The Mammy Read Online Free Page A

had picked the only selfish bastard in the family to be her favourite, her pet. Mammies are blind, he supposed.
    It was the meningitis that had started it. Mark recalled vividly the panic in the flat that night. The ambulance at the door, Frankie vomiting vile-smelling brown stuff. He could still see Frankie, eyes closed and beads of sweat all over his face, as the two ambulance men carried him down the steps of the building to the waiting ambulance. His mother was distraught, his father pale and shaking, not knowing what to do. They were taking Frankie to the fever hospital. Well, thought Mark, that’s that. Mark had seen two of his uncles go into the fever hospital with TB, and they never came out again. The fever hospital, as every kid in The Jarro knew, was where you went to wait for God to collect you. He would never see Frankie again. As the ambulance pulled away, Mark remembered a kid coming up to him and asking, ‘Who is it?’ ‘Me brother Frankie,’ he had said. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ the boy had asked. Unable to remember or pronounce meningitis, Mark simply said, ‘He’s fucked’, and went back into the flat.
    That night in his prayers Mark asked God to spare Frankie’s life. God answered his prayer. Six weeks later Frankie was home - and Mammy waited on him hand and foot from then on! Even now, years later, when Mammy would ask Mark to go down the stairs to the coal hole for a bucket of coal, if Mark dared suggest that Frankie should take his turn, he would be met with a scowl from his mother and the usual reply: ‘Remember the meningitis!’ Mark learned a valuable lesson from all of this - don’t be too hasty with your prayers!
    As the priest announced that the Mass had ended a line of people formed, and one by one they shook hands with Mrs Browne and Mark, and patted the heads of the children. Almost without exception they would say to Mrs Browne: ‘Sorry for your troubles’, and to Mark: ‘You’re the man of the house now, good lad.’ Mark understood this ... well, nearly understood it. It meant, he thought, that he would be expected to take his father’s place - bring in the money, protect the family, both of which he was prepared to do, and felt able to do. He worried, though. He hoped it didn’t also mean that he had to sleep with his mother ... he wasn’t into that. No way!
    The hearse pulled slowly away from the church. Behind it walked the funeral attendance, led by the Browne family. Mammy was flanked by her children, Cathy holding her left hand and Frankie linking her right arm. Mark walked behind her. He held Trevor’s hand and beside him walked Rory, holding a twin in each hand. It was about a mile to Ballybough cemetery. On the way, the hearse turned down James Larkin Court. All the curtains on all the windows in every flat were drawn. The hearse stopped outside the Browne’s front door. On the door a simple white card with a black border was pinned. It read: ‘Redser Browne RIP.’
    The hearse paused for a minute, then, with a growl, moved on again. They were within sight of the cemetery when Agnes first heard the hiss. She was puzzled initially, but then a huge puff of steam from the front of the Ford Zephyr - that was the hearse - announced that something was amiss with the vehicle. It stopped abruptly and the trailing crowd came to a ragged halt. The driver and his assistant jumped from the front of the vehicle. Some of the men went up to join them. There followed a communal staring into the engine, then a discussion about how far the cemetery was. The distance was a moot point. It seemed it was just too far to carry the coffin and yet the vehicle could not be driven for fear of damaging the engine. The decision was made to push the hearse to the gates and carry the coffin from there. More men were drafted from the cortege and, with a heave, the Zephyr lurched forward.
    ‘Mark, what’s in the box in the back of the car?’ Cathy asked suddenly.
    ‘Da,’ answered