‘We’re looking for Mister Eamonn Doyle,’ Mark told her.
‘Are you now? Well, it will take a few minutes to get him. You’ll have to wait.’
Mark took Trevor’s hand again and began to turn him round. ‘We’ll wait outside - tell him, will yeh?’
‘You will not wait outside, it’s much too cold,’ the woman insisted. ‘Come over here.’ She brought them to a table around which were four chairs. She called a waiter and told him to get the three boys a soda and biscuits.
Mark panicked. ‘Here, Missus - I’ve no money!’
The woman smiled. ‘That’s okay, it’s Christmas! This is on the house. Just sit there and I’ll fetch Mr Doyle. What’s the name?’
‘Browne, we’re all Brownes. I’m Mark.’
‘Okay, Mark, you enjoy your soda and I’ll be back in a minute.’ And she was gone.
The waiter arrived with the drinks and a huge plate of assorted biscuits - pink wafers, chocolate ones with jelly sweets on top, all kinds. Mark gave Trevor one for each hand.
After a few minutes Mr Doyle arrived. ‘Hello, boys.’
‘How yeh,’ Mark answered.
Doyle took a snow-white envelope from his pocket and handed it to Mark. ‘There, give that to your mother, and don’t hang around here too long.’ His disdain was obvious.
‘Did you know me Dad?’ Dermot asked Doyle.
‘No. I don’t know many of the kitchen porters.’ He was short with them and anxious to be away.
‘Well he knew you ...’Dermot said.
‘Good,’ the man said and began to walk away.
‘He said you were a bollix,’ Dermot added.
The man turned. ‘What?’
Mark butted in. ‘He said thanks a lot, Mister.’ The man stared for a moment, and then left without another word.
‘Right, c’mon,‘ Mark said. He stood up and took Trevor’s hand. With his other hand, Trevor was pointing at the elevator.
‘Marko ... bus ... bus.’
‘It’s not a bus, Trev, it’s a lift, and it’s not for us.’
‘Let’s bring him on it!’ Dermot said.
‘No. We’ll only get into trouble.’
‘Ah come on, Marko. One quick trip up and down.’ Mark looked around. Maybe no one would notice. They headed for the lift doors and waited for them to open.
At the same time, Doyle was at the Porter’s Desk speaking to the uniformed concierge, telling him about the ‘little gurriers’, and instructing him to escort them out. The concierge went looking for the boys.
Mark was the first to see him coming. ‘Oh fuck! Look, Dermo!’
Dermo followed Mark’s gaze and saw the uniformed man looking for them. ‘Fuck me, another usher!’ Dermo was scared now. The lift doors opened. ‘Quick, Marko, jump in ... quick!’ Dermo called, pulling Mark’s arm.
The concierge saw them just at that moment. ‘Hey, you there!’ he called out.
Mark jumped into the lift and the doors began to close.
‘Which button? Which button?’ yelled Dermo.
‘Any bleedin’ button,’ Mark said, and hit the highest one. They saw the concierge’s nose disappear between the closing doors. As the lift ascended, they could hear the man banging on the doors below.
‘We’re in big trouble, Dermo.’ Mark was worried.
‘I know,’ Dermot answered weakly.
The lift stopped on the top floor, and the three boys stepped out into a silent corridor.
‘Which way?’ Dermot whispered.
‘I don’t know. Any way except down, I suppose. You go down that end and I’ll go this way and see if there’s a stairs.’ The boys parted, but each made sure the other was in sight at all times. Dermot found the stairs.
‘Mark!’ he called, pointing, ‘stairs!’
Mark lifted Trevor up and began to run toward Dermot. Dermot stepped onto the landing and looked down between the rails. His heart sank as he saw the peaked cap bobbing as it came up the stairs. It was three floors below. He darted back into the corridor.
‘They have it covered!’ he cried in desperation.
Just then a door opened on the corridor. A dark man looked out, and in a soft, child-like voice asked, ‘Are you all right, boys?’
Mark was silent but Dermot was too scared to be silent.
‘The usher’s after us, Mister ... he’s goin’ to kill us!’ he answered.
The dark man stepped into the corridor and took young Trevor in his arms. ‘Quickly, get in here!’ The boys vanished through the door.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ a breathless voice called from the top of the stairs.
The man handed Trevor to Mark and put a finger to his mouth. He then stepped back into the corridor. ‘Yes?’
The porter was panting. He caught his breath in gulps. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I’m looking for three urchins, they’re on the loose in the hotel. Have you seen them?’
The man thought for a moment. ‘I haven’t seen any urchins.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the porter and set off on his chase again.
The man closed his door.
‘Is he gone?’ a muffled voice asked from under the bed.
The man knelt down to speak to Dermot. He smiled. ‘Yes, he’s gone. The coast is clear.’
Mark studied this man, this hero. He was dark and young, tall, but not fat, and he had kind eyes. Dermot scrambled from under the bed and joined his two brothers in the corner. ‘Kind Eyes’ spoke. ’What was that all about, or would you prefer not to tell me?‘
The boys looked at each other. Dermot spoke first.
‘The usher was goin’ to kill us because we bashed his mate.’
‘No, it’s not like that ...’
Mark interrupted and began to tell his story. Kind Eyes was easy to talk to. The boys relaxed and sat on the bed. Trevor curled up and slept for a while, sucking his thumb. Throughout the conversation, Kind Eyes would get up and offer the boys a drink or a biscuit or a sweet, all gratefully received. He wanted to know everything, and they told him - about Redser’s death, about Marion, Mr Wise, the usher - everything. But mostly about their Mammy.
Before they knew it an hour had passed. Mark jumped when he heard the time.
‘Come on, you two, Ma’s waitin’ for us!’
The boys gathered themselves together and stepped into the corridor.
Kind Eyes spoke softly to them. ‘See that door at the end?’ The boys nodded. ‘Well, that leads to the fire escape. You go down those stairs and nobody will see you leave.’
‘Thanks, Mister!’ The boys set off. Kind Eyes went back into his room and picked up an envelope from the floor. The address said ‘Mrs Agnes Browne, 92, James Larkin Court’. He set off quickly after the boys. At the top of the fire escape he called to them: ‘Mark! Trevor!’
The boys were four floors below. They froze.
‘What?’ Mark called back.
‘You dropped this.’ Kind Eyes waved the envelope.
Mark handed Trevor over to Dermot and tripped up the stairs. He took the envelope and said, ‘Thanks, Mister.’
Kind Eyes smiled and winked.
‘Mister?’ asked Mark.
‘Yes, Mark?’
‘What’s your name?’
‘My name? Harry - Harry Webb.’
‘Happy Christmas, Harry Webb.’
‘You too, Mark Browne.’
Mark joined the other two and the three sneaked back into the safe, busy streets of Dublin.
Chapter 24
IT WAS A QUIET CHRISTMAS EVE. As it fell on a Sunday, this meant that only a few shops were open, and even those were only open for half the day. Agnes set off early down to Capel Street to collect the tools for Mark. She had the fifteen pounds in her handbag and seven pounds to spare. She strolled down O‘Connell Street, taking in the festive atmosphere. At the bottom of Henry Street she stopped for a chat with some of the dealers, out trying to sell off the last of the Christmas wrapping paper. Next she went to the newsagen
t in Talbot Street, where she bought two hundred cigarettes and a newspaper. She had started buying a newspaper every day now, to see what would be on the telly. She crossed over O’Connell Street again and walked toward Middle Abbey Street. This brought her past the front of the Capitol theatre. As she passed she saw the usher standing in the hallway. He had a black eye and his right arm was in a sling. Poor man, she thought. Then she heard a voice crying: ‘Concert tickets! Last of the concert tickets!’ It was a ticket tout. Agnes’s heart lifted. She went over to him.
‘Are they Cliff Richard tickets, love?’ she asked.
‘Naw, he finished up last night,’ the man answered.
Agnes just said ‘Oh’, and went on her way. So, he had come and gone. Ah well! She got to Lenehan’s and paid the balance of her bill. As she made her way home she was filled with the excitement of all the surprises she had for the children.
By six o‘clock she had cleaned and stuffed the turkey. The ham was boiling away in the pot, and the trifle was setting in the larder. Two bathfuls of water saw the entire family bathed, as they did it in relays. Instead of calling them to the kitchen, Agnes let the children have their tea by the fire on the floor. The Christmas lights were twinkling on the tree and the laughter of the children at the television programme they were watching lifted her spirits. Agnes began to hum to herself in the kitchen: ’Santa Claus is coming to town ... Oh you better watch out ...‘ There was a knock at the front door.
‘I’ll get it!’ cried Mark.
Agnes wondered who would be calling at tea time on Christmas eve? She went out to see, wiping her hands in the tea towel as she went. Mark opened the door, and for a moment Agnes could not make out who it was.
‘Harry!’ Mark cried.
Agnes’s chin dropped. So did the tea towel.
‘Cliff!’ She said.
‘Hello, Mrs Browne,’ he said softly.
‘Cliff!’ Agnes repeated.
Mark looked from one to the other and shook his head. ‘No, Ma! This is Harry ... he’s a friend of ours.’
Agnes was about to topple over and Cliff brushed past Mark to catch her in his arms. Suddenly it all clicked for Mark. He ran to the television and turned it off. Quickly he switched on the radiogram, putting the needle on whatever record was there. It was a Cliff Richard one, of course.
Agnes recovered a little and brushed her hair back. The music played softly. Cliff smiled at her.
‘What about a dance?’ he asked softly.
She smiled coyly. ‘Oh yes!’ she said.
He took her in his arms and they began to sail around the room.
The children looked on entranced - Dermot, mouth open, Simon scratching his head in wonderment but knowing something nice was happening, Cathy with her knees tucked under her chin and giggling away to herself, Rory with a tear in his eye, and Frankie standing up slowly as recognition dawned on him.
Agnes looked at her children as she swirled around. The fire glowed on their faces and the Christmas lights sparkled in their eyes. She felt dizzy and a little faint, just for a moment. She closed her eyes and in the distance she could hear Marion give a yelp of laughter, and she laughed happily herself.
Mark slowly and gently lifted Trevor on to his lap.
Trevor laughed and pointed at the dancing couple. ‘Harwee?’ he gurgled.
‘Yeh, Trev, that’s ... Harry,’ Mark whispered back.
Trevor smiled and pointed again. ‘Mamma?’
Mark smiled a beaming smile and whispered: ‘Yeh, Trev, that’s her ... that’s our Mammy!’
Sometimes this turbulent, tragic, sad and busy world turns on its head and comes to a sudden halt just to accommodate somebody’s dream ...
Dream on, Agnes Browne! For everyone’s sake, dream on!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Dedication
Chapter 1 - 29 MARCH 1967 - DUBLIN
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The Mammy Page 14