Across a Summer Sea

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘Indeed not! I’d be the talk of the neighbourhood. Out drinking with a wild bachelor and me with a husband and three kids at home!’

  ‘Yer tell ’im, girl! These young fellers is all the same! Mind yer, ’e’s not ’alf bad-lookin’.’ Then Mary Ellen grinned. ‘Now, iffen I were younger . . .’

  ‘Now, Ma, you’ll have me blushing!’ Richie laughed, not in the least embarrassed by the amusement they were affording the other passengers.

  ‘Tharral be the day, lad! Well, ’ere’s me stop. Tarrah then,’ she announced, heaving herself to her feet as the conductor yelled out the stop.

  Suddenly Mary cried out. ‘Oh, God! There’s flames coming up through the floorboards!’

  ‘Fred! Chuck yer tea dregs on them bloody electric leads! They’ve sparked again an’ set fire ter the boards!’ the conductor shouted down the tram to the driver. It was a common enough occurrence and usually effectively dealt with in the manner he had instructed, but sometimes it didn’t work. Then the whole tram could be lost, if the Fire Brigade didn’t get to it in time. That’s all he needed! he thought gloomily. Would this night ever end?

  When they alighted from the tram Richie again relieved her of her burden and they were laughing and joking when they turned the corner and came face to face with Queenie and Nora.

  ‘I could ’ave done with ’im meself ter cart me own shoppin’,’ Queenie said, eyeing Richie with suspicion.

  ‘I’m glad I met him first then, and he paid the tram fare.’

  ‘And the ride was better than Fred Karno’s Circus!’ Richie laughed.

  Nora looked with disapproval at Mary. An old, married woman carrying on like that! It was disgraceful!

  ‘And I won’t tell you how he suggested we finish the night!’

  ‘I can guess!’ Queenie snapped.

  ‘Now, Mrs Phelps, it was nothing like that. Just a quick port and lemon in Mary Kate’s.’

  ‘Can you imagine it?’ Mary rolled her eyes.

  Nora’s mouth was set in a hard line. He had actually asked her to go for a drink with him when he’d been ignoring every effort she had made to get him to ask her out.

  ‘Yer got plenty of stuff I see. Is that a new jacket?’ Queenie had spotted the tartan jacket that was rolled up on the top of the bag.

  ‘Yes, and I got a blouse too. Real bargains. In Paddy’s Market. The jacket needs a bit of mending and a good press and the blouse wants a bit of work with the needle too, not to mention a wash and a dip in Robin starch, but they’ll do for Vi’s wedding. I’ll have to stay up half the night to get them ready though!’

  ‘You’ll look great in them, Mary, I’ll bet!’ Richie said.

  Nora felt her cheeks burn. Oh, it just wasn’t fair! Mary would look good in them. And once Mary’s hair was all done up, she’d look nothing beside her, even with her new pink blouse and bit of pink ribbon for her hair. She wished now she’d chosen another colour. Pink was so . . . so babyish. Her mam hadn’t been very impressed either, saying she could have got more for her money and she should have known better than to go to René Carmichael with her outlandish prices.

  ‘Come on, Mam, it’s freezing standing here!’ she said primly, pulling at Queenie’s arm.

  ‘Goodnight. I’ll see you both tomorrow,’ Mary said, smiling.

  ‘Tarrah, both. Don’t you do anything I wouldn’t do, Nora!’ Richie called after the girl.

  Nora gritted her teeth. Chance would be a fine thing, she thought furiously.

  Mary stopped outside the house where Richie lived. ‘Well, thanks, Richie, for the tram ride and for carrying the shopping. I’d better go, it’s really very late.’

  ‘No trouble, Mary. It was a pleasure. Er . . . I think your husband’s come looking for you,’ he added, catching sight of Frank coming towards them.

  Mary turned round. She was disturbed to see that Frank was glaring at Richie. ‘I’m just coming. I’ve been to the market. I’ll get you something to eat now.’

  ‘It’s about bloody time! Where the hell do you think you’ve been until this hour? It’s well after midnight.’

  ‘I told you. I’ve been to the market. I left it late because they sell things off cheap,’ she explained, determined not to lose her temper.

  He snatched the jacket from the bag and shook it in her face. ‘What’s this? Been buying yourself clothes? Just thinking of yourself and me with not a bite to eat for hours and the fire half out!’

  ‘Here, Frank, there’s no need to get upset,’ Richie intervened. He had no liking for Frank McGann at the best of times and the man had been drinking today, he could smell it on his breath. Mary deserved better treatment than this.

  Frank rounded on him. ‘You mind your own bloody business! She’s my wife and I want to know where she’s been and who with.’

  ‘Frank, I’ve been shopping and on my own. I met Richie when I was coming home and I got that and a blouse from Paddy’s Market for a few coppers. It’s all torn, look!’ She took the jacket from him and showed him the torn sleeve. ‘Come on home and I’ll make us both something to eat. I’m starving myself.’

  Frank hesitated for a second then he wagged a finger in Richie’s face. ‘I’m watching you! I know what you’re like and what you’re after!’

  Mary was mortified and yet angry. How dare he insinuate that her behaviour had been lacking in propriety?

  Richie glared at Frank. He felt like hitting him and he knew he could have floored him easily but he wouldn’t humiliate Mary further.

  ‘Goodnight, Mary,’ he said coldly and turned away abruptly.

  ‘Goodnight, Richie, and thanks,’ Mary said grimly. Without looking at her husband, she turned and walked the remaining yards to her own home. She was seething inside.

  Chapter Four

  THERE HAD BEEN NO further conversation between them. Cutting his nose off to spite his face, Frank had gone straight to bed without any supper. Mary, with her face set with suppressed anger, had unpacked her shopping and had then started to mend the jacket and blouse.

  It had been very late when she had finally gone to bed, leaving the jacket draped over the back of a wooden kitchen chair and the blouse that she had washed and starched in front of the dying fire to dry.

  She awoke with a slight headache but resolved that she was going to enjoy the day, come what may.

  The kitchen was clean, tidy and warm when Frank and the children got up to a breakfast of fried salt fish, eggs and bread and butter, a rare treat. The food seemed to put Frank in a better humour.

  ‘Well, this is a treat. This is what I call a breakfast,’ he said with some satisfaction, attacking the fish. Perhaps she was trying to make up for her behaviour last night, he thought, but he still didn’t trust that Richie Seddon. He’d be keeping his eye on him today. However, it certainly was a good breakfast and the bits of rags she’d bought at Paddy’s Market looked well on her. He was looking forward to the day. Plenty of food and drink and all free. Oh, he was going to make the most of it all right. He deserved a bit of enjoyment.

  By ten o’clock they were ready to go and Mary had to admit they all looked smart, herself included. Maggie still didn’t look well though, she thought as the old woman appeared dressed in a black skirt and blouse over which she wore a three-quarter-length coat of black wool that had seen better days but was what she always wore for church. The outfit was completed by an out-of-shape black felt hat.

  ‘Don’t you look smart, Mary!’

  ‘Thanks, Maggie. It took me half the night to get this stuff ready but it was worth it.’ The blue and green tartan jacket looked very well with her dark blue skirt and the blouse, with its high starched collar that emphasised her long slim neck, made her skin seem almost translucent. She had piled her hair up on top of her head in the fashionable cottage-loaf style. The only thing that marred her satisfaction with her appearance was the fact that as she had no hat and she couldn’t appear in church with her head uncovered, she would have to wear her shawl over the new outfit.
Still, she would carry it over her arm until they got to church.

  ‘We’d better get along to St Anthony’s or we’ll be walking with the bride,’ Maggie stated, ushering the children towards the door.

  The Joneses had no money for carriages so Violet and her father would walk to church as many brides did. None of them minded; it was a chance to show off their wedding finery to the neighbours.

  The church was full and Mary noticed that all the women had made a big effort to turn themselves and their families out as decently as they could. She also noticed with annoyance that Hetty Price had far outdone both the bride and her mother in an eye-catching cherry-red costume trimmed with black braid and a matching red and black wide-brimmed hat. Trust her. Why couldn’t she have had a bit more sensitivity and kept the obviously new outfit for Christmas Day? Katie was eyeing Millie’s new green coat and hat and black buttoned boots with envy.

  But Mary forgot her irritation as the notes of the organ thundered out and Violet, resplendent in a pale blue fine wool dress and Sally Price’s blue and white hat, trimmed with ribbon and artificial flowers, walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, smiling and nodding at all the heads that were turned towards her. She was a big raw-boned strap of a girl who had a raucous laugh and a voice you could hear two streets away, or so her mam always said. Mary noted that the bridegroom looked a bit pale and apprehensive. The pallor was probably due to the amount of drink he’d have consumed the night before when he’d gone celebrating his last night as a bachelor.

  Her mind went back to her own wedding day, here in this very church. She’d had a new pink and grey paisley print dress and a pink hat, but her poor mam had been dressed in borrowed finery. Frank had looked very smart in a new serge suit with a flower in his top buttonhole. She glanced surreptitiously from beneath her lowered lashes at him. How he’d aged. He looked dour and unsmiling as he stared at the wedding group. She doubted that he was recalling their wedding day, and the memory of that scene last night only reinforced her realisation that he’d changed.

  After the ceremony they all went back to Newsham Street. Queenie and Maggie walked alongside Mary and her family.

  ‘Did yer see the get-up of Hetty?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you think she’d have had a bit more sense than to go flaunting that new outfit today? Did you see poor Nellie’s face when she saw her?’ Maggie said with sympathy in her voice for Nellie’s hurt feelings.

  ‘I thought Nellie looked very well indeed and I’m going to tell her so and I’m going to make sure Hetty hears me!’ Mary said firmly.

  ‘Don’t let’s dawdle, I’m starvin’ and once this lot gets stuck inter the food it’ll disappear that quick you’d ’ardly have time to blink! An’ I want ter keep me eye on our Nora an’ that feller,’ Queenie urged as everyone crowded into the tiny house.

  It was with some difficulty that Nora had managed to manoeuvre herself into a position next to Richie Seddon. She had washed her hair and tied it up with the pink satin ribbon and she’d pressed the new pink ruffled blouse and she had thought she looked very well - until she had caught sight of Mary in church. The jacket might have looked like a rag last night but Mary had worked wonders with both it and the blouse. They made a very smart outfit. She had also performed miracles with her hair. Nora had noticed that as soon as they’d come out of church and Mary had taken off her shawl. She didn’t look twenty-eight. Today she looked more like eighteen, Nora mused, and the thought didn’t please her one little bit.

  ‘Isn’t this great, Richie?’ she said with what she hoped was a dazzling smile.

  ‘It is. Nellie’s certainly gone to town.’

  ‘She’s delighted that Violet’s married and so am I. It must be great being married,’ she said archly, shooting him a smile.

  ‘I bet she won’t think so in a few years’ time. Look around you, Nora. How many women do you see here who still look absolutely delighted with their husbands?’

  This wasn’t the way Nora had hoped the conversation would go. ‘Oh, that’s just the old ones like me mam and Nellie and Hetty.’

  ‘Mary McGann’s not old and she looks as if she could kill Frank for the way he’s getting stuck into that ale.’ Richie hadn’t forgotten last night’s incident. He also thought Mary looked far lovelier than anyone, including the bride and her sisters.

  Nora fought down the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. ‘Well, I see she’s got a glass of port in her hand,’ she said primly. ‘I suppose she doesn’t want him to make a show of her.’

  Richie laughed. ‘Most of this lot won’t care about things like that in a couple of hours.’ Then he became serious. ‘But Mary will. I don’t know how she sticks him.’

  Nora was becoming annoyed. Couldn’t he think of anyone other than Mary McGann? ‘Well, she’ll have to, he’s her husband, “for better or for worse”, like Father Heggarty said in church. Do you think you could get me another drink, Richie? It’s shockin’ crowded in the kitchen and I don’t want anyone to spill anything over me new blouse.’

  Richie had been trying to think of a way to get rid of her so he smiled. ‘Of course, Nora, and it’s a very pretty blouse.’

  Nora looked up at him, smiling. So he had noticed. Now all she had to do was keep him interested.

  ‘You just watch yerself with ’im, me girl!’ Queenie muttered to her daughter as she passed by with a plate of ribs and cabbage in one hand and a glass in the other.

  Nora tutted and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Mam was impossible and she’d already had more port than she was used to. Then Nora looked round her and began to smile: her da, bearing his most prized possession - an old and battered banjo - was pushing his way into the room followed by Albert Sparky with his accordion and Jim Hayes with his harmonica. It was time for the dancing to begin. She was determined that somehow she was going to get Richie to dance with her.

  After five minutes, however, she was getting impatient. There was no sign of him.

  ‘Do yer want ter dance, Nora?’ Eddy Hayes asked her, rather tentatively. He was a spotty youth of sixteen with bad eyesight who had a crush on her.

  She glared at him. ‘Oh, grow up, Eddy! Who in their right mind would want ter dance with you?’ she snapped.

  Before the lad had time to remonstrate Richie appeared, guiding a flushed and laughing Mary towards the crowd of tightly packed dancers. Mary had taken her jacket off and the blouse, which Nora now noticed was embroidered all over with tiny white flowers, made her look even more young and pretty. Nora felt sick with jealousy and disappointment. He had just abandoned her! Left her here waiting for him to return with her drink when he’d obviously had no intention of coming back. He’d gone looking for Mary McGann. She turned her head away from the painful sight and saw Frank McGann leaning against the doorpost, a glass in his hand. He looked far from pleased, Nora noted. Well, she’d had enough of this. Mary was a married woman, she had no right to be laughing and joking and dancing with Richie, leading him on when she wasn’t free.

  ‘I wonder she’s got the nerve to be carrying on like that,’ Nora said cuttingly, sniffing disapprovingly.

  ‘Like what?’ Frank demanded belligerently. He’d had quite a bit to drink already and he had been enjoying the day until Richie Seddon had started paying too much attention to Mary. And she seemed to be lapping it up. She never laughed and smiled at him like that these days.

  ‘Well, like . . . that! And especially after the way he was going on last night when Mam and I met them.’

  ‘Just what do you mean by that, Nora?’ Frank demanded. He had no real liking for the girl but he wanted to get to the bottom of this.

  ‘He said he’d asked her to go for a drink with him in the Britannia. They’d been on the tram together and he was carrying her shopping.’

  Frank’s face flushed red with rising anger. So, he’d been right in his suspicions last night. There had been more to it than ‘just meeting him on the way home’ as Mary had tried to explain it away. Why would he ask her to
go for a drink with him if it had all been innocent and above board?

  ‘Did she go?’ he demanded.

  ‘No,’ Nora answered. ‘At least, I don’t think she did.’ She tried to look and sound thoughtful, as though perhaps she doubted Mary’s alleged refusal.

  ‘The bitch!’ Frank growled. The lying bitch. She had gone, that’s why she was so late. Well, he’d sort this out here and now.

  He was about to elbow his way towards her when Katie rushed in past him and dragged at Mary’s arm.

  ‘Mam! Mam! Come out into the yard, our Tommy’s sick!’

  Mary sighed. She had been enjoying herself. ‘Oh, now what’s he been up to? I can’t take my eyes off that lad for five minutes lately! He’ll be the death of me. I’d better go and see to him. Sorry, Richie, it’s one of the penalties of being a mother, but I’m sure there are plenty of others just dying to dance with you. There’s one for a start.’ She looked over at Nora who was still standing by the door with longing plain in her face.

  He laughed. ‘Oh, God! No thanks, I’ve only just got rid of her. She’s like a limpet.’

  ‘Oh, you’re cruel. She’s mad about you. Do your good deed for the day and dance with the poor girl.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for good deeds, Mary.’

  ‘Mam, come on!’ Katie urged, pulling her mother towards the door.

  ‘It’s our Tommy. Apparently he’s unwell,’ Mary said by way of an explanation as she passed Frank, hardly noticing the look on his face.

  Out in Nellie’s back yard a small group of boys were looking guiltily at a pale and definitely ill-looking Tommy.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘They’ve eaten all the ice cream Mrs Jones bought in Fusco’s!’ Katie said peevishly yet with a note of triumph in her voice. She was greatly aggrieved at such greediness. It was a long time since she had tasted ice cream and she’d not had the chance of even a mouthful.