Hannah massey (19 page)

Within half an hour she was in an office above a warehouse

demonstrating her skill to a fatherly man who smelt of bacon and

nutmeg. He seemed very pleased with the letter that she had taken down from his dictation, and then he went on to explain why they needed someone in a hurry. It appeared that his secretary, whose name was Miss Pointer and whose age was forty-five, had run off with the

storekeeper, a man with a wife and three-grown-up daughters.

"The older they are the dafter they get," he said to Rosie; and ended,

"The silly old trout!"

In spite of his bald description of his late secretary, Rosie felt she would like working for this man. What was more, she would be working on her own, with no one to boss her. except the boss. When he asked her how soon she could start and she replied,. "Now if you like," he slapped her on the back, saying, "You're a lass after me own heart.

Get at it. There's three days work piled up there. " He pointed to the desk.

"I gave her three days to find out her mistake, but apparently it's not long enough, and the work can't wait. Our business depends on

letters."

"You'll want my reference," said Rosie.

"Aye, I suppose I will," he said.

"I'll give you the address of the London firm." As she wrote the address he laughed as he asked, "Will they give you a good one, do you think?" and she laughed back at him as she replied, "I've no fear of that." And she hadn't.

So Rosie started her new job at eleven 'o'clock on Wednesday morning, and when she left at quarter-past five in the evening her new boss, looking at the pile of letters ready for the post, nodded his head and said, "You'll do."

She felt better, not happy or elated, just a little better.

When she arrived home the tea was over and there was no place set for her. Her mother must have cleared away almost before the men were

finished, and she imagined she could hear her saying, "Well, I'm the kind of woman who, if met halfway across the river will carry you over the other half on me shoulders."

Hannah, bustling about the living-room, neither spoke nor looked at her, but kept her broad back turned towards her all the time.

It was Broderick, whose face wore a troubled look tonight, who tried to put things on a normal footing.

"Well, lass, had a nice day?" he asked her.

Rosie went to the fire and held out her hands.

"In a way, Da," she said.

"What you been doin' with yourself?"

"Working. I've got a job." She smiled down at him.

"Begod, you have?" He screwed himself to the edge of his chair.

"Where? In that factory? What doin'?"

Rosie was conscious that her mother had stopped her bustling and had turned towards her as she answered, "My own kind of work.

Shorthand-typing, but not in the factory. It's in a wholesale firm, just a small place. I'm the only one. "

"I'm glad for you." Her mother's voice, coming soft and controlled from behind her, forced her about. Hannah was smiling at her, the old apologetic look on her face.

"I'll get you some tea, lass," she said.

"I didn't know."

When Hannah walked quietly from the room to the kitchen, Broderick put his arm around Rosie's waist and shook his head as he whispered, "She's been through hell the day. She ... she " "I've been wondering how he is all day. It frightened me last night, that concussion business."

"I'll slip over to Dennis's after tea and find out." She was whispering, and he whisperer back, "No, no, I wouldn't do that if I was you. Things are quietenin' down; let them simmer, there's a good girl, let them simmer."

"Tell me about it. Where is it? I mean, where in Newcastle is it?"

Hannah was coming into the room, talking now as if there had been no interlude between yesterday morning and tea-time tonight.

And Rosie told her where the warehouse was, what it was like inside and the type of work she was expected to do. And all the while Hannah

fussed around the table, handing bread, pouring tea, pushing a tart to her hand; cutting a pie and placing a fish slice under a portion of it ready to be lifter. Then, "What's his name?" she asked.

"Bunting," said Rosie.

"Oh, Bunting. It's a plain name. Is it young or old he is?"

"About sixty I should say, and he's got a slight cast in his eye."

At this Broderick let out a bellow of a laugh and cried at Hannah, "Are you satisfied, eh? Are you satisfied?"

"I just wanted to get a picture of him in me mind," said Hannah;

"that's all."

"That's all," said Broderick.

"That's all." And he laughed again.

When Rosie had finished her tea she sat by the fire for a few minutes before she remarked in an off-hand manner, "I think I'll go to the pictures, I haven't been for ages."

Hannah looked sharply at her averted face, and her eyes narrowed for an instant before she exclaimed, "Why! Those arc the very words Arthur said, just afore he went upstairs. He said he thought he'd go to the pictures. I'll call him an' you can go along together." She was out of the room before Rosie could protest, calling, "Arthur! Arthur! Are you up there still?" And when Arthur's voice came to her, she called back, "Rosie's goin' to the pictures an" all; you can go along of her.

"

She came back into the room, saying, "Go an' get yourself ready, go on now, a night out'll do you good." As Rosie went out of the room she knew that her father had grown quiet and was looking into the fire, and she knew also that Arthur would be cursing her upstairs. She met him on the landing coming along the little passage from the end room, his face glum, the corners of his mouth drooping, and she said to him

aloud, "I won't be a minute. Well, not more than five," but she accompanied this with a wagging of her head and a shaking of her

finger, and the action drew the lines from his mouth and brought his head nodding at her.

Upstairs she powdered her face and combed her hair and put on an extra jumper beneath her coat. Altogether it didn't take her five minutes, and then she was down in the living-room and her mother was spreading her smile over her and Arthur It was like a blessing.

"Where you goin'?" she asked them.

"Oh, likely the Plaza. Alee Guinness is on there. He's always good for a laugh. What about it?" He looked at Rosie.

"Suits me. Yes, I'd like that. I like him." As she let them out Hannah said, "I'll likely be in bed when you get back, but enjoy yourselves." Yes, yes, they said, they would enjoy themselves. When they reached the street they walked in an embarrassed silence tor some minutes, before Rosie asked, "You weren't going to the pictures, were you, Arthur?"

"No. Were you?"

"No. I was going to see how Hughie was." Arthur didn't say where he was bound for, he didn't have to, but he did say, "Well, it isn't much out of me way, I'll look in on Hughie with you. But afore' we get that far we'd better call at the Plaza and see the times of the pictures.

You never know, she might start cross-examinin' us the morrow night.

We'll get a good idea from the stills what it's all about. "

They examined the stills at the Plaza, and in the bus ride towards the outskirts of the town Arthur brought laughter to Rosie in giving her his version of the sequence of the story. Later, as they neared

Dennis's flat, he suddenly exclaimed, "Look, Rosie, I won't come in now; if I do I'll likely get stuck. You know what it is when we start talkin' and especially if last night comes up. So I'll go straight on, but I'll come and pick you up, say ... about ten?"

"All right," she said.

"About ten."

"So long then."

"So long, Arthur."

Dennis's flat, Rosie had always considered, was bare when compared with her own home, and she never visited it, or her brother and his wife, without a sense of embarrassment. Her mother had at one time made her believe that Dennis was estranged from his family solely because of his wife, who was nothing but an upstart and a nagger. But the opposite was the truth, for on her previous visits, embarrassed as she was, she had sensed an odd something between them that she wasn't able to

define. It wasn't until her return home last year that she realised that what had puzzled her between this husband and wife was a sort of friendship. She had never thought of friendship between a married

couple. Girls pf her acquaintance had married and for the first few months the husband and wife were seen about together, then the pattern changed. The man went back to his nights at the local club, and his Saturday afternoons at the football match, and if they were fortunate enough to possess a car they went out on a Sunday, very often

accompanied by one set of parents. But that wasn't Dennis's or

Florence's pattern. They had always gone everywhere together, even to the football match. And Dennis didn't belong to any club. Yet they argued, even violently at times. One ordinary word would start a

discussion between them which often led to an argument but it nearly always finished with them laughing at each other and saying, "Well, we'll work this out later." Before she had first left Fellbum for London, Rosie considered that Dennis and Florence were a funny couple.

But now, as she entered their uncluttered sitting-room, she knew that she envied her brother and his wife their way of life, and that she was jealous of Florence, not because she was the wife of her brother, or that she was happy, but because what had happened to herself would never, or could never have happened, to Florence.

Florence would have used her mind and it would have guided her heart, whereas the power of her own mind became nonexistent where her feelings were concerned.

"Oh, I'm glad you've come, Rosie." Florence was leading the way into the room.

"Hughie wondered if you would make it."

"Is he any better?"

"Yes. Here's Rosie, Hughie."

She went slowly towards him.

"Hello, Hughie."

"Hello, Rosie."

"How are you feeling?" She was standing over him, where he lay propped up on the couch.

"I've never felt so good before. This is the life." He patted the back of the couch.

"Talk about being pampered. I'm going to make something out of this, I'm going to make it last as long as I can." He nodded up at her, then turned his smile towards Florence.

"Look, take your things off and settle down." Florence pushed a chair forward towards the couch, and as she did so Hughie said to Rosie, "How long can you stay?"

"How long?" Sh" glanced quickly back at Florence.

"All the evening if you don't mind. Arthur's picking me up about ten."

She looked back at Hughie; then down at her hands as she admitted,

"We're supposed to be at the pictures guarding one another."

A ripple of laughter passed between the three of them, then Hughie said, "Good. Now get yourself away, Florence. There's a do on at the school" --he looked at Rosie, explaining, "Florence's got the idea in her head that I mustn't be left alone, and I don't want to be." He smiled over Rosie's shoulder.

"But now you can go in peace, go on."

"All right, then, I will." Florence protested no further.

"We'll be back before you go, Rosie."

Dennis's voice now came from the hall, calling, "Is that you, Rosie?"

The next moment he appeared in the doorway, naked to the waist, rubbing his head with a towel.

"Hello, Dennis."

"You made it?"

"Yes, I made it."

"I'm coming with you; Rosie's going to stay until we get back," said Florence.

"Good." Dennis flicked the towel towards his wife. Then turning to Rosie again, added, "This problem of baby-sitting is difficult... and if you do well to-night we'll book you for later on."

"Go on, get yourself ready." Florence was pushing him into the hall.

When the door closed behind them Hughie looked at Rosie and asked

quietly, "How's things?"

"Oh, very subdued, Hughie."

"How about last night when you got back? I was worried.... At least I was worried to-day, last night seems very hazy to me now. There's'a blank between when I left the kitchen and when I woke up here on the couch. The only thing I seem to remember is that you were with me all the time, and then this morning when my head cleared... well, I

wondered what happened when you got back."

"It was all right, she was in bed."

"And she didn't say anything to you at all?" He seemed surprised.

"Well, just a parable." She smiled faintly at him.

"The bedroom door was open and it was thrown at me as I passed."

"Just a parable?" he shook his head as if in disbelief.

Dennis came into the room now, putting on his tie, and looking at

Rosie, asked, "Well, what have you been doing with yourself all day?"

"Working."

"Working!"

"I've got a job."

"What, already? Where?"

"At a little wholesale place called Bunting's in Newcastle. I think I'm going to like it."

"Well, well, you haven't lost much time.... What do you think of that, Hughie jerked his head to the side but he said nothing.

Florence now came into the room fastening up her dress at the back.

"Do this top button for me, Dennis, will you?" She turned her back to him.

"What do you think? Rosie's got a job already."

"You have?" Florence screwed her head round.

"In her own line too."

"Oh, I'm glad. Where is it, Rosie?"

"In Newcastle."

"Arc you going to travel or get digs?"

"I'm going to get a room."

"Have you told her?" asked Dennis.

"About the job, not about getting a room."

"Coo!" Dennis closed his eyes.

"I would get yourself built up before you spring that one.... Well"

--he put his hand on Florence's arm"--if we want to get there in time we'll have to be off. Be seeing you." He nodded towards Hughie and Rosie.

As Florence was hustled towards the door she called over. her

shoulder, "Make some coffee, Rosie. And there's plenty to eat in the pantry."