Life and Mary Ann Read online

  ‘I don’t know. Lettice wanted to come and tell him herself. But I wouldn’t have that.’

  It was funny hearing him speak of Mrs Schofield as Lettice. She hated Mrs Schofield at this moment, yet remembering back to the time when she liked her, she also remembered that Mr Lord liked her too. Here was a ray of hope. She said to Tony, ‘You should have let her come. He liked her. She could get it over better than you, I’m sure of that. There’ll only be a row if you tell him, and that’s putting it mildly. Don’t forget what happens when he gets worked up.’ She leant further forward. ‘Do you realise this might…it might kill him?’

  ‘I’ve thought of all that. It’s been hellish this last few months. In fact since that day…you remember, that Saturday when I saw him hit her, I knew then what was going to happen to me. I think I knew before. You see, Mary Ann’—his voice dropped almost to a whisper—‘I was attracted to her long before that day. When she used to come up here, to your house, I always made a point of being there. Perhaps no-one noticed. They wouldn’t, would they?’ He smiled a sad smile at her. ‘But that day when I saw that pig of a man—and he is a pig of a man, Mary Ann, and that’s putting it mildly—when I saw him hit her, I knew it was all up with me. It was as if the blow that struck her had sprung my mind wide open, and I saw the fix I was in. And I’m not going to say at this juncture that I tried to fight it and make a brave stand against it. Oh, no. Although I knew what it would mean to the old man in the end I went ahead, and I still count myself lucky that I did. She is a grand person, Mary Ann. A very, very sweet person.’

  Mary Ann dismissed the unique qualities of Mrs Schofield, and said, ‘He’ll cut you off.’

  ‘Yes, I expect that. But I’ve got quarter shares in Turnbulls. He signed those over to me two years ago. They’ll give me a start somewhere, and Lettice doesn’t want much…It seems odd though to think that those very shares were the first thing he allowed me to put my name to, although I was supposed to be his heir. And he only gave them to me as an inducement to fall in with his plans concerning his…protégée.’ Tony’s hand came out and grasped Mary Ann’s. ‘I could wish at this moment for him that his plan had worked out, because, you know, I like his protégée very much.’ He squeezed her fingers.

  Mary Ann swallowed and blinked her eyes, the tears were welling in her throat, and as she pulled her hands from his she said with a touch of the cheeky asperity he knew so well, ‘I’m not crying because of you, don’t think that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t for a moment, Mary Ann.’

  ‘I just don’t know what’s going to happen to him when he finds this out.’ She sniffed twice, blew her nose, then asked, ‘When is he coming back? It was next Tuesday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘As always he’s changed his plans. You know his old trick of dropping in when he thinks nobody is expecting him, that’s likely what will happen this time. I had a wire this morning to say he was staying on another week. But I shouldn’t be surprised if he came in tonight, or tomorrow night, or then, on the other hand, not for another month. We should know by now, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘But he’ll come.’ She bounced her head at him. ‘And you’ll have to tell him…When are you—’ she paused and her voice sunk again as she ended, ‘getting married?’

  ‘It could be in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘But if he shouldn’t be back by then you won’t leave, will you? You won’t leave and get married before he gets back?’

  ‘No, Mary Ann, I won’t do that.’

  She turned her eyes from him, and feeling again that she was going to give way to tears, she jumped up from the chair, saying, ‘It’s awful. He’ll die.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’ Tony had his arm around her shoulders now. ‘He’s tougher than you think.’

  ‘If he gets into a paddy, he’ll have a heart attack, you’ll see.’

  ‘Oh, Mary Ann, don’t make it worse for me, please.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Her voice was soft now. ‘But I’m frightened for him, Tony.’ She looked up. ‘And you won’t make matters any better because you’ll lose your temper and there’ll be a pair of you. You know you can’t keep your temper with him. I don’t think you should tell him. I think you should leave a letter for him, something like that…Oh, I don’t know what to suggest.’

  ‘I won’t leave a letter for him, Mary Ann. What I’ve got to say, I’ll say to him.’

  ‘And kill him!’

  ‘Don’t!’ He swung away from her. ‘Don’t keep suggesting that. It’s got to be done.’ His voice had risen now. ‘And I’ll have to stand the consequences, but don’t keep saying that.’ They stared at each other in hostility, and then Tony, taking his breath in on a deep sigh, said, ‘Come on. We had better be going. Sufficient unto the day.’ He opened the door for her and she went past him, through the hall and into the kitchen. And she did not say goodbye to Ben, where he sat still rubbing away with his rheumaticky hands at the silver, and this caused him to stop his work, and even rise to his feet and go towards the door from where he watched her getting into the car.

  When a few minutes later Ben returned to the table, he looked at his work for a moment before touching it, and remarked, ‘What now, eh?’

  Mrs Flannagan’s front room was fourteen feet by twelve feet. In it was a three-piece suite, a small sideboard, a corner cabinet, besides two small tables and an ornamental coal scuttle. The floor was covered by a small carpet and a surround of highly polished check-patterned linoleum.

  Sarah was sitting on the couch, her legs painfully immobile beneath the rug. Her back appeared bent as if she was leaning towards them, and her complexion, which had been a thick cream tan, had now a bleached look. The only thing about her appearance that remained untouched by her illness was her hair. It was still black and shiny. She held out a half-finished nylon petticoat towards Mary Ann, saying rather hopelessly, ‘Look at those stitches, I’ll never be able to sew.’

  Mary Ann looked at the stitches. ‘You’re doing fine; they’re only half an inch long now, they were an inch on Wednesday.’

  They both laughed, and Sarah moved her shoulders into the cushion. Then the smile disappeared from her face when, looking at Mary Ann, she said below her breath, ‘Oh, I wish I had that chair. I want to get out. I want to get out. I’ll go mad with much more of this.’

  ‘They said next week, didn’t they?’ Mary Ann’s voice was low also. ‘But Tony would come and take you out tomorrow. He’s offered time and time again. Why won’t you go?’

  ‘Oh.’ Sarah moved her head wearily on the pillow. ‘To be carried into a car and all the street out. It’s bad enough in the ambulance going to the hospital. I don’t want to be carried and lifted for the rest of my life. And I’m not going to.’ She pulled her body forward now until her face was close to Mary Ann’s, and then she whispered fiercely, ‘I’ve been praying and praying and praying. I’m going to use my legs again, I am. I don’t care how long it takes—ten years, twenty years.’ Her voice was becoming louder now, and Mary Ann, getting up and putting her arms around her, said, ‘That’s the spirit. You feel like that and you will. Oh, I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s like an answer to my prayers. In fact, I’m sure it is. Every night after I’ve left work I slip into church and say a decade of the rosary for you, just for that, that you’d get the urge to use your legs…Isn’t it funny?’ Her voice was high with excitement.

  ‘Oh, Mary Ann.’ Sarah leant her head wearily between Mary Ann’s small, firm breasts. ‘You’ve been so good, always coming in. People stop after a while, you know. They used to come in a lot at first, but not now. And I’m seeing too much of me mother. Oh, I know I shouldn’t say this because she’s been so good, but she keeps on, she keeps on, finicking about, polishing, dusting, tidying up, all the time, all the time…Mary Ann?’ It was a question.

  And Mary Ann said, ‘Yes, Sarah?’

  ‘Do you think that Michael really wants to marry me?’

  Mary Ann drew away from Sarah and actually gaped at
her as she repeated, ‘Really wants to marry you. He’ll go round the bend if he doesn’t. What’s put that into your head?’

  ‘Oh, I think people are saying things. I know they are. I hear that Mrs Foster in the kitchen with me mother. It’s not what she says, it’s what she leaves unsaid…the pauses. They don’t think it right that I should marry Michael, not like this, I know they don’t. But if I don’t, Mary Ann’—she looked into Mary Ann’s eyes now and repeated—‘if I don’t, I’ll do meself in, I will.’

  Another one talking about doing herself in. Janice, and now Sarah. Was this what sorrow did to you, took away all desire for life? She couldn’t see anything bad enough happening to her to take away the desire for living. She loved life, she loved breathing. She used to stop sometimes, on the road from the bus to the farm, and say to herself, ‘I’m breathing.’ It wasn’t silly for she knew within herself, deep within herself, that it meant a great deal, something she couldn’t as yet explain. She was breathing, she was alive. She felt at times that no matter what happened she wanted to live…To know all about living and then write about it. She dreamed of writing about living. Yet two girls that she had known intimately talked about dying, about killing themselves, and one had already tried. She shuddered and grasped hold of Sarah’s hands as she said, ‘Don’t say such things, Sarah. And now get this into your head, there’s only one person in the world for Michael and that’s you. And if you don’t know it by now, you never will. He’s driving us all crazy about you.’

  Sarah’s smile spread across her face. It was a sweet smile, and it made her beautiful, more beautiful than when she had been the outdoor, hard-riding, youth-filled girl. But the smile faded, and on its going she said, ‘Your mother’s not pleased, and I can’t blame her. I can understand how she feels.’

  ‘What’s got into you all of a sudden? Don’t be silly. Of course Mother’s pleased, she’d rather have you for Michael than anybody else.’

  ‘Has she said so?’

  ‘No, there’s no need. I know.’

  ‘You’re just being kind as usual, Mary Ann. You’re always trying to fix people’s lives. I used to laugh about it one time, but I give you leave to fix mine right now.’ She shook her head. ‘But if your mother wanted me for Michael she would have asked me to go there, to live with you. I wouldn’t have been a burden, I wouldn’t. I feel that if I could go and live with you all I would get better. When I was in hospital, Michael sort of said that we’d have…the front room. It was like a dream that I hung on to. I thought your mother must have suggested that we could, and I thought it was wonderful of her, because it’s a beautiful front room, and you can see the farm from the window. I dreamed of that front room. Then when I came home Michael said Mr Lord was going to put up the money for the bungalow. There was no more mention of the front room, and I knew somehow that your mother had never said anything about it…I don’t want that bungalow, Mary Ann. I don’t want to go and live all that way off. I want to live close to Michael, where his work is. And with your da near abouts. Your da infuses strength into people, Mary Ann. It’s funny that, isn’t it? For me to say that, I mean. But he does. I always feel that I could get up and walk when he’s talking to me. Not that I don’t like your mother, I do. I think she’s a fine woman…sort of a lady. I’ve always thought of her as a lady…’

  ‘Oh, Sarah, Sarah! Look, don’t worry. Everything’ll come out all right. And you will live with us, I promise you will.’

  Sarah smiled through very bright eyes now at Mary Ann, and it was doubtful if she was seeing her as she said, ‘You’ve always made rash promises, you’re the Holy Family rolled into one, not that they make rash promises…You know what I mean. You were always going to the side altar praying to them, weren’t you?’ She laughed now, a sharp, loud laugh to stop herself from crying as she said, ‘I remember I stopped going to their altar because I didn’t want to do the same thing as you.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah.’ Mary Ann could not cap this with any amusing reply. She felt she couldn’t bear much more today. There had been Tony just an hour ago, and now Sarah in this state. It was awful, awful. Everything was awful.

  She stood up and looked towards the window merely to turn her face from Sarah’s for a moment, and as she did so she saw coming down the steps of Mulhattans’ Hall, right opposite, the great wobbling figure of Fanny McBride. The sight of her old friend brought a smile to her face and she turned round to Sarah and explained excitedly, ‘Look, bend over, there’s Mrs McBride coming down the steps. I’ll pull the curtain and you can wave to her.’

  Mary Ann dared to pull Mrs Flannagan’s stiffly arranged curtains to one side, and she went even further, she dared to tap gently on the pane to attract Fanny’s attention. And when Fanny, her eyes darting across the road, caught sight of Mary Ann, she waved her great arm in the air. Mary Ann now acting on the assumption ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’, ran to the couch and pushed the head towards the window…and now Sarah waved. The two girls watched Fanny hesitate a moment at the bottom of the steps, undecided to risk the journey across the road to the portals of her enemy. But the habit of years was too strong. Mary Ann knew that Fanny was indeed sorry for Sarah, but she also knew that she still held Mrs Flannagan in lip-curling disdain. But the sight of the old woman did them both good, for they laughed as they watched her wobbling away down the street to the corner shop. And when her figure had disappeared, Mary Ann said, ‘Well, there’s one thing you should be thankful for: you’re in this room and not in Fanny’s.’ Yet as she said this she wondered if Sarah would not be better, in both health and spirits, were she in the untidy, smelly, lumber-filled room on the ground floor of Mulhattans’ Hall.

  Later that evening, as Mary Ann neared home, her depression deepened, which was unusual, for the mere sight of the farm had the power to bring a feeling of security to her and to lessen the day-to-day irritations, which were multiplying, she was finding, as she was growing older. But this evening she didn’t want to reach home, she didn’t want to face her mother, for she knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist bringing up the question of…the front room. It was funny about the front room. Her da had thought the front room was a grand idea for Michael and Sarah. Michael thought the front room was a grand idea for himself and Sarah. She had thought the front room was a grand idea for the pair of them. Yet to her knowledge not one of them had mentioned the subject to her mother, and yet she knew that her mother was well aware of what they were all after. She also knew that the front room was her mother’s pride. It was the only room in the house in which she had been able to let her ideas have scope. The front room was really hers. A place where she could invite people without making any excuses about the upset, or the untidiness. None of them left magazines, or books, or sweet papers lying about in the front room. It was an unspoken agreement that they cleared up their stuff each night before they left the room. The kitchen could look—as Lizzie sometimes said—like a paddencan, but never her front room.

  And now Mary Ann knew the time had come when the room must be brought into the open. Not only to relieve the tension in the house, but the tension in Sarah. She was very worried about Sarah.

  She had hardly got in the door before Lizzie said, ‘How is she?’ and she answered, ‘Oh, she’s very depressed, Ma. I’m worried.’

  ‘Why? What is she depressed over? I mean more than usual.’

  Mary Ann looked at her mother. She was sitting in the easy chair in her front room. She fitted into the room. The subdued colour of her dress, the calmness of her face—she had her eyes cast down—all seemed to be part of the atmosphere of the room. She was busy copying some recipes from a weekly magazine into her cookery book.

  Mary Ann stood in front of her, their knees were so close they almost touched. She knew it was no use leading up to this subject. She was feeling so keenly about the matter at the moment that she would only make a mess of any strategic approach, so she said, straight out, ‘Ma?’

  Lizzie gave a little lift to her head an
d said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Sarah doesn’t want to go and live in the bungalow.’

  ‘No?’ There was a sound running through the syllable as sharp and hard as the point end of a carving knife.

  ‘It would be as bad there as it is in Burton Street. And she’s nearly going off her head there…Ma…Ma…She wants to come and live with us.’

  As Lizzie stared back into her daughter’s face she had the strong desire to lift her hand and slap it. It would have to be her who would bring this thing into the open, this thing that had hung around them for weeks. Hidden under quick tempers and sharp retorts. Under sullen silences and pathetic looks. She had resisted them all. Because it wasn’t as if Sarah was homeless, she was going to have a lovely bungalow built. She was going to marry Michael; yes, she was going to marry Michael. Was she not having her son? Wasn’t that enough? But no…she wanted…they all wanted to take this room from her. There had been no suggestion of Sarah having one of the rooms upstairs, because that was an impossibility. No, the idea, which she knew was a flame behind the asbestos curtain of all their minds, was that she should give up this room to Sarah and Michael.

  ‘Get out of my way.’

  ‘But, Ma.’

  ‘I said, get out of my way, I want to get up.’

  When Mary Ann was slow in obeying, Lizzie, jerking herself to her feet, almost thrust her onto her back. The little table to the side of the chair, which had held the magazine and her notebook, jumped from the floor as if it had a life of its own. Lizzie put out no hand to steady it. She marched towards the door. But before opening it, she turned to Mary Ann and demanded, ‘Did they pick you as spokesman for them all?’