Fanny McBride Read online

  He appealed to Fanny now, and she said, ‘As long as she wants. And would you like a sup tea yourself afore you set off?’

  ‘No…no, thank you.’

  He went hastily out, and as he passed him Corny asked, with the camaraderie of the young when dealing with a male equal, ‘Can I come along of you?’

  ‘No. No, thanks.’ The tone, high, polished, different, as much as the abruptness of it, checked Corny’s following steps, and his grannie’s voice, saying, ‘You stay where you are. Come in here now,’ brought him back into the hall even as his eyes followed the boy leaping down the steps to the street.

  The issue of the pinch was forgotten, and Fanny, a hand on each of their heads, pushed them into the room and closed the door. She looked down on the child, who was standing again with her thumb in her mouth, and her curiosity was very much aroused. She’d like to get to the bottom of this. What was the matter with the woman anyway? To be in the house a fortnight and not show her face; and when she did go out, the bairns to get into this state. Perhaps if she quizzed this one she’d get some inkling of the affair.

  ‘What kind of turns does your ma take,’ she asked, ‘dizzy ones?’

  ‘No, no, she doesn’t take dizzy turns.’

  ‘What kind then?’

  Without moving Marian turned her head almost onto her shoulder to look towards the window. ‘Your curtains,’ she said, ‘aren’t like ours. Mummy hangs ours like they do in France, crosswise.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Fanny nodded her head deeper into her chins. ‘Has your mother ever been to France?’

  Marian’s head came round swiftly now. ‘Oh, yes…and Germany, and Switzerland, and Austria, and oh…all over. My mummy’s clever.’

  ‘Is she now?’

  ‘I can speak French, she taught me.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘Yes. She speaks French and German, and she paints. Tony can speak German. And she taught Margaret to paint. Margaret paints beautifully.’

  The child was speaking rapidly now. In sidetracking Fanny she had also evaded her own worry for the moment. ‘And she reads us wonderful stories. Oh, she reads the Faerie Queene beautifully.’ Her head moved, emphasising how beautifully. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘No, hinny. What’s it all about?’

  ‘Oh, all kinds. About Britomart who wanted to be a boy instead of a girl. And she runs away, and she has a magic spear and magic armour. And she meets Sir Guyon and Prince Arthur and …’

  ‘Poloney!’

  The rhythm of the storyteller was abruptly cut and she swung round on the disbeliever in fury now. ‘You! It isn’t paloney…you’re ignorant. Mummy says you’re all ignorant and I haven’t got to play with any of you, so there! There!’ She thrust out her head at Corny, and Fanny admonished, ‘Come! Come now. We won’t have any of that highfalutin’ chatter. Come off your high horse now. And if your ma thinks along those lines why for does she send you to St Peter’s? You go to St Peter’s School, don’t you?’ And Fanny’s indignation caused her to add, ‘And why for did she bring you to live here at all, anyway?’

  The haughty head drooped. ‘Mummy says it won’t be for long. We’re all going abroad to live. We are, some day.’ Her head came up and she glared at Corny as she said again, ‘You!’

  Corny, a little impressed in spite of himself and his feelings in no way hurt by the stigma of ignorance placed upon him, exclaimed, ‘Okay…who’s arguing wi’ yer?’

  They looked at each other, Marian’s glance full of childish fury and Corny’s amused, cynical. Then, ‘I bet you what you like you can’t say somethin’ in French,’ he challenged her.

  ‘Can’t I? I can so.’ With her eyes hard on him and each word mouthed separately and well apart from its fellow, she delivered, ‘Vous êtes un gamin.’

  ‘What’s that when you’re out?’

  ‘You-are-a-dirty-boy.’ Her nose assisted her lips with the translation, and again Fanny admonished, and quickly this time, ‘Now! Now! There’s no need for that, and we’ll have none of it.’

  ‘Well’—Marian turned her back on the offender—‘I don’t like him.’ She looked across at Fanny, and her face suddenly crumpled, and with a sudden rush like a charging goat she made for her. And when her head came to rest in the pit of Fanny’s very flexible stomach, Fanny cried with a gasp, ‘There, there! Come on, come on.’ And at the same time, with her eyes and one hand speaking expressively, she warned the grinning Corny against comment.

  ‘Come on, child. Give over now. Come on, let me sit down.’

  Marshalling the temporarily tear-blinded Marian towards the armchair, she sat down with a resounding dull flop, and lifting the child onto her knee she allowed her to bury her head between her breasts. ‘Give over now. Stop crying, you’ll make yourself bad. Here!’ She beckoned her grandson. ‘Pour me out a cup of tea. And have you any bullets on you?’

  ‘No, Gran.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t have! Stuffed your kite with them afore you come in.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Corny protested. ‘I’ve never had none since last Saturda’; me da only give us sixpence and me ma wouldn’t fork out nowt, she said she hadn’t it.’

  ‘And that’s likely true an’ all, with the squad of you she’s got to see to. Get the tin down from the top shelf of the pantry. And keep your fingers out of it, mind,’ she cautioned, ‘I’ve got them counted.’

  In a surprisingly short time, Corny returned from the pantry with the toffee tin seemingly intact, and handed it to Fanny, then stood with his eyes glued on it, while with her arms still about the child she prised up the lid. Extracting a large humbug, she handed it to him.

  ‘Aw! Only one, Gran?’

  ‘Give it back here!’ Her arm shot out. Then dipping her fingers again into the tin, she said to the half-buried head, ‘Look what I’ve got. Come on. Do you like humbugs? My! This is a whopper…Here, pop it in your mouth.’

  The head was turned sideways; the mouth opened, and the humbug disappeared. But the solace of the sweet did not entirely restore Marian to tranquillity, for she continued to lie against Fanny’s chest, issuing dry sobs as she automatically sucked at the sweet.

  From a safe distance Corny stood surveying her, his humbug traversing the distance between each cheek every few seconds. At one period, failing to make the distance, it was caught and ground noisily between his strong, blunt molars. There was a gulp, a swelling of his throat, then a request, ‘Can I have another, Gran?’

  ‘You can if you clear that table and put the kettle on for your Uncle Phil coming in.’

  ‘Aw, nuts!’

  ‘Well, nuts or May, it’s up to you. No table, no bullets.’

  Fanny smiled inwardly as she watched him stamping back and forth to the scullery. He was another Jack, that one. The same cheeky face; the same nerve, yet more understanding somehow although he was so young. This thought hurt. She would like to have brought him up, but his mother had need of him as she herself had had need of Jack. And God knew her daughter needed comfort against her man as much as she herself had ever done against McBride.

  The table set, she said, ‘That’s a clever lad. Give me the tin here, it’s at me feet on the floor.’

  As Corny brought the tin from the folds of her skirt a knock came on the door, and she called, ‘Come away in.’ But when no-one entered, she commanded her grandson, ‘Go and see who that is. Are they deaf?’

  Corny, running to the door and opening it, paused a moment before calling over his shoulder,

  ‘It’s that lad, and—and a lass.’

  ‘Tell them to come in then. Come in!’ she shouted. And at the same time, easing herself onto the edge of the chair, she said to Marian, ‘Get down a minute, hinny.’

  With the comfort of Fanny’s flesh and the sweet, Marian had been almost lulled to sleep, but on the sight of the visitors she was wide awake and she ran across the room to where a tall, young woman stood just within the doorway.

  ‘Oh, Margaret, you’re back! She went ou
t…Mother went out.’

  ‘Sh!’ A hand was placed on her head.

  ‘But Margaret …’

  ‘Be quiet now. It’ll be all right.’ It was a command, gently spoken, but not, Fanny noticed, with all the refined accent of the younger brother and sister. Although the voice was sweet-sounding it added to the end of its words the rise of the northern inflection, and Fanny recognised the difference immediately, and was warmed to the girl. She was a bonny-looking lass, she decided, with a pair of fine, dark eyes on her, and a good skin, and hair you didn’t see the like of every day, a real nut-brown, a smooth, glossy nut-brown. If there was anything wrong with her, Fanny decided, it was that she was too thin, on the skinny side. Perhaps she’d got that way with worry. She looked worried. For that matter, the bunch of them looked worried.

  ‘Come in. Don’t stand there,’ she said; ‘we’re all chained up.’ She laughed.

  ‘Thank you, but I won’t stay…not now. It was very kind of you to have Marian.’

  ‘Now what was kind in that?’ Fanny asked the question, and then put her head on one side as if waiting for an answer.

  But the young woman was not to be drawn, not even into a bit of a chat, she only returned Fanny’s look. And the worry deepened in her eyes, until her whole face took on a peculiar sadness that sat like a mask on her youth, and caused Fanny to step forward, saying, ‘Look, is anything wrong, lass? If I can help you, you’ve only got to say. I’m used to trouble.’ She smiled. ‘We’re bedfellows…Is your mother bad or …?’

  ‘No, no!’ It was a double denial, for the boy spoke too, then self-consciously dropped his head. And the girl, after a moment’s pause, said, ‘She’s—my mother’s not strong and we worry if she goes out alone. But if it wouldn’t be asking too much, would you let Marian stay until we come back? We’re going to meet her.’

  ‘Certainly, lass. Would you not like a drop of tea afore you go?’

  ‘No, thanks. But it’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Let me come, Margaret.’ The child was now clinging to her sister, much as a young baby would have done. And the girl said sternly, ‘Behave yourself; you can’t come. We won’t be long.’

  Fanny watched her loosen the child’s hands from about her knees. One was too young for her age, she thought, and the other was too old. She had been made into a woman before she’d been a lass, that one.

  ‘Come here, hinny,’ she said to Marian. ‘What about another humbug? And what about telling me another story? She tells me she’s fine at stories.’ Fanny looked at Margaret, who had turned towards the door.

  The girl stopped for a moment, and her tone brought a pucker to Fanny’s brow as she said flatly, ‘Yes, she’s good at stories.’

  After the door had been closed, Fanny still looked towards it. Now what did she mean by that, for there was more in that remark than hit you in the eye.

  ‘I’ll tell…I’ll tell…I will! Mrs McBride, he’s stealing the sweets.’

  Fanny turned and caught her grandson in the act of depositing a humbug in his trousers’ pocket, and as she cautioned him with her usual bellow she could not help but wonder at the mercurial change in this other child, who appeared to her quicker than most children at throwing herself from one situation to another. Well, perhaps she’d throw herself into a game.

  ‘Fork out…come on.’ She held out her hand to Corny as he retreated round the table saying with a lopsided grin, ‘I ain’t got none, Gran, honest.’

  Fanny liked a game with this grandson. ‘Come on!’ She advanced steadily on him, ponderously, like an elephant.

  ‘Honest, Gran.’

  Dashing to the door, Corny wrenched it open; then stopped and exclaimed, in a high, excited voice, ‘Hallo, Uncle Phil.’

  ‘Hallo, Corny. What are you up to now, eh?’

  ‘Havin’ Gran on.’

  Philip came into the room, and after throwing a glance towards Fanny, which took in the child at the same time, he placed his hat, gloves, and case on a chair, then went to the window, and standing to one side looked up the street.

  This was against all usual procedure. The routine was for him to make straight for the bedroom, and on his way there give his verdict on the prevailing weather, to which Fanny would usually reply briefly, ‘Aye,’ then go to the hob for the teapot.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, her tone expressing both curiosity and perplexity, for this son was above being interested in the happenings of the street; in fact at one time he had dared to censure her for meddling, as he put it, in the business of the neighbours. Should she have a do with Nellie Flannagan his head would be bowed with shame for days. As for looking out of the window, why, the house could be without one for all the notice he took of it. But now he was apparently very interested in something going on outside.

  She moved quietly, and taking her stand behind him and peering over his shoulder, she asked, ‘What is it? What’s up?’

  Without turning his head he said under his breath, so that his voice was for her alone, ‘There was a woman acting oddly around the top corner, and the girl from upstairs came running up. There was a boy with her. They tried to get the woman to come along. I didn’t stop…it might have embarrassed her.’

  Fanny looked at the neatly trimmed edge of her son’s hair where it came to a point on his neck, and at the rim of still clean white collar showing above his coat, and as her mind said, Aye, well, and it should be clean with a fresh one on every day, she set to wondering how he knew the lass was from upstairs; he hadn’t let on that he had set eyes on her when she had been on about them this morning.

  ‘Was the woman drunk?’ she asked. ‘And how do you know they’re the ones from upstairs?’

  ‘I saw the girl go out yesterday morning, she must have been late. She got the same bus. She works at one of the factories at East Jarrow, at least she got off there…The woman wasn’t drunk, at least I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, she couldn’t be,’ said Fanny; ‘they’re not open yet and she looked sober enough when she left.’

  ‘Ssh!’ Philip, stepping quickly back from the window, almost knocked her off her balance. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he turned as swiftly to her, his arms out to steady her, but she warded them off saying brusquely, ‘It’s all right, I’ll take some knocking down.’

  His colour mounted and for a minute he looked uncomfortable, then turning from her again he stood looking from a safe distance down into the street.

  ‘Are they coming?’ asked Fanny.

  ‘Yes.’

  She moved in front of him now, and as she did so Marian came across the room saying, ‘What is it? Is something happening?’

  ‘No,’ said Fanny, now blocking the aperture between the curtains; ‘just you go and sit up at the table and I’ll give you some tea in a minute.’ Fanny did not turn to see whether or not she was being obeyed but kept her gaze fixed on the trio advancing towards her. There was the lass on one side and the lad on the other. They were linking the woman who had slunk out of the house a short while back. But there was no furtiveness about her now for her head was up and she looked as if she was talking away twenty to the dozen. The girl was speaking, too—rapidly and, if her expression was anything to go by, forcefully, but the boy’s head hung downwards until you could see nothing but the crown of it from where his hair sprang upwards in tufts.

  As they passed beneath the window the woman’s incessant and high-pitched voice came clearly to Fanny, saying, ‘Nonsense, Margaret, nonsense…one must put a face on things…one must be gay…People live by example. Tomorrow I will…’

  They mounted the steps now and the woman’s voice came to Fanny only as a distant, highfalutin’ twang. She turned to the door but her movement towards it was checked by Philip. He motioned silently to her, then pointed to Marian.

  It was obvious that the child had heard her mother’s voice, but it had not made her fly to her, for she was now standing in the corner by the fireplace, her face to the wall and her thumb again in her mouth. And as
the sound of the voice came from the hall now, saying, ‘Don’t…don’t hurry me, dear, don’t hurry me…Oh, good evening,’ the child moved her head forward until it leant against the wall.

  ‘Hal…hallo.’ That was Sam Lavey answering. She wouldn’t get much conversation out of him, thought Fanny, with his stammer and his tick.

  ‘What is your name?’ The demand was imperious and sounded like the lines of an amateur stage duchess.

  The front door banged, and that, grinned Fanny, was Sam Lavey’s answer.

  ‘Dear, dear!…an ignorant man. I…’

  ‘Alice!’ The name spoken low penetrated the room like a growl, and Fanny knew it was the girl speaking and that she was addressing her mother. But why should she in the first place call her Alice? And why should she speak like that as if the word was being wrenched out of her body? There was no answer to this, only that the cry of Alice had apparently a silencing effect, for there was no longer the sound of the woman’s voice only of footsteps going up the stairs and the squeak of Miss Harper’s door being gently pulled ajar. Oh, it wouldn’t do at all for Miss Harper to miss anything. She was sorry she had missed seeing them herself, but with Philip’s eyes on her and the look in them saying, ‘Mind your own business,’ she had been for the moment deterred. Not that she was afraid of him. No, by God!

  ‘She’s bubbling.’ Corny’s levelling comment brought Fanny’s attention to the child again, and as she made her way over to Marian she remarked, ‘And she won’t be the only one if you don’t keep your tongue quiet. Come on,’ she said. ‘Come on, don’t cry. Come and have some tea.’

  But Marian would not be coaxed from the wall; she shrugged off Fanny’s hand. And Fanny, used to the ways of children, left her to herself and returned to the table.

  Philip had now gone into the bedroom, and when he came out again his navy coat had been changed for a tweed one. He went into the scullery and washed his hands before sitting down.