Part 2 (2/2)

Her eyes darted up at him. Why hadn't he put her off at their door, she'd only have to walk back? Then the sight of Mike, coming out of the cow byres at that moment gave her the reason. Yet again she couldn't fully explain it, she only knew that he wanted her da to see her all messed up. Oh! he was mean, he was.

Mike came swiftly towards the car, his eyes darting from one to the other, and he greeted Mr. Lord before he could alight. ”Morning, Sir. Anything wrong?”

It was evident that Mike was surprised to see his master.

”No; nothing particularly.” Mr. Lord eased himself out of the car. ”When I phoned you to say I wouldn't be over until tomorrow morning, with this meeting coming up, I didn't know I was going to run into . . . this.” He inclined his head slowly back into the car; then added, ”Come on, get out.” His voice certainly held no tone of endearment now, conveying only that Mary Ann and all her works were a source of annoyance to him.

Legs first, and with a good display of knickers, she slid from the seat and presented herself to her da, whereupon the wind was drawn in so thinly through Mike's teeth as to make a whistling sound, which spoke of exasperation and caused her heart to sink. He was mad at her; and it was her last day. Oh! it was mean of Mr. Lord, it was.

”Sarah F-lannagan again.” There was no sign of the laughter in Mike's voice that had accompanied the name earlier in the morning. ”And your new things!”

From her eye level she was looking at the arm where it finished at the end of the sleeve. She wanted to grab it and cry, ”Oh, Da! It was because she was saying nasty things . . . bad things about you that I hit her.” But Mike's voice forbade any explanation whatever as he said, ”Go on home, and see what your mother has to say.”

Without looking at either of them she walked away to the sound of Mike's voice saying gruffly, ”I'm sorry she put you out, Sir.”

The world was all wrong; nothing was right, or ever would be again. Didn't they know it was her last day?

Dismally she took the path to the back door. The only consolation for her now was that things couldn't get worse, anyway not today, for whatever her ma said or did wouldn't be as bad as the way her da had looked at her.

But that there were differing degrees of trouble and that a large portion of the very worst kind awaited her was to be proved within the next minute, for she had hardly entered the scullery before the voice cf her grannie hit her ear and brought to her fa.ce a wide-eyed look of incredulity. Not her grannie ! Not the di^j oh, no! She had never been near since they had come to live in the farmhouse, so she couldn't be here today. No, it couldn't be her grannie !

But it was her grannie. Only too true it was, and the sound of her told Mary Ann to escape, and quickly, for if her grannie saw her like this she would never hear the last of it.

Lifting her feet most cautiously now, she was about to turn and flee when the kitchen door, from being ajar, was pulled wide open, so that her grannie's voice came to her, saying, ”Stone floors like these are a death trap. You'll be crippled with rheumatism afore you're here a--” The voice trailed off and Mrs. McMuilen's eyes became fixed on Mary Ann's body caught in the stance of flight. ”Well ! So it's you. What are you up too?”

Mary Ann slumped; then closed her eyes as a gasp came from both her grannie and her mother, who, too, was now standing in the doorway.

”Oh! Mary Ann.”

If her mother had gone for her it wouldn't have been so bad, but to sound sad like that, and in front of her grannie.

Mrs. McMullen's round, black eyes were moving over her grand-daughter with righteous satisfaction. ”Well, you look a mess I must say. But it doesn't surprise me.”

Mary Ann moved to her mother.

”How did it happen?”

”I fell, Ma.”

”I fell, Ma!” As they stood looking at each other, Mrs. McMullen gave a ”Huh ! ” of a laugh. ”You fell all right; and, of course, you weren't fighting and acting the hooligan.”

Lizzie's face became tight, as she turned her back on her mother. But her voice held no reprimand as she said to Mary Ann, ”Get your things off and I'll see to them.”

Mary Ann got her things off, watched silently by Mrs. McMullen, and when she turned to the sink to wash, her grannie went into the kitchen, but she sent her voice back into the scullery, saying, ”If you expect any silk purses to be made out of sows' ears, then I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment. Money down the drain. The man must be in his dotage.”

That there wasn't a hair's difference between her grannie and Sarah Flannagan, Mary Ann had always been sure, and now it was confirmed. Silk purses . . . that's what Sarah Flannagan had said.

She saw her mother's hands gripping her coat, and she knew it was because of her grannie. She turned from the sink and tiptoed to her, and with a most pained countenance whispered, ”Oh, ma!”

”Shus.h.!.+” Lizzie's finger was on her lips, and when she wagged it warningly Mary Ann, with a hopeless sigh, went back to the sink again.

It was awful . . . awful. How long would her grannie stop? Hours and hours. . . . This was her day; everything should have been lovely; everybody should have been lovely to her; and what had happened? Something had got into it. ... The Devil. She stopped rolling the soap between her hands. But why should he pick on her, and all at once? . . .

Mike's surprise equalled Mary Ann's when he came in and saw his mother-in-law already seated at the dinner table. There were no greetings exchanged between these two; enemies they had been from the beginning and enemies they would remain until the end.

A swift look that held pleading pa.s.sed from Lizzie to Mike, for Mike's entry had not caused even a pause in Mrs. McMullen's discourse. He might have been a figment of Lizzie's and Mary Ann's imagination, so little impression did his presence apparently make on her.

That her grannie's cheap thrusts were now prodding her da, Mary Ann was well aware, and when Lizzie said to her, ”Come and sit up,” she thought. And if she says any more, I'll say to her, ”Shut up, you!” I will ... I don't care.

”Chicken ? Things are looking up ! ” Mrs. McMullen's fuzzy head was bent over her plate. ”Ah, well, you can afford them when you get them for nothing, I suppose.”

”We didn't get it for nothing; me ma bought it cos it's a special dinner the day, for ”

”Mary Ann!” Both Mike and Lizzie spoke together, and Mary Ann Towly drew her eyes away from her grandmother. And Mrs. McMullen, with her high, tight, neat bosom swelling, exclaimed, ”You should've been a dog, you've got the bark of one!”

”That's enough.” Mike's voice was deep and quiet; it rolled over Mary Ann's head like distant thunder. He was standing behind her chair and his hand slid to her shoulder. What was in his eyes she could not see, but whatever it was it quelled the retort on her grannie's lips, and at the same time narrowed her eyes and tightened her face. Yet it did not effectively still her tongue, for she continued to talk, addressing herself solely to her daughter, yet all the while aiming her darts at both her sonin-law and grand-daughter.

”Will I help you?” she called to Lizzie in the scullery. And when Lizzie's reply of, ”No, thank you, I can manage,” came back to her, she called again, ”These floors will be the death of you . . . cold stone. Wait till die winter comes. And the distance you've got to walk! Frying pan into the fire, if you ask me. You were nearly killed by worry afore, now you'll be just as effectively polished off in this place. . . . Like a barracks.”

”Start, will you?” Lizzie came hurrying into the kitchen. ”Say your grace, Mary Ann. Don't wait for me, anyone, just start. Gravy, Mother?”

”When do you think you'll get all these rooms furnished?”

”Oh, gradually. Gravy, Mike?” Lizzie was seated now, a fixed smile on her face.

Silently Mike took the tureen, and Mary Ann said painfully, ”You've given me sprouts, Ma, and you know I don't like them.”

”Oh, have I? Well just leave them on the side of your plate.”

”Huh! I never did.”

There was no need to enquire as to what Mrs. McMullen never did, they all knew it was connected with sprouts and eating them whether you liked them or not. And from the look that the old lady bestowed on her grandchild, it was evident that it would have given her the greatest pleasure to ram the sprouts singly down Mary Ann's gullet.

”It's either all or nothing . . . eight rooms!” Mrs. McMullen had returned to the matter of furnis.h.i.+ngs. ”You'll be ready for your old-age pension by the time you get them fixed.”

”I don't think so.” Lizzie's voice was even. ”I'm going to the sales. ... At sales you can often pick up bargains.”

Mrs. McMullen's hands paused while conveying a piece of the breast of chicken to her mouth. ”Bargains ! Don't be silly; those auctioneer fellows are crooks and fakers. Just read what they are up to in the papers. Faking pictures and furniture.”

”Well, as I won't be wanting that kind of thing, it won't trouble me.” Lizzie still wore her smile. ”Do you want some more stuffing, Mary Ann? And you can pick your bone up in your fingers.”

Mary Ann picked up the chicken bone and proceeded to strip it. It was nice and sweet. She loved chicken wing, especially where the skin stuck to the bone at the end. She was dissecting the last piece of anatomy when she gave an unintentional suck, loud enough to bring all eyes on her and, of course, her grannie's voice.

/ ”Well, it's to be hoped they show you how to eat, if nothing else!” Mike's eyes, like flashes of fire, darted to the old woman. But Mrs. McMullen's eyes were lowered to her plate and she continued her discourse regarding the furnis.h.i.+ng of rooms. ”Well, even if you get them furnished, what'll they be for, she's going?” This was accompanied by a bland nod towards Mary Ann. ”And once she gets a taste of a fancy school, you needn't think this place'll hold her after a few years. And if I know Michael he'll be off as soon as he can, and there you'll be left, eight rooms for two of you. That's if you're here, of course.”

As she spoke the last words Mike's chair sc.r.a.ped loudly on the stone floor, and almost at the same time, Lizzie, the armour of her smile now gone, jumped to her feet, saying, hurriedly, ”I'll bring the pudding in. Mike . . . Mike!” She had to repeat his name to draw his eyes away from her mother's bent head. ”Mike, come and give me a hand . . . Mike!”

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