Life and Mary Ann Read online

  ‘No! No, Ma. I haven’t talked about it with anyone. It was just what Sarah said.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Ma.’

  Mary Ann was speaking the truth, she hadn’t discussed it openly with her da and Michael, but she knew that from the time Michael had heartened Sarah with the thought that she was coming to live here, the idea had been prominent in all their minds.

  Lizzie, turning from the door, made one step back into the room, and, looking intently at her daughter, she said in an almost threatening tone, ‘Well, if it hasn’t been discussed, don’t you start now, do you hear me? I forbid you to say anything about it.’

  ‘All right, Ma.’ Mary Ann’s voice was very low.

  ‘And furthermore…listen to me.’

  ‘I’m listening, Ma.’ Her voice was still low.

  ‘Well do then. And remember what I’m saying. Don’t you tell either your father, or Michael, that you mentioned this to me…Do you understand?’

  Yes, Mary Ann understood. If the matter wasn’t brought into the open by either Michael or her da, the room was safe. In as quickly as it takes lightning to strike, a strange feeling assailed her, a fearful feeling. Out of nowhere came a hate for this room, and, more terrible still, a dislike of her mother. As she looked at Lizzie’s tight, straight countenance, she knew she disliked her. ‘Oh…!’ She groaned aloud with the fear of this feeling, and turning away she cupped her face in her hands. Then, sitting down, she dropped her head into the corner of the chair. But she did not cry, she was too frozen with fear of this dreadful thing that had come upon her—she didn’t like her mother.

  After one long look at the back of Mary Ann’s head, Lizzie turned sharply away and went out of the room and up the stairs. When she entered her own room she stood in the darkness with her back to the door. She knew that she had reached a crisis in her life, not a crisis brought about by the desertion of her husband for another woman, not a crisis brought about by Mike’s drinking, as had often happened during the early years of their marriage, or yet by her son walking out on her and picking a girl that she did not like. Nor yet a crisis where her daughter had got herself into trouble, but a crisis caused by the fact that she wanted to hang on to her way of life. And her way of life was personified by her sitting room. The sitting room that everyone remarked on. The sitting room that she loved, that she had made part of herself. For months now she had been warding off this moment, daring them by her silence to approach her and mention this room. And now she knew that the matter could no longer be shelved, because Mary Ann had dared, with her usual foolhardiness, to bring it into the open. If Sarah came here to live, the life of the house would be changed. It wasn’t that she disliked Sarah, she liked her. She liked the girl very much, she could even say she liked her next to Mary Ann. She could say in all truth that she liked her better than any of the friends Mary Ann had picked up for herself at school, much better. And she knew, crippled though she was, that she was the right one for Michael. She also knew something else…She stared into the blackness of the room, and in its depths she faced up to a fact that she had not permitted herself to look at these past weeks, although it had been thrusting itself at her almost daily from the direction of her son and her husband, and within the last few minutes it had stared out of the face of her daughter, the fact was that if she kept her room she would lose them all. She might live with them for years and years, but things would never be the same again. If Michael took Sarah to the bungalow he would never come back into this house as her son…her Michael. She had felt him drifting away from her lately, but she knew now that by making this sacrifice she could pin him to her for life. But there was another reason why she hadn’t wanted Michael and Sarah to start their married life in this house. She must be fair to herself, it wasn’t only the room. As much as she liked Sarah, she knew she could not bear to see another woman—a girl, in this case—ruling his life. Being all in all to him. Filling her place entirely. Only if she hadn’t to witness it would it be bearable. This had been more than half the reason for her conduct. But now the decision had to be faced. Did she want to lose Mike, too, through this business? Not that he would ever leave her. But he could go from her without leaving the house…And Mary Ann?…Yes, and Mary Ann. Look how she had glared at her before she had turned her face away into the chair. She had never seen her daughter look at her like that before…never.

  Lizzie groped in the darkness towards the bed. She did not switch on the light, nor turn down the cover. But flinging herself onto the bed she thrust her face in the pillow and cried.

  An hour later, when Mike came in, he found Mary Ann in the kitchen. ‘All alone?’ he said.

  ‘No, Da.’

  ‘Where’s your mother? In the front room?’

  ‘No, she’s upstairs, Da.’

  Mike looked intently at his daughter before asking quietly, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, Da. I think she’s got a bad head. I think she’s lying down.’

  ‘You think, you’re not sure. Haven’t you been up?’

  ‘No, Da.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ He took her by the shoulder and turned her towards him. As she looked back at him she said, ‘Nothing, Da.’

  ‘How long has your mother been upstairs?’ Mike’s voice was quiet and even.

  ‘Just over an hour, I think.’

  ‘And there’s nothing the matter?’

  ‘No, Da…Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I want a drink. But it isn’t tea or cocoa.’

  The old anxiety leapt within her to join the fear that had sprung on her in the front room. If her da went out in this mood he would likely come back drunk, and he hadn’t been drunk for a long time. She said to him, in the little-girl voice she had used to coax him years ago, ‘You’re not going out now, Da, are you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I wouldn’t. I would have some tea, strong tea.’

  ‘Aye…well.’ He sat on the edge of the chair undecided. And as she stood before him the anxiety made her tremble, and he thrust out his arm and pulled her towards him, saying, ‘All right, all right, come on, don’t worry. Stop that.’ He punched her gently in the chest. ‘Where’s that tea?’

  Mary Ann made him a strong pot of tea. She cut him a shive of meat pie. She watched him as he ate, and when a few minutes later she watched him settle himself in the big chair towards the side of the stove, she felt sick. He wasn’t showing any signs of going upstairs to see what was wrong with her mother. This in a way was worse than him getting drunk and coming back roaring out all the things that were troubling him. Her ma, she knew, would suffer more from this attitude than from the drink. She felt, as she had done years ago in Mulhattans’ Hall, torn asunder with anguish for them. She could stand anything, anything as long as they were close. The feeling of dislike for her mother had fled as swiftly as it had come. All she wanted now was to see her ma and her da close once again, laughing and chaffing, and that meant loving. And they hadn’t been like that for weeks.

  Seven

  During the weekend that followed the tense atmosphere of the house did not lessen, and at the beginning of the week Lizzie began to behave peculiarly. Rain, hail or snow, she washed on a Monday, but not this Monday. On this Monday she declared to her family that she was going to do no more heavy washing. She was going to send all the sheets, towels and pillowcases to the bag-wash. She’d had enough of heavy washing to last a lifetime. It was as she served breakfast that she made this revolutionary statement.

  Under ordinary circumstances there is no doubt that the family would have shot comments at her. Why? Hadn’t she said, time and again, that the laundries poisoned the clothes, they were never the same again if sent to the laundry? But this morning they did not bombard her with whys, and if she thought their reactions were peculiar she made no comment.

  There was really very little she could comment on, for neither Mary Ann nor Michael said anything. And Mike, merely rais
ing his glance from his plate, remarked, ‘You feeling like that? Well, it’s Monday mornin’.’

  That was all.

  On Monday evening, when she stated she was going into Newcastle the following day to do some shopping, Mary Ann was the only one who reacted. Without a great deal of enthusiasm she said, ‘Do you want me to meet you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Lizzie, in a tone that could be considered airy. ‘I’ll see how I feel, but I might go to the pictures in the afternoon.’

  Mike was doing his accounts at the edge of the kitchen table—it was warmer in the kitchen than in the office—and he brought his head round to look at Lizzie, but Lizzie was bending over the stove. And as his eyes returned to his work they met Mary Ann’s for a second, and widened slightly. Still he did not say anything.

  But Mary Ann knew that, like herself, he had been surprised. Her mother never went to the pictures, she didn’t care for the pictures. They had talked about getting television ages ago, but she had said, ‘I don’t care for the pictures, so I don’t suppose I’ll care for that.’ And now she had stated she was going to spend the afternoon at the pictures …

  By Friday of that week Lizzie had been out on her own three times, and it came as a surprise to no-one except perhaps herself, when Mike stated, in a casual, even offhand manner, which however did not disguise that his statement was one of retaliation, ‘I think I’ll have a day out the morrow meself. I’m long overdue for a trip.’

  Michael’s eyes darted towards his father, but Mary Ann did not look at him. She knew what the trip forbode, and she thought sadly to herself, ‘Well, me ma has asked for it this time. She may never have done before, but she’s asked for it this time.’

  Lizzie had been on her way to the scullery with a tray of dishes as Mike spoke, and when she reached the table she slowly put the tray down, but without releasing her hold on it she bent forward over it and bit tightly on her lip. That was all for the moment.

  Mike went out to do his round, and Michael, as usual after changing, got on his bike and rode to Jarrow and Sarah, and no sooner had the door closed on him than Lizzie’s cold, calm front dropped away. Coming to Mary Ann, where she sat before the fire, working assiduously at her shorthand, she said quickly, ‘Leave that a minute and listen to me. Your da will be back at any time…Put it down, I say.’ She flicked the book from Mary Ann’s hand, and this caused Mary Ann’s face to tighten.

  ‘Don’t look like that. I’m telling you, don’t look at me like that. And listen to me…If your father goes out tomorrow you must go with him.’

  ‘He won’t want me with him.’

  ‘I don’t care if he wants you with him or not…Look.’ Suddenly Lizzie knelt down by Mary Ann’s side, and as she caught hold of her daughter’s hand her whole expression changed. Mary Ann was now looking at her old ma, the ma she knew and loved. And when she saw the tears come into Lizzie’s eyes her face and body relaxed, and the resentment she was feeling at the moment against her mother died away. She asked under her breath, ‘What is it, Ma? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing. I only want you to do this for me. Please do this for me, keep with him tomorrow. He mustn’t get anything into him tomorrow. Will you do it? You can. You know you can.’

  ‘But if he says I haven’t got to go with him…If he says no, what about it then?’

  Lizzie turned her eyes away and looked towards the fire, and after a moment she pulled herself to her feet and said in a dead tone, ‘Well, if he won’t let you go with him, I’ll…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘I’ll only have to tell him…’

  ‘Tell him what?’ Mary Ann was on her feet.

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter…it doesn’t matter. I just didn’t want him to break out tomorrow, that’s all. Go on, get on with your work, it doesn’t matter.’

  Mary Ann stared at Lizzie as she went towards the scullery again. What was the matter with her mother? What was up anyway? Where had she been those other times this week? On Monday she had gone to the pictures. But she went out on Wednesday, and yesterday again, and she looked all worked up, and she sounded worked up. Mary Ann went back to her seat, and as she picked up her notebook she looked down at the last words she had written in shorthand. They read, ‘Me da says he’s going out tomorrow. He sounds just like he used to years ago when he was going on the beer…Will things never straighten out?’ She looked up from the book. Would things never straighten out?

  There was a wind blowing over the fields. It was like a gigantic scythe whipping across the frozen earth. It bit into Mary Ann’s ankles causing her to comment, ‘I wish I’d put my boots on.’

  Mike, walking by her side up the road towards the bus stop, did not pick up her remark, and it was the third such she had made about the weather since leaving the house. But when she slipped on an icy patch in the road his hand came out swiftly and steadied her, and as he released her he said, ‘Your mother told you to come along of me, didn’t she?’

  ‘No, Da.’

  ‘All right, don’t tell me if you don’t want to. But I know me own know. After last night she was frightened I was goin’ to get bottled, and she had reason, for that’s just what I intended to do.’

  ‘No, Da.’

  Mary Ann was looking up at him, but Mike kept his eyes ahead as he asked abruptly, ‘Do you know where your ma’s been this week?’

  ‘No, Da.’

  His eyes were hard on her and there was a sharpness in his tone as he said, ‘Now look, Mary Ann. This could be serious. I might do just what she fears, and in spite of you go and get a skinful. I feel like it. By God! I do at this minute. So if you know what she’s been up to on these jaunts, tell me.’

  ‘But I don’t, Da.’ Of one accord they drew to a halt, and Mary Ann looked at him as she went on, ‘I only know she’s upset about something, sort of worked up.’ Her eyes flicked away. ‘She did say to me to come with you today. For some reason or other…well, she doesn’t want you to do anything…’ Her voice trailed off.

  Mike continued to look down on her for a moment, then with a deep intake of breath he walked on, and she had to hurry her step to keep up with him.

  Mike did not speak again until they reached the crossroads and then he said, as if to himself, ‘If the old fellow were here I’d feel there was something hatching, but I can’t blame him for this.’

  Mary Ann, picking up his words, said, ‘No, Da, you can’t. And talking of him, I’m scared of him coming back an’ all, for there’s going to be trouble.’

  A moment ago she’d had no intention of telling him about Tony, but it now appeared like a heaven-sent diversion, a subject that would interest him and keep him, at least for a while, from thinking, and not kindly, of her mother.

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Yes, about Tony…He told me yesterday that he’s going…’ She lowered her head and finished in a soft-toned rush, ‘He’s going to marry Mrs Schofield, Da.’

  Mike was silent so long that she looked up at him.

  ‘He told you that himself?’

  ‘Yes, Da.’

  ‘Well, my God!’ Mike pushed his trilby back from his brow. ‘That’ll be news that’ll knock the old man over. Although it’s really no surprise, not to me, it isn’t, but it will be to him, because he hasn’t got the vestige of an inkling. I know that…And what about you?’ His head came down to her. ‘How did you feel when he shot that at you?’

  Mary Ann raised her eyebrows, then turned her gaze away over the fields as she said, ‘A bit odd for a moment.’

  ‘You’re still keen on Corny though?’

  ‘Yes, Da.’

  ‘If there hadn’t been Corny would you’ve had Tony?’

  She brought her eyes back to him again. ‘That’s what Tony asked me. How can I say? I don’t know. I like Tony, I always have.’

  ‘Do you think your mother knows and this is what’s been upsetting her?’

  ‘No, da. No. He told me first, I feel sure of that.’

&n
bsp; ‘Well, there’s one thing certain.’ Mike drew in another long breath. ‘When your mother does know it’s not going to make her any happier. She didn’t take much notice of that tale your granny brought that Sunday, about seeing them together. She remarked at the time on Mrs Schofield being so much older than him and she dismissed the idea as ridiculous, because she wanted to go on thinking about the nice cushy future all planned out for you. For, like the old fellow, she had set her heart on this business and believed in the tag that time would tell. But you know, when he first mentioned it she went off the deep end. Can you believe that? She was actually shocked. Ah well, time has told, hasn’t it?’ He put his hand out and touched her cheek. ‘Life’s funny. But don’t worry. Tony wasn’t for you. He’s a fine fellow, but not for you. He’s not your type of man…don’t worry.’

  ‘But I’m not worrying about that, Da. Not about Tony and me, but I am worrying about Mr Lord coming back. You remember the last time him and Tony went at it?’

  Again Mike took in a deep breath before saying, ‘We’ll wait until he does come and see what happens then. I think the best thing that you and me can do is to both get drunk…eh?’ He was bending down towards her, and they both laughed now. With a sudden impulsive movement she tucked her hand into his arm, and for no other reason but that she was with her da and he wasn’t going to go on the beer, she felt a momentary wave of happiness.

  As was usual on his visits to the city, Mike did some business for the farm. Then he and Mary Ann had lunch together. Following this, he pleased her mightily by taking her to the pictures.

  It was turned four o’clock and nearly dark when the bus dropped them at the crossroads again. They were quiet now as they went down the road, and neither of them spoke until, through the dusk, the farm came in sight, when Mary Ann exclaimed, ‘Look, da. Is that our Michael on the road?’