Agnes Owens

by Agnes Owens

  ‘What had that to do with your sister Agnes?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you know a stork has long thin legs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So had Agnes. She wasn’t bad-looking but her legs were long and thin.’

  ‘I still don’t get it,’ I said.

  ‘Sanny had said her legs were like a stork’s so at the sight of that poster on the wall she chased him round the room hitting him with her handbag until he headed out the door laughing. And then there was my sister Jeanie. She liked to think she was a lady and would ask a female to tea in our shabby old parlour, and before you could say Jack Robinson Sanny would invite the guest to sit on a chair shoved against the wall for show because it had only three legs. You can imagine the outcry when it and the guest crashed to the floor. And there was my brother John who came to school barefoot, just to give me a showing up when he was sent into my class to get the belt. Mind you, I can laugh now when I look back and think of him. He never got to be a grown man. He was killed at the Somme on his first day in France.’

  How rotten, I thought, that I never knew my uncles. They sounded fun, so unlike my mother who I thought a bit of a snob. She said, ‘The most awful joke Sanny played was when my Granny died. Her coffin was put in the parlour, which was really our dumping ground for bits of furniture we couldn’t bear to throw away. It lay on a big table covered by a red velvet cloth. The lid was slid down so we could see Granny’s head rested on a white ruffled pillow that reminded me of the paper you get wrapped round a layer cake. When the coffin was closed a single red rose was tastefully displayed on the lid. I remember thinking that if Granny could see all this she would have been pleased. It only needed the bagpipes to play her off. But as we couldn’t even pay for the funeral bagpipes were out of the question.’

  ‘Then who paid for the funeral?’ I asked.

  ‘My Uncle Chairles was going to pay, but it was like getting blood out of a stone. I haven’t told you the awful thing Sanny did.’

  ‘What was it?’ I asked, trying to sound interested.

  ‘A neighbour came into the parlour to pay her respects to Granny and heard low groans from the coffin that would have made your hair stand on end. Then she seemed to hear Granny’s voice screeching, ‘Get that dirty brute oot ma sicht.’ This was Sanny hiding under the table cover. Then a black cat dashed out miawling like mad and the neighbour fainted, though mind you I think she was putting it on a bit. Did you know your great-granny was in the Crimea War?’

  ‘No,’ I said, startled. ‘Did she fight like a soldier?’

  ‘She was a nurse, a sort of nurse. She tended to the wounded and the dying. Do you know she had to wipe their wounds with the bottom of her petticoat because there was nothing else to wipe them with?’

  ‘Did she really?’ I said, thinking it typical of this family to wipe soldiers’ wounds with a dirty petticoat instead of wiping their fevered brows with a cold cloth like you see in the films. But perhaps there were no films in those days. I was about to ask when Mother said her granny had married a soldier called Gregor Grant who died of pneumonia, and after that married another soldier called Stewart who went back to being a ploughman when the war was over.

  ‘She seemed to have a liking for soldiers.’ I said. ‘It’s a wonder we’re not related to Bonnie Prince Charlie.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we were. Which reminds me I told you my Uncle Chairles said he would pay for his mother’s funeral, but apparently never did.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I said, wanting to go and play with my new skipping ropes in the cold spring sunshine.

  ‘Well, he may have paid in the long run but for days the family were always looking out for a letter with money inside but none came. Then matters took a turn for the better. My mother and a friend attended a spiritualist meeting, which had become very popular in those days. Most families had lost someone in the Great War so everybody wanted to get a message from their dead son or brother. Mother had handed over a handkerchief belonging to Granny, one she had been clutching when she made her last gasp. Mother came home and said she got a message from the spiritualist in a voice that sounded just like Granny’s, saying, ‘Don’t worry, Chairles will pay.’

  ‘Did she say when?’ asked my father who’d been about to pay for the funeral by taking a job as a coalman. Later he said he knew all along Chairles would pay, for he’d seen it happen in a dream. Whether this was true or not we never heard another word from Chairles, but the family’s faith in spiritualism remained steadfast, because Granny had heard the piper’s lament for the Stewart clan before she died, and not a single note of it was heard by anyone else . . . ‘Or was it the lament for the Grants that she heard?’ said my mother doubtfully. ‘My memory’s getting terrible nowadays.’

  ‘So we don’t know whether we’re descended from the Stewarts or the Grants?’ I asked.

  She said, ‘Does it matter? These clan folks are all the same when you come down to it, very superstitious, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘So who paid for the funeral?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe Chairles did eventually. He was supposed to.’

  Don’t Call Me

  ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you,’ was the usual response I got on Alice’s answering machine. She never phoned me until one early evening I heard her say, ‘You’ll have to help. I’m in deep shit.’

  I am not spiteful but those words sounded like music in my ear. I asked what was wrong.

  ‘I can’t explain on the phone,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to come round.’

  Alice and I had once been married for five years. She was a born flirt, I was a heavy gambler, so it was not a perfect relationship. To prove I wasn’t a complete bastard I overlooked a lot of her bad points. She overlooked none of mine until we couldn’t stand each other.

  ‘Two thousand pounds you owe me!’ she flung in my face one day. ‘Clear out!’

  I did, and things turned out well for me. I got a Post Office job. She, on the other hand, took up with a gangster called Tony the Teeth, and her answer machine told me not to interfere with that relationship.

  She answered the door of our old flat, looking furtively past me up and down the corridor. I asked her what was wrong.

  ‘It’s Tony the Teeth,’ she said. ‘He’s here first thing in the morning, last thing at night and three times a day when I’m out, according to the neighbours.’

  ‘I’m surprised,’ I said. ‘I heard Tony’s not such a bad guy. Can’t you tell him to beat it?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. I owe him a thousand pounds and he wants it back right away and he won’t take no for an answer.’

  I started to open my mouth but she went on, ‘He says I can pay him back in kind, if you know what I mean, but he wouldn’t be content with just the once. He would want me to do it all the time. Actually he wants to move in with me.’

  I gave a low whistle then said, ‘You are in very deep shit.’

  Maybe it served her right for treating me as she had, but Tony the Teeth is the most unpleasant guy I’ve ever seen. His long yellow teeth stick out like rocks. His skin is so full of blackheads that you’d think his face had been dipped in coal dust. His smile is like a promise of certain death.

  ‘So you want me to give Tony the works?’ I said in an incredulous tone. ‘I don’t think I could manage that.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, smudging her mascara as she wiped eyes that were as dry as a bone. ‘But maybe you could lend me a thousand pounds considering you already owe me two thousand.’

  ‘But that was long ago,’ I pointed out. ‘And since we’re divorced I now owe you nothing.’

  ‘Tony doesn’t look at it that way. He says you’re responsible for my debt, and nobody can argue with him.’

  Almost speechless with anger I asked how Tony knew about me in the first place.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Maybe I mentioned it casually in the course of our relationship.’

  ‘You had a relationship with h
im?’

  ‘We were just good friends.’

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘because you owe one thousand to someone else you expect me to hand over two thousand to you. Well, life isn’t like that, so go fuck yourself.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t swear. You know how I hate it.’

  ‘Yes, you were always a snob, but my answer is still the same. I don’t have a thousand to spare, and don’t get paid till Thursday, so haven’t a penny on me.’

  ‘You have a job?’ She sounded surprised.

  ‘Damn right I have. The minute I left you I got lucky.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in work. That’s one of the reasons we split.’

  ‘I decided I needed exercise and fresh air so am now a postman.’ As I said this it occurred to me I should have kept my mouth shut.

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ she said with a big smile and at that moment I wouldn’t have minded a night in the sack with her. It was a passing thought. I didn’t want to go through the hell of loving her again, but we stared at each other for much longer than was necessary until I said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you with your troubles, honey. Believe me, I would if I could.’

  Her smile became fixed. She said, ‘It’s alright, I’ll just have to give Tony what he wants.’

  Then I looked at my ex-wife from her long shiny auburn hair down to her neat little feet with pearl-encrusted shoes and said impulsively, ‘I won’t let him near you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I say.’

  A look of annoyance crossed her face. ‘You couldn’t stop him. Look at you!’

  I knew what she meant. I’ve always considered myself a sorry specimen, but I grinned and said, ‘I could always get a gun.’

  Then I wished I had bitten my tongue out instead. What was I letting myself in for? Her voice softened. She said, ‘I know you mean well but you couldn’t tackle him on your own. You don’t know him like I do.’

  I thought that was true. Who the hell wanted to know him anyway? In this soft husky voice she went on, ‘If I could pay him off he would have no excuse to move in with me which is what I’m most afraid of. Can you imagine it?’

  I couldn’t, and we were both silent as if she was waiting for me to speak. I began nervously scratching my head, then heard myself say, ‘Maybe I could get a bank loan.’

  ‘You could?’ she said, her eyes wide and interested.

  ‘Well, I work in the Post Office. You can always get a loan if you’re working.’

  ‘You’re right!’ she said, still staring as if she saw me in a new light. By now I regretted my words but it was too late to unsay them.

  ‘I’ll pay you back,’ she said, ‘with interest.’

  ‘How about a kiss to be going on with?’

  She backed off, said, ‘Don’t complicate things, I’m in enough trouble.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, sheepishly, wondering why I was apologising when doing her a favour. I reminded myself that I could change my mind.

  ‘When will you get the money?’

  ‘Friday at the latest.’ My lips were saying different things to what was happening in my head.

  ‘No sooner?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t get paid until Thursday, so Friday’s the soonest,’ I said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

  ‘That’s alright,’ she said quickly. ‘It just means I’ll have to go into hiding or Tony will be on to me before you can say Jack the Ripper. Friday will be fine.’

  On Thursday after I was paid I went to the bank and borrowed two thousand, one for her and one for me. It struck me I could have borrowed more, but let it go. I decided to take Alice out for a meal to celebrate the occasion. She declined the offer, saying, ‘We can’t be seen together, somebody might tell Tony.’

  ‘You said you’d be alright if you gave him the money.’

  ‘He doesn’t like me being with other men, no matter what,’ she said.

  I gave her the cheque for one thousand and she said thanks a lot but she’d have to go now. Instead of visiting my usual pub that evening I bought a bottle and sat on the edge of my bed, talking to myself. Actually I was talking to Tony the Teeth, not that he was with me but he was there in spirit so I could say what I liked.

  ‘Listen Tony,’ I said. ‘I know your game. Blackmail is a criminal offence. If you don’t leave Alice alone I’ll report you to the law, and then what will happen?’

  ‘Fuck all will happen,’ he said, ‘I don’t know anyone called Alice, only somebody who’s called Myrtle who owes me one thousand pounds.’

  ‘Is she a cute little blonde who wears pearl-encrusted shoes?’

  ‘Maybe and maybe not,’ said Tony. ‘All I know is she’ll be sorry if she thinks she can mess me about.’

  ‘Don’t do anything drastic,’ I said. ‘You’ll get your money soon. She owes me as well, and by the way I’m her ex-husband.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shaking my hand, and at that point I woke up and wished I hadn’t.

  On Saturday I rang up Alice and the dame who answered asked if I had the right number. I said I had, but maybe not the right name and she hung up. It seemed once again I had been taken for a sucker but it didn’t get me down. I returned to the bank and borrowed another thousand, since it appears that banks can’t give their money away quick enough nowadays, then I had a good time drinking strong liquor and betting on the gee-gees. In the evening I called at my favourite pub and bought everyone a round, and when the money ran down I left my Post Office job and got another with Headley’s Security Ltd so I could pay off my debt with the Post Office. It was now three thousand pounds, two of which I don’t remember spending.

  I never saw Alice again. I think she left town, not surprisingly if Tony the Teeth is after her. Tony’s looking great these days. He has new teeth, white, gleaming and straight as a dye. I often wonder if my money paid for them.

  Mayflies

  It was summer when Alec and I took the kids up to the Rifle Range, coming close to it but still well back from the targets. No one had fired a rifle there for ages, certainly not us. We headed past it for the burn where Alec had made a dam the kids could splash about in. He and I drank the South African wine I brought in my shopping bag.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely here,’ I murmured through an alcoholic stupor, staring up at the clear blue sky where large birds circled above us as if waiting for the kill.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘not bad at all.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, aggrieved at the way he was always so laid back about everything and reluctant to praise anything I admired. I often thought I’d married the wrong man, but there had never been a right one, and I couldn’t count Jackson, even if I wanted to. I tried not to think about Jackson because it made me feel too wide awake.

  ‘Daddy, what are these flies called?’ said my eldest daughter of ten. ‘They’re everywhere.’

  ‘Mayflies,’ I said before he could answer. ‘They always come in May.’

  ‘What for?’ said the youngest one of five. ‘Why do they always come in May?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t know everything. Why does anything happen anyway?’

  ‘You should try and answer them sensibly,’ said Alec. ‘It’s only natural they want to know why things happen.’

  ‘If they ever do happen,’ I said in a snappy tone. I hate being corrected. I took another swig of the South African and closed my eyes in an effort to recapture the drugged effect I’d enjoyed a minute ago, but now something whirred around inside my head and kept me awake.

  I had met Jackson at a party. I wasn’t sure what the party was for or if it even was a party, but I was inside a friend’s house. I wondered what the catch was, then discovered it: a good-looking guy I’d never seen before who was offering me a drink. He was maybe more attractive than good-looking, with brown eyes, black hair and a wide smile.

  ‘Do you come here often?’ he asked in an arch manner and we both had to laugh at the banal question.


  ‘Not on your nelly,’ I said. We laughed again.

  My friend Ella butted in at this point. In a suspicious manner she asked, ‘Have you two been introduced?’ then walked away before we could answer.

  ‘I’m Tom Jackson, by the way,’ he said to me. ‘But just call me Jackson, everybody does.’

  He explained he was only here for the weekend and staying with his sister. I thought I’d never get to know him at such short notice.

  ‘Are you a friend of Ella’s?’ I asked him politely.

  ‘Actually I’ve only known her since yesterday,’ he said. ‘She was carrying some heavy bags, and I –’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve never met you before,’ I said, hoping this didn’t sound like an accusation. Inwardly I was panicking. I could not think of anything to say. I finished my drink and put the empty glass on the table, longing to take a sandwich from a big plate in the centre, but too nervous to do so.

  ‘You look worried,’ he said. ‘Shall I get you another drink?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I’d better go home now. My husband will be wondering what’s kept me.’

  I could have cut my tongue out for admitting to having a husband but he said, ‘I’ll drive you home,’ waving aside my protests.

  We drove fast in the direction opposite to my home and I never said a word, as if struck dumb. We stopped near the edge of a wood, then made love as if there was no tomorrow. I’d never felt so happy and alive. Afterwards I asked if there was any wine left, having a hazy recollection of lifting a bottle from Ella’s sideboard.

  ‘Of course. Do you think I’ve guzzled it?’ he asked laughing.

  ‘How would I know what you’d do?’ I said, equally light-hearted. We passed the bottle between us until it was finished. We made love again, then he took me home.

  I was brought back to reality when Alec said, ‘I wonder what happened to that chap Jackson?’ in a manner suggesting he’d been practising the question.