The Mammy (17 page)

‘What’s up, Gillian?’ he asked in a gravelly voice.

‘This little fucker ... he won’t go away, he’s annoyin’ me.’

Mark smiled up at the usher. ‘Howye! I need to get Mr Richard to sign this.’ Again he held out the notebook. In one swift movement the usher snatched the book, tore it in half, and tossed it into a litter bin in the lobby, and in the time-honoured tradition of the doorman, said: ‘Right, son! Fuck off! Go on!’

Mark stared aghast at the litter bin. The usher moved to him and pushed him towards the door. Mark squared up to the man.

The big usher stood legs apart and put his hands on his hips. He saw the anger in Mark’s face, and smiled. ‘Don’t fuckin’ annoy me, son, now move!’

Mark’s right foot moved quicker than the usher expected. It made contact, on target, between the big man’s legs - Mark could only see his ankle sock as his foot vanished into the man’s crotch.

‘Ahh ... yeh little bollix!’ the man screamed as his face turned a crimson red. Mark ran to the doors, and into his first problem. Like many theatres, the Capitol had six glass entrance doors, and, like many theatres, only one of these was left unlocked during office hours. Mark could not remember quick enough which one he had come in. He made a choice, the one on the far left. Wrong! The next one - locked! The next one down was the door to freedom, but the usher got there first.

‘Right, mister fuckin’ hard man, try that again.’

Mark had met his second problem.

By the time Mark reached home his left eye was just about fully closed and had started to change colour from purple to black. The eye had gone with the man’s first blow. Mark went down on the cold, tiled surface. The gleaming black leather shoes of the usher had put in the bruises that now covered Mark’s back and chest. Mark had limped home. Agnes yelped when she saw the state of him.

‘What happened to you?’ She ran to him.

‘A fight ... it’s nothing.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, I’m grand, Ma,’ he lied.

Dermot jumped from the chair in front of the telly. ‘Jaysus, that’s a beauty. Who won?’

‘It was a draw.’

‘Who was it, Marko? Was it Mallet Maguire?’ Dermot knew these things.

‘No, some fella from Pearse Street.’

Agnes spun towards him. ‘You stay away from Pearse Street, they use razors over there, diyeh hear me?’

‘Yeh, Ma, I hear yeh.’

Mark went to his bedroom and lay down. Dermot followed him in, and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Mark and smiled. ‘So, Marko, what really happened? Who gave yeh the hidin’?‘

Mark laughed and told Dermot the whole story.

Chapter 23

IT WAS DECEMBER TWENTY-SECOND, and Agnes had lots of jobs for the boys to do. However, Mark and Dermot had an errand of their own to take care of first. They waited in the archway of the GPO. The Garda was standing by the main entrance, where he always stood. The boys waited.

‘This’d better not backfire on us, Dermo,’ Mark said. He was worried.

‘It won’t, leave it to me.‘

‘Make sure you’re right beside the copper - right?’

‘I will. It’ll be all right, just wait and see.’ Dermot was confident. Around the comer, at the same time as yesterday when the two boys followed him, came the big usher from the Capitol, strutting along as if the city belonged to him, a newspaper under his arm.

‘Go —
now!’
Mark pushed Dermot. Dermot ran up to the usher and tugged at his coat. The big man stopped and looked down at the boy.

‘What do you want?’ the man asked gruffly.

‘Is this yours, mister?’ Dermot held out a sixpenny coin. The man bent to look at what was in the boy’s hand. As he did Dermot slapped him as hard as he could with his right fist. The blow caught the giant right in the eye. He instinctively grabbed Dermot. Now it was Mark’s turn to kick into action. As planned, he ran for the Garda. Dermot began to scream.

‘No! No! Me Mammy told me not to talk to men like you. Let me go ... I don’t want to!’

‘You little bastard ... I’ll break your fuckin’ neck!’ the giant roared, holding on to his now-swelling eye with one hand whilst clutching Dermot firmly in the other. The policeman intervened.

‘Unhand that boy!’ the Garda said with authority. ‘Let him go, now!’

The giant pushed the policeman away. ‘Go away, I’ll take care of this little fucker meself.’

The Garda drew his baton, and waved it menacingly. ‘Release him right now, boyo!’

The usher dropped the boy. Dermot, in an Oscar-winning performance, hugged the Garda’s leg: ‘Please, Garda, please don’t make me do it. Please keep him away from me!’

‘It’s all right, son, calm down, nobody’s going to hurt you. What’s going on here?’

Dermot sniffled and wiped his eyes. A crowd had now gathered around the group and ears were being cocked to catch the whole story.

Dermot began: ‘This man asked me to go down the lane with him for a wee-wee!’ Dermot cried like a baby. The crowd were not pleased, they began to mutter, and the policeman could envisage an ugly scene on his hands.

‘That’s a lie!’ the usher protested.

‘No, it’s not, I heard him sayin’ it!’ Mark came in now.

The usher turned towards the voice and saw Mark. ‘You? You little bastard!’ He lunged at Mark.

Without a moment’s hesitation the Garda brought the baton down full strength between the big man’s shoulder blades. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. One or two of the crowd poked a bit of boot in here and there. The Garda put a knee into the man’s back and handcuffed him with his arms behind his back. In the mayhem, Mark and Dermot slipped away.

The two boys skipped up O‘Connell Street, elated with the success of their plan.

‘That showed him!’ Dermot yelped with delight.

‘Yeh! Don’t fuck with Mrs Browne’s boys!’ added Mark, and they both laughed heartily.

They were still abuzz when they came into the flat.

Agnes smiled at them. ‘Youse are full of the joys,’ she remarked.

‘Yeh,’ Mark said as he flopped onto the couch. Dermot of course went straight to the telly.

‘Yeh needn’t think yis are goin’ to sit in front of that,’ announced Agnes. ‘I have work for yis. Turn it off.’ Dermot turned the television set off.

‘Now, Mark, put Trevor’s coat on him and the three of yis go round to the Gresham and pick up a message for me off Mr Eamonn Doyle.’

‘Who’s he?’ Mark asked.

‘He’s a steward in the shop, I think. Just ask for him.’

Mark wrapped Trevor up like a bag of rags and the trio set off for the Gresham Hotel. In the streets people were in good festive mood, shouting ‘Hello’ and ’Happy Christmas’ to each other. Christmas is a nice time, Mark thought. Trevor swung like a pendulum between his two brothers, and smiled broadly as he told all who would listen to ‘Fuck off.’

The Gresham was a wondrous place. The boys climbed spotless white marble steps and went into the lobby. The massive expanse of royal blue carpet, the gigantic Water-ford crystal chandelier, and deep, buttoned leather seating were all things the boys had only ever seen on the movie screen. People were milling through the lobby in fur coats, three piece suits and fancy hats. Mark felt dirty. They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then a woman came out from behind a desk to them. Mark was expecting a tongue-lashing, but instead she was nice. ‘Hello, boys. Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.

‘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.