Pack Up Your Troubles

by Anne Bennett

  ‘Well, how will you manage in the shop without me?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Richard told her. ‘I can go behind the counter you know.’

  Grace’s laughter pealed out and she cried. ‘Richard you can’t. We sell corsets and underclothes. I can just see women buying from you.’

  As Maeve handed him the tea he was grinning at the picture Grace had conjured up and it was as he took the cup from Maeve their eyes met again. Richard had been stunned by the strength of his feelings meeting Grace’s mother for the first time. He recalled Grace saying she took after her mother and she did, but Grace’s beauty was, as yet, immature. Her mother, on the other hand, was lovely and not just for her beauty alone. It was everything about her. He couldn’t remember ever feeling the way he did that moment and he had no idea how to deal with it.

  But Maeve gave him no time to analyse his feelings. She was already silently castigating herself. Brendan had been dead less than two years and might still be alive if she hadn’t taken a hand in it. What was she doing having any sort of feelings for another man? Men would have no place in her life. She was not free. She was bound by guilt.

  She turned her back on Richard deliberately and sternly told herself to stop behaving like a lovesick teenager. But when as he handed her the empty cup he caught her eye yet again, she had the same heart-stopping reaction and this time she couldn’t prevent the crimson flush of embarrassment that reddened her whole face. Grace continued talking to Richard about the shop and Maeve was thankful that she’d noticed nothing amiss. She was glad to let her daughter continue the conversation because her own mouth felt too dry, and she doubted that she could have uttered a word.

  Much, much later, when Maeve lay sleepless in bed, she kept remembering Richard’s face. She wasn’t totally surprised that she dreamt about him, but what did throw her completely was not only how erotic the dream was but, more importantly, how she’d responded. In the cold light of day, it made her face flame to think of it.

  She was angry with herself. The first half-decent man she’d looked at for years and she went all doe-eyed about him. It was ridiculous! But what of him a little voice said? Didn’t he feel the same? Well, if he did, Maeve told herself briskly, he’d have to get over it. She was unavailable and he’d have to realise that. She had a grand family altogether, her elder children in work and the others fine and healthy; money wasn’t plentiful, but it was at least adequate and she had a good friend and neighbour in Elsie. What more did she want?

  But Maeve knew what she wanted, the feel of loving arms around her, longing lips upon her own, the feeling that she was special to someone. But it could never be, and she faced that. She would treat Richard Prendagast with politeness and nothing more. In time, she assured herself he would get the message.

  But when Richard did arrive the next morning, to enquire after Grace, but really to see Maeve again, he was a different person, and that was because he was confronted by two little girls.

  Mary Ann had turned three and a half and her fair hair had darkened as she grew. Her eyes were a hazel colour, like Bridget’s, but Angela, who had just turned four in January, had the dark-brown eyes of her father and brown curly hair. They were both pretty little things, used to plenty of attention from adults, so they watched the visitor come into the house with interest.

  Grace had told them all about Richard Prendagast. She, who’d once said little around the tea table, had spoken more since the day she’d told everyone the strange tale about the man and his mother. They might not have understood the significance of it all, but they knew all about Richard Prendagast. Even their Kevin said the fellow was a grand man and told of how the first time he’d come into the shop, he’d shaken hands with Kevin and said he was delighted to meet a brother of Grace’s.

  These things, as far as the younger children were concerned, marked him down as a nice man. Then at the table the previous evening, their mother said that Richard Prendagast had brought Grace home because she had a cold. Jamie had remarked gloomily that he didn’t think any of the teachers at St Catherine’s would bother to take any of them home even if they fell over in a dead faint, and they’d all laughed. All this the little girls remembered as the man was ushered in by Maeve and they both smiled at him.

  And Richard recoiled. He’d forgotten about the little brother and sisters Grace had told him about. He’d had nothing to do with children since he’d had the letter telling him of the death of his wife and child. He couldn’t handle being around them. Their shrill voices and uninhibited laughter seemed to mock him.

  And now two little children were smiling up at him. He felt his loss as keenly as if it had just happened, and it twisted inside him like a hot knife so that he wanted to cry out against it. Instead, he put on a mask of indifference, the barrier he’d hidden behind for years, and he saw the little girls’ smiles fade and their eyes fill with confusion. He hated himself, but knew that was the only way he had of dealing with his grief.

  Maeve saw the aloof look on his face as he glanced about the room and didn’t connect it with the children; though she thought it odd he’d made them no greeting. She thought he was looking down his nose on where she lived, looking down on all of them, showing plainly that Maeve and her family were not good enough for him. Whatever he might have felt for Maeve was well and truly gone, she realised, and she knew she should have felt relieved. Instead, she was angered by his arrogance. She hated snobs above all other people, but the man before her was Grace’s employer, so she still made him a cup of tea but silently this time, without any pleasant chit-chat and taking care not to look at him, annoyed that he could talk as easily and pleasantly to Grace as he had the previous day. But then she reminded herself Grace was just his employee, and in his eyes of little account, and most of what he said to her daughter, she thought of as patronising and smug.

  Maybe, thought Maeve, he imagined I had designs on him yesterday? Her cheeks felt hot at the very thought. Well he needn’t bother. I don’t want anything to do with him and I’ll soon let him know it.

  Richard knew nothing of Maeve’s thoughts, but he knew Grace was worrying about forfeiting her wages if she were to stay away from work and that was the reason she was badgering him to let her go back before she was better. As his eyes had raked the room earlier, he’d seen the poverty of the place, though not dire poverty such as he’d glimpsed at other places. The children and Maeve and Grace were respectably and decently dressed, obviously adequately nourished, and a fire burned merrily in the grate. But the furnishings were shabby, though the room was clean, and he guessed there was no spare money in the Hogan household.

  So, it was to relieve Grace’s anxiety as much as her mother’s that when he eventually rose to his feet to leave he said to Maeve, ‘I’ll see you’re all right for money, don’t worry. You’ll not lose out because Grace is off sick.’

  Maeve bristled immediately. He could patronise her daughter, she thought, but it wasn’t going to work on her. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she snapped.

  Richard was surprised at her curt tone, but continued. ‘I know Grace’s wages must be important to you. I understand you’re a widow?’

  ‘We manage fine, Mr Prendagast,’ Maeve said sharply. ‘We might not have the fine clothes and car that you have, but we still have our pride, thank God. We have no need of hand-outs or charity either, and I’ll thank you to remember that.’

  Richard wasn’t the only one startled. The little girls looked up from their play and saw Maeve with two high spots of colour on her cheeks. They knew that spelt trouble and when directed at them it was usually followed by a smacked backside. They wondered what the man had done to annoy their mammy so much.

  Grace’s head was bent and tears of shame trickled from her eyes. She was mortified. She couldn’t really believe what she’d heard. For her mammy to speak like that to Richard and him only offering to see them all right!

  Richard recovered first. ‘I assure you I’m not offering handouts or charity.’ His w
ords were deliberately condescending and he went on stiffly, ‘This will be in the nature of sick pay and only what Grace is entitled to. My mother tells me Grace has not had one day off sick since she began at the shop. I just wanted to reassure you. However,’ he continued, ‘I’m obviously taking up too much of your valuable time, so I’ll bid you good day.’

  Maeve opened her mouth, but she knew there was nothing she could say to retrieve the situation so she was silent, and Richard strode across the room and wrenched the door open.

  Grace only waited till it had slammed shut so hard it shuddered before turning anguished tear-filled eyes on her mother. Maeve’s own face was burning with embarrassment and her eyes smarted with tears of anger. Just like people of that type, she thought angrily. Put me down right and proper. Made it look like I was the one at fault.

  She was in no mood for her daughter’s reproach. ‘Oh Mammy.’

  ‘Don’t “Oh Mammy” me, Grace,’ she snapped. ‘The man thinks too much of himself and less than nothing about us. That much is evident.’

  ‘Mammy, he didn’t mean that, you don’t know him, he’s good and kind.’

  ‘Well, you keep your opinions Grace, you have to work with the man, but I’ll keep mine and you’ll not change them,’ Maeve said firmly and Grace said nothing more.

  So when later Elsie asked Maeve what she thought of Amy Overley’s son, Maeve was quick to tell her. ‘Thinks himself above the likes of us,’ she said. ‘An arrogant sod altogether. You’d not like him at all.’

  ‘Grace seems to like him well enough.’

  ‘Well I don’t,’ Maeve said flatly, but Elsie knew there was more to it than she was letting on.

  Richard never came again and Grace wasn’t surprised. Part of Maeve was thankful but, perversely, the other half of her longed to see him again.

  ‘What’s the matter with me?’ she asked herself one day. ‘Haven’t I enough to satisfy any living body?’ And when the answer was a ‘No’, she refused to listen to it, climbed the stairs to her bed alone and told herself she was happy to be that way.

  Grace was soon back at work, at first quite embarrassed to meet Richard again, but with her he was his normal cheerful self and she was glad that he didn’t hold her responsible for the way her mother had spoken to him.

  Richard, in fact, thought he’d had a lucky escape and he thanked God Maeve had shown her true colours before he lost his head altogether, because he couldn’t deny that she’d rekindled emotions in him that he’d thought were buried for ever. It meant nothing. That just meant he was a normal red-blooded male. That was all. Anyway he knew that there could have been no future for him with any woman with young children. He could never have borne it, so perhaps it was better this way.

  Everywhere spring was in the air, everyone was looking forward, and yet Maeve was feeling very despondent and achingly lonely. What she would have done without Matthew she didn’t know. He didn’t know the true reason for Maeve’s lethargy and lack of interest in everything around her, Maeve hardly knew herself, but he was unfailingly patient. He said it was small wonder she felt as she did. Hadn’t she already gone through six years of a bloody and often terrifying war? Then there was the loss of her husband, followed by the worst winter in living memory, and now they’d just gone through another severe winter. Little wonder, he said, that the reaction to all the stress had left her tired and out of sorts.

  Maeve told herself Matthew was probably right. Wasn’t that a more likely explanation than being depressed over a man that surely could mean nothing to her, even if he was seldom out of her thoughts?

  Grace, sensing her mother’s malaise, tried to cheer her up by telling her of the happenings at the shop. Every time Grace mentioned Richard’s name, Maeve’s heart gave a flip yet she forced herself to listen. She heard of the large extension Richard had planned by knocking down two storerooms that were little used. ‘It’s so that we’ll be ready to stock the cheaper chain-store clothes once rationing is over,’ Grace said. ‘At last someone has listened to me.’

  Maeve was pleased her daughter enjoyed her job and that Richard didn’t take any antagonism he might have felt towards her out on her daughter. Then, just two days after Grace had told her about the alterations taking place, she’d come into the house panting and red-faced, having run all the way home. Maeve turned astonished from the stove and Grace threw her arms round her. ‘Mammy, I’ve had a rise,’ she cried, her voice high with excitement. ‘From next week I’ll be earning seventeen and six. Kevin won’t be the only one able to buy you things.’

  ‘We have enough,’ Maeve said. ‘I’m always telling Kevin the same. He’ll be pleased for you though. Now perhaps you’ll be able to go out a time or two with your friends.’

  And when Kevin came round later for his tea, he said he was glad his sister was at last being appreciated. He’d had a rise of his own just a fortnight before bringing his wage to three pounds and ten shillings. It had been his second rise since the death of his father. The first had been to compensate him for the loss of his paper-round money, as he gave up the round, urged by both his mother and Syd, who said he needed his help in the shop, after the dreadful winter of 1947.

  Maeve remembered how excited Kevin had been with his second rise and with reason, for it was quite a phenomenal amount of money for a boy of his age to earn, but like Grace, Kevin saw it only in terms of how much more he could help his mother.

  ‘I have no need of it, son,’ she’d told him.

  ‘Well some day you may have,’ Kevin had said. ‘Put it away.’

  And Maeve did that. After Brendan’s death, the cash box in Elsie’s house was redundant. Any money Maeve had spare now was deposited in the Post Office account she’d opened up.

  ‘Well now,’ Maeve told her two older children round the table that evening, ‘you do plenty for me and I’m grateful, but I’ll not take all your wages. Soon, Angela and Mary Ann will be at school and then I’ll look for a wee job for myself.’ And maybe that will lift me out of the doldrums, she thought to herself.

  Maeve insisted Grace keep five shillings of her wages for herself, which meant for the first time she had money to go to the pictures, or jitterbugging – now often called jiving – with her friends Bernadette and Ruby. Maeve encouraged her to go, reminding her that she’d only be young the once.

  Jiving was still frowned on by most of the older generation but the young people didn’t care. Maeve had no problem with Grace going. She liked to see the young people enjoying themselves. She remembered the restlessness of her own teenage years that had sparked the flight to Birmingham, and she helped Grace find new clothes to wear and adapted those she had already.

  Nylons were the hardest thing to find and very expensive, but Grace was undaunted that she hadn’t got a pair. Instead she would rub gravy browning over her legs and Maeve would draw the line down the back for her with an eyebrow pencil. She would watch her go out, proud of her beautiful daughter, glad she’d managed to put that dreadful night behind her and behave like a normal teenager.

  But Grace was still very interested in her job and once the alterations were completed, she wanted Maeve to come and see how the place had changed. Maeve had never wanted anything less, but Grace was so enthusiastic and insistent that she found herself agreeing to go.

  Almost as soon as Maeve entered the shop, she felt the man’s eyes boring into her and her face grew hot with embarrassment. She tried to forget he was there, as she looked the place over and, almost in spite of herself, she was full of admiration at the transformation of it. She listened to Grace and Miss Overley enthusing over it, and discussing the alterations and the new stock they’d now be able to order.

  But all the time, Maeve was aware of Richard and, though she was uncomfortable, she wondered whether she should apologise to the man for snapping at him that time because she knew he hadn’t deserved it. He’d been more than generous to Grace after all and it wasn’t totally his fault that he thought her home a slum. He couldn’
t help the way he’d been brought up any more than she could.

  But then she wondered if this wouldn’t be just as embarrassing in a way and, anyway, how could she do it without his mother hearing and requiring some sort of explanation? Perhaps, she decided, it would be better to ignore the whole incident and just try to act naturally and be pleasant to the man.

  Richard meanwhile was in a similar dilemma. He still didn’t know what he’d done to offend Grace’s mother, but it didn’t seem that important any more. He had no wish to be on bad terms with her and if that meant apologising, then so be it. It was no big deal to say sorry. He crossed the room towards her and she turned and gave him a smile that quite dazzled him and he just stood there, transfixed for a moment.

  Afterwards, when Maeve analysed it, she could recall nothing of importance that had been said between them that day. But the atmosphere had been charged with emotion; so much so, that Maeve was surprised it hadn’t been apparent to Richard’s mother and her own daughter.

  However, Amy had been aware of something. She’d seen that certain look pass between Maeve Hogan and her son. She wasn’t totally displeased. She’d been worried about Richard’s loneliness for some time. He was a handsome man still, she thought, even allowing for a little bias, and yet he’d shown no interest in any of the opposite sex. What had happened to him had of course been a terrible tragedy, but she knew more than anyone that life had to go on.

  So she’d been delighted at the easy way he was talking to Grace’s mother. Maybe now, she thought, he’ll be able to put the past behind him and find someone with whom to share his life. And with the pride of a mother, she also thought that whoever he chose would be a very lucky girl.

  Grace was just glad that her mammy had got over whatever it was that had made her snap at Richard and maybe now she could mention his name in the house without her mother going all peculiar.

  In fact, Grace was to find that after that day, her mother suddenly became very interested in Richard Prendagast. Grace was unable to tell her much about his background, though, apart from snippets, because Richard seldom talked about himself. Grace could have told her mother that he was always asking about her too, but she didn’t in case her mother wouldn’t like it. Maeve had a thing sometimes about discussing their business with strangers.