Fanny McBride

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Queer card.’ Amy tapped her head. ‘Loopy, I should say.’

  Fanny was now descending the stairs and she called back, ‘And you’re not the only one who’s come to that way of thinking. If we don’t watch out she’ll have us all in the same boat. Education! Pshaw!’

  On the first landing Miss Harper was nowhere to be seen, having made herself scarce, and it was just as well. Fanny descended more slowly now to the ground floor, and when she stepped into the hall, Philip’s voice came to her saying softly, ‘Now don’t worry, my mother will see to her, she has a way with people.’

  This remark brought Fanny to a pause, and putting her head on one side she looked through the slit between the stanchion and the slightly open door and into the room. The girl was sitting on a chair now, and kneeling on the mat on one knee was their Phil. He was patting the girl’s hand as if he had known her from birth.

  ‘I—I can’t stand it.’ Fanny watched the girl’s head move rapidly from side to side, as she exclaimed again, ‘I can’t, I can’t!’

  Fanny’s inner wisdom cautioned her to stay where she was, for at this point she felt she would learn more than if she barged in.

  ‘What is it? What’s troubling you?’ She watched Philip put his hand under the girl’s chin and bring her face to rest. ‘Is it your mother?’

  The girl’s head moved again and Philip said, ‘We all have our family troubles, we can’t alter our parents.’

  No begod, we can’t! thought Fanny. It’s a pity for your sake we can’t.

  ‘Has your mother seen a doctor?’

  There was no answer to this, and she watched her son’s face take on a tenderness that made him unrecognisable to her for the moment as he said, ‘You could tell me about it, it might ease things.’

  The girl now put her hands to her face, and above the sound of her crying her mumbled words came to Fanny. ‘I wish I was dead…I wish we were all dead!’

  This statement surprised and troubled Fanny in spite of herself. The other day this girl had given her the impression of being capable of handling any situation that arose within her family. She had seemed a cool young woman who wanted no help, but now Fanny saw she was only a lass, and a very young lass, weighed down with enough worry to make her wish herself dead. Her pity went out to the girl, for how often in her own young days had she wished the same thing.

  ‘It isn’t drink in the ordinary sense, is it?’ Philip was saying now, and the girl, covering her eyes, choked as she replied, ‘I only wish to God it was.’

  ‘Is it drugs of some sort?’

  Fanny heard no answer to this, but the silence was admission enough.

  ‘It’s a pity, for she’s such a highly educated woman.’

  Fanny’s eyebrows were rising derisively upwards at this remark, when the girl cried, with a sudden startling rush of bitterness, ‘Yes, she’s an educated woman and you, I suppose, like so many others, admire education. I don’t. I hate it! I hate it, I tell you.’

  That was one in the eye for him. Go on, lass, go on. Fanny nodded encouragement.

  Philip’s voice, sheepishly now, admitted, ‘I admire education, and you must do, too, everybody does. I’ve been trying to educate myself for years, and it’s been a difficult struggle.’ Here he gave a little laugh before going on to say, ‘My mother hasn’t much use for education either.’

  ‘That’s why she’s so nice…so human. Education makes people think they are gods. They think they can rule because they have it. They think it covers all the sins on the earth. And some people kowtow to them because of it. But I don’t. Do you know what?’ The girl’s voice was loud now. ‘I pray that I’ll come in one night and find her dead, for her own sake.’

  Following this outburst there was silence in the room, and Fanny tried to still her heavy breathing in case it should give her away, and as she did so her head moved in small pitying jerks.

  ‘I’ve got to go. I—I’ve said too much.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘I have. I know I have.’ Her voice was quivering again.

  ‘You haven’t, believe me. And if you had I don’t talk to anyone about here. The least said the soonest mended about this quarter.’

  Something in this remark annoyed Fanny and told her it was time she put in an appearance, so coughing deep in her throat, she waited a moment before entering the room, and when she did she found them both on their feet.

  ‘How do you feel, lass?’ she asked lightly.

  The girl’s eyes dropped towards the table. ‘I’m a lot better.’

  ‘That’s good. And you’ll feel better still if you remember you’re among friends.’

  Fanny was standing at the other side of the table, and the girl still keeping her head lowered, murmured, ‘I’m so grateful to you and—and I’m glad we live here.’ Now she raised her eyes to Fanny and confessed below her breath, ‘It’s been unbearable in other places.’

  Fanny knew that she was supposed to be in the dark as to what made it unbearable in other places, and to keep up the deception she should now start asking questions. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  They were all quiet, when the girl said, ‘It’s Tony that I’m worried about. He gets so upset. It doesn’t touch Marian so much, but the shame has eaten into Tony and made him old.’

  ‘When things get too much for you up top, lass, you come down here or tell her I’ll come up and deal with her. That should settle her hash.’ Fanny patted the girl’s shoulder. ‘What’s your name, lass?’

  ‘Margaret.’

  ‘Aye, well then, Margaret it’ll be from now on.’

  ‘I’ll go up now.’ She did not look at Philip, or make any remark about the dish, nor did Fanny allude to it, and when she walked somewhat unsteadily across the room Philip went hastily to the door and opened it for her, then followed her into the hall.

  In a minute or so he was back in the kitchen and Fanny was standing by the table waiting for him. She wondered if he would repeat his own conclusion as to what ailed the woman. But as she stood looking at him and he made to speak, the sound of the front door opening, and Mrs Flannagan’s voice filling the hall, brought both their heads round in that direction.

  With swelling chest and compressed lips Fanny watched Philip make a beeline for the kitchen and close the door quickly behind him.

  As Fanny reached her front door she saw Sam Lavey going into his flat. It was Sam Mrs Flannagan had been speaking to, but Fanny knew it was not he whom she had come to see, it was them up top. With surprising swiftness for her bulk she made for the stairs and took up her position on the second step, and she carried out this manoeuvre under the eyes of the woman who was the antithesis of herself, thin, compact, and neatly clad, with a face branded with the tightness of moral righteousness.

  Battling tendencies, like froth from a newly opened bottle of beer, rose in Fanny and brought out the one word, ‘Well!’

  Mrs Flannagan, with her lips looking as if they were about to eject a whistle, emitted the same word, but her ‘Well?’ was born in the refined chambers of the nostrils and floated onto the air via the roof of her mouth, and it did not mean the same thing at all as the ‘Well’ that had been dragged from the coarse belly of Fanny McBride. It was not a challenge, but the complete ignoring of an obstacle.

  Fanny gulped and champed her mouth before she brought out, in a mock refined tone, ‘And who would you be wanting, Mrs Flannagan?’

  Mrs Flannagan’s body gave a slight wriggle, which gave to her hips a suggestion of a hula-hula dance, and to her neck and pointed face the alerted action of a disturbed snake. ‘That is entirely my business. And will you kindly get out of me way, Mrs McBride?’

  ‘I’ll see you to hell first, Mrs Flannagan.’

  Fanny watched her adversary’s lips pull inwards, preparatory to drenching her with words, but before Mrs Flannagan could begin Fanny cut in with, ‘I asked you who you’d be wanting. I know it won’t be me, God himself would bear witness to that, nor M
iss Harper, for she’s fed up with the sound of your tongue through her window, and if you were to go near the Quigleys’, Barry’d hit you with the first thing that came to his hand, so who up above would you be wanting to see, Mrs Flannagan?’

  Mrs Flannagan stepped back, and her head began to wag as if on wires. And now she spluttered as she spoke. ‘I’m not the one for complaining…I mind my own business, but this is—’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Fanny who was now in her element. ‘Don’t choke, St Michael.’ She cast her eyes ceilingwards. ‘Mind her own business. Did you hear her? That’s the best yet. And you’ll hear more if you hang on a minute. She’ll be saying she’s just going up top to see if she can be of any help.’ Fanny now brought her fiery eyes down to Mrs Flannagan, and bouncing her head to each word, she ended, ‘And push her long neb in to find out all she can, then go and spin it round the doors. Don’t I know you! Now get out of this house.’

  ‘I’ll have the police on you, you see if I don’t. And Father Owen. Yes, and Father Owen.’ Mrs Flannagan’s voice had risen to a croak as she now retreated towards the door under the pressure of Fanny’s advancing bulk and outstretched arm.

  ‘Out!’

  ‘I’ll bring Mr Flannagan over to you.’

  ‘Oh, my God, the poor little man! Get out, will you!’

  The disparaging note in Fanny’s voice when she spoke of Mr Flannagan refuelled Mrs Flannagan’s staying power, for she paused and her nostrils widened as she stared back at the bane of her refined life. And her next words indeed spoke of the depth of her courage, for her tone now deadly quiet, she said, ‘It’s no wonder your sons won’t live with you, or even own you. Your Jack’s never looked back since he left your door. And now your last one’s getting out and no blame to him. His efforts to rise above you have got him down at last, and he’s going. Good luck to—’

  Fanny, with head down and fists up, made a rush like a charging bull, but fortunately Mrs Flannagan was very nimble on her feet, and although her retreat was slightly undignified she escaped unharmed.

  Fanny did not follow her usual procedure and bawl after her neighbour from the top of the steps, but she crashed the door shut, then stood leaning against it. She had been enjoying the rumpus, for there wasn’t a thing she liked better in life, if the truth were told, than a shindy with Nellie Flannagan. But this was one time Nellie had got the better of her…Her last one was getting out an’ all. They’d all be saying that in the street. He was trying to rise above her. Nellie had struck where it hurt most.

  After taking a deep gulp of air she went slowly across the hall and into the room where Philip was now standing waiting for her. And she thought, God in heaven, don’t let him lead off now, for if he does I’ll say more than I should to him. She pressed her hand against her ribs, thinking, pushing that ’un up those stairs was too much. I’m past that kind of thing. I should have more sense. She did not count the past scene as detrimental to her health.

  As she sat down under Philip’s level gaze, she muttered in a form of prayer now, ‘Dear God, don’t let him start. Keep him off me, for I’m in no shape to tackle him, I’m feeling done up.’

  But all Philip said was, ‘Take it easy for a minute, you’re getting past that kind of thing.’

  Something inside her shrank away from the deep kindness in his voice, but pressing her hand tighter to her side, she thought, ‘He’s right, as usual.’ Then casting her eyes sidewards to the dresser where the silver dish was once more reposing she said, tersely, ‘Shove that dish into a drawer. It’s my belief it’s been pinched and we’ll hear more of it.’

  He looked at her steadily for a moment before obeying her command.

  The pain under her ribs seemed to be gathering force and she talked against it, saying, ‘There’s something very fishy with that ’un up top.’

  ‘She takes drugs of some sort.’ Philip had turned towards her again, and Fanny, simulating surprise as best she could, said, ‘Drugs? Aye, well now that explains a lot. But it doesn’t explain everything. That young bairn, Marian, isn’t hers.’

  ‘No?’ Philip’s tone was enquiring.

  ‘No, she’s too old in the loin to have worked herself up to that trick.’ As she saw the furrow between her son’s brows grow deeper, Fanny did ask herself what it was in her own composition that always made her come out with something raw in his presence.

  She rubbed at her pain again, bending forward as she did so, then belched loudly and exclaimed in a tone that robbed the statement of all importance, ‘The child likely belongs to the lass.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘What!’

  She was sitting upright now looking at him. He had used many tones to her before but never one like this, but the look on his face was a familiar one, like the expression he wore when he went for Corny, or was angry about something.

  ‘If you’ve worked out that the mother’s too old to have the child, can’t you see that the girl’s too young?’

  Fanny did not answer this question, she just stared at him.

  ‘The child must be seven, perhaps eight, and…and she…she can’t be more than twenty.’

  She saw that her remark had made him hopping mad, but of a sudden she was too tired to take any pleasure in this achievement. But she did manage to defend her theory by saying, ‘She’s young all right, but she’s over twenty…twenty-three or four I should say, and bairns have been born to lasses of fourteen afore the day. It’s no unusual thing. And how else would you account for the child and her authority over it? For she has much more say over the young ’un than the supposed mother.’

  They were staring at each other, and she did not allow her gaze to falter from his in spite of her tiredness. It was his eyes that dropped away first. Then, turning on his heel, he went into his room, closing the door none too quietly after him.

  Begod! That’s how it was, was it? And all in a couple of nights. Well, these things happened. Her gentlemanly son had fallen, but before he’d had time to taste the joys of love, the outcome of somebody else’s fling had presented him with a problem in the form of a seven-year-old bairn. Here would be something interesting to watch, and she wondered cynically within herself how he would stand up to it. Would his self-education be of any use to him in a case like this? Aye now, would it? Him and his education!

  Chapter Four

  Fanny had now been seven days in The Ladies, and so used had she become to the click of the ticket puncher, the faces passing her window, the sound of doors banging and the surging rush of emptying cisterns that she felt she had been here for at least half her life. And during that seven days she had reached the conclusion that nature, and nature alone, is the one and overall social leveller.

  She had already got to know the rushing regulars, as Maggie termed the busy shoppers, and the passers through, those who never came again, and the time-killers, of whom there were a number. And it was the sight of any one of these that always brought her mind back to the thought of her Jack. For they would stand titivating their hair in the glass, or talking the hind leg off a donkey, or just sit if the place wasn’t busy, and all to get away from their loneliness…or to try and forget something that they were forever remembering.

  Fanny had thought that here in The Ladies there would be nothing to remind her of her heartache, for Maggie’s chatter, unlike Mary Prout’s, would have no personal touch about it. But she had not counted on the lonely women, each of whom was a reflection of the great lonely gap within herself.

  This particular afternoon had promised from the start to be more than usually busy. Perhaps it was the weather. The few days of sunshine had gone, seemingly forever, and the past three days had been deep November, cold as only a northern November cold can be. A child had been sick in one of the cubicles, somebody had pinched a roll of toilet paper—the Corporation stamp never deterred them—two women had tried to get in for the price of one, one of them saying that she didn’t want to go, then changing her mind at the last minute and slipping
in as the other one came out. You wouldn’t believe the fiddles they would get up to for the sake of a penny. And the dud coppers that were put across the counter had to be seen to be believed. Oh, you had to have your eyes skinned in this place.

  It was nearing closing time now, and Maggie had just slipped into the cubbyhole to make a cup of cocoa to send them warmly on their way, when the door opened and in came a rush of scent that outdid the strong smell of disinfectant and put Fanny’s nostrils into a deep sniff. Her finger on the puncher, and the ticket roll in her hand, she looked upwards through the glass and she couldn’t prevent her mouth from dropping into a gape at the sight of a highly-painted face before her. It was a good-looking face, but there was something about it that did things to the hairs on her neck.

  ‘Hallo, me dear.’

  ‘Hallo,’ said Fanny quietly.

  ‘You new here?’

  ‘Aye, you could say that.’

  Now the painted head came down to the opening and the great mascaraed eyes looked into Fanny’s, and an unusual, deep voice issued from the feminine lips, whispering, ‘Is Maggie about?’

  Fanny, in a sort of hypnotised stare, muttered, ‘Aye, she’s back there.’ She motioned with her head slightly. ‘Do you want her?’

  The eyes widened, the deeply waved blonde head swung from side to side, and the lips formed themselves into a silent ‘No’.

  Fanny’s eyes followed the woman as she moved cautiously into the corridor. There was something about the dress and gait that puzzled her. She looked…she looked…

  How Fanny would have described to herself how the woman looked was cut short by a high-pitched squeak from the cubbyhole behind her, and as she slid from her stool and made for the door she saw Maggie simply leap on the tall, flashily-dressed woman, crying as she did so, ‘Get out. Get out of here!’

  ‘Ah, now, Maggie dee-ar.’ The tall figure was backing towards the wall with a slack flapping of her hands as if she was thrusting off a moth, but Maggie was no moth. Under Fanny’s astonished eyes she saw the little undersized woman actually punch out at the retreating figure as she continued to yell. ‘I warned you last time, mind. I’ll get the polis.’