Fanny McBride Read online

  The fact that she had not shocked him, that he had not showered on her any verbal protest, baffled her. He was a mealy-mouthed, sanctimonious, word-knowledgeable upstart, yet he hadn’t gone up in the air when she had delivered this bombshell at him.

  She began to spurt words at him. ‘You find it funny? Let me tell you I can conduct mesel’ when I want to…And don’t you forget it.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, it’s—it’s not that. Why shouldn’t you take such a job if you want to?’ He turned from her, his shoulders shaking, and she hated him as he said, ‘And as you say, it would be better than sitting here and being lonely.’

  She had never seen him like this, with laughter gurgling in him. The truth came at her slowly. He didn’t mind what she did because he’d be away and out of the town. Aye, that was it. His reactions would have been different if he had been staying on here, then he would have been his gentlemanly self and put his foot down. He had taken the wind out of her sails but he wasn’t going to get away with it altogether.

  Her head wagged as she said, ‘What will your lady-friend say about your mother being in The Ladies?’

  She had been determined to nettle him, and she had succeeded, for his laughter stopped abruptly and he went into his room, saying, ‘I haven’t any lady-friend, as you call her.’

  So that was that, that was finished; he’d likely got wind of her carryings-on. Quite suddenly Fanny sat down again, the thought in her now that she didn’t know whether to take the job or not, that’s if she got the chance of it.

  When sometime later Philip, having come back into the kitchen and going through the usual procedure of brushing his coat and hat, said, ‘When do you start?’ Fanny kept her eyes directed towards the table and she answered tartly, ‘I won’t know till I go down and see the woman. Anyway, it’s only temporary, Mary Prout’s leg’s bad.’

  He had to pass her as he moved to the door, and in doing so he did a strange thing, for the tips of his fingers touched her shoulder for a moment as he said, ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  She was staring at the door through which he had gone. Of all the damned unpredictable so-and-sos he was one. Enjoy yourself…in The Ladies! What did he mean? Sarcasm, that was it. She could still feel the touch of his fingers, but the emotion they had brought to her she brushed aside. She knew that she was unreasonably angry that he had not flown into a temper when she told him what her job was to be. That he should laugh at it had really been one of the surprises of her life. Now if it had been Jack, they would have roared together, and the captions he would have put on The Ladies would have made her belly roll for days. But this one, he wasn’t like that, this one was a gentleman. He should have thrown a fit when confronted with his mother going into The Ladies.

  You never knew folks, not even your own. Certainly not your own when they were cuckoos in the nest like him.

  ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Eeh! your corsets do make a difference, Fan. Takes stones off you. Your black coat’s hanging like a bag. Don’t tell me that’s a new hat.’

  ‘No, course it isn’t. What would I be getting a new hat for? I changed the ribbon, it had gone a bit green in parts.’

  ‘Aye, it had.’ Mary nodded confirmation; then said, ‘There’s the note. And ask for Mrs Proctor. Tell her it will only be for a fortnight, and I’ll be back. It’s better that you should go down on your own, because if she feels she’s goin’ to be stuck she’ll take anything.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that, Fan. You know what I mean.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve got a good idea…Come on then,’ she said brusquely, ‘I want to lock me door, and if I don’t go now I might change me mind.’

  This threat caused Mary to limp hurriedly out into the hall, and just as she reached it her eyes were drawn up the stairs to the woman from the attics.

  Fanny turned from the door and placed her key carefully in her black shopping bag, then she, too, looked up at the woman.

  ‘Good morning.’ The words were so high and refined that they seemed to chill the muggy air in the hall.

  ‘Good mornin’.’ Both Fanny and Mary answered together.

  ‘I was just coming to see you.’ The thin woman inclined her head in a condescending bow towards Fanny, and Fanny, on the defensive immediately against both voice and manner, replied, ‘That’s just too bad, I’m goin’ out.’

  ‘I have come with an invitation. I would like you to come to tea.’ She inclined her head now towards Mary, as she added, ‘And you, too. But I would like to give you some more details about it. May I call again this afternoon?’ She was again looking at Fanny, and now Fanny, perplexed in spite of herself at a formal invitation to tea, looked at Mary, then down at her bag, and finally towards the front door as she remarked, ‘Aye, me door’s always open.’

  When they reached the foot of the outside steps Mary whispered, ‘What d’you make of that?’

  ‘We’re invited to tea,’ said Fanny, under her breath.

  ‘Will you go?’

  Fanny looked down at her friend for a moment, and a twinkle came into her eye as she said, ‘Aye, of course I’ll go. And tell her all about The Ladies—that should make her feel at home.’ She punched Mary playfully, and Mary let out a giggle that sent Fanny almost gaily down the street towards the bus.

  Fanny had joked with the bus conductor, she had joked with the milkman who had nearly bumped her with his electric barrow, she had joked with the young lass who had asked her business in a dingy little room before allowing her into the presence of her superior, Mrs Proctor, but Fanny could not joke with Mrs Proctor, because she saw that Mrs Proctor was summing her up. She did not say to herself that Mrs Proctor was taken aback by the sight of her, but the woman’s attitude stiffened Fanny’s spine and made her think, Well…aye…What do you want in such a place? Royalty?

  ‘You understand that the post will only be temporary?’

  Fanny nodded briefly.

  She also understood that if Mrs Proctor wasn’t in a bit of a stew at having to fill Mary Prout’s place quickly her own chances of getting in on this job would be very small.

  ‘Have you references?’

  ‘No, I’ve never had any need of them, I’m well known.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you have to have two. Do you think you can get them?’

  ‘Yes, a dozen if you want.’ She didn’t care now if she got the job or not. References…just to serve in the lav! God in Heaven!

  ‘You see you’ll be dealing with money, and it’s necessary that we have some knowledge of your…’

  Under Fanny’s stare Mrs Proctor became silent, and she added lamely, ‘You understand?’

  ‘Aye, I understand, and I’ve never touched a sixpence that doesn’t belong to me in me life and as it’s only pennies I’ll be dealing with I’m not goin’ to start now. If I wanted to go along that line I’d go for bigger game, wouldn’t you?’

  The question apparently disturbed Mrs Proctor, and she rose to her feet, saying, ‘Well now, if you could get me the references you could start tomorrow. And, of course, as I’ve said, it’s only temporary…’

  ‘Aye, you told me.’ There was deep emphasis in Fanny’s reply. One of them was a numskull…and God knew who that was.

  ‘They’ll have to be from people in authority.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. One’ll be from me priest and the other from me grocer. They’ve looked after me body and soul for years.’ That was a good one, she’d never thought of that afore. A grin at her own humour now split Fanny’s face, but found no answering smile on Mrs Proctor’s. Instead, the perturbed woman opened the door, saying, ‘Good morning. Bring them in tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye, I will.’

  There was a codfish if ever there was one. Dealing with all The Ladies in the town had done something to her.

  Well, now! Fanny stood in the street and looked up at the sky. It was clear and blue and had a washed look, fresh-like. She had a fresh feeling herself, she had never felt like this
for years. Perhaps it was the support of her corsets; perhaps it was getting out a bit, for it was many a long day since she had been further than Braithwaite’s or the church, and they were only a stone’s throw from each other. She’d go back now and pay a visit to Bob Aiton, who was manager of all Braithwaite’s stores and whose backside she had smacked many a time when he was a lad living across the road and playing with her own young ’uns. Of course, he had gone up in the world since then, but she could rely on him to give her a good word.

  Fanny felt decidedly better. Perhaps it was because during the last few hours her mind had been taken off her son, Jack, and the longing to see him had not brought its knife-edge between her ribs and made her hands grope for something to do.

  But why was it, Fanny thought, that you always had to be interrogated by bits of lasses who wanted to know the ins and outs of your business before you could put a foot over anybody’s door.

  ‘You tell Mr Aiton it’s Fanny McBride, and if you tell him you’ve kept me standin’ here like Johnny-come-canny he’ll skelp the hunger off you, and I’m tellin’ you, me girl.’ She nodded sharply towards the tallest of the three girls who were staring at her wide-eyed as if, she thought, she was a visitation.

  While the tall girl picked up the telephone and became immersed in a somewhat lengthy conversation, Fanny outstared the other two until, their heads drooping, they began to tap their typewriters again. The tall girl looked up from the phone and said, ‘Mr Aiton’s busy, is it important?’

  ‘Of course it’s important, I wouldn’t be here else.’

  As the girl spoke into the phone she kept her eyes on Fanny, and Fanny held her look. And when the girl, replacing the receiver in its stand, said coldly, ‘You’ll have to wait a moment, Mr Aiton is busy,’ Fanny checked the eloquent ejaculation, ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Bob Aiton telling her she’d have to wait a minute! When he was a lad in the greengrocery she had clipped his ear if he didn’t push her some pot stuff in extra. And when he was manager of the grocery department he’d make his way to her to have a word with her. But now he had an office and ran the lot she had to wait. Ah well, she supposed that was life. She sat down on a stiff wooden seat and waited for the fleeting glances of the girls as they were lifted to her in curious speculation.

  It was some moments before the phone rang. The tall girl answered it, then rose to her feet, saying primly, ‘Come this way.’

  Fanny went the way indicated, and when her guide knocked on a frosted-glass door and they were bidden to enter and there behind an imposing desk, flanked at one side by a middle-aged woman sitting at a table, she saw Bob Aiton, Fanny gulped openly, for it was not the Bob that she remembered in the grocery department, who still retained a vestige of the lad who had run wild with her own, but a man she thought of, with genuine surprise, as getting on—well on.

  He did not rise, but in an over-hearty tone said, ‘Come in, Fanny. Come in…Well now?’

  Fanny looked at him a moment before speaking. It must be all of eight years since she had seen him, but by his changed appearance it could have been twenty. And he was as jerky as a Jack-in-the-box, with his hands moving and his nose twitching.

  ‘How’s the family? The boys all right, I hope? Years since I saw any of them. Funny what life does…throws us here and there. Well, Fanny, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve come for a reference.’

  This, at least, had silenced his jerky flow for he did not even repeat, ‘A reference?’ but looked at her for some moments in silence, and then said, as if at last getting her statement right, ‘Oh yes, who for?’

  ‘For meself.’

  ‘Yourself, Fanny? What do you want a reference for?’

  ‘A job, of course.’

  Again her answer had silenced him, until after some moments of staring and blinking, and passing a glance towards the woman at the end of the table, he said, ‘Yes. Yes, what kind of job?’

  ‘I’m goin’ in The Ladies.’

  Fanny hoped that this statement when made last night to her son would shock him into making a protest. To her mind he was the only one that it would shock, yet it had done nothing of the sort. But now she could see she had shocked Bobby Aiton, for his eyebrows were raised and his mouth was forming a puckered ‘Oh!’ of surprise, and it was only with an effort, she noticed, that he stopped his eyes sliding apprehensively again towards the bent head of the other woman.

  As he coughed discreetly in his throat she watched his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a cork in a bucket. Now why had he of all people to be agitated? His face was as pink as a smacked backside. My God! Weren’t we all very genteel of a sudden? And when she thought how he had been brought up, rougher than any of her own, and that was saying something.

  ‘But—but, Fanny, you are getting on. What—what would you be wanting to do in—in The—The Ladies?’

  The unconscious impropriety of this question was not lost on Fanny and she was for answering, ‘What would anybody be wanting to do in The Ladies?’ but taking it as it was meant, she said, ‘It’s a sitting job.’

  She was about to continue and describe in detail the duties of the position she was after when her eyes were drawn to the startled gaze of the secretary, and the reason for it struck Fanny like a joke from an old-time music-hall, and she was unable to stop the bellow of laughter that sprang from her high, corseted chest. She laughed at the two faces before her, she laughed at what she had just said and the way the woman had taken it, and when the tears sprang into her eyes she dabbed at them, thinking, I’ve had more fun this mornin’ than I’ve had for years. Then bringing her gaze full on the shocked face of the secretary, she explained pithily, ‘We’re all grown-up, so what does it matter? What I meant was, I’m sitting taking the money.’ She turned her look to Bob Aiton again, saying, ‘Mary Prout. You remember her, she lived next door to your mother? Well, she’s been part-time at the Connolly Street one for years, but now her leg’s given out and the doctor’s ordered her to be off, so I’m standin’ in you might say, or,’ her small bright eyes flashed to the woman again, as she ended on a laugh, ‘or sittin’ in.’

  ‘Yes, yes…Yes, yes, and you want a reference? Yes, yes.’ Mr Aiton began to write at top speed, and Fanny watched him. Once he paused and looked up at her as if searching for adjectives by which to describe the virtues that would enable her to get into The Ladies, then with a small perturbed shake of his head he went on writing.

  Fanny watched him sign his name with a flourish then fold the sheet quickly and stick it into an envelope. And he rose hurriedly to his feet as he handed it to her, saying, ‘There, Fanny, that should get you what you want.’

  She, too, rose to her feet. And now very quietly she said, ‘Thanks, Bob.’ No more, no less. She gave him one long look before turning from him, and when he came quickly round his desk to open the door she checked him with a backward wave of her hand and went out, her bust up, her head back, and carrying her bulk as spritely as it would allow her.

  In the street Fanny began to walk in the direction of the church. The morning was not so nice now, the sky not so high or so blue. There was a chill in the air that penetrated her fat and made some part of her cold…no part in particular, but somewhere inside her she was cold. Bob Aiton hadn’t wanted to see her, that was the truth of it. He had forgotten that he ever knew her, or at least was trying hard to dim the memory. Words that her son Don’s wife had thrown at her at the christening of their only child came back to her. They seemed in some way connected with Bob Aiton’s attitude. ‘You take some living down,’ she had said.

  Well, she’d go to the priest and see what impression she made on him.

  Miss Honeysett, the priests’ housekeeper, answered her knock. Fanny did not expect Miss Honeysett to smile; she did not expect Miss Honeysett to be civil. Miss Honeysett was Miss Honeysett, an institution in her own right. Protector of the priests from those who had nothing better to do but make their lives a burden, who were forever running after them,
like Nellie Flannagan, who took her offerings by hand so’s to make sure of the jewels in her heavenly crown. She wouldn’t trust her reward to God alone, not her, she wanted a guarantee from Father Owen’s own lips. Yes, that was Nellie Flannagan and the likes that pestered the priests. But she wasn’t one of them, she hadn’t been inside these presbytery doors for over thirty years, and she’d never forget the reason for her visit then either. She had nearly murdered McBride with the frying pan that day, for she’d had it in her hand at the time he had stumbled in rotten drunk and not a penny of his week’s pay in his pocket. Then she had left him flat on the floor and the bairns running hell-for-leather in all directions, and she hadn’t known whether to go for the priest or the polis, but God had guided her to this very door, and Father Owen himself had gone back with her and seen to McBride.

  ‘Who d’you want, Father Owen or Father Bailey?’

  ‘Father Owen.’

  ‘Sit down. He’s just this minute come in, he’s never off his legs. I’ll see if he can spare you a minute.’

  Fanny nodded understandingly and sat down, and the minute was hardly up before Father Owen appeared in the doorway, his long face longer with astonishment as he surveyed Fanny across the room. And his exclamation was like a warm greeting when he said, ‘Well, Fanny, what brings you here? This is a surprise. No, don’t get up, keep your seat.’ He pulled up a chair close to hers and smiled at her as he asked, ‘Are you in trouble, Fanny?’

  ‘Not a bit, Father.’

  ‘Philip all right?’

  Fanny’s eyes dropped, and then she said, ‘He’s leaving; he’s getting another job. But,’ she added, looking at him now straight in the eye, ‘it’s right that he should. This place is too small for him, he’d never settle here.’

  Father Owen said nothing, just bobbed his head.

  ‘He’s the last of them, and when he’s gone, Father, I’ll be lonely, so I thought I’d get meself a job.’ It was easy to talk to this man.