‘You don’t like him? You don’t want him?’
Her gaping mouth closed and her eyes lifted in amazement from the pony to Mr Lord’s face, and she cried, ‘Yes, oh yes. But a horse! I never…never…’ She turned her head first one way and saw her mother, and then the other way and saw Mike, exclaiming now, ‘Oh, Ma! Oh, Da!’ at the same time knowing that the use of such familiar terms was no way to repay Mr Lord for his kindness. And as she could think of no words which would express her feelings she just flung herself impetuously at him and reached her arms up round his neck.
‘There now, there now, that’s enough.’ Although he blustered, she knew he was pleased. And as she held on to the pony’s bridle with one hand she held on to him with the other.
They were surrounded now by the company, and Sarah was in the middle of the circle standing close to Mary Ann. Discovering herself looking straight into the eyes of her old enemy, there seemed nothing for it at this particular moment but to smile, and she heard herself saying as if she was talking to one of her best friends, ‘Oh, he’s lovely, and thanks for bringing him. I’ll have to learn to ride. What’s his name?’
‘He hasn’t got one, we just called him Nip ’cos he’s nippy on his legs; but Mr Lord said you’d give him a name yourself.’
‘Yes, yes.’ She did not know what to say next to this new Sarah Flannagan, but she knew what she should have said to show her complete magnanimity when she heard her mother say, ‘You must stay to tea, Sarah.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Shaughnessy, I’d like to.’
‘There you are, you never told me.’ It was their Michael speaking to Sarah now, and everybody listening. ‘I was going to the bus for you. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wasn’t supposed to.’
Michael was looking at Sarah with unveiled admiration; and as Mary Ann thought, Our Michael’s clean gone on her, she found to her surprise that this no longer made her angry.
Whereas Mary Ann was no longer feeling angry, Mike was now having difficulty in suppressing this emotion. For as much as Mr Lord’s gift had delighted Mary Ann it had angered him, and for two reasons. The first being that he always resented the old man giving her lavish presents; the second one was that the old man had forestalled him. For some time now, since Lizzie had first suggested it would be nice if Mary Ann learned to ride at the new school that had opened, an idea had been growing in his mind that it would be nicer still if she had her own pony, and he had thought, ‘I’ll get her one; as soon as she can ride I’ll get her one.’ And now the old man had stepped in before him.
‘Remember what you told me last night, Mike?’
Mike turned his head sharply to look at Tony. The young man was smiling quizzically at him, and now with his voice very low he said, ‘You must practise what you preach, you know.’
On a sudden Mike laughed. He put out his fist and punched Tony, and Tony, looking over Mike’s shoulder, said under his breath, ‘He’s wanting you.’
When Mike turned and looked at Mr Lord over the heads of the crowd the old man, making unusual deference to Mike’s position, said, ‘Will the top field behind the house be all right to put him in, Shaughnessy?’
‘Yes. Yes, that will be quite all right.’
‘Well, you put her up then.’ Mr Lord looked at Mike as if he were asking a favour. He had never been as soft-toned before, to Mike’s knowledge.
Mr Lord was indeed in a good frame of mind this afternoon. The boy had seen sense, and he had just given Mary Ann the present he had been considering for some time and which would give her the opportunity to enjoy the pastime of a young lady. Moreover, he had, by a word to Shaughnessy, got the animal housed in the field behind his house, which would ensure that he saw the child daily; for although she visited him often there were days when he didn’t see her at all. Yes, he was in a very good frame of mind.
With a swing of his arm Mike lifted Mary Ann into the saddle, and when she was seated on what appeared to her the top of the world, so high was she from the ground, she did not look at the pony but straight into Mike’s eyes, and she whispered, ‘Oh, Da!’
Aw well—Mike smiled reassuredly to himself—as he was always saying, it would take a lot to change her. In spite of all her fancy friends it took just a little real emotion to turn him into her da again. With a pat on her knee and directions to Michael, who was at one side of the pony’s head for the sole reason that Sarah was at the other, he sent his daughter on her perilous but triumphant ride down the road and through into the farmyard, which was the shortest way to the field at the top of the hill, and the whole company followed.
Mike was now walking with Mrs Schofield, and Lizzie was a few steps behind accompanied by Bob Quinton. Being the last of the procession, they were just turning into the farmyard when Lizzie stopped, her glance caught by a solitary figure walking along the road. Seeing her hesitate, Bob too turned his gaze along the road, and then his steps jerked to a halt and he stood staring.
Lizzie’s mind was in a whirl. The woman coming towards her was a stranger, she had never seen her in her life before and yet she knew her. She saw immediately that she was extremely smart, one of those women who could afford to dress with the utmost simplicity, in fact the type that was made outstanding by simplicity. Her dress and hat were grey, and her shoes were navy. They were nothing in themselves, there was nothing much about them, and yet it looked as though she had stepped out of a plate-glass window.
‘Hallo, Connie.’ Bob’s voice was low and his face was flushed.
‘Hallo, Bob.’ Connie’s voice was equally low but her face was not flushed, it was extremely white.
‘This—’ Bob’s hand went out to indicate Lizzie and in the second before he said, ‘This is Elizabeth,’ he thought, My God, what a situation! Her to come here and find me with Lizzie, of all people. But in the next second he was in a measure relieved, for Connie, turning towards Lizzie and offering her hand, said, ‘I’ve heard quite a lot about you,’ and there was no double meaning in the remark.
‘I’m glad to meet you.’ Lizzie’s voice was level and showed nothing of the agitation inside of her, but she swallowed and, looking towards the back of the retreating column, said hastily, ‘I’ll call Mike—he’s just gone on with Mrs Schofield.’
‘Schofield? Lettice?’ Now Connie turned to Bob and asked, ‘Is it Lettice? Is she here?’
The red was fading somewhat from Bob’s face and he gave a little smile now as he said, ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
Lizzie, looking from one to the other, put in apologetically, ‘She brought her daughter, she’s one of Mary Ann’s friends…it’s Mary Ann’s birthday party.’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Connie was now looking hard at Lizzie, and after a moment’s hesitation she added, ‘You…you were expecting me?’
There was just a fraction of a pause before Lizzie said, ‘Yes, oh yes…yes, of course.’ Her voice was slightly too loud and she went on now, too rapidly, ‘Will you excuse me just a minute, I’ll have to dash back to the house. I’ve just remembered I’ve left the kettle on for the tea—it’ll be boiled dry.’ Then just as she was about to hurry away she added, ‘If you don’t want to follow the cavalcade come back into the house. I’ll run on, I’ll—I’ll see you in a minute.’
As Lizzie hurried back along the road to a kettle that didn’t need seeing to she felt hot to the roots of her hair. Wait until she got hold of Mary Ann, she would skin her alive, she would; this was too much. And yet—she paused as she pushed open the garden gate and restrained herself from looking back along the road—you never knew what an unexpected meeting like this could bring about. But she shouldn’t have done it; no, she shouldn’t have done it. And now this would mean another one for tea and she hadn’t enough cups. There were already two more than she had bargained for—she had to be prepared for Mr Lord staying to tea, and then there was that Mrs Schofield. She’d have to slip out the back way up to Ben’s and ask him for the loan of some cups …
Connie and Bo
b were standing exactly where Lizzie had left them. Connie’s head was turned to one side and her eyes moved nervously about as she said in a low, strained voice, ‘It’s dreadful, she didn’t expect me.’
‘She didn’t expect me, either.’
‘No?’ Connie’s eyes came round to her husband’s.
‘No.’ Bob wasn’t sure of this, but he knew that if Connie thought he was in the same boat as herself she wouldn’t feel so badly about it. He said now, ‘Who gave you the invitation…Mary Ann?’ His eyebrows moved up as he said the name.
‘Yes, Mary Ann.’
‘She gave me mine, too.’ The corner of his mouth was pulled in. ‘She’s a terrible child, is Mary Ann.’
The wary smile was wiped from Bob’s lips as he saw Connie’s eyes close tightly for a second and her hand press across her lips, and when turning quickly from him she muttered, ‘I can’t stay, make my apologies. Tell them I’ve had to…’ he said rapidly and softly, ‘Connie…Connie, don’t go.’ His hand was on her arm.
‘I…I must; I can’t stay here. It’s…it’s so embarrassing’
‘It needn’t be, Connie. Connie, look at me.’ His hand slipped down her arm until it reached her fingers, and as he clasped them her head fell forward and, the tears streaming down her face, she stammered, ‘This…this is dreadful! I’ll have to go, I must go.’
‘Well, go this way.’ He turned her about and led her in the direction of the house, and when they reached the hall he said softly, ‘Come in here, there’s no-one in here.’
In the front room she dried her eyes while he stood close to her watching the process, and when she murmured, ‘I feel dreadful, barging in like this’, he knew that she was feeling dreadful not because she had barged in, but because of her meeting with him. He, too, was feeling dreadful…ghastly. He said softly, ‘Forget it. Lizzie won’t give it another thought; she’s used to people coming and going.’
‘She’s nice…she’s nice, Bob.’ Connie was now looking at him. ‘Different from what I expected, and—and she is rather beautiful.’
‘Oh, damn Lizzie, look!’ There was a moment during which they stood gazing at each other before his arms went round her and she fell against him, silent, and so, so thankful …
Mike, just within the door of the kitchen, placed the three cups and saucers quietly on the dresser and, turning to Lizzie with wide twinkling eyes and exaggeratingly miming the words he had just heard, he said, ‘Oh, damn Lizzie.’
Lizzie gave him an anything but gentle push before she went silently to the door leading into the hall and quietly closed it. Then, ignoring Bob’s comment on her, she whispered, ‘I’ll skin that one alive.’
‘Why?’ Mike was whispering also.
‘She planned all this, asking them both here today.’
‘Well, hasn’t it worked out? Damn Lizzie. Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘Oh, you!’
Mike grabbed at her arm and she said hastily, ‘Now, now, Mike, stop it. Don’t start any carry-on here, they’re all coming back. And don’t forget Mrs Schofield, she expects you to give her all your attention.’
‘Meow!’ said Mike. Then, aiming at an impression of Bob’s voice, he said, ‘Damn Mrs Schofield!’ whereupon they both laughed softly.
‘I’ll make the tea now,’ said Lizzie, ‘and we’ll get that over. Go and get them in. No, not that way.’ She turned him about and pushed him in the direction of the back door, saying, ‘You haven’t much sense really.’ And to this Mike replied, ‘Well now, you couldn’t expect me to, Liz, havin’ passed it all on to me daughter.’
They were all seated at the table and it was proving a tight squeeze. Connie, now appearing as her suave, cool self, was seated between Mike and Bob, and across the table sat Mrs Schofield between Mr Lord and Tony. Mary Ann, on Mr Lord’s right, had the place of honour at the head of the table, and as she looked down its length over the colourful array of cakes and pyramids of sandwiches mounted with little flags to indicate what they were made of—an idea her mother had got out of a magazine—past the single-tiered birthday cake that dominated the centre of the table and with her name on it, right down the length of the board to where sat their Michael and Sarah Flannagan at the bottom, she thought that in a way it was fitting Sarah Flannagan should be here today to witness her wonderful party. She was seeing her surrounded by all her friends, her posh friends, for they were posh, you only had to listen to their voices; even when they were gabbling as they were doing now, talking and laughing all at once, they still sounded posh. Yes, it was fitting that Sarah had been allowed to witness this triumph. Yet it was strange but Mary Ann knew that she hadn’t the feeling that should accompany this triumph. She knew how one should feel when they were triumphant, she had experienced triumph a number of times in her life, and today she should be over the moon with everything that had happened, because wasn’t everything all right with everybody? With her ma and da. Oh yes, you only had to look at her ma and da to realise they were all right. And hadn’t it worked out all right for Mr Quinton and Mrs Quinton? And Mr Lord and Tony were all right again—that was a very good thing. And then there was that lovely, lovely pony. Oh, that pony. And their Michael was happy and she wasn’t feeling nasty because it was Sarah Flannagan who had brought this about. But in spite of everything there was something missing. It was something that she would not think about, it was pushed to the back of her mind. She could, she knew, tell herself the one thing that was needed to make this day a day of light and wonder, to make this day a really outstanding, happy day, but she wouldn’t say it. She became immersed in the babble of voices, the passing of cups, the handing of plates, the laughter. There was a lot of laughter; even Mr Lord was laughing with his head back and his mouth open. Mrs Schofield had achieved this. Tony was leaning across the table saying something funny to her da because her da’s eyes were twinkling and he was wagging his hand at Tony. Mr Quinton was talking and laughing with Mrs Quinton, and Mrs Quinton was looking at him with a look that told Mary Ann that it had been true what she had said, she liked him very much.
When the babble was at its highest, Roy Connor bent over the table and, looking up to the head of it, shouted, ‘There’s someone at the front door, someone knocking.’ He must have had excellent hearing, for no-one else seemed to have heard the knocking. And Mike called back, ‘Well, let them come in then’, and, raising his voice further, he cried, ‘Come away in there…’
When his granny wanted anyone to enter her house she cried, ‘Come away in there,’ and so Corny, hearing the remembered voice of Mike Shaughnessy calling above the noise from the room, ‘Come away in there’, pushed his trembling limbs forward and obeyed it. He walked from the front door, across the hall to the slightly open door of the kitchen and tentatively pushed it wide before taking one step inside the room.
It would be hard to imagine a more effective means of ensuring silence than Corny’s appearance in the farm kitchen. No-one could have looked more out of place and no-one could have felt more out of place than he did. He had not known what to expect, he hadn’t been able to visualise the party, Mary Ann’s party. The parties they had at Christmas in their house consisted of a sing-song which got louder as the bottles of beer became fewer and which usually ended up in a fight if the whisky flowed too freely. So Corny had not been able to imagine anything like this room, rather this table and the people seated round it, all, without exception, with their eyes fixed on him. It would be true to say that not one person at the table had been able to veil his surprise.
Lizzie was groaning to herself, ‘Dear God. Oh, no…oh, what am I to do?’ But she knew what she had to do, for in the next instance, when Mary Ann cried out on that high joy-filled note, she put her hand out swiftly and stopped her daughter from rising and dashing from the table.
As Lizzie’s hand caught Mary Ann’s arm Mr Lord’s came out on the other side of her, and she glanced from one to the other in surprise and startled indignation, and then looking towards the door she le
t out an agonised ‘Oh!’ for Corny was no longer there.
Then the eyes of Mary Ann, and not only Mary Ann but the whole company, turned to Mike, for, pushing his chair back briskly and rising to his feet, he strode swiftly toward the hall.
When Mike got onto the road Corny was well past the farm gate, and he hailed him, calling, ‘Here a minute. Hi there!’ But Corny took no notice, and when Mike saw the boy’s step was on the verge of a run he sprinted over the distance between them. Coming up to the lad’s side, he smiled easily as he asked, ‘What’s your hurry? Corny, isn’t it, Corny Boyle? You remember me?’
Corny stood confronting Mike now, and after looking him squarely for a moment his eyes swished away and he said, ‘Aye, Aa remember you, Mr Shaughnessy.’
‘Well then, come on, come on back to the house.’
‘No…no, Aa shouldn’t a’ come…Aa knew Aa shouldn’t a’ come.’
‘Why shouldn’t you come? Mary Ann asked you, didn’t she?’
‘Aye, she did, but Aa didn’t think—Aa didn’t think there’d be aall them there, them lads and lasses. An’ that old bloke.’ With a defiant glint in them now Corny brought his eye back to Mike, and Mike, laughing, said, ‘Oh, the old fellow…Mr Lord. Oh, you don’t want to be afraid of him—his bark’s much worse than his bite.’
‘Aa’m not afraid of ’im…Aa’m not afraid of neebody.’ The shoulders went back and the chin out, and Mike, putting out his hand, touched the shoulder that was not much below his own and said quietly, ‘That’s the ticket, lad. As long as you speak the truth and owe no man nowt you needn’t be afraid to face the Queen herself.’
Mike was now answering Corny in his own thick dialect, and when he said in an offhand, easy way as if Corny’s visit was an ordinary one, ‘Come on, let’s get in to tea,’ Corny did not move. But his head drooped and his voice was not so arrogant now as he said, ‘No, thanks aall the same, but Aa wouldn’t get by with them lot. Aa knew Aa shouldn’t a’ come in the forst place, not in these togs anyhow. If it hadda been next week.’ He stopped and his head moved slightly before saying, ‘Me ma’s gettin’ me a new suit next week. She’ gettin’ a thirty pund club and havin’ wor Bob, Harry and me aall rigged oot.’
Love and Mary Ann Page 18