Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly

by Catherine Cookson

  When she finally woke up, really woke up, she lay with her eyes closed, thinking. Her mind was quite clear. She knew where she was. She was in her own bedroom, in her own bed, in her granda’s house. But was she really Bella, Bella Dodd? Was she really blind, because for a long time now she had seemed to be seeing people. Well, she always saw people in her dreams. She could see in her dreams. What she must do now was to open her eyes and find out if she was really Bella Dodd.

  Slowly she lifted her lids, and when they revealed no light she lay perfectly still. Yes, yes, she was really Bella Dodd.

  She lay for some time quite still and then she became aware of the voices, and as she did so she knew that it was the voices that had woken her up. They had been rising and falling for a long time. It seemed as if they were coming from under the bed. This thought made her smile because in a way they were coming from under the bed, from the room downstairs, and her sharp ears picked up the fact that because they were clearer than usual her bedroom door must be open.

  She sat up and turned her head towards the window and when the blackness around her was lightened slightly she knew it was daytime and that the sun was shining.

  She pushed the bedclothes back and swung her feet over the side of the bed, and when they touched the rug she inclined her head downwards. It was a different rug, thick, thick enough for her toes to grip.

  She walked off the rug and onto the bare boards and was bending to grope for her slippers when her hands were stayed by the sound of her grandfather’s voice. It sounded strange, because it was quiet; yet there was bitterness threading it as he said, ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? You, Harry Thompson, so you tell me, are going to start a new life for yourself with my late son’s wife, and she, out of gratitude, is going to give Mrs Golightly there her cottage. Very nice, very nice for Mrs Golightly…’

  ‘Now you look here!’

  ‘No, no, you look here, Mrs Golightly. I’ve listened to you all talking for days now. You’ve got it all arranged. Before she takes up her abode among you, you’re going to allow her a holiday on Sir Geoffrey’s yacht, together with John and young Pat and, if Pat gets his own way, his brother Gerry. I’m not saying it won’t be nice for them, nor that it’s as little as Sir Geoffrey can do, seeing that amongst them they’ve saved his neck and half a million ransom. But there’s two people you’ve left out of all this, you’ve not given a thought to, not really; first there’s her and then there’s me. Well, say you wipe me off the slate, what about her? Have any of you thought of waiting until she can speak for herself, until she can say what she wants to do, because if I know anything about her she won’t be backward in coming forward in speaking the truth?’

  Bella stood on the landing pulling her dressing gown around her. After a moment she became still and pressed her hand against the wall. As her granda had said, they had it all cut and dried. But what did she want to do? Who did she want to live with? One thing was clear to her now and that was Mrs Campbell was her mother. She didn’t know how it came about, only that she seemed to have known it from the first time they touched hands. She liked Mrs Campbell. Oh yes, she did, she did. And she liked Mr Thompson. Oh yes, he was a lovely man. And John. Oh well, she couldn’t explain what she felt about John.

  She knew that she was standing at the top of the stairs and that from the silence that had now settled on the room they were aware of her presence.

  Before she was halfway down the stairs the voices surrounded her.

  ‘Oh, my dear, you’ll catch cold!’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘There you are then, on your pins again.’ That was Mrs Golightly.

  From a certain reserve in their voices she knew that they were aware that she was aware of all that had been said.

  ‘Here, sit down. Let me fasten your dressing gown.’ It was her mother’s voice, her mother’s hands touching her, and she smiled upwards towards her.

  Then John, punching her gently on the shoulder, said, ‘Hello, you.’

  ‘Hello you yourself.’ Their short laughs met and mingled.

  ‘How you feelin’?’ It was Pat’s voice.

  ‘All right, Pat, fine.’

  ‘You look as good as new, fightin’ fit.’

  ‘You’ve been in the papers, you know that?’

  ‘Have I, Mr Thompson?’

  ‘They’ll be pinning medals on you when you go into the town.’

  She laughed outright now; then moved her head from side to side as if looking for someone.

  The only one who hadn’t spoken to her was her granda, but she knew he was there.

  When the room became quiet again the silence yelled at her and after a moment she was forced to speak, and what she said was, ‘I heard what you were sayin’ a bit back.’

  ‘Trust you.’ John’s embarrassed laugh came at her and she flapped her hand towards him. Then linking her fingers together she laid her hands on her lap and she made a little rocking movement before asking, ‘Are…are you going to marry Mrs Campbell, Mr Thompson?’

  ‘…Yes, my dear. And I don’t know whether you have taken it in but…but Mrs Campbell is really your mother. Do you know that?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do.’

  ‘Aren’t you glad that…that you have a mother?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes.’

  Her hands were lifted from her lap and she knew that Mrs Campbell was holding them and that she lifted her head up to her as she said, ‘Oh my dear, my dear.’

  Of a sudden she felt sorry for Mrs Campbell, very sorry. She wanted to pat her hands, or her shoulder, or her cheek to comfort her, but she knew what she couldn’t do as yet was to put her arms around her, she was too new a mother. She had never thought of a mother in her life, a father yes, or a grandfather; oh yes, but never a mother. Still it was very nice to have a mother, if only …

  Mr Thompson was now speaking, saying quietly, ‘You’ll like living along the road with us, and you’ll have John to fight with all the time.’ He gave a little laugh, but she made no effort to join in. Now drawing her hands gently from those of her mother, she slipped off the chair and said quietly, ‘Granda!’

  ‘Aye.’ His voice came from somewhere near the door and she knew that the way across the room was open to her, and slowly she walked towards him. When her fingers touched his rough jacket she put her arms upwards and the next minute she was pressed close to him and his whiskery lips were kissing her cheek.

  ‘Aw, Granda! Granda!’

  ‘It’s all right, hinny, it’s all right.’

  ‘Aw, Granda!’

  ‘Oh my God! Don’t you start your cryin’ again else we’ll all be done for, drowned.’

  ‘Who’s going to cry?’ She turned her head in Mrs Golightly’s direction. ‘I’m not gonna cry, I’ve got nothin’ to cry about.’

  ‘Well, that’s something to thank God for.’ Mrs Golightly’s quip didn’t raise even a titter because everyone seemed to be waiting for her to speak; and now with one arm hugging her grandfather’s neck she turned her face towards him and said, quite simply, ‘I want to live here with me granda; I won’t be happy anywhere else except with him.’

  She felt the quiver pass through her grandfather’s body, and when he made a strange sound in his throat she put her other hand on his stubbly cheek.

  ‘It’s impossible. Who’d look after you?’ It was her mother speaking in broken tones now.

  ‘He’s looked after me all the holidays, an’ I can look after meself a lot.’

  ‘But…but this house is no place…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about the house. Anyway, it could be made nice, couldn’t it, Granda?’

  She didn’t wait for him to answer her for she knew that for once he would be unable to speak for he was trembling so much. Instead she turned her attention to Mrs Golightly as she said, ‘You’ve told me yourself, haven’t you, Mrs Golightly, many a time, it isn’t houses that matter, it’s people?’

  And for once Mrs Golightly failed to rep
ly also, and again there came on the kitchen the silence, the loud silence, and it was John who broke it now, saying quietly, ‘She’s right; it’s people, not houses, that matter. Anyway we’re all close together and we can see to her.’

  She knew by the way his voice was swinging away from her that he was turning his head in different directions, and he went on, ‘We can all help Mr Dodd, that’s…that’s if he wants any help.’

  There was a pause before Harry said quietly, ‘Yes, you’re right, boy, you’re right.’

  Bella felt her grandfather press her tightly towards him for a moment before quickly putting her to the ground, and she wasn’t surprised at all when she heard him go out of the door and she was left standing alone. She knew they were all at the other end of the room, Mrs Golightly, Pat, Mr Thompson, her mother, and John, and quickly she said to them, ‘You’ve all got somebody and he’s got nobody, like I once had, nobody, and it’s an awful feelin’, and as John said we’ll all live together, like in the same street.’

  As she heard someone sobbing she moved quickly in that direction, and now she did put her arms around her mother, and said softly, ‘Aw, don’t…don’t you cry, ’cos I’ll be with you a lot. I’ll…I’ll want you to help me put the house straight ’cos it’s in a bit of a mess, isn’t it? I knew it was in a bit of a mess the first day I came into it, I could tell by the smell, but…but I had to make on. But we could make it nice, couldn’t we?’

  ‘Oh, my dear, my dear.’ Again there was silence until her mother murmured, ‘Yes, yes I suppose we could make it nice; between us we could make it nice.’

  Slowly Bella now put her face forward, pursed her lips and kissed her mother. For the first time she kissed her mother. Then, after a moment during which she was held tightly, she disengaged herself and turning towards John she said brightly, ‘Was it right what I heard, have we been invited onto a boat?’

  ‘Yes, we have, Pat here, and you and me. But, but Pat says he won’t go unless Gerry’s invited an’ all.’

  ‘Oh!’ She now turned in the direction where she thought Pat was standing and said, ‘He’s a bit of a stinker, your brother, isn’t he? But I suppose we could manage him atween us. An’ if he plays up we could chuck him overboard.’

  ‘Aye, that’s an idea. I’ve thought about doin’ that meself before now.’

  ‘Here, stop your chatter.’ It was Mrs Golightly who had hold of her arm now, pulling her forward, while she said, ‘Before you start making your arrangements, go out into the yard there an’ ask that old tyrant if it’s all right for you to go on the boat. You’re goin’ in any case, but it’s courtesy like, an’ it’ll make him think he’s still boss. He’s standin’ near the gate. Pull your dressing gown around you. There you are.’

  Her arms flew up and around Mrs Golightly’s neck and as she hugged her she cried, ‘Oh, you’re lovely, Mrs Golightly! You’re lovely. Everybody thought you were just ’magination, but you’re not, are you?’

  ‘No, begod! I’m not ’magination.’ Mrs Golightly had pulled open the door now and as she pushed Bella gently forward, she said, ‘And that old pain in the neck will be made to realise I’m no ’magination if I know anything about it come the future; an’ you can go and tell him what I said.’

  Bella’s hands spread out before her and, laughing inside herself, she walked slowly and steadily towards the gate. When she touched his coat his arm came around her shoulders and he pressed her to his side; then he asked grimly, ‘Now what was that one saying to you?’ And after a moment she answered in a casual tone, ‘Oh, she was just sayin’ that at bottom you were a fine enough man, a bit sharp in the temper, but nevertheless good, and she would do all she could to…to help you in the future. You…you have only to ask.’

  It was she now who pressed her head tightly against his thigh as for the first time she heard him laugh as he said, ‘Tell that to the marines, or better still, go back there an’ tell it to Mrs Golightly. Tell her what she’s supposed to have said about me, and she’ll have a fit and die of it…an’ the sooner the better.’

  ‘Aw Granda! Granda, that’s funny.’ She was laughing with him…spluttering.

  ‘Bella. Bella’—his hand was on her hair—‘we’ll have a grand life of it together, you an’ me. I’ll see you want for nothing.’ He bent towards her. ‘If you want anything, you ask me. Understand? You ask me.’

  ‘Yes, Granda, yes…Granda.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Will you call me Joy?’

  ‘Joy? No, begod! I won’t.’ The softness was gone. ‘Bella you are, and Bella you’ll remain. It’s a fine, sturdy name. Joy indeed…Come on! Get yourself in before you catch your death. Joy. Never heard of such a name. And why did that lot let you out of doors and you just out of a warm bed? Things are going to change around here from now on, I can tell you. Come on, inside you get.’

  ‘Granda, when are we gonna get that dog?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll talk about that some other time. Enough is enough.’

  ‘…Oh well, all right. But until we do I’ll keep Gip. Come on, Gip! Come on, boy, come on, run.’

  ‘…Bella! Bella!

  ‘…Bella! Bella!

  ‘…Bella! Bella!’

  ‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Golightly. Granda says he’ll be glad of your help and thanks very much.’

  Bella knew that Mrs Golightly was leaning against the door and that her whole body was wobbling because the door was wobbling.

  Everything was lovely, bright and shining, inside her head.

  The End