‘She’ll be fine,’ said the man, placing his stethoscope in the brown leather bag. ‘It’s something we don’t know a lot about, a mild type of epilepsy.’
Molly staggered back, her face as pale as her daughter’s. ‘Fits? My Daisy’s never had a fit in her life.’
The doctor placed a steadying arm around Molly’s shoulders. ‘They’re not real fits, love, not the sort to leave her thrashing and foaming. It’s just that she . . . well . . . goes away from time to time. Haven’t you noticed that? And you’ll find that she won’t even fall down – she’ll simply stand where she is, lose a few seconds, then carry on as before. Unfortunately, these shut-downs can happen anywhere without warning – even in the middle of a busy street. She must have someone with her at all times. And she shows no sign at all of brain-damage.’
‘Brain-damage? Is that what’s down for her? Not my little flower, not my Daisy! No! No!’
She fell into the man’s strong arms, her whole body racked by sobs.
He patted her back in a comforting way. ‘Look, Mrs Maguire – I’ve seen kiddies with this condition come out of Oxford and Cambridge with qualifications that would shame the rest of us. It’s nothing, nothing at all. In time, she’ll even learn to manage these episodes – predict them, if you like. But just now, the main concern is for her safety. Keep her away from the fire and the kettle, get young Michael to see her back and forth from school.’
‘It’s not fits,’ said Ma quietly. ‘My family does not have fits. Daisy has a vision beyond ours, an ability we’ve lost or failed to develop. When she goes missing, she leaves the rest of the world trailing behind. We are the losers, not Daisy.’
Molly raised her face to look at Ma. ‘You old fool! She’s ill – can’t you see?’
‘Then my grandmother had the same disease.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Yes, it can be hereditary.’
Michael stumbled in at the front door, muddied from head to foot after a day’s fruitless fishing and paddling in the Croal. ‘I fell in, Mam. Hey – what’s matter?’ he asked, concern about the unusual situation plain on his dirty face.
Molly detached herself from the doctor. ‘Get up them stairs for a bath, Michael Maguire.’
‘Not till you tell me what’s up with her.’ He waved a hand towards his sister.
The doctor squatted on his haunches in front of the small boy. ‘What a pong, eh? You’re as black as the ace of spades, lad. Mind, the time to worry about a boy is when he’s clean. Now, your little sister’s had a kind of fainting spell and there could be more to come.’
‘Oh. Did she go all still again? Can’t budge her sometimes – like a brick wall, she is.’
‘Ah. So you know all about this, son. Will you look after her at school?’
‘I always do! Can’t have folk skitting her just ’cos she’s different. Our Daisy is dead clever, Doc. It’s just these turns what come and go, like. But I’ll see she’s minded.’
‘Good.’
‘’S nowt to worry over.’ Michael looked at his mother, the person he worshipped above all earthly beings. ‘I’ll get cleaned up. Are you all right, Mam?’
‘Aye. Go on, tough guy – take the scrubbing brush with you, ’cos that muck ’ll take a sight of shifting.’
Michael grinned and shot off upstairs to baptize the new bath.
The three adults turned to the sofa and saw Daisy’s wide eyes staring up at them. ‘He went and fell in the river again, didn’t he?’
Molly dropped to her knees and clutched the child’s hand. ‘Thank God,’ she mumbled. ‘He did that, Daisy. Can you imagine Bolton holidays without our Michael coming in wearing half the river bank? Part of our celebrations, is that.’
‘Where’s me dad?’
‘I’m not sure, lass.’
‘It’s so cold.’ Daisy looked at her grandmother. ‘Where is he? All that . . . all that shivering . . .’
‘Meat!’ yelled Ma, a look of triumph on her face. ‘I told you! All of you! Perhaps you’ll listen to me from now on! Stupid eejit, that Paddy Maguire. How did I come to have a son so . . . so . . . ?’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘Janet? Joey? Get yourselves in here this instant!’
The twins arrived together from the best room.
Ma looked everybody up and down before speaking again. ‘Right, the lot of yous. I may be a daft old woman with the head only half screwed on, but I reckon I know where Paddy is.’
‘Eh?’ Joey’s black eyes were fixed on his little sister.
Ma pointed to the sofa. ‘She’s seen him! Doesn’t remember, but she knows he’s cold. That’s why she was shivering, because her father’s in difficulty. You can laugh at me all you like, but Patrick Maguire is likely locked in the cold store behind Jones’s butcher’s shop. That’s where Bobby McMorrow works. The pair of them will be after a bit of extra beef this Sunday, mark my words! So away the pair of you, rescue your daddy before he freezes to death.’
The twins ran out and Ma glanced at the door. ‘Mind, he should keep well enough at that low temperature.’
The doctor coughed politely. ‘You believe that this child . . . ? No. She has what we call petit mal, Mrs Maguire. How you can put your faith in all that nonsense—’
‘Wait and see, why don’t you? Paddy will be back any minute to thaw out on the paving slabs.’ She took the man aside. ‘The girl goes out of her body. Just because you don’t understand it, you think it can’t happen. But it does. Paddy was cold and she felt it. And you call it what?’
‘Petit mal.’
‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘Translated, it means little illness.’
‘Does it now? Well, we could be doing with a great deal more of these little illnesses, for they are a gift, not a curse.’
‘I won’t argue.’
‘No point, for you haven’t a leg to stand on.’
‘Ma!’ Molly’s voice was stern. ‘No more of it! Even if you’re proved right, I want no more! This is my daughter, not yours and I won’t have it said that she has visions. Are you hearing me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I hear you.’
‘I’ll not be shown up with it. And I won’t have her pointed at! I mean it, Ma. Any more of this nonsense and we’ll find a house of our own, just me and Paddy and the kids. I don’t want to leave you, but I will if you carry on. Daisy’s got little fits like what the doctor said. All right?’
Ma studied the firm set of Molly’s jaw. There came a point when arguing with Molly was useless. It didn’t happen often, but Ma knew that she must concede now. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said quietly. ‘What will out will out. In its own time.’
But neither of them was surprised when, ten minutes after the doctor had left, Paddy arrived home supported by the twins and closely followed by yet another policeman. Police in the house had become a part of life over the years, a part that shamed all except Paddy himself, who was usually too drunk to notice who brought him home.
‘You were right, Gran,’ puffed Joey. ‘Him, Bobby McMorrow and half a dozen dead pigs all locked up safe and cosy for the night. Is our Daisy all right?’
‘She’s fine.’ Ma looked at the policeman who lingered in the doorway. ‘Get inside here this minute! You make the place look untidy and in broad daylight too!’
The constable stepped inside. ‘Is she ill?’ He pointed to Daisy.
‘Just a turn, thanks for asking.’ Ma dragged Paddy over to the fire and pushed him into a chair. ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘I require something of an explanation. So does this policeman.’
‘We was just sweeping up, me and Bobby, when the old devil went and locked us in the cold room.’
The constable took a notebook from his pocket. ‘Mr Jones, the butcher, says they were lying in wait to steal—’
Ma turned on him. ‘Steal? My son? What proof have you at all? Has he half a pig up his vest and him in the best suit? Would you care to go through the pockets, see can you find
a few cowheels and a pound of tripe?’
‘No, but—’
‘Ah. So we’re back to the no-buts, are we? No but what?’
‘Well – it’s happened before.’
‘With my Paddy involved?’
‘Er . . . Mr McMorrow is under suspicion.’
Ma straightened. ‘Under suspicion? Bobby McMorrow should be under six feet of something or other. He is a bad influence and gives a poor impression of all decent Irish folk! His name is not to be spoken here . . .’
‘Bobby’s lost his job,’ said Paddy mournfully. ‘I’ll say his name, say it proudly, I will! Where is the justice? Won that war near single-handed, he did, over the top day after day . . .’
Janet and Joey fled to the kitchen. Once Dad started on about Bobby McMorrow’s personal triumph over the Kaiser, things often got too hilarious to bear. They stuffed pot towels in their mouths to stop the laughter, unaware that half their hysteria was caused by seeing Daisy well again, all rosy-cheeked and smiling on the sofa.
The policeman placed his helmet in the centre of the table next to salt and pepper. ‘Now look here, Mr Maguire. Past the eyeballs with you, we are. How many times have you been carried home near paralysed, eh? We’ve better things to do than keep hauling you out of hot water.’ He smiled in spite of himself. ‘Or cold as it turned out today. Mr Jones had no idea that you and McMorrow were in there.’
‘Left us there to die, he did!’
‘Rubbish! Now listen to me, Paddy. Look at me while I’m talking to you. One more foot out of line and you’re up with the beak for time-wasting.’ He glanced at Molly. ‘Can’t you keep him in, Missus?’
Molly bridled. ‘What do you want me to do? Fasten him in the wash-house or the lavvy, stick a ball of string to his pants so I can drag him out of the pub at closing? Or do I keep him sedated?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ The constable retrieved his helmet. ‘Only we’ve had more than enough! Twice we’ve fetched him out of the Temperance and him as puddled as a mad dog. Then there’s been all this trouble down the Masonic, him and a couple of other heroes asking for a lend of a trowel and a pinny—’
‘I don’t like Masons,’ announced Paddy to no-one in particular. ‘The anti-Christ incarnate, they are, with their handshakes and ho boys let’s roll up our trouser legs. Daft buggers—’
‘Shut up, eejit!’ yelled Ma. She turned to the guardian of the law whose face was now severely contorted as he fought back a laugh. ‘Sorry for your trouble, officer,’ she said sweetly.
‘I wish . . . I wish your Paddy’d have a word with our Chief.’
‘And why would you be wanting that now?’
‘He’s—’ The voice was strangled. ‘Worshipful Master this year.’
Ma nodded sagely. ‘Our congratulations to him, young man. Now, this boy is drunk – as you can see – so I’d be glad if his silliness went no further than your good self.’
‘Fair enough, Missus. Only keep him off the streets for a week or two, will you? If he walks in that Lodge again, he’ll be coming back out with a few bits missing.’
The policeman left, his broad back shaking with mirth.
Ma sank into her regular place at the table. ‘Molly!’ she cried. ‘What are we to do with them all? We’ve one in the river, another locked up with the bacon, the child with petty whatever the doctor said and twins at each other’s throats. What’ll we do?’
‘We either laugh or flaming well cry!’ Molly walked to her husband’s side. ‘Come on lad. Bed for you and no messing. You must be frozen through.’
Paddy got up and stood swaying dangerously by the fireplace. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said carefully. Janet and Joey arrived in the doorway just in time to notice what followed, then disappeared quickly when they saw what was happening, returning to their pot towels to stifle chuckles which threatened to explode any second.
Like a conjurer at Bolton Fair, Paddy produced quarters of boiled ham and corned beef from his inside pockets, a greasy package of bacon from the shirt front, then two pork chops from his trouser pockets. These latter items he studied closely, brushing and picking odd bits of fluff from their surfaces.
This was all too much for Ma and Molly. They screamed their mirth into the room, both women gasping for breath between bouts of laughter.
Paddy rounded off his performance by discovering a sheep’s eye in his waistcoat and he impaled this object on an index finger. ‘Poor sheep,’ he mumbled sadly. He tried to fix his family with a steely stare, failing completely due to lack of focus. ‘Never say . . .’ the finger wagged. ‘Never say I don’t look out for me own folk.’ Then he staggered upstairs, sheep’s eye and all, to sleep it off.
Daisy giggled. ‘He’s naughty. Will it be a sin to eat the meat, Gran?’
But there was no getting a sensible answer from anyone. The twins entered from the scullery and joined in the merriment at the sight of Paddy’s ill-gotten gains. Joey gathered them up and was just about to take them through to the meat-safe, when a rapping at the door put a sudden end to all the cavorting. He bundled the stolen goods into the dresser and tried to look casual while Ma went to answer.
They all watched as she gasped and stepped back a fraction, her hand straying along the wall for support. ‘Molly?’
‘Yes, Ma?’
‘It’s . . . it’s Mr Swainbank.’
Chapter 13
Charles Swainbank surveyed the group of people in the cramped room. They looked terrified, all of them. Molly and Ma for obvious reasons, Janet because he was her boss, Joey because his sister seemed nervous, while the little girl was already out of order, lying on a couch covered in blankets and coats. He removed his trilby and stood awkwardly in the doorway, the hat twisting between restless fingers. ‘I’m . . . er . . . your new landlord.’
Ma tutted under her breath before speaking. ‘We know that, Mr Swainbank.’ There was an edge to her voice – little short of a note of warning. She was recovering from the initial shock, that was plain to see.
‘I just came round to check the quality of workmanship – I’ve been to several of the other houses too. If this is an inconvenient time, I’ll call again—’
‘No!’ Molly approached him, her face white with terror. ‘You own the house – you look at it!’ She didn’t want him coming back again, didn’t like the idea of him getting a foot in the door more than once. Oh aye, he’d said he intended to get to know the twins – but here? In their own house? ‘Do you want to go all through?’ she asked, her voice not quite steady. ‘Only our Michael’s still in the bath – he’s been up there hours – and me husband’s in bed with a chill.’
Janet and Joey, discomfort forgotten as they realized that the caller was in no way connected with them, hid their faces, mirth threatening to arise anew. In bed with a chill? More like a big freeze, it was, though no doubt the brandy under the bed would hasten the thawing process.
Charles stared at Molly in her washed-out flowered apron. Had he switched off the light in those green eyes, turned it out like an electric lamp? Molly! He forced himself to walk further into the room. It was about the size of one of the pantries up at the Hall, not much bigger than a cupboard with a window, really. And his children, his own flesh and blood had spent their short lives here. ‘No, I don’t need to go poking about the place, thank you. I just wanted to make sure you were satisfied with the improvements.’ He paused. ‘Is this your son?’
Molly nodded, her face stripped completely of expression. ‘Yes, this is our Joey. Joey – Mr Swainbank, Janet’s boss and our new landlord.’
The boy grunted a curt greeting. So here was the feller who thought a right lot of their Janet, who had courted her away from the shop. He decided there and then not to like this uninvited guest. If it wasn’t for bloody Swainbank, their Janet could have had a counter all her own, ribbons and buttons, a ladylike kind of business. Instead, she had condemned herself to drudgery and this chap here was encouraging such stupidity. ‘I’m off out.’ His face wore
a dark frown.
‘But you’ve not had your tea!’ Molly rushed to the oven. ‘Pie’s nearly ready.’
The boy glanced pointedly in the direction of the intruder. ‘I’ll come back when there’s a bit more room in the house!’ He walked out past Charles, not bothering to meet the man’s eyes as he left.
There followed an uncomfortable silence. ‘Well,’ ventured Charles at last. ‘Are you happy with the alterations?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Molly’s tone was as cool and dismissive as she could manage. ‘It’s very good of you, I’m sure.’
‘Right. I’ll . . . er . . . I’ll be going, then.’ He took a backward step towards the door.
‘Would you hang on awhile, please?’ said Ma. ‘There’s a thing or two needs doing and as the rent-book is in my name, we should perhaps discuss the business privately.’ She looked meaningfully at Molly. ‘Serve the tea up. I’ll take mine later. Mr Swainbank and I will go into my room.’
Janet remained fastened to the spot, her eyes wide with disbelief as the boss followed Ma like a little lamb into the front room. Gran was a powerful woman all right, a force to be reckoned with – but to see Mr Swainbank doing as he was told, so meek and mild – well, it took her breath away!
Charles looked hard at Ma. She had changed greatly. His early recollections were dim, just a glimpse from a carriage, a shock of near-black hair, a pale Irish skin and, on closer inspection, piercing blue eyes. He remembered his own father’s excitement whenever he caught sight of Ma Maguire, the quickening of hooves, a mad dash on foot through the market sometimes. Yes, Ma had remained a handsome woman right up to Father’s death. She’d been a big girl, very tall, especially for one of her generation. Now she seemed shrivelled, as if her body had shrunk while the skin had remained the same size, rather wrinkled and sad like a punctured balloon. That famous dark hair of which she had reputedly been so proud was reduced to a few wisps of grey scraped tightly against her skull. But the eyes were the same, twin blue flames that crackled with life and energy. ‘You’ve been ill, Ma. I’m sorry about that – are you better?’
With Love From Ma Maguire Page 43