With Love From Ma Maguire (9 page)

‘And three guineas of her money at the finish?’

‘Four if she lives.’

‘Right, Missus.’ Mother Blue struggled to her feet. ‘No gin, love. Just bring me black beer while I’m working. Save me a couple of bottles of the good stuff for after.’

Edie led the old lady to the door. ‘Aren’t you a-feared?’

Mother Blue laughed, toothless gums glistening pink in the lamplight. ‘Me? I’ve seen more disease than you’ve had hot dinners, lass. Nay, I’m frightened of nowt, me. Mind you, Missus High and Mighty next door likely won’t want me in her house . . .’

‘That can’t be helped, Mother. We can’t find nobody else willing, so just do your best and we’ll make it worth your while.’

‘And I’ll talk to you through the bedroom window at eight o’clock in the morning. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

When the old woman had left, Edie burned the filthy rags of clothing, allowing herself a sad smile as a picture flashed across her mind, a vivid memory of Mother Blue in the bath with her bonnet still firmly in place. Anybody who’d keep the blinking hat on in the bath must be well away with the fairies and no mistake. Still, the old besom was their only chance, so there hadn’t really been any other alternative, had there? Though God alone knew what Philly would say when all this was over! She called Arthur down for his cocoa and toast. They sat on opposite sides of the fire, both exhausted by the day’s happenings.

‘I hope the lass makes it,’ said Arthur, his voice edged with sadness.

‘Aye well, we’ll know if and when she’s on the mend. I reckon this house’ll fall down when Philly sees Mother Blue. She’ll go bloody mad!’

‘Don’t swear, Edie.’

‘Sorry, love. But them two together – can you imagine? Mind, there were nowt else for it.’ She sighed as she gazed into the fire. ‘Say a prayer for our Molly, lad.’

‘I will. And for Patrick too.’

‘That’s right. Let’s not forget Patrick.’ She dropped her voice. ‘As if we ever could.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, love. Just say one for all of us.’

She was choking, choking to death. Someone had rolled her over to the edge of the bed and left her hanging there face down with her mouth drooling on to the floor. Now she was lifted, heaved about like a sack of coal, pushed and pummelled past endurance. ‘Breathe, you bitch,’ whispered a female voice. ‘Don’t you dare bloody die on me, else I’ll kill you!’

That, thought Philly, was a ridiculous thing to say. Then the owner of the voice was on top of her, straddling her body and hissing in sinister tone, ‘Open your gob, Missus. Go on, open it.’ Philly continued to drift in and out of consciousness until a sharp jab in the stomach made her mouth open involuntarily. Inflamed and swollen throat membranes were suddenly assaulted further when a foreign object entered her mouth, something smooth and long. Dear God! Somebody was pushing a snake down her throat! With a painful sigh she absented herself, put herself away where she was not reachable.

Mother Blue smiled at her small triumph. It hadn’t been easy to work out how to feed this one, because the throat was near closed, but a bit of narrow and well-greased rubber tubing had done the trick something lovely. Mind, it was a bit dicey, was that. The only way of knowing that the tube was in the stomach was to check that the patient hadn’t gone purple. But she hadn’t, so all was well enough up to now.

She took a funnel and inserted it into the end of the tube, then poured milk and beaten raw egg into this receptacle. It was a slow process, but the law of gravity had its inevitable way in the end, leaving Mother with an empty jug and a smile of victory. That was a beginning now. After six days of no food and little water, the battle had looked to be lost. She would leave the tube in, drip a bit of nourishment down every hour or so.

It wasn’t a bad life. A bit on the boring side with nobody to talk to, but plenty to eat laid on every morning by her next door, a nice full coal hole to provide fires in kitchen and bedroom, then a couple of pints of dark beer thrown in on top. Mind, as soon as this one popped her clogs, there’d be none of that. Which was why Mother had willed the young dragon to stay alive. At least, that was the idea in the first place, only now she’d gone and let herself get fond of the great lump of a girl. By God, she had some spirit, right enough. And she was a bonny-looking lass even with all the flesh gone off her – took some lifting even if she had lost weight. Happen she must have been made with a heavy skeleton, because she looked about as healthy as something left in the ashpit for a fortnight. Aye, it was all bone now – without the tube, there’d have been no better than a dog’s chance. There again, this was Mother Blue’s opportunity to prove herself once more, let everybody know that she could still do the job. The whole street was waiting to see if the famous Ma Maguire would stay alive with Old Blue in charge. Well, it was touch and go, but it wouldn’t be for want of trying.

She poured a bit more milk down the tube, then went to the window. Edie Dobson was waiting as always, hanging halfway out of the next door bedroom. Reports were due every hour on the hour now – and there was usually quite an audience gathered in the street.

‘I got the tube down,’ she announced to Edie and those assembled below. ‘She’s had raw egg and plenty of milk, so she’ll come to no harm. How’s her lad?’

Edie grimaced. ‘Depends what you mean. He’s healthy and horrible, I suppose.’ The neighbours chuckled. ‘Nay, I shouldn’t be saying things like that with his mother so poorly,’ she continued, a blush of shame colouring her cheeks. ‘He’s all she’s got, poor soul.’

‘Will she make it?’ asked Bessie Critchley anxiously. ‘Only she said you don’t do things right, said as how you made me ill . . .’

‘I’m doing me bloody best!’ snapped the old lady. ‘Anybody want to come up and see if they can do better? You’re more than welcome to have a go, Missus, changing the bed half a dozen times a day, boiling sheets in the middle of the night, shoving bloody pipes down her throat. Any volunteers?’ She paused, pretending to wait for an answer. ‘No, I thought as much.’ Then she slammed down the window, only to raise it again immediately. ‘Hey!’ she shouted to the next bedroom along the row.

Edie poked her head out. ‘Yes?’

‘I want some more eggs and a bit of brandy. And I fancy a nice lamb chop for me tea tomorrow.’ Down went the window again and everyone dispersed until a further bulletin was due.

Mother turned and faced the bed. ‘Eeh well,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Somebody been rattling the bars of your cage, eh? How long have you been awake? What’s matter, nowt to say? Oh, I see. Some bad bugger’s shoved a lump of rubber in your gob, what a bloody shame about that. Have I to fetch the animal doctor and have you seen to? Only it’d have to be him, ’cos the real doctors are a bit thin on the ground with this here epidemic. Nay, if I didn’t know different, I’d swear them Irish eyes are laughing at me. Cheeky bugger! Listening to me at the window, were you? Anyroad, the lad’s all right. No! Don’t you be pulling that there pipe out! It’s all as is keeping you going and don’t forget it. I know it’s a bit hard to breathe – that’s why I’ve got this pan of water on the fire with some of your balsam in. Stinks like the flaming farrier’s when he’s had all the brewery horses in. That’s right, queen. You go off back to sleep now. No need to fret, Mother’s here . . .’

The days blended into one another, became a week, then a fortnight. After the tube was removed and normal – if somewhat soft – feeding had resumed, Philly found herself still at the complete mercy of this little old woman, because her own chief weapon seemed to have been mislaid. Although her lips moved to frame words, nothing came from her voice box, so she was forced to listen instead to Mother’s endless tales.

‘I’m from Liverpool in the first place. Brought up by nuns, I was, miserable beggars too, the lot of them. Not that I know exactly where or when I was born, like. But I must have been just a young woman when I came here. Got carried away by a handsome Lancashire lad, you see. Only he got carried away to prison and I never saw him no more. Led a bad life, I have, no use pretending I’ve not. Went with men for money – there was nowt else to do then. Seems like a hundred years ago now. Lost me looks with the scarlet fever. And me hair too. Everybody else just shed their skin, ended up looking like boiled shrimp, but I had to go one better and finish up bald. So. Who wants a good time with a bald woman, eh? Anyroad, I took to midwifing and laying-out – did a bit in the mill too, cleaning up and that. Didn’t like it. And I’m past it all now, too old for any of it.’

Philly smiled as broadly as she could manage. She was on the mend, but still needed rest and building-up. Was there no end to this lady’s tales? On and on she went, stories of men she’d known and loved, how much they’d loved her, how much they’d paid to prove it.

‘Am I getting on your nerves? Only it’s not often I have a silent audience what can hear me, like. The only time I’ve ever been on me own with a woman, she’s either been in labour or dead . . .’

Philly fought a painful chuckle as Mother relived a dozen births and several excruciatingly funny layings-out. ‘No bloody door to straighten him out on – they’d even burned the netty door for firewood . . .’ And, ‘I’ve seen some ugly babies in me time, but this one made me wonder if the organ-grinder had lost his monkey . . .’

The younger woman looked up at the ceiling. Dear Lord, couldn’t somebody or something stop Mother Blue? If Philly didn’t laugh, she’d burst right here on the spot . . .

‘You’ve gone all purple again. Am I being funny then? We’re like that, Liverpool folk. We don’t even know when we’re being funny. Did I tell you about that one down Allinson Street? I swear to this day she poisoned him deliberate . . .’

Philly swallowed as carefully as she could. With this old dear in the house, she had better improve quickly. Lying here and hearing all these hilarious tales, lying here a prisoner, not even able to laugh properly . . . Well, she would choke to death on a giggle if this carried on much longer!

But it did carry on, endlessly, relentlessly . . . ‘You were disappearing in front of me eyes. As sure as sixpence, if you’d fell on the floor, you’d have shot straight between a crack in the boards and into the downstairs oven. So I gets this here tube what him next door fetched from the ironmonger’s . . .’

Mother Blue lifted Philly high on to her pillows and placed a cup in her hands. ‘Put yourself outside of that beef tea. Take your time, we can always knit the odd blanket between swallows. And that lad of yours wants taking in hand, Missus. He’s led them next door a fine dance after you’ve ruined him past mending. Start shoving him on his own, let him scream it out, do his lungs good. An idle little sod, he is, can’t even shift himself to try and crawl while some soft woman’ll pick him up. I’ve heard him through the walls, carrying on like destruction.’

Philly sighed and struggled hard to swallow the hot liquid. The woman was right, of course. Patrick was a torment – hadn’t she listened to him herself these last days since she started picking up a bit? She must take a firmer stand with him in future.

‘Then there’s all them food parcels,’ continued Mother Blue with hardly a breath as she changed subject. ‘You’ve a mystery caller twice a week, leaves fruit and fancy tea on your step. Bloody tea tastes like scent, so I don’t bother with it meself, but I reckon it’s grand posh stuff like what the gentry has. Whoever brings that lot must come in the middle of the night, ’cos I’ve never seen nobody. Likely one of your customers with more money than brain. I’ll catch the bugger one of these days, tell them to fetch proper tea. Anyroad, I’ll give you a wash now, then you can settle for the night. You’ll happen manage without me for once, though God knows I’ve nowt to go home for . . .’

Philly reached out a thin hand. ‘Stay.’

‘Good God! You sound like a back gate wanting oil. Shall I fetch the can and give you a squirt? And what do you need me for? I’m just a mucky owld woman full of gin and idle talk. You told me plain enough down the Bull . . .’

‘Stay.’

‘All right then. Just for a day or two . . .’

Swainbank was bringing the parcels, Philly knew that. Somehow, he had found out about her illness . . . How could a person be so kind and yet so cruel? Kind to her just now, probably to his family all the time. Yet so cold when it came to those who toiled day in and day out to make his living for him.

She watched the tired old lady as she fetched bowl and towel for the nightly bed-bath. If Philly had her way, Mother’s day or two would be stretched to what was left of the old girl’s life, which couldn’t be much. And it wasn’t just selflessness that prompted Philly to offer Mother Blue a home. With another adult in the house, she would be safe from Swainbank, safe from herself too. Not that she felt up to much at present, but no doubt the flesh would heal and temptation would return.

‘You saved me . . .’

‘Shurrup with your bother! I’m getting bloody paid for it! You don’t think I’d have stopped here with you and the heavy breathing for nowt?’

‘You can live here.’

Mother Blue dropped the flannel, a look of amazement covering her shrivelled face. ‘Nay, lass. There’s no need for that . . .’

‘Please?’

Old eyes were suddenly filled with tears. ‘I don’t know what to say, queen. That doesn’t often happen to me, not knowing what to say, though I’m more at home with the fellers down the vault than I am with women. It’s just that you’re grateful – and I understand how you feel. But I’ll be all right. There’s folk out there that’ll see to me, stop me starving. And I couldn’t live here, love. You’d be out of your mind with me coming in drunk and dirty. Tell you what – we’ll talk about it when you’re a bit brighter. Happen you’re not thinking straight . . .’

But Mother Blue stayed. As Philly made her slow progress towards recovery, the old girl started to go out more, often coming back the worse for drink, though never once did Philly scold her. When sober, Mother was an asset, quickly learning how to make medicines and ointments, even taking the cart out a time or two in order to swell diminishing household funds. When Patrick came back to his own home, the old lady took him over, surprising everyone with the amount of control she achieved over this wayward child. If he screamed for no reason, she simply yelled at him to shut his gob – and shut his gob he did. Within a month, she had him eating out of her hand, because the little lad was fascinated by the strange lady in the funny hat.