The wisdom of this was immediately apparent and within ten minutes everyone except the unfortunate Susan was in the horse box and speeding towards the meet, an hour early.
Mary would have given anything to be with them. Instead she installed her mother in the kitchen rocker and made tea. Anna and Ben hid shyly, taking cautious peeps at this unknown woman.
‘The children have grown so much,’ gasped Mrs Bennett, striving to regain control, ‘I hardly know them.’
‘I’m sorry it’s been so long,’ said Mary, aware that this was but the first of many apologies she was going to have to make that day.
‘Yes. Well, now I see why. Oh Mary, how do you manage to get yourself into so many muddles? Look at your sister, she manages to get along quite well with Humphrey and nothing more dramatic than the occasional scratch on the car.’
‘It wasn’t my fault Stephen died.’ She could feel her voice rising, why was it always this way when they talked?
‘Oh, I don’t mean that. Even before then you never once had a sensible boyfriend, always ton-up boys or racing drivers. Even then you could have married a rich one, but no, it had to be Stephen, full of ambition and not a penny to his name. You can’t tell me you enjoyed grubbing away on that miserable patch of earth all that time.’
Mary sat at the table. ‘We were happy, Mum, we really were. That’s what makes it so hard.’
‘Don’t call me Mum, dear, it’s vulgar.’
‘Yes, Mummy. Sorry.’
‘What about this latest man. Head of the provisional wing of the IRA, no doubt.’
‘Not quite. He’s in showjumping. Divorced.’
‘Really, Mary, I honestly don’t know where you find them. When you were young and silly I might have understood, but darling, there are the children. And now there’s another on the way.’ She fiddled with her gloves and then in a rush said, ‘Why won’t this man marry you? I take it he is the father?’
She was fighting embarrassment and Mary felt a sudden rush of warmth. She bent and pressed her cheek to her mother’s. ‘Of course he is. And he’s a nice man, really. It’s just that - he was very hurt before, you see. And we didn’t plan this baby, it was an accident. I think we’re better off the way we are, for the moment anyway.’ She did not want to say that Brogan did not love her.
‘How you can possibly have an accident, as you call it, in this day and age is beyond me. Still, at least you’ve been sensible about it. No - operation - or anything.’
Mary looked at her curiously. ‘I thought you’d have been all for that. No scandal or anything.’ Her mother waved an impatient hand. ‘In the end what does it matter what people think? But I do so want to see you with someone who will take proper care of you, darling. He does look after you, doesn’t he?’
Mary giggled. ‘Since he’s just run out on me as fast as he can go I think you can draw your own conclusions.’
‘That doesn’t count, men can never stand scenes. But you have help in the house and so on?’
‘Well - I manage, Mummy. The place looks all right, doesn’t it?’
Her mother cast a distasteful glance around the muddle of jars, pot plants and cookery books. Her own kitchen was a stainless steel operating theatre, a pristine environment where food seemed an alien presence. ‘You always were untidy, darling. It will be all right if I stay for a few days, won’t it? I’ve brought the children’s Christmas presents and so on.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll go and make the bed.’ Mary congratulated herself on a hurdle safely negotiated, little knowing that her mother had at once decided to do battle for her daughter with this unknown Mr Brogan.
Lunch was a gossipy affair, full of giggling reminiscences.
‘Do you remember your father’s face when you brought home that boy in all his leather gear?’ chuckled Mrs Bennett.
‘He wasn’t that bad! I was terribly impressed anyway and I bet I can still strip down a motorbike. That was all we ever did.’
‘I wish you’d told me that at the time, I was worried to death.’
They were just finishing the washing up when the horse box drew into the yard. ‘They’re early,’ said Mary worriedly. ‘I hope nothing’s gone wrong.’
She dashed into the yard to meet Brogan. ‘Why are you back so soon?’ she asked.
He looked slightly discomfited. ‘I thought the horse might be going lame. Seems all right now, though. And anyway - I felt a rat running out on you like that.’
She was touched. ‘There was no need to spoil your day. She’s been very good about it really. She’s staying on for a day or two, is that all right?’
‘Holy Mother of God. Does she have to?’
‘Well, I daren’t tell her to go, but if you—’
‘No, no, no, she’s very welcome I’m sure. Come on, let’s go and meet her.’
Mrs Bennett was busily wiping worktops. When Brogan entered, she greeted him with a smile that turned Mary cold.
‘Did you have a nice time, Mr Brogan?’
‘Tolerable, thank you. I gather you will be staying for a few days.’
‘Just until I can assure myself that my daughter is well cared for. Is she, Mr Brogan?’
‘Well - er - I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘I was a little surprised to find that she has no help in the house. And yet she has to cook, and clean and wash not only for you but for—’
‘Mummy, please—’
‘Are you telling me that I’m exploiting her? Because let me tell you—’
‘Patrick!’ He looked at Mary’s anguished face and stopped.
‘Look, I’ve got things to do outside. I’ll be in later, Mary.’ He flung out into the yard, leaving Mary to stare reproachfully at her unrepentant mother.
At five o’clock he reappeared in time for the children’s tea, outwardly sober but smelling of whisky. They sat round the table listening to Anna crunching ginger nuts and Ben slurping orange juice, picking their way through a conversational minefield.
‘I saw a strange bird today,’ commented Mary hopefully.
Brogan looked morosely at her mother. ‘So did I.’ Mary choked on her tea.
‘It was a penguin, Mummy,’ said Anna.
‘I don’t think so, darling. We don’t have penguins.’
‘It was a penguin, I sawed it, and it got eaten by a lion. A big, huge, ’normous lion. It ate Murphy too.’
‘What’s he still doing here, then?’ queried Brogan, intrigued by the sudden advent of a safari park on the doorstep.
‘He didn’t taste nice,’ replied Anna inconsequentially, her mind on another piece of cake.
‘Talking of that dog, dear, don’t you think he ought to be in a kennel?’ said Mrs Bennett, pouring herself another cup of tea with neat, decisive movements. ‘He is rather large for the house, after all.’
‘But he’s very good-natured, and anyway I don’t think Edna would like it.’
‘Is Edna that tall, plain girl? Well, I don’t know what she’s got to do with it. It seems to me that everyone’s feelings are being considered before yours, Mary, and I find that quite unforgivable.’ She directed a meaningful stare at Brogan.
‘Patrick!’ warned Mary, her voice tinged with panic. He was almost grinding his teeth with rage but with an enormous effort which was obvious to everyone, remained silent.
‘You’ve gone all pink Daddy,’ said Anna.
‘Anna,’ thundered Mrs Bennett. ‘That man is most definitely not your father!’
The little girl burst into frightened tears and Mary rushed to comfort her. When she looked up Brogan had gone.
‘Mummy, you’re driving him mad!’ burst out Mary, who felt quite sure that she was going mad herself.
‘I’d rather have him mad than you worked to death,’ snapped her mother. ‘I will not stand by and see you turned into a drudge!’
The next two days were a nightmare for Mary. Tim took refuge in the granary flat during the day, sneaking up to bed like a thief late at night.
His absence was the one thing Mary could be thankful for. She found it surprisingly easy to tolerate her mother’s criticisms of her housekeeping, letting her scour wastebins and tidy saucepan cupboards to her heart’s content, but her attacks on Brogan she was less able to bear. Her theme was that he was taking shameless advantage of her daughter and that he ought to be made to do the right thing. When she discovered Violet and the calves she trembled with outrage.
‘Does that man have no conscience?’ she cried. ‘Allowing a pregnant woman to struggle with these beasts like some Indian peasant?’
All Mary’s protests were ignored and Mrs Bennett spent the rest of the day fuelling her rage. When evening came she was ripe for battle and when the unhappy threesome was seated round the fire in the sitting room she decided the moment had come.
‘Mr Brogan,’ she began, fingering her rings, ‘you will be happy to hear that I am leaving in the morning, but there is something I should like to say before I go.’
‘Now, Mummy, please behave,’ cried Mary despairingly, but her mother rushed on.
‘My daughter has been through a very difficult time and her judgement cannot, I feel, be relied on. I had hoped that people would be sympathetic and understanding towards her but this has not been the case. Her husband was an exceptional man and we can’t expect another like him, but this! I find her a virtual slave in your home, pregnant, a fact which you seem prepared to ignore, working as a farmhand in the little time she has free from the house, and left alone for weeks at a time. It is simply not good enough!’
Brogan sat quietly smoking as she raged at him, his face very pale.
‘Mary has everything that she wants,’ he replied stiffly.
‘I suppose she wants to bring a bastard into the world!’ declared Mrs Bennett and gave a frightened gasp as Brogan leaped to his feet. He towered over her, shaking with fury.
‘Mary wants that baby,’ he hissed, ‘and if people like you will just leave us alone we might manage to be happy here. We want nothing from you.’
‘I find that a rather odd statement from someone standing on my Persian rug,’ replied Mrs Bennett.
Brogan swore violently and wrenched at the carpet, pushing chairs away and knocking over tables as he tore it up. A table lamp crashed to the floor in his path and he kicked it aside. Under the amazed gaze of Mary and her mother he dragged the ungainly bundle into the kitchen and threw it into the yard.
‘You can take it with you,’ he panted, ‘now!’
‘It’s far too late for her to leave now,’ protested Mary but her mother stopped her.
‘I will go, darling, but I would like you and the children to come with me. I can’t leave you here, I just can’t. I know it will be difficult, your father and I - well, we don’t like change, but this man is impossible, not at all like Stephen. You simply cannot stay.’
‘She is staying with me,’ snarled Brogan and Mary looked miserably from one to the other.
‘Yes, Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to stay with Patrick.’ She went to stand next to him and heard him give a long sigh.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Bennett, gathering up her handbag. ‘I’d best go up and pack. Keep the rug, Mary, I don’t want it.’
‘I’ll not have it in the house,’ said Brogan and neither woman felt disposed to argue with him. In virtual silence they loaded it into the car, next to the matching set of tan luggage.
‘You won’t be able to see out of the back,’ said Mary anxiously.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Her mother gave a rueful smile. ‘There’s no need for you to worry, I do quite enough for both of us.’ She gave her daughter a swift hug. ‘Take care.’
Mary nodded, fighting tears, and stood waving until the car was out of sight. Shivering, she turned to go back to her decimated sitting room.
Brogan watched in silence as she righted chairs and picked up broken glass.
‘Leave it to the morning,’ he said at length. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
‘Come on.’ He took her gently by the shoulders and with a sob she turned and buried her face in his jumper. ‘I tried to keep my temper, love,’ he said softly.
‘It wasn’t your fault, she was impossible. But all the same I do wish she hadn’t gone like that. You see, it’s just that she worries, that’s why I didn’t want her to come, I knew it would make her miserable. She was like that when Stephen was alive too, every time she came she’d go on about how hard I had to work, why didn’t I have help with the housework, it was awful!’
‘She’s right you know, you’ve got to have some help. The kids alone are a full time job at the moment.’
‘I can manage.’
‘Damn it all, you’d say that if the house was four foot deep in water and the roof had just caved in.’
‘Judging by this room I think it has.’
He chuckled and they stood silent for a moment, enjoying the rare privacy.
‘Your bump is kicking me!’ He was incredulous. Mary pulled away, very pink. ‘No, no, come here, I want to feel.’ They stood motionless, waiting.
‘It never does it when you’re waiting,’ whispered Mary, as if it could hear them but then, gentle as a butterfly, came the soft pressure against Brogan’s hand.
‘Well behaved already,’ he crowed. ‘Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘You’re supposed to suspend a wedding ring over it and see which way it turns but it doesn’t work. Or at least, if it does, Anna is a hermaphrodite.’
‘What the devil’s that?’
‘Oh you know, worms and things. Or is it snails? Come on, let’s go to bed.’
Chapter 12
They were leaving for the big Christmas show. Parsons was delighted to be up and doing at last, sure that he would show Brogan, and the impressionable Fred, just what he was really worth. He had been vastly amused by the sudden departure of Mrs Bennett and Mary was convinced he had been upstairs listening on that last evening. He leaned nonchalantly against the horsebox, his boots gleaming, courtesy of Susan, jodhpurs skintight, with a fashionably huge dark blue sweater to complete the ensemble. All around was bustle.
‘For Christ’s sake, Parsons, get your finger out!’ bawled Brogan and Tim went, sighing, to help load horses. He, at least, was one person Mary would be glad to see the back of. The other was someone who, it seemed, was going to stay however much she resented it. That was Mrs Harding, Brogan’s idea of the ideal cleaning lady. Certainly she looked the part, in her flowered overall and headscarf, but she was more inclined to lean on a broom than wield it; apart from the time she used it to attack the kitchen table as the best way of removing the crumbs, following which she was barred from the kitchen. Still, all would have been well if she had held her tongue.
‘See it’s all at the front,’ she started one morning.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The baby. The way you’re carrying it. Sure sign of a bad time that is.’
‘Oh. I hope not.’
‘Your third too, them’s often the worst. Dorothy Matthews was forty-eight hours with her third. They said you could hear her screams halfway down the street.’
‘Well, I’m going to Beverley and it’s a very good hospital. I don’t think things like that happen there.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised! Knew one woman, drugged to the eyeballs she was, they just took a knife to her. All because the doctor wanted to go home early. Forty-three stitches she had.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Down there!’
Mary swallowed convulsively. ‘I think I’ll go and sort the washing Mrs Harding,’ she muttered and scuttled off down the passage.
‘I’ll get going with the vac then, love,’ carolled the pet vampire. ‘Pity there’s no carpet in the lounge or I’d a done that ’n all.’
She began to think of excuses to go out on the mornings when Mrs Harding cycled up from the village, exertion from which it took her at least three-quarters of an hour to recover. She knew she was being cowardly but Broga
n was not there to see. One day she took the children to see Father Christmas in York, a treat which aroused as much excitement in her as in them.
Mist lay heavy in the lanes that autumn morning, leaving a clammy chill in the air. The van crept along, the lights bravely battling against the fog and the passengers singing as much of ‘Jingle Bells’ as they could remember. The weather must have discouraged all but the hardiest because when they finally arrived they were the only customers for Cinderella’s coach to Santa’s Fairy Grotto. The ride started up with much whirring and grinding before plaster horses, dimly seen, bore them off through magical snowy woodlands. The children sat silent and unsmiling, eyes wide in amazement. Journey’s end was signalled by a dull thump and they all shuffled out to confront the great man, seated amidst jerking puppets which were all, as a small notice informed them, available in the toy department.
‘Look children, here is Father Christmas,’ declared Mary ecstatically, gently pushing them forward. Ben let out an ear-splitting wail and Anna took a dive under her mother’s skirt, revealing Mary’s knickers. No amount of persuasion would induce either child to go within five feet of the red and white horror, so Mary collected their presents and made a rapid exit. All this effort to frighten them to death.
They repaired to the cafeteria for orange juice and cakes. Ben was in seventh heaven, smearing synthetic cream from ear to ear, but Anna was more thoughtful.
‘Will Father Christmas bring me a pony?’ she asked plaintively and Mary caught her breath.
‘I don’t know dear - are you sure you want a pony?’ Surrounded by horses as she was the child had never before asked for one of her own.
Anna nodded firmly. ‘I wants one lots. I can be like Edna, I can gallop. And jump, ’normous jumps. Will Father Christmas bring me a pony?’ Mary considered. There was really no reason why he shouldn’t, one small pony would go almost unnoticed in the equine throng at High Wold House. If she could find one before Christmas it just might do something to improve Santa’s image and indeed to put some sparkle back into a Christmas without Daddy. Last Christmas was one she never wanted to think of again, a travesty of merriment.
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