Hannah Massey Page 7

  There flashed across Rosie’s mind the picture of them emptying the shed last night and what lay beneath where they sat at this moment, but she let the picture slide away.

  ‘How much do you think is there?’ Hannah dug her index finger downwards.

  ‘I haven’t any idea.’

  ‘Go on, give a guess.’

  Rosie didn’t answer, ‘I really don’t know—tell me,’ because she knew her mother wouldn’t know either, at least not exactly, for this woman could count up to ten and then add three to it because she’d had thirteen children. At a stretch she could put ten and ten together and make it twenty, because there were twenty shillings in a pound note, but that was as far, Rosie knew, as her mother could go, because her mother could neither read nor write. But this lack was never referred to in the house. It was like a disfigurement that was ignored, but more out of fear than pity, for her mother would have slain anyone who made reference to her deficiency. Hannah could discuss the news of the day as if she had read the paper from end to end, when all she had done was listen to the wireless. The wireless was not only her tutor, it was her face-saver.

  Rosie picked up a roll of notes and, taking off the wire band, she counted twenty pounds.

  ‘Are they all the same?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘They are all the same,’ answered Hannah just as quietly.

  Rapidly Rosie began to count. She lifted one layer after another, and after some time she looked up at her mother and said in a whisper, ‘Roughly about two thousand eight hundred, I should say.’

  ‘Two thousand eight hundred!’ Hannah repeated. ‘Well now, what do you think of that?’

  ‘But, Ma, how have you done it?’

  ‘Management, lass, management. I’m no fool you know, as I said.’

  Rosie looked in amazement at the big smiling woman sitting at the other side of the drawer as she went on, ‘Well now, for the last five years they’ve hardly lost a day, except Shane in the winter on the buildings, and big money they’ve been makin’. Jimmy could take forty pounds a week at times in the bad weather, making the bridge. Hell the work was, up to his eyes in water, but the money made up for it. And Arthur still makes a steady twenty-five when he’s leading from the quarries. Shane’s never made much, never more than eighteen, but Barny could make his twenty with overtime. Your da…well, it’s been twenty sometimes, but mostly sixteen. Then there’s Karen and the other one, but Karen’s two pounds a week hardly keeps her in the fancy puddings she likes. As for the other—’ she didn’t say Hughie, ‘four pounds is all I’ve ever got off him, never more.’

  At the bitter note in her mother’s voice, Rosie felt compelled to say, ‘Well, I don’t suppose he makes much more than that some weeks. There’s nothing much in the cobbling, is there?’

  ‘There’s plenty in the cobbling if he would go out an’ look for it—people still have their boots mended—but no, sittin’ in the back shop readin’, that’s how he spends his time. His room upstairs is full of nothing else but books…That’s where his money goes, second-hand bookshops. An’ what good have they done him, I ask you, for he’s nothing but a scug? Aw’—she shook her head violently—‘don’t let’s talk about him…Now, as I was sayin’, about the money here.’ She drew her fingers gently over the rolls. ‘You wanted to know how I’ve managed it. Well, when they all got steadily going I said to them, we’ll divide it into three, I said, each of your pay packets into three. One part will be for your own pocket, another part will be for your board and your workin’ clothes, and boots et cetera, and with the other part I’ll buy your best suits and things and put a bit by for a rainy day. An’ all said OK, Ma, it was all right by them. All except Arthur. He wasn’t so keen, for even then he had his eye on that piece. But I put me foot down. You’ll be like the others or not at all, I said. An’ there’s Jimmy. There’s hardly a week goes by even now when he hasn’t ten pounds on a Friday night in his pocket, but never a penny he has by the Monday mornin’. If he had twenty it would be the same with him, the big softy. I said to him he should look out for a rainy day. And you know what he said?’ She leant across the drawer towards Rosie. ‘I’ll leave you to cope with the weather, Ma. That’s what he said.’

  ‘Do they know about this?’ Rosie pointed to the money.

  ‘Begod, no! Not even Broderick knows the amount I’ve got; nor is he going to. That’s me drawer, Broderick, I’ve said, an’ it’s the only personal thing I have in this house. I look to you to honour it. An’ don’t go searchin’ for the key. An’ I know he never has, an’ it’s been locked all this many a year. When it only held a few shillings it was locked.’

  ‘But, Ma.’ Rosie shook her head slowly. ‘What if someone was to break in, if someone got to know?’

  ‘Who’s to know? How could anyone outside know when those inside don’t? Oh, they chip me about me stockin’ leg, an’ they know I’ve got a few pounds put by because they know who to come to when they’re up against it; an’ they’ve only got to say they want a suit and it’s on their back. But I don’t forget to tell them how much I spend on them; I rub it in’—she bounced her head—‘so’s they won’t think I’m makin’ a pile out of them.’

  Rosie lowered her head. You had to laugh at her ma, you had to laugh or go for her and say, ‘Well, that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it, Ma, making a pile out of them?’ But no-one could say that to her ma; her ma was a law unto herself, her ma had her own type of reasoning.

  ‘Begod, listen!’ Hannah had jumped up from the bed, her hand held aloft. ‘Here they are already, Betty and the bairns.’

  As the shouts of ‘Gran! Gran!’ came from down below, Hannah whipped up the drawer and, shuffling with it to the chest, put it back into place again and locked it. Then pulling the front of her jumper wide, she inserted her hand in, saying the while to Rosie, ‘I have a bag pinned on me vest.’ She patted her breast. ‘There’s no-one going to go rummagin’ in there.’ She laughed as she pushed Rosie in front of her onto the landing.

  The three children were grouped around the foot of the stairs looking upwards with eager faces, and Hannah cried at them, ‘Hello, Catherine, me bairn! And you, Theresa. Aw, an’ there’s me big man.’ She came down the last stairs with hands extended as if in benediction and laid them on the four-year-old curly-headed boy, saying, ‘An’ you’ve still got them?’ She lifted one of the curls with her finger. ‘I thought you said you were goin’ to have them off?’

  There came a chorus of, ‘He was, Gran. He is, Gran.’ And from the little boy himself. ’Safternoon, Gran; I am. ’Safternoon.’

  ‘Aw, a shame on to God it is to cut those beautiful ringlets.’ Then looking from one to the other of the children she said, ‘Don’t you see who’s here? It’s your Aunt Rosie. Say hello to your Aunt Rosie.’

  The children looked to where Rosie was standing on the stair above her mother and chorused, obediently, ‘Hello, Auntie Rosie.’

  They had heard a lot about their Auntie Rosie whom they very rarely saw, their clever, beautiful Auntie Rosie who was in London, living among the swells. They were shy of her. She silenced their tongues and they turned as one and, scuffling, went back into the kitchen and to their mother, who was emptying a basket onto the table.

  ‘Hello, there, Betty.’ Hannah greeted her daughter-in-law, and the plump, matronly girl turned her head over her shoulder saying, ‘Hello, Ma.’ Then catching sight of Rosie, she turned fully round, crying, ‘Rosie, you’re home? When did you come?’ She was smiling, broadly, kindly.

  ‘Last night, Betty.’

  Before Rosie could go on Hannah put in loudly, ‘It’s the flu she’s had; she’s as white as lint. Did you ever see her lookin’ like this? Oh, I’m goin’ to try and persuade her to get a job nearer home so I can look after her and fatten her up. She hasn’t a pick on her.’

  The two girls smiled at each other.

  Rosie liked John’s wife; she always had. Betty was an uncomplicated girl. From the first she had fallen like a cat on its feet
into the ways of the family; and this was demonstrated in the next moment when she pointed to a large parcel she had taken from her extra large shopping bag. ‘You’ll be able to use that,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ Hannah quickly undid the brown paper, then some greaseproof paper, and exposed to her glistening eyes a quarter of an eighty pound Australian cheddar cheese, and she breathed deeply as she said, ‘Yes, indeed, indeed.’

  ‘We’ve got a big lump an’ all, Gran.’ It was six-year-old Theresa speaking, as she gazed up at Hannah.

  ‘Have you, me child?’

  ‘Yes. Me da found it in the grab.’

  ‘He did, did he?’ Hannah was bending over the child now, looking down into her face.

  ‘Yes. When me da pulled up the dredger there was the cheese in a wooden box, and they opened it and they shared it out; me da had half and Mr Rowland had half.’

  ‘He did, did he? Well, that was kind of your da to share it out,’ said Hannah. The child nodded and smiled before adding, ‘He found some butter in the dredger last week.’

  Hannah raised her eyes to Betty, but Betty was busy repacking her bag. Her face wore a deadpan expression and she said without looking up, ‘They’ve been warned not to tell anybody outside what their da finds in the dredger. They know they would get him wrong if they did. But as their da told them, if he didn’t bring it home it would only be thrown into another part of the river again where they are blocking it up.’

  ‘That’s right, that’s right.’ Hannah nodded now from one child to the other. Then looking at Rosie, she asked, ‘Isn’t it, Rosie? Isn’t that right?’ And Rosie nodded, and after a moment said softly, ‘Yes, yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Take them into the kitchen, Catherine,’ said Hannah now, ‘and have two bullets each out of the tin. No more, mind, just two apiece.’ She thrust her finger at each of them, and they ran from her, laughing, into the kitchen. And now she turned to her daughter-in-law and pushed her with the flat of the hand. ‘Cheese out of the dredger! That’s a good ’un. And they could come out of the river bottom at that; who’s to say they couldn’t? With all the boats that’s sunk outside the piers, the stuff’s bound to float back.’ She pushed her again, and Betty, chuckling deeply, said, ‘Well, you have to tell them something; it’s impossible to keep the stuff out of their sight.’ She buttoned her coat now. ‘I’ll have to be goin’. And John’ll not be in the day, he says, but he’ll look in the morrow mornin’ after Mass.’

  ‘Won’t you stay for a cup of tea and have a crack with Rosie here?’

  ‘I can’t, Ma…You see’—she glanced towards the kitchen door, then muttered under her breath—‘I’ve got to be at Bill’s stall in the market by half past ten; he’s to let me know then about a bit of bacon, an’ if it’s all right John’ll pick it up this afternoon in the car.’

  ‘Aw, I see, lass, I understand, I understand.’ Hannah flapped her hand. ‘And how’s the car goin’? The lads have got it into their heads that they’re goin’ to club together and get one, but I have different ideas; I’ll tell you about it later. If you’d had a minute we could have gone into it; perhaps the morrow. But how’s the car goin’?’

  ‘Oh, he’s always taking it to bits, it’s always wanting somethin’ spending on it; but as he says what can you expect for forty pounds. He’s got his eye on another one. A hundred and twenty they want, but it’s in good condition.’

  ‘You’ll get it, you’ll get it, me girl.’ Hannah patted Betty’s back affectionately; then turning her head over her shoulder, called, ‘Come away, you lot, out of that, your mother’s goin’.’

  As the children came running into the room again Betty, looking at Rosie, said, ‘We’ll be seeing more of you then, Rosie?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so, Betty.’

  ‘That’ll be nice. John’ll be pleased to know you’re back. Come round and see us, eh? What about the morrow?’

  ‘I’ll pop in sometime. I’ve still a bit of a cold on me, I don’t want to go out much yet.’

  ‘No, and you’re wise. Did you ever know weather like this? I’m sick of the sight of snow. Come on.’ She gathered the children round her, then pushed them out into the hall amid cries of, ‘Goodbye, Gran.’ ‘Bye, Auntie Rosie.’ ‘Bye, Gran.’

  As Betty passed her to go down the steps, Hannah pushed a ten-shilling note into her hand, saying, ‘Get your hair done this afternoon, an’ all.’

  ‘No, Ma. No, Ma.’ Betty made great play of pushing the note back into Hannah’s hand, but was eventually persuaded to take it. Then she smiled her thanks. ‘There was no need for that,’ she said.

  Hannah came bustling back into the living room now, talking all the time. She was in fine fettle. She bustled the cheese off the table and into the kitchen, shouting her conversation back to Rosie, where she stood looking down into the fire.

  The whole world was a fiddle…life was a fiddle. There was nothing honest or decent or good in it. Life was putrid. Rosie found her teeth clamping down tightly into her lower lip, and even when it became painful she went on biting. There was badness of the body and badness of the mind, and she didn’t know which was worse…Oh, yes, she did. Oh, yes, she did. She was shaking her head slowly at herself when the front doorbell rang, and as she turned she saw her mother come to the kitchen door holding the palm of her hand to her brow, the fingers extended wide.

  ‘There’s nobody comes to the front door on a Saturday mornin’, not at this time.’ Hannah hurriedly crossed the room, slanting her eyes towards Rosie. ‘Now if it’s them, act natural like.’ She glanced swiftly about her; then putting her shoulders back, she made her way to the hall, but stopped again at the sitting-room door and, turning swiftly to Rosie, said with a nervous smile, ‘Better still, go up to your room. The look on your face would give God himself away.’

  When the bell rang again, Hannah went forward, crying, ‘All right, all right, I’m on me way.’

  Since the stampede last night in getting the shed cleared there had been no more mention of the matter. When the men had come in around eleven, merry and full of talk, her mother hadn’t checked them with, ‘Whist now! We’ve got something on our plates.’ She had made no mention of the transfer of the stuff nor the fact that the house might be searched, and she had warned Barny to keep his mouth shut. Rosie knew that her mother was living up to the slogan: Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She had always applied this to the ways of the house, and they had been happier for it; but now, apparently, the evil had come upon them.

  She was making her way towards the door when her mother’s voice from the hall checked her, crying, ‘Oh, begod! It’s you, Father, and on a Saturda’ mornin’. Come in, come in; you look froze to the bone…And what have you there?’

  Rosie moved back swiftly towards the fire and stood with her hand pressed across the lower part of her face. Had she been given the choice she would have preferred the men to come and search the house rather than to be brought face to face with Father Lafflin. He was kind and jolly was Father Lafflin, but he had eyes that could see through you.

  The priest preceded Hannah into the room, saying, ‘It’s my wireless I’ve brought along. I want Barny to have a look at it.’ At this point he stopped, and looking towards Rosie, he exclaimed, ‘Why! Rosie! And they never told me you were back.’ He turned his face towards Hannah. ‘You never told me the child was back, Hannah.’

  ‘You’ve never given me a chance, Father.’ Hannah’s voice was sharp and her eyes were riveted on the wireless set the priest was holding before him. She was looking at it as if at any minute it might explode, and it might too. The wireless could bring disaster on her house. She grabbed it from his arms, saying, ‘What had you to bring it round for, Father?’

  ‘What? What were you saying? Oh.’ He dusted the front of his coat down. ‘Well, Barny made it and I’ve asked him two or three times to pop in and have a look at it, but he never has a minute, and I thought to meself, well, I’ll take it round, and why shouldn’t I? The bo
y makes me a wireless and I expect him to service it, and to come out of his way to do it. And so I brought it round knowing he’d see to it. But let us forget about the wireless. How are you getting on Rosie?’

  ‘Oh, all right, Father.’

  ‘You don’t look all right, child.’ He moved slowly towards her. ‘You look…well—’ he paused, ‘sort of drained. That’s London for you, I suppose. That air’s no good for man or beast up there.’

  ‘I’ve had the flu, Father.’

  ‘Aw…aw, that’s it, is it? Now that’s the thing for pulling you down. I think all the fat women in the land should be injected with flu, it would save all their dieting.’ He threw his head back and let out a high laugh. But it didn’t reach its full height before it was checked by Hannah saying flatly, ‘Father, I’m sorry to ask you so pointedly, but this is no time for gildin’ the lily, so to speak, but would you mind takin’ your wireless back, an’ I’ll have Barny come down and see to it this very afternoon.’

  The priest turned slowly and looked at Hannah. He looked at her for a moment before saying, ‘Don’t be obtuse, Hannah, what is it? Have I done wrong in bringing the wireless? Is he up to his eyes in work?…But I’m in no real hurry for it, although it’s handy.’

  Hannah bowed her head and put her hands on the side of the table for support; her silence brought the priest’s eyes narrowing towards her. He looked hard at her, then at the wireless, then flicked his glance to Rosie before turning to Hannah again and saying flatly, ‘What’s wrong with the wireless, Hannah?’