Hannah Massey

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh! Hughie…Hughie.’ The name came out of her mouth like an expression of pain, and again she said, ‘Oh! Hughie, Hughie.’ As fantastic as this piece of writing was she could understand it…oh yes, she could understand it. Dreaming of a field full of men with a woman in their midst…her mother. Dreaming that he was afraid of his body except in the night…And last night she had told him what had happened to her and her body. No wonder he was silent. Gently she pushed the papers aside, and leaning her head on the desk she began to cry.

  It wasn’t long after this that she returned home, and as she mounted the steps the front door opened to let out Councillor Bishop. Her mother stood behind him, the door in her hand, her face bright, her manner at its best. ‘Oh, there you are, me dear,’ she greeted her. ‘You’ve met me daughter, Councillor?’ She inclined her head towards the plump, bespectacled man.

  ‘Indeed, yes, I’ve had that honour. But many years ago. How are you?’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  He was holding her hand, pumping it up and down as he went on, ‘Your mother tells me that you’ve come home to stay. Now this is good news.’ He spoke as if he knew all about her, as if her going or staying was of some importance to him. ‘Now you must come round one evening and meet Mrs Bishop. I know she would love to meet you.’ Still holding her hand in a grasp which did not allow her to extricate her fingers without tugging them from him, he turned to Hannah and ended, ‘When you’ve moved we’ll do an exchange of evenings, eh?’

  ‘That’ll be grand, that’ll be grand indeed.’

  ‘It’s settled then.’ Mr Bishop patted the hand within his own before finally releasing it, and as Rosie turned away, her face unsmiling, he said to Hannah, ‘We’ll be meeting again on Saturday then, Mrs Massey. I’ll have all the papers ready. There’s nothing to be gained by hanging about in matters like this. It could be snapped up.’

  ‘I’ll see that it’s snapped up, Mr Bishop, but by the right one.’

  Hannah’s laugh followed Rosie into the living room. She took off her coat and hat and, leaving them on the chair, went to the fire and stood waiting.

  A few minutes later Hannah entered the room. She did not speak immediately, but engaged in her usual technique, that of preceding anything of importance she had to say with a silence, a telling silence. But on this occasion Rosie did not allow her mother to play her little game; instead, turning to her, she asked, ‘You’re not really going to take the place, are you, Ma?’

  ‘Not really going to take it!’ Hannah’s voice was high but quiet; it held a surprised note as if it was unbelievable to her that anyone should imagine that she wasn’t going to take number eight Brampton Hill. ‘Of course I’m going to take it, child…We’re going to take it, an’ it’ll all be settled on Saturday.’

  ‘But me da…and the lads?’

  ‘Your da has always left things of this nature to me. As for the lads, if they don’t like it there’s the wide world before them and the door is open.’

  Rosie gazed at her mother. You really had to admire her effrontery and the game of pretence that she played…There was the wide world for the lads and the door was open! Without the lads she could never hope to make Brampton Hill, and yet she could talk like this with apparent sincerity.

  ‘But if you don’t sell this…?’

  ‘This house will be sold, never fear. Mr Bishop put it on his books three weeks ago. He’s had several enquiries. He’s not in the smallest doubt that it’ll go like wildfire once the fine weather comes. He’s so sure of it, me dear, that he says he’ll take it off me hands himself if it isn’t sold.’

  Mr Bishop, Rosie thought, was an astute man, a crafty, astute man. A councillor, a speculator and a chairman of a building society. He had, since the day he rented Hannah her first house after Bog’s End, taken her measure. For all her cunning, her mother was so naive in some things…Exchange of visits for instance. She could see Mrs Bishop entertaining her mother. Mrs Bishop who in her young days had graced the Ladies’ Circle, who had, as her husband alternately clawed and sucked himself up through the business elite of the town, made the right friendships, the right connections. Her mother and Mrs Bishop exchanging visits! If it wasn’t pathetic it would be laughable.

  As if Hannah were reading her thoughts she said, ‘What you don’t seem to understand, lass, is that times are changin’. I’ll grant you that at one time it would have been out of place, the very thought of us moving to Brampton Hill, but not now. There’s been a levelling, and not afore time. It’s the front you put on the day that you’re judged by. Half of them in this town are living on an overdraft. Now I know that for truth.’ She wagged her finger in Rosie’s face. ‘It was Mr Bishop himself who told me that. He’s opened me eyes about lots of things. “Mrs Massey,” he said, “anybody who can put two thousand pounds down in cash for a house the day needn’t have any worries for the future.”’

  ‘You’re putting the two thousand down?’

  ‘I am. But mind you’—she lifted both her hands towards Rosie now—‘this is atween you and me, for the present moment at any rate. Now don’t you let on, mind, I’m tellin’ you. Anyway, putting the two thousand down will bring the mortgage to practically half; we’ll be paying no more than what we’re paying off the house at the present moment, it’s all been worked out. And when we sell this there’ll be three thousand in the bank to set us up with.’

  ‘It’s all cut and dried then?’

  ‘It’s all cut and dried as you say, lass,’ Hannah nodded at her.

  ‘Barny’ll be on the dole next week. He won’t feel like giving the Hill as his address at the exchange.’

  ‘Now, are you trying to be nasty, lass? What’s come over you?’ Hannah scrutinised her daughter through narrowed lids. ‘Fancy sayin’ a thing like that, aiming to put a damper on the whole enterprise. It isn’t like you; you never used to have a barb to your tongue. And as for Barny not wantin’ to give the Hill address to the exchange, there’ll be no need, for if I know Barny he’ll be in work afore he’s out of it.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  As Rosie turned away and picked up her coat and hat, Hannah said to her, ‘I’m the one for speakin’ me mind an’ I’m goin’ to say now that I feel there’s something wrong with you. From the minute you stepped in at the door I felt it. You’ve hardened, lass, all the gentleness has gone out of you. As I remember you, you never contradicted me in your life, nor yet raised your voice in opposition to me, yet you’ve never stopped battling since you’ve been home. An’ what’s cut me to the quick is to know that you took the sod that’s gone’s part. Him that wronged me. You know, I’ve the feelin’ that if the devil was to appear in the kitchen this minute yes, begod, I’ve the feelin’ that you’d even take his side against me, I have.’

  There was so much truth in what her mother said, and so much hurt in the tone in which she said it, that Rosie was forced to turn round before she left the room and say quietly, ‘I’m sorry, Ma; it’s because I’m not feeling well, I suppose.’

  ‘All right, all right, we’ll leave it at that, lass.’ Hannah hurried forward. ‘Go and get yourself up to bed, it’s rest you want. Good feeding and rest. I’ve put your bottle in and the heater’s on, and by the time you’re in I’ll have somethin’ hot up to you.’

  She patted Rosie’s arm as she pushed her towards the stairs.

  What could you say in the face of such tenderness and concern? You could say nothing, but you could do something, you could run…run before you reached Brampton Hill.

  PART THREE

  HANNAH

  Friday

  It was the events of this day, Friday, which were to point the way to Rosie’s future life.

  The routine of the day was the same as yesterday, except that during her dinner hour she went looking for a room, and by chance found one only five minutes’ walk from the office. It was clean and comfortable and in a respectable neighbourhood. She liked the woman, a widow, who owned the
house and made her living by letting. She paid her a small deposit in advance and told her that she would come on Monday next.

  During the afternoon she hadn’t much time to worry about how she would break the news of her going to her mother, but as she neared home in the evening she became agitated.

  When she went into the house she still hadn’t decided whether she would tell her mother straight away or leave it until tomorrow, after she had signed the lease on eight Brampton Hill, for by that time she would be in a much better frame of mind.

  But Hannah herself decided, for she greeted her with such heartiness that it would have been impossible to say to her, ‘I’m leaving, Ma.’

  They were all in except Barny and Karen. Jimmy had come home early because a severe gale had held up the work on the bridge. Arthur, too, was on short time from the quarries because they couldn’t get the lorries to move. Shane had apparently returned home first thing this morning after signing on at the labour exchange. Yet in spite of all this, which meant lighter pay packets, Hannah was gaiety itself.

  Being Friday, there was naturally fish, and the men had finished a large side dish full of fried cod and chips.

  ‘I didn’t do yours, me dear,’ said Hannah, ‘I wanted you to have it fresh.’ And when she went scurrying into the kitchen, Broderick, pulling at Rosie’s hand, drew her to his side of the table, saying, ‘Sit yourself down and have some tea and this new bread to be getting on with. There’s nobody bakes flat cake like your mother. In fact,’ he widened his eyes at her, ‘I’d like to bet you she’s the only woman in this town who still bakes her own bread.’

  As Rosie sat down Shane passed her the plate of bread, saying, ‘How’s it going?’ But before she could answer him Arthur put in, ‘Don’t ask daft questions, man, the boss has asked her to marry him, didn’t you know?’

  ‘No!’ said Shane, his hand still extended with the plate but looking at his brother now, his whole face portraying an idiotic expression of wonder.

  ‘It’s a fact, I’m tellin’ you.’ Arthur raised his hand. ‘As true as God and Hannah Massey’s my judge. He asked her this very day; an’ he’s got a title an’ all.’

  ‘No!’ Shane’s hand was still extended, holding the bread plate, and now he moved it upwards until it was above his head.

  ‘Aye.’

  Broderick and Jimmy were laughing now and Rosie was forced to join in.

  ‘Give over, you couple of clowns,’ said their father.

  ‘Clowns! He’s calling us clowns. Do you hear that, Arthur? Roll your sleeves up, go on, get at him.’ Shane dropped the plate on the table.

  ‘No, no, I never raise me hand to little chaps.’ At this Arthur put his forearm up as if warding off a blow, and, his eyes laughing, he peered over his fist at his father. And Broderick said, ‘Little chap is it? I’ll have you turning a somersault and you won’t know but ’twas a cuddy that’d kicked you.’

  And so the chaff went on; it was almost a repeat of the same time the previous week. When Rosie had longed for home it was this part of it she remembered, the lads pulling each other’s legs, and their father’s, while her mother bustled about feeding them all. And by their attitudes now Rosie knew that as yet they were unaware of what was going to happen tomorrow. Had they known they were really booked for Brampton Hill the scene in the kitchen tonight would have been quite different.

  Hannah, coming to Rosie’s side now and putting her arm around her shoulder and her face down to hers, said, ‘Look, what about comin’ along of us the night to the club an’ seein’ a bit of life? It’s all very nice and refined. Now isn’t it?’ she appealed to her sons. ‘Since this new manager’s been in she wouldn’t know the place, would she? What about it?’ She brought her eyes back to Rosie, adding, ‘You can have a bit of a dance, or a quiet drink, just as you like. There’s a room been opened just across the passage, select it is…’

  ‘An’…an’ a penny a pint on the beer for the selectness.’ Broderick opened his eyes wide and threw his head back as if he had just voiced something extremely funny.

  ‘Aye, come along, Rosie,’ Shane said over the table. ‘It’s a long while since we had a dance together.’

  ‘I used to love to see you two dancin’ together,’ said Hannah, nodding from one to the other. ‘You were so smooth it was like running water. What do you say, lass?’

  What could she say without appearing churlish or ungrateful. She could say nothing but, ‘All right, Ma. Yes, I’d like to.’ She nodded towards Shane now.

  ‘That’s settled then. Good, good. Aw, we’ll make a night of it. It’s about time we had a bit of jollification. We’ve all been acting like frozen corpses for long enough…Come on now, finish up the lot of you and let’s get cleared and away. I’ll leave the others’ set for them; they can see to themselves for once.’

  The next few minutes was all bustle, and as Rosie went to leave the room Shane called after her, ‘By the way, what you wearin’? Put on something dandy, I want to show you off…that suit you came home with, that’ll do.’

  Hannah’s voice followed Rosie up the stairs, crying at Shane, ‘Did you ever! Wantin’ to show his sister off! Now I ask you.’ There was laughter in her tone, but it died away as she ended, ‘And that suit she came back with, I’m not struck on it a bit. It’s as plain as a pikestaff, there’s nothing to it.’

  When, sometime later, Rosie came down the stairs with her coat on they were all gathered in the living room. Hannah was wearing a heavy blue coat with a high collar, the whole tending to emphasise her largeness. She wore a blue velour hat set straight on top of her grey hair, and although there wasn’t any sign of taste in her clothes she looked an imposing figure—regal, one would say. As she pulled on her gloves she turned to Rosie and said, ‘Ah, there you are, let’s have a look at you. Open your coat.’

  ‘But you’ve seen it before, Ma.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I want to see it again.’

  When Rosie opened her coat Hannah, looking at her from head to foot as if she were appraising a model, remarked, ‘I maintain what I said, it’s too dull.’

  ‘You don’t know class when you see it. Come, let’s away,’ said Shane, taking hold of Rosie and pushing her forward.

  ‘And come along all of you, else it will be closin’ time afore we get there. We should have had a taxi, anyway,’ said Hannah as she went down the front steps.

  ‘Taxi! Listen to her,’ called Broderick. ‘You’d think she’d come up by way of the landed gentry. Taxis to go to the club!’

  Between them Broderick and Jimmy helped Hannah along the slushy street to the bus stop while Shane and Arthur took Rosie by an arm, and, all the way, there was laughing and chaffing. And like this they entered the club.

  The Workmen’s Centre, or the Club as it was usually called, was the most modern of its kind. The main room was well over fifty feet long with an added L piece half that length. The bar counter took up the curve on the corner of the L; in this way it protruded into the dance section while dominating the main portion of the room which was filled with small tables. Adjacent to the end of the bar was a raised platform on which stood a piano, and as Hannah and her party entered the room there were two men on the platform giving an imitation of famous mimers, as was indicated by their small gingham skirts and bibs.

  The Fellburn Club was very proud of its standards of entertainers; hadn’t two of their local talent been snatched up by telly? That the two men had only appeared once on television made no odds, they had been…snatched up by talent spotters. And so everyone who went on the stage at the club acted as if for an audition.

  The room was already packed, and Hannah and Rosie alone found seats in a corner against the wall, while the men stood about them making signs with their hands and heads to acknowledge greetings from the occupants at other tables.

  When the turn was finished, amid great applause, the men made their way to the bar counter while Hannah, with restrained conviviality, acknowledged the greetings from those ar
ound her. To their ‘Hello there, Hannah,’ ‘How goes it the night, Hannah?’ she made suitable replies accompanied by dignified movements of her head; and when a woman from close by rose and came towards her, saying, ‘Don’t tell me it’s Rosie you have here,’ Hannah replied, ‘Who else, Mary?’

  ‘Why, hello, Rosie!’ The woman bent forward ‘By! I wouldn’t have known you…you’ve grown so.’

  Rosie didn’t bother to answer that, but smiled her greetings. What the woman really meant to say was, ‘I wouldn’t have known you, you look so changed.’

  ‘How long are you here for?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Oh, for some time.’

  ‘She’s home for good, Mary.’ Hannah nodded solemnly. ‘She’s already fallen into a fine job in Newcastle.’

  ‘Ah, there’s no place like home, is there? It’s always the same; they go off to London but they’re glad to come scurrying back to their mas.’ She pushed her hand towards Hannah’s.

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right there, Mary.’ But Hannah did not enlarge on her friend’s remark. Perhaps it was something in Rosie’s face that deterred her, a certain tightness.

  The men returned with the drinks, a double whisky for Hannah and a glass of Guinness, pints of beer each for themselves and a gin and ginger for Rosie.

  As they drank, talked and chaffed, Rosie looked about her. The atmosphere was one of jollity and good fellowship. When the master of ceremonies announced they were going to have community singing, this was acclaimed by loud clapping. And when everybody sang she, too, sang, and she wondered why she was singing. She wondered why she was here at all, for she had never liked the club and she didn’t like it now. If she’d only been strong enough to say no; if she’d only had the gumption now she would finish her drink and say to her mother, ‘I’m going home.’