by Ray Connolly
‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ I could hear myself shouting, as I ran from the room, from the girl and the baby, and down the steps and out of that house. ‘Jesus Christ.’
Chapter 11
Mothers are a strange breed of people: and mothers with only sons are even stranger. They want their pound of flesh for every hurt done to them, but they also want to forget and forgive as quickly as possible. Thus they trap themselves into extraordinary inconsistencies of temperament, and, equally so, they are extremely easy to manipulate.
Had I thought about it I would have known exactly what to expect from my mother when I turned up at home in the middle of the night. I would have known that she would have disguised her shock at seeing me by complaining that my motor bike was awakening half the neighbourhood. I would have known she would have asked me if I wanted a drink before going to bed, and I would have known that my bed would be made up in expectation of my going home – although I hadn’t been there for over two years. And I would also have known that she would go discreetly to bed to think about the situation before beginning her inevitable harangue upon how I’d let her down.
I could have predicted everything that she did. I never thought about it, because it was of no consequence, but there was never the remotest chance that she wouldn’t want to have me home again. I knew my mother.
The reproaches came the next morning. It was Sunday, and before she began she turned off the radio, presumably that her anger might not be dissipated by the religious service which was being broadcast. I’d slept late, since I’d been riding half the night, but she was up as usual at seven selling Sunday morning papers in the shop. When I got down she put a cup of tea in front of me, poured one for herself and sat down. She hadn’t changed much. Maybe she looked a little tired. That was all. Grandad was lolling in the corner chair, his eyes shut and mouth open. He looked strange, and I sensed from the way she ignored him that something was wrong, but she didn’t mention it.
‘Well,’ she said, and waited. It must have been a question.
‘You must be very proud of yourself! How you’ve the nerve to come back here after two years, I don’t know …’ She was getting into top gear now. ’Selfish. That’s you. Never a thought for how I might be getting on. The odd postcard when you found time to remember that you had a mother. It’s not been easy, you know. Not with the shop and your grandad the way he is …’
I looked at the way grandad was. He didn’t even blink when his name was mentioned, though his eyes were now open. He didn’t move a muscle. It must have been a stroke.
‘How long’s he been like that?’ I asked. Surprisingly I could feel no pity for him. He’d had a useless life, and he seemed determined to end it in the most useless way possible.
‘Six months … not that you’d care. You’ve no idea what it’s been like. Him not knowing whether he’s dead or alive, and me having to feed him and shave him … he’s a lot of work these days. But I never had a husband or son to help me. Well, I managed without your father, and I’ll manage without you.’
Her voice had suddenly risen with temper and emotion, and she stopped talking. I suspected that tears weren’t too far away, but I knew she’d fight them off.
Taking a sip of tea, she started again: ‘Everyone was talking about you, you know. Terry’s done well … he’s at university now …’
‘I know. I saw him …’ I said. I might have said that I’d seen him just a couple of days ago, and that he’d made me look a right twit, but she wasn’t listening anyway.
‘He’s done well … a credit to his parents. And you were always cleverer than him and you know it … but oh, no. Not you …’
And so it went on through Sunday lunch, although her insistence that she didn’t want me back became less convincing, and by the evening, when it was time for me to go out and feed the ducks she had already become reconciled to the idea that her son had returned.
‘But if you did come back,’ she said, as I cleaned out the little duck pond, ‘what would you do, and how could I be sure that you’d stay and not go running off as soon as the fancy took you again?’
If I was going to stay I’d have to take over all grandfather’s chores I thought, and scooped out some dirty water into a bucket. My mother was still talking.
‘You wouldn’t look so bad if you got your hair cut. You could even go to night school. It’s still not too late.’
She never changed.
She got her way with my hair. On the Monday morning I went to the barbers in town and suffered the humiliation of having my sideboards shaved off, and the clippers run round the back of my neck. Still it was a small price to pay to win my mother over to my side again. She never asked much about the fair, although she knew that was what I’d been doing, and she never asked my why I’d suddenly decided to go home after so long. And there was never any way I could tell her. The self disgust I’d felt when I’d discovered that neglected baby was one of the things that I could never have explained to her. A pound-to-a-penny her first question would have been what was I doing going back to some young girl’s room, anyway.
After a few days I’d settled in at home again. I knew my mother wasn’t really in any hurry for me to get a job, so I made myself generally useful around the house doing all the jobs that grandfather had once done. Although she would deny it, I’m sure my mother liked the idea of having a man around again to do all the mending and fixing. And she really didn’t like looking after the hens and ducks.
And to be honest the notion of domesticity began to appeal to me. It was nice to be looked after so well again, after having fended for myself for so long, and I even began to get interested in the shop. Everywhere in town supermarkets were springing up, but our shop hadn’t been modernised for years. I was sure there were things to be done with it. Modernisation was the key to success in business, so I set about re-planning the interior to make it easier for my mother to do the serving, and I even painted a big new sign to be hung outside: we were now to be Maclaine’s Mini Market.
Now all we needed was a van for home deliveries and we’d be really into the big time. Mum wasn’t really sold on the van idea, but I offered to trade in my bike in part exchange for it, and I had a few pounds to help too. Most of my belongings had been left at the fair in my hurry to get away, and I was owed some back pay, but I left a note telling them to give everything to Mike when he got out of hospital. I just didn’t want anything to do with the place ever again. Still I had saved a bit and that would help. All I needed was to find the right van, at the right price.
About a week after I got home I saw Jeannette, Terry’s sister, again. As a schoolgirl I’d never fancied her much, but now there was a tranquillity about her that I’d never come across before. She seemed so contented, and so honest: pretty, and, I think, pure.
I saw her first at the roller rink in town. I hadn’t gone looking for girls, but she was the only person I recognised. She was with another fair girl who I thought I remembered, but I couldn’t be sure. The other one looked the willing sort, but it was Jeannette who attracted me. Maybe it was because she didn’t look the willing sort.
I watched them for a while before deciding what to do. Jeannette clearly was no roller skater, and she never got further than the railings without falling over. At last the other girl left her and I took my opportunity. When I reached her she was sprawling on the floor again.
‘Maybe you’d better sit down for a while,’ I said, picking her up. She looked very embarrassed. I wasn’t sure at first whether she would remember me. But she did.
‘I saw you the other day,’ she said.
‘I didn’t see you.’
‘No. You’d just had your hair cut. I work in the ladies’ salon next door.’
‘Oh.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. She sat down on the steps and I leaned on the railings. She wasn’t like the girls I usually fancied. Normally I went for those who like to put-out a lot, so that you never had any doubts about their intention. Je
annette wasn’t like that. She looked so innocent she was almost like a child. I decided that she must have inherited all the good genes in the family, and Terry all the bad ones.
‘We didn’t know you were coming home.’ Jeannette was trying to make conversation.
‘No. I wasn’t.’ Curious how I could think of so little to say.
‘I came with Jean … you know, Terry’s girl friend. She was at school with me.’
I looked across at the other girl. It seemed inconceivable that a randy looking bird like that was going out with Terry.
‘D’you remember her?’
‘Dunno,’ I said. At this point Jean saw us talking about her and began to skate across to us. As I moved away, she caught my eye. I didn’t want to meet Jean, it seemed the wrong time and place, and I was only interested in Jeannette, so I left them and skated alone around the rink. I knew they’d be talking about me, and now and then I snatched a quick glance across at them. A couple of times Jean looked up at me, letting Jeannette do all the talking, and then giving Jeannette the thumbs-up sign she took off her roller skates and began to walk towards the changing rooms. I skated back to Jeannette.
‘Jean has to go, but I thought I’d stay and do some practising. I think I need it.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I said. And she smiled. And then, giving her a hand-up, we went one-two-three, one-two-three round and round the rink. And we gradually got to know each other better, and grew more confident in each other’s company. And later on I took her home on my bike, and left her at the end of the road she lived in, because she said her parents might not understand.
The next day was a lovely clear March day. A Monday. I’d arranged to collect the van on the Tuesday, so this was to be my last day as a motorcyclist. From tomorrow I’d have to forget that I was pretending to be Marlon Brando in The Wild One. I might as well even stop mumbling. It seemed to me that I ought to celebrate the day in some way, so at lunch-time I telephoned Jeannette at the hairdresser’s where she worked and suggested that she make some excuse and come out for a ride with me.
She didn’t need much encouragement, and we went to a place where Terry and I had gone fishing as little boys. It was a big lake in a valley on the moors, surrounded by trees. It was so tranquil and quiet up there. So peaceful. In a week I’d almost forgotten about the sordidness of the fair.
‘Why did you bring me here today?’ Jeannette was having to run the conversation for us both again.
‘My grandad was busy.’ She half laughed, unsure of whether I was joking.
‘I told them at the salon that I felt sick.’
‘D’you like being a receptionist?’
‘Not much. I wanted to be an air hostess, but I didn’t get accepted.’
So, I thought, you’re a failure at 18. And me, I’m a failure at 20.
Over her shoulder I could see my bike. I’d be sorry to see it go, though it hadn’t been running too well recently. Jeannette saw me looking at it.
‘I never thought it was going to get us here.’
‘It’s going tomorrow. We’re getting a van. It’ll help with the shop.’
‘I never imagined you as a shopkeeper.’
‘Never imagined you as a footballer.’
It was a silly thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Often with Jeannette I found myself saying silly things to cover up awkward moments. There was something about her naivete which robbed me of my confidence. I looked at her lying there on the grass watching me. She looked so pretty and clean I felt ashamed of the way I’d been living. I wondered what she’d do if I kissed her, and whether it would spoil everything for us both. Would she think I was being forward? Had Terry told her anything about me? I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and then moved away again, in confusion, and looked at the swans. She didn’t move, though I could see she was watching me.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and paddle.’ I stood up and looked down on her. She was smiling, and I knew then it was going to be all right. ‘Come on … I’ll race you.’
I picked up the van the next day. It was a little 1954 Ford Anglia, and I had the name MACLAINE’s MINIMARKET painted on to the side panelling, I honestly didn’t know much about vans, but it was virtually the only one in town that I could afford. I got £70 for the bike, added another £22 from my savings, and my mother chipped in £18.
‘With this, mum,’ I said, when I took it home, ‘we’ll move into the big time.’
She looked unconvinced: ‘Well, it’ll probably be very nice for taking your grandad out for drives.’
I wasn’t too sure about that. Grandad wasn’t really fit for anything but sitting and staring into space these days, but Jeannette and I went for some nice drives in the evenings when she’d finished work. My relationship with her was completely different compared to my previous birds. I just didn’t want to touch her. She had to stay as she was. She was different. Sometimes she would ask about the girls I’d known before her, but I wouldn’t talk about it, and I don’t think she really wanted to know. It was better that she didn’t know. I suppose I thought we were in love and it would spoil something, but never having been in love, or loved indeed, before, I wasn’t sure what it would spoil. Anyway, though she offered, I never touched her. I’d left my sexual caperings back on the merry-go-rounds.
Terry came home for Easter in mid-April. Even before he came I knew the Sutcliffe family were definitely not keen on the idea of their Jeannette going out with me, but no sooner was he home than he was sent around to warn me off. Worthy Terry, doing just what his mother told him. He caught me one evening while I was stocktaking in the shop. It was less than two months since he’d taken me to the students’ union.
‘Bugger me,’ he said, coming through the door, and spotting me up some step ladders. I knew what to expect. He was as predictable as the seasons.
‘Didn’t your mum like it then?’ I asked, rubbing my chin. Before coming home he must have shaved his beard off. His mum would have thought he was turning into a drug-addict if she’d seen him with hair on his chin.
He ignored my comment: ‘Nice to see you doing so well,’ he said, looking witheringly round the shop. One up to him, I thought.
‘Licorice or lollipops?’ I said.
‘Why did you come home?’ He was getting straight to the point of his errand.
‘Well, you might like to think that I’d seen the error of my wicked, wicked ways, or that my pride was hurt when you made a right prick out of me in your students’ union, or all kinds of things. But really, the truth is, it was filial affection.’
‘What?’ Terry looked vacant.
‘I wanted to see my mum. I was feeling very prodigal at the time.’
‘What about Jeannette?’ He’d finally said it.
‘What about Little Richard?’
‘My mother doesn’t like you going out with her.’
‘Neither does Little Richard.’
He paused and looked at me, unsure of what to say next.
‘How long a holiday have you got?’ I asked.
‘A month.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I mean for Jean … you know your girl friend. Nice-looking girl there, Terry, you’ve done well. Not bad. Filling out nicely. Very attractive, I’d look after her if I were you.’
I hadn’t made any plans about Jeannette and me up to that point, but Terry’s attitude, and more than that, the disapproval of his family, acted like a spur in my side. I knew I was in love with Jeannette. I must be, I thought. Therefore, we should get married. That would show them all.
I proposed at the pictures during a horror film, and we went straight home afterwards to tell my mum. Jeannette broke the news.
‘Oh well, that’s very nice dear … yes.’ My mother didn’t know what to say. ‘Jim, we have some sherry left over from Christmas. Could you get it?’
I went into the kitchen and found it. When I got back with the gla
sses, the two women were still sitting looking at each other. I couldn’t think why my mother wasn’t more pleased. I would have thought she would be overjoyed to know that I was doing an honourable thing like entering the state of matrimony. I poured them a drink each.
‘Yes well, I think this does call for a little celebration, doesn’t it?’ She looked strangely nervous. ‘It’s a pity grandad can’t understand what’s going on.’
Jeannette looked at me. Something must be wrong. She should have been more excited than this.
‘When … when were you thinking of getting … er … married.’
‘As soon as we can,’ said Jeannette, and I noticed my mother’s jaw set.
‘Oh. I see,’ she said, and sniped a glance at me. So that was it. She thought we had to get married. Fancy a mother thinking that of her son. Fancy her thinking such a thing of me.
‘There’s no hurry, mum. We could wait till next year, it’s just that we want to get married. I mean we don’t have to get married.’ I hardly knew how to say it, but she had to be straightened out about this.
Immediately her face eased: ‘Oh no, of course not.’ Suddenly she started smiling. ‘Well, here’s to a very happy life to both of you. I’m very glad for you.’ And putting her head back she took a large mouthful of sherry.
Jeannette’s parents, however, were less than pleased, and refused totally to accept the fact that she wasn’t pregnant, although apparently Mrs Sutcliffe never asked her outright. The wedding was set for the beginning of June, which meant that Terry, who was the only possible person for best man, had to come home for a weekend from college.
All the way through the wedding preparations Jeannette and I kept very much to ourselves. I wasn’t welcome in the Sutcliffes’ home, and it got a bit overbearing at our house, so we would go out in the van and park somewhere quiet while we discussed all the details. It would have been nice to have had a flat of our own to go to, but we didn’t have enough money saved up, so we were grateful when my mother offered to move out of the front bedroom and let us have her double bed. I didn’t fancy the idea of being stuck with her and grandad for too long, but it would be okay for a while. And besides, Jeannette and my mother got on together beautifully.