Hannah Massey

by Catherine Cookson

  Broderick, his face wearing an utterly stricken look now, turned Hannah about and led her up the steps and into the hall; and of a sudden Hannah’s legs gave way beneath her and she would have fallen to the floor had not Karen pushed the hall chair forward. ‘Almighty God! Almighty God!’ Hannah moved her head in a slow wide sweep. ‘Me sons, every one of them, taken to jail. Me lads.’ She looked up at Broderick. ‘What’s happened to us? What’s happened, I ask you, that me sons…What’s to be done?’ She stared at him wildly.

  ‘They…they can get bail, I think, sort…sort of,’ Broderick stammered. ‘I…I better go and get D…Dennis.’

  ‘Dennis? No! No! Begod, no!’ The name seemed to rouse her back to normality.

  ‘I’ll have to, woman. He’s got a head on his shoulders, he’ll know what to do better than me or any of us. You’d rather have that than they’d be kept in jail, wouldn’t you now?’ He bent towards her. ‘I’ll put on me coat and get a car and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Now stay quiet.’ He turned to Karen. ‘See to your granny, that’s a good girl, see to your granny.’ He did not go into the living room or mention Rosie’s name, but lifting his coat from the hallstand and not bothering about his muffler or cap, he slunk out of his front door like a thief in the night, and Hannah was left sitting looking at Karen. She looked at her for some minutes before she said, ‘Go on up to your bed.’

  ‘No, I’ll stay with you. Me granda…’

  ‘I’ve told you…go to bed. I’m all right.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Did you hear me?’ It was the old Hannah speaking, and hearing her, Karen saw no need to worry, at least about her granny’s condition. Shrugging her shoulders, she crossed the hall, glancing into the living room before she mounted the stairs.

  Hannah continued to sit on in the cold hall, and as she sat she looked about her. She looked towards the door of her front room, and through the heavy panels she could see every article of the fine furniture that adorned the room. She looked at the bright red-and-green-patterned stair carpet. She looked down at the rug on the hall floor; it had a two-inch fringe on it. She could have got the same rug without the fringe for four pounds less, but she liked the fringe, it gave an air of quality to the rug. And lastly, she turned her eyes towards the open door of the living room, and she kept them there until she pulled herself to her feet and advanced slowly towards it.

  When she entered the room she saw Rosie sitting at the top end of the table, her face as white as a corpse, her eyes staring out of her head; and as she went towards her she saw her rise to her feet and then back towards the wall. And she followed her until she could touch her with her outstretched arm. But she didn’t touch her, she just stood looking at her. And then she began to speak, her voice quiet. She said, ‘It’s true, isn’t it? It’s true what he said, that you’re a whore?’

  ‘No, no.’ Rosie moved her head—it was tight back against the wall, her chin up—not in defiance, but in fear.

  ‘He said you were a whore, and you lived with a whoremaster for three months.’

  ‘I wasn’t, I wasn’t. I lived with him…I didn’t know…’ Her head was moving in a tormented, desperate fashion.

  Hannah made a movement with her hand that said, ‘Say no more,’ and she went on, ‘I wondered who you reminded me of when you stepped into the house a week ago this night with your skin-fit skirt and your short waist jumper that pushed out your breasts like balloons. I wondered then. But who, I ask you, but somebody with the mind of the devil would have put the tab on you. An’ that piece that Ronnie was talkin’ to standin’ at the bar, that was her he meant…your pal! It was her you were with, wasn’t it, when you disappeared during the evening? And then the story you told me the night you came back. There wasn’t a word of truth in it, was there?’

  ‘Ma…Ma.’ Rosie’s head was still moving, and now her eyes were closed and the tears raining from beneath her lids. ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t know.’

  ‘You didn’t know you were a prostitute?’

  ‘I wasn’t, I never was.’

  ‘Did you live with a whoremaster?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was, I didn’t know, I swear by Our Lady…’

  ‘Quiet! Quiet!’ Now Hannah’s voice had changed and it came as a deep growl from her throat. ‘Don’t dare soil her name with your lips…You tell me out of your own mouth that you lived with this man, and for your companions you had pieces like that one the night, an’ you tell me you know nothin’ about whoring? I wasn’t born yesterday, girl, at least not all of me.’ She shook her head until her coiled hair became loose and a strand fell down on to her shoulder. ‘Only the part that believed in you; you the shining light of me life, me daughter Rosie. I always held me head high when I mentioned me daughter Rosie. They used to laugh behind me back…the neighbours…Oh, I knew. I knew. But when they saw you with their own eyes they thought, She’s right. She’s right. Her Rosie’s a lady if ever there was one. An’ those that didn’t think along those lines I sensed it, and plugged you at them until they did. Until they knew that Hannah Massey’s daughter, Rosie, was a somebody…Aye, begod!’ Her voice dropped now and her mouth fell agape before she went on, ‘A somebody! A London street whore, a strumpet. Can you hear them? Can you hear them laughin’, Rosie?’ It was a question. ‘Answer me, girl.’ Her voice was as terrible as her face now. ‘Can you hear them laughin’? They’re splitting their sides. They’re sick with their laughin’. They’re spewing with their laughin’. “The higher they climb,” they’re sayin’, “the longer the fall,” and begod! Hannah Massey’s fallen hard. Her an’ her beautiful daughter, Rosie! Can’t you hear them? Can’t you hear them laughin’, Rosie?’

  ‘Oh, Ma. Oh, Ma. Stop it, stop it.’

  Hannah stepped back, making a wide sweep of her arm as she did so, crying, ‘Don’t Ma me, I’m no relation to you. From this minute onward I’m no relation to you, do you hear?’ Bending her body forward now she said, ‘Do you know what you’ve done to me this night? Do you?’ The words were once again coming deep and guttural, but now they were coated with a terrible anger. ‘You’ve destroyed me. If you’d taken a razor and cut me throat it would’ve been kind, but no. No…you had to disgrace me. Me sons are in jail, me four sons are in jail because of you, do you hear? As for me…me life’s over. The morrow I was goin’ to sign the contract that would take me to Brampton Hill…and now what have I?’ She wagged her head slowly. ‘I haven’t even got this home, I’m finished.’ Again she wagged her head. ‘I’ve put a face on things, all me life I’ve put a face on things, but I couldn’t put put a face on this, I couldn’t look the street in the eye after this. Nor the town. I’m crawling in the muck…in the muck. From this moment on I’m dead and I’ll have you remember it’s you that’s done it. You’ll take it to the grave with you. Oh dear God, when I think.’ She dropped her head back and looked at the ceiling now, her big body sagging as she went on, ‘Puttin’ you afore everythin’ and everybody. Worshipping you…Aw God has strange ways. Indeed, indeed. Ye shall not have false gods afore me, He says, an’ if ever a woman has been paid out for havin’ a false god it’s me this night.’ She brought her head forward again, and her lips curling widely from her large square chin, she allowed her eyes to range slowly from Rosie’s hair over her terrified face and down to her feet, then up again. And her nose pushing upwards from the force of her curling lips, she ground out, ‘You smell! You stink! You’re not fit to touch. Me own flesh has gone putrid on me.’ As she spoke her body drooped forward into a crouch. Her arms lifting, she shuffled a half step nearer to Rosie, muttering thickly as she did so, ‘You’re not fit to touch but I’m goin’ to touch you, an’ for the last time, I’m goin’ to give you somethin’ you’ll remember for destroying me an’ me house.’

  At this, Rosie, who had been spreadeagled against the wall, brought her arm in front of her face, crying, ‘Don’t hit me, Ma! Don’t hit me.’

  For answer, Hannah’s fist shot out, and as the blow caught Rosie b
etween the eyes her scream seemed to rend the house. And when again the fist landed full on her mouth and then on her nose, Rosie’s screams turned to a moaning whine.

  Hannah, her face distorted, her fist ready to strike again, paused as she watched her daughter slide down the wall to the floor. Her thick arms dropping to her side, she stepped back and looked at the huddled, shaking, moaning form, and she cried, ‘Get up!’ Then again, ‘Do you hear me? Get up!’

  After a long moment Rosie got up, raising herself like a cowed animal from the floor, and when she was on her feet she covered her face with her hands as she stumbled forward intending to go towards the table to sit down. But Hannah’s voice checked her, screaming at her now, ‘Get out! Get out! You trollop you!’

  Dazed, moaning and swaying, Rosie stood, until Hannah’s single finger dug in her back, thrusting her towards the kitchen, through it and out of the back door, which Hannah almost lifted off its hinges, so fierce was the pull with which she opened it. Then not pausing a moment she closed the door with a bang and bolted it. Following this she moved towards the table and stood leaning against it, blinking down at the conglomeration of dirty plates and cutlery on it. Then lifting her head with a jerk she went out of the kitchen, through the sitting-room and up the stairs, pulling herself up by the banister, and into the bathroom, and there, after taking a bottle of tablets from the cupboard and filling a glass with water she went into her own room and put the bottle and glass on a little table near the bed.

  Now inserting her hand into the front of her dress and vest she took out the key of the bottom drawer of the chest, and when she had opened the drawer she carried it to the round table in the middle of the room, after which she went to the altar in the corner near the bed and took from the shelf a box of matches. Following this she went back to the table, and, without even pausing to consider, she lit a match and applied it to the end roll of notes in the drawer. When it was well alight she went to the bed and, sitting down, emptied the tablets from the bottle into the glass of water; still without a pause she swilled them round once or twice then gulped at them, choking and spluttering on the half-dissolved mass. And now she did pause; her movements became less controlled. Slowly she drew the pad of her thumb across each corner of her mouth, then she took in a deep breath and sat watching the smoke rising from the drawer for a moment or two, waiting for the flame to come over the top, but when a whirling movement in her head told her she was going to fall forward she lifted one heavy leg after the other on to the bed and lay down and waited. There was no panic in her waiting, only thoughts of the impress her death would make on her family, and on one member in particular until the day she too died.

  She was dead before the breath left her body, and she knew this. She knew she had died when Ronnie MacFarlane knocked on the door.

  THE AFTERMATH

  It was 5.00am when Dennis returned home for the second time that morning. Florence had heard the taxi and was standing at the open door. She put out her hand to him but didn’t speak. His face looked white and pinched and his eyes wide. She helped him off with his coat, and still she didn’t speak. It was Hughie, standing between the kitchen and the room door, who asked, ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  As Dennis came towards him, Hughie turned and walked back into the room, and together they sat down side by side on the studio couch that was still made up as a bed.

  ‘Give me a drink of something?’ Dennis looked up at Florence, who was standing in front of him now.

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked quietly. ‘It’s all ready.’

  ‘No.’ Dennis shook his head. ‘Have you got a drop of whisky left?’

  When she brought him the drink he just sipped at it. Then he looked at the carpet as he said, ‘I can’t take it in. She was so full blooded you would have thought her aggressiveness would have defied death itself.’ Then raising his eyes, he looked at Florence, and it was as if he had forgotten Hughie’s presence when he spoke to his wife, saying, ‘When I looked at her lying there, so quiet, so peaceful, shouting no more, never again to be unreasonable, or irrational, I felt a flood of tears rising in me; and then I thought of what you’ve always said about death, and it being the plastic surgery that turns a renegade into a saint, and it checked the flood.’

  ‘Oh don’t let it, Dennis, don’t let it.’ She dropped onto her knees before him and took hold of his hand. ‘It’s all right talking about these things and being clever when they don’t affect you, but…but she was your mother.’

  Dennis had his eyes closed now and his head was moving in small jerks as he said, ‘Don’t recant, Florence. Please don’t recant, because I’m not going to. She killed herself; out of spite she killed herself; just because her idea of respectability had been shattered, she killed herself. Yet all her life she’s been her own stumbling block in her efforts to reach her goal, and by her very last act any glory that her family might have bestowed on her will be tarnished in their own minds by what she did. And I don’t mean just her taking her life. Do you know how much money she had stacked away?’ He looked from Florence to Hughie.

  Hughie, inclining his head, said softly, ‘I could give a pretty good guess.’

  ‘I never dreamed she had that much. Nearly three thousand.’

  ‘Three thousand!’ repeated Florence in awe. ‘Where?’

  ‘In the bottom drawer of the old chest in the bedroom. And she set fire to the lot before she took the pills.’

  Florence moved back slowly on her heels, and her buttocks slipped to the floor and she rested there staring at Dennis; and he nodded at her, and then to Hughie, saying, ‘When I dropped me da off at the door from the taxi after coming from the station, apparently he went straight upstairs to find the place full of smoke and Karen nearly demented. She had smelt the smoke and gone into me mother’s room. The drawer, full of notes, was smouldering, some apparently had been alight but had died down, but the whole could have burst into flames at any minute. She didn’t know what was in the drawer at first, she just threw water over the lot then tried to wake me mother up. It was then me da came in. He tried to get her onto her feet and make her sick, but she was too far gone. It would have been all right but she’d had a number of chasers in her before she took the tablets. Karen ran out and phoned the hospital, and then…well, you know the rest, she came on here for me.’

  ‘Have they let the lads out, knowing this?’ asked Hughie.

  ‘No. I haven’t been back to the station yet, and I don’t know how I’m going to tell them. Anyway, their case won’t come up until the first Court. If our Jimmy and Shane hadn’t hit the pollis they might have stretched a point, but they weren’t too easy with them when they got them down there I understand.’

  Dennis finished off the whisky; then looking at the glass, said, ‘They’ll mourn her. Each in his own way they’ll mourn her, but on the quiet they’ll be thinking she meant to burn every penny of that money…their money. Yet being very much her sons they’ll remember what she used to say, “Speak nicely about the dead,” she used to say, “for where they’ve gone they’ve got power and can bring good or bad to you.”’

  ‘Rosie will get the blame for this.’ Hughie was speaking almost to himself, and Florence answered, saying, ‘Yes, from all sides it’ll be levelled at her.’ She turned her head towards Dennis. ‘You didn’t hear any more, where she went I mean?’

  ‘No, only Karen heard me mother at her. But I found Karen a bit cagey about what went on. Of course she’s upset. She said she heard me mother put her out and bang the door. You know I…I just can’t take it in about her. If it hadn’t been me da who told me…’ He shook his head. ‘Rosie on the streets…’

  ‘No, no!’ Hughie’s tone brought Dennis’s head round, and also Florence’s eyes towards him, and he said again, and emphatically, ‘No, no! She wasn’t on the street, Dennis. I…I didn’t say anything afore, because…well I was shaken about it all coming out and wondering where she had got to in the dark, and on a
night like this, but I can tell you now the mess she got into wasn’t her fault. She told me about it the other night when she was here, the night you went out.’

  ‘Aye?’ Dennis moved slowly round to face Hughie, saying, ‘Well, go on. What’s her side of it?’

  Hughie pursed his lips. ‘Well, as she told me it was like this. As you know, for the first year or more she was up there she shared a flat with two other girls at the office. Well, she said it was an expensive place and very nice. Then one of the girls goes back home to Gloucester and the other gets married, and it was impossible for her to keep it on. She then pals up with another girl and shares her flat. But this place is real slummy and dirty. And she doesn’t like the girl either, and she’s lonely. She was on the point of packing the job up, she said, and coming home, when one Sunday night, coming out of Benediction, she sees a fellow standing on the kerb right opposite the church. She had seen him there two or three times before when she came out of church and had thought naturally that he’d just come out too. Well this night he speaks to her, and that was the beginning. He’s very smartly dressed, he speaks well, he’s courteous and extremely kind and…’ Hughie looked down at his hands. ‘To use her own words, she went down before him like warmed snow off a roof. Apparently he was quite open about himself. He was married but his divorce was going through. He was in the property business which fluctuated from time to time. Sometimes he was in the money, he said, and sometimes he was broke. At this particular time, apparently, he was in the money. He asked her to go to his flat, but it was six weeks before she finally paid her first visit. It was a beautiful place, she said, furnished with the kind of things you see in expensive magazines. A month later she gives up her job and moves in.’ Hughie pulled the knuckle of his first finger, and there was a sharp cracking sound; then he went on, ‘He had to be away a lot on business, she said, but when they were together everything was marvellous. The only thing she didn’t like was that he had to go to clubs to meet business associates and he always insisted she went with him. She didn’t like his business friends, and apparently neither did he, and he apologised for them. All this time he is piling on her furs, jewellery and expensive clothes. Then one night he comes home worried. He’s in a bit of a jam, he says, he’s got to meet a client who can make or break him. Will she be nice to the man? They meet this client in a private room in a hotel, and after dinner this fellow of hers is called away and she is left alone with this man, who begins to paw her. But…but she manages to push him off and get out of the room. She can’t find the other fellow and she goes home. When he turns up he’s terribly upset for her. Later in the week he tells her that the client has been spiteful and has put him in a real fix, in fact he’s broke, at least for a time, and won’t be able to keep up the expensive apartment. Rosie said it didn’t matter a jot when it came to pawning her clothes and furs and all the expensive presents he had given her. But now she was uneasy, yet she really wouldn’t face up to why she was uneasy.’