Sunday was a long nightmare with Corny working frantically down below in the garage; the children haunting her, not wanting to leave her for a minute, even David; and Bill having another spasm of tearing up everything in sight, until she cried, ‘Take him out and keep him out. And keep yourselves out too.’
And they had dragged Bill out and gone into the field behind the house and sat in the derelict car, but they hadn’t played.
And so came Monday.
Rose Mary said she felt sick and didn’t think she could go to school. ‘You’re going,’ said Mary Ann. She remembered back to the days when she had been so concerned about her father that she had made herself sick and used it as pretence to be off school.
‘If she says she’s sick, she’s sick.’ Corny was standing on the landing and he looked through the open door into the bedroom, and Mary Ann looked back at him and said nothing.
‘You can’t send her to school if she’s sick.’
‘Very well; she’s sick and she needn’t go to school.’
Her attitude was infuriating to him, he wanted to break things.
So Rose Mary didn’t go to school, but Mary Ann saw that she stayed in bed all morning. She also saw that the enforced inactivity was almost driving her daughter wild, so she allowed her to get up for lunch, and after it, when she asked if she could take Bill out for a walk, Mary Ann said, ‘Yes, and tell your father I’m going into town to do some shopping.’
Rose Mary stared at her, her eyes wide.
‘Do as I tell you. Take Bill. Put his lead on.’
Bill showed great reluctance, as always, to being moved out of the kitchen, and Mary Ann had to carry him downstairs. Then hurrying back and into the bedroom she made her face up, put on her best suit and hat, looked at herself critically in the mirror, then went out with only a handbag.
Corny noticed this as she crossed the drive; she was carrying no shopping bag and she had on her best clothes. He wanted to dash after her and demand where she was going. He almost called to her, but Jimmy checked him.
‘Boss!’
‘What is it now?’
Jimmy looked down towards his feet, rubbing his hands together. ‘There’s something I want to say.’
‘Oh, aye.’ Corny narrowed his eyes at the young fellow.
‘I’m sorry, but…but…but I’ve just got to.’
‘Well, whatever it is, you needn’t take a week about it. Come on into the office; it’s about time you had it off your chest.’
Jimmy’s head came up and he stared at his boss striding towards the office, then he followed him. There was nothing much escaped the boss.
‘Well, say your piece.’ Corny sat himself down on the high stool and looked at the figures in the open book before him, and Jimmy stood just within the door and again he looked down, and now he said, ‘I want to give me notice in.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, boss, but I think it’s best.’
‘Oh you do, do you? And why do you want to give your notice in?’
‘Well, we all need a change now and again.’ Jimmy grinned sheepishly.
‘More money, I suppose?’
‘Aye, more money, boss.’
‘You’re not getting enough here and not making enough on the side?’
Jimmy stared at him, then said, ‘Well the tips are few and far between.’
Corny was on the point of saying, ‘Well, I’m not referring to your tips, I’m referring to your light fingers,’ but perhaps it was better to let things be this way. He’d never get another like Jimmy for work, but then he’d never get another who would help himself to the takings; he’d see to that before anyone else started. But he couldn’t resist one thrust. ‘I suppose you’ve got nearly enough to stand your share in the car by now?’
‘Well, not quite, boss, not quite.’
‘Oh well, you’ve still got time, haven’t you?’ Corny got up from the seat and walked past Jimmy, keeping his eyes on him all the time, and Jimmy returned his stare unblinking. So that was it, he knew. He had known all along.
When Corny reached the drive again his thoughts reverted to Mary Ann. Where was she off to, dressed up like that? Where? WHERE? It couldn’t be Murgatroyd. The funeral? No, no, it would be too soon for that. She didn’t know yet anyway; and she wouldn’t go in that cocky red hat. But perhaps she was going home for something. He would get on to the farm and have a word with Mike, not Lizzie. No; Mike understood things.
Mike answered from the milking parlour. No, Mary Ann wasn’t coming there, not to his knowledge.
‘What do you think about Johnny Murgatroyd?’ Corny asked, and Mike replied ‘Johnny? Oh, Johnny’s all right. A bit of a lad I understand, but there’s no harm in him. Why do you ask?…Oh, because he brought her home? Oh, don’t worry about that, lad. Anyway, as far as I’ve been able to gather there’s only one fellow in her life, and also, I was given to understand, there was only one lass in yours. Does that still hold, Corny?’
‘Of course, it does, Mike. I’ve told you.’
‘Is that dame still paying her daily visits?’
There was a pause before Corny said, ‘I can’t tell her to clear out.’
‘You could, you know. And it would clear matters up quicker than a dose of salts.’
‘It’s easier said than done, Mike.’
‘Aye, everything’s easier said than done.’
‘You have no idea at all where she might be going?’
‘Not in the wide world. I’ll tap Lizzie, and if I hear anything I’ll give you a ring.’
‘Don’t let on I’ve phoned you, Mike.’
‘No, no; I can keep me big mouth shut when it’s necessary. Goodbye, lad, and don’t worry.’
‘Goodbye, Mike.’
And then he found out where she was, who she was all dolled up for, at least he imagined he had. He was directing the backing of a lorry out of the drive when he heard one of the men on the site shout, ‘Where’s the boss?’ And another, on a laugh, saying, ‘Which one?’
‘Murgatroyd.’
‘Oh, he’s gone into Newcastle. A bit of special business I understand.’ There was another laugh. ‘Swinburne’s taken over. He’s at yon side of number three shed; they’re digging out there.’
This news had an opposite effect on Corny to what might have been expected. His rage seeped away and of a sudden he felt tired and very much alone. He went upstairs and into the kitchen and sat down at the table and, putting his elbows on it, he rested his head in his hands. Well, he had asked for it, and he was getting it. Being Mary Ann she would take nothing lying down. He had threatened to walk out on her but it looked like she wasn’t going to give him the chance. How had all this come about?
Rose Mary, in her childish way, was wondering the same thing. Why weren’t they all happy like they used to be? Why wasn’t everything nice and lovely? The answer was Diana Blenkinsop. She threw the ball for Bill and he fetched it. She threw it again and he fetched it; but the third time she threw it he turned and walked in the direction of the house and she had to run after him and put his lead on.
He was always wanting to be in the house and near her mam. When she had asked for an explanation from her father concerning Bill’s change of face he had said that Bill likely felt safer in the house since he had got the fright on the grab, and as it was their mam who had got him out of the hole, he had become attached to her.
She wished she had been the one who had got him out of the hole, and then he wouldn’t have wanted to leave her. Everybody was leaving her, their David, and Bill, and now…She wouldn’t let her thoughts travel any further along this frightening road. She walked the length of the field, then looked to the top of it where it adjoined the garage, where the men were building the big workshop. As she started up the field someone waved to her from the foot of the scaffolding and after a moment she waved back.
Then she was away, dashing up the field, dragging Bill with her.
‘Hello, Rose Mary.’ Mr Blenkin
sop looked down on her as she stood panting. ‘Why aren’t you at school?’
‘I was sick and couldn’t go.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you better now?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Eating too many sweets I suppose?’ He bent down to her, smiling into her face, but she didn’t smile back as she said, ‘No, I didn’t have any sweets, I didn’t want any.’
He straightened up and surveyed her for a moment. This wasn’t the Rose Mary Boyle that he had come to know. He was well schooled in childish ailments, and the look on her face wasn’t derived from a tummy upset, if he was any judge.
Tummy upsets were soon forgotten when children got out into the open air, especially with a dog. He’d had a feeling recently that things weren’t as harmonious as they might be in the little house above the garage. He began to walk away from the building and down the field, and Rose Mary walked with him. Mr Blenkinsop knew it wasn’t good tactics to quiz children, but very often it was the only way anyone could get information. He said, ‘I haven’t seen your mother for days, how is she?’
There was a pause before Rose Mary answered, ‘Not very well. She’s gone into Newcastle; she’s got her best things on.’
She looked up at him and he looked down at her again, and she answered the question in his eyes by saying. ‘She doesn’t put her best things on except for something special.’
He nodded his head slowly at her. ‘And what’s this special thing your mother’s gone into Newcastle for…with her best things on?’ He nodded his head slowly at her.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, and me dad doesn’t know. She just said for me to tell him that she was going shopping and she didn’t take a basket, and she never goes shopping in her best things.’
They had stopped and were holding each other’s gaze. ‘You have no idea why she went into Newcastle?’ He bent his head slightly downwards now and she answered, ‘I think I have.’
‘Can you tell me?’ His voice was very low.
‘It’s…it’s because me dad’s going to leave us.’
He straightened up, his shoulders back, his chin tucked into his neck, and it was a full minute before he said, ‘Your dad…your father’s going to leave you?’
‘He said he was on Friday night.’
He gave a little laugh now, then drew in a long breath before exclaiming, ‘O…h! Mothers and fathers always argue and have little fights and say they’re going to leave each other, but they never do. I shouldn’t worry.’
‘Mr Blenkinsop.’
‘Yes, what is it?’ He was bending over her again, his face full of sympathy, and he watched her lips moving around the words ‘Would you’ like a deaf-mute straining to talk. It wasn’t until he said, ‘Tell me. Come along, you can tell me what’s troubling you. I won’t tell anyone, I promise,’ that she startled him by saying, ‘Would…would you send your Diana away, please?’
He was standing straight again, his eyes screwed up. His mind was working furiously; a voice inside him was bawling ‘No, no, this can’t be.’ Yet in an odd way he knew, he had known it all along. But he said to her quietly, ‘Why do you want me to send Diana away, Rose Mary?’
‘Because…’ She closed her eyes now and bent her head.
‘Come on, tell me.’ He put his fingers under her chin and raised her head, and she said, ‘Because she’s going to take me dad away.’
‘God Almighty!’ It was a deep oath. If she’d broken up this happy family, he’d break her neck; as much as he loved her he’d break her neck. She was like her mother. How could women be such devils. And how could men love them for being devils.
He knew that all good-looking men were a challenge to his wife and must be brought to her feet, but once there she let them go. Some of them, he remembered with shame for her, had crawled away broken. Time had taught him to understand his wife; for her to be entirely happy she must have these little diversions, these diversions that kept her ego balanced. She had said to him, ‘At heart I’m a one-man woman, and men are fools if they can’t see that. It’s up to them.’
Diana had had boys fluttering round her since she was ten. She had already been engaged and broken it off, but she had never tried, as far as he knew anyway, to capture a married man. Boyle was a big, attractive-looking fellow in his way, an honest fellow too. It was his honesty that had decided his cousin, Rodney, to build the plant on this side of the spare land. He was no empty-headed fool was young Boyle, but on the other hand he was the type that if he reached Diana’s feet and she kicked him, he’d break. Self-esteem would see to that.
Well, whatever he had to do, he must do it warily, for his daughter, he knew, was as headstrong as an unbroken colt, and a jerk on the reins at this stage might send her off, dragging Boyle with her.
He put his hand on Rose Mary’s head and, bringing his face close to hers, said, ‘Now you’re not to worry any more. Do you hear me? Everything’s going to be all right.’
‘You’ll send her away?’
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. This is just between you and me. You won’t tell anyone will you what you’ve told me?’
‘Oh, no. But our David knows.’
‘He does?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he doesn’t know that you were going to tell me?’
‘Oh, no.’
‘Well then, you go on home, and remember not a word to anybody. Not even to David. Promise?’
‘Promise.’ She made a cross on the yoke of her dress somewhere in the region of her heart and he patted her head again and said, ‘Go on now.’ And she turned from him, Bill pulling her into a run as she went towards home. And Mr Blenkinsop walked slowly up the field towards the building, and again he said deep in his throat, ‘God Almighty!’
Chapter Ten: Fame and Fortune
Meanwhile Mary Ann was in Newcastle sitting in an office opposite a small bald-headed man. Mr Newman was smiling broadly at Mary Ann as he said, ‘I have found them very refreshing, very amusing, something different.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you done much of this kind of thing?’
‘I’ve been scribbling all my life but I’ve never had anything published.’
‘Well, it’s about time you did, isn’t it?’
She smiled back at him and said, ‘You’re very kind.’
‘Oh, we can’t afford to be kind in this business, Mrs Boyle. If work hasn’t merit it doesn’t get published on sympathy, or because,’ he poked his head forward, ‘you happen to know the editor.’
They were laughing.
‘Have you any more of these ready?’
‘I’ve got another three.’ She opened her bag and handed him an envelope, and he said, ‘Good. Good,’ and as he pulled the scripts out he added, ‘The main thing is will you be able to keep up this kind of humour; you know humorous stuff is the most difficult to write.’
‘It’s always come easy to me. Well, what I mean is, I can write something funny where I could never write an essay or descriptive stuff.’
‘You never know what you can do until you try. By the way, I was thinking that it would be a good idea just to sign these articles “Bill”, no name or anything. You see they’re supposed to be written by him. Well, what do you think about that?’
What did she think about it? Not much. It was half the pleasure, all the pleasure in fact to see one’s name in print, and, let’s face it, for other people to see your name in print.
He said on a thin laugh, ‘I know how you feel about this, but take my advice and let them be written by Bill, the bull terrier, and they’ll likely catch on, much more so than if they were written by Mrs Mary Boyle.’
‘Mary Ann Boyle.’
He inclined his head towards her, ‘Mrs Mary Ann Boyle. Well, you see?’
Yes, she saw, and she smiled back at him.
‘I like the way you started the first one. It got me reading straight
away.’ He picked up one of the scripts from the table and read:
‘There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. So said some fellow. And there is a day in the span of a dog which decides what kind of dog’s life he’s going to have.
‘Most kids know to some extent where they’ll be for the first few years, but a dog knows, as soon as he stops sucking out he goes, so naturally he goes on sucking as long as the skin of his belly will stand it. I did, I was the biggest sucker in the business.’
He looked across at Mary Ann and said, ‘It’s fresh. I mean fresh, you know which kind?’
‘Yes, yes, I know which kind.’ She was laughing again.
He turned over a couple of pages and pointed, saying, ‘This bit where you bring him home and he names you all: Big he, Little she, Angel one and Angel two. Where did you get the idea from?’
‘Oh, it was the day he got hung up on the grab and the craneman dropped him into the hole. You know, it’s in the third one.’
‘Oh yes, I had a good laugh over that one. I passed it on to my assistant and he said you had a wonderful imagination.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘It actually happened, just as I put it down.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘No, no, I’m not.’
‘And from hating his guts you took to him as it says here?’
‘Yes, that’s how it happened.’
‘And you mean to say the one about him getting you up in the middle of the night and then finding the place in shreds in the morning is true?’
‘Yes, honest, everything.’
‘Well, well, but nobody will believe it. This Bill must be a lad.’
‘He is, but since the business of the grab he won’t leave me. And the second one, that one you’ve got in your hand,’ she pointed, ‘that’s about him getting into our bed in the middle of the night, and Corny, my husband, waking up and finding a black wet muzzle an inch from his face; if it had been a hand grenade he couldn’t have moved faster. Poor Bill didn’t know what had hit him.’
Mary Ann and Bill Page 12
