By the time he had edged himself from underneath the car, they were on their feet, grinning at him.
‘Hello there.’ He looked down on them. ‘Had a nice day?’
‘Ah-ha.’ Rose Mary jerked her chin up at him, then brought her head down to a level position and a soberness to her face, before adding, ‘Well, except for Annabel Morton. She’s a pig.’
‘Oh. What’s she done now?’ Corny was wiping his greasy hands with a mutton cloth.
‘Here.’ His daughter beckoned his distant head down to hers, and when his ear was level with her mouth, she whispered, ‘She said he couldn’t talk.’
As Corny straightened himself up and looked down at his daughter, who was his wife in miniature, he wanted to say, ‘Well, she’s right, isn’t she?’ but that would never do, so he said, ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’
‘An’ I told her, an’ I told her that.’
‘And what did she say?’
Rose Mary, picking up David’s hand, now turned him about, and glancing over her shoulder at her father, said flatly, ‘She called me pain-in-the-neck Boyle.’
There came a great roar of laughter, but not from her dad. It came from behind the other car, and she yelled at it, ‘Aw, you Jimmy!’ before dashing out of the garage, along the cement walk, around the back of the house—no going in the front way, except for company—and up the stairs, still dragging David with her. And from here she shouted, ‘Mam. Mam. We’re here, Mam.’
‘Is that my angels?’
As they burst onto the top landing, Mary Ann came out of the kitchen and, stooping over them, enfolded them in her arms, hugging them to her.
‘Oh, Mam.’ Rose Mary sniffed. ‘You been bakin’? What you been bakin’?’
‘Apple tarts, scones, teacakes.’
‘Ooh, Mam! Coo, I’m hungry, starvin’. So’s David.’
Mary Ann, still on her hunkers, looked at her son, and, a smile seeping from her face, she said to him quietly, ‘Are you hungry, David?’
The light in the depths of David’s eyes deepened, his round, button-shaped mouth spread wide as he stared back at his mother.
‘Say, “Yes, Mam”.’
For answer David made a sound in his throat and fell against her, and, putting her hand on the back of his head she pressed it to her, and over it she looked at her daughter. And Rose Mary returned her glance, soft with understanding.
Now Mary Ann, pushing them both before her, said, ‘Go and get your playthings on. Hang your coats up. And Rose Mary…’ When her daughter turned towards her she said slowly, ‘Rose Mary, let David take his own things off and put his playthings on.’
‘But Mam…’
‘Rose Mary, now do as I say, that’s a good girl. Go on now, and I’ll butter a teacake to keep you going until teatime.’
When they had gone into their room Mary Ann stood looking down at her hands. They were working one against the other, making a harsh sound; the action made her separate them as if she was throwing something off.
She was in the kitchen again when her daughter’s voice came to her from the little room across the landing, saying, ‘I hate Miss Plum, Mam.’
‘I thought you liked Miss Plum, I thought she was your favourite teacher?’
‘She’s not, I hate her. She’s a pig.’
‘Now I’ve told you about calling people pigs, haven’t I?’
‘Well, she is, Mam.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She wouldn’t let me talk.’
Mary Ann, about to lay the tea cloth over the table under the window, put her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. It was as if she had gone back down the years and was listening to herself.
‘Mam.’
‘Yes?’
‘David drew a lovely donkey the day, with me on its back.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Have you brought it home?’
‘No. Miss Plum said it was good, and she pinned it on the wall.’
‘Oh, that’s marvellous.’ Mary Ann swung the cloth across the table, then paused and looked down over the garden behind the garage, onto the wasteland, and she thought, ‘I’m blessed. I’m doubly blessed. He’ll talk one day. Please God, he’ll talk one day.’
‘We’re ready.’ They were standing in the doorway when she turned round to them.
‘Come and have your teacakes.’
‘Can’t we take them out with us?’
‘Yes, if you like…Did David change himself?’
Rose Mary’s brows went upwards, and her eyelids came down slowly twice before she said, ‘I helped button him up, that’s all.’
Mary Ann handed them the teacakes, and they turned from her and ran across the landing and down the back stairs, and as she listened to Rose Mary, her voice high now, talking to her brother telling him what games they were going to play, she was back in the surgery this time last week looking at the doctor across the desk. He was smiling complacently and telling her, in effect to do the same. ‘Not to worry, not to worry,’ he said. ‘Half his trouble, I think, is his sister. He doesn’t talk because there’s no real necessity, she’s always done it for him. But don’t worry, he’s not mental, or anything like that. He’ll likely start all of a sudden, and then you won’t be able to keep him quiet.’ And he had added that he didn’t see much point at present in separating them.
Separate them? As if she would ever dream of separating them; it would be like cutting off one of their arms. Separate them, indeed. If David’s power of speech would come only by separating them, then he would remain dumb. On that point she was firm. No matter what Corny said…
It was half past five when Corny came upstairs. The seven years during which he had been the owner of a garage, a married man and the father of two children had aged him. The boy Corny was no more. The man Corny was a six-foot-two, tough-looking individual, with a pair of fine, deep blue eyes in an otherwise plain face. But his plain features were given a particular charm when he smiled or grinned. To Mary Ann he was still irresistible, yet there were times when even their Creator could not have been blamed for having his doubts as to their love for each other.
‘Anything new?’ She mashed the tea as she spoke.
‘Thompson’s satisfied with the repairs.’
‘Did he pay you?’
‘Yes, in cash, and gave me ten bob extra.’
‘Oh, good.’ She turned and smiled at him.
‘Hungry?’
‘So so.’
‘Give them a shout.’
Corny went to the window and, opening it, called, ‘Tea up.’
The thin voice of Rose Mary came back to him, crying, ‘Wait a minute, Dad, he’s nearly finished.’
‘What are they up to over there?’
‘They were digging a hole when I last looked,’ said Mary Ann.
‘Digging a hole?’ said Corny, screwing up his eyes. ‘They’re piling up stones on top of something…Come along this minute. Do you hear me?’
‘Comin’, comin’.’
A few minutes later, as they came scampering up the stairs, Mary Ann called to them, ‘Go and wash your hands first, and take your coats off.’
Tea was poured out and Corny was seated at the head of the little table when the children entered the room. ‘What were you up to over there?’ He smiled at Rose Mary as he spoke.
‘David made a grave,’ she said, hitching herself onto her seat.
Mary Ann turned swiftly from the stove and looked at her daughter. ‘A grave?’ she said. ‘What for?’
‘To bury Annabel Morton and Miss Plum in.’
‘Rose Mary!’ There was a strong reprimand in Mary Ann’s voice. ‘How could you!’
‘But I didn’t, Mam, he did it hisself.’
‘He couldn’t do it himself, child.’ Mary Ann leaned across the table and addressed her daughter pointedly, and Rose Mary, her lips now trembling, said, ‘But he did, Mam.’ Then turning to David, she said, ‘Didn’t you, David?’
&nbs
p; David smiled at her; he smiled at his mother; then smiled at his father. And Corny, holding his son’s gaze, said quietly, ‘You dug a grave, David?’
David remained staring, unblinking.
‘You dug a grave, David, and put Miss Plum and Annabel Morton in?’
Still the unblinking stare, which left Corny baffled and not a little annoyed. Turning to his daughter, he now asked her quietly, ‘How do you know it was Miss Plum and this Annabel Morton?’
‘’Cos he took a picture out of my book, the Bantam family, where the mammy wears glasses like Miss Plum.’
‘And he put that in the hole?’ asked Corny, still quietly.
Rose Mary nodded.
‘And what did he put in for…for Annabel Morton?’
‘A bit out of the funnies, “The One Tooth Terror”, ’cos Annabel Morton’s got stick-out teeth with a band on.’
Corny put his elbow on the table and rubbed his hand hard over his face before again looking at his daughter and saying, ‘And who told him to dig the grave and bury the pictures in it?’
‘I didn’t, Dad.’
‘Rose Mary!’ The name was a threat now, and Rose Mary’s lips trembled visibly, and she said again in a tiny squeaking voice, ‘I didn’t, Dad, I’m tellin’ the truth, I am. He thought it all up for hisself, he did.’
‘You’re going to instruction for confession on Thursday, Rose Mary; what will you tell Father Carey?’
‘Not that, Dad, not that, ’cos I didn’t.’
‘Well, how did you know it was a grave?’
‘I don’t know, Dad, I don’t know.’ The tears were on her lashes now.
‘Corny.’ Mary Ann’s voice was low, and it, too, was trembling, but Corny, without looking at her, waved her to silence and went on, ‘Did he tell you it was Miss Plum and Annabel Morton?’
‘No, Dad.’
‘You just knew?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘How?’
‘’Cos he dug a long hole and put the pictures in the bottom and covered them up, like when they put people in the ground in Longfields.’
‘Have you ever seen anyone being put in the ground in Longfields?’
‘Corny.’ Mary Ann’s voice was high now, but still he waved her to silence.
‘Yes, and everybody was cryin’…’
Corny lowered his eyes, then said, ‘And you didn’t tell David to do this?’
‘No, Dad. I was diggin’ my garden, putting in the seeds you gave me, when I saw him diggin’ a long hole. Then he ran back to the shed where all our old books an’ things are and he came back with the pictures.’
Once more Corny and David were looking at each other. David’s lips were closed, gently closed, his eyes were dark and bright, and if he hadn’t been a six-year-old child, a retarded six-year-old child, a supposedly retarded six-year-old child to Corny’s mind, he would have sworn that there was a twinkle of amusement in the eyes gazing innocently into his. He rose from the table, pushing his chair back, and went out of the room, and Mary Ann, looking from one to the other of the children, said quickly, ‘Get on with your teas. No chatter now, get on with your teas.’ And then she followed her husband.
Corny was expecting her, for when she went into the bedroom he rounded on her immediately, and with his arm extended down towards her he wagged his hand in her face, saying, ‘It’s as I’ve said before, that little bloke’s laughing at us, he’s having us on a string.’
‘Stop talking about your son as that bloke, will you, Corny: it’s as if he didn’t belong to you.’
‘Look, I’m not going to be made a fool of by a nipper of six, no matter what you say. As I said before, if he was on his own for a time he would talk all right. Send him to the farm for a few weeks and he’ll come back yelling his head off.’
‘No, no; they can’t be separated, they mustn’t be separated. And the doctor said so. It’s inhuman. I don’t know how you can stand there and say such a thing. He’s your son, but the way you talk you’d imagine he didn’t belong to you.’
‘He’s my son all right, and I want him as a son, and not as the shadow of Rose Mary. If he can think up that grave business and put the teacher and the Morton child into it because they had upset Rose Mary, he’s got it up top all right. The only reason he’s not talking is because he finds it easier not to. And mark you this.’ His finger was jabbing at her again. ‘He thinks it funnier not to…That bloke…All right, all right, all right, THAT CHILD. Well, that child is laughing up his sleeve at us, let me tell you.’
‘Don’t be so silly. A child of six…Huh!’
‘Six, you say. Sometimes I think he’s sixty. I believe he’s an old soul in a young body.’
‘Oh, Corny.’ Mary Ann’s voice was derisive now, and she closed her eyes giving emphasis to her opinion on this particular subject. ‘You’ve been reading again.’
‘Never mind about reading, I mean what I say, and as I’ve said before, if those two are separated that boy’ll talk, and that’s just what I’m…’
‘Well, you try it.’ Mary Ann drew herself up to the limit of her five feet as she interrupted him, and, her face now red and straight, she said under her breath, ‘You separate them and you know what I’ll do…I’ll go home.’
As soon as it was out she knew she had made a grave mistake. In her husband were a number of sensitive spots, which she had learnt it was better to bypass, and now she had jumped on one with both feet, and she watched the pain she had caused, tightening his muscles and bringing his mouth to that hard line which she hated.
‘This is your home, Mary Ann, I’ve told you before. These four rooms are your home. You chose them with your eyes open. The place that you’ve just referred to is the house where your parents live, the home of your children’s grandparents, but this…’ He took his fist and brought it down with a bang on the corner post of the wooden bed. ‘This is your home.’
‘Oh, Corny.’ It was a faint whisper. ‘I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it.’
‘You’ve said it before.’
‘But I didn’t mean it. I never mean it.’ She moved close to him and leant her head against his unyielding chest, and, putting her arms about him, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Hold…hold me tight.’
It was a few minutes before Corny responded to the plea in her voice. Then, his arm going about her, he said stiffly, ‘I’ll get you a better house, never you fear. One of these days I’ll build you a house, and right here. But in the meantime, don’t look down on this …’
‘Oh, Corny.’ She had her head strained back gazing up at him and protesting, ‘I don’t, I don’t. Oh that’s not fair, you know I don’t.’
‘I don’t know you don’t, I know nothing of the sort, because you’re always breaking your neck to visit the farm.’
‘Well, so are you. Look at the Sundays I’ve wanted to stay put, but it’s been you who’s said, “Let’s go over. If we don’t they’ll wonder. And they want to see the bairns!” You’ve said that time and again.’
‘I’ve said it because I knew you wanted to go. All right, let’s forget it.’ He took her elfin face between his two big hands, and after gazing at it for a moment he said below his breath, ‘Oh, Mary Ann.’ Then pulling her close to him, he moved his hand over her hair, saying, ‘Aw, I want to give you things…the lot, and it irks me when I go to the farm and everybody looks prosperous. Your da and ma, Michael and Sarah, Tony and Lettice.’
‘Aw, now, Corny, that’s not fair.’ She was bristling again. ‘It isn’t all clover for Tony and Lettice living with Mr Lord. As for me ma and da looking prosperous…Well, after the way they’ve struggled. And as for our Michael and Sarah, we could have had a better place than them if…’ Mary Ann suddenly found her words cut off by Corny’s hand being placed firmly but gently across her mouth.
‘I’ll say it for you.’ Corny was speaking slowly. ‘If I’d taken the old man’s offer and let him set me up with the Baxter garage, we’d have been on easy street. That’s what you were get
ting at, isn’t it? But I’ve told you before I’d rather eat bread and dripping and be me own boss. I’m daft I know, do-lally-tap, up the pole, the lot, I know, but that’s the way I’m made. And again I say, you knew what you were taking on, didn’t you?’
He took his hand slowly away from her mouth, and with his arms by his sides now he stood looking at her, and she at him. Then she smiled up at him, a loving little smile, as she said, ‘And I’ve told you this afore, Corny Boyle. You’re a big pig-headed, stubborn, conceited lump of…’
‘You forgot the bumptious…’
Suddenly they were laughing, and he grabbed her up and swung her round as if she, too, was a child.
‘Eeh! Stop it, man, you’ll have the things over.’ She thumped him on the chest, and as he plonked her down on the side of the bed there came to them from directly below the wailing note of a trombone.
The sound seemed to prevent Mary Ann from overbalancing. Looking up at Corny, she screwed her face up as she exclaimed, ‘Oh no! No!’
‘Look.’ He bent his long length down to her. ‘It’s only for half an hour. I told him he could after he had finished the job and before the bairns had gone to bed. And think back, Mary Ann, think back. Remember when I hadn’t any place to practise me cornet, who took pity on me?’ He flicked her chin with his forefinger and thumb.
‘But that’s a dreadful sound, he knows nothing about it.’
‘So was my cornet.’
‘Aw, it wasn’t.’ She pushed him aside as she got to her feet. ‘You could always play, you were a natural. But Jimmy. Why doesn’t he stick to his guitar? He isn’t bad at that.’
‘They’re trying to make the group different, introducing a trombone and a flute into it.’
‘Well, why didn’t he pick the flute?’ She put her fingers in her ears as a shrill, wobbling note penetrated the floorboards. ‘Oh, let’s get into the other room. Not that it will be much better there.’
As they entered the kitchen Rose Mary turned excitedly from the table, crying, ‘Jimmy’s playing his horn, Mam.’
‘Yes, dear, I can hear. Have you finished your tea?’
Mary Ann's Angels Page 2
