‘Whatever possessed you, Mary Ann? After asking Beatrice and Janice and the rest!’
‘Not forgetting Roy Connor.’ This last remark was an almost unintelligible exclamation from Michael.
Roy Connor, the product of a private school, had last year entered the grammar school and was, in Michael’s estimation, a pie-eyed cissy.
Mary Ann could give no attention to her brother, for her whole mind was on her mother and the temper she was in. Even her da was not coming to her assistance; he was apparently indifferent to the situation and was standing filling his pipe as if nothing was happening.
But here Mary Ann was wrong, for following Lizzie’s next remark Mike joined the fray.
‘You’ll just have to tell him you can only have a certain number and you’ve already asked them…Anyway, I don’t care what you tell him, the boy cannot come. You’ve got yourself into—’
‘Hold your hand a minute, Liz; hold your hand a minute.’ Mike closed the lid of his tobacco tin and placed it in his pocket before adding, ‘She’s asked him. The thing’s done, and she can’t back out of it now.’
‘You keep out of this, Mike…Have you seen Corny Boyle in this last year or two?’
‘No, I haven’t, but I remember the lad.’
‘Well’—Lizzie drew herself up—‘that should be a reference for an invitation to her party.’
‘She says he’s changed.’ A jerk of his head indicated Mary Ann. ‘He must have, for as I remember, she was scared of him.’
‘Yes, he’s changed all right and not for the better…at least in looks. You should see him and the way he’s turned out.’
‘Well, that’s likely his mother’s fault. Anyway, she can’t get out of it now.’
‘Do you know what the result would be if he came down?’ A jerk of Lizzie’s head indicated the house on the hill and its master, and on this Mike turned swiftly and said angrily, ‘If he comes he’s welcome, and if he doesn’t like the people in the house, then he knows what to do. Corny Boyle’s been asked and Corny Boyle’s coming and that’s that.’
Mary Ann watched her da stalk out of the room; and watched her mother put her hand to her throat and close her eyes; she watched their Michael draw in his lips and shake his head at her, and she wished she was dead.
‘Don’t you ever think, child?’ Lizzie was looking at her with reproach-laden eyes.
‘He had nowhere to play his cornet and…’
‘Oh, my God!’ Lizzie now put her hand over her eyes. It was very rarely she used such an expression, and it indicated to Mary Ann the depth of her feelings on this matter.
‘He’s not playing that cornet here. I’ll throw the thing in the pond.’
Mary Ann turned her glance on Michael now. Under other circumstances her retort would have been, ‘You try it on and it’ll be you who’ll land in the pond.’ Although there was a year’s difference between Corny and Michael, Corny could already give inches to her brother. But she held her peace. Michael, being another boy, could make it tougher for Corny than her mother could…that’s if he ever reached the party.
‘Go on.’ Lizzie’s voice had a low, hopeless note now. ‘You’ll miss your bus; we’ll sort this out later.’
‘Bye-bye, Ma.’ Mary Ann’s voice, too, sounded hopeless.
‘Bye-bye.’
It seemed an effort for Lizzie to stoop and kiss her daughter, and Mary Ann left the house with the weight of the world on her shoulders. But as she passed the farm gates her da came from behind the open byre and, looking down on her, he said quietly, ‘Don’t worry, everything will be all right. Corny’ll come. Go on now.’ And again he repeated, ‘Don’t worry.’
So the week began.
On the Monday afternoon Sister Catherine gave Mary Ann a hundred lines for not paying attention. It was odd that she had ‘not paid attention a hundred times before’. She had entertained her friends at the sister’s expense, she had done a number of things for which she could have been given lines, but today, because she had done nothing, and literally that, she got a hundred lines. It was all so unfair.
On the way home she lost her bus pass. Added to this, a very strained welcome from Lizzie when she reached home completed the Monday.
On Tuesday, on her return from school, she heard that there had been trouble on the farm with the new bull whose name was Neptune. He had kicked out at Len when he was being groomed; and Len said his rightful place was at the bottom of the sea, and if he had his own way…etc.
Mary Ann was not surprised to hear Neptune had kicked out; she didn’t like Neptune and never went near him. Great William, the old bull, was her favourite. He was known as Bill and would let you rub his nose.
Also on this Tuesday she learned that Mr Lord and Tony had been at it, because Tony, she understood, would not cancel his date with Lorna Johnson. Tony, to her mind now, deserved everything he had evidently got from Mr Lord. She saw no similar situation in the fact that she could not cancel her invitation to Corny.
But Monday and Tuesday were nothing to Wednesday. The trouble on Wednesday started early with the arrival of the postman. Before Lizzie opened the letter everyone knew who it was from; and when with her breakfast half finished she read it, then laid it by the side of her plate without making any comment, the silence at the table was a waiting silence. It wasn’t until the meal was finished that Lizzie, with the air of making a casual remark, said, ‘My mother’s looking in on Saturday.’
Oh no! The protest was loud inside Mary Ann’s head. Saturday, the only day she hadn’t to go to school, the only day she could romp on the farm from early morning till late evening, and her granny had to come on Saturday. That her granny had to come at any time was something in the shape of a catastrophe, but on a Saturday!
It wasn’t until Mike was putting his coat on preparatory to leaving the house that he made his remark, also in a casual tone, ‘I’ll change me day off,’ he said. ‘I’ve got things to do in Newcastle; I’ll make it Saturday.’
‘Oh, Mike!’ Lizzie sounded hurt, all pretence gone now. ‘You know she’ll hang on and hang on waiting for you to come in.’
‘She won’t unless she stays the night, and she’ll not stay the night under my roof, you know that, Liz.’
‘It’ll only make things worse.’
‘Now look here, Liz.’ Mike turned and confronted his wife. ‘It’s months since she was here, I know, and months before that when she paid us a visit, but does she ever change? That woman’s got the devil in her and she’ll never let up on me until I’m dead, and not even then. I know her, Liz, I know her. The only thing I don’t know and don’t understand is how she comes to be your mother.’
‘Oh, Mike!’
‘It’s no good, Liz. I’m takin’ me day off on Saturday. Perhaps I’ll take me daughter into Newcastle with me, eh?’ He put his head on one side and caught Mary Ann’s glance, and brought from her the only joyful note of the week so far, ‘Oh yes, Da; that would be lovely.’
And this is how Mike and Mary Ann happened to be in Newcastle on a Saturday morning and, of all places, in Durrant’s.
Mike had done his business at the bank, he had been to the corn-chandler’s, he had been to the garage about spare parts for the tractor, he had been to an office and talked with a man about the show in Castle Douglas, and then he had said, ‘What about a drink?’
It was at this point that they were passing Durrant’s. Mary Ann had heard of Durrant’s. Beatrice and her mother sometimes went there, as did Janice and her mother, and so with daring she put her suggestion saying, ‘Da, Durrant’s is nice; you can get coffee and cakes there.’
Coffee and cakes, she knew, held no attraction for Mike, who by this time of the morning and on his one visit a week to Newcastle would have a thirst for a drink…a real drink, but a limited drink. For three years now he had never broken his solemn vow not to go over two pints and a double. This treat only once a week might for him be near the line of total abstinence, yet it was enough to make him feel
that he could still take it if he wanted it. Although he knew he should never go beyond this line, for his own self-respect he did not look upon it as a compulsory line.
Mike now, looking down on Mary Ann with a deep twinkle in his eye, repeated, ‘Coffee and cakes in Durrant’s? And why not? We’ve been let out.’ He squeezed her hand and then, with a lift to his broad shoulders and a tilt to his head, he pushed his daughter before him and entered Durrant’s.
There were big tables and small tables and people dotted all round, and Mary Ann’s proud gaze swept over them, and in its sweeping it was checked and brought back to a near point and focused on a high, white, gauze-trimmed hat, and beneath it two large brown eyes that were looking at her. The owner of the hat was not a couple of arm’s lengths away from her and, smiling, she said, ‘Hallo, Mary Ann.’
Mary Ann had stopped, causing Mike to stop behind and now she cast a swift glance upwards at her da before looking again towards Mrs Quinton.
‘The lady’s speaking to you, Mary Ann.’
‘Hallo.’
‘I’m waiting for Beatrice.’ After making this statement Mrs Quinton’s eyes lifted from Mary Ann to the big red-headed man standing at her side and she said, ‘You’re Mary Ann’s father?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m Mary Ann’s father.’ The two adults smiled at each other.
‘Are you looking for a table? Won’t you sit down here? Beatrice will be delighted to see you.’ Mrs Quinton addressed the latter part of her remark to Mary Ann, and Mary Ann, looking once again up at her da, waited.
‘Thanks. Come along, sit down.’ It seemed that Mike had to press Mary Ann into the seat before he took his own opposite Mrs Quinton.
‘Mary Ann hasn’t introduced us but I’m Mrs Quinton.’
‘Mrs Quinton!’ Mike’s voice showed pleased surprise. ‘Well, well.’
‘You know my husband, of course?’
‘Yes…yes, I know your husband. Yes, I know Bob.’
Mary Ann could gather nothing from her father’s remark. What she did gather was that he seemed quite at ease in the posh cafe and quite at ease talking to Mrs Quinton, and she was posh an’ all. And she noticed something else: Mrs Quinton kept her eyes fixed on her da as if she found him nice. Slowly the tension began to seep out of her body. In some inexplicable way she felt that this meeting did not worsen the situation, and that the menace of Mr Quinton was in some way lessened by it.
‘How is Bob? I haven’t seen him in years.’
‘Oh.’ The brown eyes were hidden for a moment by flickering of lids, and then Mrs Quinton said brightly, ‘Oh, he’s very well…very well.’
Mary Ann noticed that her da made no further remark on the subject of Mr Quinton’s health but that he kept his eyes on Mrs Quinton and asked, ‘What’s he doing now?’
‘Oh, building…building as usual.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘Well…er…he’s doing some houses up Low Fell way…Did you hear about the party on Saturday?’ Mrs Quinton, jumping from one subject to another, now looked at Mary Ann and there was a question in her eyes, but it wasn’t answered by Mary Ann, for Mike replied, ‘I hear you gave her a grand time.’
‘Yes, yes…Ah, here’s the waitress.’
‘Let me see to it.’
Mrs Quinton made no protest and Mary Ann listened to her da giving the order for coffee for four. He did it as if he came to Durrant’s every day and ordered coffee; and when he turned again to Mrs Quinton and began to talk, Mary Ann sat looking at him, her mouth slightly agape. He never talked like this to her ma, nor had she heard him talk like this to anybody else. Not that he was putting it on, but he was talking nice and…passing himself. If she didn’t know he was her da she would have taken him for a man like Mr Willoughby, a gentleman, or her own Mr Lord, who never dirtied his hands and always wore a blue suit and collar and tie. She had seen her da in all kinds of moods, drunk and sober. She had, to her deep shame, seen him singing in the street when he was as full as a gun. She had seen him crying with shame. She had seen him standing up to Mr Lord. But never before had she seen him entertaining a lady to coffee. It was a revelation to her, a joyful revelation. Oh, she was so proud…her da could pass himself.
It was more than twenty minutes before Beatrice put in an appearance and she gushed over Mary Ann, and Mary Ann, relieved for the moment of all worry and responsibility and basking in the gentlemanly glory of her father, returned Beatrice’s effusion, and over yet another cup of coffee and some more cake Mary Ann let herself go and jabbered to her friend and forgot to feel responsible for her da.
It was fifteen minutes later when they all parted company and Mary Ann watched her da shaking Mrs Quinton by the hand and saying, ‘Now remember me to Bob. And don’t forget what I told you: you look us up. We’re always at home, and Lizzie would be delighted to see you.’
Mrs Quinton assured him that she would do as he asked, and added to this the unnecessary remark that she hoped they would meet again.
‘You didn’t tell us that you had met Mrs Quinton at the party.’
Mike was striding along looking ahead as he spoke, and Mary Ann, after a moment’s pause, said, ‘I forgot, Da.’
‘Did you see Mr Quinton on Saturday?’
‘No, Da.’
There was a break in the conversation as they became divided by a trio of prams, and when they came together again Mike went on, but more so now as if he were asking himself a question and not her: ‘Why did she say he was on houses up Low Fell? They were finished more than a month gone. I passed through there over three weeks ago and the place was all tidied up.’
Mary Ann now put in quickly, ‘We mustn’t forget me ma wants that ribbon binding for the blankets, Da.’
Mike looked at his daughter for a moment and then he laughed. She couldn’t make out why he was laughing, but when he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him she did not search to know. The tone of the day was set.
They did more shopping. Then Mary Ann waited while Mike went in and had his drink. She did not have to wait long, for he seemed to be in and out in no time. Then around one o’clock they had a good dinner. And afterwards went to the pictures.
It was a glorious day, and when towards evening they made their way home in the bus Mary Ann was bursting with the events of it. So many things had happened, nice things, but the crowning one was that her da had passed himself. He had talked to Mrs Quinton, and Mrs Quinton had liked him talking to her.
As always when filled with joy she wanted to hitch and skip, to throw off her exuberance, and she started, as soon as they left the bus, by hitching along the grass verge. It wasn’t until they reached the farm gate that she stopped, as Mike, with a critical eye on her, remarked, ‘We’re in for a dampener if she hasn’t left yet.’
Oh…her granny! She hadn’t thought about coming home and finding her granny. It certainly would put the tin hat on everything if her granny was still in the house.
Being of the same mind and not wanting to confirm their suspicions, they did not go straight to the farmhouse. Mike, turning into the yard, went towards the office, there to deposit some samples he had with him. Mary Arm, still bubbling with excitement, skipped towards the cow byre just to have a…peep in, until her da made his appearance again.
But between Mike’s office and the cowshed was the bullpen, Bill’s bullpen. The pen had two doors, one leading into the open section and one into a covered part that had at one time been a small byre but which had been given over to make a very comfortable house for Bill. Bill had his own doorless aperture which led from the byre into his private yard. The gate leading from the open section into the farmyard proper had a slip catch which could only be opened from the outside, as also had the door leading into the byre part. Mary Ann had been warned never to lift the latch of the open pen gate, but this warning was not extended to the byre door because even when the byre door was open there was a barricade about a yard’s distance from the door. This was the back structure of what had
at one time been the feeding bins and had been left as an added security against the bull getting out. It had an opening at the end big enough for a man to enter but not big enough for the bull to come through.
Mary Ann, after lifting the wooden latch from the door, entered the byre and, looking over the partition into the dim region beyond, she said, ‘Hallo there, Billy Boy…Come on, scratchy noses.’ When this soft endearment was answered by a low rumbling roar she laughed and said, ‘You in a bad temper, Bill? Come on, and I’ll scratch your nose.’
Apparently Bill was in a bad temper, for he pawed at the straw under his feet and again emitted a dull roar.
As she was once again about to tempt him with endearments a voice from behind her in the yard said, ‘Oh, hallo there, what you up to?’
She turned her head to take in at a glance the, to her mind, underdressed figure of Lorna Johnson, and she answered briefly, ‘I’m talking to Bill.’
‘No accounting for tastes.’ Lorna had taken a step nearer and was now standing in the doorway of the byre.
‘Come on, Bill, come on.’ Mary Ann, her voice low and wheedling, was still persisting with her coaxing, and as she did so she wondered what had got into Bill and at the same time what Lorna Johnson was doing in the farmyard because it was no secret that Lorna didn’t like animals; she was even afraid of cows.
In the next moment Lorna made it clear why she was in the yard, for taking a wary step to Mary Ann’s side she said in a lowered tone, ‘Have you seen Tony about?’
Mary Ann’s eyes flickered sharply upwards to the heavily made-up face, and her tone was flat and curt as she answered, ‘No, I haven’t.’
Lorna gazed steadily down on Mary Ann and then, with a twisted smile breaking the painted moulding of her lips, she said, ‘And you wouldn’t tell me if you had, would you?’
Love and Mary Ann Page 6