Across a Summer Sea

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘Don’t cry, Nora. It’s all over now, let’s forget it. You’ve grown up a bit and learned a hard lesson.’

  ‘I ’ave indeed. I . . . I’m courting properly now.’

  ‘Really?’ Mary had asked but without much interest.

  Nora had brightened up. ‘A lad I met at work. Billy ’Ardcastle, ’e lives in Sylvester Street and me mam likes ’im.’

  ‘I’m glad, Nora. Now, I’ll have to get on with my work.’

  Thankful that the dreaded interview was over, Nora had flashed her a smile and nearly run from the room.

  Mary had stared after her. What did it all matter now, she’d thought miserably? What would have been the point of screaming at the girl? She had enough to worry about: the behaviour of the children and the hospital visiting for a start, and she didn’t know which she was more concerned and depressed about.

  She had known there would be trouble over that damned catapult and it had come in a variety of forms. Tommy seemed to have lost all the sense of responsibility he’d acquired over the last months, and reverted to his former wild ways. The last escapade - using the local constable’s helmet as a target, a heinous crime - had resulted in a visit by the police. When she’d tackled him, he’d been defiant and as usual had blamed the whole idea on Georgie Price. At her wits’ end, she’d dragged him forcibly to Bert and Hetty Price.

  ‘Hetty, I know you meant well but those damned catapults have got to go! I’ve had the police on the doorstep threatening the reformatory and I’m inclined to let them take him there! He’s blaming Georgie but I think it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.’

  Bert was fuming. ‘I bloody told you, Hetty! I said it was the stupidest thing you’d ever done!’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, blame me! You never take an interest in the lad, you’re too busy with the Brewery and your flaming betting! More interested in the horses than your own son. Well, that’s the end of me having Winkie Owens forever hanging around the back door waiting to be “running” with your flaming bets!’

  ‘Talk like that, Hetty, will have me carted off in front of the bloody Stipendiary Magistrate and then where will you be?’ Bert had roared, furious at both his wife’s blatant indiscretion and her outright censure.

  ‘Oh, stop it both of you! What are we going to do about these two? Meladdo here is out and out insolent,’ Mary had cried, losing patience.

  ‘Give me the bloody catapult and, Hetty, go and get both our Georgie and his catapult.’ Bert had held out his hand to Tommy.

  Sullenly the lad passed it over.

  ‘Now you listen to me, Tommy McGann, your da is in a bad way and your mam has enough on her plate. If there’s any more of this behaviour I’ll take my belt off to both you and our Georgie! Do you hear me? You’re getting off light this time, but it’s only for your mam’s sake. Put a foot wrong again and by God you’ll regret it!’

  ‘I didn’t want to come back here! It’s all her fault! I hate it here!’ Tommy had cried unrepentantly.

  ‘Well, you’re here and there’s nothing to be done about it, so bloody well behave!’ Bert had roared. That had shut Tommy up, but her son’s behaviour had both shaken and upset Mary.

  When she thought of Katie, she sighed. The child seemed to have withdrawn into herself. She was unhappy but she wasn’t defiant, just silently reproachful. Mary often caught her looking at her with an expression of mute misery on her face. Oh, she knew how Katie felt. Her own existence was utterly miserable too, and that’s all it was - an existence.

  But it was Lizzie who worried her most. The child had gone backwards. Mary tried hard to keep communicating with Lizzie in the way Richard had taught her to but she had very little time to spare and the child was uncooperative. None of the neighbours or the other children in the street understood Lizzie’s strange way of ‘speaking’ and some of the kids even mocked and jeered at her. That broke Mary’s heart and at the same time filled her with fury at their cruelty, but apart from soundly boxing their ears whenever she caught them tormenting Lizzie, there was very little she could do. The effect on Lizzie had been devastating. She had stopped making an effort at anything. She refused to go to school. There had been too many mornings when Katie had dragged her from the house and then brought her back and in the end Mary had given in and let her stay at home. It hadn’t helped much. Lizzie refused to do even the simplest things, like dressing herself or fastening up her boots.

  ‘Ah, leave her, Mary, she’ll sort herself out. It’s even harder for her, she doesn’t understand anything,’ Nellie had advised, but it all added to Mary’s constant worries.

  And then there was Frank. Dutifully she went to the hospital every night and every night it was the same. He would refuse to speak to her, and then when he did it was with such bitterness, such vicious words that it was very hard to take and she frequently left in tears and cried herself to sleep.

  Those early days were almost impossible to get through, but the nights were far, far worse. In the long hours of darkness even though she was exhausted sleep eluded her and there were times when she was so close to despair, so close to forgetting the vows she’d made that she was ready to pack up and return to Ireland and to Richard. But when dawn came she always pulled herself together and faced whatever the day brought.

  Four weeks later the day came when she was informed that Frank would be discharged at the end of the week. Alfie Phelps, Bert Price and Fred Jones moved the bed she’d bought into the downstairs front room that Maggie had used. Maggie would now share one of the upstairs bedrooms with Lizzie while she and Katie would have the other. She’d also bought a narrow pallet bed for Tommy and this was to be made up in the room where his father would spend most of his days. If Mary was needed in the night, Tommy would go up for her. It was not an arrangement that met with her son’s approval and there had been another argument, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the same room as Frank, she told Maggie vehemently. She would do anything that needed to be done, except that.

  ‘He hates me, Maggie! He really does and I won’t humiliate myself by lying in the same room as him.’

  Maggie had nodded her agreement. She, more than anyone, realised just how Mary was suffering. She watched her day in and day out.

  Mary had bought a pile of sheets and towels from Uncle’s and had taken Frank’s good suit, his boots and his overcoat to the pawnbroker’s.

  ‘He’ll have no use for them now, Maggie,’ she’d explained after Maggie had queried what she was doing.

  They were bringing him back in an ambulance and she’d given the house a clean, made some thick pea and ham soup and had made up the bed. She looked around the room with some satisfaction. Fred Jones had whitewashed the walls and she’d made it as neat as possible. The cotton lace curtain at the window was pristine and there was a pair of blue draw curtains that Hetty had given her, along with some new oilcloth for the floor and a clean rag rug to the right of the bed. On the small chest beside the bed was a small jug and a glass for water. There were pillows so he could be propped up if he felt like it and a clean if rather faded patchwork quilt covered the sheets. She’d bought a picture for the wall and a couple of second-hand books. She was trying to make him comfortable.

  The children had all been instructed to be clean and tidy and to wait in the kitchen to welcome him.

  ‘What are we supposed to say to him, Mam?’ Katie asked fearfully.

  ‘Tell him you’re glad to see him,’ Mary replied with false cheerfulness, her heart sinking at the sight of their faces and the apprehensive look Katie shot at her brother.

  ‘I don’t think Lizzie understands, Mam,’ Katie added hesitantly.

  Mary sighed. ‘I think she does. I want no tantrums,’ she said firmly, thinking of Lizzie’s recent displays of temper, which had included the child throwing the nearest thing to her hand either on the floor or against the wall. She had been reduced to slapping her, but it had had little effect on Lizzie.

  ‘The ambulance has just
turned into the street, Mary, luv!’ Maggie cried from the front step where she’d been keeping watch.

  Mary patted her hair to make sure it was tidy and smoothed down her clean apron. Whatever else he might say, he could not accuse her of not having the place decent for him.

  ‘Here he is, missus, safely home. Where do you want him?’ one of the ambulance men asked cheerfully as Frank was carried in on a stretcher.

  ‘In here please. The front room.’

  ‘It’s the parlour for you, no less, mate!’ the man joked.

  Frank made no comment.

  ‘Wait. Please, could you wait a minute? The children would like to see him. It’s been such a long time since they have,’ Mary asked and Maggie ushered them out from the kitchen.

  They squeezed into the narrow lobby beside the stretcher.

  ‘Hello, Da,’ Tommy said, rather ungraciously.

  Katie bravely bent to kiss her father’s cheek but he turned his head away from her.

  ‘Don’t worry, luv. It’s all a bit much for him. Tiring, like. Bring them in when we’ve got him settled,’ the other man said quietly, seeing the look of pain in Mary’s face and the hurt mirrored in Katie’s.

  Maggie shepherded them back into the kitchen.

  Mary fussed around as they lifted him from the stretcher and into the bed.

  ‘Isn’t this great? Very nice and cosy and you’ve everything here you need. I bet it’s good to be home at last.’

  Mary smiled. They were trying so hard to raise Frank’s spirits but she caught the pitying glances that passed between them as he said nothing and closed his eyes.

  ‘Let him sleep for a bit, luv.’

  ‘I will. Thank you, you’ve been very kind. We’ll be . . . fine now.’

  ‘All part of the service, luv. Well, we’ll be off now. Good luck to you, you’re going to need it.’

  ‘I know,’ she answered sadly.

  They had their meal and twice Mary went in to check that he was all right. Both times he was asleep, or at least he gave the appearance of being so.

  ‘I wouldn’t bother sending the kids in, Mary. Not tonight,’ Maggie advised as they washed the dishes. ‘Give them a chance to get used to it.’

  ‘Tommy will have to go in later to sleep.’

  ‘Aye, he will, but Frank might be in a better mood by then.’

  Mary nodded. He might - but would Tommy?

  Later on some of the men and their wives came in to see him.

  ‘I’ve brought him a couple of bottles of stout. It’s supposed to be a good tonic,’ Bert Price said, deliberately forgetting that he’d barred Frank McGann from his pub on many occasions.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of a tonic like that!’ Alfie Phelps joked.

  ‘You wouldn’t mind anythin’ that comes out of a bottle! Tonic or not!’ Queenie said scathingly to her husband.

  ‘And I thank God I’m not in such a state to need that kind of a tonic,’ Fred Jones added. ‘Right, go in and tell him he’s got visitors and see he’s decent, Mary!’ he added.

  Frank opened his eyes as she came into the room. She had made an effort, he grudgingly admitted. He had far more comforts than he’d previously had but the knowledge didn’t make him any happier. He was still going to be totally dependent on her and it was a bitter thought.

  ‘Frank, you’re awake. Fred and Alfie and Bert have come to see you. Shall I prop you up on the pillows?’

  ‘What the hell do they want?’

  ‘Frank, they care about you! It’s very good of them,’ she answered, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Regardless of his agreement or not she heaved him up in the bed and arranged the pillows. ‘There, that’s better. I’m sure you’ll feel better for a bit of company and Bert’s brought you a couple of bottles of stout.’

  ‘Has he now? He’s changed his tune. The last time I saw him he showed me the door!’

  Mary said nothing. She was determined that there would be no angry words between them tonight.

  ‘Well, it’s great ter see yer home, Frank!’ Alfie Phelps said jovially, although he was shocked by Frank’s appearance.

  ‘I’ve brought you a couple of bottles of stout, mate, it’s supposed to be a good tonic,’ Bert Price said, placing the bottles on the chest.

  ‘Thanks.’ Frank’s tone was barely civil.

  ‘So, how are you feeling now?’ Fred asked.

  ‘How do you think I’m bloody well feeling? How would you feel if you were me?’

  The men exchanged glances.

  ‘Jesus! Frank, there’s no need to bite me head off!’

  ‘We’re just concerned, like,’ Bert intervened. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘How’s a man supposed to feel when he knows he can’t walk, can’t do a bloody thing for himself without the help of his bloody wife? Can’t work and support his family? Where’s his pride and self-respect, you tell me that?’

  ‘ ’E’s bloody bitter!’ Alfie muttered to Fred.

  ‘I’m not effing well deaf as well, Alfie! I heard that!’

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ! Yer can’t say a bloody thing right!’ Alfie was losing his patience.

  Fred tried to calm the situation. ‘You know, Frank, it needn’t be all bad. There was a feller that worked with me a few years ago - you remember him, Bert? Harry Nicholson, lives down the end of Burlington Street. He was crippled in an accident with a bolting horse. He’s sort of come to terms with it. Thinks the world of his wife, says it’s brought them closer together and his kids love the bones of him, will do anything for him.’

  ‘I remember him. He sits outside all day in the good weather, laughing and chatting to everyone. Even the kids chuck him the ball now and then when they’re playing in the street. You see, Frank, you can sort of get over it,’ Bert urged.

  ‘GET OVER IT! GET OVER IT! I’d sooner be dead than like . . . this! And don’t think anyone’s going to sit me in a chair and stick me out in the street all day to be pointed at and sniggered about!’

  Bert lost his temper. ‘Well, if that’s the attitude you’re going to take don’t expect people to come visiting you! You’d do well to stop wallowing in bloody self-pity and think about poor Mary and what she’s going to have to put up with and what she’s given up!’

  Frank turned his head away from them. ‘I don’t want to hear about poor Mary! It’s poor bloody me!’

  Bert shrugged. It was useless trying to talk to Frank McGann.

  ‘So, luv, ’ow is ’e really?’ Queenie asked when the men had all trooped into the front room and the women had seated themselves, making the tiny kitchen look crowded.

  Mary put the kettle on but shook her head. ‘Badtempered and ungrateful.’

  ‘Turned his head away when Katie tried to kiss him, I ask you!’ Maggie muttered.

  Queenie tutted.

  ‘It’ll take time, Mary, fer ’im ter get used ter it,’ Bella added.

  ‘If he ever does,’ Nellie said darkly.

  When they’d all left with much shaking of heads by the men and a few muttered comments about how you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy, Mary cleared up the kitchen, sending Maggie to bed ahead of her.

  ‘You go on up, I’ll have to go in and see to him. Tommy, luv, get yourself ready for bed and I’ll call you when I’ve got your da settled for the night.’

  The lad made no reply. Life was very bleak these days and looked as if it was going to get worse.

  To her dismay and embarrassment she had to change both Frank and the bed, tasks that were completed in utter silence on both their parts. After she’d put the soiled linen into buckets of cold water to soak she went back to him. ‘Have you everything you need for the night?’

  He looked at the other unoccupied bed and then at her. ‘You’re leaving me here on my own for the night?’

  ‘No. Tommy is going to sleep in here with you. If you need me, wake him and he’ll come up for me,’ she answered, putting the glass she’d half filled with water within his reach
on the top of the chest.

  ‘So, you can’t stand to sleep in the same room as me?’

  She took a deep breath. She was still resolved not to have an argument, not tonight. ‘Frank, I have my pride. I will do everything else, but I won’t share a bedroom with you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I suppose I’m so disgusting that it offends your new polite notions! Or is it because with me just a few feet away you won’t be able to dream in peace about all the fancy fellers you’ve had since you left?’

  Her patience snapped and she rounded on him. ‘Since I left! I left! You threw me out! You threw us all out! How dare you accuse me of having “fancy fellers”! I’ve never been unfaithful to you and I’m not likely to be now either. I worked to keep us all and I had a good job, as well you know, and if I’ve got “polite notions” it’s because I worked for a “polite” man. A good, kind, sympathetic, caring man, which is something you never were and never will be! I’ll send Tommy in. Goodnight.’

  She tried not to slam the door behind her. Once outside, she leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. She’d not meant to shout at him like that on his first night back but he knew nothing, nothing of just what she’d given up for him and he didn’t care either. He was obviously intent on continuing to make her suffer.

  The weeks passed but Frank’s temper didn’t improve; he became more and more steeped in self-pity. Thanks to Mary’s care he became physically stronger but it didn’t seem to make him the slightest bit more optimistic about the future.

  She always tried to keep her temper with him but there were times when she just had to walk out and leave him or she felt she would explode. Things were bad enough without there being continuous screaming rows which would only upset the children even more, to say nothing of herself.

  One Saturday, after she’d slept very badly, she awoke with a dull throbbing over her right temple, which she prayed wouldn’t develop into a splitting headache.