Mary Ann and Bill Page 10

  When she talked to them like this they would stare at her in a disconcerting way and she always had to busy herself in order not to laugh in front of them, because the transference of Bill’s affection from them to herself was really funny when she came to think of it. And now here he was on her lap again, and every time she lifted the book up he would push his muzzle in front of it and open his mouth and laugh at her.

  Mary Ann was convinced that he was laughing; his lolling tongue, the light in his eyes, the way his dewlaps quivered, he couldn’t be doing anything else but laughing.

  She had got into the habit over the last few afternoons of talking to him. ‘I’d like to read if you don’t mind,’ she said to him. ‘Oh, you do? Well, do you know this is the only time of the day I have to myself?…What do I want time to myself for?…Don’t ask such a silly question. Oh, you know it’s a silly question, do you, and you’re sorry.’ She put her head on one side and surveyed him; then touching his muzzle with her finger she said, ‘You know you are the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, at least the ugliest dog, but you’ve got something…What? I don’t know, you tell me. We’ve all got something, you say? Oh yes, very likely…How do you see us, Bill, eh? What do you call us in your mind? Big he, and little she? Angel one, and angel two?’

  She laughed at the description of her family and Bill wriggled on her knee, then let his front paws go slack around her hips and placed his muzzle in his favourite position, the hollow of her breasts, and she stroked his head and stared at him, and he stared back at her.

  How long they remained like this she wasn’t sure but when she next spoke aloud she said, ‘It’s an idea. Why not? It’s worth trying; dafter things than that have been known to succeed. I’ve seen nothing like it in any of the papers. There’s Dorfy of course. She writes dialect pieces in the Shields Gazette, but this would be from a dog’s point of view, how he sees us. I could make it funny. Yes, if I tried I could make it funny…Ooh, I’m sorry.’ She had jumped up so quickly that Bill found himself sprawling on the floor and she stooped down and soothed his rumpled feelings. Then looking into his eyes again she said, ‘It would be funny, wouldn’t it, if it came off.’ And now there came into her mind the picture of Diana Blenkinsop.

  Diana Blenkinsop, and life from the viewpoint of a dog would appear to have no connection whatever, but in Mary Ann’s mind they were closely linked.

  During the next three weeks the house was like a simmering kettle, on the point of boiling but never reaching it.

  Mary Ann was in a state of suppressed excitement. She was hugging a secret to herself, and if things worked out, as she prayed they would, that would show them. When her thoughts took this line she saw the picture of Corny and Diana Blenkinsop standing together. Twice in the last week she had seen Diana come out of Corny’s office; once she had seen their heads together under the bonnet of her car. She was the type, Mary Ann decided, that would go to any lengths to get what she wanted, even to messing up the engine of her car.

  She had written, and written, and rewritten three five-hundred-word snippets about Bill, supposedly his outlook on life, and last Monday she had sent them to the editor of the Newcastle Courier. Now the sight of the postman coming along the road would drive her down the stairs to meet him at the door, but here it was Friday and she had received no reply, not even an acknowledgement. But then, she hadn’t received the stuff back either, so perhaps no news was good news …

  Corny’s life over the last three weeks had been one of irritation. First in his mind was the fact that Mary Ann was playing up. She was up to something, he could tell. He only hoped to God it wasn’t anything against Diana Blenkinsop, but knowing to what limits she had gone to put things right for her father, one such effort, incidentally, resulting in him losing one hand, he was more than a little worried as to what lengths she would go with regards to himself. And then there was Jimmy. For two pins he would give him the sack, but where would he get another like him? Jimmy could turn a car inside out. He was a good worker; give him a job and he stuck at it until it was finished, but the quality didn’t make up for being light-fingered. Two ten shilling notes had gone from the till this week. The second one he had marked, but when later he had asked Jimmy if he had change for a pound note on him, and Jimmy had given him a ten shilling note and ten shillings worth of silver, it hadn’t been the marked note. He was cute was Jimmy; and that was the worst type of thief, a cute one.

  And then there was Mr Blenkinsop. He had come into the garage yesterday and looked around for quite a while before he said, ‘You all right, Corny?’ and he’d replied, ‘Yes, I’m all right. What makes you think I’m not?’

  ‘The little lady all right, Mary Ann?’

  ‘Yes, yes, she’s all right.’

  Then Mr Blenkinsop had jerked his head and said, ‘Oh, I was just wondering.’

  He didn’t ask him what was making him wonder, he daren’t. Had he noticed that his daughter was never away from the garage? Even lunchtimes now she would come in. She said it was the quickest way to the hill beyond; she sunbathed there when it was fine. She’d even brought her lunch twice or thrice and had it out there. He wished to God she hadn’t come to work here. Nothing had been the same since. He was all mixed up inside. He kept telling himself that the next time she put her nose in the door he would ignore her, but when he heard her say ‘Cor-ny!’ in that particular way she had, he found himself looking at her and smiling at her, and saying, ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ He agreed with every damn thing she said.

  But yesterday she had said, ‘I wonder what you would be like in a fight, Corny?’ and he had said, ‘Fight? Who should I fight?’

  She had shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was just wondering.’

  ‘You don’t wonder things like that without a reason.’ He had stopped smiling at her, but she had continued to smile at him; then walking away she said, ‘Do you know that our handsome ganger is upstairs?’

  He made himself utter a small ‘Huh!’ when she turned and confronted him, then shook his head and said, ‘Well, what would you like to make of that? She’s known Johnny Murgatroyd since they were bairns.’ He had then nodded his head in a cautionary fashion towards her as he said, ‘You’re a starter, Diana, aren’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean, a starter?’

  ‘You know what I mean all right. They could say the same about you. You’re in here with me, but you’re not going to lose your good name because of that, are you?’

  ‘I might.’ She walked a step towards him. ‘Perhaps I have already.’

  He gulped in his throat, rubbed his hands with an imaginary piece of rag, then said, ‘You want your backside smacked, that’s what you want. Go on outside and do your sunbathing.’

  ‘You’re trying to make me out a child, Cor-ny, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘But you know I’m not. We both know I’m not, so…’ She tossed her blonde head backwards and her hair jumped from her shoulders as if it was alive. ‘We’ve got to face up to these things. But there’s plenty of time, it’ll grow on you. I’m in no hurry.’

  She went out through the small door in the back wall of the garage, and Corny went to a car, lifted the bonnet and bent over the engine with his hands gripping the framework. My God! What was he to do? She was a little bitch. No, she was a big bitch; a long-legged, beautiful, attractive big bitch. He hated her. No. No, he didn’t, he…His head went further down over the engine. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think the word …

  And the children? Rose Mary was unhappy for a number of reasons. Their David didn’t want to play with her at all. Even when they came home from school he didn’t want to play with her like he used to. He would yell at her and say, ‘I’m going with the cars.’ She didn’t want to go into the garage with the cars but she wanted to be near David. And she wanted to be near Bill, but Bill, after ten or fifteen minutes’ romping, would make straight for the house and upstairs and their mam. She was glad that Bill liked her mam because now they could keep him. But he just liked h
er mam and he didn’t like her. Well, if he liked her he didn’t want to stay with her, he just wanted to stay with her mam. She couldn’t understand it.

  And then there was her dad. He used to come and play with them when they were in bed. If he was late coming upstairs he would always come into the room and have a game with them. That was, up till lately. Now, even if she kept awake until he came in, he would just kiss her and say goodnight and God bless, and that was all.

  And her mam. Her mam was worried and she knew what her mam was worried about ’cos she had seen her standing to the side of the curtains looking down onto the drive, watching her dad and Diana Blenkinsop. Yet her mam hadn’t cried these last few weeks. Of the two, it was her dad she was more worried about. Her dad…and Diana Blenkinsop …

  And David. David, too, had his worries. David’s worries were deep; they were things not to be talked about. You didn’t think too much about them but you did something to try to get them to go away. His worries were concerned first with Jimmy, secondly with his dad. About Jimmy he was doing something definite; with regard to the problem of his dad he was working something out.

  In a way it was David who had inherited his mother’s ingenuity.

  Chapter Eight: Ben

  The phone rang about quarter to seven. It was Lizzie. ‘Is that you, Mary Ann?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Mam.’

  ‘I’ve got some rather sad news for you. Ben is going fast. Tony’s just been down, and he says that Ben asked for you, just as if you were in the house. “Where’s Mary Ann?” he said. He’s rambling a little, but I wondered whether you’d like to come and see him.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mam, yes. I didn’t know he was ill.’

  ‘He’s only been bad since Tuesday. But he’s a good age, you know.’

  ‘What’s Mr Lord going to do without him?’

  ‘That’s what we’re all asking, lass. But he’s got Tony and Lettice.’

  ‘I know, I know, but they’re not Ben; Ben’s been with him nearly all his life.’

  ‘Can you come?’

  ‘Yes, Mam, yes, of course. I was just going to get them ready for bed but Corny will see to them, he’s just downstairs.’

  ‘All right, dear. We’ll expect you in an hour or so.’

  ‘Bye-bye, Mam.’

  ‘Bye-bye, dear.’

  She had put the phone down before she realised that Corny wouldn’t be able to run her over, somebody must be here with the children. She could have asked her da to pick her up; but it didn’t matter, she’d get the bus.

  She ran downstairs and into the office where Corny was sitting at the desk. She forgot for the moment that there was any coldness between them and she said, ‘Ben…Ben’s dying. Mam’s just phoned, he’d like to see me. Will you put the children to bed?’

  He was on his feet looking down at her and he shook his head, saying, ‘Aw, poor old Ben. But still he’s getting on, it’s to be expected…He asked for you?’

  ‘Mam said so.’

  ‘Well, get yourself away. But look—’ He put out his hand towards her and she turned as she was going through the door. ‘I won’t be able to run you over. Are they coming for you?’

  ‘I forgot to ask Dad.’

  ‘I’ll get on to them.’

  ‘No, no, it doesn’t matter. He could be busy or anything; I’ll get the bus at the corner. If I hurry I’ll get the ten past seven.’ She was running up the stairs again.

  Five minutes later, when she came down, Corny was waiting for her on the drive. ‘Get your Dad to bring you back, mind.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll do that.’ She looked up at him. ‘Don’t let them stay up late, will you?’

  ‘Leave that to me.’ He nodded at her.

  ‘And…and Bill; don’t leave him on his own upstairs, will you not? He might start tearing the place up again.’

  He smiled wryly at her, then said, ‘We couldn’t risk that, could we?’ They stared at each other for a moment; then as she turned away he said to her quietly, ‘Forgotten something?’ She paused, then looked down at her handbag before saying, ‘No I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, if that’s how you want it, it’s up to you.’

  She walked away from him with a quick light step, the only thing about her that was light at the moment.

  Whenever they left each other for any length of time she always kissed him, and he her; it might only be a peck on the cheek but it was a symbol that they were close—kind, as Rose Mary would have said.

  The sketches she had been writing around Bill during the last three weeks had provided tangents for her thoughts along which to escape from the thing that was filling her mind; the thing that was making her sad deep inside, and not a little fearful. Her impetuous battling character was not coming to her aid over the business of Corny’s attraction for Diana Blenkinsop, and no matter what excuse he gave about having to be civil to the girl because of her father she knew it was just an excuse, and she knew that he knew it too. He was attracted to Diana Blenkinsop.

  She had always felt she knew more about the workings of a man’s mind than she did of a woman’s. This was likely, because since she was a small child she had dissected her father’s character, sorting out his good points from his bad ones, but loving him all the while. But in her husband’s case her reaction to the dissection was different. She had worked and schemed to turn her father’s eye and thoughts away from another woman and back to her mother, but she couldn’t do that with regard to her husband. She knew that she would never work or scheme to keep Corny, not when there was another woman involved. He would have to stay with her because he loved her, because he found her more attractive than any other woman. He would have to stay with her because her love for him alone would satisfy him. This was one time she could not fight.

  She was lost in her thinking and did not notice the car, which had just flashed by, come to a stop until it backed towards her.

  ‘Hello there. Waiting for the bus?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Johnny. Yes, yes, I’m going home; I mean to my mother’s.’ She still couldn’t get out of the habit of thinking of the farm as her home, although Corny had impressed upon her that she had one home now and it was where he lived.

  ‘Get in then; I’ll run you along.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, Johnny; the bus will be here in a minute, it’s due. I won’t take you out of your way.’

  ‘You won’t take me out of my way. I’m at a loose end, you’ll be doing me a kindness. Come on, get in.’

  She stood looking down at him. Corny didn’t like this man, he liked him as little as she did Diana Blenkinsop. He’d be wild if he knew she had taken a lift from him, but it seemed silly not to, and he’d get her there in a quarter of the time.

  When he leant forward and pushed open the door she could do nothing but slide into the seat beside him. He looked different tonight, very smart, handsome in fact. He was wearing a shirt and tie that the adverts would have described as impeccable, and his light grey suit looked expensive. He had told her that he sometimes picked up fifty pounds a week when bonuses were good. He had been foreman at Quilter’s for five years and Bob Quilter thought very highly of him. Johnny wasn’t bashful about himself. His car, too, was a good one, and she knew it would take something to run. The way he looked now he had no connection with the ganger on the site.

  ‘Why didn’t your hubby run you along?’

  When she explained he said, ‘Oh, oh, I see.’ Then added ‘You know, I’ll like meeting your mam and dad again. I wonder whether they’ll remember me?’ He grinned at her.

  She had been going to say to him, ‘Will you drop me at the end of the road,’ but when, in his mind’s eye, he was already seeing himself talking to her parents she couldn’t do anything else but allow him to drive her up to the farm.

  Lizzie was waiting on the lawn for her. She had been expecting to see her hurrying along the road; remembering that the children couldn’t be left alone she had phoned the house to say that Mike would come and pick Mary
Ann up, but Corny had said she had been gone some time and would already be on the bus. But here she was getting out of a car with a man.

  Mary Ann kissed Lizzie, then said, ‘Do you know who this is, Mam?’

  Lizzie looked at the man before her. Her face was straight. She shook her head and said, ‘Yes, and no. I feel I should know you.’

  ‘Johnny Murgatroyd.’

  ‘Murgatroyd. Oh yes.’ Lizzie smiled now. ‘Of course, of course. But you’ve changed somewhat since those days.’

  ‘I…I told you about him getting me and Bill out of the mud, you remember?’

  ‘Yes, you did. Come in.’ Lizzie led the way into the house and Mike got up from his seat and put down his pipe and took Mary Ann in his arms and kissed her; then looking across the big farm kitchen to where the man was standing just inside the door, he said, ‘Hello.’

  ‘You don’t remember me either?’ Johnny came forward.

  ‘Yes, yes, I do, Johnny Murgatroyd.’

  Johnny turned round and looked from one to the other. ‘Recognised at last. No more an orphan. Daddy! Daddy! I’ve come home.’

  They all laughed. ‘Oh, you’d take some forgetting.’ Mike jerked his head. ‘You were a bit of a devil if I remember. How have you come here?’ He looked at Mary Ann and Mary Ann said, ‘I was waiting for the bus, Da, and…and Johnny was passing and he gave me a lift.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Sit down, sit down.’

  Johnny Murgatroyd sat down, and he looked at Mike. Mike had said, You’ll take some forgetting; well, and so would he. He had a vivid memory of battling, boozing Mike Shaughnessy. Who would have imagined that he would have settled down and had all this? A farm, and a grand house. It’s funny how some people fell on their feet. Well, he’d have a grand house one day, just wait and see. Great oaks from little acorns grow.