Bill and The Mary Ann Shaughnessy

by Catherine Cookson

  Mrs Crawford bit on her lip and, looking at the girls, said, ‘I think we’d better get ready; we don’t want any more fracas.’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ Malcolm hung on to her arm. Then he turned his head towards Joe, who was speaking to Jonathan, saying, ‘What about that thing you said yesterday, Jonathan, accompli…you know, doing a thing and asking permission afterwards.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jonathan grinned. ‘You mean fait accompli.’ He looked at his mother now and grinned. ‘Could you do a fait accompli, Mother?’

  ‘I’m having nothing whatever to do with this. Now look, your father said…’

  Jonathan was at her other side now, and the girls in front of her, pulling her onto the settee, and they joined their voices to the boys’, saying to the effect that she could get round their father.

  ‘But what can I do? You can’t carry Bill in a bag.’

  ‘No.’ They all shook their heads. ‘But Mother…’ Malcolm put his mouth close to her ear and in a loud whisper ended, ‘You could carry him in the boot.’

  Mrs Crawford rose quickly from the couch, exclaiming, ‘Malcolm! Just imagine. Just imagine what your father would say if that fellow’—she thrust her finger down towards Bill, whose hairless eyelids were well back surveying her—‘appeared out of the boot at the Town Hall, and all the people there.’

  ‘A fait accompli.’

  They all looked at Joe now and Mrs Crawford joined in the laughter. Then, cuffing Joe’s head gently, she said, ‘I won’t do it. And it’s no use any of you trying to persuade me, I won’t do it. Now get yourselves away upstairs and get dressed. Go on, this very minute.’

  ‘What about you?’ asked Jonathan on the way towards the door.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Mrs Crawford. ‘All except my coat.’

  ‘You smell nice,’ said Malcolm, sniffing the air about her in the manner of Bill.

  With a thrust she pushed him into the hall after the rest, then closed the door and slowly returned to where Joe was sitting, and lowering herself down towards the couch again she looked at him for a long while before saying gently, ‘And how are you feeling now?’

  ‘All right, Mrs Crawford, thanks.’

  ‘Inside?’

  Joe looked down, and under his breath he muttered, ‘Not so good.’ Then, quickly raising his eyes again, he whispered, ‘Will me granny be coming?’

  Mrs Crawford surveyed her hands lying in her lap and she rubbed them together before saying, ‘I…I don’t think so, Joe.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s something to be thankful for anyway.’

  ‘I…I think, Joe, she may go back to the North again.’ Mrs Crawford was still looking at her hands.

  ‘No kiddin’! You mean that?’ Joe pulled himself to the edge of the seat. ‘Who told you? Me Dad?’

  ‘He did refer to it in a way when he was here last week.’

  ‘Oh!’ He shook his head. ‘If only she had gone sooner…Mrs Crawford?’

  ‘Yes, Joe?’

  ‘When, when she goes, do…do you think I could come, come and live here because if me dad’s away most of the week it’ll be awful on me own…?’

  Mrs Crawford, her eyes still cast down, seemed reluctant to discuss this matter further and said somewhat airily, ‘We’ll talk about that later, Joe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joe, nodding slowly. Mrs Crawford was kind, but she had four to look after, and that was enough, and not wanting to embarrass her further, he made himself smile as he said, ‘Well, I suppose I could go to a boarding school or some such place; me dad’ll fix it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he will, Joe.’

  ‘Do…do you think he’ll make it to the Town Hall this afternoon? He said he’d try.’

  ‘Well, if he said he’d try, you know he’ll do his utmost to be there.’

  Joe nodded again. Then in a brisk tone he made a statement that in no way seemed to have any connection with the conversation. ‘Me mam came to the hospital every day for a whole week,’ he said. ‘And the first two nights she sat with me all night. I knew she was there, I knew all the time. The nurse said I couldn’t have known the first night, but I did…I did.’ His voice was high in his need and Mrs Crawford was saying soothingly, ‘Of course you did, Joe,’ when the phone rang, and getting up she said, ‘Excuse me a moment.’

  She left the door open as she hurried into the hall and Joe sat gazing through it. He could see nothing, or no-one, in the space and it was like gazing into the emptiness that was inside him. Everybody was so kind. He had been in the papers; he had been the instigation of capturing the Leech gang; and now he was rich; but…but it didn’t mean very much because it did nothing to help the awful empty feeling inside of him. There wasn’t even any comfort any more in the memory that his mother had come to the hospital every day for a week, because she had come alone. The two times she had come when his father was there she had walked out again.

  He heard Mrs Crawford talking rapidly on the phone and then she came to the living-room door, smiled at him, then turned her head towards the stairs and called, ‘Jonathan! Malcolm! All of you!…and Harold!’ she called to her husband, ‘Come here a minute, quick!’

  ‘What is it now?’ Mr Crawford came to the top of the stairs, surrounded by the family, all in a state of undress, and she cried up to them, ‘What do you think? That was Uncle Tom on the phone and he’s selling The Mary Ann Shaughnessy. I…I don’t know if I’ve done right, but I asked him not to go ahead until he heard from us. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you bought her? I mean you, Joe, and you, Jonathan and Malcolm…and, if you like, we…we could have a share, couldn’t we, Father?’

  Jonathan came slowly down the stairs fastening his tie. ‘Buy The Mary Ann!’ he said under his breath. ‘Good Lord! Buy The Mary Ann!’ His voice rose higher and Malcolm, bounding past him, jumped the last three steps into the hall and dashed for the living room, crying, ‘Joe! Joe! Did you hear that? What do you think, us owning The Mary Ann!’

  ‘Great!’ said Joe in an awe-filled voice. ‘Oh that would be great.’

  ‘Now wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE.’ Mr Crawford now descended from the last stair, holding up a cautionary hand. ‘Don’t jump into this thing blindly. It’s all right buying a boat, but it’s what it costs to run it.’

  ‘We could help with the cost,’ put in Mrs Crawford eagerly. ‘You did talk of looking for a country cottage to spend our holidays in; you said it would be much cheaper than hotels.’

  ‘Now stop it! Stop it, Jane. Don’t go pushing them into this thing.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She was laughing widely as she shook her head. ‘I’m pushing myself into it; I feel I would like a holiday on The Mary Ann Shaughnessy.’

  ‘Good for you, Mother.’ Malcolm began to bounce about, and this was a signal for Bill to follow suit. A great roar came from Mr Crawford as he cried, ‘Stop it! Stop it, the lot of you…and you’—he pointed at Malcolm—‘put that animal in the summer house.’

  At this moment the front doorbell rang and Mrs Crawford, exclaiming impatiently but still laughing, hurried from the room and opened the door, and then, as she looked at the two people standing on the step she held out her hands, saying with deep sincerity, ‘Oh, I’m glad to see you.’

  When Mr and Mrs Taggart stepped into the hall she whispered, ‘I…I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to raise his hopes in case you might be late…or something…’ Her voice trailed away.

  There was a quietness about Mr and Mrs Taggart. They nodded and smiled back at Mrs Crawford but made no comment, not even when they entered the living room.

  Mr Crawford gave the visitors one quick searching glance, then crying, ‘Hello there, John. Hello, Sally!’ he added by way of a bellow now, which took in his entire family. ‘Don’t stand there gaping like stuffed ducks; I’ve told you what will happen if we’re one minute late in leaving this house. I’ll refuse to go. Get yourselves upstairs and finish your dressing.’

  The girls and their mother, followed by Jonathan, went quickly from
the room, but Malcolm stood, his face one wide gape as he looked at Mrs Taggart. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, until another bellow hit him. Then saying, ‘Yes, Father,’ he glanced down at Joe, punched him gently on the side of the head and dashed out of the room.

  Joe too was looking at his mother. He had never taken his eyes off her since she had entered the room. But not until Mr Crawford also left, closing the door behind him, did he speak. And then all he was capable of saying was, ‘Oh, Mam!’ before his face was lost against her shoulder …

  Going up the stairs, Mr Crawford was still talking loudly, and coming to the top of the stairhead he turned and looked down at his wife standing in the hall, and he called to her as if she was at the bottom of the garden. ‘Come and do this tie for me, will you?’

  But Mrs Crawford did not go to her husband’s aid as she was bidden; instead, staring up at him she said calmly, and quietly, ‘There’s not much time, as you’ve impressed on us. What am I to do? Come upstairs, or take him’—she pointed a finger at Bill who was also standing at the bottom of the stairs looking upwards—‘and lock him up somewhere?’

  ‘Put like that,’ said Mr Crawford testily, ‘do you think I’ve any choice? By all means lock him up somewhere.’

  And that’s what Mrs Crawford did. She took Bill out of the house and locked him up somewhere.

  As Mr Crawford had portended, they were late arriving at the Town Hall, fully five minutes late, and when he and Mrs Crawford, the two girls, and Jonathan got out of one car they had to wait for Joe and his parents, who were accompanied by Malcolm, to get out of the other. The Taggarts’ car had been obstructed by a lorry, the driver of which seemed quite ignorant of the fact that he was interrupting a public occasion, as the crowded pavement on either side of the Town Hall steps indicated.

  The Town Hall steps, too, had its occupants. Four photographers had their cameras already poised, and at the top of the steps stood the Mayor, accompanied by two bank managers, a representative of an insurance company, the Police Inspector, and, to the side, Constables Dyson and Pike from Cambridge.

  Mr Crawford, acting as marshal to his own party, pulled Jonathan and Malcolm together, and after reaching out and drawing Joe in between them, he looked for his wife, who just a second before had been standing near Mr and Mrs Taggart. But now she was not to be seen anywhere. She couldn’t have dropped through the earth. But where was she?

  Mr Crawford knew an agonising moment of indecision. The mayoral party was waiting for their approach. Where in heaven’s name had that woman got to! There was nothing for it, they must go forward. He gave Jonathan a slight dig in the back. But Jonathan, glancing over his shoulder, didn’t move, not even when his father, bending his head slightly forward, hissed, ‘Go on, boy. Go on.’

  Then Mr Crawford’s head was wrenched sharply around, for coming from behind the car, and trotting in front of her was ‘that fellow’.

  Never! She couldn’t. She wouldn’t dare. But she had dared. Oh! Just wait. Wait until he got home.

  He glanced at her as she came to his side; then he glanced down at—that fellow, and that fellow, in his own particular way, smiled at him, and the smile said, ‘Put a good face on it, old man. That’s all you can do anyway.’

  Bill felt happy, sort of hilariously slap-happy. He knew this was an occasion, in some odd way it was his day. He knew it before he even heard the people laughing as he preceded the company up the steps on which he paused only once when a man bent towards him with a square box held before his face. For a moment he had thought it was a stick and he made a warning protest in his throat but, after a low command from behind him, he trotted on again.

  Malcolm, Jonathan and Joe simultaneously let out a long breath, as also did the girls and Mrs Crawford. But Mr Crawford still held his breath as he watched Bill approach the Mayor and Mayoress and the mace-bearer, and in a frantic second he asked himself if ‘that fellow would be able to distinguish between a mace and a big stick.

  Unfortunately Bill wasn’t able to tell the difference between a mace and a big stick, and that was how he got a front spot in the national papers all to himself. And that was why Mr Crawford never stopped shouting for weeks afterwards; and that is why the town is still laughing, and everybody knows that no matter what Bill does in future it will be no good reporting him, because people will just laugh and say, ‘Oh, Bill? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He hangs on, but he wouldn’t hurt you…Yes, he’ll just scare the daylights out of you. But didn’t he lick the mace-bearer’s face in an attempt to bring him round as he lay on the steps?’ The reporters’ photographs showed that plainly.

  The End