Mary Ann and Bill Read online

  ‘Many thanks. I’m grateful.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Corny.

  ‘I’ll pop in again and have a word with you, if that’s all right.’ He looked at Mary Ann, and Mary Ann resisted looking towards Corny before saying, ‘Yes, yes, of course, Johnny.’

  Five minutes later, after seeing their visitor away, they returned upstairs, and Mary Ann said, ‘You didn’t mind me lending him your things?’

  ‘No, no, of course not.’

  She stared at him. ‘But I couldn’t do anything else, he was in such a mess, and I would never have got out of there but for him.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose somebody would have dragged you out. They would have sent down the grab again.’

  As he turned away she looked at his back, and then she nipped on her lip to stop herself from smiling and forced herself to say casually, ‘Yes, I suppose so, but he seemed the only one who wanted to. It was nice meeting him again after all this time.’

  ‘Yes, yes, very nice I should say.’ He was talking from the scullery now. ‘And he’s going to drop in again. Never waited to be asked. Bit fresh, if you ask me. Going to make you pay for the rescue.’

  ‘Well, that’s an attitude to take.’ She was looking at him from the doorway as he poured himself out some coffee, and her control went by the board. ‘You’ve got room to talk, haven’t you? You can laugh and joke with whom you choose, but because you came in and found me laughing with a man that’s all wrong. And after he had done me a great service. I don’t think your lady friend has ever done you a service, but then,’ she closed her eyes and bobbed her head, ‘I may be mistaken.’

  She had turned into the kitchen again and like a flash he was after her.

  Pulling her round to him, he ground out under his breath, ‘Now look you here. We straightened me out last night, now I’m going to straighten you out…before it goes any further. Johnny Murgatroyd is a womaniser. That is the first time I’ve met him to speak to, but I’ve heard quite a lot about him. He was going to be married a while ago but the lass found out he was keeping a woman in Wallsend, and apparently she wasn’t the first, and she won’t be the last; so Mrs Boyle, take heed to what I’m saying. No more tête-à-têtes with Mr Johnny Murgatroyd.’

  ‘You’re hurting my shoulders.’

  ‘I’ll hurt more than your shoulders if I’ve got to tell you about this again, I’ll skelp your lug for you.’

  ‘Just you try it on.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me.’

  She watched him stalk from the room; then she sat down on the chair near the fireplace, and again she was biting on her lip. But now she let the smile spread over her face. It filled her eyes and sank into her being, filling her with a warmth.

  A movement to the side of her brought her eyes to Bill. He was on his feet, and slowly stepping over the fender he put his two front paws on her knees and leapt up onto her lap, and there, laying his muzzle between her breasts, he gazed up at her. And she looked back at him. Then after a moment she said to herself, ‘Well, well, who would have thought it?’ and her arms went round him and she hugged him to her.

  Chapter Six: What’s Good for the Goose

  ‘It is, our David. It is because of the miracle Father Carey made.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I’m not, our David, I’m not daft. I told you I told Father Carey in confession and he said it wanted a miracle, and he made it. Mam was going to throw Bill out. You know she was. She wasn’t going to let us keep him, and now she has him all the time and he won’t leave her, and she’s trainin’ him herself. It couldn’t have happened if Father Carey hadn’t…’

  They had just got off the bus in Felling and were walking up Stuart Crescent making for Carlisle Street where the school was, and David, jumping into the gutter and kicking at a pebble, said, ‘It’s ’cos Mam got him out of the hole and he was frightened and she was nice to him, that’s why.’

  ‘’Tisn’t. He was frightened of the dark and being tied up and being by hisself. But that didn’t make him keep with Mam all the time, like now. You don’t believe anything, our David, like you used to. It is a miracle, so!’

  David glanced at her and grinned, but she didn’t grin back at him. Since he had begun to talk he had moved further and further away from her. At first he had been all for their dad. He was still for their dad; but now he was for other people too, like Jimmy. He was always trailing round after Jimmy. Yet there were odd times when he wanted to be near her, and he would look at her and grin, like he was doing now, and she would feel happy. Only she couldn’t feel happy this morning; she had too much on her mind. She said suddenly, ‘Do you like Diana Blenkinsop?’

  When his reply came with startling suddenness she was in the gutter beside him. ‘You don’t? Why?’

  David kicked another pebble, then started to dribble it along the roadway. Why didn’t he like Diana Blenkinsop? When the answer came to him he turned his head and gave it to Rose Mary: ‘’Cos me mam doesn’t like her.’

  ‘Oh, David.’ She was running by his side now. She didn’t like Diana Blenkinsop because her dad liked Diana Blenkinsop. And David didn’t like Diana Blenkinsop because her mam didn’t like Diana Blenkinsop. You see, it was all the same. She said now, ‘They were talking about her again last night.’

  ‘I know.’ He kept his gaze concentrated on his dribbling feet; the stone veered off into the middle of the road and as he went to follow it Rose Mary grabbed him, crying, ‘Eeh, no! The cars!’ And they returned to the pavement and for a while walked in sedate silence.

  When they came in sight of the school gate Rose Mary’s step slowed and she said, ‘There’s that Annabel Morton talkin’ to Patricia Gibbs. Patricia promised to bring me a book full of pictures, but she only promised so’s she could get you to carry it back.’

  David’s glance was slanted at her again, his eyebrows showing a surprised lift in their middle, and she nodded at him and said, ‘She’s gone on you.’

  ‘Boloney!’

  ‘It isn’t boloney, she’s sucking up. She wants to be asked to tea, but she’s not me best friend and I’m not goin’ to.’

  Annabel Morton was nearly eight and a big girl for her age, and, as Sarah Flannagan had hated Mary Ann as a child, so Annabel Morton hated Mary Ann’s daughter, and the feeling was reciprocated in full. When Annabel’s voice, addressing no-one in particular, said, ‘Somebody stinks.’ Rose Mary turned on her like a flash of lightning, crying, ‘You! You don’t know what you’re talking about. Scent doesn’t stink, it smells. It’s scent, me mam’s.’

  ‘It’s scent, me mam’s,’ mimicked Annabel to her solitary listener. ‘But it still stinks, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You’re a pig!’ Rose Mary did not yell this statement, she hissed it under her breath and she embroidered it by adding, ‘If you lift a pig up by its tail its eyes’ll drop out. Mind somebody doesn’t do that to you.’

  This would take some beating, and at the moment Annabel could find nothing with which to match it, and so Rose Mary, having won the first round of the day, put on her swanky walk, which wobbled her buttocks, which in turn swung her short skirt from side to side. The result was entertaining, or annoying; it all depended on the frame of mind of the onlooker …

  It was in the middle of the morning, after they had had their milk, that they started to paint. Rose Mary liked the painting lesson, she was good at it. The whole class were doing a mural of history. It was depicting Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora MacDonald. Each table was doing a section, and then they would put it together and it would fill one wall of the classroom. Rose Mary and Patricia Gibbs and her brother, Tony, were doing the water section with the boat on it. Rose Mary had just mixed up a beautiful deep blue for the water under the boat when Patricia dug her in the ribs with her elbow, at the same time withdrawing from under her painting board a big flat book.

  They both looked about the room to ascertain the whereabouts of Miss Plum and saw that they were safe, for she was at the far end show
ing Cissie Trent what to do. Cissie Trent was dim and took a lot of showing. Patricia quickly flicked over the pages and pointed to a coloured plate and looked at Rose Mary, and Rose Mary looked at the picture. For a moment she couldn’t make out what it was. And then she saw it was all about a man and a woman; the woman had hardly anything on the top of her, and the man had long hair right past his shoulders. He was lying on a kind of bed thing and the woman was bending over him with a knife in her hand. Eeh, it looked awful! She looked at Patricia and Patricia looked at her and, her eyes round and bright, she whispered, ‘She’s going to cut his hair off. It’s called Samson and De-lie-la-la.’

  ‘…Sam…son and De-lie-la-la?’ Rose Mary’s lips moved widely over the name. ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘I told you: she’s going to cut his hair off.’

  ‘Eeh! What for?’

  ‘So’s he won’t be able to do anything.’

  ‘What is he going to do?’

  ‘Things.’

  ‘What things?…Like what things? Playing in a group?’

  That explanation was as good as any for Patricia, and she nodded as she smiled, ‘Yes. Ah-ha.’

  Rose Mary considered a moment before saying, ‘But that’s daft. How can cutting his hair off stop him playing in a…’

  They both felt the hot breath on their necks and turned startled eyes towards the face of Annabel Morton. But Annabel was looking down at the picture. Then she looked from one to the other, and she said, ‘Mushrooms.’

  The word was like a sentence of death to both of them. Mushrooms was the word in current use in the classroom to express deep astonishment, amazement or horror. The book was whipped from sight and pushed under Rose Mary’s drawing board, and they both attacked their painting with such energy that they were panting when Miss Plum loomed up before them.

  ‘Which of you is hiding a book?’

  Patricia looked at Rose Mary, but Rose Mary was staring at Miss Plum.

  ‘Come on. Come on, hand it over.’

  Still Rose Mary didn’t move.

  ‘Rose Mary! Have you got that book?’

  Rose Mary’s fingers groped under the pad and she pulled out the book and handed it up to Miss Plum. She had done this without taking her startled gaze from the teacher.

  Miss Plum now flicked over the pages of the book, her eyes jerking from one art plate to another, and when her eyes came to rest on Bacchus in his gross nudity sporting with equally bare frolicking females she swallowed deeply; then looking at the children again she said, ‘Who owns this book?’

  ‘I do, Miss,’ said Patricia.

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From home, Miss. It’s…it’s me brother’s. I took a loan of it.’

  Again Miss Plum swallowed, twice this time, before saying, ‘When you go home tonight tell your mother, not your brother, that I have this book, Patricia; and tell her I would like to see her…But anyway I will give you a note.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  ‘Now get on with your work, both of you, and I’ll deal with you later.’

  They both resumed their painting, but with less energy now; and after a while Rose Mary, in a tear-filled voice, whispered, ‘You’ve got me wrong, Patricia Gibbs.’

  ‘Well, you wanted to see it.’

  ‘No I didn’t; I didn’t ask to see your nasty book.’

  ‘’Tisn’t nasty.’

  ‘Yes, it is. She had no clothes on her…’ She dare not pronounce the word breast.

  ‘’Tisn’t nasty,’ repeated Patricia. ‘Our John says it’s art. He goes to the art classes at night, he should know.’ Her voice sank lower. ‘Miss Plum’s a nit…’

  The result of this little episode was that Rose Mary was met at the gate by Annabel; tactics vary very little with the years. Annabel did what Sarah Flannagan used to do to Mary Ann. She allowed Rose Mary to pass, then fired her dart. ‘Dirty pictures,’ she said. And when Rose Mary flung round to confront her she repeated loudly and with a defiant thrusting out of her chin, ‘DIRTY PICTURES!’

  What could one say to this? You couldn’t give the answer ‘I’m not,’ nor could you give the answer ‘They weren’t,’ because in the back of her mind she felt they were.

  David was waiting for her at the corner of the railings. He knew all about it, all the class knew about it. Rose Mary thought the whole school knew about it, and soon everybody who went to church would know about it.

  She was crying when they got on the bus and their special conductor said, ‘Aye, aye! What’s this? Got the cane?’

  Rose Mary shook her head, then lowered it.

  ‘Well, this is a change; I’ve never seen you bubbling afore. Something serious happened the day? You set the school on fire?’

  Setting the school on fire would have been nothing to the heinous crime for which she was being blamed.

  ‘What’s she done?’ The conductor was now addressing David pointedly, and David, after glancing at Rose Mary, craned his neck up, indicating that what he had to say must be whispered, and when the conductor put his ear down to him he said, in a voice that was threaded with what might be termed glee, ‘She was looking at mucky pictures.’

  The conductor’s head jerked up. ‘Good God! You don’t say?’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Rose Mary hadn’t heard what David had said, but the conductor’s reactions told her as plainly as if he had shouted it. She now dug David in the arm with her fist, crying, ‘I wasn’t, our David.’ Then looking up at the conductor, she said, ‘I didn’t. They were in a book, in Patricia Gibb’s book. She was just showing me.’

  ‘Oh!’ The conductor was trying hard to keep his face straight. He pushed his cap onto the back of his head and said, ‘And the teacher caught you at it?’

  Rose Mary nodded.

  ‘Too bad! Too bad!’ With his knee he gently nudged David’s hip, and this caused David to bow his head and put his hand tightly across his mouth.

  Rose Mary was still protesting her innocence not only to the conductor and their David now and the man and woman who were sitting behind them and who were very interested in the tragedy, but also to the two men who were sitting on the other side of the bus.

  When she alighted from the bus she imagined that everybody in it suddenly burst out laughing. But then it might only be the funny noise the wheels were making; anyway, she continued to cry and protest at intervals until she reached the house, the kitchen and Mary Ann.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ said Mary Ann. ‘Now let’s get this straight…And you David,’ she reached out and pushed David to one side, ‘take that grin off your face and stop sniggering, it’s nothing to laugh at. Now tell me all about it.’ She sat down on the chair and drew Rose Mary onto her knee, and Rose Mary told her and finished, ‘I only saw that one, Mam, honest, the one with the man and woman called Sam-son and De-lie-la-la. She hadn’t much clothes on and he had long hair, and that was all.’

  Mary Ann took a firm hold on her face muscles and forbade herself to smile. ‘Well, now, Samson and De-lie-la…I mean Delilah. She’s called Delilah. Say Delilah.’

  ‘De-lie-la-ha.’

  ‘…It’s all right. Don’t worry, you’ll get it. Well, that isn’t a dirty picture.’

  ‘It isn’t, Mam?’

  ‘No, no; it’s a great picture, it’s very famous. There’s a story about Samson and Delilah.’

  So Mary Ann told Rose Mary, and David, the story of Samson and Delilah, and she ended with, ‘All his strength was in his hair, you see. Once he was without his hair, Delilah knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything, win battles and things like that, all his strength would go, all his power, and so she cut off his hair.’

  ‘And did it, Mam? I mean, didn’t he fight any more battles after, and things?’

  ‘No, no, he didn’t.’ She didn’t go on to explain the gory details of what happened to Samson after this, she left it at that. Instead, she said, ‘There, you weren’t looking at a mucky picture, you were looking at a great pic
ture. And when you go back to school tomorrow you can tell Annabel Morton that. And if Miss Plum says anything more to you about it you tell her what I’ve said, that Samson and Delilah is a great picture and there’s nothing to be ashamed of in looking at it.’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ Rose Mary’s voice was small. She couldn’t see herself telling Miss Plum that, but she was comforted nevertheless. And wait until she saw that Annabel Morton, just wait.

  ‘Go on now and get washed and then have your tea. Afterwards you can take Bill out and have a scamper.’

  ‘Has he been out today, Mam?’ asked David now, as he rolled Bill onto his back on the mat.

  ‘I took him down the road at dinner time and left him in the yard a while after, but that’s all. He could do with a run. Go on now and get washed, tea’s ready.’

  They both now ran out of the room, leaving the door open and calling to Bill; and Mary Ann went into the scullery while Bill stood on the mat looking first one way, and then the other; finally he walked towards the scullery.

  Chapter Seven: Material and Imagination

  The idea came to Mary Ann a fortnight after the incident of the grab. She sat down, as she usually did after she had finished washing the dinner dishes, with a cup of tea and a book. Sometimes she gave herself fifteen minutes, sometimes half an hour, it all depended on her interest in what she was reading. There was no chance to read once the children were home, and this was the only time of day when there seemed to be an interval between the chores. But the pattern over the last two weeks had changed, for as soon as she sat down Bill moved from the fireplace and took up his position on her lap. She was amused at the dog’s sudden devotion to her, and not at all displeased, although she still protested to Corny, ‘I don’t want the thing up here, but he’s quiet and behaving himself—at least at present, but should he start again…well.’ And to the children, when they grumbled, ‘He doesn’t want to stay out, Mam; he’ll come if you’ll come,’ she would say, ‘Don’t be so silly. Put his lead on and take him over the fields. He’s got to have a run, and I can’t take him out all the time. And don’t tug him. And tell him to heel, and sit, and when he does it pat his head.’