Love and Mary Ann

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Well, after it was over an awful old woman came up to me and made herself known. She said she had known Bob for years, and then she went on, with what she imagined to be deep subtlety, to tell me that she had nearly been Bob’s mother-in-law. That for years he had courted her daughter but that in a moment of madness the girl had gone and married a big, red-headed good-for-nothing with the name of Shaughnessy, and she knew the marriage wouldn’t last, as did Bob, and for a further number of years they apparently both hung on waiting for it to break up. And when it didn’t and the man got this position as farm manager the old hag suggested to Bob that it was now time he stopped waiting…In her own words, a man needs companionship and has to marry some time.’

  ‘No, Connie!’

  ‘Yes, my dear, it’s a fact. I think I could have killed her. And guess how I felt when later Bob came to pick me up and in a few words verified all this woman had said, for he asked most kindly after Elizabeth, most kindly. And that’s putting it mildly.’

  ‘Oh, but that was no proof. Now, don’t be silly, Connie.’

  ‘I’m not being silly; you don’t know Bob as I do. You only see him as the charming, quiet individual. He had been morose and difficult for months, and I thought it was because I didn’t want to start a family, but from that night I knew what the trouble was. He couldn’t forget this woman.’

  ‘Did you tackle him with it?’

  ‘Yes…yes, I did. We had a few words about something, nothing to do with this. Then, as it goes, one thing led to another and I brought up this woman’s name, this Elizabeth Shaughnessy. My dear, the guilt was written all over him; the very mention of her name made him jump as if he had been shot.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘What do they all say? He denied it, of course. He didn’t deny that he had at one time hoped to marry her, but he wanted me to believe that once she had married this fellow Shaughnessy all he wanted was her happiness. At the end, I asked him was he telling me that he hadn’t hoped these two would split up and he bawled at me then and said, no, he wasn’t telling me any such thing, and yes, he had hoped they would split up and he would have her, and that he would have her tomorrow if he could. And on that he packed his case and went.’

  ‘Oh, Connie! It all sounds so silly…And I know you, Connie. Ever since we were children you would keep on and on about a thing until the other person admitted you were right. Now, you know you did.’

  ‘I had no need to keep on about this, Jane. Anyway, the matter’s finished. But it seems strange that that child should be this particular Elizabeth’s daughter…’

  At this moment both the women jumped round with exclamations of fright and astonishment as the brush-cupboard door was burst open and a tiny figure flew across the kitchen in the direction of the sink, and there, putting her head over the porcelain basin, vomited in no refined fashion.

  Whereas Mary Ann just imagined that the three years she had known Tony constituted the whole of her life, she had no need to bring her imagination into play when the name of Bob Quinton was mentioned, for one of her first memories was of hearing her granny speak his name and of the trouble that followed. It seemed to her that this man’s name just had to be whispered and the harmony in her life was cut through as if by a sword’s thrust. And she remembered the time when her mother had nearly left her da. If it hadn’t been solely through Mr Quinton, he, in the first place, had been the cause of the trouble, her da’s trouble. Not even at the advanced age of twelve would she term it…drinking. Even though she no longer thought of him when in drink as just being sick, she nevertheless refused to look upon his lapses as getting drunk…Anyway, it was all because of this Bob Quinton that her da had had a number of lapses in the past.

  She had prayed and prayed for years for something to happen to Mr Quinton and God had got him married, which act had taken on the form of a miracle, but now the miracle had turned a somersault and they were back to the beginning. And this beginning was worse than the original one, for if Mr Quinton could not like a smart, beautiful girl like Beatrice’s aunt, then…then…It was at this point that her stomach had turned over and she had had to erupt herself from the brush cupboard.

  The voices of Mrs Willoughby and her cousin were passing back and forward over her head now. ‘What a thing to happen. I wouldn’t for the world have opened my mouth.’

  ‘Well, how were we to know? It was this game they were playing…But in the brush cupboard! None of the others would have thought of going there. It’s because she’s so small. There, there, my dear, don’t strain any more. Let me wipe your face.’

  Mrs Willoughby was taking a flannel gently round Mary Ann’s face when the door burst open and Beatrice cried, ‘Oh, here’s Mary Ann.’

  ‘Go away and close the door…do you hear me, Beatrice? It’s time for things to finish now, anyway. Close the door, I say. Mary Ann’s not well; she’s having a bilious attack.’

  The voices from the hall floated dimly to Mary Ann, saying, ‘Poor Mary Ann.’

  ‘Mary Ann’s having a bilious attack.’

  ‘Mary Ann’s sick.’

  ‘Poor Mary Ann.’

  But their sympathy did not bring any easement to Mary Ann’s tight breast.

  ‘I’ll get them into the drawing room preparatory to packing them off, and then you can take her upstairs.’

  When Mrs Willoughby had hastily left the kitchen the young woman sat down and drew Mary Ann gently towards her knee, and then she said, ‘Oh, my dear, what can I say?’

  When Mary Ann made no response, she added, ‘Did you hear everything?’

  Mary Ann, her head cast down, gave it a small bounce and the young woman said, ‘I—I didn’t mean it, not all of it. Mr Quinton and I have just had a little disagreement.’

  Now Mary Ann’s head came up and, looking straight into the smooth and beautiful face of Mrs Quinton, she made a statement. ‘My granny’s a pig,’ she said.

  Mrs Quinton’s eyebrows gave a quick jerk and Mary Ann exclaimed again, ‘She is. She’s a pig. Me da used to say she was pig, hog, guts and artful, and she is.’

  Mrs Quinton’s mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide, but she could not find any words with which to answer this outburst, and Mary Ann went on, ‘And me ma loves me da. Me da’s a fine man. Everybody says so. Mr Lord says so and he should know.’ This latter was accompanied by a number of jerks from her head. ‘And me ma thinks the world of me da, and she wouldn’t leave him for anybody, not anybody.’

  ‘I know she wouldn’t, my dear. Don’t upset yourself. There, there, please don’t cry. Look at me.’

  As Mary Ann looked into the deep brown eyes before her she was, in spite of her own grief, slightly surprised to see that they were blurred with tears, and again it was to her surprise when she found that this sight checked her own emotion and aroused in her a feeling…even a nice feeling…towards this person who had brought trouble back into her life, and she asked her now, very quietly, ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘Him? You mean Bo…Mr Quinton?’

  Mary Ann nodded.

  The lids were lowered, shutting the brown eyes away from Mary Ann’s gaze for a second, and then they were opened wide again. And then Mary Ann got her answer. ‘Yes, I like him, I like him very much, better than anyone else in the world.’

  They looked at each other for a long time, then Mary Ann turned her head away and gazed at the floor. Her feelings at this moment, could she have transcribed them into words, would have been a profound reflection on the stupidity of men, men as a whole, but of Bob Quinton in particular. For Mary Ann’s opinion was that Mrs Quinton was nice, she was very nice, and lovely to look at, and Mr Quinton must be mad to still want her ma. Not that her ma wasn’t beautiful, there was no-one more beautiful than her ma, but it was a different kind of beauty to that of Mrs Quinton. So her profound thinking was summed up in three words: he was daft.

  There came the sound of voices from outside the house, which
suggested that the leave-takings were in progress. Some minutes later the kitchen door opened and Mrs Willoughby appeared, but she did not enter, she merely beckoned to her cousin and at the same time said gently to Mary Ann, ‘Stay there a minute, my dear…just a minute.’

  It was a long minute. It stretched itself into five, and then ten. Mary Ann could hear voices in the hall outside the kitchen door. She knew they were those of Mrs Willoughby and Mrs Quinton. And once she thought she heard Tony’s voice. Then she knew she hadn’t been mistaken when the door opened at last and into the kitchen came Tony, accompanied by the two women. He looked gently at her for a moment before saying, ‘Are you feeling better, Mary Ann?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ As she looked at Tony she knew he had learned all about Mr Bob Quinton and her ma.

  Her clothes were brought downstairs, and everybody helped to put them on her, and she was led from the house to the car like some sick personage. And into that particular section of her mind that was kept for such observations there slid the thought that you always got attention like this when you couldn’t enjoy it.

  It was only when she was seated in the car that she remembered that she hadn’t thanked Mrs Willoughby in the correct manner—in fact she hadn’t thanked her at all. So, looking out of the window at her hostess, she said dismally, ‘Thank you very much for having me, Mrs Willoughby. I’ve had a lovely time.’

  She was further surprised at the result of her good manners, for both Mrs Willoughby and Mrs Quinton bit on their lips and lowered their gaze from hers before turning away.

  The car jerked forward and she was on her way home.

  It was when the journey was more than half over that Tony stopped the car and, looking at her with his kindest glance, he said, ‘You won’t say anything at home about what you heard this afternoon, will you, Mary Ann?’

  She stared at him blankly. What did he take her for? Did he think she was daft an’ all?

  Misinterpreting her silence, Tony added quickly, ‘You know it would only cause trouble, and you know how fond your mother is of—’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Her chin was thrust upwards. ‘I’m not going to say anything…I never say anything…I didn’t afore.’

  Tony’s face was thoughtful as he looked down at this elfin, lovable, but unpredictable child. He still thought of her as a child. The tenseness of her face indicated to him just how she felt, but he guessed that her feelings concerning her parents’ happiness wouldn’t be those of a girl of twelve. Mary Ann’s capacity for loving and hating was of an adult quality, and so it was with pain she suffered. He said no more, but smiled at her tenderly before starting the car again …

  ‘I told you to have bread and butter and not a lot of cake.’ Lizzie looked sternly down on her daughter.

  ‘There was no bread and butter, Ma. They don’t have bread and butter, just sandwiches.’

  ‘That’s what you get for stuffing your kite.’ Michael, seated at the table, was surveying her with a broad grin on his face, and she turned on him, but without vigour now, saying, ‘I didn’t stuff me kite, our Michael.’

  ‘What made you sick then?’

  She looked at her mother, and then at Tony, before turning towards her father where he stood with his back to the fireplace, and she said, ‘It was likely the jumping and running about.’

  ‘They were very pleased with her.’ Tony spoke directly to Lizzie. ‘They tell me she did quite a bit of entertaining.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The gaze of all her family was upon her now, and there was a touch of pride in Lizzie’s voice as she asked, ‘Did you recite…some of Hiawatha?’

  ‘No, Ma.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘I did the Bluebottle and I said—’

  ‘Yes, what else did you say?’

  Her answer was some time in coming, because she knew what reception it would invoke.

  ‘“The Spuggy”.’ Her voice was very small.

  ‘No! Mary Ann!’ On Elizabeth’s shocked tones there came a combined bellow from Mike and Michael, and Michael cried, ‘She did “The Spuggy” before the Willoughbys! Oh, I wish I’d been there.’

  Mike was now on his hunkers facing his daughter, his laughter rippling as he said, ‘You should have gone one better, hinny, and done “He stands at the corner”. That would have shaken them, an’ no mistake.’

  ‘Yes, Da.’ It was a quiet, dead response.

  The laughter slid quickly from Mike’s face. Michael’s strident young bellow faded away. Elizabeth stood gazing down at her daughter. Then she watched her turn away from Mike and walk out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

  Now Lizzie looked at Mike, and Mike looked at her and then towards Michael, and lastly they all looked at Tony. And Mike asked, ‘Were they all right to her?’ And Tony answered, ‘More than all right, I should say. They were all very taken with her, saw her to the car, gave her the honours, the lot.’ He looked straight back into Mike’s face as he spoke, and when Mike, although reassured, shook his head in perplexity, Lizzie said, ‘Well, there’s something wrong. She’s not herself, and if I know her it isn’t only a bilious attack.’

  Chapter Three: Corny

  The situation called for prayer, not just a gabbled ‘Our Father’ and a ‘Hail Mary’; nor being a participant at Mass. It needed a session to itself.

  She had just sat through the Mass, but it hadn’t left her with any feeling of comfort, so she had decided to wait behind until the church was clear and then go to the altar of the Holy Family. At one time she had been a frequent visitor at this altar. The troubles of her life had driven her to the steps of the Holy Family to beg, beseech and entreat them to make things better for her own family. And they had done so, though not without some little trouble on her own part. Nevertheless, her prayers had been answered. But Mary Ann, like the rest of humanity when things are going smoothly, forgot about the hard times, and the help she had received during them. So it was rather a shamefaced Mary Ann who now genuflected deeply to the altar of the Holy Family before kneeling and bowing her head. It must be said for her that she felt a little uneasy as she realised that although she had viewed them from the centre aisle week in week out for years she had never thought to come near them. And now when she was wanting something, here she was back again in the old position.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’

  She got no further. A long, long time ago when she had knelt here with her petitions she had thought that the Holy Family talked to her. Now she didn’t imagine they were talking, but she knew without a doubt that their expressions were speaking louder than any words. The look on St Joseph’s face said plainly, ‘Well, what are you after now?’ and Mary’s expression, even in a gentle way, was saying, ‘So you’ve come back?’ and Jesus, who was not looking like a baby at all, His expression was saying the most, and it hurt the most, for it said, ‘Even Sarah Flannagan would have come back and said thank you for all the good things that had happened to her.’

  She bowed her head away from their reproachful glances wondering why Sarah Flannagan had to be brought into it. She couldn’t pray to them, she couldn’t ask them to do anything for her. After a long silence, during which she got a cramp in her legs, she fell back on St Michael and the set prayer to him seemed to be quite in order with her own wishes.

  ‘Blessed Michael the Archangel,

  Defend us in the Day of Battle.

  Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.

  Rebuke him, we humbly pray,

  And do Thou, Prince of the Heavenly Host,

  By the Power of God,

  Send down to Hell Satan and all the wicked spirits

  Who wander through the world for the ruination of souls.’

  Ruination was her own word.

  In the darkness behind her closed lids she saw St Michael brandishing his sword, and falling under the brandishment was Mr Quinton. And she was watching with satisfaction his quick descent into Hell, when she felt the tap
on her shoulder. She gave a mighty start, followed by a gasp, as she opened her eyes to a white-surpliced figure standing at her side.

  He was tall and grim-visaged, and not until he spoke did she realise that it was the head altar boy, who in actuality was no longer a boy.

  ‘Father Owen wants to see you.’

  She did not speak. She was still trembling from the shock of having imagined that the power of her prayer had called forth the saint.

  She did not look at the Holy Family as she left their altar, but she was conscious of their eyes following her until she reached the vestry door and there saw Father Owen waiting for her. He was sitting on a wooden bench with one leg stretched stiffly out, and this he was rubbing vigorously. On the sight of her he stopped for a moment, saying ‘Hallo, Mary Ann, come away in. I’ve got a touch of me rheumatics. It’s the spring, I always get it in the spring. Sit down,’ he added, then continued with his rubbing until the last altar boy had said goodbye to be answered with, ‘Don’t be late for Benediction, mind.’

  The outer door closed, and, the vestry to themselves, the circular movement of Father Owen’s hand came to a halt. Without any preamble he turned his head sharply to Mary Ann and said, ‘Well, what’s the trouble now?’

  ‘Trouble, Father?’ Mary Ann’s eyes widened.

  ‘Yes, I said trouble.’ Father Owen’s long head now drooped towards Mary Ann; and his eyeballs slowly disappearing backwards in his skull, he asked, ‘What’s wrong with your da?’

  ‘Me da?’ Mary Ann’s whole face stretched with her amazement. ‘Nothing’s wrong with me da, Father; he’s fine.’

  Father Owen’s head moved slowly to the front again and up, and his eyeballs returned to their natural position. ‘Well, is your mother all right?’

  ‘Yes, Father, me ma’s fine an’ all. We’re all fine. And our Michael’s going to sit for his GCE, and if he passes me da says he can stay on and later he’ll go to college.’