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James Larkin Court for Agnes, and she cried every step of the way.

     
    Teatime in the Browne house was storytime in many ways as each of the children fought for time to tell the highlight of their day. Cathy was all hyped up because there was to be a go-cart race down Summerhill in a week’s time and she and Cathy Dowdall were going to be in it.
    ‘They won’t let youse in, youse are girls,’ Dermot stated.
    ‘So?’ Cathy asked.
    ‘Well, that’s it. Youse are girls. Girls don’t go into go-cart races.’ Dermot knew about these things.
    Cathy folded her arms in front of her and sat back in the chair, staring at Dermot. ‘Says who?’ she demanded.
    Dermot thought for a moment. ‘There’s a rule somewhere. There has to be!’
    ‘Well, there’s not. And me and Cathy Dowdall are goin’ into the race and what’s more we’re goin’ to win it.’
    Agnes placed a full teapot or the table and said, ‘Good girl, Cathy. Who’s pushin’?‘
    ‘I am,’ Cathy said proudly.
    ‘I was thinkin’ so. That Cathy Dowdall wan would be too cute to have you sittin’ in the go-cart and her pushin’ - the lazy bitch!’
    ‘But I love pushin’, Ma! And I’m the fastest pusher in The Jarro.‘
    ‘Good girl, Cathy,’ Mark joined in, and winked at her.
    As she poured out more tea for the boys Agnes asked as offhand as she could, ‘Was Frankie home this afternoon?’
    Dermot was the one that answered. Very quietly, he simply said, ‘No.’
    Cathy piped up, ‘I seen him today round the back of the shops, him and five other skinheads smokin’ and drinkin’ cider, Ma!’
    Mark leaned across and placed his hand on Cathy’s arm. ‘Shush,’ he said. ‘Nobody likes a snitch, Cathy.’
    Back at the cooker Agnes pretended she hadn’t heard Cathy’s remark. Before anyone had time to react to what Cathy had said Trevor strolled into the kitchen. ‘Look, Ma!’ he called out. He was holding ten new paintings he had done that day. He trotted over to the table and placed them on Mark’s lap saying, ‘Here, Marko.’
    Mark feigned surprise. ‘Are these for me? Wow! Thanks very much, Trevor, you’re a great boy!’ And he bent over and kissed the boy on the forehead. He began to flick through the pictures. ‘They’re very good, Trevor.’
    Agnes decided to add more accolades. ‘Well done, Trev. Sure, you’re a great boy!’
    ‘But they really are very good, Ma, look!’ said Mark, holding up two of the pictures.
    Agnes looked at the pictures and smiled. ‘Yeh, they are very good. But, Jesus, I hope the teacher is not goin’ to spend all her time teachin’ him paintin’. That’ll be no good to him - unless she teaches him a bit of wallpaper-hangin’ as well.‘
    The children all laughed - it was a welcome reprieve from the ‘Frankie’ subject. When tea was over the family began to disperse, Simon and Dermot to the boys’ bedroom to do their homework, Cathy to the room she shared with her mother to do press-ups. Trevor lay on the floor in the sitting-room watching TV. No homework for him! . Ten paintings a day was his limit. There was just Agnes and Mark left at the tea table.
    ‘I’m headin’ out to the bingo, Mark. Listen, Rory’s dinner is on the pot with a lid over it - if he’s not in by quarter to eight turn the heat off underneath the pot.’
    ‘Sure, Ma. I need a shirt and tie.’
    ‘Ah Jaysus, Mark, you’re not in court, are yeh?’
    ‘No, I’m not,’ Mark answered emphatically. ‘Mr McHugh wants me to go to a meetin’ with him on Monday.’
    ‘A meetin’? For what? What kind of meetin‘?’
    While Agnes sipped her tea and lit yet another cigarette Mark told the story of his encounter that day with Sean McHugh. ‘So now I need a bleedin’ shirt and tie,’ he ended.
    ‘I’ll go down to Clery’s with yeh tomorrow! D’yeh know, Mark, it’s no harm. You could do with a bit of decent gear. We’ll get yeh the whole works. Shoes, shirt, tie, jacket, pants, the lot!‘
    ‘Steady, Ma!