So Long At the Fair

by Jess Foley

  She pushed aside her plate with the uneaten food and picked up her cup. As she raised it to her lips there came a knock at the door. It would be Eddie, she guessed, checking to see whether she had returned safely.

  Moving to the door, she opened it and in the light that spilled out saw not the familiar figure of her brother standing there but a woman.

  ‘Yes . . . ?’ Abbie said.

  The woman did not answer.

  ‘Yes?’ Abbie said again. ‘Can I help you?’

  The other nodded and the nod was not an answer to Abbie’s question but a gesture of affirmation. ‘Yes,’ the woman said and nodded again. ‘Yes, it is you. Oh – Abbie . . .’

  Abbie frowned, perplexed; there was something in the woman’s voice.

  The other spoke again. ‘You don’t know me, do you?’

  A moment of silence passed, then, her knees suddenly weak, Abbie breathed: ‘Mother . . . ? Is it – is it you?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the kitchen Abbie sat and looked at her mother as she drank the tea and picked at the bread and cheese that had been put before her.

  Now, without her cape and bonnet, her mother seemed smaller in height than Abbie remembered. At the same time she appeared heavier; there was a thickness about her chin and throat and about her waist that Abbie could not recall. There was a faint, musty, stale smell about her and she looked so much older too. The rather striking prettiness that Abbie remembered had gone for ever – not only in the coarsening of her features and the lines in her face, but also in the appearance of her skin; the flesh of her cheeks and nose was now covered with a fine mesh of broken veins – like the faces of some of the ale drinkers Abbie had seen standing around outside the pub.

  Her mother’s appearance had altered in other aspects also. Abbie remembered her having always taken great pains with her dress and her hair, but now it looked as if such concerns were things of the past. Her clothes were dirty and worn, her boots dusty and down-at-heel; and her hair, now thinning and greying, was unpinned and uncombed, and hung untidily about her cheeks. Her mother had been thirty-eight years old at the time of her departure. Ten years had passed since that time and they were all reflected in her appearance.

  Elizabeth Morris had said little since her arrival, mostly confining herself to a few monosyllables. Now, though, raising her head from her cup she said, ‘Oh, Abbie – you can’t imagine how relieved I am to see you.’ A pause, and then, ‘I suppose you want to know what I’ve been doing all this time . . .’

  Abbie shook her head. ‘There’s time. For now I think you should rest for a while. And I think I should go and let Eddie know you’re here.’

  ‘He already knows. I called there first. A young woman answered the door. I thought for a minute you’d all moved away.’

  ‘The young woman – that would be Violet, his wife.’

  ‘So I gathered.’ Mrs Morris nodded. ‘Anyway, I asked for him – Eddie – and he came to the door and . . .’ The piece of bread fell from her fingers and she suddenly bent her head, her shoulders shaking while tears ran from her eyes.

  Abbie went to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t cry. Oh, don’t cry.’

  After a minute, a little calmer, her mother went on, ‘He didn’t want to know me. He wouldn’t ask me in.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘So then I asked to see your father – and he told me that he – that he’d died.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please – tell me what happened.’

  While her mother listened in silence, Abbie sat down again and told of Lizzie’s dismissal and their father’s subsequent death on his way back from Trowbridge.

  When she had finished her mother briefly closed her eyes and said, ‘I was not a good wife to your father, Abbie. I wasn’t a good wife to him – nor a good mother to you children.’

  Abbie remained silent. After a few moments her mother brightened a little and said, ‘So – here you are, a grown woman and living in the schoolhouse. The village schoolmistress. Your father would be proud. Mind you, he was a clever man himself.’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  A brief silence, then with a little wondering shake of her head, Mrs Morris said, ‘I can’t get over it – seeing Eddie standing there in the doorway. It was such a – a shock. He’s all grown up now. And married too.’

  Abbie nodded. ‘His wife was one of the Neville girls. They lived on the other side of the green, if you remember.’

  ‘Ah – yes.’ Her mother gave a non-committal nod.

  ‘And they have a baby now,’ Abbie said. ‘Sarah. She was born just last month.’

  ‘Eddie – a father,’ her mother said. ‘Just fancy.’ The corners of her mouth turning down she added, ‘You should have seen his face as he looked at me. It was like stone. He hates me.’

  ‘No,’ Abbie said. ‘He was shocked to see you, that’s all. He’ll be all right in a while, you’ll see.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Her mother did not sound convinced. ‘He didn’t even ask me in. I asked for you then, and he told me where I’d find you.’ She broke into a spate of coughing – a chesty, painful sound. When the spasm had subsided she went on, ‘And what about you? Are you going to send me away?’

  ‘What? No, of course not. How can you ask such a thing?’

  ‘I – I can stay here tonight?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You shall have my bed.’

  ‘Where will you sleep?’

  ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll make up a bed for myself on the sofa.’

  Her mother gave a sad little smile. ‘Thank you. At least you’re still my daughter – aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh – Mother . . .’ At her mother’s side again Abbie bent and put an arm around her shoulders. As she did so she took in the tainted smell of her mother’s breath and fought back a slight feeling of revulsion. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you should get to bed now. You don’t look that well and I should think you could do with a rest.’

  Upstairs, her mother put on one of Abbie’s nightdresses and got into bed. When Abbie had seen her settled, she moved to blow out the candle.

  ‘No,’ her mother said, ‘don’t go just yet. Stay with me for a minute.’

  Abbie sat down on the side of the bed. After a moment or two her mother said, ‘I can’t get over it – you being a teacher. You’ve done well for yourself.’

  Abbie smiled and gave a little shrug.

  ‘And what about the other girls? What are they doing now?’

  Abbie hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘As I told you – Lizzie’s in service. She’s in Lullington now. As lady’s maid to a Mrs Hazeldine. Iris is in service too – working as a kitchen maid at a house in Bath. They’re happy enough, I think.’

  ‘And Beatrice? What about Beatrice?’

  A little moment of silence, then Abbie said, ‘Beatie . . . Beatie is dead.’

  After much weeping Mrs Morris had at last fallen asleep, and Abbie had left her and crept downstairs again. Now, sitting huddled over the stove, getting the last of the heat, she felt drained and too exhausted even to make the effort to make up her bed on the sofa.

  Eventally, however, she stirred herself and went into the parlour. Later, lying awake in the dark room, she thought about her mother’s return. What was going to happen now? What was her mother going to do? And what about her own plans? She had not yet told her mother of her forthcoming marriage. Tomorrow, she said to herself, she must go and talk to Eddie.

  ‘I don’t want to see her,’ Eddie said.

  He sat at the kitchen table of the little house in Green Lane, his face stony, his lips set. Behind him on the settle Violet tended the baby while she listened to the strained conversation.

  ‘But she’s our mother, Eddie,’ Abbie protested. ‘Whatever she’s done she’s still our mother. We can’t forget that.’

  ‘She’s the one who chose to forget it,’ he said. ‘Our mother. Huh. You can look on ’er like that if you want, but I don’t. I can’t. And I never will be able t
o.’

  ‘But she needs looking after. You can’t just pretend she doesn’t exist any more. Besides, she doesn’t look at all well. If you ask me, I think she’s ill.’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ he said shortly. ‘And if she’s sick then let ’er go and find one of ’er fancy men. Let one of them take care of ’er. Where’s Pattison? Maybe ’e’d like to look after ’er.’

  ‘Oh, Eddie, you know very well that that was all over and done with years ago.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ he said, ‘and I don’t doubt there’ve been plenty of others since.’

  ‘Be sensible, Eddie – please.’

  ‘I am being sensible.’

  ‘She’s got to stay somewhere.’

  ‘Let ’er stay with you, then.’

  Abbie sighed. ‘For now she can. But what if the school Board find out and object? They might. There’s no telling with them. And if they kick up a fuss she and I could both find ourselves without anywhere to live.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I’m leaving in the spring – to be married. Have you forgotten that?’

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said, ‘you can take ’er with you. If your Mr Gilmore’s ’ouse is as big as you say there’ll be plenty of room for one more. And I expect she’d like that. A grand ’ouse in London – it’s what she’ve always wanted. She was never satisfied ’ere, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Oh, Eddie, how can I do that – take her to London with me?’

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘No, I just – I can’t.’

  ‘It don’t look like you’ve got any choice. But whatever ’appens, she’s not staying with us.’

  ‘But you’ve got two bedrooms, Eddie. And she could help Violet about the place. She wouldn’t be any trouble, I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ His laugh was a brittle, humourless sound. ‘She wouldn’t be no trouble, you say? She’d never be anything but. She’ve been no trouble for the past ten years because she’ve been out of our sight. And as far as I’m concerned it can stay that way.’

  ‘Eddie – listen –’

  ‘No, you listen,’ he said. ‘She’ve come back because she’ve got nowhere else to go. Now she needs us; she needs us to look after ’er. Well, once there was a time when we needed ’er. And where was she then? She was nowhere to be seen. Where was she when our Lizzie and Iris were so lost without their mam that they didn’t know what to do with theirselves? Where was she when they cried for ’er each night? She was gone off with Pattison. Where was she when Lizzie got the sack? Where was she when Beatie needed her so?’ He swallowed, shook his head and went on angrily, ‘When her children needed her she was not to be found. Well, now the boot’s on the other foot. Whatever you do, our Abbie, is up to you, but I’m tellin’ you that I don’t want ’er back in my life, and that’s that.’ He got up from the table. ‘I’m ’appy enough as things are. I’ve done without a mother for the past ten years and I don’t need one now.’

  ‘You’d see her in the workhouse – is that it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I won’t see ’er anywhere. It don’t matter to me where she goes. I just don’t care.’ He stood up, looked over to the stove and said to Violet, ‘We needs more coal in. I’ll go and get some.’ In another moment he had gone from the room.

  ‘How do you feel about it, Vi?’ Abbie asked, turning to her sister-in-law.

  Violet shrugged, avoiding Abbie’s eyes. ‘It’s up to Eddie what ’appens,’ she said. ‘But if you wants the truth, I wouldn’t exactly jump at the idea of having your mother here with us. I know it’s hard on you, but – well, we’re ’appy as we are. Still – it’s up to Eddie. He makes the decisions.’ Another shrug. ‘Anyway, who knows? He might change his mind after a bit.’

  ‘No, he won’t do that. You know as well as I do that once Eddie’s mind is made up it’ll take the devil himself to make him budge.’

  When Abbie returned to the schoolhouse she found her mother sitting at the window, waiting.

  ‘Did you see him?’ Mrs Morris asked.

  Abbie nodded. ‘Yes, I saw him.’

  ‘He still doesn’t want to see me, does he?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid he doesn’t.’ Then Abbie added, not believing her own words, ‘But wait a while – he’ll come round.’

  Her mother gave a sigh. ‘What’s to become of me, Abbie? I’ve got nowhere to go.’

  ‘You’ll stay with me, Mother, for the time being. There’s nothing else for it. We’ll manage.’

  ‘You were always a good girl.’ Her mother smiled now.

  ‘I won’t be any trouble to you, I swear I won’t.’

  ‘I’m sure of that.’

  Mrs Morris reached out and briefly took Abbie’s hand. The unaccustomed physical contact made Abbie feel awkward.

  ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ her mother said. ‘You won’t see me out on the street, will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I won’t let you down, I promise.’ Mrs Morris released Abbie’s hand, paused, then added, ‘We’ll get on just fine, the two of us.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure we shall.’

  ‘Oh, we shall indeed. You know, Abbie – you and me – we’re alike in many ways.’

  That evening Abbie wrote to Arthur. She told him once again how much she had enjoyed her stay in London and thanked him for his kindness, not only to herself but to Jane. However, she said nothing of her mother’s return. She would tell him of that at a later time. And she would also have to solve the problem of where her mother would live once she had gone up to London. She sighed. No doubt it would all be sorted out in time.

  The following morning she and her mother sat over breakfast, though Mrs Morris seemed to have little appetite.

  ‘Try to eat a little more, Mother,’ Abbie said. ‘You need to get your strength back.’

  ‘I will – in time. I’m just not that hungry right now.’ After a moment’s pause Mrs Morris asked, ‘Aren’t you curious to know what I’ve been doing all this time?’

  ‘Well – yes. But I reckoned you’d tell me when you felt like it.’

  ‘There isn’t a lot to tell.’ Her mother gave a short, staccato laugh. ‘And certainly it’s no tale of glory. But there, I don’t suppose you thought it would be.’ Abbie was silent. Her mother went on, ‘Jack Pattison and I – we went to London. He got work there, but it was nothing to speak of. We didn’t stay together long. The rows started and he soon got fed up and went running back to that mouse of a wife of his. So – I had to look after myself.’

  ‘You – you could have come home again,’ Abbie said.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I could. But there you are – I didn’t. For whatever reason, I stayed. I did various jobs and managed to keep myself, and then – then I met someone else.’

  ‘You mean another man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  Her mother was about to answer, but then checked herself. ‘What does it matter? What do their names matter? They’re all the same.’ She broke off to cough two or three times, then added, ‘Anyway, that lasted a few years, but eventually it ended. Then – I met someone else. Another man. And that lasted for a little time. But it came to an end too. It always does. You can’t put trust in men, Abbie. They always let you down in the end.’ After a pause she smiled and added, ‘You know, I was sure I’d come back to find you married. I’m glad to know you’ve got more sense.’

  Abbie hesitated a second then said, ‘I am to be married, Mother. Come Easter.’ While her mother looked at her in surprise, Abbie continued, ‘His name is Arthur Gilmore. He lives in London.’

  ‘Well, I never. London, eh? So you’ll be leaving here.’

  ‘I’m going up to London to live.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’ There was a slight note of resentment in her mother’s tone. ‘So that means come Easter I’ll be out on the street again.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Abbie said quickly. ‘We’ll get something worked out. You know very well I wouldn’t just
go off and leave you with nowhere to live.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time it’s been done.’

  Abbie found the conversation depressing. She got up from the table and moved to the dresser. ‘I must get off to the post office,’ she said.

  From a drawer she took the letter she had written to Arthur, then reached down from the top shelf the little tin in which she kept her household money. After transferring a little of the cash to her purse she replaced the tin, put on her coat and muffler, her bonnet and her mittens. Her mother remained silent at the table.

  ‘Now, don’t you go worrying yourself, Mother,’ Abbie said. ‘You’ll be all right, I promise.’ She moved to the door. ‘While I’m out I’ll get you something for your cough.’

  As Abbie set out along the lane she thought back to her talk with Eddie. Perhaps his was the answer to the problem. He had spoken in bitterness, but perhaps the only thing was for her mother to go and stay with herself and Arthur in London after their marriage. But what would Arthur think of such an idea? His house was certainly big enough, and surely he wouldn’t see her mother abandoned. She had no doubt that her mother could be happy in such a situation; what Eddie had said was true – a fine home in London was what she had always wanted. Abbie let out a deep sigh, her breath clouding in the cold, crisp air. One thing was sure: their mother had no future with Eddie; whatever happened to her was in the hands of Abbie herself.

  That evening, while Abbie worked at her knitting, her mother took up some of Abbie’s mending. A few minutes later, looking up over her needlework, Mrs Morris asked about Arthur. In reply Abbie told her how they had met, of the work he did and of his house in London.

  A little silence followed, then her mother said hesitantly, ‘Abbie – d’you think that in his house there might be room for me too?’

  ‘Well – we’ll see,’ Abbie said with a smile. ‘I intend to talk to him about it.’

  ‘Well, if he’s as nice as you say he is I’m sure he wouldn’t want to see his wife’s mother end up in the workhouse, would he?’