Hannah massey (10 page)

grabbed it from his arms, saying, "What had you to bring it round for.

Father?"

"What? What were you saying? Oh." He dusted the front of his coat down.

"Well, Bamy made it and I've asked him two or three times to pop in and have a look at it, but he never has a minute, and I thought to me self Well, I'll take it round, and why shouldn't I? The boy makes me a

wireless and I expect him to service it, and to come out of his way to do it. And so I brought it round knowing he'd see to it. But let us forget about the wireless. How are you getting on, Rosie?"

"Oh, all right, Father."

"You don't look all right, child." He moved slowly towards her.

"You look... well" -he paused, "sort of drained. That's London for you, I suppose. That air's no good for man or beast up there."

"I've had the 'flu, Father."

"Aw... aw, that's it, is it? Now that's the thing for pulling you down. I think all the fat women in the land should be injected with

'flu, it would save all their dieting." He threw his head back and let out a high laugh. But it didn't reach its full height before it was checked by Hannah saying flatly, "Father, I'm sorry to ask you so pointedly, but this is no time for gildin' the lily so to speak, but would you mind takin' your wireless back, an' I'll have Bamy come down and see to it this very afternoon."

The priest turned slowly and looked at Hannah. He looked at her for a moment before saying, "Don't be obtuse, Hannah, what is it? Have I done wrong in bringing the wireless? Is he up to his eyes in work? .

But I'm in no real hurry for it, although it's handy." Hannah bowed her head and put her hands on the side of the table for support; her silence brought the priest's eyes narrowing towards her.

He looked hard at her, then at the wireless; then flicked his glance to Rosie before turning to Hannah again and saying flatly, "What's wrong with the wireless, Hannah?"

Hannah lifted her head and looked at the priest. She had to take a chance. There mightn't be anything wrong with the wireless, there

mightn't be a part of it that could be recognised as the firm's, but she couldn't tell if this was so or not, only Bamy could do that. or them, if they came and searched the house. If she kept her mouth shut the priest would walk out of the door and leave it, and where could she hide a big thing like that? She could bum the case. Aye, she could do that. But what could she do with the innards? Even if she could take it to bits, and she couldn't, there mightn't be time to get it into the box mattress. She couldn't risk it. She looked straight into the

priest's eyes and said, "Bamy gets pieces on the cheap now and again; that's how he makes them up." She stumbled awhile.

"But ... but the factory's got a bee in its bonnet. It's after some of them that have been hclpin' themselves too freely, not being able to restrain themselves to a bit here and there, and so, from what I

understand, they're goin' to do the rounds like...."

The priest looked from Hannah to the wireless. He looked at it for a long while before saying, "All that stuff in Bamy's workshop? He told me he bought it from bankrupt stock. In the name of God, Hannah" --he turned on her, his voice angry now"--you shouldn't have done this to me. You've got me involved in more ways than one, but enough at the moment is that I'm a receiver of stolen goods! Innocent or not, I'm a receiver of stolen goods. You shouldn't have involved me, Hannah."

Hannah's head was up, her lower lip thrust out. For the moment she forgot she was addressing the priest. She forgot. the cloth. Before her she saw only an ungrateful old man, and she cried at him, "You were involved enough during the war, Father, God's truth you were. Did I ever see you short of socks or shirts? Or sugar or tea? An' throw

your mind back, throw it back to the side of bacon, Father, a whole side, just to mention a few things. Involved, you say? What's black now was black then."

"The circumstances were different, Hannah, we were in a war. They were different."

"No, be god Father, not as I see it."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Hannah. This present situation goes deeper than you have the insight to realise. I know now where some of the firm's stolen goods are. Don't you see, woman? You shouldn't have done this to me."

As he walked towards the door, not even saying good-bye to Rosie,

Hannah's voice checked him with, "What about this, Father?" She pointed to the wireless.

"What about it?" He was looking at her over his shoulder.

"You're taking it with you?"

"I don't want it any longer."

"Look, Father." Hannah hurried towards him, her hands extended outwards.

"In the name of God, get it out of here. Take it away with you. If Bamy was here I wouldn't ask you, but as it is, the very sight of it might put the kibosh on him if they were to come around."

The old priest drew in a breath that pushed his black coat Aarply

outwards. Then turning back into the room he grabbed up the wireless and made for the hall, Hannah after him. As the opened the door for him he said, "Get yourself to confession to-night, Hannah, and make a clean sweep, be finished with it for good and all."

"I will. Father, I will that." Hannah's voice now held a soft, conciliatory note, and she ended as if he was leaving after one of his usual friendly and laughter-filled visits.

"Goodbye, Father. Mind how you go. Goodbye."

In the living-room once more she went straight for a chair and sat down, and, lifting up her apron, she wiped the sweat from around her face.

As Rosie moved from the fireplace towards the hall door, Hannah asked,

"Where you going?"

"Just upstairs."

Hannah made no reply to this, nor did she try to stop' her by going into a tirade about the priest.

As Rosie went up the last flight of stairs to her room she was shaking her head. She wouldn't be able to stand this for long. It was the

same thing over and over again. But her mother was right about one thing, what was black now was black in the war. Somehow it seemed to her that- the priest had lost points in the game of morality.

Hannah was her usual self when the men came in at dinner time. To

Bamy's query "Everything all right, Ma?" she anwered, "Right as rain."

She did not tell him about the priest's visit; she would wait until she got him on the quiet. Then she would warn him what to expect from

Father Lafflin.

After the meal she said to Broderick, "Will you see to die dishes for me? Rosie here and me are going out on a jaunt, just to have a look round the shops; I've never been irt New castle for weeks. I want

vests for Jimmy and some shirts for Shane. That fellow must rasp his collars with a razor blade, he goes through them so quickly."

"Get yersels away." Broderick smiled at his daughter.

"But I'd have thought you'd have been better in than out the day, the weather the way it is."

"Aw, she wants to pick her things up from the station," said Hannah.

"An' we'll come back by taxi. We'll do the thing in style, won't we, Rosie girl?" Hannah put out her hand to Rosie's shoulder and, pushing it gently, said, "Go on up now and get ready; I'll be with you in two shakes."

As Rosie passed her father, Broderick pulled her to a halt, saying,

"You're quiet this time, lass. There's hardly a peep out of you."

She smiled at him, and in an attempt at jocularity she said, "I talk when I can. Da, but it's difficult to get a word in."

There was loud laughter at this, and Shane said from across the table,

"There's a dance at the club the night. Why don't you come along and have a fling; they do some old time ones an' all? There's high jinks on a Saturday night, and variety they have ... the lot, just like on Fridays."

"I'll sec, Shane. Thanks." She nodded at him.

On the first landing she met Karen dressed ready for out doors, and as she went to pass her Karen stopped dead in front of her, and, looking up into her face, said pointedly, "What brought you back anyway?"

"I... I told you I had the 'flu."

"The 'flu! You can't hoodwink me, I'm not a fool."

Somewhere in the back of Rosie's mind she was saying. She's right.

Like me ma, she's no fool. But aloud she said, "You surprise me." The cheap quip was her only counter to the forthright attack.

The colour deepened in Karen's cheeks. Her small, full mouth pursed itself further.

"You think you're clever, don't you? Smart... the London lady ...

well, you don't impress me. You're in trouble, aren't you?"

No muscle of Rosie's face moved; her whole body was stilL She had the desire, and not for the first time, to lift her hand and slap the

small, pert face of her niece. Her voice betrayed her anger as she said below her breath, "You would like to think that I've come home to have a baby, wouldn't you? Well I'm sorry to disappoint you. That's the only trouble you can think of, isn't it, being landed with a baby?

You would have loved it to happen in my case oh, I know. But just you be careful that your wishful thinking doesn't come home to roost."

"Well" --Karen took a step to the side as she spoke"--I might be wrong on one count, but I'm not altogether, I know that. And I'll tell you another thing: if you've got the idea into your head to stay home, I'm going."

"Good, you'd better look out for digs then, hadn't you?" Rosie turned from the small, bitter face and was aware, as she crossed the landing, that Karen was still standing staring at her, and she knew that her jaws would be working, viciously.

In her room she stood looking out through the small attic window at the white-coated roofs opposite. She had her arms crossed tightly about her, her hands pressed against her ribs as if giving herself support, and she stood like this until she heard her mother's voice calling from below, "Are you ready, Rosie? Rosie! D& you hear me? Are you ready?"

She did not swing round and grab up her things, but slowly she got into her coat and pulled on her hat, and when her mother's voice came to her again, calling, "Are you up there, lass?" she clenched her hands tightly before calling back, "I'm coming, I'm coming, Ma."

hug hie was sitting in the back of the cobbler's shop. He was sitting in his shirt sleeves and wearing a pullover, and he looked at home, as he never did in Hannah's house. The little room had no window, and no light but that which came in from the shop through the half-glazed door. But it was extremely bright now, being lit by an electric bulb beneath a pink plastic shade, and the light was reflected from the rough mauve-painted walls. Along one wall was a narrow desk-cum

cupboard above which were shelves holding books. One step from the desk and against the opposite wall stood two chairs-- a straight-backed one and an old extending bed-chair. At the far end of the room was a shallow sink, with a table at its side holding a small grill, on which stood a kettle, now coming up to the boil. To the side of the sink a curtain hung from a rod, which was used to cut off the kitchen section of the tiny compartment'. On the floor below the sink was a rough mat, and a piece of carpet ran the length of the room to the far wall, where stood an oil heater. The tiny room gave off an air of compact

snugness, and had been Hughie Geary's real home for so long that now, when he was about to leave it, it tugged at him, saying.

Don't go yet, there's plenty of time.

But there wasn't plenty of time. There wasn't all that time left, for he was thirty-five. Already there was grey in his hair;

already the dreams of travelling that had haunted him for years were fading; at least they had. been until a couple of months ago when they had been pleasantly startled into life.

Before him now on the desk lay numbers of travel brochures;

there were dozens of them dating back for years. They had been part of his recreation; he knew every route on every map of every folder. He could have told you, without referring to the appropriate brochure, the route to Baghdad as easily as another man could have pointed out the route to the Lake District, yet never in his life had he been more than a hundred miles from Fellburn, never in his life had he had a holiday.

But then there was nothing so strange about that. As Hannah had said to him on several occasions, "Broderick and me have never slept away from home for a night," so if Hannah Massey didn't need a holiday, why should he?

He lifted his head and looked at the blank wall before him. How much could you hate someone and still live with them? How deep could the hate go before you wanted to kill the object of it? At times he

thought he could measure his hate for Hannah; it was so many inches long, and so many inches thick, and it was wedged tight within him.

But at other times he knew his thin body could not be measured from his chest to his backbone, for it was stretched wide with hate, hate for the woman who had dominated him since he was twelve years old; who had for a period from the age of fifteen put the fear of God in him, and who had stripped him of his manhood as certainly as if she had

performed an operation on him. And she had performed an operation on him, on his mind. But this time next week he would be away, and from the time he left the house he would never look on her again. And yet he knew that he would never forget her, for her personality was

imprinted on him as indelibly as a stamp of a concentration camp. But there was one bit of enjoyment he was going to give himself before they parted; he was going to keep his eyes tight on her face when he told her about the money; he was going to draw into himself and hold, like some precious gift, her fury when she realized she had thrown away, not only the fatted calf, but the golden calf.

As the kettle began to whistle the shop door shook and the bell rang, and rising hastily, he pulled the kettle aside, pushed all the travel folders into a drawer, and went out through the shop and opened the door.

"Did I hear the kettle boiling?"

"Oh, hello, Dennis. Aye, you did."

Dennis hurried around the counter, "Lord, it's cold ... ugh!" He took off his coat as he entered the room, then went towards the stove and held his hands above it as Hughie mashed the tea. And for a moment there was a silence between them, the silence of two men who were past the need to fill every minute with sound.