Love and Mary Ann

by Catherine Cookson

  Lizzie was moving up and down the table, adjusting a plate here, a napkin there. After she had made the round of the table three times and was now at the side table going through the same process with the dishes of trifle and fruit, Mike exclaimed, on a laugh, ‘Let up, Liz, or you’ll snap! What you tensed up about, anyway—the young ’uns, or those who’ll be bringing ’em?’

  When Lizzie did not answer, he went on, ‘Just you remember, my girl, you can hold your own with the best. It’s me who should be worrying about meeting the gentry, not you. But perhaps you’re worrying because of me, eh?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Mike.’ Lizzie turned about and faced him and then laughed as she admitted, ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I’m all on edge. And she’s not making me any better; it’s as if she didn’t want the party. She’s not herself, hasn’t been all day. Other times she’d be bouncing about the place and you couldn’t knock her down if you tried.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  It was Michael who answered his father, saying, ‘She’s at the gate waiting.’

  As Mike went out of the kitchen and through the hall towards the front door Michael turned to Lizzie and asked, ‘Did you say anything to her about what I said last night?’

  ‘No I didn’t, Michael.’

  ‘Well, I’m bringing her, Ma.’

  ‘Now, Michael…’

  ‘Well, I can’t get out of it now, I’ve asked her.’

  ‘Oh!’ It was a loud exclamation of impatience. ‘You’re another one lashing out with invitations without thinking. You made game and criticised her for inviting Corny, and now you go and do something similar yourself.’

  ‘Oh, Ma, hold on, you can’t compare Sarah with Corny Boyle. Good Lord!’

  ‘That’s just a matter of opinion. Now be quiet, listen! Is that a car?’

  As Lizzie made her way quickly to the hall Michael cried after her, ‘Well, mind, Ma, I’m going to risk it and bring her. If our Mary Ann shows off and causes a scene that’ll be her lookout.’

  Michael’s voice trailed away from Lizzie’s hearing as she reached the front door. When she caught sight of the car drawing to a stop at the gate her heart began to pound nervously.

  ‘Oh, Mary Ann.’

  ‘Oh, hallo, Beatrice. I am pleased to see you.’ Mary Ann was doing the honours. ‘How do you do, Mrs Willoughby? Mrs Willoughby, this is my mother.’

  ‘How do you do?’ said Lizzie, inclining her head forward.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ said Mrs Willoughby.

  That was funny…This thought nipped into the proceedings and presented itself to Mary Ann. It was funny that it should be her ma who should say ‘How do you do?’ and Mrs Willoughby who should say ‘I’m pleased to meet you’; the correct greeting should have been ‘How do you do?’—she had learned that much long ago in Sister Catherine’s social sessions.

  ‘This is my husband.’

  Mrs Willoughby was shaking hands with Mike, and if her expression was anything to go by she was quite impressed with the big red-headed man.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely here? Oh, what a pretty house you have, Mary Ann.’ Beatrice was gushing aloud, and she turned to her mother and said, ‘Isn’t it lovely, Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, delightful.’

  ‘Won’t you stay and have a cup of tea?’ Lizzie was smiling. The ice was broken and she was feeling just a little more at ease.

  ‘Thank you, but no, I have an appointment in town this afternoon. But some other time I would love to, if I may.’

  Mrs Willoughby sounded as if she meant what she said, and as Lizzie looked at the expensively dressed woman her nervousness left her completely. What was she, after all, but just another woman, just another ma. She became calm inside and rather proud, because now Mike was opening the door of the car for Mrs Willoughby and there was a natural air about him that many a man in a better position would have envied.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to back down here and turn in at the farm gate, the road’s rather narrow and a bit rough.’

  Mike was bending down to Mrs Willoughby, and she smiled widely at him as she replied, ‘Oh, that’s all right, I’ll manage, Mr Shaughnessy.’ She put the gears into reverse and then added, ‘Goodbye for the present, I’ll see you later.’

  But Mrs Willoughby hadn’t backed the car as far as the farm gate when another car, coming at a tearing rate, made its appearance round the bend, and it was followed by yet another one.

  In a low aside to Lizzie Mike now exclaimed in thick dialect, ‘Aalltegither like the folk o’ Shields.’

  ‘Mike!’ It was a warning from Lizzie, and Mike laughed and went forward to the traffic jam that was building up outside the farm gate.

  ‘Why couldn’t you stay up on the broad part of the road, Lettice?’ Mrs Willoughby was leaning out of her car and calling to Janice’s mother now, and this gaily attired individual, thrusting her head out of the window, cried, ‘Swing her round, darling, you’ll take the gatepost up in a minute. Give me a couple of inches and I’ll get by…’

  ‘Oh, you are a fool, Lettice!’ Mrs Willoughby sounded more than a little annoyed, until Mike, coming to her side, guided her clear of the heavy gatepost with the iron latch protruding from it, saying, ‘Over a bit. A little more left. That’s it, that’s it, you’re through now.’ He bent down towards her and advised, ‘I’d stay put for a second or so until the others get past.’

  The third car was being driven by an extremely fat lady with a replica of herself sitting at her side, and Mrs Willoughby, looking up at Mike, asked, ‘Who is that?’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest notion.’ Mike’s eyes were twinkling. ‘But the child’s likely another…dear friend of Mary Ann’s.’

  Returning Mike’s twinkle, Mrs Willoughby laughed softly now. Connie hadn’t exaggerated when she said that the Shaughnessy man had points, he certainly had. She wished she’d been able to accept the invitation to tea. She could also see where the attraction lay for Bob—the child’s mother was a most arresting woman, and without any artificial aid at that.

  ‘There you are, all clear now.’ Mike guided Mrs Willoughby’s car into the road again and waved her goodbye before walking back towards the house gate.

  ‘This is my husband, Mrs Schofield.’

  ‘Oh…hallo, Mr Shaughnessy, I’ve heard such a lot about you. Janice talks about Mary Ann from morning till night, and Mary Ann talks about you. You see, it’s like jungle telegraph…you’re just like I pictured you. And you, too, Mrs Shaughnessy. I knew before I clapped eyes on you that you had marvellous blonde hair and were beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Schofield.’ Lizzie was definitely embarrassed, but she had to laugh—they all laughed. She could see that Mrs Schofield was a sort of character—a cross between a Mrs Feather and a Blondie. ‘Will you stay and have a cup of tea, Mrs Schofield?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll stay to tea, and thank you, Mrs Shaughnessy.’

  ‘Oh, Mammy, you don’t have to stay—’ This was Janice addressing her mother in horrified tones. ‘It’s a girls’ party.’

  ‘Away with you! I’m still a girl…aren’t I, Mr Shaughnessy?’ She spoke as if she had known Mike all her life, and Mike replied gallantly, ‘And you will be all your life, Mrs Schofield.’

  The laughter filled the front garden. It surrounded Mary Ann and should have made her heart glad: everything was going like a house afire, everyone was so nice.

  ‘What did you say, Beatrice?’ She turned to Beatrice who had whispered something to her.

  ‘Where’s Michael?’ Beatrice was looking quite coy, and Mary Ann, in a manner more offhand than she should have used to a guest, and to her best friend into the bargain, said, ‘Oh, he’s about somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve brought you this, Mary Ann. I hope you’ll like it.’ The fat girl was now holding out a long, gaily covered box to Mary Ann, and Mary Ann, taking it, gushed, ‘Oh, thank you, Betty. Oh, that is sweet of you. Oh, I’ll love it.’ Later she wondered why B
etty had to give her a bath puff with a long handle when you could sprinkle talcum all over you from any fancy container.

  ‘Here’s another car. Oh, it’s Alec Moore.’ Janice, definitely excited, forgot about her mother’s intrusion and joined Mary Ann at the gate.

  The car not only held Alec Moore but Roy Connor and a boy little bigger than Mary Ann, called Dennis Braton. They were all smartly dressed, bright-eyed, and they all carried parcels which in turn they dutifully handed to Mary Ann.

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh, that is kind of you. Look, Mother—look what the boys have given me.’ Not only Mike and Lizzie looked, but everyone crowded around to admire the presents. No-one had moved from the vicinity of the gate, but the party had certainly begun.

  It was in full swing when Tony arrived. He came round the front of the house where the deckchairs were scattered on the lawn. He stopped near Mike and was introduced by him to Mrs Schofield, who immediately invited him to take a seat near her. After a courtly bow, which would have pleased his grandfather, and with words to the effect that he would defer the pleasure until he had seen Mary Ann, he went in search of her.

  ‘Isn’t he lovely? Who is he? Oh, he’s charming.’

  As Mike looked down on Mrs Schofield and gave her the necessary information he wondered to himself how such women as this ever came to be married, and, further still, how they managed to be mothers. And yet, he concluded with a quiet laugh, rabbits managed that function all right.

  ‘Do you know, I used to dream about being a farmer’s wife, Mr Shaughnessy?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really and truly. Honest. Honest, I’m not joking. But perhaps I’m not quite the type. What do you think?’

  Mike, chuckling inwardly, was taking the bait when Mary Ann, rushing from the house, cried excitedly, ‘Father! Father!’ For the moment he did not realise that the title was meant for him, and when he did it was as much as he could do to stop himself from bellowing aloud, ‘Father, indeed!’ It was the first time she had ever called him that.

  ‘Look…look what Tony has given me.’ She lifted up from the front of her dress a gold cross on a thin gold chain. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’

  ‘Yes…By, it’s beautiful! Did you thank him?’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes, of course.’ She looked from Mike to Mrs Schofield for a moment, then back to Mike again. She wanted to say, ‘Tony’s all right now,’ but this wasn’t the place, and Mrs Schofield was such a funny woman that she would likely want to know if he had been bad or something. She hadn’t imagined Janice having such a funny mother; she didn’t think she would like a mother like Mrs Schofield.

  ‘Well, well, we’re all excitement.’

  Mike, Mary Ann and Mrs Schofield turned towards the deep voice of Mr Lord, and Mike, pulling a straight garden chair forward, said, ‘Good afternoon, sir. Will you have a seat? This is Mrs Schofield. Mr Lord, Mrs Schofield.’

  ‘How do you do?’

  Mrs Schofield was reminded of the young man through the way this old one inclined his thin body towards her.

  ‘I’m very well, very well. Do sit down, I’ve heard such a lot about you. My father-in-law used to be connected with Redheads.’

  ‘Did he? No, I won’t take a seat yet awhile…Hallo, Mary Ann.’

  ‘Hallo, Mr Lord.’

  ‘A happy birthday to you, Mary Ann.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lord.’ She smiled at him a welcoming smile, for she was genuinely pleased to see him. Tony and he must be all right or he wouldn’t have come. She watched him look towards the road. Then when he looked back at her he asked, ‘Have you had a lot of nice birthday presents?’

  ‘Oh yes, some lovely ones. Look, Tony gave me this cross.’ She held the cross up to him.

  ‘Yes, very nice, very nice.’ He nodded at her and she smiled at him again. He hadn’t given her a present, but that didn’t matter, he spent lots of money in other ways. She had, she knew, much to be grateful to him for, and when he was nice, as now, she was grateful. She didn’t want a present from him.

  He looked to where the boys and girls were searching among the bushes, and Mary Ann explained, ‘We’re having a treasure hunt.’

  He nodded, then said, ‘You have a lot of nice friends, Mary Ann.’

  She did not smile at him now, for she was seeing the picture of Corny standing on the pavement saying, ‘I’ll get on. By God, I’ll get on!’ and she shuddered a little as in thought she took the Lord’s name in vain.

  Mr Lord now looked at his watch, and then from Mary Ann to Mike before he said, ‘I’m expecting someone.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ Mike looked inquiringly at the old man.

  ‘They should be here any minute.’

  Mary Ann looked slightly startled, for she too was expecting someone, in fact two someones. It was this fact that attributed to her nervousness all day.

  She was uneasy about a number of things; she wasn’t happy although she was trying her hardest to pretend to be. On the surface she had every reason to be happy, for her party was going with a swing and promised to be an enormous success and the subject of conversation for many days to come. And she had proof of this as she looked at her young guests dashing uninhibited about the garden and the house. Even their Michael had joined in, Beatrice had seen to that. A thought intruded at this point to ask, what was up with their Michael? He had been looking at her funnily all day. But she couldn’t waste time at this stage on Michael and what was up with him, for Mr Lord was saying and in an odd way, ‘Any minute. Any minute now.’

  Her attention was lifted from him to the road once again by the arrival of yet another car and her da exclaiming, ‘Not another! I thought we’d had the lot.’

  When the car stopped at the gate and Bob Quinton alighted Mike assumed the right reactions towards this visitor. He remained quiet and kept his face straight, and this was rather difficult to do when he saw his daughter’s agitation. At the same time he kept his glance on Lizzie as she greeted Bob, wondering in spite of all he knew to the contrary if she would be affected at the sight of him, and if this perhaps had been the actual cause of her nervousness all day. But he could see nothing in her attitude but feigned surprise.

  ‘Why, hallo, Bob. Well, what’s brought you up here today?’

  ‘Oh, hallo there, Lizzie. Hallo, Mike. Hallo, Mary Ann.’ Bob made the greetings before he gave Lizzie an answer and then he added with a sidelong glance at Mary Ann, ‘I just happened to be passing along the top of the road and I thought: I haven’t seen the Shaughnessys for years.’ He spread his eyes now around the garden and said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve butted in at the wrong time. I didn’t know you were having a party.’

  ‘It’s Mary Ann’s birthday, Bob, but you’re very welcome, and you must stay and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’d like that, Lizzie, thanks.’ He was turning to Mike when a voice from the garden exclaimed in high excited tones, ‘Why, Bob, what a delight!’

  Mike heard the groan that Bob gave as he walked towards Mrs Schofield’s chair, saying, ‘Hallo there, Lettice. Well, well, fancy seeing you out in the country.’

  As Mary Ann watched Mrs Schofield hanging on to Mr Quinton’s arm and listened to her high, laughing, jocular remarks, it crossed her mind that if Mrs Quinton did come she wouldn’t get much chance to make it up with Mr Quinton if Mrs Schofield was still about, and her sympathy deepened for Janice. No wonder Janice said her mother was a drip. The term had rather horrified Mary Ann, but she could see Janice’s point.

  ‘Hallo there, Quinton; you lost?’ Mr Lord’s voice was terse.

  ‘No, no, sir; just paying a visit to old friends. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you.’

  Mary Ann was puzzled by Mr Lord’s attitude, for all the time he talked to Mr Quinton he kept glancing up the road. And, moreover, he wouldn’t let her away but told her to wait a moment, for he wanted her. Then even as she was wondering what on earth he could be wanting her for—he couldn’t possibly be about to go for her in
front of everybody—he gave a loud ‘Aah!’ and crossed the lawn to the gate, saying as he did so, ‘Mary Ann…Mary Ann, come here.’

  When Mary Ann stood by his side in the middle of the road and looked along it, she was looking into the sun and all she could see for the moment was the outline of a horse. And when the horse came into the first shadow of the farm buildings, sharp indignation ran through her. It was not only a horse she was seeing but, of all people…Sarah Flannagan! The cheek. What did she want here?

  Sarah was not riding the horse—pony would be the more correct term—she was leading it. It was small and a piebald, and even at a distance looked a beauty. But Mary Ann was not concerned with the horse. What was Sarah Flannagan doing here? They were not alone now on the road; all the grown-ups were standing around the gate, and some of the younger guests, out of curiosity, had joined them. But Mary Ann had eyes for no-one but Sarah Flannagan. Daring to come to her party and bring her horse!

  Then her indignation was supplanted by stark surprise, threaded with not a little fear, for as the two unexpected guests advanced nearer Mr Lord greeted Sarah in a kind voice, saying, ‘There you are. You got here, and on time. Good girl.’

  Mr Lord knew Sarah Flannagan, he was talking to her as if he liked her. For a second Mary Ann was consumed by a blinding feeling of jealousy, a feeling that only a year ago would have prompted her arms and legs into battle.

  Everyone about her was exclaiming on the beauty of the pony until Mr Lord silenced them with uplifted hand. Then, taking the bridle from Sarah, he turned about and, looking at Mary Ann, who was at the moment not wearing her best face, said, ‘This, Mary Ann, is your birthday present.’

  ‘Eh?’ The ejaculation was shot out of her in surprise. ‘For me? Mine?…Oh no!’ She shook her head.