Fanny McBride

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘How are they enchanted?’ Marian was waiting. ‘Oh, well now.’ Fanny came back to herself. How to explain it? ‘Well now.’ As she groped in her mind for some story to satisfy the child, the gleam from the fire, making deep rose patterns in the shiny steel of the fender, caught her eye. The fender had become a permanent fixture in the attic, for no-one could remember who had first brought it there, and no tenant would take upon themselves the bother of risking it fitting into their new home, so there it had remained. And now it gave Fanny a basis, so to speak, for her romancing.

  ‘It’s to do with the fender here.’ She nodded down to the great ugly piece of steel and iron. ‘Mary Ann Shaughnessy swore that the attics were enchanted because of the fender. She only had to sit on it and wish and whatever she wished for she got…There now, what d’you think of that?’

  Marian looked from Fanny to the fender and back again. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said flatly. ‘That fender couldn’t do anything. Anyway, you can’t tell a story like Mammy.’

  Fanny, with lips compressed, turned her attention to her knitting, and Marian, after waiting for some retort, wriggled down into the bed and made a great fuss of straightening the bedclothes under her chin. Then she exclaimed, ‘Mammy hates it here, too. She hates all the people in this house, and she’d go away, abroad…to France, and take us all, but Margaret won’t let her. Margaret’s hard and cruel.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Fanny’s voice was quick and sharp. ‘Who works for you, for you and your mother and your brother? Eh?’

  Marian, her two large eyes just visible over the top of the sheet, looked at Fanny as she said slyly, ‘She won’t work for us if she gets married, will she? Mammy’s forbidden her to see your…Mr McBride. If she does she’ll—’

  The clicking of Fanny’s needles stopped. ‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

  But Marian didn’t go on, and Fanny, looking at her under lowered brows, thought, ‘This is a house divided all right, and although this one can’t be the old woman’s she’s a true disciple, if ever there was one.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said again; ‘tell me what she’ll do.’

  Slowly the child’s lids drooped, and she whispered, ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s not the truth.’ Fanny stood up, and going to the bed, she asked, ‘Tell me what your mother’ll do if Margaret doesn’t stop seeing our…Mr McBride.’

  Marian now brought her knees up, then pushed her feet down hard, and then with the evasive tactics that Fanny had come to recognise, she said, ‘My mother’s ill.’ Then not being fully capable of completing the evasion, she added, ‘It’s Margaret who makes her ill.’

  ‘Now look you here, me girl,’ said Fanny, under her breath, ‘I want to talk to you. Move over there a bit so’s I can sit down.’

  Reluctantly Marian moved over, and Fanny was just about to seat herself on the bed when a low tap on the door checked her, and moving across the room she opened the door to stand for a moment and gape at Philip.

  Philip in his turn gazed back, and it was evident to her that he was as surprised as herself. After a quick glance back towards the bed Fanny moved out onto the landing and, pulling the door closed, demanded, ‘What do you want, sneakin’ back up here?’

  ‘Sneaking?’ The colour swept over his face making even his eyes look red. ‘Who’s sneaking?’

  Watching his neck stretching out of his collar Fanny said more quietly now, ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all. But why had you to come up here when the old ’un’s in?’

  ‘I want to see Margaret. Isn’t it evident?’

  ‘Ssh!’ Fanny cautioned, her eyes flicking back to the door, ‘keep your tongue down, you don’t want to tell the house, do you? She’s not in, she’s gone to the doctor’s and the child’s got a cold. And anyway,’ she whispered, now almost fiercely, ‘what talkin’ do you expect to do up here, with the ears of the house on you?’

  ‘I have to see her.’

  ‘All right then, catch her comin’ in, and take her in home and have it out there. And don’t go acting like a seventeen-year-old sprig.’

  Philip’s colour deepened still further, and she saw his jaw tighten as he turned on his heels and ran down the stairs.

  After a moment, during which she sighed, Fanny went back into the room and was just in time to see Marian skip into bed. She paused and looked towards the bedroom door. It had been closed, but was now open, and from the room now came Mrs Leigh-Petty’s voice, high, peevish, and demanding, ‘Mrs McBride!’

  Fanny walked slowly towards the bedroom, and standing in the open doorway she looked through the dim light towards the woman in the bed. Mrs Leigh-Petty was sitting propped up with pillows and there was no doubt about it but that she was ill. Her face, in the half light, was a dirty grey, and her narrow hands were clutching convulsively at the bedclothes. She was breathing quickly and she stared at Fanny for a long moment before saying, ‘Who was that at the door?’

  Seeing she had to deal with a sick woman Fanny checked the retort, ‘Why ask the road you know?’ Instead, she replied, ‘It was me son.’

  ‘Why did he come up here? What did he want?’

  Again Fanny checked her natural retort and said, ‘Well, surely he’s entitled to come up and speak to his mother. Is there any law against that? He came to tell me he’d be late in, and for me not to wait up. Are you satisfied?’

  Mrs Leigh-Petty’s rapid breathing slowly lessened and her hands, leaving the bedcover, pressed themselves together, and lying back and in an altogether different tone she said, ‘Forgive me for speaking like that. Come in, won’t you, and sit down.’

  ‘I’ve got me knitting in the other room,’ said Fanny, ‘and you’ll want to be quiet.’

  ‘No, no…it’s so rarely I see anyone. Please sit down.’

  The request was gracious and Fanny could not do otherwise than take a seat, but she pulled it away from the bed and into a position from where she could view the woman. And the first thing she noticed was that she had a real fine nightie on, a bit old-fashioned with a deep lace collar, but an elegant thing entirely. Furthermore, the bedding was good, but it covered a single bed and this set Fanny to thinking. Where did the lass lie? For besides the child’s bed in the kitchen there was only a folding camp bed standing behind the big chair in the corner, and that would be for the lad…She must lie on a shakedown somewhere likely.

  This room, too, Fanny noted, had a carpet and a fine old-fashioned bedroom suite in it—she remembered admiring it the day they moved in—but it was the number of books in the room that held her attention. There were dozens of them. They lined the mantelpiece and were stacked at each side of the small attic window that came down to the floor, besides filling two small tables on each side of the bed.

  ‘You are looking at my books?’ There was a faint smile on Mrs Leigh-Petty’s face.

  ‘Aye,’ said Fanny, ‘you’ve got enough to start a shop.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got very few left, at one time I had hundreds and hundreds.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Fanny. ‘And did you read them all?’

  ‘Most of them.’ Mrs Leigh-Petty sighed and her head moved slowly on the pillow. And as Fanny looked at her she had the strange idea that the great sockets of her eyes were empty and that the eyes themselves had dropped inwards.

  ‘Things haven’t always been as they are now, Mrs McBride.’

  Now, thought Fanny, it’s coming at last, and so she said, ‘No, I guessed that. It doesn’t need a great deal of brain to know you’ve seen different times.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Leigh-Petty sighed again. ‘Yes, very different times. I’ve travelled most of the world, Mrs McBride.’

  ‘Have you now?’

  ‘Yes, and seen almost everything in it there is to be seen.’

  ‘Well, you can be happy with your memories.’ Fanny gave a little laugh. ‘Here is me, never even been to London. But mind, I’ll tell you something, in me new job in The Ladies you see as much life as you would on any travels.
By, you do that! Would you believe it if I were to tell you I’ve never been further than Shields for the last fifteen years?’

  ‘Yes, I would.’ The tone was flat, and Fanny’s lids narrowed. Now what did she mean by that? My God, if she was going to slip double meanings off her tongue she’d get out ’cos she wouldn’t be able to keep her temper.

  ‘Some of us are born to revolve in narrow orbits, but my orbit was large.’ The sockets were turned towards Fanny. ‘My father was a very distinguished man, Mrs McBride.’

  ‘Was he now?’

  ‘Yes, and we travelled widely together. He was a very cultured man. He retired early and he showed me the world.’ Her head moved again, and she concluded, ‘There are wicked people in the world, Mrs McBride.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Fanny with some stress. ‘I’ve met a few in me time.’

  ‘And women are more wicked than men. Women are very wicked, Mrs McBride.’

  ‘Aye, I’ve no doubt.’ Fanny waited a moment before adding the test question ‘Has your husband been dead long?’

  ‘What?’ Mrs Leigh-Petty’s hands came swiftly from under the counterpane, and she spread her arms across it as if bracing herself.

  ‘I was just enquiring about your husband.’

  The weary, pained look lifted from Mrs Leigh-Petty’s face and her expression became hard, and for the moment she glared at Fanny as if she hated her, then dropping back onto her pillows, she murmured, ‘I’ve talked too much, my head aches. Where has Margaret got to?’ She turned to the table and pulled a small clock towards her. ‘She’s had plenty of time to get back before now.’

  Marian, Fanny considered again, may not be this one’s but it was certainly from her that she had acquired her knack of evasiveness.

  ‘The surgery’s likely full,’ said Fanny, ‘and she’s got to go all the way to Hebburn. You’ll have to pick a doctor in Jarrow.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing. Dr Gruber understands my case.’ The tone had changed again. ‘But why am I talking, I want to rest. Will you kindly go?’

  Begod! Fanny stared at the woman in the bed. If it wasn’t that she was indeed a sick woman she’d give her something to think about this minute. Ordering her about as if she was a cross between a child and a lackey. She rose to her feet, and without further ado went into the kitchen and closed the door none too gently after her.

  Marian was lying quiet and very wide awake. She had enough sense not to address Fanny, but lay watching her, unblinking, as the needles flew and clicked loudly.

  And the lass, thought Fanny, has to put up with this day in and day out. How does she stand it? But perhaps the old woman doesn’t take that air with her…I wonder if she’s back yet? And she wondered how long Philip would be likely to keep her, for she’d be glad when she got down into her own house, away from this strange set-up.

  It was almost at this moment that the door opened and Margaret came in, and at the sight of her Fanny pushed an almost finished sock hastily into her bag and, rising quickly, asked, ‘Are you bad, lass?’

  ‘Margaret, I want to tell you something.’ Marian was sitting up in bed, and Fanny, turning on her, cried below her breath, ‘Be quiet you, and lie down, or I’ll skelp your backside for you.’

  On this unexpected but very definite order Marian lay down, and Fanny, moving closer to Margaret, whispered, ‘You look like death. What is it? Have you had a do with him?’

  Margaret shook her head and was about to make some reply when from the bedroom came the imperious command of, ‘Margaret! Margaret!’

  Margaret did not answer or look towards the door, but she said softly, ‘Thanks for staying, Mrs McBride. I’m sorry I’ve been so long.’

  ‘That’s all right, lass.’ Fanny was still looking at her, and she added somewhat reluctantly, ‘Well, I’ll be off now.’

  As she moved towards the door the command came again from the bedroom, ‘Do you hear, Margaret?’ and Fanny turned to watch the girl go into the room. She saw the door close, and she was on the point of leaving when Mrs Leigh-Petty’s voice arrested her. It came through the closed door, muted but high and quivering enough to convey its rage. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been all this length of time at the doctor’s. You’ve been seeing that man…I’m right, am I not?’

  ‘You’re right.’ The girl’s voice was flat and weary.

  ‘What!’ the syllable was like a scream, ‘after you promised…you promised, do you hear?’

  ‘I promised nothing.’

  ‘You did…you did. Do you want to kill me? Yes, that’s what you want. You know what it will drive me to…I’ve tried…I’ve done everything you’ve said. I’ve tortured myself to do it, and this is how you keep your part…sending that vile, horrible old woman up here, so you could …’

  ‘Mrs McBride is a good woman.’

  ‘Good? That great ignorant low creature? Have you thought of her as a mother-in-law?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Margaret’—the voice suddenly dropped and all the vituperation went out of it—‘you can’t do it. Oh! You can’t do it. You won’t do it, will you? What will become of me? Come here…oh! Come here, Margaret, don’t torture me.’

  There came the sound now of crying, choked crying, but it aroused no pity in Fanny. All her pity was with the girl. That ’un, as she thought of Mrs Leigh-Petty in her mind, made her blood boil…Vile, horrible old woman. By God! It was as well for her that she was a sick creature or she would have gone back in there and wiped the floor with her.

  She cast one infuriated glance towards the bedroom door, which included in it the open-mouthed Marian, then went out and down the stairs, telling herself that it would be a long, long while before she came up this far again under any consideration whatsoever.

  Philip was sitting by the fire when Fanny entered, and seeing the expression on her face, he rose and asked, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘The matter!’ Fanny threw the knitting bag onto the sofa. ‘The matter? I’m a vile, horrible old woman.’

  ‘Who said that?’

  ‘That ’un up there. If it hadn’t been for the lass, I’d have gone in and given her the length of me tongue and the back of me hand the night, drug-daft as she is an’ all.’ Fanny paused now; then asked in a more subdued voice, ‘How did you get on? Did you see her?’

  He turned to the fire again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, then, what happened?’

  ‘She was sick.’

  ‘Sick?’

  ‘Yes, just that.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I asked her if she would come out with me, and the next thing I knew she had her hand to her mouth and she was making for the kitchen. She was actually sick.’ His eyebrows rose in a slightly amused fashion as he added, ‘It was a very levelling experience.’

  ‘That lass is ill,’ said Fanny, ‘and if something isn’t done the old ’un will have her as daft as herself…Didn’t she say anything to you?’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t listen. Nor would she let me near her.’

  Thinking of what the girl had said, it was on the tip of Fanny’s tongue to tell him that he had no need to worry, for she had already accepted herself as her mother-in-law, but to convey this to him as she had heard it would need delicate wording without making him think the lass was two steps ahead of him, so she remained quiet. Instead she asked him a question that had been niggling at her to be voiced. ‘If you do take up with the lass,’ she said, ‘what about the new job? Will you go?’

  He turned from her direct look, and picking up a couple of books from the chair he said, ‘I don’t know, but things’ll pan out.’

  As Fanny watched him go towards his room she confirmed this. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘things’ll pan out, they generally do.’ And as she thumped the kettle into the heart of the fire preparatory to brewing yet another pot of tea her mind, without her sanction or wish, swung to her youngest son, and she thought, Dear God, let it pan out right that way an’ all. Make him come, for I, too, am sick, sick for the sight of him.

/>   Chapter Six

  Fanny, opening the front door, was confronted by a solid sheet of rain, and Barry Quigley from behind her said, ‘You’re goin’ to get drenched, Fan.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘it looks like it. It’s comin’ down heavier than ever.’

  ‘Water, water everywhere …’

  Barry now gurgled in the depths of his skinny neck, and Fanny turned on him a look that caused him to cough and drop his eyes. She would joke as much as the next with a woman, and about The Ladies or anything else, but she knew where the innuendoes of Barry and the like of him led to. She was having none of it…she’d had enough of that kind of thing from McBride.

  Barry, being sensible enough not to test the temper of his neighbour too far, turned the subject to coal, saying, ‘That bloody Johnson hasn’t turned up with the coal the day, and we’re near froze up there.’

  ‘You should have come down, you could have had a bucket till it comes.’

  ‘Aye, I know, Fan, but Amy said we’ve done enough borrowing from you from time to time.’

  ‘Oh, if we can’t lend, what we here for? Coals are being stored up in hell for them that refuse to lend.’

  They both laughed together at this, then Barry, with his voice very low now, said, ‘There was some shindy up above in the attic last night.’

  ‘Aye.’ Fanny kept her gaze on the steady rain.

  ‘There’s something fishy there, Fan.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Her voice held little interest…she knew what tactics to apply to Barry.

  ‘They kept on for hours on end…stopping and starting, at least the old one did. It was like switching the wireless on. Amy made me go across to shut ’em up at one time, but I just got as far as the landing…You know, Fan, I feel that that lass has done something.’

  Now Fanny forgot her tactics and exclaimed sharply, ‘What d’you mean, done something?’

  ‘Well’—Barry’s head, wagged and his thin eyebrows went up into points—‘the old one was threatening her, threatening to give her away.’