The Young Wan (24 page)

Agnes was surprised that her mother remembered. “Yes, the wedding,” she replied.

Agnes’ mother took a sip of her tea and pointed to Agnes’ bedroom door. “What’s that noise?” she asked.

“I think the cow is calving.” Agnes laughed; so did her mother, but the poor woman didn’t know why. Agnes laughed because behind that bedroom door, asleep, lay her best friend and bridesmaid-to-be, Marion Delany. And, indeed, listening to Marion’s snoring, grunting, moaning, groaning, and farting, one could think that it was indeed a cow giving birth.

Still smiling, Agnes stood.

“Come on, Mammy, let’s get you back to bed.” But her mother didn’t move. Her eyes were downcast. Agnes stooped.

“Is the bed wet, Mammy?” she asked softly, and her mother nodded.

“That’s that bloody dog again,” Agnes said and stood erect. “I’m sorry, Mammy, I’ll try and keep him out of your room.”

“It’s all right, dear, the poor animal doesn’t mean it.”

“I’ll just go and turn the mattress and change the sheet.” Agnes took a clean sheet from the linen box and went to her mother’s bedroom, on the way meeting Marion coming out of
her
bedroom, wiping her eyes of sleep.

“What fucking dog? You don’t have a dog,” Marion said sleepily.

“Shut up, Marion,” Agnes said before vanishing through her mother’s bedroom door.

“Okay,” Marion replied, and made for the teapot.

In the bedroom, Agnes stripped the bed and turned the mattress. It was the turning of the mattress that reminded Agnes. Quickly she left the room and went to her own bedroom. On the way she noticed Marion, now with tea in hand, sitting and chatting with her mother. When she got into her own bedroom, Agnes made her way around the window side of the room. She knew it would be there, but she felt compelled to check. She lifted the corner of the mattress and, yes, it was there. A large cream-colored envelope stuffed with papers. Agnes dropped the mattress and returned to the kitchen. Here her now excited mother introduced her to Marion.

“Agnes, this is Shirley Starlight, we’ve just met.”

“Hello,” Marion said, and flapped her eyelashes.

“Shirley has just been telling me she is a model from France,” Agnes’ mother went on, “a
most
interesting girl. Shirley’s been married four times and all to film actors.”

Scowling at Marion, Agnes took her mother’s arm. “Come on, Mammy, your bed is ready.” She brought her mother into her bed and tucked her in.

On her return to the kitchenette, she found Marion reclined across the table. In her cotton nightie Marion looked like a sack of spuds. She spoke with as close to a French accent as she would ever get: “’allo, I am a model; would you like to paint my titties?”

Agnes burst into laughter and dived onto Marion. She wrestled her to the floor, where they rolled around for some minutes before Agnes pinned Marion down.

“Give up?” Agnes asked.

“Okay, bitch” Marion gasped.

They laughed as Agnes rolled off Marion, and they lay there side by side, staring at the ceiling, both exhausted. It was just like they had done as children. Lying there in St. Stephen’s Green and staring at the sky, the sweet smell of freshly cut grass filling their nostrils. They would lie there for hours, swapping dreams. Now there was no sky, just a ceiling, and the wedding dress.

With the telepathic shorthand that only friends know, Marion spoke first. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“He won’t marry you, Agnes. He’s a nice priest but he’s a priest. He’ll just turn you away.”

“We’ll see.”

“Why make a fuss? Fuck it. Wear a suit and get it over with.” Marion sat up. Agnes joined her. “It’s my dress. It’s the dress I’ve been waiting to wear since I was a child. My christening robe was cut from it, Dolly’s christening robe was cut from it. Both of our Communion dresses were cut from it, and by Jaysus, I am going to be married in it.”

Marion placed her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Well,
Mrs. Browne,
whatever happens, you know I’ll be beside you all the way.” The two girls hugged.

After they brushed themselves off, Marion took the three used teacups to the sink, rinsed them under the water, and then left them upside down draining on the draining board. As she was wiping her hands in the towel, she asked, “Does your mother know about Dolly?”

“No. Jesus, she didn’t even know Dolly is in prison. No, she knows nothing.” Agnes put her hands to her head. “Oh Jesus, we’ve to do
that
today as well. Here, come on, Marion, we’d better get some sleep.”

The two young women went to bed. Marion was dead to the world as soon as her head touched the pillow. Agnes sat and looked at her. A smile on her face.

It was now 3:45 a.m. by the clock on Agnes’ mother’s bedside table, and she was wide awake.

Connie had not said so, but she had seen the wedding dress hanging on the door lintel in the other room. It made her happy, so happy. That dress was such a part of her own journey from then to now. Such a part. Smiling from ear to ear, Agnes’ mother rocked back and forth, sitting up in her bed; she was softly humming to herself. One could see in her eyes that she was not “there.”

Agnes did not sleep. Instead she sat listening to Marion’s cycle of grunts and farts and stared out of the window. She saw the sun rise slowly. The golden rays creeping up from the bottom of her bed. When it shines on my face I’ll get up, she thought. When it shines on my face.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Father Pius had guessed correctly; he did not sleep. He had prayed a little and smoked a lot. The ashtray, now overflowing, was testament to that. He reached for yet another one from his pack. Empty. He crushed the pack and tossed it toward the rubbish can. It missed by a lot. He made the decision to give it one more try. One last effort to get Agnes to see sense. Donning his jacket, he made his way quietly down the oak staircase and slipped out the door, closing the door gently behind him. He trotted down the granite steps and had gone no more than a hundred yards before he met a large, burly-looking man.

“Morning, Father,” the man said, and tipped his cap.

“Morning,” Father Pius replied. The man passed, and Father Pius spun to call after him. “Excuse me?” the priest called.

The man turned and walked back to the priest, removing his cap as he did. “Yes, Father?”

“Could I trouble you for a cigarette?” Father Pius asked.

“Certainly, Father.” The man dug his hand into the heavy docker’s jacket he was wearing and came up with a twenty-pack. He removed three from the pack and handed them to the priest. “Here you go, Father, you may as well have a couple, you won’t get a shop open for at least an hour yet.” The man then produced some matches and struck one, which he held in cupped hands for the priest to get a light. As the priest was lighting up, the man stared at him. “Do I know you?” the man asked.

“Well, are you from the parish?” Father Pius answered his question with a question.

“I am, but, begging your pardon, Father, I don’t use the church, if you know what I mean. No, I mean do I know you from somewhere else?” the man asked, scrutinizing the priest’s face more now.

“I doubt it,” answered the priest. He took a pull on the cigarette and blew out a hearty puff.

The man replaced his cap. “Right, then, must be off. Some of us have to work for a living.” And he was gone. Father Pius looked after the man. “P. J. Williams, if memory serves me,” Father Pius said to himself, and then he too took off, but in the opposite direction. By the time Father Pius had reached Agnes’ building, he had more or less formed his final argument in his mind. He took a deep breath and entered the building. It was quiet inside, so he made an effort to climb the stairs to Agnes’ flat as quietly as possible. When he reached her door, he was about to knock when he heard a burst of laughter from behind the door. His closed fist stopped just inches from the door, and he listened. He could hear the sound of rough-and-tumble playing. And then silence—well, just panting of breaths. When they spoke he recognized the voices of Agnes and Marion.

“Jesus, I’m getting married,” he heard Agnes softly say.

“Yeh,” her friend answered.

“In that white dress.” Agnes’ voice was determined.

“But first . . . ?” It was Marion he heard now. Then they said a name together:

“Dolly!”

Moments later, Father Pius was back on the street on his way home. He had not the stomach for it. He needed more cigarettes.

Dolly was released at 9:30 a.m. that morning for her two-day parole. She would board a bus to Dublin, which would get into Busaras, the city’s main bus station, at 11:45 a.m.

The bus arrived exactly on time. Agnes and Marion were there to meet it. In her bag Agnes had the yellow package she had slept on for weeks. They watched as the passengers disembarked.

When Dolly appeared in the doorway, they both cried out her name:
“Dolly!”
They ran to each other. The three girls hugged in a huddle, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Come on, let’s go to the café and have a cup of tea and a smoke,” was Agnes’ suggestion.

Marion wasn’t sure. “Agnes, watch the time,” she cautioned.

“We have time, don’t worry, we have time, come on!”

The three went for tea.

“What are you talking about, no time? The wedding isn’t for four and a quarter hours yet,” Dolly said.

Marion looked about suspiciously. Agnes took Dolly by the shoulders and looked into her face. “Dolly, you are not going to the wedding.” Dolly frowned, confused. “And you are not going back to that place either!” Agnes said this through her teeth.

Dolly shook her head. “You’re crazy, Agnes. They’ll come and get me. Even if I hide, they’ll find me, they will; no, I’m going back.” Dolly was afraid. Afraid to believe that she might have a chance at freedom.

“They won’t find you where you are going. Come on, let’s get some tea and I’ll explain everything.” They made their way to a table, and there was no further conversation until they had been served. Then Agnes produced the yellow envelope. The first thing she took from it was the passport. She slid it across the table to Dolly. Dolly opened it and was amazed. The name on it was Agnes Reddin, but the picture was Dolly. Her last one from school.

“How did you do this?” She was still in shock.

“It was easy. Here, look at this!” Agnes said as she flipped through the pages of the passport until she came to the visa for Canadian residency. “You are going to Canada!” Agnes announced.

“When?” Dolly asked. Both Marion and Agnes looked up at the clock.

“In three hours,” Agnes said and smiled. She then produced a flight ticket. And a bundle of Canadian dollars.

“There’s three hundred dollars there; that should get you started. Now, when you get to Canada, you will make your way to the New Residents Desk in Toronto Airport. They will bring you to your accommodation and introduce you to the person who will help you get a job. It’s all written down in this letter from the embassy, you can read it on the flight.” Agnes put everything back into the envelope again. She was pleased that her plan had worked out. Dolly began to cry. Marion took the cue and stood.

“I’ll go for a little walk.” She left the sisters alone. When she was gone, Agnes put both of her hands on Dolly’s.

“It’s going to be okay. A new life, a new place, new people, and a new start,” she said.

Dolly held the envelope out to Agnes. “But this is
your
dream!
Always
your dream!” she said through sobs.

“I can’t go, Dolly. There’s Mammy, there’s Redser, a new baby, the stall, a million reasons why I can’t go. But you can. And you only need one reason . . . freedom! Yes, it is my dream, but I can still get something from it. You live it! Please, Dolly, you live my dream, for both of us.” Agnes was barely able to speak now.

“I love you, Agnes,” Dolly said.

“Then go, go to Canada, for I swear to God, Dolly Reddin, if you go back to that place I will surely die of heartbreak.” Agnes was deadly serious.

“I’ll go,” Dolly said.

“Thank you, Dolly. And I love you too.” Agnes smiled. Marion arrived back at the table.

“Come on, you two, the airport bus is leaving in three minutes. Oh and, Dolly, here,” Marion said as she handed Dolly a suitcase.

“What’s that?” Agnes asked.

“Stuff,” Marion replied.

“What kind of stuff?” Agnes had not thought of a suitcase.

“Clothes, underwear, makeup, and, you know,
stuff.
I’ve been buying little bits since you told me about the idea. She can’t arrive in Canada without
stuff.
”

The Tannoy boomed out the imminent departure of the airport express bus. They hustled Dolly onto it. The bus pulled away almost immediately. Agnes ran beside it, waving to Dolly, who was crying openly now, but trying to smile. Then she was gone. Agnes walked back to Marion, wiping her eyes of the tears.

“You looked like a fuckin’ idiot, running after that bus, Agnes,” Marion said.

“Shut up, Marion,” Agnes answered.