‘We’ll have the lights out now,’ said Mr Lord. Then with a little lightness that for him amounted to high gaiety, he said, ‘The show is about to begin.’ There was a murmur of laughter before silence took over in the room. Silence but for the warm burr of the projector.
There were six magazines of slides, and Michael, after slipping in the first set, worked the handle that clicked each picture into focus on the screen, and on each one Mr Lord commented. This was the aeroplane with which he did the trip to New York. That was the hotel in which he stayed…Oh, yes, that Negro had been a porter in the hotel and had proved himself very helpful. On and on it went, thirty-six pictures in the first magazine, thirty-six pictures in the second magazine. And when Michael was about to slip in the third set, Mr Lord stopped him by saying, ‘We won’t have that one as arranged, Michael, let me have the end one next…Yes, the end one.’
There was a few minutes of anticipatory silence while Michael made the changeover, then came the first click. Hardly had the picture lit up the screen but there burst from everyone in the room, perhaps with the exception of Mrs Flannagan and Mr Lord, one name…Corny! For it was Corny. A full-length picture of Corny in a red sweater, tight cream jeans, and a grin on his face that almost split it in two.
Mary Ann’s hands were cupping her face, pressing her cheeks in and her lips out. Her eyes were riveted on the screen. Corny was looking straight at her, smiling his wide grin. Michael did not click away Corny’s face for some minutes. When he did, she recovered her breath and turned with the sound of a laugh in her voice as she cried to the old man, ‘You said you wouldn’t be able to see him…You said it was too far…thousands of miles down the country…Oh, Mr Lord!…’
‘Wait a moment, wait a moment.’ He checked her impetuous thanks with a quick pat on her knee. ‘There are many, many more. Wait a moment.’
The click came again, and there was Corny once more. His figure was shorter now. He was in a sort of gigantic showroom, where cars stretched, it appeared, for miles. It seemed to hold all the cars in the world, and there was Corny standing by one of them, pointing out something to a man.
Mr Lord’s voice penetrated Mary Ann’s mind now saying, ‘He sold that car to that client. He’s doing very well in that department, although he’s only been there a month. Yes, he’s doing very well indeed. We’ll have the next one, Michael.’
They had the next one, and the next, and the next. Corny with this car, and that car. Corny in a great glass office. Corny sitting at the wheel of a car. Then the pictures changed abruptly. First, there was a picture of a house. It was a beautiful house with an open garden. There were two cars standing in the roadway, each looked as big as two English cars put together. There was a number of people sitting on the lawn of the house having tea, and Corny was one of them.
The next picture was of a tennis court. Corny was playing tennis. Mary Ann’s eyes narrowed at the stationary figure on the screen, the racket held ready for a backhand drive. She had never imagined Corny playing tennis. The picture changed again. And there was the blue sea, it was very, very blue, and the edge was trimmed with a high frothy breaker. On the beach there were a number of people, and Corny was among them. They were having a picnic.
‘They are a great family for picnics.’ Mr Lord’s voice broke in on Mary Ann’s thoughts again. ‘They’re always eating out of doors. They have taken to Cornelius and like him very much. America has done him good. He seems to have opened out quite a lot…not so tongue-tied as I remember him…at least, that’s a mistake, I wouldn’t say tongue-tied, brusque would be a better term. Yes…he is not so brusque as he used to be.’
Mary Ann’s fingers were holding the neck of her jumper now. She was looking at Corny in the water. His head was close to that of a girl, the girl she had seen in the front garden of the house. And also on the same side of the net on the tennis court. Although then she had her back to the camera, Mary Ann knew it was the same girl, for she had blonde hair, and although it was tied back it still reached below her waist. Suddenly she hated that hair. Her own hair, although a lovely dark chestnut with a deep shine, only came below her shoulders. She not only hated the fair hair, she hated its owner, but more so in this moment she hated Corny Boyle. And she thought of him as Corny Boyle, not just the familiar Corny.
‘He seems to be having the time of his life.’ This was Mrs Flannagan’s voice coming out of the darkness.
‘Yes, I think he is.’ Mr Lord’s voice was pleasant, and he seemed to be speaking to Mrs Flannagan alone. ‘At least he is getting a broader view of life. His years in America will certainly not be wasted.’
His years…Mary Ann gulped and tried to make it noiseless.
The machine clicked again, and there was Corny playing his beloved instrument. Elbows up, head back, it was as if he was standing in the room before them. But he wasn’t in the room, he was standing on the steps of that house, and there, squatting all round, were that family again. Only there seemed to be more of them this time, for protruding from the edge of the picture were numerous arms and legs. It looked like another party.
‘This was one of their usual get-togethers. Corny and his playing are in great demand.’
There was no answer to Mr Lord’s remark.
The machine clicked, yet again, sharply this time, and there was Corny in a close-up, sitting on the top of a gate, and next to him was the girl with the long fair hair. She was very bonny, beautiful they would call her out there…and Corny and her had their arms round each other.
It was the end of that particular magazine and no-one made any comment whatever until Mr Lord spoke, and directly to Sarah now. ‘Would you like to see more pictures, Sarah?’
It was a few seconds before Sarah said, ‘Yes. Yes, I would…please.’ But there was no enthusiasm in her voice. Sarah was now one of the family and through her own feelings for Michael she could gauge at this moment how Mary Ann felt, and she knew, as surely as did Mary Ann, that the pictures of Corny had been shown for a purpose.
The set of pictures now flicking on and off the screen were dealing with the scenery, and as Mr Flannagan said in a respectful tone, ‘Aye, it’s a grand-lookin’ country. I’ve always had an idea I’d like to go there,’ Mary Ann slid quietly from her chair and went out of the room, and no-one said, ‘Where are you going?’
But it was only a matter of minutes before Mike joined her in the kitchen. He came straight to her where she was standing looking down into the fire. She wasn’t crying, but she nearly did when Mike put his arm around her shoulders and, pulling her tightly to his side, said, ‘The old swine. He’s a bloody scheming old swine, and I’ve got to say it.’
Mary Ann said nothing. And Mike went on, ‘Take no notice of pictures like that. Ten to one he was told to pose for them. Things are done like that, you know. Come on, they’ll say. Come on, huddle up together there, I’m going to take your picture…You know what it’s like, don’t you? We’ve done it ourselves in the garden. You remember when Michael took me and Mrs Schofield and we were laughing our heads off, remember that teatime? Well, anybody seeing that would get the wrong idea, wouldn’t they?’
Still Mary Ann did not answer. She had been hating Mr Lord, she was still hating him. She knew, and her da knew, that he had deliberately brought these snaps to show her that Corny was no longer remembering the North or anyone in it…was no longer remembering her. And the name of Mrs Schofield did not for a moment soften her feelings towards the old man. But as though Mike had picked up her thinking, he said after a moment’s silence, ‘I could have one great big bloody row with him at this minute if it wasn’t for the fact that he’ll have enough to think about in a very short while when Tony spills the beans…Look.’ He turned her round, gripping her with his one hand. ‘I tell you, take no notice of them pictures. You know the old fellow’s always scheming. When he took them he didn’t know that his plans were already down the drain. And if I know Corny Boyle, and I think I know him, he’s not the kind of lad to be swept off his feet by a bunch
of golden locks and two goo-goo eyes.’ Mike gave a little laugh. ‘She had goo-goo eyes, hadn’t she? Not forgetting a big sloppy mouth. Come on…come on, laugh at it. What do you bet? I bet Corny’s back here within the next few months.’
Within the next few months, her da had said. Within the next few months, not this month, or next. The year was nearly up, and next month it would be Christmas again, and Corny had said he would give it a year. But when he said that he hadn’t realised the temptation of promotion, of big money, of a car…if he wanted one…of a girl with long blonde hair whose eyes weren’t goo-goo, and whose mouth was not big and sloppy. Mary Ann didn’t hide the fact from herself that the girl with the long blonde hair was beautiful, by any standards she was beautiful.
‘Look, come on back into the room, and don’t let him see it’s affected you. Keep the old boy guessing, that’s the best way with him. Come on…laugh, smile.’ He stretched her mouth gently with his middle finger and thumb, and when she didn’t respond, he said urgently, ‘Listen to me. Apart from what you feel, what we both feel about this, for it’s made me as mad as a hatter, we don’t want to spoil this day for your mother, do we?…And Sarah. Because Sarah is as near content now as she’ll get until she’s on her legs again. We don’t want to do anything to bust up this day, eh? Come on.’
Side by side they went out of the kitchen, across the hall and quietly into the room again to hear the end of Mrs Flannagan’s comment, ‘He’s a very lucky young man.’ Which told them that there had been more pictures of Corny.
‘I’ll have to put the light on a minute, this one’s stuck,’ said Michael.
As the light went up in the room, and caused them all to blink, Mary Ann found that Mr Lord was looking at her, but his eyes were not blinking. With their penetrating blueness they peered out at her from the wrinkled lids, and there was a question in their depth and Mary Ann, looking back at him, found she could not play up to her father’s request and smile. And the old man, reading the hurt he had dealt her, looked sad for a moment. But only for a moment.
They were all late going to bed. Mary Ann heard the clock strike twelve as her father came up the stairs and made his way to his room. She had been lying for the last half-hour staring at the sloping ceiling, her eyes dry and burning. She hadn’t cried and she told herself she wasn’t going to. She was angry not only with Mr Lord, she was angry with Corny Boyle. She did not believe what her da had said, that Corny had been pushed into posing for these pictures. He might have been the first time, but there had been a dozen or more of him with those people…and that girl was always near him. If he wanted to stay in America then he could; nothing apparently she could say or do could stop him now. He was too far away for her to have any impression on him. But she hated him for wanting to stay in America.
As the muttered, companionable sound of her da, talking to her ma, came to her from their room across the landing, she was enveloped in a wave of self-pity. Of a sudden she felt utterly alone, quite lost, friendless. She had neither Corny Boyle nor Tony. The term ‘falling between two stools’ was certainly right in her case. The burning in her eyes became moist, and now she no longer tried to prevent the hot tears flooding down her face. Turning swiftly, she buried her head in the pillow.
She must have cried for about half an hour, for she felt weary and sick when she turned onto her back again, and continued, through blinking wet lids, to look towards the ceiling. It was at the point where sleep was about to carry her away from her misery that the sound of the telephone bell jangled through the house.
Mary Ann brought her head up from the pillow and listened. She expected to hear the door of her parents’ room being pulled open. After some seconds, when the telephone bell, ringing again, seemed determined to disturb the quiet of the house, she threw back the bedclothes and, getting out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown. She was on the landing when Michael’s door opened, and she whispered across to him, ‘It’s the phone.’
As they went softly, and hurriedly, down the stairs together Michael whispered back at her, ‘I’ll bet something’s happened to me granny.’
Mary Ann felt not a trace of sympathy at the thought of anything happening to her granny, and whispered back, ‘She would pick this time of the night. It’s just like her.’
So sure were they both that they would hear some news of Mrs McMullen that, after switching on the hall light, they exchanged knowing glances as Michael lifted the mouthpiece from the stand on the hall table.
‘Hello?’
The voice that came over the phone was no stranger’s telling them that their granny had been taken ill, but the voice of Mr Lord. He was saying, ‘Oh, is that you, Michael? I thought it might be your father.’
Again they exchanged glances.
‘Is anything the matter, Mr Lord?’
‘No, no, nothing I hope…I just wanted to inquire if your father knew where Tony was going this evening…or last evening. It is now after one o’clock and he’s not in.’
Again the exchange of glances.
‘Your father is not awake, I suppose?’
‘No, no, Mr Lord, or he would have been down. I suppose he’s in a deep sleep, and my mother too, they had rather a hectic day.’ Michael said nothing about his own hectic day, and the excitement that was still depriving him of sleep. He said now, ‘Very likely Tony’s gone to a dance.’
‘To my knowledge, he doesn’t go to dances.’
Michael’s eyebrows went up as his eyes slanted towards Mary Ann’s again, and his lips pressed themselves into a tight line and his expression interpreted the words coming over the wire.
‘Would Mary Ann know where he was likely to be?’
Mary Ann bit on her lip and shook her head at Michael. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Lord.’
‘Haven’t they been going out on a Saturday as usual?’
Again Mary Ann motioned towards Michael, nodding her head this time.
‘Yes…yes, I think so, Mr Lord.’
‘You think so? You’re not sure?’ The voice was loud and the words clipped, and Mary Ann took more of her lower lip into her mouth.
‘Did Tony not tell Ben how late he might be, Mr Lord?’
‘As far as I can gather, no. From the information I have screwed from Ben, it would appear that he hasn’t even seen my grandson since I left the house three weeks ago. I have long suspected Ben to be an idiot, now I have proof of it.’
From this heated remark, Mary Ann knew that Ben was within earshot of the old man. Poor Ben. He’d likely got it in the neck because he hadn’t been able to tell Mr Lord where Tony was. Very likely if he knew about Mrs Schofield he still wouldn’t have told on Tony. The main reason being not so much to protect Tony from the old man’s wrath, but to protect his master from the consequences of that wrath.
‘I shouldn’t worry, Mr Lord. He’s likely gone to a dinner or something.’
There followed a pause so long it would have indicated that Mr Lord had left the phone but for the fact that there hadn’t been the usual click at the other end of the line. The old man’s voice came now, thick and muffled, saying curtly, ‘Thank you. I’m sorry to have got you out of bed. Thank you.’ Now came the click. And Michael put the receiver back on to its rest.
‘Lord! There’ll be a shindy. I wonder what Tony’s up to. He doesn’t dance, does he?’
Mary Ann did not give a reply to this but said, ‘We’d better look in on Sarah and tell her it’s all right.’ Michael nodded and moved towards the front-room door, and after opening it gently and putting his head round, he said, ‘You awake, Sarah?’
He closed the door quietly before turning to Mary Ann. ‘She’s dead to the world. Relief, I suppose.’ And going towards the stairs again he whispered, ‘I wonder what Tony’s up to. Likely he’s got in at a party or something. But I didn’t think parties were in his line.’
‘He’s with Mrs Schofield.’
‘What!’ Michael stopped dead on the stairs. ‘How do you make that out?’
&
nbsp; ‘They’re going to be married.’ There was a trace of bitterness in Mary Ann’s tone.
‘Him and Mrs Schofield? You’re kiddin’.’
‘No, I’m not kidding.’
‘How long have you known this?’
‘Since Friday.’
‘I didn’t even know he was seeing her.’
‘Well, you and me ma and Mr Lord must be the only three people on the Tyne who didn’t know about it.’
Michael watched Mary Ann ascend the stairs in front of him. Then, moving slowly, he followed her. For a moment he felt a deep brotherly concern for her. She was a tantalising, aggravating little madam at times, but she was also an engaging little madam. And she was kind. Look at her with Sarah. And she had indeed been given enough tonight to try the temper of the best, with those pictures of Corny and that blonde. And this, on top of knowing that Tony was going to marry Mrs Schofield…Mrs Schofield, of all people. She seemed old enough to be his mother. Well, perhaps not quite, but too old for him.
On the landing he paused as Mary Ann’s door closed on her, then his eyes were drawn towards his mother’s room. Lord, this was going to be a blow for her. She had set her heart on Tony for Mary Ann as much as the old man had done. There was a balloon going to burst shortly.
Mary Ann, sitting on the edge of her bed, tried not to think of where Tony was at this present moment. He could not have married Mrs Schofield, as the decree had not yet been made absolute, but there was no other place she could think of where he could be, except with her. The young Mary Ann told herself he was wicked, wicked. And she was answered by the Mary Ann against whom life had been thrust wholesalely these past few months, saying, ‘Be your age, it happens…it happens every day. Is he any different?’
Yes, Tony was different. He should be different. Like Corny. Corny was different…He should be different. It appeared to her that because she liked both Corny and Tony, they should be different. When her mind, still clinging to the black and white theory of her upbringing, asked her why people did bad things, she said to herself, and impatiently now, ‘Oh, go to sleep and forget it.’
Life and Mary Ann Page 15