My Mam Shirley

by Julie Shaw

  Since then it had evolved, the various residents adopting the bits of land in front of their houses and creating tiny front gardens, which they’d mostly fenced. This meant the road, such as it had ever been, was now much narrower than it should have been – no more than a track, really, made of cobblestones and dirt – no place for a car, really, snow or no snow.

  She hurried downstairs to see who it might be, going straight into the front room. The gas fire was on three bars, as per usual, and the air was moist and sweltering. Her dad was sat in front of it, busy drying socks, but her mam was stationed over by the window. She had the nets up and was peering out of a circle she’d rubbed from the resulting condensation. It felt and smelt more like a Chinese laundry than a living room.

  Mary turned as Shirley entered, and beckoned her over. ‘It’s a big green car, Shirl,’ she said, ‘and there’s two of ’em in it. Come on. Come and look – but don’t let them see you.’

  Shirley laughed out loud as she walked across to where her mum was stationed. ‘Mam, honestly!’ she said, ‘whoever it is out there, they’re not blind, are they? You’ve got your nose pressed so hard against the window that you’ve nearly put the glass through!’

  She edged her way round so she could join her mum and get a better look at the car that was carefully pulling into the tiny space outside, having presumably gone to the end and turned around first. It was a Triumph Herald; a familiar looking one, as well. One that was indeed owned by people she knew – the blonde beehive gave it away. It was, curiously, Annie and her husband Harry.

  She watched them get out of the car, feeling confused. What on earth were they doing here? They had never visited before. She hadn’t really even registered that Annie knew where she lived. She had no idea why they’d come, but some sixth sense told her to brace herself, and what instinct had started was finished off by getting a better look at her friend; Annie was wearing an expression that gave Shirley a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong. She could see Annie had been crying. And, more tellingly, she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on.

  Shirley looked over at her dad, another instinct immediately kicking in. ‘Dad, please be nice. Please. It’s Keith’s sister and her husband. And I think something’s up. They wouldn’t be round here otherwise. Please, Dad, okay?’

  Raymond tutted as he picked up another pair of wet socks and draped them over the sleeve of his pullover. ‘You’d best go let them in then, hadn’t you?’ he said mildly. ‘I mind my own business, lass. You know that.’

  Mary dropped the net curtain. ‘Of course he’ll be nice, pet. Tell you what, you go let them in while I pop the kettle on, eh? Ooh, I wonder what they’ll think of our little house.’

  Shirley shook her head in disbelief as she hurried into the hall to open the front door. There was obviously some kind of crisis going on and all her mam could think about was showing off. That was so typical of her. But more to the point, what had happened? A jolt of fear gripped her. Was it Keith? Had something bad happened to him? Why wasn’t he here?

  She turned the door handle, visions of accidents or visitations by police flashing across her mind’s eye. He hadn’t got himself into some sort of trouble, had he? The wintry air blew in a chill that entirely matched her anxious mood as she pulled the door open to let Annie and Harry in.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, taking in Annie’s grey face and colourless lips. ‘Come into the warm. What’s going on? What’s happened? I can tell something’s up.’

  Harry, who stood almost 12 inches above his wife, ushered her in front of him and brushed the snow from his hair, revealing the red thatch underneath. He still had one arm draped around Annie’s shoulder protectively and Shirley, her eyes darting around, taking in the details, felt her heart begin thumping in her chest.

  Harry finally spoke. ‘It’s Reggie, Shirley,’ he said, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘Her dad,’ he clarified. ‘Reggie senior. He passed away in the early hours of this morning.’

  Shirley felt her legs start to buckle beneath her. Reggie? Reggie dead? She couldn’t take it in. She put her arms out and grabbed Annie, pulling her close against her, feeling the chilly wetness of the snow, which was clinging to her fur coat. ‘Oh, Annie,’ she cried. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. How did it happen? I mean, I don’t understand. He was fine, wasn’t he? He was fine when I saw him on Thursday. Come on,’ she added, gathering her composure. ‘You’re like ice. Come on both of you, come through to where it’s warm.’

  She led the two of them into the front room and was mightily relieved when her dad stayed in his chair. In fact, his only form of greeting was a simple nod at Harry before returning his attention to his steaming socks.

  Shirley didn’t bother enlightening him or her mam about what Harry had just told her. They’d both have heard clearly enough, after all. Mary was already pulling out chairs from the dinner table at the back of the room, in fact. ‘Here,’ Shirley told Annie and Harry. ‘Sit down while my mam makes you a cup of tea.’

  Annie pulled a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘Thanks, Shirl. I’ll be all right. It’s just the bleeding shock of it, that’s all.’

  Shirley flinched slightly, and glanced at her dad automatically. He wouldn’t have stood for that kind of language on any other occasion, but thankfully he must have decided to let it go.

  ‘Course it’s a shock, Annie! Oh, how’s your mam? And the rest of the family? Oh, Annie, how awful for you all.’

  Harry pulled a packet of Woodbines and a box of matches from his pocket and Shirley cringed as she watched him light two cigarettes and pass one to Annie. She hoped he wouldn’t offer her one. It was bad enough that he dared to light up in their house, let alone thinking what her dad would do if he knew she smoked as well. Hardly daring to meet Harry’s eye in case he thought to offer the pack to her, she was just about to go to the kitchen for something to use for an ashtray when her dad beat her to it.

  ‘Mary!’ he barked, loud enough to make her jump. ‘Bring a plate in for these to use. They’re smoking.’

  Thankfully, he didn’t make the request too pointedly, and if Annie or Harry had noticed the slight edge in his voice neither showed it.

  ‘Ta, love,’ Annie said as Mary quickly slid a saucer in front of her. Then, as it was followed by one of Mary’s best cups and saucers, she looked up and smiled a wonky smile at Shirley. ‘Bleeding hell, Shirley,’ she said, her eyes shiny with unshed tears, ‘I feel like the bloody queen sitting here.’

  The sadness in her voice was a quality new to Shirley, the brimming tears altogether unexpected, given the strength with which she’d seemed to deal with her brother Ronnie’s death. It was probably true what people always said, that it was sympathy that was the killer – the thing that tipped you over when you were just about holding on. Not even 60 yet, Reggie was. It was no age to die. No surprise then that Annie was in a state of shock. But at least she was talking.

  ‘Oh, Mam does love to impress her guests,’ she said, looking pointedly at Mary, whose response was to tell her to go and fetch the custard creams. As if Annie could eat.

  The tea was poured by the time she returned, everyone sipping at theirs daintily, though her dad had remained stationed with his damp socks by the fire, which, as far as Shirley was concerned, was the best place for him. He was obviously as awkward around Annie and Harry as Shirley was about them sitting round her table, and just prayed her mother didn’t try to make any embarrassing small talk.

  ‘So, what happened?’ Shirley asked, placing a hand over Annie’s as she sat down herself. ‘And have you come here to fetch me to Keith?’

  Annie nodded and sniffed. ‘He said he had heartburn or indigestion or something and went off to bed yesterday afternoon. But then, through the night …’ She couldn’t get any further, the tears tipping down over her pale cheeks.

  ‘Got out of bed sometime in the night,’ Harry continued. ‘Collapsed on the floor clutching his chest. Their Joe c
ame and knocked us up to go round about four – said their David had gone to phone for an ambulance.

  ‘They were just loading him into the back when we got there. He was still alive then,’ he added, reaching across to his wife to stroke her arm. ‘He died on the way to St Luke’s.’

  ‘They said he had angina,’ Annie added. ‘I never knew. Me mam never even knew. Massive heart attack, they said. Nothing they could do.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Mary said, rattling her cup back onto its saucer, her choice of words not escaping Shirley’s attention. Her dad would never dare pull her up on her language – only tut. The tea set was blue and white bone china with a pattern of forget-me-nots on it, and Shirley mused momentarily on how funny it was that the prettiest things always came out for fate’s ugliest turns. ‘The poor fellow,’ her mam went on. ‘Mrs Sykes’s husband went like that as well. But, you know, love, it’s not a bad way to go when you think about it. Not for him, at any rate. He wouldn’t have suffered and that’s a comfort at least, isn’t it? How old was he, Annie, love?’

  Annie started to cry harder now. ‘He was only 59.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I think it was all just too much for him. You know …’ she added. ‘What with everything that’s happened down the years. Our family have had too many die. It’s just not fair.’

  Shirley felt tears beginning to collect in her own eyes. Poor Reggie. She’d only just really started to get to know him. She’d loved the way he’d smile at her so conspiratorially. Loved his wicked sense of humour and his banter. She tried to rein in her own thoughts – it was her job to support Annie, not wallow in her own sadness. But when the thought came to her that he’d never get to be a granddad to her and Keith’s little ones, it was all she could do not to sob for him as well. Annie was right. It wasn’t fair at all.

  She stood up and went round to Annie’s side of the table, wrapped her arms round her shoulders and hugged her hard. ‘I’ll go and sort my hair out while you and Harry drink your tea and we’ll get off back to Canterbury, shall we? Keith’ll want me there, won’t he?’

  Annie nodded. ‘That’s why we came. He’s at sixes and sevens. Doesn’t know quite what to do.’ She smiled ruefully as she wiped her wet eyes. ‘Fellas, eh? Our Margaret and Eunice might have arrived by now, too. You’ve not met them yet, have you?’ Shirley shook her head. ‘They live in Preston. So they’re not too far. Our Margaret will know what to do.’

  Shirley was confused. She was sure Keith had told her that their Margaret lived down in Kent. With her husband, Bob – that was it. So many names to keep track of. And … who? She racked her brains, trying to conjure the name up. Ted, that was it. Eunice’s husband was called Ted. And they were older. Closer to her mam and dad’s age than her own. Which was good. Without Reggie she couldn’t quite imagine things. How would Keith’s poor mam cope on her own?

  She hurried upstairs to brush her hair, her heart full, and all thoughts of trying out new styles now vanished.

  Having seen death in the family so recently, Shirley was at least partly prepared, but as Harry drove through the pretty sugar-coated streets to the comparative wasteland of Tamar Street, she felt the same welling of anxiety that she remembered feeling last time. That sense of going into something where there was nothing you could say or do that would make anything better. And when they arrived it felt worse than it had before.

  Without Reggie’s steadying presence, which had been so comforting when they lost Ronnie, it was almost as if supporting bricks had been removed from the walls. There was certainly an impression of everyone wandering around unsteadily – listing, as if on a ship in heavy seas, not knowing who or what to cling to.

  Annie had been right. Keith was floundering – he was quiet and tight-lipped, and when she walked in he didn’t even acknowledge her. Just stood staring out of the front-room window as if he hadn’t even seen her. ‘Are you all right, love?’ Shirley asked him gently, going up to him and touching his arm. ‘Do you want me to do anything?’

  He looked at her blankly. ‘Like what?’

  He corrected himself then, presumably seeing her expression. ‘Thanks, love,’ he said, taking her hand and clutching it towards his chest. ‘But there’s nowt to do.’ He nodded towards the back room where his oldest sister, Margaret, was talking to her mam and the man Shirley decided must be her husband. They had an air of authority about them. Of rolling up their sleeves and getting things done. ‘Our Margaret and Bob will sort everything out,’ he told her. ‘The undertakers and that. The death certificate. She knows how to do all that stuff … Thank goodness,’ he added as they both became aware that whatever they were discussing with Keith’s mam wasn’t going too well.

  In fact, they were arguing. ‘Mother! I won’t take no for an answer and that’s that. Bugger the bloody Punch Bowl. Bugger that bloody job. You shouldn’t be still working up there at your age, in any case.’

  ‘It’s only the odd shift now and again,’ Annie was arguing. ‘Just to keep my hand in. And I like working up there. It gets me out of the house.’

  Keith turned around, clearly feeling that as man of the house he should have some input into what they were debating. Shirley followed him into the back room.

  ‘What’s up, Mam?’ he asked mildly. ‘What’s the problem, our Margaret?’

  His mam turned to him. ‘They want me to go back to Preston with them, Keith. But I can’t.’ She turned back to Margaret and Bob. ‘What about our Joe and David, and Keith here? Not to mention Malcolm,’ she added. ‘He’ll be home again soon, too.’

  Margaret shook her head. ‘Mam, they are all big enough and ugly enough to take care of themselves. Just come for a few weeks after the funeral. That’s all I’m asking. Come and rest. Let us look after you. The lads will be fine.’ She turned to look at Keith then. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you? Course you will. You’re perfectly capable. Tell Mam, Keith. See, Mam?’ she said, not even waiting for Keith to answer. ‘He’s a grown man. Of course he’ll be fine.’

  Shirley bit her tongue and slipped her hand into his. Yes, Keith might be a grown man but what about Joe and David? She looked back to the front room where Keith’s two youngest brothers were sitting, shell shocked, being comforted by Annie and June. They were still children, really. David especially – he was only 14. But it wasn’t for her to say. Margaret had clearly got a bee in her bonnet and perhaps she was right. Perhaps Keith’s mum did need a proper rest. But couldn’t Margaret come to their house for a bit? Or Eunice, perhaps? How hard would that be? They were only in Preston, after all. But perhaps they no more wanted to live with jam jars for cups and candles for light than her own mam or dad would. And perhaps Keith’s mum should have a rest from the grind of it all, too. But what about Keith? What about his needs? Her heart swelled inside her.

  Still Keith said nothing. It fell to Annie senior to speak. ‘Keith, would you, lad?’ she asked him brokenly. ‘Would you really be able to look after yourselves for a bit? Annie an’ June’ll be there for you, of course. And it won’t be for long.’

  Keith said nothing. He just nodded and it hit Shirley suddenly that his lack of an answer wasn’t because he had nothing to say. It was because if he tried to speak he might cry. Which was something he couldn’t do. It was his job to be a man and hold himself together, wasn’t it? So she responded to the tug on her hand by letting his go, and could only look on as he resumed his station by the window.

  Following his progress, and watching the way he stopped to place a gentle hand on David’s head, Shirley thought that she’d never felt quite so sad. His brother gone, his dad gone, and now this – his older sister taking his mam away as well. How on earth was he going to cope? How were they all going to cope? How would they manage for money? With making sure food was on the table? With trying to keep Malcolm from going wild all over the estate once he was home?

  She had no idea. She could only resolve to support the man she loved and trust in the Hudson resilience. In Reggie senior, in fact, and the strength of mind
and spirit that he had hopefully passed on to his son.

  Reggie’s funeral was held the following Friday, and to Shirley it turned out to be a revelation. Having been to Ronnie’s she expected a sombre affair, paying due respect to the departed and to those left behind – a day of reflection, grief and tears. But, as with so much when it came to the Hudsons, this funeral wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

  The first shock had come on the Thursday afternoon when, meeting her from work, Keith announced that they wouldn’t be going home, but to have a drink for his dad up their Annie’s house on Ringwood Road.

  The biggest shock, however, came when she went into Annie’s front room to find that Reggie’s coffin was actually in there, and that when Keith said they were having a drink ‘for’ his dad, what he really should have said was drink ‘with’. Covered in a white sheet, and with glasses and bottles dotted around the top of the coffin, Reggie was indeed in the thick of it. And even more shocking to Shirley was that nobody seemed to find this odd, that they were drinking and chatting and laughing – there was lots of laughing – with a dead body lying in their midst. Even the local Catholic priest from St Joseph’s was there and drinking. She’d never been involved an anything quite so bizarre.

  And it seemed the funeral itself was to follow a similar pattern. Yes, there was an outpouring of grief at the church and the cemetery, where Reggie was buried in the same grave as young Frank, his firstborn, who’d died as a toddler. But what followed, which was the wake, held at Annie and Harry’s, could only be described as a knees-up. There was no less partying and drunken dancing than was seen in the Lister’s on a regular Saturday night. Was this what they meant by giving a person a ‘good send-off’?