The Travelling Man (8 page)

If Laurie Yates, sailing a far distant sea at that very moment, had been able to see the expression on the old priest’s face, he would have wished himself ten fathoms deep.

It was later that afternoon when Father O’Leary came up with an idea and acted upon it. Poor little Annie Clancy had been wrong about it being too windy for snow. It was coming down like a great white curtain, soundlessly, from a leaden sky. Snow meant chilblains on the priest’s knobbly toes and fingers, swelling them up into a purple agony. His boots leaked, and the woollen mittens on his hands seemed to soak up the wet before he’d gone ten yards.

To get where he was going he had to pass the Clancy house, and to his shame he was glad to see the door closed and no sign of Annie. He walked on down the street, being careful where he put his feet, knowing it wouldn’t be long before her young brothers slurred and slithered down this stretch of flags, turning them into a lethal slide as smooth as glass.

He was passing the house with the old lady in bed by the window now. He couldn’t see her, but he knew that behind the cream lace curtain she was more than likely watching him. So he raised his black hat. To be polite.

At the bottom of this street, he had remembered or been nudged by God to remember, lived a homely widow
with
her son and his wife, a nondescript young woman who was disappointingly childless after three years wed. Week after week the daughter-in-law came to Mass, praying for a miracle that never happened. Kneeling there in church with her poor sore hands clasped in supplication, putting a strain on the relationship between her and her mother-in-law, so the priest had heard. So maybe Annie’s baby would altogether be a blessing in disguise.

Father O’Leary stepped as gingerly as if he walked on hot coals and not a snowy pavement to the bottom house, lifted the iron knocker and knocked three times on the door.

‘Yon Catholic priest’s been down the street twice. Once this morning and once this afternoon. When Nextdoor came in to see to the fire she told me she’d seen him going in young Annie’s house.’ Grandma Morris submitted to being helped out of bed to sit on the commode, while Edith gave her mattress a good pawing over before she got the tea. ‘I nearly knocked on the window the second time, and asked him to come in for a bit. He looked frozen to the marrow.’

Edith was bone weary. She had stood outside three mills that morning before the fourth one had let her take the place of an absentee. Working as a ‘sick’ weaver was a thankless job. You just got used to one lot of looms then the regular weaver came back and you were out. But what else could she do when there were days when her mother couldn’t be left, when her breathing was so bad Edith kept the steam kettle on the go all day.

She gritted her teeth, waiting for her mother to finish, then helped her back into bed, feeling herself almost shaking with self-pity and a rarely acknowledged bitterness.

‘Would you like lentil sausages for your tea, Mother?’

In her mind Edith was already mixing the ready boiled lentils with mashed potatoes and onion, binding them
together
with an egg before forming into sausages and frying in hot fat. She was like that, one step ahead all the time, never wasting a minute. Meeting herself coming backwards, as she often said.

‘I don’t mind what I have. I could understand the Father coming once, but why twice?’

Edith’s halo slipped a bit. ‘I don’t
care
why he went twice. I don’t care if he came down the street
seven
times. I just hope he can do something for that poor young lass.’

Edith was filled with an emotion she couldn’t put a name to. She wanted to say: ‘I’m going through the change, Mother, and you’ve never even noticed. I’ll never have a baby now.’ She wanted to blame her mother for keeping her tied to her apron strings, for stopping her marrying, even though nobody had ever asked her.

‘I’m going round to see Annie when we’ve had our tea,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell her I’ll make her baby everything it needs – its whole layette. I’ll make it a christening robe and a bonnet. I’ll line a clothes-basket with flowered stuff and I’ll knit it a blanket.’ She blinked hard to stop the tears falling. ‘I’ll be its godmother if she likes and I won’t listen when the tongues start wagging. There’ll be no condemnation coming from
me
!’

She jumped up to go through to the back, shaking her small head from side to side as if to emphasise her determination to stand by Annie. After no more than a minute she reappeared.

‘How do I know how I would have behaved? I can’t set myself up as judge and jury, can I, when nobody ever tempted
me
! When no man has ever tried to lay a finger on
me
! How do I know what I’d have done?’

Grandma Morris sank back exhausted on her pillows. Wondering what she’d said to bring all that on. But seeing the awful sadness in it, just the same.

Father O’Leary was so relieved to get inside out of the
cold
he made straight for Mrs Greenhalgh’s fire, failing to see Jack Clancy, still in his pit dirt, scarpering up the stairs.

‘I’ve come on an errand of mercy,’ he said. ‘Knowing you’ve never been known to pass by on the other side.’

‘If it’s in my power, Father.’ Jack’s jacket and waistcoat were there, in full view of the priest, with his boots set side by side under the table, but the saintly old codger would think they were her son’s. ‘We only pass this way but once.’ Florrie Greenhalgh put on the pious expression she saved for going to Mass.

Father O’Leary leaned forward. Best to come straight to the point. ‘Young Annie Clancy’s got herself into trouble.’ He bowed his head. ‘With a man. I’m feared she’s going to have a baby.’ His head jerked up. ‘What was that?’

‘Nothing, Father.’ Florrie had to think quick. ‘Sometimes the next door’s cat gets in and knocks things over.’ She hoped she didn’t look as alarmed as she felt. ‘Are you sure you’re right? Begging your pardon, Father, but young Annie’s always been a bit fanciful. Is it not some fairy-tale she’s made up, thinking to shock?’

‘I pray you’re right, Mrs Greenhalgh. I pray you’re right altogether.’ Father O’Leary gathered his cloak round him. He’d forgotten how enormously fat this good woman was, how her eyes kept disappearing into little cushions of flesh. Homely. Motherly. Just what was needed. ‘If you could go and have a straight little talk with her.’ He reached for his hat. ‘It’s a mother she needs at the moment … but alas …’

‘I’ll go up right this minute, Father. I’ll just get me shawl.’

‘God bless you,’ Father O’Leary muttered, stepping out into a raging snowstorm, his hands and feet already numb. ‘May His blessing shine upon you.’

He had hardly turned the corner at the top of the street when Jack Clancy hurtled out of the bottom house, followed by Mrs Greenhalgh, puffing to keep
up
with him, but leaving enough breath to yell at the top of her voice: ‘You lay a finger on that lass, and I’ll have the law on you, Jack Clancy!’

Annie heard them coming, and the shame of it made her feel sick. The front door slammed back with such force that flakes of plaster fell from the wall. She wanted to turn and run out the back way, but forced herself to stand her ground, holding the ironing blanket she’d been folding in front of her like a shield.

A part of her, a small unacknowledged part, bowed to the relief of having been found out. When her father started to unbuckle his belt she accepted that to have the shame beaten out of her might even be a good thing. Once it was done it would be done.

‘Is it true? Is what Father O’Leary’s just come out with the truth?’ He ran the thick belt through his fingers.

Mrs Greenhalgh snatched it, then gave Jack an almighty shove that took him off his feet and sent him sprawling into his chair. Annie’s mouth dropped open with the shock of it.

‘Shame on you, Jack!’ Mrs Greenhalgh stood over him, wobbling with indignation. ‘It’s that sailor you should be fighting, not this child. I warned you there was gyppo blood in him, but you wouldn’t listen. Not you!’ She spoke without turning round. ‘Is it true, lass?’

‘Laurie said he wanted to marry me. He said he would be coming back for me. An’ he will. He
will
.’

Mrs Greenhalgh’s broad back expressed disbelief. ‘He was all talk and nowt else. I could have told you that, chuck.’ A fat finger was poked in Jack’s chest.

Annie could hardly believe what was happening. Laurie had been right. There
was
something going on between her father and Mrs Greenhalgh from the bottom house. He was cowering back in his chair with the blowsy woman bending over him, supporting herself on the arm-rests.

‘Aye. All talk and nowt else,’ she shouted. ‘Like someone else I could mention.’ She stabbed him in the chest.
‘No
wonder you and that gyppo got on so well together. You’re two of a kind. No you don’t, miladdo!’ When Jack tried to get up she put a hand on his chest and pushed. ‘Me own son gave me my marching orders this morning. Said I could go to the workhouse for all he cared. How’s that for honouring your poor old ma? But what chance does he have against that sod he’s married to?’

Jack made a valiant effort to have a bit of a say. ‘Your Jim wouldn’t do that. I know him better.’

‘Do you?’ Mrs Greenhalgh’s broad behind quivered. ‘But you don’t know that daughter-in-law of mine, do you? There isn’t the room for her and me in the same house, not one day longer. So do I move into here, and do we get married, or do I go to the workhouse? You’ve promised to marry me often enough. I reckon we’ve been courting for at least twelve months.’

Courting? Unnoticed, Annie crept through into the back to sit on her bed and stare unblinking at the roundbellied copper. Her father and Mrs Greenhalgh married? The loud-mouthed common woman living
here
? Taking the place of her mother? Sharing her father’s bed? She shuddered. What would the boys think to it all?

As if reading her thoughts the raucous voice from the other room bellowed: ‘I only had the one lad, but he’s caused me more bother than all your five put together. I’ll look to them, Jack. You know that.’

‘And Annie?’

Was that her father asking the question, as meek and mild as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth? Annie held her breath. She leaned forward, a hand to her mouth.

‘The day I come here, out she goes.’ Mrs Greenhalgh was making no attempt to speak quietly. ‘Two women can’t share the same house. I know that better than most. It doesn’t work.’

There was a silence, then the noise of the rocker moving along the flagged floor. Annie clutched her throat at the inference. That loud-mouthed woman was sitting on her father’s knee. She hadn’t wanted Jack to belt
his
daughter, because that would have taken his mind from the real issue. And the real issue was that she was determined to move in here.

‘Annie could get a job at the mine. She’s young and strong; she could work on the screens for a long time yet.’

Annie couldn’t believe it. Her father was pleading for her … he was … and surely that meant that he must care? Not much, but a little? She moved to the door to hear better.

Mrs Greenhalgh’s next words chilled her through.

‘An’ how long would that last once they found out she was expecting? Have a bit of sense, Jack. She can go to the workhouse to have the baby, they’ve a special section for girls in her condition. Come on, Jack. Think of the talk once it gets out. Starting with that mealy-mouthed Edith Morris …’

Annie leaned against the whitewashed wall. Oh, dear, dear God, how could she have let it happen? Here on this bed, over so quickly, paining her so much. She closed her eyes, in her mind a picture of Laurie Yates sliding the torn blouse off her shoulders, kissing her and whispering words of love. She remembered the way his body had trembled, and the heat coming from him. All she had wanted was to be held and given the comfort she craved. ‘Oh, Laurie,’ she whispered. ‘Come back to me.
Please
. Don’t wait a year. Come back
now
.’

‘I’m going down the street.’

Jack stood in the doorway and stared at his daughter. He couldn’t see any difference in her; she looked just the same to him, with the flat cap on her head and her clothes bunched round her as if she’d put them on all at once. Then she uncrossed her arms and he saw the unmistakable enlargement of her breasts, the slight swell of her stomach as she stood up to face him. Anger rose in him, a fierce and burning anger as if a naked flame had been run up and down his spine. He clenched his hands to hold himself back from striking out at her.

Florrie Greenhalgh was right. And she didn’t know the half of it. If he felt like this now, what would he feel like when Annie’s condition became obvious? He turned from her, almost spitting his contempt. Taking no notice of her outstretched hand.

‘You dirty little whore,’ he muttered. ‘You filthy little bitch.’

Her world might be coming to an end, but there was still the boys’ tea to get. Annie moved from fire to table, table to fire, with glazed eyes and dragging movements.

‘The snow’s sticking, our Annie.’ Billy spoke through a mouthful of stew made with tripe bits and onions. ‘We’ll be able to make cloggie-boggies.’

‘I bet we can get stilts that thick.’ John showed her how thick with his thumb and forefinger. ‘We’ll knock ’em off before we come in. Honest.’

‘Where’s our dad gone to?’ Georgie looked sly. ‘He came up the cage before me.’

Annie waited until the younger boys had rushed straight from the table into the darkened street, whooping with delight at the way the snow was piling up, then she sat down and said, ‘Our dad is down the street at Mrs Greenhalgh’s house. He’ll be having his tea there because they’re going to get married.’

She waited for the outburst that never came.

‘He’s been hanging his cap up there for a long time.’

‘You mean you knew?’

Georgie’s eyes were those of a man of forty, a man well used to the ways of the world. His father had decided to take a woman, and since his wife had been dead for a long time, what was wrong with that?

‘Course I knew.’ The old eyes in the black face were weary. ‘Anyroad, what difference will it make? I like Mrs Greenhalgh. She gives me sugar butties.’