Life and Mary Ann

by Catherine Cookson

  Four

  The farm had fallen under a spell of peace. It was like an enchanted place because everybody was happy. Mike sang and joked once more. Lizzie bustled about her house. She cooked more than ever. She took an interest in books that went in for pictures of big houses, and she laughed quite a bit. And Mr Lord seemed to be very pleased with himself these days. He appeared to be floating on a firm cloud of achievement. As for Tony, Tony smiled and laughed and teased Mary Ann; and on occasions took her out for a run in the car. This was a new departure and might account for Mr Lord’s cloud of achievement…Then Michael and Sarah; they were living in a world of their own and enjoying a separate happiness—they were not involved with Corny Boyle.

  This change in the atmosphere as far as Mary Ann and Mike were concerned had been brought about simply by Corny’s letter. Mary Ann had, on the quiet, shown the letter to her da, and Mike had grinned widely and said, ‘Stick to your guns. Don’t let on. Let them go on thinking and planning what they like.’ He had not intimated who ‘they’ were, but she knew he was referring to her mother and Mr Lord. He had added, with a warning lift of his finger, ‘Don’t show that to your mother, mind.’ And looking back at him she had said, ‘As if I would.’ And they had laughed together. But some time later Mike had said to her, ‘I would show that letter to Tony if I was you.’

  ‘To Tony?’

  ‘Yes. It would put things straight in his mind, and he won’t start walking up any garden path.’

  So she had shown the letter to Tony, with the result that after a long moment of looking down at her, with perhaps just a trace of sadness in his expression, he had suddenly punched her playfully, saying, ‘What do you say to playing them at their own game?’ And she knew that here, too, Tony was referring not only to his grandfather but also to her mother, Lizzie, with whom he was on very good terms. But she had asked, ‘What do you mean?’ He didn’t explain fully what he did mean, but said, ‘Well, we needn’t fight, need we, and give them cause for worry? I’ll have to take you out for a run now and again, and to a show. It’ll make the year pass quicker. What about it?’ She had laughed freely for the first time in weeks. Her da was happy again, so was her mother. What did it matter if it was for different reasons? And Tony was nice. She had always liked Tony. As Corny had said, she had always liked Tony. But that wasn’t loving. There was all the difference in the world.

  So everyone, with the exception of Michael and Sarah, began putting on an act.

  It was on the Thursday morning that Mary Ann received a letter from Janice Schofield, asking if she could come up and see her on the Friday evening. During working hours Mary Ann, escaping the keen eyes of Miss Thompson and wishing to show off her typing prowess, wrote Janice a sketchy reply, the gist of which was: Of course, she could come up on the Friday evening.

  Mary Ann had been rather surprised to receive a letter from Janice. At one time during her schooldays, they had been good friends; but Janice had never been close to her like Beatrice Willoughby. Beatrice, to use schoolgirl jargon, was her best friend, and Janice her second best. Janice was nine months older than Mary Ann and had left school more than a year ago, while Mary Ann had just finished in the summer term. Beatrice, on the other hand, was still at school making her way to college…Years ago Mary Ann had thought she, too, would like to go to college, but Corny had changed her mind about this matter, and strangely, when she had put forward her idea of taking up shorthand and typing, there had been little or no objection from any quarter. This, she had reasoned, was because her da had Corny in mind and further education was going to serve no purpose. In fact, it might do Corny a disservice. Her mother’s reaction, she knew, was patterned on Mr Lord’s, and this is where the word ‘strangely’ applied most. For Mr Lord had not gone off the deep end about her proposal to become a secretary.

  Two more years at school and three at college would not have helped Mr Lord’s scheme at all. Five years is a long time when a man is over seventy.

  Mary Ann wondered what Janice wanted to see her about, and she hurried home on the Friday night and changed into her new loose sweater and pleated skirt so as to look her best when Janice arrived. For Mary Ann knew that she would come all dressed up—‘killingly smart’, as their Michael termed it, ‘and smellin’ like a poke of devils’. Janice worked on the cosmetic counter in a large store in Newcastle and undoubtedly this had a lot to do with her choice of perfume.

  Lizzie had lit the fire in the sitting room, and at ten minutes to seven, Mary Ann and Michael went down the road to the bus stop. Michael to meet Sarah, and Mary Ann to meet Janice. But only Sarah alighted from the bus.

  At eight o’clock Mary Ann, accompanied this time by Mike, met the bus again, but still there was no sign of Janice.

  ‘You’d better phone her up,’ said Mike, ‘and find out why she hasn’t put in an appearance.’

  They now had an extension of the phone in the house, and the operator, after trying several times to get Janice’s number, informed Mary Ann that there was no reply. So there was nothing for it but to wait until the next morning and see if there was a letter from her.

  But on the Saturday morning there was no letter from Janice. As always, Mary Ann was in a tear to get to the bus, and she did not phone the Schofields’ until she returned at lunchtime, when once again she was told there was no reply.

  Lizzie said now, ‘Likely their phone’s out of order; you should take a trip over there this afternoon and see her. It’s a lovely day, it will do you good.’

  ‘But it’s such a long way. It’s right outside the town, Mother.’

  ‘Well, it’s just as long for her to come here…Why don’t you ask Tony to run you over? He’s nearly sure to be going into Newcastle this afternoon.’

  Lizzie had her face turned from Mary Ann when she made this proposal, and Mary Ann allowed herself the reaction of raising her eyebrows slightly, but that was all.

  Not for a long time had she asked Tony to take her anywhere, even from the night he had proposed that they, too, should put on an act, she had left the invitations to him. But today, when she did ask him, he expressed delight at the opportunity of running her into Newcastle. He would do more than that, he said. He would take her to the Schofields. He would very much like to see his theatrical partner again. Oh, yes, Mrs S and he should team up.

  He repeated much of this when he called for her, and Mike and Lizzie and he all laughed together, but Mary Ann thought he was overdoing it a bit.

  Lizzie smiled warmly down on Mary Ann as she watched Tony reach over and tuck the car rug around her; she even waved them off as if it was a special occasion.

  They were out on the road going past the cottages when Tony gave Mary Ann a sidelong quizzical glance as he remarked, ‘Everybody’s happy…everybody. For the Lord himself gave his blessing on our excursion before I came out.’

  Tony was referring to his grandfather. And now her laughter joined his. Oh, Tony was nice, he was. He was good fun. She liked him ever so much. For a fleeting second she even wished that she didn’t know Corny. But it was just for a second.

  Mary Ann had not been to the Schofields more than three times during her acquaintance with Janice. But Mrs Schofield had been to the farm many times; in fact, Mary Ann had lost count of Mrs Schofield’s visits during the past few years. The Schofields’ residence—one would be right in calling it that—was an imposing house standing on a piece of land unusually large even for such houses in that select district. You entered the grounds through a long drive, which was bordered by larches. Although the trees were bare they were entwined with the dark, shining green of canes. These, in turn, were laced with dead bramble. The effect was the same as entering a tunnel, although not quite so dark. The gravel of the drive was covered with matted grass and, except for two deep car ruts, appeared like a field track. The front of the house, too, when they came upon it, had the appearance of being buried under masses of undergrowth. It looked as if it was fighting the clematis, climbing roses and Vir
ginia creeper hanging in dead profusion even from its tiles.

  Perhaps it was the unexpected condition of the house that made Tony bring the car to a stop before he reached the front door. He sat with his head bent forward, staring upwards through the windscreen for a moment, before saying, ‘Great Scott! There hasn’t been much work done here for some time, I should say.’

  ‘It wasn’t as bad as this the last time I was here.’ Mary Ann was speaking in a whisper. ‘But that’s nearly two years ago. It was rather nice then. It was summer. Mrs Schofield used to do the garden herself. There’s a beautiful rose garden at the back…Will you wait until I see if they’re in?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Tony brought his gaze round to her. ‘I’ll come in with you for a moment. I meant what I said, I’d like to see her…not Janice.’ He nipped his nose, and they both laughed. Then he added, ‘She’s not a patch on her mother.’

  ‘She’s all right.’ Mary Ann felt bound to defend her friend. ‘You’ve just got to know her.’

  ‘I don’t want to, thank you very much.’

  They were out of the car now and walking towards the front door, which was covered by a glass porch, quite a large porch. They stood for a moment, as people do, hesitating just that second before ringing the bell, and it was as Tony’s hand was uplifted that the yell came to them. Bawl would be more appropriate in describing the sound of the man’s voice. It came from the right, from inside the room to the right of the front door. This room had a large high window, which protruded into the drive with squared sides. Looking through the glass of the porch they were right opposite one side of the window, which was a pane wide but half-covered by a twist of dead stems. The bawl had been in the form of a curse. It was a word that Mary Ann hadn’t heard before, although Mike at times swore freely. And its effect on Tony was to make him bring his startled glance down on her, and then to take her arm and move her quickly back towards the drive. But before they reached the entrance to the porch they had stopped again, and were once more looking towards the window. And there to be seen quite plainly was Mrs Schofield. She was walking backwards into the far corner of the recess, and advancing on her was a man. When Mrs Schofield could go no further the man, too, stopped and his voice came clear and penetrating to them. ‘You would bloody well put up with it and like it, and if you make any more of your highfalutin shows I’ll bring her here…You’re always on about needing help, aren’t you?’

  ‘You can’t do this to me, I’ll…I’ll leave you.’

  The man threw his head back and laughed. ‘That’s what I’ve been wanting you to do for years, but you won’t, will you? You’re afraid of what your dear, dear friends would say. That wonderful, charming Lettice couldn’t hold her man! You wouldn’t like that, would you? Oh, no!’

  ‘I’ll go when I’m ready.’ Mrs Schofield’s voice came to them in trembling tones like those of an old woman; and immediately there followed the man’s voice, saying, ‘You’ll go when…I’m…ready. You’ll stay here until Jan is married. And then I’ll have the great pleasure of escorting you to the door with my foot in your backside…You stuck-up bitch, you!’

  Mary Ann was standing with her hand pressed tightly to her mouth, and as she saw the man’s arm come up she closed her eyes and turned her face towards Tony’s chest. Automatically Tony’s arms went round her shoulders, but he did not look at her, and when the sound of the second blow came to Mary Ann she felt his body jerking as if the man’s fist was hitting him.

  There were footsteps sounding inside the house now, and Tony, loosing his hold on Mary Ann, turned and faced the front door.

  Her fingers still tightly pressed to her mouth, Mary Ann stood looking apprehensively at Tony. She had often seen him in tempers, but she had never seen him look like this. There was not a vestige of colour in his face, it had a bleached look. Even his eyes appeared to be drained of a pigment. She was as frightened at this moment for Tony as ever she had been for Mike. There was going to be a fight. She knew there was going to be a fight; and it would be a terrible fight. Mr Schofield was a big man, as big as her da. She had only met him once and she hadn’t liked him. Tony was tall, but he had no bulk with which to match Mr Schofield. Yet he had something else that perhaps might kill Mr Schofield; it stemmed from the livid passion showing on his face.

  The footsteps had gone, and the door hadn’t opened. A full minute passed before Tony turned his neck stiffly and looked towards her. Then his gaze lifted almost reluctantly towards the window again.

  Mary Ann, too, looked through the window. Mrs Schofield was now sitting in a chair, her face turned into the corner, and she was crying, but no sound reached then. What they did hear was the whirr of a car engine starting up. The next second there shot from the side of the house a Humber Snipe with Mr Schofield at the wheel.

  If Tony’s car had been opposite the front door the man must surely have seen it, but from where it was standing on the far side of the drive underneath the overhanging trees, it must have escaped his notice, for he did not stop. Within seconds, the loud grinding of changing gears told them that he was on the main road.

  Mary Ann was feeling sick. She always felt sick when there was fighting. But this was a different kind of sickness. She was puzzled, bewildered, and absolutely out of her depth. Mrs Schofield was bright and gay, and had a lovely life. That’s what people thought about Mrs Schofield. She was light as thistledown, she was amusing…she amused Mr Lord. This couldn’t be Mrs Schofield; this woman who had backed away across the room and almost whimpered when she talked. Mary Ann had lived in the slums of Jarrow and yet she had never seen a man actually strike a woman. She had heard of Mr and Mrs So-and-So having rows and going for each other, but she had never actually seen them fight; and never once in her life had she seen her da raise his hand to her ma, not even when he was paralytic drunk. ‘What are we going to do?’ She was whispering up to Tony. ‘Oh, poor Mrs Schofield.’ She shook her head and swallowed against the threatening tears.

  When Tony did not answer but kept staring through the window, she asked softly, ‘Shall I ring?’

  ‘No.’ His voice was sharp. ‘She won’t answer.’ He moved from her, out of the porch, onto the drive; and she followed him. And when he stood on the overgrown flowerbed before the window and tapped gently on the pane, she herself was startled, so quick was the jump Mrs Schofield gave from the chair. She watched her stand for some minutes staring in painful amazement through the window at Tony, before screwing her face up, and then burying it in her hands.

  ‘Open the door.’ Tony’s voice was quiet. And when Mrs Schofield only shook her head slowly from side to side, he called louder, ‘Open the door.’

  A few seconds later the front door opened, and Mary Ann, following Tony, saw Mrs Schofield’s back disappearing down the dim hall.

  They were in the room now, and Mrs Schofield was standing looking through the window, and Tony was standing behind her talking to her back. Quietly he said, ‘We saw what happened, so it doesn’t matter. Let me look at your face.’

  ‘No, no, please…and please go away.’

  ‘I’m not going away.’

  Mary Ann noticed he did not say we. And then he went on, ‘How long have you put up with this?’

  ‘Oh, please.’ It was a low, beseeching cry. And when Mrs Schofield’s head drooped, Tony took her gently by the shoulders and turned her around.

  Mary Ann gave a sharp gasp before going to the side of this woman who to her had been the personification of frivolity and lightness. ‘Oh! Mrs Schofield…Oh, I’m sorry! Your poor mouth. Will…shall I get some water?’

  Mrs Schofield’s head was held level now, and although the tears were running down her swelling cheekbone and over her bruised lip, she managed a faint smile as she said, ‘Don’t worry, Mary Ann. It’s all right, it’s all right. Come and sit down.’

  Tony, with his fingers just touching her elbow, led Mrs Schofield to the couch, and when he had seated himself on the edge beside her, with his body
turned fully to her, he asked pointedly, ‘Why do you stand it?’

  As Mary Ann watched Mrs Schofield’s mouth quiver, she wanted to say to Tony, ‘Don’t ask any questions. Can’t you see she’s upset enough,’ but she continued to look at this surprising woman as she moved her eyes slowly about the drawing room. It was as if she were looking at the articles about her with surprise, as if seeing them after a long time. And then she answered him absently with, ‘Why? Yes, why?’ Her head continued to make small pathetic jerks until her eyes came to rest on Tony, and then she said, in that voice that held a peculiar charm for all who heard it, ‘I suppose it’s because I was born here. I was brought up in this house. My whole life has been spent here.’

  ‘Is it worth it?’

  ‘No! No! Oh, no.’

  There was vehemence in the tone now, and as Mrs Schofield went to cover her face once again with her hands, she stopped, and seeming to be becoming fully aware of Mary Ann’s presence, she swallowed and drew in a deep breath, before turning and looking at her and saying, ‘You’ve come to see Janice, I suppose, Mary Ann?’