In Their Mother's Footsteps

by Mary Wood

  ‘Not allowed, now. We all have to make sacrifices. They’ll come, you know – they’ll take you off and confiscate your jam . . .’ His laughter died as the back door opened. Joe stood there, but it was the person who stood behind him that quietened Brendan. Ada’s mouth gaped open.

  ‘I met her walking along the road. I thought it best to bring her around the back.’ Joe’s voice held concern, but before Ada could reply or gather herself, the nasty tone of her sister Beryl cut in.

  ‘By, you didn’t expect me, did you?’ Then, with a sound of triumph, she scoffed. ‘Taken you by surprise, haven’t I, our Ada? Well, I’ve come to make sure you don’t send me lad off to war, like you did your boys. Lovely, they were, you know, Brendan. They were all handsome lads. I loved them, but she killed them off, she did. Then she got him here to kill your dad!’

  ‘Beryl—’

  Brendan cut Joe off from whatever he was going to say. ‘Mother! Don’t say that – it’s not true. I told you: no one forced me to join up; only the government. We all have to join the military. Everyone at the War Office is in uniform.’

  As Ada looked on, unable to speak, she saw Beryl glare at Brendan in a way no mother should look at her son. Beryl’s hair stuck out like a lot of rusty springs. When did it get so wiry? Ada couldn’t think, but the sight of it was nothing compared to Beryl’s eyes. Red-rimmed, they were shot with veins. As young lasses, she and Beryl had resembled each other, with their striking curly, auburn hair and their stunning looks. But now Beryl looked twice Ada’s age; she was thin and scrawny and constantly had sores around her mouth. Looking from Beryl’s face to her clothes, Ada’s heart sank even further, as she took in that her sister was wearing pyjama bottoms, topped with a blouse and cardigan. Holding herself steady, she kept her voice calm.

  ‘What’re you doing here, our Beryl? No one said owt about you coming to visit us.’

  ‘I walked out. I’ve had enough. They are experimenting – using some sort of shock treatment. They said I was next. I’m having none of it. But then you’d know about such treatment, our Ada, with you helping at that place they named after your poor Jimmy.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of such treatments, Beryl, and if you don’t want it—’

  Beryl carried on talking about Jimmy as if Ada hadn’t spoken. ‘Having a place named after him doesn’t make up for him losing his young life, and never will. He’d still be here now, if you’d have stopped him going. She could have, you know, Brendan. She had a letter from the King himself, saying as they wouldn’t ask her to sacrifice another son. But that didn’t stop you. You’re evil, our Ada, evil through and through!’

  Ada felt at a loss. She was cut in half by the hurt this was causing. It was useless arguing against Beryl’s incessant accusations, and she didn’t want to further upset Brendan. Instead she tried to soothe her sister, ignoring her tirade about Jimmy. ‘Come on in and have a cup of tea, lass.’

  ‘Ha! Don’t come Miss Goodie Two-Shoes with me. It’s all an act, Brendan – and you fall for it. She’d like to see the back of me for good. It suits you, our Ada, to keep me locked up in that hole. Well, I’m out now and I ain’t going back.’

  ‘Mother, don’t. None of us wants you in that place, but you’re ill, and they can protect you and make you better.’

  ‘Protect me! From her, you mean? Naw, lad, no one can do that. She stole you from me. Oh, she thinks she’ll get me in the end. She can’t bear the thought that your dad loved me, and not her! He told me so many a time. And we were going to go off, but she found out and stopped him. Then she schemed to get rid of him because, if she couldn’t have him, then no one could.’

  Joe had moved into the room, leaving Beryl standing in the doorway. He tried to intervene. ‘Now, now, Beryl, I’m not standing for that. Poorly or not, you know what you’re saying, and you know it ain’t reet ’an all. Now let’s get you something to eat and drink and you can have a rest, then I’ll take you back to—’

  ‘Naw!’ In one swift movement Beryl pulled something from her handbag. The sun, shining through the doorway, glinted on the blade of a blood-stained knife. Spittle ran down Beryl’s chin as she spat out, ‘Touch me, and I’ll run this through you!’

  ‘Mother, no!’

  ‘Get back, Brendan, you traitor! Take her side against your own ma, would you? Well, you’re naw son of mine, and I’d stick this through you just as gladly as I would the rest of them.’

  A shocked Brendan stepped back as the knife jabbed towards him.

  Fear clenched at Ada. How did Beryl get the knife, and why was it bloodied? Her mind frantic with worry, she sought to find an approach that might work. Perhaps if she admitted all the accusations, instead of denying them? Softening her voice even more than she had done before, Ada uttered a lie in an attempt to placate her sister. ‘Beryl, lass, I’m sorry. I’ve wronged you. I know that. Can’t we start again?’

  For a minute Ada thought this had worked, as Beryl put the knife down on top of the gas stove next to her and opened her bag. But as Ada went to step forward, she grabbed the knife again. ‘Stay there. I’m not taken in by you, you whore!’

  ‘Beryl, please. Please think about what you’re doing. We’re your family. We’re not your enemy. It’s the sickness in your mind that gives you bad thoughts about us. If you were to accept that, and work with those who are trying to make you better, everything would come reet for you.’

  ‘Shut up! Shut the mouth of you, our Ada! You’re trying to wheedle your way out of what you’ve done. Well, you’ll never do that with me. Never!’

  Once more she placed the knife on the stove and delved into her handbag. This time she brought out a box of matches.

  ‘Aye, that’s reet, have a fag, love. It will calm you.’

  ‘These ain’t for no fag. I told you: I’ve had enough of you. All of you. I’ll never get free while I have you all plotting against me.’

  ‘Beryl, what . . . What’re you doing? Be – Beryl!’

  Beryl’s hand had curled around the stove. A hissing sound and the stinking smell of escaping gas wafted over towards Ada. Beryl had turned on the gas ring that wasn’t yet lit. Ada looked in horror from Joe to Brendan. Both stood like statues. In a flash, Beryl pulled a bottle from her bag and smashed it on the stove. The sound of the splintering glass made them all draw back from her.

  Ada stared at the blood dripping from her sister’s fingers. Then her eyes registered the purple-coloured liquid in the well of the stove, running towards the flame under the kettle, as more of it traced a path down the cooker onto the floor.

  Joe realized Beryl’s intentions at exactly the same time as Ada. The two of them moved forward together, both screaming, ‘Noooo. Beryl, NO!’

  The sound of the match striking and the flash of fire were simultaneous. As if breathed out by a demented dragon, the flames shot in all directions. Some ignited Beryl’s sleeve.

  ‘Oh God, Joe, she’s on fire. Help her!’

  Crying out in agony, Beryl stepped back, shutting the door behind her. The sound of the key turning made Ada open her mouth to scream once more at her sister, but a choking, acrid smoke rasped her throat and smarted her eyes, leaving her unable to utter a word.

  Flames licked around the cooker and along the floor, catching the rag rug and then the table – everywhere that the liquid had splashed. Smoke curled up to and along the ceiling. Through rasping coughs, Joe gasped, ‘Oh God, the gas pipe’s melting. If the bottle ignites! Get out, Brendan – get out! Leave Ada to me.’

  Ada, rigid with fear, stared at the blistering skin on her arms, and yet she couldn’t feel any pain. Confused, she looked towards where Joe and Brendan stood, but smoke blocked her vision and she couldn’t speak to let them know where she was.

  Joe’s calming voice came to her, bidding her to move towards him. Edging towards where she thought he was, she banged into something. She tried to grab hold of it as her body became unbalanced, but it crashed to the ground, taking her with it.

  F
lames from the burning rug licked around her legs and caught her skirt. Joe’s shouts, and his coughing and spluttering, penetrated the fog of smoke that wouldn’t let her breathe. She tried to call him, to tell him to get out, but couldn’t.

  Pain ground into her – a searing, agonizing pain – but then it stopped. All feeling had gone, but still she gasped for air. Joe, where’s Joe? My Joe, help me . . . ! Smoke filled her mouth, and a black tunnel – blacker than anything she’d ever seen – sucked her into it. And she felt a peace descend over her. A beautiful peace.

  The blackness turned to light and there in front of her stood her lads: Jimmy, her darling Jimmy, grinning; and Bobby and Jack, just as handsome and looking exactly as they always had. They were smiling at her, too. She floated towards them. Unsure if she was ready to go, Ada looked back. On the kitchen floor she saw her own body. Flames from the burning rug danced around it, and the skin melted and blistered. But somehow it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She had a new body and it was filled with happiness. She just wanted to go to her boys.

  Brendan made it to the hall, praying that Ada and Joe weren’t far behind him. Seeing the door to the parlour, he remembered Aunt Annie. In desperation he tried to open the door, but couldn’t. Then he remembered that the sofa was pushed across it. Oh God, why had he agreed to Aunt Ada and Aunt Annie wanting to block off one of the doors that led to the parlour? They’d said it limited the space in the room, to have two doors leading from it, and he’d manoeuvred the sofa across the hall door for them.

  ‘Annie, Aunt Annie . . .’ Looking back towards the door that led from the hall to the kitchen, he prayed Joe and Ada would come through it, but they didn’t. As he’d left the kitchen he had heard them talking – Joe coaxing, Ada mumbling – but after the crashing sound of a chair falling, he’d heard no more. Smoke was now creeping towards him from beneath the kitchen door. Getting down on all fours, he crawled towards it. Opening the door caused a ball of flame to rush above him, as if from a flame-thrower. Horror gripped him. ‘Aunt Ada, Joe, Aunt Annie! Oh God, no. No!’

  Getting up, he covered his face with his arm and rushed at the boiling inferno, but the heat drove him back. Flames licked the hall ceiling above him. Burning hot pieces of plaster dropped onto him. He had to get out. Oh, Aunt Ada . . . Aunt Ada.

  Outside, he took in a lungful of air. A bout of coughing had him vomiting; huge retches that emptied his stomach.

  Voices, bells, people running – all of it went on around him. Someone must have called the fire brigade.

  ‘’Ere, mate, let’s give you an ’and there.’

  ‘Help them. Help them!’ His voice rasped his scorched throat. Then a thought shot into his mind. Mother, oh God! ‘And . . . my mother, sh-she’s round the back!’

  ‘All right, mate. We’ll see to ’er. ’Ow many in the ’ouse? Were you and your mum the only ones?’

  Staring from smarting eyes at the big fellow who’d asked this, Brendan found he could not say the words. His mouth went slack and wouldn’t work.

  ‘Come on now, young man. You ’ave to ’elp us save anyone still in there.’

  ‘My Aunt Ada and her husband, Joe . . . And my mother!’

  ‘You said your mother was round the back, mate. Come on, try to think straight.’

  ‘Annie. Aunt Annie! She was asleep in the parlour. Help me – help me.’

  Through his shocked, blinding horror, Brendan heard the big fellow shout, ‘John, Fred, get ladders. There’s folk in there, and possibly one around the back.’

  Brendan’s body folded. He slumped to the ground.

  ‘No one could survive this lot, Boss. It’s burning from floor to roof. We’d never get in.’

  As if confirming this statement, a massive explosion blew debris high into the sky, taking the guts out of the house and leaving a gaping hole. Using all his reserves, Brendan crawled away. Bricks and debris hit his back. When it stopped, he let his body go slack and, lying prostrate, allowed the sobs to rack his sore limbs.

  A hand stroked his back. Turning his head, he looked into the face of a female ambulance driver. She didn’t speak, but her hand came into his. He gripped onto it as if it would stop him from drowning in the grief that enveloped him. ‘Th-they’re gone. M-my fam-family. All gone.’

  Her hand patted his and, in a lovely Irish lilt, she asked, ‘Is it that you can stand, or shall I have them bring the stretcher?’

  ‘I – I can stand.’ But as he went to, Brendan’s legs buckled underneath him.

  ‘Bert, would you be bringing the stretcher over quickly. There’s a young man in powerful need of it.’

  A week later Brendan held on to Ginny’s hand as he looked over at his Aunt Eloise, who stood with Rene, her friend. Tears streamed silently down both ladies’ cheeks. Tears for Annie, who’d been nanny to Rene as a child, and maid to her when she was a young woman; and who had been a lifelong friend to them both. They were crying too for his Aunt Ada, their dear friend. The thought crossed his mind that they were crying heartfelt grief, but with dignity.

  His Aunt Edith was the same. Standing on his other side, holding herself stiffly, she looked so tiny. He wanted to put his arms around them all, but ladies of their class would be embarrassed by such a gesture. As for himself, he didn’t know which class he stood in. He’d been brought up with both the upper class and the lower, and loved both, and had been loved and accepted by both. His education had been almost that of an upper-class man, and he’d played with Aunt Edith’s nephews on their huge estate in Leicestershire, and with Lady Eloise’s girls on their estate nearby. None of them were his relatives, of course, but his Aunt Ada had told him it was always good manners to call close friends of hers ‘Aunt’, if they allowed it, rather than stumbling over their title, as if they were strangers. Oh, Aunt Ada. Aunt Ada.

  ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .’

  The sound of the dirt hitting Joe’s coffin bored into Brendan’s pain and elicited a sob from Ginny. He let go of her hand and cradled her to him. Her hair tickled his cheek. It smelled clean and fresh.

  Soon they would lower Ada’s coffin on top of Joe’s. No! No, I can’t stand it, I can’t. ‘No!’

  A hand steadied him, making him realize he’d spoken out loud. Turning, he looked down on Edith. Her expression told him to hold on. Hold on to what? There is nothing. But another sob reminded him that there was something. There was Ginny – and she needed him.

  A few feet away from them, another coffin stood by a gaping hole. Inside were the remains of lovely Aunt Annie. She was another woman who had been in Brendan’s life throughout his growing up – a nanny figure. He couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be for Aunt Rene.

  The handful of earth he’d taken felt cold, damp and rough. Leaning forward, he looked down at the casket. It was smaller than the one underneath it, as Aunt Ada wasn’t very tall. On it there was a gold plate stating, ‘Ada Grinsdale’. Just that: Ada Grinsdale.

  Suddenly he needed to say something. He should have said it at the service, but he hadn’t been able to. Now he knew he could. Taking no heed of protocol, he stood straight. Letting his arm drop from Ginny, he took her hand again. His voice soared, as if rising up towards the sky: ‘Ada Grinsdale, a woman who gave so much for her country: three sons. Three sons killed in the Great War. She was a woman who took in her sister’s child – me – and cared for me, loved me. A woman who was kind and never did any wrong to anyone. Who gathered friends from all walks of life, and who stood by those she loved, no matter what they did. And who, despite what she’s done, would forgive her sister for taking her life and the lives of her much-loved husband, Joe, and her dear friend, Annie. I forgive my mother, too. Not to do so would go against all that my Aunt Ada instilled in me. Rest in peace, Aunt Ada. Rest with your Joe and your boys. I will never forget you. I will strive to make you proud.’

  There was a muffled clapping of gloved hands and he looked over at Edith. Tears tumbled down her face. He couldn’t imagine how she would cope
without his aunt. Others began to join in her clapping, and soon all the mourners and attenders were doing so. They drowned the sound of his handful of earth hitting Aunt Ada’s coffin, but he saw the earth spread out around her name and, at that moment, he saw her smile – her lovely, giggly smile. He smiled back and turned and walked away.

  Sitting down on a bench nearby, Brendan buried his head in his hands. He knew Ginny was sitting near him, but he couldn’t acknowledge her. Already this morning he had attended his mother’s funeral. Beryl had been judged to have murdered four people and had died as a result of her own actions. It appeared that, beside his dear loved ones who were being buried today and whose death Beryl had deliberately caused by the fire, she had stabbed a female kitchen worker to death at the hospital, who had come across her stealing the knife.

  Even though Beryl was mentally ill, there was no condition attached to the murders that stated she was not of sound mind, or that she was unbalanced and didn’t know what she was doing, because it was obvious that she had cunningly planned it all. That was made clear by stealing the knife and a bottle of methylated spirits from a hardware store on her way to their house.

  Along with Ginny and Aunt Edith, there had been one other person at his mother’s funeral. A stranger who had come up to Brendan and introduced himself as his mother’s ex-husband. He’d seemed a decent chap, not at all as Brendan had imagined him, from the things he’d heard. The man’s voice had held kindness as he’d said, ‘I’d like to offer you me condolences, lad. You’re not of me flesh, and you coming into the world changed me life, but I hold nothing against thee. I hope you don’t mind me being here. I wanted to show me respects to Beryl. We had happy times, until I found out about Paddy . . . I take it you know about your father?’

  Brendan had told the stranger that he did know, and added, ‘Mother told me. She was very bitter about it all, but Aunt Ada never spoke ill of any of them. Nor of you.’