With Love From Ma Maguire (29 page)

‘Granny? Are you awake?’

Janet. I’d talk to you if I could. Is it fifteen you are now? You and Joey, so like himself the both of you. But specially Joey.

‘Mam says I’ve got to learn you how to read. I’m lucky – the others have to stop upstairs as punishment. Dad’s raving fit to burst again – I think he’s got a bottle of rum in the bed with him. So we’re all in trouble one way or another.’

That’s the way of it, child. The biggest trouble, all that explaining, is yet to come . . .

‘We got nearly mangled off Mam for pinching apples from the back of Greenhalgh’s cart. Mam was mortified to death, ’cos her next door came round in a big huff. It was our Joey’s idea. He wanted to get his own back for all the bad stuff we’ve had off that cart. Mam was all riled up only she’d a job on not to laugh.’

Yes, laughing was always your mother’s problem. Up at the big house, I bet she laughed, kept them all going. She used to do turns, didn’t she? That’s right, she had a lot of voices. That would be what attracted the other feller, him who brought all the big trouble to this house. She probably made him laugh too with all her voices. Wish I had just one voice, any one would do. She doesn’t giggle like she once did, hasn’t since you were born. When she was your age, I used to wonder how she managed to be so happy and her an orphan.

Janet threw herself into a chair and thrust a slate under Ma’s nose. ‘See. I’ve wrote all our names down. Now, this long one is you – Philomena. It should really begin with an F but them two letters stuck together make the F sound. These are Molly and Michael – they have the same beginning letter. Now Janet and Joey – they start with a J. Daisy is a D, though she should be another M with her real name being Margaret, then Paddy is a P, only it’s not the same as yours with having no H after it.’ She paused for breath after this long speech. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, Gran.’

Janet, this English is a desperate difficult language written down. I’m tired just now and I keep drifting off back home. Sometimes I’m fourteen, walking along the edge of a bog with Uncle Porrick, then suddenly I’m an old lady going on sixty. Mammy and Daddy are dead, I know that for sure. And I’ve a husband Seamus probably still in prison. Things from long ago are coming back, so perhaps I’ll get to grips soon with more recent events. I’m trying so hard. But it’s all in little patches like a crocheted blanket, all squares that need sewing together.

‘Our Michael’s got to go to church every day,’ Janet was saying now. ‘On account of what happened last Sunday. He was fishing, see, early on, caught a couple of sticklebacks down the pond in the park. Anyway, comes time for church and all the bells ringing like mad, he’s mucky as a chimney sweep and carrying this jam jar. Oh, it was so embarrassing, Gran! He gets to the church and drops the jar outside, picks up the fish and dumps them in the font of holy water by the door. I’ve never known anybody who can show you up like our Michael can. None of my friends have brothers like him. Not fit to be seen half the time, always covered in mud and with his clothes hanging off him.’

Ma’s face broke into a half-smile. That boy was so lovable, so misunderstood . . .

‘They were all blessing themselves as they came in, then this lady started shrieking as if the world was ending. Course, our Michael was only worried about the blinking fish. Black as a pot, he walked right down the church, grabbed a collection dish and scooped his sticklebacks up in the holy water. I could have died with shame on the spot. I kept hoping it was just a dream and I’d wake up in a minute. He’d his hair stood on end as if he’d just seen a ghost, the socks pushed down like a couple of wet dishcloths and his shirt was hanging behind him like a loose nappy. And everybody knows he’s my brother! Anyway, he’s got to polish two pews every morning and get trained for an altar boy. Can you see him? Dressed up in white and helping the priest? He’ll never do it. There’ll be incense spilled, bells ringing at the wrong time and he’ll never learn his Latin responses. Oh, the shame of it. I think I’ll start walking to St Patrick’s.’

Yes, you’re getting to that age now, aren’t you? The age when things matter, when everything has to look right. Don’t be ashamed of us. We are your family. Your real family . . .

‘I’ll read to you from the paper.’ She rustled the pages of the
Evening News
. ‘Some folk say there’s going to be another war on account of that Hitler feller getting too big for his boots. Me dad says not. He says there was enough bother last time and nobody can afford to fight.’ The page turned as Ma began to fall asleep, lulled and comforted by the sound of Janet’s voice.

‘Man up Daubhill’s murdered his wife. Well, they say he did, but he says he never ’cos he was in the pub at the time playing darts. Coal’s going up tuppence. Births and deaths are pretty well full up again – ooh, here’s a big one. Bet that cost a bob or two. “Tragically, as the result of an accident on June 14th 1937, John and Peter, beloved sons of Charles and Amelia Swainbank.” Isn’t that awful? I wonder how old they were? Aren’t they the big mill-owners, the Swainbanks? Granny? Gran, are you asleep?’

Don’t shout, love. I was just getting into it. Now, where was I? Oh yes, if I buy four pennyworth of fish and a tuppeny swede, that will be sixpence. Out of a shilling, I shall get another sixpence change. Now, I’ll have to go on to something harder, up to half a crown. Leatherbarrow. Yes, that was his name.

Janet rushed into the scullery. ‘Mam! She’s talking!’

Molly turned from the slopstone where she was peeling potatoes. ‘Aye, she mumbled a bit at me. Just yes and no, then a few odd words—’

‘No, not mumbling, In her sleep, she talks. Plain as day I heard her say something about Leatherbarrow and sixpence change.’

‘Must be raving, then. Nobody ever got change out of Leatherbarrow. He’s about as generous as old Scrooge on a very bad day.’

‘But she still said the words, Mam. Honest.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! I was reading to her out of the paper, just bits and pieces, then she started talking – proper like she used to.’

‘With a brogue as thick as a new clog bottom, you mean.’

‘But she’s talking in her sleep, using words. If she can talk in her sleep, then she can talk awake, can’t she?’

Molly dried her hands. ‘I’m not so sure about that, lass. Asleep, she doesn’t have to think about talking. Happen when she’s awake and trying too hard she just can’t master it. But it’s a good sign, our Janet. You must spend more time with your Granny. From the sound of things, it looks as if you might be doing her some good.’

Janet sidled along the edge of the small scullery table. ‘Mam?’

‘What?’ She recognized the wheedling tone in her daughter’s voice.

‘Can we come down? It’s only five o’clock. Think of all the winter days when we have to stop in.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Seems a shame that children should miss the best weather.’

Molly puffed out her cheeks and blew noisily. ‘Will you behave?’

‘Course! We’ll play jacks and bobbers on the six flags.’

‘No stepping over?’

‘Cross me heart.’

‘All right then. But steer clear of that one next door. She’ll be fetching the landlord up next news, getting us evicted as not fit to live in the street.’

Janet’s chin jutted forward. ‘Only ’cos Gran stopped her squeezing the lodgers in.’

‘Aye well. Just don’t push your luck till Granny’s up and about. She’s for taking over, is Mrs Seddon, so give no cheek and make sure you stick to playing on your own patch.’

‘Ta, Mam.’ Then she was gone with the pigtails flying behind her. Molly wiped the scullery table, her mind busy with something she was having trouble pinpointing. There were goings-on, things she needed to get to the bottom of, yet at the same time didn’t want to know about. What was this niggle at the back of her mind?

She took in a sharp breath. All that money, all those papers Ma couldn’t even read. But wait – what about that time she’d spotted Ma – ooh, about five or six years ago – yes, just before Daisy was born.

Molly walked to the slopstone and filled a pan with water for the spuds. That was right. Ma Maguire scuttling out of that lawyer’s place on St George’s Road, said she’d been seeing after a cleaning job. Why, Ma had been full-time weaving then. And when Molly had questioned her, the answer had been that Ma was considering giving up at the mill, taking a little job so she’d be around to help with the new baby. That had never been true, not in a month of Sundays.

She poured salt into the pan then set it to boil on the gas ring. Aye, they were legal documents in that box, seals and all they had on them. What was going on and why all the secrecy?

Paddy was banging on the floor again, likely feeling sorry for himself and after a bit of attention. Resignedly, she poured him a pint of tea and carried it through to the kitchen. The door to the stairway was in the corner, diagonally opposite the front door and well away from the best room. But even from the foot of the stairs she could hear Ma talking. Not the words, but she could tell that phrases were being strung together. He banged once more and she began her ascent, wondering what she’d find this time.

He was on the floor, head in hands and weeping again.

‘Back into bed now, Paddy.’

She placed the large mug on the mantel shelf and went to help him to his feet.

‘Nobody bloody cares,’ he wailed. ‘I feel as if there’s spiders walking all over me body—’

‘Aye and pink elephants doing a waltz in the middle of the ceiling, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘You’re a hard woman, Molly Maguire.’

‘Am I? Well, I’ve had some good teachers, Paddy. You, your mother and bloody life. Now. Are you getting in that bed or do I get you packed off to the infirmary again? I will! I’ll do it!’ She snatched the empty bottle from beneath his pillow. ‘How can you expect to get over this illness with poison all through your system? Weren’t you told not to drink?’

‘Oh shut up! You’ll have me joining the chapel and signing the pledge next news.’

‘What? They wouldn’t have you, Paddy Maguire. For a start, you’re a Catholic. And for another, you’re never going to make teetotal and they know it. Do you think they’d let you in the door after all that bother you caused at their temperance meeting? You and Bobby McMorrow falling up the steps pie-eyed and bloody legless?’

He attempted a look of remorse. ‘Well, we made a mistake. Anybody can make a mistake, even me mother. We thought it was an Orange Lodge—’

‘Good job it wasn’t. Otherwise, you’d have got home in a box instead of on a policeman’s back. Now, get in that bed before I fetch the doctor, the priest and any other bugger with a chance of talking sense into that thick skull!’

He climbed on to the mattress and fell breathless against the pillows. ‘You don’t love me any more, Molly.’

‘Oh, don’t be starting up with all that again. What do you want me to do, eh? Open the window and shout “I love him” to the neighbours? Or will I go down the Town Hall and print it in purple paint on the front door? Here – drink your tea, it might flush the other out of you. Speaking of which, you can get down the yard in future, buck yourself up. I’ve enough with your mother without emptying your jummy and all—’

‘Aw Molly . . . Molly—’

‘Aw Molly Molly nothing! I’ve no time to waste. Do you think them four kids fetches themselves up while you lie here in all your muck and glory? For God’s sake, lad, your hand’s healing again, you’re coughing looser. I’m sure a nice bit of droving out in the fresh air would be just the job, clear your head and cool you down. And Miss Leason could do with some help – you know she gives you the odd shilling now she’s sold up.’

‘I get me bit of pension off Charlie Swainbank—’

‘That’s not a pension, Paddy! That’s a retainer so’s you’ll hold yourself ready when he sends a message. Anyway, I’d sooner you worked elsewhere. Cars is dangerous, let him drive his bloody own.’

‘He’ll have to. I don’t feel fit to drive—’

‘Fit enough to drive me! Round the bloody bend! It’s all in your head, Paddy. Doctor told me plain as day, you haven’t got the bovine in your blood.’

‘It’s in me bones,’ he muttered sadly. ‘I know it is, in the bones of me arm. Eating me away and all you can do is mither and create.’

She stared for a few moments at this father of her children and a temporary contempt for him flooded her being. He was stupid, spineless, lazy . . . Other men in the street worked in spite of incapacities. Pierce Murphy, going on sixty now, was known to spit blood, yet he still went down the pit every day. Bella Seddon’s man had died at his work, a massive heart attack while shifting heavy hides down at the tannery. She checked herself. No, she didn’t want that, didn’t want him dead. But if only he would show some willingness! Before she could scream at him any more, she turned on her heel and left the room. He was stupid at times, but she’d been glad enough of that in the past. Did she want her bread buttering both sides?

Molly sat with a cup of tea in the kitchen, watching her children at play on the six big flags that marked their own immediate territory. Janet was doing double-unders with a bit of washing line, the rope swishing as she whipped it twice under raised feet. ‘One-a-penny, two-a-penny, three-a-penny, four . . .’

Joey stood by and watched his twin, admiration for her dexterity plain on his face. They were growing up, these two – nearly fifteen now. Ma had made them stop on at school for the extra year, had organized private bookkeeping lessons for them, saying that education always came in handy no matter what. Funny old besom, was Ma. What would they want with fancy bookkeeping in the mill or the engineering shop?

Janet had stopped skipping now and was sharing a whispered and obviously amusing secret with her darker-haired brother. Yes, they were separated from the other two by more than just age, for they had always chosen to be apart, apparently needing and depending on one another almost totally. Though Janet was now showing some signs of throwing Joey off, thank God, but the poor lad hadn’t got the message yet, or so it seemed. They’d be working soon. Joey had a half-promise on an apprenticeship down the engineering where they made machine parts for factories and the like. And Janet – well, she’d probably go in the spinning room with the rest of her classmates.