‘Stop it, Ma!’ Doreen was no longer in tears, and as she chided her mother for hers, saying, ‘Instead of crying you want to find out what it’s all about,’ Rooney too thought, Aye. There was something behind this courage, something big, big enough to make the little one into a new creature, or at least to make her brave enough to resurrect her old self. Whichever it was, he felt it was something unusual.
‘Will I help meself to me tea?’ he asked.
Ma, deep in her troubled thinking, replied absentmindedly, ‘Yes. Yes.’ Then rising hastily, she exclaimed, ‘No, no, I’ll see to it—you’ve been out in this all day.’
As her mother went into the kitchen, Doreen sent a furious glance after her, and grabbing up her sewing and muttering something under her breath that Rooney could not catch, she left the room.
To Rooney’s surprise, Ma was strangely quiet all during the meal, and he guessed that she was more than a little disturbed. It was not until he was finished and leaving the table that she spoke, and then her voice was tearful again.
‘All this upset and the wedding so near. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
Her talking did not seem to require an answer, and Rooney went upstairs, glad to have escaped so easily.
He had not been in his room more than ten minutes before he heard Nellie come out of hers and go downstairs. Then came the sound of Grandpa’s enquiring croak; and after a few minutes Ma’s voice penetrated up to him. And when at one point it rose to the pitch of a scream he heard the front door bang, and he knew that the little one had gone out again. And for the moment he felt as frustrated as Ma. Somehow he had hoped that he would have had a word with her, and she would have cleared the mystery up, for had she not almost confided in him this morning? There would be no further chance the night…perhaps in the morning he would know.
But in the morning, Nellie was not to be seen. She did not get up and take the pail and do the front, and it looked when Rooney left the house that she wasn’t going to work either, for she hadn’t yet put in an appearance. It also looked to him as if Ma was going to have a seizure.
It was not until eight o’clock that evening that he saw the little one. She had not come in at teatime, and this had caused Ma’s bulges to become filled with volcanic fury. She was no longer tearful, but ready to burst with frustrated curiosity, ascribing Nellie’s attitude to madness, badness, frustration, complexes, and spite. But becoming calm for a moment, she had enquired if Rooney were intending to stay in this evening. When he answered yes she said she wanted to slip out to Betty’s and couldn’t leave the old man alone in the house in case he went out on his own, as he had done a few weeks ago and brought himself back in a taxi, for which she’d had to pay; or set the house on fire, which he had nearly done last year. But she wouldn’t be long, she assured him; she didn’t really want to go out at all, but she just had to, for it had been arranged that she—whom he took to mean the little one—was to take Saturday off to see to Grandpa while they were at the wedding. Somebody had to stay behind, and so she must go and try to persuade Betty to come now. There was the tea to be laid and things seen to, as Harry’s people were coming back here in the afternoon. Oh, the trouble that one had caused! Nellie, he had been given to understand, had upset the whole blooming apple-cart, and it seemed a bit odd to him that it should be the one in the house who was of the least importance who was having the greatest effect.
Grandpa seemed to sense when Ma was out, for shortly after she had gone Rooney heard his door open and him going into the living room. Fearing lest the old fellow did get up to anything, he went downstairs.
The old man was turning up the cushions of the big chair, and when Rooney’s legs came into his view he glanced up and exclaimed, ‘Where’s the paper?…Where’s Nellie got to? She always brings me the paper. That one’s gone out. Good riddance! Did you see what she gave me for tea? Wouldn’t feed a rabbit.’ He straightened up and his bright old eyes darted from side to side before he beckoned Rooney to him with a quick wag of his finger; then in a gleeful whisper he said, ‘Summat’s up here, eh? Nellie’s turned at last. She didn’t go to work the day. By! I’m glad I’ve lived to see it…I nursed Nellie as a bairn…I know her and she knows me. She’s good, is Nellie. She’s a cut above any of godforsaken Grace’s lot, and I say it although they’re me own grandbairns. Do you think they come in and see me? No. And never slip me a penny. Except Jimmy. Jimmy’s all right—May’s man. He’s the only one who has ever let on I was alive. Jimmy’s all right; I like Jimmy. Too damn good for May…Now where’s Nellie got to? She said she’d be in.’
Rooney shook his head, and the old man asked, ‘You going out? Will you get me a drop? I’ve got the money. Quarter-bottle, like you did afore.’
Going to the sideboard Rooney took a pencil and paper from a coloured-glass fruit dish and wrote, ‘Not the night. Get you one tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ said Grandpa dolefully. ‘Could be dead by then. I’m so cold and she won’t give me no coal but what hardly dirties the bucket…Oh, where’s Nellie got to?’
As if in answer to his plea the back door clicked, and a second later Nellie came into the room. She was dressed as usual, but she didn’t look as usual—she was almost gay. She was carrying a parcel and some magazines.
‘Hallo,’ she said.
‘There you are,’ said Grandpa. ‘I’ve hardly seen you the day. You’re looking bonny, Nellie.’ He went up to her smiling, all querulousness gone, and patted her cheek. ‘Aye, you’re looking bonny.’
She smiled back at him and pointed to the parcel, then turning to Rooney, she said again, ‘Hallo. Everybody out?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Been enjoying yourself?’
She drew in her breath; and as she let it out again, she said, ‘Yes. Just that.’
She put the parcel on the table and opened it, drawing the old man near her to observe the process. And the wrappings undone, she revealed to his delighted gaze two sets of woollen underwear.
‘My!’ Grandpa’s eyes glittered as he fingered the vests. Then lifting up the long pants, he said, ‘Them’s wool, Nellie.’
She nodded, smiling.
‘By lad!’ He danced the pants up and down. ‘Heavy.’
She nodded again, laughing happily.
Rooney looked at the garments. They were wool all right, real wool. He knew wool when he saw it. He often wished he could afford a couple of sets like these for the winter. But each of these pieces would cost about three pounds, if not more.
‘Come on.’ Nellie lifted up the things from the table and beckoned the old man with her head. And as they went out Rooney asked, ‘Have you had your tea?’
‘Yes,’ she called back from the hall. ‘But I could do with another cup.’
His brow puckered as he went slowly into the kitchen. She was different somehow…there was an airiness about her that was strange and not a little disconcerting.
The tea made, he took it into the living room, but it was some time before she came out of the old man’s room, and he said, ‘It’ll be cold by now.’
‘It doesn’t matter…I had to get him settled.’
She poured herself out a cup, then sat down at the table, sipping it in silence. After a moment she pulled one of the magazines towards her and flicked over its pages.
Rooney stood, uncertain what to do. His legs would not carry him to the door, nor could he sit down. Suddenly she looked up at him.
‘You’re wondering what it’s all about, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ he lied. ‘It’s your business. The only thing is I’m glad you’re looking happier.’
‘It’s odd.’ She turned and looked at the magazine again. ‘You think you’re dead and then a miracle happens, a miracle all to yourself, and you suddenly become alive. It’s a frightening experience at first, when you know you’re capable of feeling other things besides sadness…and…and resentment, and to know that you are no longer afraid.’ She looked up at him again. ‘You don’t know h
ow I hate this house’—her voice was deep in her throat now, husky, almost harsh—‘the brown, dampening deadness of it. When I have a house it will be like this—’ She flung the pages quickly forward, then back, and said, ‘Like that.’
She twisted the magazine round towards him, and he bent over the table and looked at a picture of a room out of some swell house, all shining with period furniture and glowing chintz.
‘Colour…I’ll have piles of colour. No old stuff, unless it’s good—I like the modern stuff.’ She was talking like an excited girl—a girl who had just become engaged, a girl who was going to build a home—and as she went on he became strongly aware of his bits in the room upstairs. If she was going in for this kind of furniture she must take a very poor view of his stuff. He was sharply affected by this and found himself rearing in defence of his possessions. They would do him, they were good solid pieces.
‘Do you like it?’ She was still looking at the picture, and he was bold enough to say, ‘Not for meself, I don’t. That room doesn’t look used somehow. But,’ he added, ‘for some folks it’d be all right.’
‘Home is where the heart is.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing…Do you know’—she gazed up into his face, now quite close above hers—‘I’ve talked to you like I haven’t talked to anyone for years…years and years. It’s all right’—she quickly straightened up, putting out her hand in a defensive but reassuring movement—‘you needn’t be nervous. I’m—not after anything.’
‘I’m not nervous. What makes you think that? And who said I thought you were after anything?’ He was finding himself to be quite indignant.
Nellie smiled, a small tight smile. ‘Grace would leave no doubt in your mind about that. Grace is the eternal mother and the eternal girl, and she imagines everyone else is the same.’ She took a deep breath again. ‘But now things have changed she’s going to have something to think about.’ She turned her face from his, saying, ‘Oh, so much…as much as I can possibly give her.’
Again she flicked over the leaves of the magazine and he went and sat down slowly at the other side of the table. He knew for a number of reasons that he should go upstairs, the main one being that if Ma found him here there’d be fireworks. But there’d be fireworks in any case…he could see that.
‘Do you like that?’ She had pushed the magazine round and towards him again, and he looked down now upon the full-page picture of a fashionably dressed woman. She was wearing a blue tweed suit and holding open with artful effectiveness a top coat, the colour of his dressing gown. But that which immediately drew his eye was the necklace the woman was wearing on top of the matching-coloured jersey. It was almost identical with the one he had upstairs.
He did not answer her question but said eagerly, ‘See that necklace, she’s wearing? I’ve got one exactly like it.’
Nellie, leaning over the table, looked at the necklace. ‘Have you? It’s nice. It’s costume jewellery. And you’ve got one like it?’
He sat back and laughed. ‘Aye, yes. And it’s funny seeing one like this. Look, I’ll get it and show you.’ He rose quickly and went out, and was back within a few minutes. ‘There.’ He put it on the table on top of the book. Then with some disappointment he added, ‘Well, would you believe it, it isn’t really like it, except the red beads hanging down and the colour of the tin.’
Nellie picked the necklace up and after looking at it for some time she said, ‘It’s a lovely thing…It’s old.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes. It’s silver filigree work.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t say it’s silver.’
‘I think it is. There should be a stamp somewhere. And it is like this one’—she pointed to the magazine—‘only prettier.’
‘You have it.’
‘What!’ Her eyes darted up to his.
‘It’s no use to me…I can’t wear it.’
She dropped her gaze to the necklace lying over her hands, and when she raised it to his again her eyes were soft with gratitude. ‘Thank you, Rooney.’ It was the first time she had spoken his name, and it added to his feelings of excitement and awkwardness.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. But having said it, he felt at a loss what to do, so he sat down again. No sooner was he seated, however, than the yard door clicked, and he was on his feet in an instant. Then looking at her in embarrassment for a second he made for the door, saying, ‘I’d better…’
He did not finish, but she took it up and said, ‘Yes, you’d better…And thanks, Rooney.’
He was hot as he went up the stairs, not so much for having done such a foolish thing as to give a woman a necklace but far more for his ignominious retreat at the sound of Ma. And in his room, he thought, I hate this scurrying, as if I’d done something or other.
His eyes moved over his furniture. The lot, he supposed, wasn’t up to much if you were comparing it with the stuff in the magazine. But who was comparing it? It was good stuff, and suited him. He sat down. She must have come into a bit somehow or other to be thinking of furniture like that, but he was no wiser than was Ma as to where she had got it.
Suddenly Ma’s voice filled the house. He could not make out what she was saying, but the fury of her feelings came up through the boards. The living-room door must have been pulled open, for now he heard her crying, ‘Don’t think you’ll hoodwink me, I’ll find out.’
There came the sound of Grandpa’s door being opened, then closed, then silence.
Rooney continued to gaze into the fire. He hoped that the little one would give Ma a good run for her money and keep her guessing. But it disturbed him somewhat to find that he hoped she would not keep him guessing.
On Friday evening, the wedding eve, Rooney was greeted by Ma almost on the back doorstep. Would he have his meal up in his room as the living room was full? Queenie and her man had arrived earlier than expected, Pauline had brought the children round, and Doreen was in a state.
Yes, that was all right, he assured her with relief.
Very well then, she would bring it up to him.
He wanted to suggest that he came down for it, but that would mean coming among them again, so he refrained.
The living room was full of people and chatter, and the chatter, to Rooney’s painful embarrassment, died away on his entry.
Ma came in behind him, then pushed round him to the fore, and, with the attitude of a collector showing off a treasure piece and with the accompanying emotion in her voice, she presented her daughter Queenie.
Queenie inclined her head, which was but a younger edition of Ma’s, and in an ultra-‘refeened’ voice said, ‘How do you do?’
‘How d’you do?’ said Rooney, unconsciously giving the correct reply.
‘And this is my son-in-law Tim.’
Rooney looked at the big fellow and nodded; and the big fellow nodded back. And, thought Rooney with some comfort, he looks about as happy as I do when among them. His impression of these two was that they were dressed to kill…he was wearing a pepper-and-salt tweed suit and spanking great brogues, while she was decked out in a blue corded velvet suit. The man, although well over six feet, was flabby, running to fat, with more than a suggestion of a paunch, which was all out of place, Rooney considered, in a fellow who didn’t look forty. He had straight black hair and a heavy blue jowl, and was handsome in a way. But for all his largeness there was something about him that seemed to belie it—he looked…cowed. Aye, that was the word.
As Rooney, with feet that seemed to have doubled in size, picked his way out of the room, he met May coming in. She smiled at him and said, ‘Hallo.’
In his surprise he almost let her pass without answering, but managed to say, ‘Hallo. It’s turning cold.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ She smiled at him again before closing the door.
Well, that was heartening—he hadn’t seen this one since the night he first came here. Perhaps living with Jimmy had done something for her after all.
; When Ma brought his meal up, she seemed in no hurry to return downstairs. ‘Did you see their car?’ she asked softly.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t.’
‘No. Of course; you came in the back way. You’ll see it when you go out the front…It’s a beauty. Over a thousand he paid for it. Queenie picked it…Do you think my Queenie’s like me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ This was definitely the truth.
Ma tilted her head, as if looking into a mirror. ‘Yes, she’s like me. I can see myself all over again in her.’ She paused in her reminiscences and looked down into the fire.
Rooney looked longingly at his dinner, with the steam spreading away the heat.
‘Well’—Ma recalled herself—‘we’re just as old as we feel, aren’t we?’ She smiled widely at him, and blinked her eyelids with a coyness that added to her years and made her somehow pathetic.
‘Aye, that’s true,’ he said.
‘Now I’ll leave you to your dinner. I hope all this noise doesn’t disturb you.’
‘Not at all,’ he said.
‘It’ll soon be over.’ Ma sighed. ‘I’ll be lonely without Doreen, she’s such a comfort.’
Rooney failed to see it, but he replied politely, ‘Aye.’
‘Now—’ Ma looked hastily about her and, as if getting back to business, said, ‘You’re all right? Everything comfortable? Get on with your dinner then.’
Left to himself, Rooney got on with his dinner, quickly washed and changed, and let himself out of the front door. And yes, he thought, it was a spanking car all right, one of the latest. And it set him thinking that if that pair had so much money why didn’t they look after the old girl, so she didn’t have to let? But it was generally the way—the more some folks had, the less they did.
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