Mary Ann's Angels

by Catherine Cookson

  Corny stopped behind him. He could see only a part of the American’s profile; he didn’t know what expression was on his face, whether this was a test or not; but he said immediately, ‘No, sir, I wouldn’t like you to buy me out. I don’t want anybody to buy me out; I want to work my business up.’

  ‘Good.’ Mr Blenkinsop moved on again towards the garage, saying, ‘And I haven’t the slightest doubt that our arrangement will go well.’

  ‘Nor me, sir. I’ve always liked working with Americans.’

  Mr Blenkinsop stopped and turned fully round now. ‘You’ve worked with Americans before?’

  ‘Yes, I was in America for close on a year, just outside New York.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered. And you never opened your mouth about it?’

  ‘Well, sir, I didn’t think it would be of any interest to you; you must meet thousands of people who have been in America.’

  ‘Yes, and they always start by telling me just that. What were you doing over there?’

  ‘Oh, I first of all worked on the ground floor in Flavors.’

  ‘Flavors! The car people?’

  ‘Yes. And then I did a bit in the office, and got into the showrooms.’

  ‘All in under a year?’ Mr Blenkinsop’s eyes were now slits of disbelief, and Corny, lowering his head, said, ‘It was influence, sir.’

  ‘Ah! Ah! I see. But why didn’t you stay on?’

  ‘Well, just as I said a minute ago, I wanted to be me own boss, go on my own road. I wouldn’t turn down help, but I didn’t want to be carried, and in this particular case I wasn’t being carried for meself; it was…well, it’s a long story, sir, but was because of my wife. There’s an old gentleman—he’s the owner of the farm her father manages. He’s very fond of her, and between you and me he wanted to get me out of her way; he had other ideas for her.’

  The American’s head went back and he let out a bellow of a laugh. ‘And you beat him to it by coming back. Good for you. You know’—his chin was forward once more—‘I wouldn’t like come up against you in a fight, business or otherwise. I’ve an idea I’d lose.’

  ‘Aw, sir,’ Corny, laughing too, now, moved his head from side to side.

  ‘Well, anyway, I’m glad to know you’ve been to America. But tell me, did you like it there?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. I liked it, and the people, but I was missing Mary Ann…my wife.’

  ‘The one that acts like a woman?’ Again there was laughter. ‘Well, you did right to come back. Now I’d better be off. And you go and tell your wife the good news…Well, I hope you consider it good news.’

  Corny opened the car door for Mr Blenkinsop. Then, closing it, and bending down, he said, ‘Quite truthfully, sir, I’m dazed.’

  ‘You won’t remain in that state long. I’m speaking from experience. You’ll take the breaks, good and bad, in your stride. You’ll see.’ They smiled at each other. Corny straightened up, then watched the car backing out of the garage. He followed it as it turned out of the drive, and he answered Mr Blenkinsop’s wave with a lift of his big arm.

  Lord! Lord! Could he believe it? Could he? That his luck had changed at last? He had the desire to drop down on his knees and give humble thanks, but, instead, he turned round and pelted back across the drive, through the house door and up the stairs, and bursting into the room, he came to a dead stop. Aw, lor, he’d forgotten about old bitterguts! But why not spill the good news into her lap as way of repayment for all she had put Mary Ann through for marrying him, and before that? ‘Mary Ann!’ He shouted as if she were on a fell top, and she came to the scullery door wide-eyed, saying, ‘What’s wrong?’

  It was funny, he thought, that whenever they shouted at each other they always thought there was something wrong. In a few strides he was across the little kitchen, and, his arms under her armpits, he hoisted her upwards as if she was a child, and before the amazed gaze of her granny he swung her around, then set her to the floor. But, still holding her with one hand, he bent and lifted David onto his shoulders, and, like this, he looked down at Mrs McMullen and cried, ‘Behold! You see a successful man, Gran.’

  ‘You gone barmy?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve gone barmy.’

  ‘Well, it’s either that or you’re drunk.’

  ‘I’m both. I’m barmy and I’m drunk.’ He pressed Mary Ann to his side until she almost cried out with the pressure on her ribs. Something has happened, something good. But what? The road? She looked up at him and said in awe-filled tones, ‘Corny. The road…the road’s going through?’

  He looked down at her, and, still shouting, he said, ‘No, not the road…the American.’

  She tried to pull away from him. ‘The American? What you talking about?’

  ‘He’s building a factory right at our door, this side of the field, and Bob Quinton’s got the job. But he’s contracting me to supply all the petrol, and much more, oh, much more, cars, garaging, repairs…the lot…the lot. What do you think of that?’ He was not looking at Mary Ann now but bending towards Mrs McMullen, and that undauntable dame looked back at him and said, ‘I wouldn’t count me chickens afore they are hatched; there’s many a hen sat on a nest of pot eggs.’

  ‘Oh, you’re the world’s little hopeful, aren’t you, Gran?’ He was still bending towards her, with David holding on to his hair with his fists to save himself from slipping, and Mary Ann, now pulling away from him, stood with her hands joined under her chin, and, forgetting about her granny, forgetting about everything but Corny and the American, she said, ‘Oh, Corny! Oh, Corny! Thank God. Thank God.’

  ‘Humility. Humility. Thanking God. You must be cracking up.’

  ‘Gran!’ Mary Ann looked towards the set-faced old woman. ‘You couldn’t upset me if you tried. Go on. Think up the worst that’s in you, and I’ll fling my arms around you and hug you.’

  Mary Ann was surprised at her own words, as was Mrs McMullen. The old lady was evidently taken aback for a moment, but only for a moment, before she said, ‘I wouldn’t do any such thing. I’m an old woman and the shock might be the finish of me; for you to show me any affection would be more than me heart could stand, the last straw in fact.’

  Corny and Mary Ann looked at each other; then they laughed, and Corny, reaching out an arm, pulled Mary Ann once more into his embrace, and said, ‘I would like to take you out this minute and give you a slap-up meal. What’ve you got in? What’s for dinner? All of a sudden, I’m ravenous.’

  ‘Some ham and salad and a steamed pud, that’s all. But we’ll have a drink, eh? Go on. Put him down.’ She laughed up at David, who laughed back at her. Then, pulling herself from Corny, she ran towards the scullery, but paused at the door to call over her shoulder, ‘Go and bring Rose Mary.’

  ‘Rose Mary? Aw, where is she?’ Corny looked about him.

  ‘Oh, she went downstairs a little while ago, about ten minutes ago. She’ll likely be in the old car.’

  Corny took his son from his shoulder and put him on the floor, and he didn’t enquire why Rose Mary had gone out without David, for he fancied he knew the reason. The old girl had likely upset her, as she had done her mother so many times in the years gone by.

  He ran down the back stairs and looked towards the old car and called, ‘Rose Mary! Rose Mary!’ And when he didn’t receive an answer he went into the garage and there saw Jimmy at the far end. Oh, he would have to tell Jimmy the news. Oh, yes, he must tell Jimmy.

  It took a full five minutes to tell Jimmy, and all the time Jimmy, bashing one fist against the other, could only say, ‘Eeh, boss! Coo, boss! No, boss! You don’t say, boss!’

  Then as Corny bent his long length to go out of the top door to the back of the garage again, Jimmy called to him, ‘Does that mean I’ll get a rise, boss?’

  Twisting round, Corny grinned at him. ‘It could,’ he said. ‘It just could.’

  ‘Good-oh, boss.’

  Corny now ran across the field towards the old car. He wanted to hold his daughter, to throw her sk
y-high and cry, ‘We’re going places, my Rose Mary, we’re going places. And you’re going to a good school, me girl.’ He wanted to get into his car and fly to the farm and yell to Mike, ‘I’ve done it, Mike. It’s come, Mike.’ And Mike would understand, and he would thump him on the back. And Michael would thump him on the back, and Sarah would hold his hands and say, ‘I’m glad for you both.’…But what would Lizzie say? Perhaps Lizzie wouldn’t be so pleased, because her eyes had always said to her daughter, ‘Well, I told you so.’ And then there was Mr Lord. Mr Lord, who had offered him the bribe of Baxter’s up-to-date garage, not to help him personally but so that he would be able to afford to keep his wife in the way that Mr Lord thought she should be kept, the way she would have been kept if she had married his grandson, the way Lettice was kept now. Aw, he would go to him and say…What would he say? He stopped at the end of the field. He would say nothing; he would just let time speak for him; he had a long way to go yet but the road was going through. Oh boy, yes. A different road to what he thought, but, nevertheless, a road.

  ‘Rose Mary!’ he shouted towards the car; and again ‘Rose Mary!’ She was hiding from him, the little monkey.

  When he got to the car he saw at a glance she wasn’t there. He returned to the garage, calling all the way, ‘Rose Mary! Rose Mary!

  ‘Jimmy.’

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘You seen Rose Mary?’

  ‘No, boss, not since the pair of them were on the old car.’

  Corny stood at the opening of the garage, looking about him, and spoke over his shoulder to Jimmy, saying, ‘That was some time ago. She’s been upstairs since, and came down.’

  ‘Where’s David?’ Jimmy had come to his side now.

  ‘Oh, he’s upstairs; their great-grandmother’s come. She upset Rose Mary and she came downstairs. She must be hiding somewhere.’

  ‘But where could she be hiding, boss?’

  Corny looked at Jimmy. He looked at him for about ten seconds before swinging round. Yes, where could she be hiding? He now ran round to the back of the house and opened the coalhouse door, and the doors of the two storehouses; then, dashing up the back stairs, he burst into the kitchen, saying, ‘Has she come in?’

  ‘Rose Mary?’ Mary Ann turned from the table. ‘No, I told you, she’s out.’

  ‘She’s not about anywhere.’

  ‘But she must be somewhere.’ Mary Ann moved slowly towards Corny and stared up into his face as he said, ‘I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘Perhaps…perhaps she’s gone for a walk up the road.’ Her voice was small.

  She’d never go up the road without him. Corny slowly drooped his head in the direction of David, who was standing stiffly staring at them, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

  ‘Take the car,’ said Mary Ann quietly, ‘and go to both ends of the road.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Corny nodded quickly, and as quickly turned about and went out of the room and down the stairs.

  As Mary Ann looked towards her granny, thinking, ‘It’s her fault; she’s to blame; she scared her, as she did me for years,’ David made a sound. It was high, and it sounded like Romary. Mary Ann, moving swiftly towards him, caught him to her, and he clutched at her dress, crying again, higher this time, on the verge of a scream, ‘Romary!’

  ‘It’s all right, darling.’ Mary Ann lifted him into her arms. ‘Daddy’s gone to fetch Rose Mary. It’s all right; it’s all right.’

  ‘Romary.’

  Mary Ann stared into the eyes of her son, glistening now with tears. Romary he had said. It wasn’t a far cry to Rose Mary. She pressed him closer to her.

  ‘She wants her backside smacked.’

  Mary Ann hitched David to one side in her arms so that she could confront her granny squarely. ‘She doesn’t want her backside smacked, and she’s not going to get her backside smacked, wherever she is.’

  ‘That’s right, break her neck with softness. It’s been done before.’ The old woman’s gimlet eyes raked Mary Ann up and down.

  ‘How I bring up my children is my business…’

  ‘Oh, now, don’t start. You were acting like an angel coming down by parachute a minute ago, and now you’re getting back to normal.’

  ‘Look, Gran. I don’t want to fight with you.’

  ‘Who’s fightin’, I ask you? Who starts the fights?’

  ‘As far back as I remember, you have.’

  ‘Well, I like that. I like that. I come here, all this way in the baking heat, and that’s what I get. Well, I should have known. I’ve had so much experience, I should have known.’ The big, bushy head was moving in wide sweeps now, and Mrs McMullen, pulling herself to her feet, said, ‘Get me me coat.’

  Mary Ann didn’t say, ‘Aw, Gran, don’t be silly. Stay and have a bite of dinner.’ No. She put David down and marched out of the room, and returned a minute later with the coat in her hand. She did not attempt to help her granny on with it; she just handed it to her, for she couldn’t bear to touch her.

  ‘There.’ Mrs McMullen pulled on the coat. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it? The kindness of people. I’m going out the way I came, without a bite or sup, except for a drop of watery lemonade. I’ve got a long journey ahead of me afore I reach home, and I could collapse on the way…But that would suit you, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that suit you, if I collapsed on the way?’

  ‘You won’t collapse on the way, not you, Gran. If I know you, you’ll stop at some café and fill your kite.’

  Mrs McMullen stared at her granddaughter. Begod, if she had the power she would strike her dead this moment. God forgive her for the thought, but she would. But on second thoughts, perhaps not dead, but dumb. She would have her dumb, like her son, so that she could talk at her and watch her burning herself up with frustration. If there was anybody in this world she hated more than another, it was this flesh of her own flesh. But there was little or none of her in this madam; she was all Shaughnessy; from her toes to the top of her head, she was all Shaughnessy…Mike Shaughnessy.

  Mrs McMullen now passed her granddaughter in silence. Her head held high, her body erect, she went out of the room and, unaided, down the dim stairs.

  Mary Ann sat down and dropped her face into her hands for a moment. Why was it that her granny could make her feel so bad, so wicked? She felt capable of saying the most dreadful things when her granny started on her, And everything had been lovely for those few minutes, with Corny’s great news. Well, she straightened up, she wasn’t going to let the old cat dampen this day. No, she wasn’t. When they found Rose Mary they would celebrate; in some way they would celebrate, even with only ham and steamed pudding.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, rising and holding out her hand to David, who had been standing strangely still on the middle of the hearthrug. His stillness now got through to her, and she bent to him swiftly, saying, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Rose Mary’s only hiding. Come on, we’ll find her.’

  Ten minutes later, with David still by the hand, she was standing on the driveway when Corny brought the car back, and she looked at him, and he looked at her and shook his head. And it was a moment before he said, ‘Not a sign of her anywhere. I…I met the old girl halfway down the road and gave her a lift to the bus. She’s black in the face with temper. You go for her?’

  ‘Me go for her? You should have heard what she said. But don’t bother about her, what’s happened to Rose Mary?’

  ‘You tell me. Why did she run out?’

  ‘Because me granny was at her an’ all. She was saying…Oh…’ She put her fingers to her lips. ‘I know where she is.’ She pressed her head back into her shoulders as she stared at Corny. ‘She’s gone to your granny’s.’

  ‘Me granny’s?’

  ‘Yes, I bet that’s where she’s gone. That’s how it started. Me granny was needling her, and I heard her say she liked her Great-gran McBride, and me granny said did she like her house and the smell an’ all? Then Rose Mary said she didn’t like her, and she ran out.’ />
  ‘But how would she get there, all that way?’

  ‘She’d go on the bus, of course; she knows her way.’

  ‘Had she any money?’

  ‘She could have taken it out of her pig, the bottom’s loose.’

  ‘Well, did she?’

  ‘I don’t know, Corny; I haven’t looked.’ Mary Ann’s voice was high now, and agitated.

  ‘Well, we’d better look, hadn’t we?’ He dashed from her and up the stairs, and when Mary Ann caught up with him he had the pig in his hand and the bottom was intact.

  ‘She might have had some coppers in her pocket,’ Mary Ann said as she stared down at the pig. Then she added, ‘Oh, why had this to happen on such a day, too? Oh, Corny, suppose she’s not at your granny’s?’

  He gripped her hand. ‘She’s bound to be there. Look, I’ll slip down; it won’t take long. If she went by bus she’d just be there by now.’

  ‘Roo Marry!’

  The scream startled them both. Then it came again ‘Roo Marry!’ Not Romary but two distinct words now, Roo Marry.

  They flew down the stairs, and there stood David on the drive, his body stiff, his mouth wide, ejecting the two words ‘Roo Marry!’

  Corny hoisted him up into his arms, saying, ‘All right, all right. It’s all right, David. Rose Mary will soon be here.’

  ‘Roo Marry! Roo Marry!’

  Corny turned his strained face towards Mary Ann. ‘Rose Mary. He’s saying Rose Mary.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She put her hands up to her son’s face and cupped it, saying, ‘Don’t cry, David. Don’t cry. Rose Mary’s only gone for a walk.’

  ‘Roo Marry! Roo Marry!’ Now there followed some syllables in quick succession, unintelligible. Then again ‘Roo Marry!’