Hannah massey (11 page)

"It won't be a tick, I'll let it draw. Sit yourself down."

Hughie was speaking to Dennis's back now. It was a thin back, narrow shoulders topped by a longish head with dark hair, close cut, almost black, as were his eyes. There was no look of Hannah about Dennis, and very little of Broderick. They said he took after Broderick's father.

His face wore a keen, sharp look, and when he turned it towards Hughie the expression was tight and the eyes hard.

"I suppose you've heard the latest?" he said.

"A bit of it."

"My God!" Dennis shook his head as he sat down.

"What will she think of next? Brampton Hill, number eight of all places! But there's one thing about it; this time the lads arc making a stand."

"Their lines will break."

"Yes, Hughie, as you say, their lines will break, as they've done before. The woman's mad.... Brampton Hill with our lot. Can you

imagine it? But she's determined as I've never seen her before. The house was like hell let loose this morning. Did you know she broke the news to them last night after she came back from the club?"

"Yes, I heard the racket from up in my room."

"Huh! She must have been well fortified and thought the time was ripe.

I was flabbergasted when I went in. I was expecting to get it in the neck straight-away for not calling in and, for what I had to tell her, but that came later. You know, the atmosphere on a Sunday in the house has generally made me laugh, because it's always so full of restrained holy bustle;

this one getting ready for this Mass, the other coming back from

Communion, and the virtue of having gone to the seven o'clock Mass oozing out of her like sweat. But not this morning. It was like going into a house where a bomb had exploded, and the worst thing they could have done they did, I mean the lads, they appealed to me. What did I think of it? You can imagine how she took that. " i Hughie jerked his chin as he poured out the tea.

"I can i-ma sine it.

But how did she take your news? "

"How did she take it?" Dennis took the cup from Hughie's hand and, lifting the spoon, tapped it against the saucer. It was a nervous

movement.

"You know, sometimes I want to laugh in her face, a debunking laugh, or laugh at her... but never with her. At times I forget she's me mother and want to slap her mouth for her. I could have done it this morning quite easily. It was during one of the lulls when the lads were coming up for more breath that I told her. We were in the kitchen alone at the time. I broke it gently, saying, " I've got a bit of news for you, Ma. "

"" Aye? " she said; she didn't even turn from the sink.

"Florence is going to have a baby," I said. I was grinning self-consciously as I said it, I couldn't help it. You know, Hughie, the way she turned around and looked at me was an insult in itself.

And you know what she said? "

"I could give a good guess."

"She kept wiping up as she turned round, and there was that tight, bitter smile on her face.

"Well," she said, 'you should feel much better now that you've proved yourself; in fact, you should both feel different and more normal like.

It's a great stigma for a woman to bear, not to be able to have a

child. She's for ever at a loss to know if the man's no use or it's: herself . She's me mother, Hughie, and she said that. And then she finished, "I only hope her body's as strong as her mind and she's delivered safe. Brains are not important to a woman in childbirth, she'll likely deliver hard'.... I had to come out, Hughie; I just had to come out."

"Don't you worry, Dennis. Both you and Florence are in a position to laugh at her."

Dennis took a long drink from his cup, and he stared at the oil-stove for some moments before replying, "Yes, I suppose we are, but you know we just can't... you can't laugh her off for she gets into your skin, pricking you all over liice squirrel fleas ... I don't know how you stand it day in, day out... I don't. Florence was saying the other night that she could understand the lads putting up with her because they were nearly all as dim as doornails. As long as they are fed and clothed and have their pocket money, that's all that matters. Like her, she said, they think God will provide, only unlike her they don't help Him with the job. And why should they when they've got Ma? But she said, she just couldn't begin to understand how you've put up with it all these years."

Hughie smiled now, a quiet, thoughtful smile, and he looked through the glass door into the shop to a shelf where rested a row of cobbled boots and shoes as he replied softly, "I've asked me self that many times, and given me self the answer, too. And it's very simple, I haven't much gumption." He cast a smile towards Dennis.

"Nonsense!" Dennis gave a disbelieving jerk to his head.

"But really, why didn't you just walk out?"

"I did. You know I did, twice, and she had me brought back."

"But that was when you were a lad. I've never brought this up before, it seemed too pertinent. But what really kept you? I can't believe it's just what happened years ago and the hold she had over you. As I see it, there was nothing to stop you just walking out, any day of any year as far back as I can remember ... just walking out."

Again Hughie looked through the door to the line of shoes, and his expression took on a sadness that buried itself deep in his brown

eyes.

"You belong to a family, Dennis, and anybody who has a family can't really understand what it's like not to be a member of one. When I first came into the house I felt I was one of you lads, because she was kind, but there were still times when, in a temper, she would say, " As for you, I've got enough to put up with from this horde, you'll go into a home. " She'd forget it the next minute, but not me. I was

terrified of this thing called ... a home. I was terrified of not

being a member of a family. And you know, on the two occasions she had me brought back I was glad. Moreover, your da was good to me when we worked together here. We could laugh and be easy, and he would make excuses for her, mostly first thing in the morning, saying, " Don't mind, Hannah; all she says is just like God bless you. She's a great woman, a great woman. " I often wondered what he would think about me if she had told him the truth, as she threatened so often to do."

"Just the same as he does now. But the fact that he didn't know, that she kept mum about it all these years, makes her more formidable still, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so. The reason she gave me for not telling him was that he would kill me, in fact they would all kill me if they knew.

And then I felt I owed her something after what had happened. And as the years went on it wasn't too bad. I had the. shop on my own, and this. " He spread his hands out to indicate the little room.

"I had my books; and then the last few years I've had" --he leant his head forward and his voice dropped as he ended"--you and Florence.

That's meant a lot to me, more than you'll ever guess, Dennis. And the pastime you opened up for me."

"Oh, that was Florence's doing, not mine. She saw immediately that you were a natural writer and would make an

Y

essayist. "

"Huh! A natural... an essayist who couldn't spell more than a four-letter word."

"You can spell better than me, it was never my strong point either."

They laughed at each other now. Then again there was silence between them, until Dennis exclaimed, "Oh, by the way, what I meant to say when I first came in was, what do you think about our Rosie coming borne?"

"Oh... Rosie." Hughie got up, took Dennis's cup and went to the stove to refill it, saying, "Well, I don't really know. What's your opinion?"

Dennis shook his head.

"Well, since you put it like that I feel there's something not quite right. She says she's had the 'flu. That could account for her being thin and white, but... well, I might be imagining it, but she looks sort of scared to me."

"She's in trouble, Dennis."

"God, no!"

"Oh, I don't think it's that." Hughie raised his eyebrows as he handed Dennis the filled cup.

"Yet I don't know. But I just don't want to think it's that, not with her. But there's something. You put your finger on it when you said she looked scared. The others though don't seem to have noticed

anything."

"They wouldn't." Dennis jerked his chin upwards.

"But if she's in trouble it'll drive the old girl barmy. That would be the end of it, because she's the apple of her eye, as you know. It's a wonder she isn't a completely spoiled brat, yet she isn't.... I've always had a soft spot for Rosie."

"Me too." Hughie again went to the sink, filled the kettle and set it on the stove, but did not light the gas. And Dennis, looking towards him, was about to say something further but withheld it. Then he bit on his lower lip as if to suppress the question, after which he drained the last of his tea at a gulp and stood up, saying, "I'd better be making a move or I'll be late for dinner. You'll be along this

afternoon?"

"Yes. Yes, Dennis, I'll be along this afternoon."

They went through the shop in single file, and when they were near the door Dennis turned towards Hughie and said quietly, "We're going to miss you, you know."

"It won't all be on one side, Dennis. I'll never forget the pair of you."

"Will you ever come back this way, do you think?"

"I doubt it; not the way I'm feeling now; but you never know. Th'ere's one thing I'm certain of. Wherever I come to rest there'll be room for you and Florence and" --his face spread into a grin"--the baims."

Dennis put out his fist and punched him in the chest, then opened the door, saying, "So long. See you later."

"Yes, Dennis. " So long. "

Back in the room again, Hughie sat down before the narrow desk. There was half an hour before he need go back to the house. He reached up and took down some sheets of paper from the shelf where the books were, and after thinking for a moment, he began to write from where earlier he had left off. But he had only written a few lines when he stopped, and staring down at his thin, scribbly writing, he thought to himself, an essayist. It was a wonderful word, essayist, and Florence didn't say things for the sake of saying them. He had started scribbling

years ago, but hadn't dared show his efforts to anyone, until by chance Dennis had picked up something from the desk here.

That's how it had started; and with it his friendship with them both.

Dennis had said, "You're a deep one; 1 never even thought you thought--I forgot you weren't one of us." They had both laughed. Now, if he wanted, he could spend all his days just writing. Going

carefully, he had enough money to keep him for the remainder of his life; and who knew? He might one day see himself in print. That would be worth all the money in the world. And he was going to see the

world, the whole world. From his house on wheels he was going to see the world.

At this point, the shop bell ringing once more surprised him, and when he opened the door there stood Dennis again, but now with Rosie by his side.

"I brought her back to go along home with you. She'll explain."

Dennis pressed Rosie over the threshold.

"I must be off. Look" --he pulled at Rosie's arm"--what about coming over to our place this afternoon with Hughie, eh? Florence would. love to see you."

"Thanks, Dennis, but Betty has already asked me. But I'd rather come over to you. I'll... I'll sec if I can manage it," she smiled at him.

"You do, you do. So long."

"So long, Dennis.... Thanks."

As Dennis turned away Rosie took a step into the shop and stood

waiting, and Hughie, dosing the door, said, "Go on into the back room, Rosie, it's warm there."

She kept her head slightly down as she went round the counter and into the back shop, but once inside an exclamation came from her, arid she turned to him spontaneously, saying, "By! You've got this cosy, Hughie." She looked about her now.

"It's something different from when I saw it last."

"Home from home." He smiled shyly at her.

"Sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea."

"No... no, don't, Hughie, I don't want anything. Thanks all the same."

"It would warm you up. It won't take a minute."

She was looking up at him, and he down at her, and their exchanged glances embarrassed them both. She said quickly, "All right, all right, I'll have one," and he turned just as quickly and went to the stove and lit the gas.

The striking of the match was like a whip's crack in the silence. It was a different silence from that which he had shared with Dennis.

Aware of the strained atmosphere too, Rosie moved on the chair and turned sideways and leant her elbow on the desk and her eyes dropped to the paper lying there.

Having been trained to read quickly she took in the first paragraph of the writing almost at a glance. It read: "March 12th, looked at programme " The Cosmologist'. Speakers were:

Professor Fred Hoyle, Professor Sir Bernard Lovell and Professor

Hermann Bondi, and Doctor Margaret arid Geoffrey Burbidge. This

programme interested me so much it set my mind moving, and I thought of the following when I was on the point of sleep and made myself put it down, just as I thought of it. Must extend it. "

Then followed the words: "The word conscious is the only means we have of explaining our ability to be aware of our surroundings; Yet how do we know that unconsciousness, which now we understand as a state of unawareness, might not, when deprived of this body, be a higher form of mind which will produce another body, which will in turn take up life on a planet suited to maintain it for a span of time in accordance with the properties of that planet, where it will go through the same

process--namely, what we now term unconsciousness will be a form of consciousness. This consciousness will eventually merge again into the universe as unconsciousness... ad infinitum.

"Unconsciousness, or the subconscious mind, could be the reality. All the universe could be alive to deeper and deeper forms of