

  Another visitor came to Agnes’s side and began to escort her to the exit. As they got to the door Agnes was crying. She looked back and saw Dermot, who was standing now but handcuffed, being bundled away. He was red with rage and there were tears streaming down his face.

  ‘Don’t come again, Mammy. I don’t want to see you again. I mean it, don’t come again,’ Dermot roared as they dragged him through the steel door back into the cell blocks.

  Chapter 14

  OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS Agnes wrote a total of ten letters to Dermot. In each one she apologised for her behaviour, and for upsetting him, but emphasised that she did not apologise for what she had said. She received no reply, until one morning the postman delivered a large brown envelope with a Mountjoy Prison stamp on it. When she opened the envelope she found all her letters inside, torn in half, but unopened. She never wrote to Dermot again. Instead she began writing to Buster Brady, explaining to Buster what had happened and asking him to keep her informed of Dermot’s progress. She asked Buster not to tell Dermot that she had been asking, lest he and Buster fall out. Buster’s letters kept Agnes abreast of how Dermot was doing and although she missed the direct contact she was always glad of any news Buster had to impart.

  From Buster’s point of view it was a great arrangement. His letter-writing was coming on and he looked forward to sitting down and writing a letter to which he knew he would get a reply. Although Buster’s letter-writing skills had improved, his grasp of the English language was still very loose, as, indeed, was Agnes’s. This led to some rather peculiar exchanges, copies of some of which, to this day, can probably be found in the miscellaneous drawer in the Mountjoy Prison Censor’s office. For instance, the following exchange of letters took place over a period of two weeks:

  C Block

  Mountjoy Prison

  North Circular Road

  Dublin 7

  February 23rd 1983

  Dear Mrs. Browne,

  I am in receipt of yours of the 18th inst. Thank you for the reciep for Gur Cake, which I have passed on to ‘Hatchet’ Flannigan in the kitchen. Dermot is doing well. As I have said before he has his up days and his down days. Today is one of his up days, I can tell because this morning when I said good morning Dermot he did not tell me to fuck off. I have been here a long time and I still do not like it here and would like to be home. It is difficult to make friends here. Its like you are just getting to know someone and they are gone. This pyrole is a pain in the arse.

  I hope this letter finds you as it left me, in good health.

  Yours sincerely

  Buster Brady.

  Agnes read this letter over and over again, but still couldn’t figure out what ‘pyrole’ was. When she showed it to Pierre, Pierre suggested that as the word was in the same sentence as ‘pain in the arse’ he could be talking about piles. Agnes was delighted that Pierre had figured out the puzzle and that she could do something about it!

  43, Wolfe Tone Grove

  Finglas

  Dublin 11

  February 27th 1983

  Dear Buster,

  Thank you very much for yet another letter, they are so important and I look forward to them. Your mother and father are well. They were delighted when I told them that you are due out at the end of next month, but said to tell you not to come home. I am sorry about that Buster, Ive tried hard but your mother talks about prison as if it were a disease.

  Everybody is well here. Young Aaron is getting bigger by the day and although he is only two and a half he could pass for four. Rory and Dino are still talking about opening their own salon, but the only thing they have done so far is each others hair. Simon and Fiona are getting a house together in Raheny, I am delighted as this will give young Thomas a garden to play in, I never liked that bloody flat. I have not heard from Cathy in a while, so I cant give you any news about her. Why dont you write to her yourself? I have enclosed her address on a piece of card.

  Well thats all for now Buster, I look forward to your next letter.

  All my love,

  Agnes Browne.

  P.S. I am sorry to hear about your pyrole, nothing is worse than a pain in the arse. I have sent a package with this letter containing some suppositories, these should make you feel better.

  C Block

  Mountjoy Prison

  North Circular Road

  Dublin 7

  March 3rd 1983

  Dear Mrs. Browne,

  I am in receipt of yours of the 27th inst. Many thanks for the wine gums. You were right they did make me feel better.

  Good news! Father Gibney has talked Dermot into taking an English course here in the prison. This is the first course he has taken since we got in here. He is at last beginning to settle down. I am going to join the class too.

  Thank you for Cathys address. I have already written a letter to her so I hope she writes back. I couldnt remember her daughters name so I just put the baby. I hope she doesnt mind. Best wishes to everyone and Pierre.

  Yours sincerely,

  Buster Brady.

  Chapter 15

  ‘YOU CAN TELL HIM TO GO AND SHITE,’ Sue White roared in from the other room. She had picked this phrase up from Trevor. The word ‘shite’ doesn’t sound the same when said with an English accent though.

  ‘Can you hear her?’ Trevor spoke in a low tone into the mouthpiece of the ‘phone. It was Tony on the other end of the line.

  The row had started over nothing, it seemed. Well, not exactly nothing, it was a small sculpture actually. It’s title was ‘Dreaming Wolf, although Dermot thought it looked more like ‘Sleeping Red Setter’. What it looked like wasn’t important, the row had erupted over what it had cost: three hundred pounds. Sue had seen it, she had liked it, so she bought it. Tony went ballistic. A screaming match had followed with both sides using the usual ammunition - words like ‘irresponsible‘, ‘stingy‘, ‘childish’. The row culminated in Tony’s screamed
promise that he was ‘walking out that door and never coming back’, and finally the slamming of the door. This was followed by some very loud crying and smashing of ornaments against the wall.

  When the crashing and banging died down and the crying was reduced to just a soft whimper, Trevor felt it was safe to come out of his bedroom. He made Sue a cup of coffee and tried to console her as best he could. That had been three hours ago. Sue had stopped crying now, but was still angry. Tony told Trevor that he had only called to see that Sue was all right. He had no intention, he reiterated, of returning. Trevor spoke again into the mouthpiece of the ‘phone. ‘Look, Tony, you stay in that hotel tonight, I’ll call you first thing in the morning, okay? Good night.’ He hung up the phone and returned to the room.