Fanny McBride Page 8

  ‘Aye, Fan. May Brice was in our house and you should have heard what she said to her, pulled her leg no end. Eeh! I did laugh.’

  May Brice. Suddenly the knife-like pain returned to Fanny’s ribs. May Brice’s daughter lived along where their Jack was now living. Anything she had heard of him since he had left home had been through Mary via May Brice.

  ‘Well,’ said Fanny, ‘and what was she on about?’

  ‘Oh nothing, Fan, she only looked in ’cos I was under the weather.’

  ‘Out with it,’ said Fanny, getting to her feet and pulling off her coat. ‘That’ll be the day when May Brice has nothing to say.’

  ‘Well, Fan…now don’t go for me, Fan. Will you, Fan?’ Mary started to pick her nails in agitation. ‘Well, she says she saw Jack…and her, not so long ago. They were arm-in-arm and May says he was well put on…dressed to the eyes, that’s what she said, in a trilby.’

  ‘A trilby?’ Fanny turned slowly and looked down on Mary where she sat perched on the edge of the chair.

  ‘Aye, Fan.’

  A trilby. Her Jack who had sneered at and scoffed the lugs off Phil because of his trilby and gloves.

  ‘May says Joyce’s folk have moved again, that’s twice since they left here—a big six-roomed place they’ve got now—and…Jack and her’s with them.’

  Fanny swung round and went to the fireplace and screwed the big black kettle into the heart of the dim embers as she cried, ‘The halls of Hell are big, they say. Well, I want to hear no more, but mind’—she twisted her head round and glared at Mary—‘if you tell May Brice you told me this, not another farthin’ do you get out of me. And mind, I’m telling you.’

  ‘No, Fan, no. Now you know me.’

  ‘Aye, I know, and that’s what I’m afraid of.’

  ‘Aw! Fan.’ Although Mary sounded hurt she did not appear unduly troubled at the slur on her discretion. ‘I’ll be goin’ now, Fan. I just slipped across when I saw Nellie Flannagan out of the way, for if she sees me walking about and me on the sick with me leg, I wouldn’t put it past her to put a spoke in me wheel.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ said Fanny. ‘Put nothing past that ’un…Her and May Brice…there’s a pair; it’s a shame to spoil two houses between ’em.’

  ‘Aye, Fan.’ Mary got to her feet. ‘Ta-ra, Fan. And thanks again for what you’ve done. I’ll try to come across in the mornin’.’

  ‘So long,’ said Fanny abruptly.

  As Mary went out Fanny turned to the fireplace again, and putting her hand up to the high mantelpiece she rested it there, staring down onto the kettle. So he was wearing a trilby, was he? It was to be hoped that his head didn’t get too big for it. But the news could have been worse, it might have been that he was seen wearing the uniform. My God! That would be the day of shame…the Salvation Army uniform. She swung round and tore off her hat, then kicked off her shoes, and in her stockinged feet threw herself into the task of putting the room to rights. And such was her temper that she forgot for the time being that her corsets were killing her.

  It was some time later, when she had just finished setting the tea for Philip and the energy she had expended in trying to cover the pain under her ribs was beginning to tell on her, that there came another knock on the door. And she called flatly, ‘Oh, come away in.’

  To say that Fanny was surprised when she saw that her visitor was Mrs Leigh-Petty again was putting it mildly. But it was not the Mrs Leigh-Petty who had left with her nose in the air a short while ago. This Mrs Leigh-Petty came in shiftily, stealthily. She sidled in, softly closing the door behind her.

  On the point of speaking, Fanny hesitated. The creature seemed to have as many different guises as a touring act. The fine dame of a while ago, Fanny saw, was gone, and before her stood a pathetic figure, the eyes holding no haughty glint now, but dark and full of pleading. Yet she could do nothing with her voice, for it was still highly refined.

  ‘Am I intruding, Mrs McBride?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. Come away in and sit down. I’m on the point of making a cup of fresh tea.’

  ‘I—I won’t have any tea, thank you.’

  ‘What is it? Come and sit down. Are you bad…you’re shaking?’

  ‘I’m—I’m all right. I wanted to ask you something. I wouldn’t go to any of the others.’ She motioned her head backwards, indicating the rest of the house. ‘I came to you because I feel you understand.’

  What Fanny was supposed to understand she didn’t rightly know, and she wasn’t all that interested, but she said, ‘Aye.’

  ‘You won’t tell Margaret, will you?’

  ‘Tell her what?’

  ‘Well, anything that passes between us. Margaret’s hard, she has very little feeling. I wish Marian was older…Marian understands already.’

  Fanny nodded, not knowing what was to be understood but appearing to be conversant with it.

  ‘I’ve run short of money.’

  So that was it. Fanny’s expression did not change.

  ‘I’ve told Margaret until I’m tired that I can’t manage, but she takes no heed. Would you…would you be interested in this?’ Mrs Leigh-Petty drew from the bottom of a raffia basket a paper-wrapped object, and uncovering it revealed to Fanny’s fixed gaze a silver cake basket.

  Now what in the name of God did the woman think she would do with a silver cake basket?

  ‘You can have it for a pound.’

  A pound! If she had a pound to spare it wouldn’t go on a silver cake basket. On Fanny’s silence Mrs Leigh-Petty’s voice became urgent. ‘Fifteen shillings, then. It’s worth four or five pounds.’

  ‘It may be,’ said Fanny, ‘but I wasn’t wanting a cake basket at the moment.’

  ‘It would make a lovely Christmas present for…for one of your family.’

  Aye, she was right there, it would…but fifteen shillings! Five shillings apiece was her limit for presents, and what with the squad of them and their bairns, she had to take out three money clubs for Christmas each year.

  ‘I’ll let you have it for ten shillings.’

  It was Thursday and ten shillings was about all she had to see her over till the morrow night, when Phil gave her his pay.

  ‘Please have it…please take it.’

  So urgent was the plea, so pathetic the creature before her, that Fanny turned to the mantelpiece and taking down her purse handed over the ten shillings. But for a moment she thought that the woman had changed her mind for she clung onto the dish as if loath to part with it; then, almost flinging it from her, she thrust it into Fanny’s hands and with only a mumbled word of thanks turned hurriedly away and went out.

  The dish in her hands, Fanny looked towards the door. Was there ever such a creature? To her mind that woman needed a doctor…and she herself needed her head looking at for being such a damn fool to part with her last ten bob. You couldn’t eat a silver dish, now could you, and likely when the lass came in and found the dish gone there’d be hell to pay, but in that case she’d get her ten shillings back. It was a grand dish, though, in fact a fine dish, and worth anybody’s ten shillings she would say.

  She placed the dish on the dresser among the conglomeration of oddments reposing there, and stood back and surveyed it with not a little pride. Perhaps she wouldn’t give it away. She’d keep it and do a bit of bragging on her own within hearing of Lady Flannagan.

  The more Fanny looked at the dish the more taken with it she became. Although it looked plain enough it was heavy and had an air about it…class-like, she thought. And she found herself eager for someone to come in and admire the acquisition. But no-one did until Philip returned home.

  His comments were much as usual. ‘Been cold,’ he said, ‘could be a frost tonight.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said. She watched him make for the bedroom, then stop before he entered the door, his head turned sideways, caught by the bright gleam of the silver.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘What does it look like?’ as
ked Fanny, pleased that the dish had caught his attention so quickly.

  He took a slow step sideward and picked it up, turned it over, then looked towards his mother, and the surprise in his voice gave her a sort of kick as he said, ‘It’s silver…solid silver. Where did you get it?’

  ‘I bought it.’

  ‘Where? Second-hand? Did you clean it up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then where did you get it?’ His voice was excited. ‘It’s a beautiful piece. What did you give for it?’

  ‘Ten bob.’

  ‘What! You’re joking. No!’

  ‘Why should I joke? That’s what I paid for it.’

  He put the dish down and stared at her, his gloves and hat still in his hand. ‘This thing’s worth pounds, it isn’t plate. Where did you get it?’

  Nonchalantly, Fanny, raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘The lady…from up top, she came in in a stew, nearly went on her knees for me to have it. She wanted a pound, but she dropped quick enough. I didn’t want it—what’s the good of it to me?—but it’s a bargain. I know that, although I’ve had few in me life.’

  ‘Bargain? What’s the girl going to say?’

  ‘I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter to me what she says, I didn’t ask for it.’ She could see that he wasn’t at all pleased about the deal now that he knew where the dish had come from, and she added, ‘Well, it’s there, and they can have it…that’s if I get me money back.’

  Philip said no more but went abruptly into his room, leaving her in the air as it were. She went to the oven and pulling out a plate of fish, exclaimed, ‘Damn him!’ If ever there was a levelling influence in this world it was this son of hers. To witness his attitude you’d think she had pinched the blasted thing.

  As Philip ate his tea in silence Fanny sat by the fire, her needles clicking, her mind disturbed and resentful. He hadn’t asked a word about her job…he didn’t care how she got on, whether she sunk or swam. Well, she wouldn’t say a blasted word about it. The next minute, giving a whirl to the sock, she remarked in a casual tone, ‘I got that job. I’m startin’ the morrow.’

  He turned surprised eyes towards her, then said, ‘Oh, Mary Prout…yes. I hope it’ll be all right.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it?’ She wanted to argue with him, fight, rouse him in some way. She was in a state of mind such that, if Jack had been in the kitchen, she would have gone for him, upbraiding him with her tongue, sure that he would tease her, perhaps put his arms about her and call her ‘fat old Fan’. But this one! She gave a loud, derisive huh! inside herself.

  An uneasy silence was hanging over the room, and into it drifted the strong smell of kippers. Fanny sniffed. Miss Harper frying again and burning the blasted things to blazes. Then there came the sound of Sam Lavey coughing and spluttering his way up the front steps…and then a rap on the door. What could he want? Twisting about, Fanny called, ‘Come in, will you!’

  The door was not opened, and so, throwing her glance towards Philip, she said sharply, ‘See who that is.’

  Philip was halfway to the door when it opened slowly and the girl from the attics entered. On seeing him, she appeared disconcerted for a moment and her eyes fell away from him, and looking towards Fanny, she asked, ‘Can I speak to you?’

  ‘Aye, lass. Come in.’

  The girl moved a step or two, then seemed to hesitate. There was, Fanny thought, a droopiness about her, as if she was very tired. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said.

  ‘No, thank you, I won’t stay. I…I want to ask you if…’ At this point she swallowed as if the words were sticking painfully in her throat, and when her hand went up to her neck and gripped it, Fanny got to her feet.

  ‘Now don’t upset yourself. Is it about the dish?’

  Fanny was speaking with unusual softness.

  ‘The dish?’ the girl repeated.

  It was at this point that Fanny noticed a curious thing. The girl was on a line with the dresser and the gleaming silver dish was standing out from the objects surrounding it, like a star in a night sky, yet the girl had not appeared to notice it. Or perhaps she was deliberately closing her eyes to it. Aye, that must be it. So she said kindly, ‘You can have it back, lass. But you see, if I hadn’t taken it somebody else would. Hand it over, Philip.’

  Philip picked up the dish from the dresser and going to the girl he stood rather awkwardly before her, and he studied the silver a moment before saying, ‘It’s a beautiful thing.’

  As the girl looked from Philip to the object in his hands, Fanny watched her face. The colour began to drain from it as if a tap had been turned on below her chin; then before, as Fanny said later, you could say knife, it happened…the girl went out like a light.

  It was a toss up as to who was the most surprised, herself or Philip, but of the two she thought it was him, for the girl could have been red hot so reluctant was he to touch her. She watched him stagger back under her weight, then put his arms tentatively about her as she slumped down him to the floor.

  ‘In the name of God! Lay her here off the lino.’ Fanny indicated the mat. ‘I’ll get some water. That’s the quickest passing out I’ve witnessed in me life.’

  When Fanny returned from the scullery Philip had lain the girl on the mat and was on his knees beside her.

  ‘Get me a pillow,’ he said.

  Fanny dragged a pillow from her bed and passed it to him, then commanded roughly, ‘Mind out of me way, till I loosen her things.’

  ‘I’ve loosened them, there was only her skirt.’

  Fanny’s eyebrows sprung upwards. Begod, but he had been quick! He wasn’t backward in coming forward in some things, she’d give him that.

  ‘Make some tea,’ he ordered.

  ‘I’ve a drop of whisky in the cupboard.’

  ‘No, tea’ll be better, make it fresh.’

  As she quickly mashed the tea from the ever-boiling kettle on the hob, the girl sighed and Fanny, turning to where she lay, asked anxiously, ‘Are you feeling better, lass?’

  She watched the girl open her eyes and look up at Philip. She was still in a bit of a daze she could see, for she stared at him for a long while before closing her eyes again, and she did not bother to answer the question.

  ‘Let me have that tea.’ Philip thrust one arm out backwards, and Fanny watched him put the other one under the girl’s shoulder and raise her up. He had got over his first gliff, for he was handling the situation, Fanny thought, as if it was all part of his day’s work…all to the manner born. First aid wasn’t in it. She watched the girl sit up in a daze, then almost at the same moment as she herself started and turned her head towards the window the girl stiffened into an upright position at the unmistakable sound of her mother’s voice coming from the street.

  Fanny moved swiftly to the window and there, only a few yards away, under the lamp, was Mrs Leigh-Petty. Her arms wide and her mouth stretched, she was calling out to some bairn playing Tommy-Noddy on the pavement opposite.

  ‘You should be at home learning…what about your homework? Go along now, go along. I won’t allow my children on the streets. Get up off the pavement at once.’

  Fanny cast a swift glance over her shoulder. The girl, she saw, was attempting to rise, but even with Philip’s aid she couldn’t make it, and Fanny said, ‘Stay still. Stay where you are until you’re fit, I’ll see to her.’ Then turning again to the window and seeing Mrs Flannagan’s curtains fluttering, her face tightened and she exclaimed under her breath, ‘Aye, and if I don’t somebody else will…giraffe neb!’

  As Fanny reached the hall Mrs Leigh-Petty came up the steps and through the front door, talking all the while, and on the sight of Fanny she did not cease or change her subject matter, and the matter was of such an ungrateful quality, seeing what had passed between them little more than an hour earlier, that Fanny was knocked speechless for the moment.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ cried Mrs Leigh-Petty, with a regal lift to her head. ‘I wonder when one could pass through this hall
without encountering you. Yet being typical of your surroundings, you are merged in them…merged but evident.’ Her hand went into action now and waved Fanny aside as she explained, ‘There is little hope for a person so encumbered by their circumstances as you, Mrs McBride, for you loll in the broth of squalor, boisterous, bumptious and blousey.’ Mrs Leigh-Petty suddenly laughed, a tinkling squeak of a laugh, and exclaimed, ‘Beautiful! beautiful! I haven’t lost the knack.’

  On this note of self-appreciation she turned towards the Laveys’ door, adding, ‘But this man with his stammer is different. Yes, here we have a plain case of nerves…inferiority, and complexes…early environment certainly.’

  Fanny had stood enough. Before Mrs Leigh-Petty could raise a hand to knock on the Laveys’ door she was seized by the neck and the knickers and propelled without any gentleness towards the stairs.

  ‘You! You! How dare you! Leave go! Leave go of me this instant!’

  ‘Shut up! Shut that word-spewing trap of yours, or I’ll shake the innards out of you. Begod! I will. Get up there.’ Fanny’s technique, learned in the school of marriage, lifted Mrs Leigh-Petty before her as if she was a child.

  ‘Out of me way.’ This aside was to Miss Harper, fluttering apprehensively on the first landing, and on the top landing, very very much out of breath and almost blue in the face, she appealed to Amy Quigley, who had preceded them up the stairs, ‘Open that door there for me, Amy, afore I push this one right through it.’

  The door opened, Fanny gave Mrs Leigh-Petty one last thrust, saying, ‘There! And if I hear another word of education and improvement out of you I’ll give you the biggest dose of salts you’ve ever heard of, four ounces, hot, and if that doesn’t clear your system, nothing will.’ The door banged and Fanny and Amy looked at each other. Then a slow grin spreading over Amy’s thin face, she said, ‘You’ve not lost your touch, Fan, it’s some years since I seen you do that.’

  ‘She’s been asking for it,’ Fanny nodded.