Mary Ann and Bill

by Catherine Cookson

  Poodle now punched Jimmy once more in the chest, then turned swiftly towards the garage opening, and when he passed Rose Mary he put his hand out and chucked her chin, saying, ‘O-o-oh! Hello there, gorgeous.’

  Rose Mary blinked her eyes and tossed her head. She wasn’t displeased with the title of gorgeous. All Jimmy’s band called her gorgeous, but Jimmy didn’t because he knew her dad wouldn’t have let him.

  As she saw David move further into the garage she whispered hoarsely, ‘No, our David! Mam’ll be down in a second; you’ll only get wrong.’

  David didn’t appear to hear her, for he walked towards Jimmy, who was now standing with his two hands on the bonnet of a car, his head bent forward as if he was thinking deeply, and he looked up at him for some seconds before he said, ‘Jimmy.’

  ‘Oh; hello there.’ Jimmy straightened himself up, then grinned down at the small boy. ‘By, you look smashin’. I never knew you looked like that; it must be ’cos you’ve been washed.’

  David did not grin back at his friend but considered him seriously for a moment before saying, ‘You wouldn’t leave here, would you, Jimmy?’

  ‘Leave here?…Aw.’ Jimmy jerked his chin to the side. Then looking down slantwise at David, he said, ‘Trust you to hear things you shouldn’t. You’ve got lugs on you like a cuddy.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t, would you, Jimmy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’d get five pounds more at Baxter’s.’

  ‘Aye, I’d get five pounds more at Baxter’s, so what?’

  ‘Why…why don’t you ask Dad for more money?’

  ‘Look.’ Jimmy dropped onto his hunkers and, his face level with David’s, he was about to put his hands on his shoulders when he stopped himself and exclaimed, ‘Eeh! I just need to do that and I’ll have your mam knock the daylights out of me.’

  He rubbed the palms of his oily hands together and said, slowly now, ‘Your dad gave me a rise just a while ago. That’s the second in six months, and who knows, maybe I’ll get another one shortly. I’m satisfied, so what is there to worry about?’

  David stared unblinkingly into the long, kindly face. Although Jimmy neither came upstairs for meals nor slept in their house he considered him part of his family; he liked him next to his mam and dad. He didn’t place Rose Mary in his list of affections; because Rose Mary was already inside of him, part of himself. He might fight with her, tease her and torment her, but he also listened to her and considered her views and demands as if they were issuing from his own brain. He asked now quietly, ‘Will they put you out of the band if you don’t help to buy the car?’

  Jimmy put his head on one side and began to chuckle; then he shook it slowly before he said, ‘You know, you’re a rum customer. You know what I think? I think you’ve been here afore. Me mother always says that some folks have been here afore. She says that they couldn’t know what to do at an early age unless they had learned it in another life.’ He drooped his head to the other side, adding. ‘You don’t know what I’m on about do you? But to answer your question. Aye, very likely if I don’t fork out they might…’

  At this moment there came the toot-toot of a motor horn and Jimmy, stretching his long length upwards, exclaimed, as he smiled at David, ‘Ah, here we go again,’ then went out towards the petrol pumps and the customer.

  David was once more standing beside Rose Mary when Mary Ann and Corny appeared on the drive. He watched his father walk slowly towards Jimmy, then stand waiting while Jimmy took the money from the driver, saying, ‘A pound and sixpence.’

  The man in the car handing Jimmy two pound notes, said, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any less,’ and Jimmy replied ‘That’s all right, Sir, I’ll get you the change.’

  Within seconds he came back from the office and, looking at Corny, said, ‘I haven’t got it in the till; can you change it, boss?’

  ‘No, not a pound note,’ said Corny, then bending towards the man in the car, he said, ‘We’ll call it straight.’ He nodded towards Jimmy, and Jimmy handed the man the pound note back again.

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’ The driver smiled up at Corny, saying, ‘I’ll have to remember to call this way when I’m coming back and do the same again.’

  They all laughed now.

  As the car drove away Mary Ann said to no-one in particular, ‘That’s the third time to my knowledge you’ve run out of change in a fortnight. Oh! Oh!’ She raised her hand, ‘It’s only sixpence I know. It was only threepence before, and a shilling before that. But what’s a shilling? And what’s sixpence? And what’s threepence in a fortnight? Only one and nine. But there’s fifty-two weeks in a year. Cut those by half, and you have twenty-six one and ninepences. At least.’ She turned round now and confronted both Corny and Jimmy.

  There was a grin on Jimmy’s face but he remained silent. There was a grin on Corny’s face too, and he said airily, ‘Yes, twenty-six one and ninepences up the flue…But, Mrs Boyle.’ He walked towards her, then took her arm and led her into the garage towards their car. ‘Did you hear what that gentleman said? I’ll call this way when I’m coming back. Now. He’s no fool, and he knows I’m no fool; I’m not going to do that every time he calls in. But the impression is made, the good impression. He’ll tell his friends. He won’t say they’ll get cheaper petrol here, or that this garage bloke doesn’t care about money; he’ll say, “Go to Boyle’s, you’ll get service. It’s a good garage.” Aw, to heck!’ He pulled open the car door. ‘What does it matter? We needn’t worry about the coppers any longer. Get yourself in, woman.’ He slapped at her bottom. ‘Aren’t I always telling you “them days are gone”? Come on you two.’ He yanked the children into the back of the car, and as he started her up he said in grave, dignified tones, ‘Remember, Mrs Boyle, you’re married to a man with a bank balance that is getting blacker and blacker every week. Twenty-six one and ninepences…Rabbit feed!’

  When she dug him in the ribs he laughed; then pushing his head out of the window, he called to Jimmy, saying, ‘Now, you’ll lock up at six and see everything’s OK before you leave…right?’

  ‘Don’t you worry, boss. Have a nice time.’

  And Mary Ann called, ‘And don’t forget to turn the gas off. I’ve left it in the oven for you, a pie; it just needs warming. Half an hour.’

  ‘Righto, Mrs Boyle. Thanks. Thanks…Bye-bye, nippers.’ He waved to the children, and they waved to him.

  As the car swung into the road Mary Ann sat back and sighed. It was nice after all to get away for a day, away from the honk-honks, the smell of petrol and the irritations, which were still present even when the banging and noise had ceased. She sighed again. She would enjoy today. Yes, she would enjoy today. And it went without saying that the twins would; they loved the Blenkinsop horde. She was about to turn to them when the unusual quiet that prevailed in the back of the car was forced on her notice and she nipped at her lips to suppress her smile. The events of last night were evidently still with them and they were expecting her to say she was sorry. Well, they could expect. Rubber guts, indeed!

  Corny, too, noticing the absence of chatter remarked under his breath, ‘No talky-talky from backy-backy’ and she replied softly and in the same idiom, ‘Coventry. Waiting for sorry-sorry, but no feely like it.’

  When Rose Mary saw her mam and dad laughing quietly together she felt slightly peeved; she hadn’t been able to make out what they were talking about. She wanted to lean over and say, ‘What you laughing at, Mam?’ She always liked to be in on a joke. But she wasn’t kind with her mam. Yet she was still kind with her dad, so she could talk to him.

  She leaned towards Corny now and said, ‘Do you know Annabel Morton, Dad?’

  ‘Annabel Morton? No.’ His head went up as if he was thinking. ‘Never heard of her in me life.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ Rose Mary pushed him in the back. ‘You do know Annabel Morton. I’m always talking about Annabel Morton. She’s a beast, and she’s Miss Plum’s favourite. You do know Annabel Morton.’
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  ‘Oh…h! That Annabel Morton. Oh yes, I know that stinker. She’s dreadful; she’s terrible; she’s horrible; she’s…’

  ‘Dad! You’re takin’ the mickey.’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not; I’m just agreeing with all you’ve said about that Annabel Morton. What’s she done now…that Annabel Morton?’

  ‘Well, yesterday dinner time, after we came out of the hall, Patricia Gibbs was telling me about the girl who lives next door to her and who’s going to be married in a long white dress with a train, and a wreath and veil and everything, and she’s going to marry a priest.’

  Mary Ann’s head, on the point of jerking round, stopped abruptly and she continued to gaze ahead while she waited and left the sorting of this one to Corny.

  ‘Oh, she’s going to marry a priest, is she? Is she a Catholic?’

  ‘No; she said she wasn’t, but she’s going to marry a priest.’

  ‘It’ll be a minister she’s going to marry.’

  ‘No, no, I said that, ’cos I know they’re called ministers, and misters, but she said no, he was a priest and she was going to marry him.’

  ‘Oh, I think she made a mistake,’ said Corny. ‘It wouldn’t be—’

  ‘It wasn’t a mistake, Dad. And as we were talkin’ about it Annabel Morton had her lugs cocked and she said Patricia Gibbs was barmy and she’d picked a barmy one to tell it to, and she meant me, and I slapped her face for her.’

  After a short pause Corny said, ‘In a way, I think Annabel Morton was right this time. I think Patricia Gibbs is a bit barmy if she says that the girl is going to marry a priest.’

  There was another short silence before Rose Mary said, ‘Well, why can’t priests marry, Dad?’

  Corny was saved from trying to explain a situation that was beyond his understanding by his son saying, ‘’Cos they can’t marry people, women, you nit, they can only marry nuns.’

  The car seemed to do a sidestep. In the middle of a splutter Mary Ann cried, ‘Careful!’ Then with her head down she said, ‘Look where you’re going.’

  ‘They don’t marry nuns. Eeh, our David! Nuns can’t marry; they’re angels.’

  There was a short silence now as David tried to digest this. Then he put the question to his father’s back. ‘They’re not, Dad, are they? Nuns aren’t angels. They’ve got legs, haven’t they?’

  The car took another erratic course before Corny replied thickly, ‘Well, angels could have legs…Speaking of legs—’ Corny now aimed to direct the conversation into safer channels. ‘Did you bring your football boots?’

  ‘No, Dad.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have any toes left in your shoes when Brian and Rex get that ball going.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll see Susan and Diana?’ asked Rose Mary now.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Corny. ‘We’ll see Susan, anyway.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t last time; she was away on the complement.’

  ‘Continent.’

  ‘Yes, Dad; that’s what I said, complement.’

  Another short pause before Rose Mary stated, ‘I like Susan; she’s nice. She said I’m going to be tall like you, Dad. I want to be tall, I don’t want to be little.’

  ‘Stabbed in the back.’ Mary Ann muttered the words below her breath, and Corny muttered back, ‘Better give in and get it over.’

  ‘Susan says when you’re tall you can…’

  Mary Ann turned around and surveyed her offspring, looking first at Rose Mary, then at David, then back to Rose Mary again. She said quietly, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Rose Mary wriggled her bottom on the seat, drew her lower lip right into her mouth, drooped her head, then wagged it from side to side before raising it sideways and glancing at David.

  David’s reactions had not been so obvious. All he did was to sit on his hands and lower his lids.

  Then, again as if released by one spring, they were standing up and their arms were about Mary Ann’s neck and they were laughing as they cried, ‘Oh, Mam! Mam!’

  ‘There now. There now. You’ll choke me. Sit down. Sit down.’

  David sat back on the seat, but Rose Mary lingered. Her mouth rubbing against Mary Ann’s ear, she whispered, ‘I was only having you on, Mam. I don’t care how big I am.’

  Mary Ann kissed the face so like her own; and when she was settled in her seat again she looked at Corny, whose amused glance flashed to hers, and she thought, as she had done often as a child, It’s going to be a lovely day, beautiful.

  The Dan Blenkinsops lived in an old house on the outskirts of Doncaster. It had the added attraction of a tennis court, a paddock and a strip of woodland.

  Dan and Ida Blenkinsop had six children, four boys and two girls. Tommy, the youngest, was eight; Rex was ten; Brian, eleven; and Roland, thirteen; then there was Susan, fifteen, and Diana, nineteen.

  Mary Ann had met all the family with the exception of Diana, and she was looking forward to meeting Mr Blenkinsop’s eldest daughter, for she would likely see a great deal of her in the future as she was going to act as secretary to her father who was now in the position of managing director of the English side of Blenkinsop’s Packing Company.

  Mary Ann was now sitting in the corner of a luxurious couch which was upholstered in pale blue satin and bore the imprint of grubby hands and, even worse, dirty feet. She looked about her at the lovely pieces of furniture, all, to her mind, ill-treated; cups and glasses standing on the grand piano; a conglomeration of boys’ implements, all of a destructive nature, ranging from catapults to guns, and including a bow and arrow, lay piled on what was evidently an antique desk. The Chinese carpet showed the tread of dirty shoes all over it, and from where she sat she could see into the hall and to the bottom of the stairs where a long coloured scarf hung like a limp flag from the banisters. She could see shoes lying jumbled on the parquet floor, and coats and sweaters heaped on a chair.

  Mary Ann smiled to herself. It took all sorts to make a world. And in this world of the Blenkinsops there was evidently no discipline but a lot of fun. Also, she sensed there was a lot of money squandered needlessly. Yet, she had to admit, the children didn’t act spoilt. They were very good-mannered and charming—that’s when they were forced to stand, or to sit still for a moment, but most of the time they seemed to be bounding, jumping or rushing somewhere, yelling, shouting and calling as they went. And their mother wasn’t in the least affected by it.

  Mary Ann now watched Mrs Blenkinsop come into the room. She never seemed to hurry. She was tall and rather graceful, with black hair and black eyes, in sharp contrast to her husband who was very fair, and, incidentally, much shorter than his wife.

  Mrs Blenkinsop came straight towards Mary Ann, saying, ‘Diana’s coming; you’ve got to pin her down when you can.’ She sank onto the couch, adding, ‘She’s making the best of the time left to her. She loves riding; she’s never stopped all the holidays. Ah.’ She turned her face towards Mary Ann, ‘But they’re only young once, aren’t they?’

  She was speaking as if to an equal, and quite suddenly Mary Ann again felt old, like she had done last night. Mrs Blenkinsop must be forty if she was a day, but her words seemed to imply that they were both of a similar age and frivolity was past them.

  Mr Blenkinsop now came across the room, walking with Corny. He was saying, ‘Well, the main office is ready and that’s all that matters at present. Get the brain working and the body will take care of itself.’ He laughed his hearty laugh, adding, ‘Anyway, from Monday next that’ll be my headquarters and…’ He paused and looked towards the door and, his voice rising, he added, ‘And that of my able secretary, Miss Diana Blenkinsop.’

  From the very first sight of the tall, leggy, blonde-headed, extremely modern-looking Diana, Mary Ann experienced a feeling of apprehension, even danger, for there arose in her immediately the fighting protective feeling that she had lived with, and acted on, during the years of her childhood…and after. The feeling had centred then around her father, but now it wasn’t her father who was b
ringing it to the fore, but her husband.

  She looked at Corny standing in front of the girl who was almost his height, and his ordinary looking face, which at times appeared handsome to her, was, she imagined, looking its most attractive at this moment. The girl, she noted, had almond-shaped, wide-spaced blue eyes and she was using them unblinkingly on Corny. It wasn’t until her father drew her attention away by saying, ‘And this is Mrs Boyle,’ that she turned from him.

  Mary Ann didn’t stand up. She was at a disadvantage sitting down, but she knew she would be dwarfed still further if she got to her feet.

  ‘This is Diana. Now you two will be bumping into each other pretty often, I’m sure, so the sooner you get acquainted the better.’

  Diana lowered herself down onto the arm of the couch, and Mary Ann was forced to put her head well back to look up at her, and she made herself speak pleasantly to the disdainful-looking madam, as she had already dubbed her.

  ‘Will this be your first post as secretary?’

  ‘No.’ The voice was cool, matching the whole appearance. ‘I’ve been with Kent, the solicitor, for three months…’

  ‘Oh, and then she was with Broadbent’s.’ It was her mother speaking now. ‘She was there for nearly six months, weren’t you, dear?’ It was as if Mrs Blenkinsop was emphasising that her daughter wasn’t without experience.

  ‘You’re going to find it a change from a solicitor’s.’ They all looked at Corny. He was seated opposite the couch and he was looking directly at Diana Blenkinsop, and she looked back at him as she asked pointedly, ‘What way, different?’

  ‘Oh.’ He jerked his head. ‘Well, a bit rougher, I should say. There are nearly two hundred chaps knocking around there and you’ll be the only female. Oh, of course, except Mary Ann.’ He now looked towards Mary Ann, and she looked back at him. Oh of course, except Mary Ann, he had said. She wasn’t a female; she was just some gender that passed unnoticed among two hundred men.