‘You can save yourself a trail, he’s out. You can help me get the tea and get things ready. And after your Uncle Jack’s been in a minute or so, you can go out to play, you understand?’
‘Aye, Gran.’
‘By the way,’ said Fanny, ‘I’d forgotten to ask you, where’s Holy Joe the night? Your Uncle Jack’d laugh at Holy Joe.’
‘Me ma wouldn’t let me bring him; he’s tied up. He got in the hen cree and scared the life out of them. A hen dropped its egg and broke its leg, and me ma carried on. We’re having it for Christmas.’
A great surge of happiness and humour was flooding up in Fanny, and she cried, ‘Havin’ Holy Joe for Christmas?’
‘No, Gran, the hen,’ said Corny solemnly. ‘Me ma says she’ll have him put down if I don’t get a proper lead and collar…Joe, I mean.’
Corny was trying hard not to give his grannie any further material for laughter, for he was depressed beyond understanding by her gaiety.
‘Well, are you goin’ to get one?’
At the sight of her grandson hanging his head, she added, ‘You’ve only got one and tenpence, haven’t you?’ She let out a laugh as she went to the mantelpiece, and taking a whole half-crown from her purse she handed it to him, saying, ‘There, stick that to your one and tenpence and go and get him a proper lead.’
Corny’s face slid into a smile. ‘Oh, thanks, Gran.’ Then dashing to the door in relief, he called, ‘I’ll be back, Gran.’
Fanny looked at the gaping door, and as the wind whistled round her ankles she did not cry out in protest, but went towards it laughing a laugh such as she hadn’t laughed for many a day.
It was now four o’clock, the light was on, the table was set, and the fire was blazing merrily, and Fanny sat in one armchair, her knitting on her knee and her back to the door. This was a defensive position which would allow her time to control her feelings when he walked in. Corny now sat on the edge of the other chair, and so restless were his movements that Fanny said, ‘For God’s sake! Sit still. It’s as if you were on a griddle.’
‘It’s the springs, Gran, they’re sticking in me.’ This was only part of the truth.
When the clock had ticked slowly on to half-past four and there had been no knock on the door, of one kind or another, Fanny put down her knitting and looking straight at her grandson, demanded, ‘You sure you saw him?’
Not even the fear of eternal damnation could have made Corny speak the truth in this moment…a more adult and braver soul than Corny wouldn’t have dared to crush the hope in Fanny’s eyes.
‘Aye, Gran.’
‘Which shop?’
‘I told you, a shoe shop.’
‘But which one?’
Corny said swiftly, ‘Smedleys.’
Smedleys, that was near this end. He had never been so near since he had left this house, she was sure of that, and he couldn’t come so near to her and not come all the way.
‘What time was it when you saw him?’
‘I told you, Gran, just afore I came in…Gran’—into Corny’s mind had sprung an idea that would effect his escape and perhaps temporarily placate his grannie—‘will I go and look in Smedleys and the other shops around and see if I can see him? He’s…he’s likely got stuck somewhere ’cos the shops are packed.’
Fanny hesitated. She couldn’t see what good it would do, for he could be anywhere by now, yet if only the lad could confirm that he was still shopping it would take away the fear that was creeping through her veins again. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘get yersel’ away and don’t dawdle. Go on now.’
Corny went. Like an arrow he shot out of the door, and Fanny, taking a stern pull at herself, took up her knitting again. The minutes passed sounding loud and clear as the clock ticked them off. When she had counted fifteen Fanny’s heart missed a beat as she heard the front door open and close, but it settled painfully back again as she recognised the footsteps as those of Margaret. So the lass had got back then? She heard her mount the steps rather slowly for her, then within another minute her footsteps came racing down again, and she had her call of ‘Come in’ ready as the knock came on the door, but it was an impatient invitation for she didn’t want to be bothered with anybody at all at this minute. Yet on the sight of the girl she was forced to be concerned. ‘What’s the matter now, lass?’ she asked.
‘Where are they, Mrs McBride? Has anything happened?’
‘No, lass, not to my knowledge. What’s the matter with you? Sit down.’
‘No, no thanks, I’ve just got back. There’s nobody in. But there’s …’ She stopped and rubbed her hand across her eyes, then went on, ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Your mother and Marian went out just as I was coming in. She seemed all right…quite all right, normal like, and Tony I saw in the town as I was getting off the bus.’ Fanny pulled herself to her feet as Margaret leant against the table. ‘What is it, lass? What you frightened of?’
Margaret was clutching the front of her suit, holding it as if she wanted to tear it from her body. ‘Oh, Mrs McBride, I think I am going mad.’
‘Now calm down, we want none of that talk.’ For the moment Fanny’s mind was lifted from her waiting. ‘Look, sit down. Have you had a cup of tea, or anything to eat the day?’
‘I—I don’t want anything. I’ll have to go out and find her. She promised me she wouldn’t leave the house, she swore she wouldn’t…Mrs McBride.’ Margaret put her hand across her eyes.
‘What is it, lass? Come, sit yersel’ down, you’re as white as a ghost. Look…have a little drop of something…’
‘No, no, I don’t want anything.’ Suddenly Margaret leant forward and clutched at Fanny, and with her eyes staring out of her head, she whimpered, ‘I know I’m going mad, I know I am. There’s something going round in my head all the time.’
‘Now, now,’ said Fanny sternly, ‘that’s enough of that. Look, I’m goin’ to give you a wee drop of something, it’ll still your nerves for you.’ Fanny went to the cupboard, and taking out a half-bottle of whisky she poured a generous measure into a cup, then taking it to Margaret she ordered, ‘Drink that up, and don’t leave a drop.’
With a number of gulps and coughs Margaret finished the whisky and Fanny, as she took the cup from the girl’s trembling hand, exclaimed, ‘There now, and don’t let me hear any more of that talk.’
‘But, Mrs McBride, you don’t know, you don’t know where I’ve been.’
‘No, I don’t unless you choose to tell me, lass.’
‘I’ve been to a prison to visit my father.’
Fanny stopped with her hand on the table and slowly turned to the girl, and Margaret went on, ‘He’s in for life, he murdered a man.’
Coming back to the girl, Fanny lowered herself into her chair and she opened and closed her mouth twice before she brought out in awestricken tones, ‘In the name of God, lass!’ Then after she had stared at Margaret in amazement for some moments more she added, ‘Now I can understand…it’s driven your mother…’
‘She’s not my mother!’ The denial was emphatic.
‘She’s not…not your mother?’
‘No, my mother’s dead.’
Fanny blinked and wetted her lips. ‘Well…well, who is she then?’
Margaret’s eyes dropped to her twisting hands. ‘It’s a long story, but if I don’t tell you now I know I’ll go off my head, I know I will.’
Fanny did not contradict her this time, but she said softly, ‘Clear your mind, lass, and tell me what you want to, and you’ll feel better.’
Margaret’s head began to wobble on her shoulders as if she wanted to throw it off, and then she muttered, ‘I should be out looking for her instead of sitting here.’
‘You’re not going out of this room,’ said Fanny, ‘until you feel better, and you won’t feel better until you’ve got someone to share what’s on your mind, so go on. The quicker you get it off, the quicker you’re eased.’
But even as she said this a section
of her mind was in revolt, for if he walked in now she wouldn’t be able to give him her attention, at least not as she had planned. Wasn’t it just like the thing? Damn it all!
Margaret was now pressing her hands between her knees and rocking herself, and Fanny said again, ‘Go on, lass.’
‘Well, you see, my father was seagoing, and my uncle, his younger brother, lived with us…my…my mother and him.’ She stopped and swallowed and Fanny waited silently.
Margaret lifted her eyes now, and staring unblinking at Fanny she spoke rapidly. ‘My father didn’t know—it had been going on for years—and when he found out he didn’t do anything…not right away. If—if he had it would have made things easier for him later, but he pretended to go back to sea. And then he’—she closed her eyes as she said—‘did it, and he got away and someone else nearly got the blame.’
Her son for the moment entirely forgotten, Fanny, pulling herself to the edge of the chair, put out her hands and gripped those of Margaret. ‘Oh, lass, why didn’t you unburden yersel’ afore this? God help you. Yet it’s no fault of yours, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. But tell me. If that one’s’—she lifted her head to the ceiling—‘if she’s not your mother, who is she?’
The fingers moved within Fanny’s hands, clutching at them. ‘She’s no relation at all. She had a room in a house opposite where we lived. She was at the trial and…and when nearly everybody was down on my mother she was kind to her. My mother was about…about to have Marian, and we had to move away from the neighbourhood. She came with us. My mother died when Marian was born and there was no-one who wanted us, and if she hadn’t looked after us we would have been separated and put in homes. I was terrified of being separated from Tony, he had always seemed to belong to me more than to my mother, for I’d had to see to him from a baby. I left school and went straight to work. I didn’t earn much and sometimes things were awful. There were times when there wasn’t enough to eat; then there’d be times when the house would be packed with food. This was when she got, what she told us, was her quarterly allowance. She never had any allowance, she used to…to shoplift. I was seventeen when I found out the truth. Since then life has been a series of nightmares. You see, Mrs McBride, we had grown fond of her and she adored Marian. She has an obsession about Marian, she thinks that she’s her own child. We were forever moving. We left the Midlands and came back to Newcastle where she had once lived, and then we moved to Hebburn. It was there that I met Doctor Gruber, who had known her when she was young and he told me all about her.’
There came a rattling, as of a door out in the hall, and she paused and listened. And Fanny, too, listened, her mind jumping to her own concerns again. Then she said, somewhat dully, ‘It’s nobody, lass, it’s only the wind. And anyway, they don’t know you’re here. If they come in they’ll go straight upstairs. Go on.’
‘The doctor told me her father had been a wealthy man and had spoilt her. Then he married his housekeeper who had been in his service only a short time and she never forgave him. They had a dreadful quarrel and she attempted to kill herself. Then she left home. She was then in her late forties and had never been trained to anything, but she had travelled and could speak several languages, so she went as governess to families, but never stayed more than a few months at each, for she couldn’t stand being under anyone. Then she took to drugs and shoplifting and she’s been in prison for it. It is that—that awful fear that she’ll be caught that haunts me. She’s been good to us, keeping us together. She liked playing mother, for she insisted we call her mother. For a time she gave up the drugs and the stealing, then at the beginning of this year she started again and has got steadily worse. I never know a moment’s rest if she goes out. She promises me she won’t, but if she can get money she can’t stay in. You know…Oh, Mrs McBride, the thought of her being in prison makes me ill. When I see my father …’
She stopped and covered her eyes with her hand and Fanny said softly, ‘Lass, you should have told me all this afore now. It’s too much to carry alone. No wonder your head’s in a whirl. But look now’—she patted the hand still clutching at hers—‘you’re not alone any more, for there’s my lad. Aye, now don’t draw away, he thinks the world of you, and there’s nothin’ against him, that lass was only trying to trap him. You can take my word for that. I happened to find out weeks ago that she was carrying on with her boss, so don’t hold anything against him. And mind, although I say it meself, you’d go further and fare worse for he’s a good fellow.’
Margaret looked past Fanny to the far corner of the room. ‘Who am I to pick and choose? Anyway, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me if he knew.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Fanny brusquely. ‘There’s one thing I can do, I can speak for me own flesh and blood and I know, if anything, it would draw him even more to you.’
Margaret shook her head violently. ‘That only makes it worse.’ She now looked up into Fanny’s eyes. ‘You see…you see it’s the fact that…that I might marry that has set her back this last year. There was a man at the factory. He—he called and asked to see me, and that was the beginning of her starting again. You see I can’t part her from Marian, and I can’t leave Marian with her. Tony and Marian are my responsibility and if someone…well, would have the heart to take us all, what would become of her? That’s what the trouble is, that’s what’s worried her and set her off again.’
‘Lass, she should be in a home.’
‘Oh, I know that, Mrs McBride, and she knows it, but to mention it drives her mad. Doctor Gruber has tried to persuade her, but she won’t hear of it. What am I to do?’
Fanny considered for a moment, then looking at Margaret with tenderness, said, ‘Well, lass, I admit it’s a problem, but take heart, there’s a solution to everything. And you know what mine would be in your case?’
What Fanny’s solution was she had no time to voice, but the sound of the outer door opening and a well-recognised cough gave a clue to it and she exclaimed, ‘Here’s Phil now.’
Her words brought Margaret swiftly to her feet.
‘Now, lass, hold your hand a minute.’
‘I must go, I can’t see him now. I’ll go out the back way.’
‘Wait just a minute.’
‘No! No!’ She was already at the scullery door. ‘I can’t, not now. I’ll come back.’
As the back door closed on her Philip came in, and Fanny saw his glance sweep the room and a look of disappointment come over his face. Then pulling off his coat he asked offhandedly, ‘Post been yet?’
She made herself face him as she said, softly, ‘Aye, lad, it’s come. And—thanks. It was the biggest surprise of me life.’ She did not add ‘and disappointment’, and as she watched his colour mount she felt forced to speak the truth. ‘You’re the only one, lad, who’s ever done a thing like that.’
The pleasure in his eyes hurt her somehow, and she felt strangely humbled when he said, ‘I started too late. I should have done it years ago…I always wanted to.’
Aye, she thought, and you would have an’ all, there’s no doubt, but your nose was put out by the other one. She sighed again, then said with forced airiness, ‘Well, I’ve got a Christmas box for you, I think it’s the one you would want most.’
His eyebrows went up, and he said, ‘Yes?’
‘Sit down,’ she said, ‘although it won’t take long in the tellin’.’
In a bewildered fashion he sat in the chair that Margaret had just vacated, and without taking his eyes off his mother he waited and watched while she poured out a cup of tea and handed it to him before seating herself.
‘It’s about the lass.’
‘You know where she’s been?’
‘Aye, I told you she was goin’ to see a man, didn’t I?’
He did not speak or make any indication, and she went on. ‘It’s her father, he’s doin’ time for murder.’
Philip was on his feet looking down at her in much the same way as she herself had looked at the girl a few mi
nutes earlier. ‘You can’t mean it!’
‘I can and do. And that one isn’t her mother, she’s no relation. She’s a thief and a drug-taker, and she’s been along the line an’ all. But she was kind to them when the father was in trouble and now, to cut a long story short, she’s terrified Margaret’ll find some man and that’ll put paid to her hold on the lot of them. And there you have it in a nutshell…What you going to do?’
She watched him pace the mat for a moment, then walk to the window and stand with his back to her, and as she looked at him a dread came on her that equalled any pain she had felt over Jack, and she thought, ‘God in Heaven! Don’t let this make him back out, one of me own blood.’
He turned round. ‘It’s a wonder she hasn’t gone stark, staring mad.’
A long, steady breath escaped Fanny as she said, ‘She’s on the point of it, and if she doesn’t have some help she’ll at least have a breakdown that’ll be equal to any madness.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Well, she slipped out of the back door when she heard you come in. She may be upstairs, or she may be gone to look for her, for she’s out on the rampage again.’
She offered no further word of advice, and he turned abruptly and went out of the room, and when she heard his feet taking the stairs two at a time her flesh fell into heavy folds that, but for the pain in her side, would have spelt contentment. He’d make the lass see sense, he had a way with him when he wanted anything, and he liked the bairns. But what would happen to the other one? Ah, well, that remained to be seen.
After a few moments when she did not hear Philip’s step coming down the stairs again she sighed and thought, ‘Well, that should settle that,’ and like a wash that had been finished or a floor that had been scrubbed she put it out of her mind as something that needed no more thought, and her whole attention returned to her own business, and to the pain-filled channels of expectation. Corny had not found him, he had been gone long enough to search the town.
Fanny McBride Page 19
