Hannah massey by catherine cookson "In an age when so much rubbish is published and writers are two a penny, Mrs. Cookson comes as a boon and a blessing. She tells a good story. Hercharacters live ...." Yorkshire Post "The story is a compelling one ... a well-balanced, well- written novel" -Books and Bookmen Hannah Massey was proud and canny. She was also intensely ambitious. In true North-Country tradition, she ruled her family like the despot she was. Her ambitions centred on Rosie, her favourite daughter, for whom she would cheerfully have sacrificed the rest of her family, but not that terrible, dangerous pride. And Hughie, no-account, taken-in-out-of-kindness Hughie, who had lived for years on the fringe of the raucous, brawling Masseys, watched and waited as the tension mounted. U. K. 3op SBN426 120442 TANDEM When the door opened and Rosie saw her brother standing there she did not move or speak and he, for a moment, did not recognise her. Then he yelled, "Ma! Everybody! Look who's here. Just look who's here." The hall was packed now, filled with big men and one woman, a big woman too. Hannah Massey came forwards towards her daughter; her eyes wide and unblinking, crying, "Rosie! Rosie! Lass, you're sodden. Get that coat off you. And you're white as a sheet, girl. Tell me, are you all right?" "I've had the' flu "I can see you've had something, for you look like a ghost." She cupped Rosie's white face in her hands, and as she stared at her daughter her expression changed. "It's just struck me," she said in an awesome whisper. "You wouldn't ... you wouldn't be in any sort of trouble ? You coming home on the hop like this, it's just come tome.. " "I'm not going to have a hairn, Ma." Her words were cold, but she felt the old fear rising in her, the fear of her mother. This woman who loved her, this strong, irrational, masterful woman. Also by Catherine Cookson the garment Tandem edition 25? slinky jane Tandem edition 25? This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise disposed of without the publisher's consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Catherine Cookson 14 Gloucester Road, London SW7 CONTENTS The Arrival PART ONE: ROSIE Friday Saturday PART TWO: HUG HIE Sunday Monday 8a Tuesday Wednesday ii4 Thursday PART THREE: HANNAH Friday '35 The Aftermath i6i THE ARRIVAL As she came slowly through the doorway into the snow-covered street she paused for a moment and put her hand against the wall near where the cards that gave the names of the flat- dwellers reposed in three slots one above the other. But, as if becoming aware of the proximity of something dirty, she snatched her hand away and put it in her coat pocket, then went slowly down the street. She was a tall girl with- very long legs, a flour-white face topped with thick, dark auburn hair, which had been cut to bouffant style but which now fell from jagged partings over each side of her high cheek-bones. She had large, slightly slanted grey-green eyes, and a wide straight-lined mouth, but what could have been a set of perfect features was marred slightly by her nose which was a little too long and a little too thin. Altogether she looked rangy. She was wearing a knee- length brown coat with a broad belt that swung loosely below her buttocks, and she carried in her hand an open-woven basket; she didn't look adequately dressed for the weather, she looked like a young woman who had slipped out hurriedly to do some shopping. And this was apparently her intention. Walking slowly past four Victorian houses, similar to the one she had just left, she came to a row of shops. The first was a baker's. She passed this without looking in the window, but by the butcher's shop next door to it she paused for a moment before going on. She paused again in front of a chemist's shop. But thereafter she did not stop until she reached the large all- purpose store at the end of the block. Here again she paused and scanned the contents of the window before entering. Her journey down the street had been slow, even leisurely, and her whole attitude, if judged by her back, could have been one of boredom; yet immediately she was within the store her manner changed. She did not pause at any counter, but walking hastily around the perimeter of the store she made for a side exit, and having gained the street once more she took to her heels and ran. I The street opened into a main thoroughfare thick with traffic, but she made for the other side of the road with the assurance of someone used to London's traffic. Once across, she left the main road and cut down another side street, not running now but hurrying at the point of a trot. Ten minutes later she stopped outside a small pawn shop and stood for a moment inhaling deeply before entering. There was no one in the shop except the man behind the counter. He was in his fifties and looked unusually spruce to be in a pawn shop. Pawn shops were dusty places, even those like this one that sold new stuff such as silver and rare china. Men who worked in pawn shops seemed to take on the patina of their surroundings and it usually gave off a dull sheen, but even this man's smile looked clean and bright. "Good morning, madam," he said. "Good morning," she answered. Her voice sounded rough, almost rasping, as if she had a bad throat or her mouth was dry. "What can I do for you?" He inclined his head towards her, as if he had known her a long while and wanted to be of service to her. She groped into the, single deep pocket of her coat and brought out a ring, which she placed on the counter. He did not immediately touch the ring but looked at her. He watched her swallow twice, then waited for her to speak. "Could you ... could you give me ten pounds on it?" "Ten pounds!" His eyebrows moved up slightly towards his smooth hair. He picked up the ring and reached out for a small black eye-piece. After a moment he looked at her again; his expression had changed. It could have been the expression of a man who had found something out, something detrimental about someone he loved. He said again, "Ten pounds?" His words were a question, and in answer she moved her head. He looked at the ring once more; for an eternity he looked at it, and she grew old the while. "Yes." He let out a long breath. "Yes, I can give you ten pounds on it. Yes. Yes. Well now, would you like to sign?" He pulled a book towards her and offered her a pen. As it passed from his hand to hers it fell to the counter and he apologised, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry," although they both knew it wasn't he who had dropped the pen. When she had signed her name he turned the book towards him. "Rose Massey," he read aloud, then glancing up at her he proffered gently, "You have forgotten the address, madam." She stared at the book for some seconds before writing in it again. When the pawnbroker turned it towards him he studied it a moment before saying quietly, "Eight Brampton Hill.... Brampton Hill?" He put his head back on his neat shoulders and, looking up towards the age-smoked ceiling, said musingly, "I can't quite recollect... Brampton Hill?" "It's on the outskirts, Lewisham way." "Oh. Oh, Lewisham way." He was nodding at her. Then he smiled, and picking up the ring he placed it behind him on a piece of glass, and from a drawer he took a bundle of new notes from which he pulled off the elastic band and counted ten out to her. She folded the notes twice, then again, until they were a tube squeezed in her fist. "Thank you. Good morning," she said. "Wait... you will want a ticket." "Oh, yes." There was another eternity while she watched him write out a ticket, and when he handed it to her he smiled again as he had done when she came in. "Thank you." She did not return his smile but inclined her head. "Thank... you." There was deep emphasis on the words. She was conscious of him watching her walking to the door, and her legs shook and her feet in the high stiletto-heeled shoes wobbled slightly. In the street she hesitated a moment, looked to the right, then left, then once again began to hurry towards the main road, but when, at the corner, she saw a taxi coming towards her, the "For Hire" sign up, she hailed it. "Can you take me to King's Cross?" "Certainly, miss." "I mean could you get me there for about ten to one? The train leaves at one." "Ten-past twelve now... I don't sec why not, if the traffic jams arc kind to us. Hop in." In the taxi she sat bolt' upright, gripping the handle of the basket on her knee with both hands. When they were stopped by traffic lights for the third time she leant forward and asked, "Will it be all right?" "Eh?" he said. "Will it be all right? Will there be plenty of time?" "Yes, yes, we'll make it and likely twenty minutes to spare." She sat straight again, staring unblinking at the constant movement ahead. "There you are," said the taxi-driver. "What did I tell you? Just two minutes out." Standing on the kerb she hesitated on his tip, whether to give him a shilling or two shillings. She could make it two shillings, she'd have enough. Yes, she'd have enough. She had just crossed the pavement towards the entrance hall when the taxi-driver's voice hailed her, and she turned towards him. "You've left your basket, miss." He jerked his head towards the back of the cab. She glanced downwards before running back, pulling open the door and grabbing up the basket. At the ticket office she said, "A single to Newcastle, please." She ran again, weaving in and out of the throng towards the platform. At the barrier she said to the ticket collector, "How long before it goes?" "Ten minutes," he replied. She withheld her ticket. "I won't be a minute." She turned from him and, running once more, went into the ladies and fo the lavatory. She did not sit down but waited a few seconds before she left the basket at the side of the pan, then hurried out. She was crossing the waiting room when a voice hailed her from the door. The attendant stood there with a large duster in one hand, the basket in the other. "You forgot this," she called. Her eyes dropped again before she moved towards the woman, and taking the basket she said, "Oh, thanks." As she approached the train she held the basket at an angle so that its emptiness would not be noticed. After walking the length of the train she stood in the corridor. She had known she wouldn't get a seat, not this late. It didn't matter, it didn't matter. With the first shuddering movement of the train she leant against the partition and, her lids slowly closing, she allowed her muscles to unwind. When a voice said "Excuse me," she opened her eyes and pressed herself back to allow a man with a suitcase to pass her, and when he looked at her and smiled his thanks no muscle of her face moved in response, but as he put down his suitcase and took up his stand against the door she moved slowly away. Walking down the corridor she crossed over the jangling connecting platform, and. stood in the corner of the nex coach. It wasn't until the train reached Doncaster that she found a I geat, and when she placed her basket on the rack it drew the attention of the two men and the woman sitting opposite. Time and again their eyes would lift to the basket, incongruous between the suitcases, before dropping automatically down to the girl with the bright hair and the white face and the long legs, which she kept pressed close to the seat. She didn't look the type to travel with a basket. When at Durham she was left alone in the compartment with one passenger, and he a man, she went into the corridor and stood looking out into the whirling darkness. Before they reached Newcastle the man came out of the compartment, and as he passed her he looked at her with open curiosity. A girl who was travelling with an empty basket and without a hat or a handbag. no girl ever travelled without a handbag. Just before the train reached Newcastle she tore up the pawn ticket and put it down the lavatory, and when she left the train she left the basket on the rack. Again she was hurrying, now into the main thoroughfare of the city. All the shops were still brightly lit, but most of them were closed, even the one that advertised late closing on Friday night was about to shut its doors when she entered. "It's five to, we're closing, miss," said the doorman. "Please." She looked up into his face. "I won't be a minute, I just want a case." "All right," he said, "go on." His voice was kindly, and broad and thick with the northern inflection, and told her she was home. On a counter to the right of her were some suitcases. An imitation crocodile, priced at twenty-one shillings, brought her hand to it, and handing the money across the counter she said, "I'll take this. Where are the hats?" "On the first floor, miss." They had covered up most of the millinery in the hat department, but, glancing swiftly around her, her eyes alighted on a grey felt. Pulling it on and with hardly a glance in the mirror she said, "I'll take this one." The price was twelve and eleven. As she turned to go down the stairs she saw a notice proclaiming "The Bargain Counter" A model with wire arms extended towards her showed a three-piece suit in charcoal edged with dull pink braid. It looked exotic, and therefore Y wasn't everybody's buy. The price had been slashed three times. The tag hanging from the lapel showed thirteen guineas in large red letters. This was scored out and underneath was ten guineas, then eight guineas, and now the black figures stated that the garment had been reduced to five guineas. She said to an assistant who was watching her as she looked at the suit, "What is the waist?" The girl said, "Oh, the waist? The hips are thirty-four." Before the assistant could pull the tag from the inside of the skirt to ascertain the size, she said, "I'll take it." "There's no time to try it on." "I know." "You won't be able to get it changed, not at this price." "I know." The assistant was smiling as she whipped the suit from the model. "I'm sure it'll be all right; you'll be able to carry it." She smiled a complimentary smile. After she had handed the girl the money, she took the parcel and put it into the case, and when she passed out of the shop the doorman said, "I see you've got what you wanted, miss." He smiled at her as men mostly did. "Yes," she nodded, but without answering his smile. Once again she was walking back to the Central Station, without hurrying now. In the restaurant she bought a cup of tea, and from the bookstall a paper; then going to the booking office she asked for a single to Fellbum. Out of the ten pounds she had received for the ring and the pound she had in her pocket when she entered the pawn shop she had only a few shillings left, but it didn't matter, it didn't matter; she was nearly home. Half an hour later she stepped out of the train on to the platform at Fellbum Station, and edging her way through the crowd in the station hall waiting for the buses she went out into the driving, skin-searing sleet. She had one more thing to do before she could go home. She went down Marlborough Road. This cut off the main part of the town and the new shopping centre, for even at this hour the street would be thronged, it being Friday night and pay night for both the pits and the factories. Even if the shops were closed the coffee bars would be doing a trade, and the clubs . the clubs roared on a Friday night, and who knew who she would run into. She came out near the park and past the road that led to Brampton Hill; Brampton Hill where the elite of Fellbum lived, those that were left of them; Brampton Hill, the name she had put on the pawn ticket. Why had she put "Eight Brampton Hill" on the pawn ticket? Perhaps because she had heard of "Eight Brampton Hill" since she had heard of anything. She passed by St. Vincent's Catholic Church and the Convent, and next to the Convent the school at which she had attended until she was fifteen. Then she crossed the road and went down a dark alleyway. She had always been afraid of going, down this alleyway, even as recently as two years ago; now she was afraid no more. What was it? It was just a cut between a factory wall and a railway siding. And the dark? The dark was no longer terrifying; it was something that you could lose yourself in sometimes. The alley led her into an open place. Once or twice she slipped, her high heels slithering over the snow; but all the time she was making her way towards the faint blur given off by a lamp in the far distance. When she had almost reached the lamp she stopped and peered at the white-capped hills of builders' rubble. Stooping, she picked lip a stone, weighed it in her hand, then discarded it as being too light. Then selecting a rough, chipped-edged house brick she laid it near her feet and searched until she found a similar one. When she found it she opened the case and took out the newspaper, and wrapping the bricks in it she put them in the bottom of the case, placing the bag containing the new suit above them. The sleet, nearly all rain now, was full in her face and almost blinding her, but had she been blind she would have known the way to Grosvenor Road. The houses in Grosvenor Road were large terraced houses; they were all old and looked respectable and dignified, even crowned with dirty melting snow as they were. Age alone had not brought these qualities to them; these had been built into the facade at the end of the last century. Each house had an iron-bound square of garden and the front door was approached by four steps, and number forty-nine, the third house from the top, was unique in that its steps were made up of red and ochre-coloured tiles. As she reached the top step she leant against the framework of the door for a moment. She wanted to get her breath, gather her wits together, say all the things she had rehearsed in the train. When there came to her the buzz of voices beyond the door, loud harsh voices, and the deep roll of laughter, she knew indeed that she was home. She straightened up and rang the bell. PART ONE ROSIE when the door opened and Rosie saw her brother Jimmy standing there she did not move or speak, and he, for a moment, did not recognise her, for being six foot two the lights in the hall beyond him diffused its rays from the back of his head. "Aye?" he asked. "Who...?" Then bending forward he exclaimed in a quick, breathless whisper, "Name of God! Is it you, Rosie?" "Yes, it's me. Jimmy." She was in the hall now; Jimmy had one hand on her shoulder, the other still grabbing the door. As his voice, spurting up his long length like steam from a geyser, yelled, "Ma! Everybody! Look who's here. Just look who's here," he shook her. "What is it? What's up?" "No, no, be god Tisn't true." "Rosie!" "Where have you sprung from?" "Rosie... Rosie." The hall was packed now, filled with men, all big men; and one woman, a big woman too. She came forward towards her daughter like a sleepwalker, her eyes wide and unblinking, and when she was a yard from her she flung her arms wide and gathered the girl into her embrace, crying, "Rosie! Rosie! Aw, Rosie!" Had Rosie wanted to speak she would have found it dim- cult for the breath was being squeezed out of her, but she, too, clung to her mother, hiding her face in her thick, warm, fleshy neck until she was pushed to a distance as Hannah Massey, looking round at her four sons, cried at them, "Well, what are we standing here for like a clutchin' of dead ducks? Come on with you and into the room where it's warm.... But lass" -her hands were moving over her daughter now"--you're wringin', absolutely sodden. In the name of God, have you '5 walked all the way from the station? " "I missed the bus." "Then why didn't you get a taxi?" "I wanted some air; it's a long journey." "Aw, child... just to hear your voice again, it's lovely, lovely." Once more she enfolded her daughter in her arms; and now there was a derisive cry from one of the men. "Away to the room she said, away to the room where it's warm.... Go on with you; go on, old 'un." He put one hand on the massive back of his mother and one on the thin shoulder of his sister and pushed them amid laughter and chaffing out of the hall and into the sitting-room. "Here, get that coat off you." Hannah was behind her daughter, and when she had pulled the coat off her she stopped and surveyed her with surprise, as did the men. As Rosie stood self-consciously pulling down the skimpy jumper Over the tight skirt a trace of colour came into her face and she said, "There was no time to change. I made up me mind on the spur of the moment. My other things are being sent on." "You haven't got enough on you to keep a rat warm, either in clothes or flesh." Hannah was standing in front of her again, feeling her arms. "And you're as white as a sheet, girl. Tell me, are you all right? I've. never seen you like this in your life afore." "I've had the 'flu." "I can see you've had something, for be god you look like a ghost. A puff of wind would send you fly in'. Come, sit yourself down here by the fire until I get you a meal." She led her forward as if she was old or an invalid, then asked, "How long you down tor, lass?" "Oh, a ... a week or so." "You'll be longer it I get me way.... Just wait till your da sees you. Oh, be god he'll be over the moon, over the moon he'll be. " Hannah Massey now pressed her daughter into the easy chair by the roaring open fire, and with her hands resting on its arms she bent above her, her big broad face stretched and softened in tenderness, and she stared at her silently for some moments. Then reaching out and gently patting the white face she turned away, overcome with her emotion. When their mother had left the room the tour men who had ROSIE 17 been standing at a distance like spectators now gathered around Rosie and they chipped and teased her as they always had done; and to one after the other she put out her hand and touched them, and each of them returned her touch with a gentle pressure of their big rough hands, and their open affection blocked her throat and dimmed her gaze. Of her nine living brothers Rosie knew these four the best. Jimmy, the eldest at home, who had opened the door to her, was thirty-three. He was tall and black and handsome. Arthur was thirty. He too was tall but had not Jimmy's bulk or looks. His hair was the colour of Rosie's, only a darker hue. Then there was Shane. Shane was twenty-eight and six foot, big-boned and thin, and he took after his father. Bamy was the youngest of the eleven sons born to Hannah Massey; he was twenty-six but could have been twin to Rosie herself, who was three years younger. As she looked at these men, the lads as she thought of them, the warmth that emanated from them became almost unbearable. Up to two years ago they had teased and petted her. and had been proud of her. Yes, they had been proud of her. But two years ago they had not appeared to her as they did now. Then she had secretly seen them as big, blundering, narrow-minded bigots. Then she had longed to get away from their deep laughter, laughter that the weakest joke could elicit. Then, God forgive her, she had looked upon them as common and coarse, men without a thread of refinement among them. How dared she have thought that way about them! How dared she! Bamy, touching her wrist with his blunt, hard fingers, said, "By, you've lost weight; you're as thin as a rake." "Well, you couldn't say she was ever fat." Arthur pushed his fist gently against the side of her head. "All thoroughbreds are lean, eh, Rosie?" "Why didn't you let us know?" put in Shane, peering at her through narrow, thick-fringed lids out of a face that looked as Irish as his name. "You been bad or something.... I... I mean afore you had the 'flu?" "No. It was hist the 'flu." "Just the 'flu," said Jimmy, straightening up and adjusting his tie while he looked down at her. "Just the 'flu. It's enough, for, be god it pnlls you down. I should' know I had it, an' that bug, diarrhoea and sickness. It's been going mad round here. It was only four days I was down, but Christ!" "Not so much of your Christing." Hannah came marching into the room with a laden tray. "I've told you, our Jimmy, we're going to have less blasphemy round here ... now mind, I've said it." The four men looked at their mother, a wide grin between them, then turning to Rosie almost as one, Barny and Shane cried simultaneously, "Hear that, Rosie?" while Arthur put his head back and laughed; and Jimmy, bending above Rosie again, said in a mock whisper, "Talk posh now; that's the latest. Live up to our best shirts." He pulled at the front of his well-cut nylon shirt. "Bloody and bugger and Christ's taboo ... absobloodylutely." "Jimmy!" "All right, Ma, I'm only having you on." "Well don't." Hannah Massey's back was straight, as was her face; her head was high, which brought it almost on a level with Shane's, who stood near her; and as she allowed her gaze to rest condemningly on Jimmy she spoke in an aside to Shane, saying in a tone of command, "Fetch the dish out of the oven, you, and don't Spill it." "O.K." captain. " Shane pressed his shoulders back, made a salute with a wavering hand, winked broadly at Rosie, did a smart about-turn and marched, knees up, feet pounding the floor, towards the kitchen. This act brought great gusts of laughter from the others and a compressed smile to Hannah's lips. Then as she moved towards Rosie her face broke up as; it were, and fell into soft warm folds, and she said, "You see, they don't get any better, do they? They won't learn, not one of them. Brawn, that's all they've got. Could anybody on God's earth refine this lot? I ask you. Now could they? " "Oh, Ma." Rosie smiled faintly and shook her head, and Hannah said, "Come away, sit up; it's just something to be going on with. It you'd only let me know you were coming I'd 'ave had a spread tor you." "Aye, be god you would at that." Arthur nodded at her, his brown eyes twinkling. "And we'd all 'ave been on our toes. Spit and polish it would have been for every one of us, an' sitting here like stuffed dummies waiting for your entry, like last time. Do you remember, Rosie?" He laughed at her. "The house full of us all, like Madame Tussaud's we were, all set up. Here's one that's pleased, anyway, you've come on the ROSIE 19 hop. " "Where's your things, Rosie?" said Barny now. "If they're at the station I'll get Phil next door to pick them up in the car." "Aye." Hannah, pressing Rosie into the chair at the table and, bending over her and looking into her face, said, "I was just going to mention your things. Are they at the station?" Rosie picked up her knife and fork. "They're going to be sent on. I, I came on the spur of the moment, and just threw a few things into a case." "But... but that in the hall; that isn't your good leather case. Why did you travel with that thing? They'll bash the good one to smithereens on the railway, you know what they arc...." "... And after me self paying nine pounds ten for it." Arthur was leaning across the table imitating his mother's voice. "You'll not get another present out of me; be god you won't." Hannah struck out at her son; then cried at them all, "Go on, the lot of you, and get going; you were almost on your way." "She's pushing us out," said Shane. "She's got our money." He nodded to the other three. "Friday night; she's, got our packets and now we can get to hell out of it; She's got Rosie, so she doesn't want us. She wouldn't care if she never saw a hair of our heads. except on Friday nights. On Friday nights you're as welcome as the flowers in May to Hannah Massey's home. " He touched his trouser legs and went into a little jig, which his brothers applauded. Hannah, ignoring the by-play, seated-herself at the corner of the table opposite Rosie and heaving in a great breath she squared her lips as she said, "Begod! I could cover with spit the amount I make out of you lot." She nodded towards Rosie now. "Rump steaks, fresh cream on their puddin's, suits at fifteen, to twenty guineas a piece. And take their shirts now. Two pound twelve and six apiece I've to pay so's the sweat won't show at the oxters. Wouldrft you say now there's a fat lot left out of a pay packet when the bills are cleared? " The four men, following a signal, now walked solemnly towards each other, and putting their heads together began to sing, "Tell us the old, old story." The satirical chorus was broken up by Hannah remarking caustically, "Aw, you're all flat, there's riot a note right atwcen you. The only time you lot can sing together is when you're three sheets in the wind.... Now" --her voice held a note that Rosie knew from experience could put a damper on the lads' rough humour"--you've done your piece so get yourselves along with you. I want to talk to me girl here." She winked at Rosie. "Aw, there's no hurry, Ma. Me da should be in any minute now." Jimmy looked at his wrist-watch. "I want to see his face when he spots her." He smiled towards her and Rosie, with an effort, smiled back. "Aye, me too," said Barny. "He'll be over the moon. Aye, we'll all wait; so settle yours el old woman." He flapped his hand at his mother, which caused her to shake her head widely as she lowered it to her chest like a bull about to charge. Then before she could make any further remark there came the sound of the back door opening; and Shane darting to Rosie pulled her to her feet and whispered, "Get behind the door, go on." "Yes, yes, go on." Hannah, her face alight once more, signalled to her as she pulled herself up from the chair. "Hannah!" The voice came loudly from the kitchen, and she called back to it, "Aye, I can hear you." "Where's them blasted slippers?" "Coo! Mrs. Massey." Bamy was whispering as he poked his head towards his mother. "Listen to him, Mrs. Massey; he's swearin'. He said blasted, Mrs. Massey. " "You wait, me lad, I'll give you blasted afore you get out of the house the night.... Ssh!" She silenced them all. "Move round, don't look so guilty like, push yourselves about." She pressed the door back, hiding Rosie, then called, "Have you found them?" "No, I haven't, an' I'm not lookin' for them." The heavy padded footsteps came towards the living-room, and Brodericfc Massey entered, growling, "If you want me to wear blasted slippers then have them out tor me." Hannah had her back to him and she busied herself at the long table in the middle of the room. She took a glass bottle from out of a large cruet and, shaking it, held it up to the light, ascertaining the amount of pepper in it, as she said, "If I had three wishes in the world, do you know what I'd w^h for?" Broderick stopped dead on his way to the fireplace. He looked around his sons, all self-consciously doing nothing, then ROSIB 21 towards his wife's bent back and her great expanse of buttocks pressing her skirt up into a point above her thick calves. A sly twinkle came into his eye and a smile slithered over the grey dusty grime of his face, and he cast his glance towards Jimmy and winked; Then making his way to the chair by the side of the hearth, he sat down, saying, "Begod now, let me think. The last time I heard that sayin' it pushed us all back over a hundred quid for the suite. You remember, boys?" He rolled his head backwards on his shoulders, taking in the amused glances of his sons. "An' the time afore that it was spin-dryer, remember?" He jerked his chin upwards and his Adam's apple danced under the loose skin of his neck. "And the time afore that, the time afore that was an electric mixer. An electric mixer, be god You remember the schemozzle about the electric mixer? She couldn't mix another spoonful, rheumatics she had in the wrist. You remember?" The men were all laughing now; and Hannah, from the table, her back still towards her husband, said calmly, "If I had three wishes, Broderick Massey, the first one would be to see my daughter in this very room.... And the second one would be..." She straightened up and took a large knife and sawed off a thick slice of bread before continuing. "The second one would be to see me daughter in this very room this very night. And..." Before she reached the third wish Broderick was on his feet, and now he looked at her as she swung round, her face one large beam, crying, "And me third wish would be to see me daughter..." "Stop it, woman! Tell me." He was walking towards her. "She's comin'? Rosie's comin' home? " The men were laughing out aloud now like lads at the climax of a joke they had prepared. "She could be at that. Aye, she could be at that; she could be on her way." She looked at him, at his thin, wiry body which looked puny against her breadth. She lifted her hand to his shoulder and turned him round to face the open door, and then silently she pointed. He flashed his glance wide now towards her, then slowly. he padded to the door and pulling it forward he looked at his daughter; and then they were in each other's arms. After holding her for a moment in silence, words tumbled out of him. "Aw, Rosie. Begod, Rosie. Aye, three wishes, three thousand wishes and every one that Rosie would be in the kitchen the night. Aw, lass. Aw, lass." He held her from him and looked at her for a moment, then turning to Hannah who was standing to the side of him he said in awed tones, "She's as thin as a lath." "She's had 'flu." "" Flu, be god "Aye, it's pulled her down." They were talking as if she was a child, a child who could not speak for herself. They murmured over her as they walked back to the middle of the room, and when Broderick sat down in his chair he still had hold of her hand and cried, "Come and sit down on me laiec, come on." "Don't be silly. Da." Rosie shook her head. She was smiling more easily now but not laughing. "Come here." He pulled her on to his knee, and after holding her tight for a moment he pushed her upwards and looked at Hannah, saying, "She's not the weight of a feather; you'll have to do some fattenin' up here, missus." "Who wants to be fat?" Rosie touched his rough cheek, tenderly, lovingly, and he caught her hand and held it, his face crumpling almost as if he was going to cry, but he shouted, "Who wants to be fat? Better than lookin' like death on wheels; you haven't a pick on you. " He felt round her ribs. "Not a pick. Aw, we'll soon alter this. How long are you here for?" He squeezed her tightly now. "A week, or so." "Make it... or so, eh?" He was about to go on when his attention was drawn to where Hannah, once again at the table, was now speaking to Arthur, but harshly, saying, "You goin' to the club?" / "Aye," said Arthur; "of course I am." "Well then, wait for the others." "Aw, Ma." "Never mind aw ma-ing me. I told you what I'd do; and I mean it mind." "God in Heaven!" Arthur turned away and dashed out of the room, leaving the atmosphere changed. As Jimmy and Shane exchanged glances, Hannah said to them, "You keep an eye on him, 'cos mind, I'm tellin' you as I told him, if I see him with her once again I'll go to her place an' pull her out and rub her nose in the gutter. I will, so help me God. If anybody's going to bring disrespect on me family it'll be me self an' that's the way I'll do it. But I'll take good care as long as I've got breath in me body none of me own blood's goin' to show me up. " "If you'd let up, Ma, it would likely peter out." Hannah turned on Bamy. "Peter out, you say? It's been going on for nearly a year now, and if her man comes back from sea we'll have him at this door wantin' to beat his wife's fancy man's brains out." "He's left her, Arthur's told you." Barny's voice was low. " "He won't come back." "Aye, he's told me an' I don't believe a word of it. He'll be back when his ship's in. Women like that are as bad as drugs to a man; they should be horse-whipped, her kind." "Now, now, now! No more of this." Broderick looked towards his wife. "Let the child get acclimatised again afore you start.... Eh, Rosie?" Rosie made no answer, but, pulling herself from her father's arms, got to her' feet saying, "I'll go up and have a wash. Da." "You didn't finish your tea." Hannah came quickly towards her now, her face once again smiling. "Look, I'll get some more hot, there's piles of fish pie." "It's all right, Ma; I'll have something later. I'd rather have a wash and tidy up. I feel filthy." "All right then, lass, all right." Hannah stroked her arm, then pushed her towards the door. "I'll take your case up." Barny followed her into the hall, and Rosie said, "It's all right, Bamy; it's quite light. " "When did you carry a case upstairs?" Bamy smiled at her over his shoulder. "Aye when!" Hannah exclaimed from the doorway now. "An' put on something nice," she added. "That rig-out you have on isn't you at all." She wrinkled her nose, then smiled. "Which room am I in?" Rosie turned from the foot of the stairs. "Oh, aye, be god yes. Well, look." Hannah pointed. "Jimmy's on the landing now but I'll throw his things back into the attic m two shakes when I get your da settled." "No." Rosie stepped down into the hall again. "No, please leave Jimmy where he is, Ma; I'd rather be up in the attic. You know I always liked the attic; it's big, and, well, I'd rather be there." "You mean that?" "Yes. Yes, I'd rather be up there." "Aw well then, for the night. I'll make the bed up later. And, Barny, you take up an oil stove now an' we'll fix everything good an' proper the morrow." Rosie followed Barny up the stairs and on to the first landing. It was a big landing with four doors going off it and another flight of stairs leading from the far end. They went up these and on to another landing with three doors, and before they mounted the attic stairs Bamy stopped, and after switching on a light, said in a whisper, "Notice anything?" Rosie looked around her, then down to the carpet on the landing. And glancing up at Barny, she smiled slightly as she said, "A new carpet up here." He jerked his head. "Oh, you don't know the half. All the bedrooms have fitted cord carpet now; no lino, not a bit of lino anywhere in the house except the living-room. She said she would do it, and she has." His head jerked again. "By, she's the limit, isn't she?" He laughed. In the attic, Bamy put the case on the floor, then stood looking at Rosie. "It's nice to have you back, Rosie." "Thanks, Bamy." She turned towards him but didn't look at him. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Nothing wrong?" She lifted her eyes quickly to him. "Wrong?" "Well, you don't look yourself you know, nor sound yourself. I noticed it when you first come in. But the 'flu does pull people down. One of the fellows in our shop had it; he came back as weak as a kitten. He could hardly handle his machine." When she did not answer he strained his neck out of his collar, adjusted his tie, and said, "They're over the moon down there, the pair of them. There'll be no holding her for days. You'd better put on your best bib and tucker to give her something to brag about. Jessie MacFarlane will know you're here within the next hour. And the Parkmans and the Watsons" -he nodded his head first to one side of the room and then to the other"--will be advised" --he was now mimicking his mother's manner"--of your arrival in very refeened tones tomorrow morning." He pushed her gently as he laughed, then added, "But I don't know about the Watsons, she'd had a do with them 'cos they rapped through about the noise we made last Friday night. You should have heard her. Oh, she's a great lass." He laughed again. "Bye-bye then. See you later, Rosie.... Oh, I must get the stove." A few minutes later he came up with an oil stove, and when he had lit it for her she said, "Thanks, Bamy." "That's all right. Anything to oblige me beautiful sister." He punched her playfully, then ran down the stairs whistling. She was home. She sat down on the side of the single bed, the bed she had slept in in this room that had been hers from the time they had moved into the house when she was fifteen. They had come to it the same week that she had left school, and the grandeur of forty-nine Grosvenor Road had taken away some of the humiliating sting of not having got to the High School. She had failed her eleven-plus, and again the examination when she was twelve, and then at thirteen. Apart from her own disappointment about this, it was the blow to her mother that had affected her most. Only she and Barny had had the opportunity to try for the High School, but in Bamy's case he didn't bother, for he was wise enough to know that he was destined for the pit the minute he left school. Dennis was the only one of the boys who had achieved scholastic distinction. Dennis was now a schoolteacher, but he had achieved this on his own and with the help of the Army. Her mother, Rosie had always maintained secretly to herself, had been hard on the lads, but she couldn't say she had been hard on her. never, for it had been the open desire of her life to see her only daughter get to the High School. and she hadn't. Yet this failure of her own to achieve success had not daunted her mother for long. She had not dragged her young family from a three-bed roomed bug-ridden hovel in Bog's End at the bottom of Fellburn, to a four-roomed cottage, then to a five-roomed house, from which she had jumped a great social gulf and landed them all triumphantly in Grosvenor Road, to be daunted by such a small thing as the failure of her daughter to pass an examination. Rose remembered the morning when Hannah had suddenly got into her hat and coat and said, "Get your things on, " I'm taking you to the Secretarial School. That's what you'll do; take a course and become a private secretary, and likely you'll end up running the firm; secretaries do. " She had smiled a conquering smile which effectively dissolved all protest. So they had gone to the Principal, and within a fortnight of leaving school Rosie found herself at school again, but with a differ MASSEY ence. Instead now of wavering near the bottom of the class she was soon pushing towards the top; she knew she was. cut out for this. When at the end of the three-year course she came out top of her class both in typewriting and shorthand her mother had been borne skywards with pride. For days she floated, enveloped in a cloud of sagacity which had had its birth--so she told her family in her own words--the day it was revealed to her what her daughter was to be. And when the great moment of prize-giving came and Rosie was presented not only with certificates but with a medal, Hannah, sitting in the front row of the audience, made no outward or coarse show of her pleasure, but passed herself like a lady, born to see honours bestowed on her family. As she said cryptically later, "When the thunder is rolling you don't get to your feet and shout, " What's that noise? "" The world knew that her daughter, besides being beautiful and with a figure that had none its equal in Fellbum, or any other town for that matter, was also a brilliant scholar. And so said the papers the following morning. Fellbwn Weekly had shown a photograph of Rosie being handed her medal by no less a person than the mayor. Hannah had bought half a dozen copies of the paper, and immediately despatched one to her eldest son Patrick who was in Australia. One to her next son, Colin, who was in Canada, and one to Michael, who lived in Cornwall, which could have been as far away as Australia or Canada for all she saw of him or his family. And she had thrust one at her schoolteacher son, Dennis, when he had paid her one of his infrequent visits just to let him see he wasn't the only member of her family with brains. And she had told him to show the paper to his Godless lady wife. As the not-so-distant past came back to Rosie she twisted round and dropped her head on the pillow. It was all so ordinary, her past, at least the past that held its place in Fell- bum. Nothing had really happened to her here; she had just been part of a large family, of which her mother was ruler and pivot. Even the business of Ronnie MacFarlane seemed of little account now, although at the time she had thought it the worst thing in the world that could happen to anyone. For a man to go mad and tear the clothes off your back when you were just sitting with him holding hands on the fells on a Sunday night was shocking. and him a Catholic. That had made it worse. It had seemed the most horrifying thing at the time, that a Catholic could be so full of lust as to lose control. How simple she had been. How naive. Yes, how naive. And she knew now that if she had cared anything for Ronnie Mac Far- lane he wouldn't have had to pull the clothes off her. But you live and learn. The awful part of it was that you had to live before you could learn. And she had made Ronnie the excuse to leave home and find out about living. And she had done just that. The thought brought her teeth clamping into the pillow, and when the tears forced themselv's from between her closed lids she pulled herself up straight and rubbed her hand over her face, saying to herself, "Don't start now. Later... later. Take things quietly; it'll all work out. Go and get a wash and put on the suit. " Oh, the suit. Would it fit her? It would have to. She went down the two flights of stairs again and into the bathroom. It was cluttered with cups, toothbrushes, toothpaste, hair cream, after-shave lotion and towels. It was a man's bathroom. But it was warm and it was. it Was home. She had the silly feeling that she wanted to embrace it and ask it to forgive her, ask the whole house to forgive her. After she had washed herself her face looked whiter than ever. She had no cream, no powder or make-up, not even a lipstick, nothing. She smoothed her skin with her hand, she looked awful, then she stared at herself in the mirror as she thought there would be plenty in Karen's room. But no, she couldn't use her things without asking her. Karen. She hadn't thought much of Karen. If she was to stay home there would always be Karen. Karen and she had never hit it off. Barny had often referred to Karen as a little bitch, and that's what she was, a little bitch. It was difficult to realise that she herself was Karen's aunt because there was only two years between them, Ever since she was a child Rosie had heard of Moira--her sister Moira. Beautiful; vivacious, fascinating Moira, who had been her mother's first child, and who, at the age of twenty- four, had died giving birth to Karen. Even when they were children together Rosie knew that Karen resented her and the affection displayed towards her by the men of the family. So the dislike between them grew, and there was no one Rosie knew happier than Karen when she had left home for a position--a grand position, in her mother's words--in London. In the attic again she unlocked the case, and lifting out the wrapped bricks she went to the far corner of the room, and sliding back a piece of loose floorboard that gave access to a junction box she pushed the bricks far back between the beams. They had served their purpose; they had taken the emptiness from the case. Now she tried on the suit. The skirt proved to be a little large but the rest fitted her as if it had been made for her. Before going downstairs she locked the case, but stood hesitating with the key in her hand, then dropped it into a china trinket bowl. Her mother was not likely to go rummaging around "until tomorrow, by which time she would have given her a reason why the case was empty. On her way downstairs she went into the bathroom again and brushed her hair with one of the men's brushes, taking it upwards and back from her brow; then bit on her lips and pinched her cheeks. And when she entered the living-room her father and mother turned and gazed at her in openmouthed admiration. "Aw, that's more like my Rosie." Hannah came towards her, pride wreathing her face. "That's new, isn't it?" She touched the short coat. "By, it's a smart set; I bet it knocked you back something." She poked her head towards Broderick. "Look at it, Brod." "Aye, it's real bonny. But it's the bonny lass that's in it that makes it out, isn't it? ... I tell you what." He sounded excited. "We're not goin' to waste you on these four walls the night. You'll come along to the club with us. Just let me get me self changed and we'll all go and make a night of it." "Aye, that's the ticket," cried Hannah. "The very thing." As they looked at Rosie for approval the smile left their faces and Hannah said, "You don't want to go, lass?" "Not tonight, Ma; that's if you don't mind. I think I'll get to bed early. I... I still feel a bit shaky from the 'flu, and the journey was tiring." "Aye. Yes, of course." Hannah nodded understandingly. Then almost dreamily she pushed her hand backwards towards her husband, saying, "You away to the club on your own; I'm going to have a natter with me girl." "No, no, Ma, you go on. You always go on a Friday night." "Well, I'm not going the night and that's flat. Now that's settled.... Yet" --she held out her arms in a wide dramatic gesture"--it's a shame to waste you, it is that, and you so bonny. Doesn't she get bonnier, Brod? Doesn't your daughter get bonnier with every year that's on her? " "Aye indeed; but I'll like her better when she gets a bit more fat on her. I likes 'em plump." He slapped at Hannah's buttocks. As they laughed loudly Rosie smiled, and the front door bell rang and Hannah cried, "That'll be Karen." She nodded towards Rosie. "She's doing a late turn at the exchange. I'll go and open it. She's been coming the front way 'cos it's shorter." Rosie heard her mother's voice from the hallway extra loud and hearty, saying, "Fve a surprise for you. You'll never guess. Who do you think's come?" The next minute Karen was standing in the doorway. "Hello, Karen." There was a pause. "Hello. What's brought you?" "What's brought her?" Hannah's voice was high. "Doesn't matter what's brought her; here's one that's mighty glad to see her." Her voice dropped now to a soothing tone. "She's had the 'flu, she's come to convalesce." Karen made no rejoinder to this, sympathetic or otherwise. She moved forward but not near to Rosie. She never stood near to Rosie, to do so emphasised the difference between their heights and their figures, for Karen was five foot four and tubby. If she'd had a beautiful mother there was no sign of it on her. She looked over her shoulder towards her grandmother and said, "I don't want any tea, I'm going to a dance." "You can't dance on an empty stomach," said Hannah, still in a conciliatory tone. "She doesn't dance on her stomach she dances on her feet, eh, don't you?" Broderick thrust out his hand playfully towards his grand-daughter's cheek, but she ignored him and, turning slowly about, went out of the room. Broderick, taking his pipe now from the mantelpiece and grinding his little finger around the empty bowl, said, "Begod! I don't know who that one takes after; it's none of us, yet she was me own child's." "Oh it's green she is. Always has been, you know yourself, of Rosie here. An' the lads make more fuss of her when she's on her own. Yet she won't trouble you." Hannah looked towards Rosie. "She's never in the house five minutes, in and out like a gale of wind. She's going steady, I understand, though he's not much to crack on by all accounts. He's on a job on the new estate but has never reached more than fourteen a week yet. One of them that doesn't like overtime. Still, it's her choice." Rosie had always been puzzled at her mother's attitude towards her grand-daughter. She had never bothered about finding her a job, nor had ever timed her comings and goings's she had those of herself. With regard to intelligence, or having it up-top, as her mother would say, Rosie knew that Karen had much more "up-top" than she had. With very little trouble she had got on to the. switchboard at the telephone exchange. The criterion for such a job might not be brains, but Rosie doubted whether she herself would have been able to achieve this without her mother behind her; she wouldn't have had the nerve to canvass a councillor and to go round asking for references as Karen had done. Karen had the quality she herself lacked--initiative. When Broderick went upstairs to change and they were alone, Hannah beckoned Rosie with a curl of her finger as she whispered, "Look, I want to show you something. Come into the front room, come on." Rosie followed her mother into the hall and across it, and when the lights were switched on in the front room she gazed at the new suite almost in awe before she murmured, "My! What made you get this, Ma?" "Well, I saw one like it in a shop in Northumberland Street in Newcastle after the war and I said to me self " Hannah, you'll have one like that some day," an' there it is. I told 'em, the lads and him, it was just over a hundred pounds, but guess what?" "I don't know." Rosie was shaking her head. "A hundred and forty-five." "No!" "God's me judge." "Oh, Ma, a hundred and forty-five!" "It's what you call a Parker-Knoll. Look." She whipped off the cords that held the drop sides of the settee to the back. "Look, they go flat. Isn't it magnificent?" "Beautiful, beautiful." Rosie's eye narrowed as she looked into Hannah's beaming face, and for the first time since coming home a touch of humour came into her speech. She said seriously, "What do the lads wear when they come in here, Ma?" Hannah, smothering a gust of laughter, dug her in the ribs with her elbow. "That'll be the day when I let them sit on that, or the chairs. They've been in once, but I had it covered over, every inch of it. " She ran her hand along the pale green tapestry and said almost reverently, "There's never a day goes past that I don't come in and just stand and look at it.... Oh be god She flapped her hand at Rosie. "You should have been here the day it was delivered. Go ... h! The curtains. Every curtain in the street had the tremors. There they were, with their faces behind them, their eyes Sticking out like pipe shanks. As for Jessie"--she thumbed in the direction of the wall" --the green's still sticking on her yet. Oh, she's a bloody jealous old sod, that one. " Somewhere deep. within Rosie there trembled a quirk of genuine laughter--no swearing in the house she had said. Oh, her ma, her ma. "It's always been the same since the days we were in place together. Determined to rise she was, and I said to me self "All right, Jessie, for every step you take I'll take a jump," and be god I have. " She nodded solemnly at Rosie. "With the Almighty's help I have done just that. A<" >' I'll goon doing it until the day I die. But whist a minute. " She lifted her finger to Rosie's face as if admonishing her for interrupting. "Wait till she hears me latest. I've g(st something up me sleeve." She stretched the cuff of her woollen cardigan without taking her eyes from Rosie. "An' she won't be the only one that'll be knocked off their feet with surprise this time. Aw, me lass...." With mercurial swiftness her attitude changed yet again, and her big arms dropping to her s-ades, she stood before her daughter as if in supplication as she went on, softly now, her words hardly above a whisper, "Therff's a saying, and true, that frock coats are not to be found on middens That was true years ago but more so the day, for who gives a damn for you if you've got the wisdom of Christ and his parables but are living in Bog's End; who would listen to you from there, I ask you? No, you know yourself I've always ssaid a man is judged by the cut of his coat an' a woman by the" front of her house. " As Hannah paused as if to allow h^r oratory effect, Rosie, shaking her head slightly, said, "You're not going to move on her own. Yet she won't trouble you." Hannah looked towards Rosie. "She's never in the house five minutes, in and out like a gale of wind. She's going steady, I understand, though he's not much to crack on by all accounts. He's on a job on the new estate but has never reached more than fourteen a week yet. One of them that doesn't like overtime. Still, it's her choice." Rosie had always been puzzled at her mother's attitude towards her grand-daughter. She had never bothered about finding her a job, nor had ever timed her comings and goings as she had those of herself. With regard to intelligence, or having it up-top, as her mother would say, Rosie knew that Karen had much more "up-top" than she had. With very little trouble she had got on to the switchboard at the telephone exchange. The criterion for such a job might not be brains, but Rosie doubted whether she herself would have been able to achieve this without her mother behind her; she wouldn't have had the nerve to canvass a councillor and to go round asking for references as Karen had done. Karen had the quality she herself lacked--initiative. When Broderick went upstairs to change and they were alone, Hannah beckoned Rosie with a curl of her finger as she whispered, "Look, I want to show you something. Come into the front room, come on." Rosie followed her mother into the hall and across it, and when the lights were switched on in the front room she gazed at the new suite almost in awe before she murmured, "My! What made you get this, Ma?" "Well, I saw one like it in a shop in Northumberland Street in Newcastle after the war and I said to me self " Hannah, you'll have one like that some day," an' there it is. I told 'em, the lads and him, it was just over a hundred pounds, but guess what?" "I don't know." Rosie was shaking her head. "A hundred and forty-five." " " No! " "God's me judge." "Oh, Ma, a hundred and forty-five!" "It's what you call a Parker-Knoll. Look." She whipped off the cords that held the drop sides of the settee to the back. "Look, they go flat. Isn't it magnificent?" "Beautiful, beautiful." Rosie's eye narrowed as she looked into Hannah's beaming face, and for the first time since coming home a touch of humour came into her speech. She said seriously, "What do the lads wear when they come in here, Ma?" Hannah, smothering a gust of laughter, dug her in the ribs with her elbow. "That'll be the day when I let them sit on that, or the chairs. They've been in once, but I had it covered over, every inch of it. " She ran her hand along the pale green tapestry and said almost reverently, "There's never a day goes past that I don't come in and just stand and look at it.... Oh be god She flapped her hand at Rosie. "You should have been here the day it was delivered. Oo ... h! The curtains. Every curtain in the street had the tremors. There they were, with their faces behind them, their eyes sticking out like pipe shanks. As for Jessie"--she thumbed in the direction of the wall" --the green's still sticking on her yet. Oh, she's a bloody jealous old sod, that one. " , Somewhere deep- within Rosie there trembled a quirk of genuine laughter--no swearing in the house she had said. Oh, her ma, her ma, " It's always been the same since the days we were in place together. Determined to rise she was, and I said to me self "All right, Jessie, for every step you take I'll take a jump," and be god I have. " She nodded solemnly at Rosie. "With the Almighty's help I have done just that. An' I'll goon doing it until the day I die.... But whist a minute." She lifted her finger to Rosie's face as if admonishing her for interrupting. "Wait till she hears me latest. I've got something up me sleeve." She stretched the cuff of her woollen cardigan without taking her eyes from Rosie. "An' she won't be the only one that'll be knocked off their feet with surprise this time. Aw, me lass...." With mercurial swiftness her attitude changed yet again, and her big arms dropping to her sides, she stood before her daughter as if in supplication as she went on, softly now, her words hardly above a whisper, "There's a saying, and true, that frock coats are not to be found on middens. That was true years ago but more so the day, for who gives a damn for you if you've got the wisdom of Christ and his parables but arc living in Bog's End; who would listen to you from there, I ask you? No, you know yourself I've always said a man is judged by the cut of his coat an' a woman by the front of her house." As Hannah paused as if to allow her oratory effect, Rosie, shaking her head slightly, said, "You're not going to move again, Ma, I thought you loved this place?" "I am, we are, and I did." She smiled widely now. "But I'm going to move, girl. At least we are. And I did love this house, but everything has its allotted time and its place.... What have I been aiming for all me life since the first day I married? What's the place that's ever been in me mind? Think back, think back, Rosie." She dug her finger into Rosie's arm. "What did I tell you stories about as a child? Didn't I tell you about the fine rooms and the splendid furniture, and the luscious food that I me self cooked many a time?" "But, Ma" --Rosie's eyes were stretching"--you don't mean...?" "I do, I do. Number eight itself. Number eight Brampton Hill." There was unmistakable reverence in her voice now. "But the money! It'd be huge. You could never..." "Hold your hand. Hold your hand." Hannah held her own hand up warningly. "They couldn't sell it outright, they wanted too much for it. Then speculators took a hand, and God so planned it that who should be one of them but Councillor Bishop." "You mean Mr. Bishop from the church?" "Aye, Mr. Bishop from the church. That was another thing I learned many years ago. The more friends you have at court the deeper will be your carpet to walk on. Well, what are they doing but turning it into flats? When I first heard this it nearly broke me up. It was for all the world as if a picture in me head had been smashed into smithereens. How, I said to me Self could I think of the old place and all its grandeur if it was th flats? And then the idea came to me, and I went along and I had a talk with Mr. Bishop.... I was very good to his wife during the war, you know, when things weren't easy to come by, and he hadn't forgotten. "Cast thy bread upon the waters." There was never a truer sayin'. Well, as I was sayin', I went to him and got the inside information. Four flats they're turning it into, all with a separate entrance. And the two bottom ones have good bits of garden. It was the conservatory side I was interested in. There's seven rooms goes with that side. He showed me the plans. There they were set out afore me eyes. The drawing-room that was, together with the dining and breakfast-room, they're making into seven fine rooms, and the long conservatory thrown in. Oh, it's a fine sight, the conservatory. And a strip of garden, he says, a hundred feet wide and twice as long. Now what do you think? " She spread out both her hands, palm upwards, as if upon them lay the entire flat and she was offering it for her daughter's inspection and admiration. But Rosie's face was serious. Not only serious; there was pity in it too. Pity for the restless ambition that was her mother's life force. "But the money, they'll want the earth for it, and up on Brampton Hill! And then---Oh, Ma...." She put out her hand and touched Hannah's. "The lads, they'll never, well, you know them, they'll never fit in up there." The smile seeped from Hannah's face, and in its place came the defensive steely mask that Rosie knew well. Before the opposition to every move she had planned to a different house her mother had donned this mask, because before every move, someone, perhaps Dennis, or Michael, or even a neighbour, had dared to suggest, "The lads won't fit in." "My sons will fit at Brampton Hill, Rosie, as they've fitted in to Grosvenor Road. There's no better dressed nor finer set up men in this town." They were staring at each other now, a veil of hostility between them. Rosie knew she had said the wrong thing, also that her mother spoke the truth, at least about one thing, for it would be hard to find better dressed men in Fellburn. But that fact would hardly count on Brampton Hill, for the lad had only to open their mouths and their measure was patent. They were working men; they would never be anything else but working men; and this woman, her mother, who wtuld have died defending the fact that she loved her family, every single one of them, had made them working men and kept them working men. It dated back more than two years ago since Rosie had discovered that her mother's thinking was slightly crooked. Her mother wanted prestige, and she went for it in the only way open to her, a bigger and better house. Truly she believed that a woman was known by her front door. That her ambition could have been achieved by the educational betterment of her sons she refused to acknowledge, and she had a reason for this particular way of thinking. Rosie knew it was this fanatic and fantastic ambition of her mother's that had added just that weight to her decision to leave home in the first place. The term "Keeping up with the Joneses" could hardly be applied in "her mother's case, for Hannah did not desire to keep up with her neighbours but to march ahead of them, miles ahead of them. In fact, to walk in step with the Peddingtons who had lived in number eight Brampton Hill. As her mother had said, she had been brought up on the stories of number eight Brampto'n Hill. They had been her fairy tales, and they had all begun with the day her mother had first set eyes on the house. It was in nineteen-fourteen, when Hannah was eleven, that she had come with her mother straight from Ireland. They had only the clothes they stood up in, but her mother had got a. position. She was to be kitchen-maid in the Peddingtons' establishment and to receive the vast sum of four shillings a week, living-in, of course. Her daughter, Hannah, was boarded with a distant relative in Bog's End. Her mother paid two shillings a week for her, until, in nineteen-fifteen, when labour was scarce, Hannah was taken into training. in the beautiful mansion. It was on her twelfth birthday, the fifth of May. Hannah did well at the Peddingtons', until she fell for a soldier and on one half-day off became pregnant by him. She was not yet sixteen at the time. The man was a distant relation of the people she had stayed with. His name was Broderick Massey; he was a Catholic and therefore an honourable man. He married Hannah, and to the present day he considered it the best day's work he had done. The Peddingtons, being broad-minded and aware that they had a good loyal servant in Hanna'h, took her on daily after her first child was born, and she stayed in their service, on and off between giving birth to babies, until nineteen-twenty-three when her fifth child was born dead. This Hannah took as a personal insult, and her spirits were very low until she became pregnant again. When her next child, too, was stillborn, Hannah, who had decided years earlier that her main job in life was to bear children, realised 'that if she was to carry out this purpose she must go steady. So reluctantly she was available no more to the Peddingtons. Yet at times she visited . me lady, and her old friend Jessie Mulholland, the housemaid-who was now Jessie MacFarlane--and on each visit she sorrowed at the diminishing fortunes of the house. The scanty staff and the over-run garden touched her nearly as deeply as it did the owners. So this was Hannah's life story, and Rosie had been brought up on it, and although it had been presented to her almost in the form of an Arabian Nights' story she had for many years assessed the tale at its true worth. Had her mother told her, two years ago, of her determination to live on any part of Brampton Hill, she would have greeted the proposal with, "Oh Ma, you're mad; you'll be a laughing stock." Yes, she would have dared say this, although it would have brought the house down about her ears. But now she was older, oh, more than two years older, twenty years older inside, and she had more understanding of everything and everyone. More pity for the mad things life led one to do. So she said softly, "You would love to live there, wouldn't you, Ma?" Hannah's face crumpled; it looked for a moment as if she was going to cry. "Love it?" She shook her head. "Lass, I would die of happiness." "It'll be very difficult all round." "Leave that to me." Hannah was patting Rosie's cheek now. "Leave everything to me." "What are they asking for it?" "Hold your breath. Four thousand five hundred." "Oh'Ma!" "Look... look at it this way. We paid seventeen for this house. We'll get three thousand for it like a hundred shot." "But houses are not selling, Ma. There's, so much unemployment now; you know yourself the lads are lucky to be all in work. " "I tell you, Just leave it to me. There's a buyer for everything. But you're right. Houses are not sell in the day; that is the two thousand pound ones are not sellin', for most of them that go in for that price are finding it tight..... And don't tell me about the unemployed. I've had me share and I'm not goin' to cry over those whose turn it is now. Nobody cried over me when I was stretchin' a penny into a shilling. We'll sell this house, never fear, and what we get from it will be put down for the other. Then there's another thing, I'm not on me beam end either, I've got a bit put by. " She poked her finger into Rosie's arm. "I'll show you the morrow; you and me'll have a cracki You leave all this to me. I don't suppose..." She paused and dropped her head slightly towards her shoulder and screwed up her eyes to pin-points before going on. "I don't suppose you'd think of stayin' home, lass, would you, and getting' a Job here? Oh, me cup would overflow to have you home." Y Rosie was looking straight down towards her feet while moving her lips hard one over the other. "Oh, all right, all right. It was only a suggestion like. Mad' I am at time with me plans. It's all right, lass. Now don't fret yourself, it's all right." Rosie lifted her head slowly. "I've... I've been thinking about it, Ma, but--but there's Ronnie. I couldn't bear that to start up again." "Oh, but it wouldn't lass, it wouldn't." Hannah's whole body expressed her excitement. "I'm positive of that. He's married an' his wife's going to have a hairn. He hardly ever comes into Jessie's---well at least just pops in at the weekend to see her.... Aw, lass, would you? Would you? " "Then there's Karen. She hates me being at home." Rosie was looking into her mother's face now. "Karen will have to take what she gets if she wants to stay here." The aggressiveness slid from her voice and she murmured, "As I said, she's goin' strong, and I'll do nothing to stop it, I'll help it on. Aw, lass, you mean it? You could get a job in Newcastle and be home at nights and I'll sec your face every day." She was cupping Rosie's white face between her two brown-blotched, vein-traced hands, and as she stared at her daughter the expression on her own face was changing yet again. Her lips parted and her brows moved into enquiring points and she became still; every part of her body became still. Her expression rigidly fixed now, she gaped at Rosie, until, her eyes springing wide, there came over her face a loo lt that could have been taken for terror, that is if the emotion of tear could have been associated with Hannah Massey. "It's just struck me," she said in an awesome whisper. "You wouldn't... you wouldn't be in any sort of trouble? Name of God! You comin' home on the hop like this, it's just come to me..." "No, Ma, no-..." "You're not goin' to have a hairn or anything?" "I'm not going to have a baim, Ma." Rosie's words were cold but without any touch of indignation in them, and Hannah, breathing deeply, bowed her head for a moment before saying, "I'm sorrv, lass, I should' vc known not to say such a thing to you. You'd he the last creature on God's earth...." She put out her hand. "Oh, don't turn away from me, lass, I didn't mean it. But there's so many of them at it these days, the town's peppered with them. And some of them still at school. Aye, it'g unbelievable but they're at it afore they leave school. Twc cases in the papers last week. I said why don't they do the thing properly and have rooms set up for them in their playtime. " "Oh, Ma!" Rosie sounded shocked; and Hannah put out her hand and pulled her around to face her, and with head lowered she said, "I'm a rough, coarse-mouthed old woman and I beg your pardon for be smirking you with me thoughts." The humility was too much. It brought Rosie's hands to her face to press her tears back, and her voice sounded like a whimper as it came from between her fingers, saying, "Don't, Ma. Oh, don't, Ma." "Aw, don't cry, lass." She was enfolding Rosie now, pressing her between her wide breasts, stroking her hair. "I can humble me self to you. I couldn't do it to any one of them, but I can to you, the last of God's gifts to me." Rosie felt her flesh shrinking away from her mother's. How would she be able to bear it? The circumstances of the last few days had made her obsessed with a longing for home and now she was here there was the old fear rising in her, and the fear was of her mother. This woman who loved her; this strong, irrational, masterful and childish woman. Hannah said, "Aw, but you're shivering, and me keepin you in this cruel cold room jabbering." "Have you got a hankie, Ma?" Hannah groped in her jumper, saying, "No, I haven't one on me but go up to me drawer, you'll find plenty there.... But wait." She put her hand out tentatively now. "I'm not keepin' on, don't think that, me dear, but it's just come to me you hadn't your big bag with you, you hadn't any handbag.... Look, Rosie, there's something not quite right." She bent her head forward. "Tell me." Rosie took one long deep gulp of air. "Can we leave it till the morning, Ma?" "Then there is something?" "Well... yes. But I'll tell you in the morning. All right?" For a brief second Hannah's face wore a dead expression, then she smiled and said, "All right, it'll keep; we'll have a long crack in the morning when we have the house to ourselves. Go up now and get what you want out of me drawers." Rosie went slowly up to her mother's room. Once inside, she stood with her back to the door and looked about her, but without seeing anything. The room held an ancient brass bed with a deep box spring on it that cried out in protest at the modern biscuit-coloured bedroom suite. But the bed was one thing Hannah would never change. The reason for her clinging to the brass bed was usually gone fully into after a visit to the club, then Hannah, a few double whiskies down her, would inform her family yet again, and almost word for word, the reason why she meant to die in the brass bed. Rosie's skin had never failed to flush on these occasions, but the men grinned or laughed or, when bottled up themselves, went one better than their mother. Anyway it was all like "God bless you" to them, for hadn't they been brought up to the sound of slaps and laughter, and groans and grunts coming from their parents' room? And hadn't some of them slept on a shakedown for years at the foot of their parents' bed? What was there to hide? Silently they agreed with their mother; if God hadn't wanted it done he wouldn't have provided the implements. The stark vitality of her mother, almost like male virility, pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and Rosie found her flesh shrinking again, as it had at one time been wont to do from things . not nice. As she crossed the rootn to the dressing- table she glanced at the little altar perched on a wall bracket in a corner to the right of the bed. There were two half-burnt candles on it. When the thought came to her that her mother was putting in overtime on the Brampton Hill project, she chided herself for her caustic comment. Her mother meant well; she always meant well. Out on the landing, Karen was knocking on the bathroom door, calling, "Granda, hurry up, will you! I want to get in." Karen glanced at her as she passed. It was a calculating glance, raking her from head to foot, but she didn't speak. Downstairs, as Rosie entered the living-room from the hall there came into the room from the far door leading out of the kitchen a man carrying a plate in his hand. When he looked at her with his mouth half-open before exclaiming in amazement, "Why, Rosie!" she knew that her mother hadn't loudly acclaimed her presence to Hughie, Hughie being of no account. The man put the plate, which held a portion of fish pie and peas which didn't look hot^ on to the table without taking his eyes from her, and again he said, "Why, Rosie." Then, "When did you come?" "Oh, just an hour or so ago, Hughie." Still looking at her, he went to the corner near the fireplace and picking up a chair he brought it to the table and sat down; then lowering his, glance towards his plate he said, "Nobody told me you were coming." "They didn't know, Hughie; I made up my mind all of a sudden. They all got a gliff when I walked in." "Oh, I bet they did." He was smiling up into her face. She went to sit down and face him across the corner of the table, but hesitated, while he, looking at his plate again, took a mouthful of tile fish pie before saying, "Your ma's just gone along to the MacFarlanes. I saw her as I was coming in." Still eating, he added, "How are you keeping?" "Oh, all right, Hughie." But as she answered him her mind was on her mother running to tell Jessie MacFarlane she was home. That was cruel really. Hughie lifted his eyes to her where she sat opposite to him now. They were dark brown and round and quiet looking, and seemed at variance with his long, thin, mobile face. He looked at her for a moment before beginning to eat again, but he made no remark whatever on her appearance. She said to him now, "And how are you getting on, Hughie?" "Oh..." He smiled, a self-derisive smile. "Oh, you know me." She looked at him softly, kindly. Yes, she knew him. She had for years thought this man was her brother, for there never Bad been a time when she hadn't seen Hughie in the house. She was seven when her mother said to her, "He's no brother of yours, he's a waif." And her father had put in quickly, "No. Now, Hannah, he's no waif. If the lad gets on your nerves so much let him clear out. He's big enough to stand on his own feet.... Nineteen ... he's a man." Nor had there been a time when she didn't realise that her mother disliked Hughie, even hated him. Nevertheless, she also knew that twice, when he was just turned fifteen and had tried to run away, she'd had him brought back. Once he had stowed away on a ship. She had never been able to understand Ker mother's attitude towards Hughie. That day her father had told her Hughie's story. Hughie was twelve in nineteen-forty when his mother was killed in an air raid; his father had died a year earlier. His mother and Broderick Massey had been half-cousins. Broderick had said, "We must have the lad." And Hannah had said, "Of course. What one more or less. And the child with no one in ifae world." This wasn't strictly true because Hughie had an elder sister whom he could only remember faintly. She had gone to America as a private nurse before the war. So Hughie had been taken into the Massey household, and his shy nature had blossomed in the warm, rough atmosphere, until he was fourteen . well just coming up fifteen, when Broderick remembered that Hannah had turned on the boy. Why, he couldn't get out of her. But from that time he could do no right. Yet when he had run away she had gone to great lengths to get him back. Aw, Broderick had said to Rosie, there was no undertanding her mother's heart. It was so big a man would need a couple of lifetimes to get into its Workings. Rosie had always liked Hughie, perhaps because he was so different from the- other men in the family. Yet she liked her brothers too. But Hughie was different, thoughtful. She felt he was clever in a way. Perhaps this was the reason her mother didn't like him. But no, the reason went farther back, before Hughie could have proved his cleverness in one way or another. The lads took Hughie for granted; he was part of the fittings of their home. They chaffed him about the women he had never had, and Miss Springer who lived down the road and who had had her eye on him since they first came to live here. One year he had received a Valentine, and they all declared it was from Miss Springer. But he had never passed more than the time of day with the trim but not unattractive woman who worked in the drapery department of Bailey's store. To Rosie, Hughie was . comfortable. He had no male virility oozing out of him, sparking off disturbances. He was a sort of cushion one could lean against, if one dared; but her mother had always checked ny friendly contact between Hughie and herself. If she had come across them talking, the subject being nothing more than the weather, she would divert them into separate ways, and to Rosie herself she would speak sharply but with no real reprimand behind' it but her voice, when she spoke to Hughie, thrust him back into his place, and his place was a wooden chair in a recess near the door, away from the warmth of the fire. This, when Rosie thought about it, seemed significant of her mother's whole attitude towards Hughie, pushing him away, always pushing him away yet never letting him go beyond the wall, so to speak. "It's nice to see you back, Rosie," he was saying. "Thanks, Hughie. It's nice to be back. ".. tor a time." She