The Mammy by Brendan O'Carroll Page A

Because Trevor had mastered the art of unclipping the straps, Agnes now also tied him into the go-car. The rope was tied around one ankle, brought around the side bar, across his chest, around the back of the go-car, back across his chest, around the side bar on the opposite side and finally tied to the other ankle. The neighbours called the child ‘Houdini’.
    Just as Agnes, Cathy and go-car were about to exit onto the street in walked Mrs Ward. She beamed at the trio.
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Browne,’ she said.
    ‘Good morning, Mrs Ward.’
    ‘Hello, Cathy.’
    ‘Hello, Mrs Ward.’
    ‘Ah ... and hello, little Trevor!’
    ‘Fuck off,’ answered Trevor with a smile, and with that the trio were out in the street.
    Today was the day that the new carpet was to be chosen. Agnes headed down James Larkin Street towards the city. About one-third of the way down the street she noticed that there were builders working on a shopfront across the road from Foley’s pub.
    ‘What’s that goin’ on?’ she asked Cathy.
    ‘It’s a new chipper.’
    ‘A chipper? Sure we already have Macari’s! What do we want with another one?‘
    ‘No, it’s not that kinda one, Ma! It’s goin’ to sell pizzas.’
    ‘What are they?’
    ‘I dunno, but Cathy Dowdall says they’re lovely.’
    ‘Are they foreign?’
    ‘Must be.’
    ‘Well, the Brownes won’t be eatin’ anythin’ foreign, so they can keep it!’
    They were now abreast of the new shop and Agnes glanced in the window. What made her stop was the carpet. She had never seen carpet in a chipper, for a start, and on top of this, the carpet on the floor was exactly what she had in mind for the flat. She backed up to look at it properly. A man came out of the shop. He was tanned and handsome and very attractive. He looked at Agnes standing there, her face pressed up against the shop window and at the same time trying to shield the reflection with her hand. He was French, had just arrived in Ireland to help set up his father’s pizza parlour and this was his first contact with an Irish woman.
    ‘Whee h’air nut h‘open yit, lady,’ he tried.
    Agnes turned and stared at him. He was really handsome.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘I say ... de place es anot h’open!‘
    The place is not open, is that what you’re tryin’ to say?‘
    ‘Yes ... dis ees it!’
    ‘Do I look like I give a shite?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right, we h’open tonight.‘
    ‘No, I said shite ... sh ... ah it doesn’t matter! Look, where did you get that carpet?’
    ‘Sorry, you spik too fast.’
    ‘Too fast? Right. Where ... did ... you ...’ Agnes pointed,
    ‘getto ... that ... carpet ... eh ... carpeto?’ Agnes now was on one knee slapping the ground. Another man joined the first one and both looked at Agnes as if she were mad. Agnes tried again, this time to the second man. ‘Scuso meo ... the carpeto ... which shoppo did you get it in ... o?’
    The second man wrinkled his forehead, turned his head toward the shop door and yelled, ‘Hey, lads! Come out an’ look at this wan! She’s a looney.’
    ‘You speak English!’ Agnes exclaimed.
    ‘I’m from Sheriff Street, love, we nearly all d up there.’
    ‘Well, he doesn’t.’ Agnes pointed at the foreigner.
    ‘Ah, he’s French, but he’s all right. They got the carpet in McHugh’s of Capel Street, love.’
    ‘Ah thanks. It’s nice isn’t it?’
    ‘Yeh, it is. It’s nice, all right.’
    ‘I’ll see yeh, thanks.’ Agnes took hold of the go-car and pushed on. But the Frenchman grabbed her arm and stopped her.
    ‘Hello! My name ees Pierre,’ he smiled.
    ‘Eh, lovely. I’m delighted for yeh.’ Agnes went to move on but he wouldn’t let go. She looked down at his hand. No wedding ring. He let go.
    ‘What ees your name, ladee?’
    ‘My name is Agnes. Agnes Browne.’
    ‘You ees fery beeautiful, Agnes Browne.’
    Agnes blushed and pushed away from him. ‘You mind your mouth, yeh ... yeh ... Frenchman!’
    Agnes scurried down