‘Aye.’ His tone was sharp now. ‘How much have you saved for me?’
‘Oh that…that. Well now, I can’t tell you offhand, I don’t reckon it up every day, but I should say on the spur of the moment something between fifty and seventy-five pounds.’
‘WHAT!’ Barny pushed his chair back from the table and the sound on the linoleum was like a stone rasping glass, and it affected them all. Except perhaps Barny himself, for he was being affected in another way. ‘Aw, come off it, Ma. You pulling me leg or summat? I’ve been in steady work for over three years now and never earned less than fifteen a week, and a damn sight more most of the time.’
‘Now look here, look here, me lad.’ Hannah, too, had risen from the table, the knife in her hand, and she wagged it at him. ‘What was the arrangement, tell me that? Divided in three, we all said. One part for your keep and your working clothes, another for your pocket, and t’other to put by and to buy your good things out of.’
‘I know all about that, Ma. But what working clothes have you bought me, I ask you that?’
‘Two pairs of dungarees you’ve had, and the oilskin overalls for your motorbike.’
‘Aw, my God, that’s over two years ago, Ma.’
‘And then out of your savings as you call them, you’ve had two suits, fifteen pounds a piece they were, two pairs of shoes to go with them not counting a number of shirts and other odds and ends.’
‘All right, all right, Ma.’ He was holding himself in check now. ‘Say I’ve had fifty pounds worth of clothes…’
‘Fifty pounds! Begod, you’re a cheap jack. Make it a hundred and you’ll be nearer the mark.’
Barny closed his eyes and thumped his forehead with his fist, and still with his eyes closed and his fist to his head, he said, ‘All right, say a hundred pounds. Take a hundred pounds off two hundred and fifty and that leaves a hundred and fifty. And that’s for only one year. You’ve been saving for me for three years; I reckoned on four hundred pounds up there.’ He thumbed the ceiling. ‘Or nearer five.’
‘God Almighty and his Holy Mother!’ Hannah collapsed with a thud onto the chair. ‘Four hundred pounds…nearly five!’ She appealed from one face to another of her family, but when she looked at Rosie, her daughter had her face turned away. And now with her arms across the table, her hands outstretched, supplicating, towards them, she asked, ‘Who’s paid for the fine new furniture we’ve got, and the carpets that are in every nook and cranny of this house bar this room? And who’s paid for the new bedding?’
Barny shouted back at her, ‘I know, I know all that, but we’ve all had to fork out towards them. It wouldn’t all come out of mine, would it?…Now look here, Ma.’ His voice dropped. ‘I should have a few hundred up there.’
Rosie, being unable to stand any more, picked up her plate from the table and went into the kitchen, there to see Hughie standing by the stove. It was evident from the look on his face that he had heard a good deal of what had happened in the living room, also that in the hubbub his entry had gone unnoticed.
As Rosie put her plate on the table she whispered, ‘Oh, Hughie!’ and the words were laden with shame. At this moment she was not only ashamed of her mother, she felt she disliked her, even hated her. Nearly three thousand pounds in that drawer upstairs, and denying Barny his bit of savings. Surely she couldn’t think the lads were so stupid. But apparently she did. She had just to yell and shout and point to what she had bought and she could convince them of where the money had gone.
‘Don’t let it trouble you,’ Hughie was whispering back at her now.
‘But, Hughie, she’s got it.’ She did not feel that she was giving her mother away to him by saying this.
‘I know, I know.’ One eyebrow moved up. It seemed to tell her that he knew as much as she did.
As Hannah’s voice reached a blaring peak, he pushed Rosie gently from the table, saying, ‘Go on in, go on.’ And she turned quickly from him and did as he bade her. She knew he didn’t want her mother to come in and see them together. As she entered the living room Hannah was again appealing to the family as a whole, crying at them, ‘I want the few pounds saved to get us out of this. We can’t move up the Hill on goodwill.’
‘Who the hell wants to move up the Hill?’ Barny was squarely confronting his mother now. ‘Here’s one who doesn’t. I’ve told you afore I don’t want to leave here, and I’m not going to; we’ve made enough moves up the ladder, I think, to satisfy you.’
When he stopped speaking there was a quivering, uneasy silence in the room. And then Hannah, her voice now quiet but intense, said, ‘Of all the ungrateful sods in this world, I’ve bred a bunch of them. For years I’ve slaved the living daylights out of meself, and what for? What for, I ask you? To make you respected, looked up to.’ The tone was rising, and as Rosie passed from the room through the hall on her way upstairs the crash of her mother’s fist on the table and the sound of the jangling dishes caused her to start and shrink as if from a blow.
Up in her room, she looked at the evidence of her mother’s generosity. The two new cases, the two dresses, the shoes and stockings and underwear, not to mention the coat she had worn today. She had spent forty-seven pounds as if they were pennies, and joyed in doing it. Yet there she was downstairs denying Barny his savings, and all because she was determined to have her way and buy the flat on Brampton Hill. There wasn’t a doubt in Rosie’s mind but that Barny would make a go of a wireless and television shop if he got the chance. But what prestige would there be in such a shop in a backstreet for her mother? There would be nothing to show off or brag about in that.
There was an easy chair in the room that hadn’t been there when she left this morning. Her mother must have humped it up at least two flights of stairs. She sat on the side of her bed and looked at it, evidence of a reasoning she knew now that had sent her eldest brother, Patrick, to Australia, and Colin to Canada, that had made Michael leave a good job here for one in Cornwall at half the wage. The same reasoning that had frustrated Dennis for years and made him bitter, the reasoning that had scorned his intelligence. The reasoning that pointed the finger of sin at Arthur’s association with a married woman and which had intimidated him so much that he was really afraid to do what he desired, and go and live with her. The reasoning that was now determined to deprive Barny of making a living in the way he wanted to. The reasoning had not yet touched Shane or Jimmy simply because, as yet, they had made no protest against her. The reasoning that made fiddling almost a virtue every day in the week except Sunday.
Then there was Hughie and Karen. Her mother’s reasoning, Rosie thought, had made very little or no impact, on Karen, for Karen had in her a great deal of Hannah herself. Added to this, she had a sharp intelligence. This advantage had, it was supposed, been inherited from Karen’s father, a mysterious figure, who was never mentioned, and who had been known only to Moira.
And Hughie? The one person in the house who had always borne the weight of her mother’s spleen, derision and unreasonable reasoning. And in his case one had to ask, Why? Why?
Now and again over the years she had wondered, but just vaguely, about Hughie. Why, for instance, did he stand her mother? Why did he always take a back seat? Why did he scarcely open his mouth in the house? To a stranger in the house he must have appeared like a numskull. But Hughie was no numskull. She had always known it, and that had been made evident in the back shop yesterday morning. Look at that piece of writing. Who would think Hughie could work things out like that? Certainly no-one in this house.
What, she thought now, would be her mother’s reaction when she learned he had come into money? She could almost feel the bitterness and rage that the irony of the situation would arouse in her at a time when she needed money, real money, to further the ambition of her life, when the last person in the world she could have relied on to further that ambition was now…rolling in it…Well, if not rolling in it, he must have come into enough to set him on his feet.
Rosie rubbed her
hand up and down her cheek. She only hoped she wasn’t in the house when he told her mother. For no matter how she felt about her she wouldn’t be able to bear watching her reaping what she had sown.
Tuesday
But Rosie was in the house when, later on Tuesday, Hughie told her mother.
In the lull that followed the exodus of the men to work Hannah was busying herself with the washing-up and tidying of the rooms. When Rosie came downstairs Hannah just bade her good morning and asked how she had slept. Her manner, tellingly quiet, forbade any questioning at this point, so nothing concerning last night’s row or the bottom drawer of the chest was mentioned until sometime later in the morning, when, dressed for outdoors, Rosie went to her and said, ‘I’m going into Newcastle, Ma, to have a look round.’
‘You’re going out in this?’ Hannah was in the kitchen hacking at a large shin of beef, and wiping the blood from her hands, she added, ‘It’s snowing again, lass. I thought you said Wednesday.’
‘Oh, there are plenty of other places to try.’
As Rosie went towards the back door Hannah said appealingly, ‘Aw, come out the front; come out the front, lass.’ As if it made just that difference which way her daughter went out, she led the way into the hall; then, with her hand on the front-door latch, she turned to her and said quietly, ‘There’s no hurry, you know, lass; there’s no hurry. In fact, I don’t see why you want to take a job outside at all. You could give me a hand in the house, and we would come to an arrangement.’ She nodded knowingly. ‘There I am, paying that Mrs Pratt a pound every Friday to do down, and begod, there’s never a time I haven’t to go behind her after she’s gone.’
‘Thanks, Ma, but I…I couldn’t…Anyway, I couldn’t stay in the house all day. You see, I’ve been used to going out, and I want to earn my own living.’
Hannah, her face unsmiling now, but her expression disarmingly soft, said, ‘You’re not holding it against me about last night, are you? You see, I know Barny. Lass, if I’d given him the lot it would’ve be blued one way or another within a few months…Aw, I know me lads; they haven’t got the sense they were born with, not one of them, where money’s concerned anywhere…And women. Although I’ve got nothing to say against Betty.’ The inference was against Dennis’ wife, and the mercurial change that came over Hannah’s face for an instant expressed this fully.
‘But, Ma.’ Rosie looked straight at Hannah. ‘As Barny said, his share must go into a few hun—’
‘Now look here!’ Hannah was flapping her fingers within a few inches of Rosie’s face. The action was annoying in itself, and Rosie moved her head to one side away from their contact as her mother exclaimed again, ‘Now look, lass, leave this to me; I know how to deal with me family. Barny won’t go short, you needn’t worry about that, but he’s not going to throw money down the drain. He may be out of work for weeks—he has been afore and I’ve never thrown it up at him.’
As Rosie turned away she thought, No, but you took every penny of his dole.
Opening the door, Hannah said under her breath, ‘You understand me, lass, now don’t you?’
Rosie nodded, saying, ‘Bye-bye, Ma.’
‘Bye-bye, lass…But look’—she blinked at the falling snow—‘you can hardly see your hand afore you, you shouldn’t be going out in this.’
‘I like the snow. I’ll be back by tea. Bye-bye.’
‘Bye-bye, lass. Bye-bye.’
You understand me, lass, her mother had said. She had thought that the experience she had endured these last few months had stretched her mind so that she could now understand all the intricacies of human behaviour. Badness, she had discovered, was relative. Everything was relative to something else. She understood that now. But even so she couldn’t understand her mother. Her mother was too subtle. Yet some would say she was simple because she was ignorant—but her mother wasn’t simple.
As Rosie said, she liked snow, but not to wander about in it all day, and not wanting to return home before the others were in, she spent the time during the afternoon in going to see a film. So it was just on six o’clock when she alighted from the bus in the market place. There were a number of men waiting to get on the bus. They weren’t queueing orderly but standing in a bunch, and as she made her way through them a hand came out and caught her arm; not roughly, yet the action almost made her scream. In the driving snow and dim light she did not recognise Ronnie for a moment, and when she did she dragged on her breath, filling her lungs with short gulps of air…and also with relief, for she had thought…she had thought…
‘I’m sorry, Rosie, I…I didn’t mean to startle you but you didn’t see me.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said. And then turning her head towards the bus, she pointed: ‘It’s going, you’ll miss it.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’d rather have a word with you.’
She stood silent, waiting, while he looked at her, an undying hunger and ever-present remorse in his look. ‘Don’t be frightened of me, Rosie,’ he said.
‘I’m not frightened.’ Her voice was soft, reassuring; and she meant what she said, for she wasn’t afraid any more of Ronnie. At one time she had thought he was bad, but now she knew there was badness and badness, and if she had been forced to choose between the types of badness she knew she would take Ronnie’s kind gratefully. Yet when he went to touch her, her whole body recoiled from him, and he stood, his hand half-outstretched, stiff, as was his voice when he said, ‘You’re not frightened of me but you’re wary. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m not safe, can’t be trusted.’
‘Oh, Ronnie.’
‘Oh, I don’t blame you. But Rosie—’ He moved, almost imperceptibly, nearer to her. ‘I’ve got to tell you. I…I can’t get you out of me mind. I can’t for one minute. I thought getting married an’ that…But it was no use. I’m in a hell of a mess inside, Rosie…Rosie, I’ve got to see you.’
‘No, no.’ Her voice was harsh, even grating. ‘You’re married and that’s that.’ She stepped aside from him. ‘I said no, Ronnie, and I don’t want any more trouble.’
‘Just to see you now and again to have a word…?’
‘I said no.’ She was some feet from him now. ‘I’ll be leaving the town shortly, anyway, and I won’t be coming back.’
As she watched his head slowly move downwards she darted away and ran across the open market square to where a bus was standing that would take her to the top of their street. She was trembling as she sat down. She was still trembling when the conductor came for her fare. ‘Enough to kill a horse, this,’ he said. ‘It’s no wonder there’s nobody out. You look froze.’
She said she was. She wished he would leave her and go down the bus; men could always find excuses to talk.
When she entered the house her mother’s voice did not greet her tonight, but she heard it coming from the living room, saying, ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’ She took off her wet things and hung them on the rack behind the kitchen door, and she was stroking her damp hair from her forehead when she entered the living room.
Only her father addressed her immediately. ‘Some night, isn’t it, lass? Are you froze? Come to the fire.’
As she made her way to the fire her mother turned from the four men at the table, saying, ‘Have you heard anything about this?’
‘About what?’ asked Rosie.
‘About him, Hughie, buying a car and a caravan? Shane here’s just come in and told us that he’s bought a car and a caravan…Hughie. Did you ever hear the like of it?’
‘I tell you, Ma,’ said Shane, ‘it’s a fact.’ He looked around his brothers now. ‘It was as I said, up came Robbie Gallagher and he said, “Your brother”—he thought Hughie was me brother—he said, “Your brother’s done well for himself with our Paul’s car and caravan.” And like I said, I told him he’d made a mistake, and he said, “Your brother keeps a cobbler’s shop, doesn’t he? And his name is Hughie, isn’t it?” “Aye,” I said. “Well,” he said, “he’s bought our Paul’s Land Rover a
nd caravan for five hundred quid. He bought them just two years ago but there was still some to pay off. Your brother saw to that and gave him five hundred for the two. But he’s still got a bargain.”’
Hannah was looking from one to the other but she wasn’t seeing them, ‘The swine’s been cocky this past few weeks.’ She looked at her husband now and asked, ‘Does he do the pools?’
‘How should I know, woman? I’ve never been with him this last ten years.’
‘Well, does he?’ She turned to her sons, and one after the other they shook their heads.
‘Not that I know,’ said Jimmy. ‘I asked him to go in the club syndicate, but he said he hadn’t the cash.’
‘Five hundred pounds! FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!’ Hannah was blinking. ‘And anybody who spends five hundred pounds on a car an’ caravan has more than five hundred pounds. It would be just like him to have a win and keep it to himself…But what would he be wanting a car and a caravan for?’ She was now addressing Shane.
‘Search me, unless he’s goin’ touring. Aye, likely that’s what he’s going to do. When I come to think about it, he used to be always sending away for travel catalogues. You remember?’ He jerked his head at Jimmy.
Jimmy said, ‘Aye. Aye, come to think of it, the back shop used to be full of ’em.’
‘Well, if he’s had a win,’ said Broderick, knocking the dottle from his pipe against the bars of the fire, ‘good luck to him. Aye, I say good luck to him. I only hope it will be my turn next. And if it is’—he straightened up and thrust out his hand towards Rosie’s chin—‘I’ll take me daughter to Paris and we’ll do the sights. Begod! We would, wouldn’t we, Rosie?’
‘Stop talkin’ sheelagin, Broderick, for Christ’s sake!…Now what I’d like to know is where that ’un’s got the cash from. And how much. Because…’
Hannah Massey Page 12
