12 #2
‘Most Lowes are Protestant. I think he probably is.’ Mammy turned, hands on hips, a wooden spoon gripped in her right hand. ‘All right, I know he is,’ Maisie continued defiantly. ‘He’s Protestant, all right? He’s one of my work friends. Everybody mixes in the Royal.’
Now Mammy was pointing at her with the wooden spoon – her weapon of choice back when Maisie had been a child. ‘You stick to your own kind, my girl.’ She jabbed it in Maisie’s direction to emphasise her words. ‘No good ever comes of mixing things up.’
Maisie’s hands went up. ‘Hey! We work together. I’m not gonna marry him, like!’
‘You make damn sure you don’t!’ Mammy turned back to the cooker, deftly flipping the soda farls.
‘Now get the dripping out of the larder, and no more of your nonsense!’ She moved the farls about to ensure they weren’t sticking, at the same time muttering, ‘Standing on street corners with Protestants!’
Maisie bit her tongue. There was no point in getting into a row with Mammy.
God, it’s a good thing she never knew about Gerald!
Him a Protestant, and in the British Army, and him wanting Maisie to do things that no good Catholic girl should ever do outside of marriage!
A stab of emotion ran through her. Guilt, she realised.
And shame. While she had resisted Gerald’s demands, once or twice she had considered letting him do certain things.
Eventually, she might have agreed to all of it.
Jaysus, what was I thinking? She shuddered at her own foolishness.
Still, at least she had escaped before Gerald had managed to seduce her. At least that.
Stifling a sigh, she realised that moving home also had its downside.
Mammy watched them all like a feckin’ hawk.
No way were any of her daughters getting the chance to shame the family by falling pregnant before they were married.
Except that’s what would have likely happened to Maisie, if she’d done the things Gerald had wanted her to do.
So Mammy, guard dog that she was, kept them safe.
For a moment Maisie wished herself back in London, with the freedom to do what she liked and have whatever boyfriend she wanted. Then Molly bounced into the kitchen and hugged her, and Matty and Da laughed at something in the living room, and she knew that there was nowhere better than home.
* * *
‘I’m thinking of having another dinner party next Friday.’
Alex stifled a sigh. His mother regularly held dinner parties, where her friends and the neighbourhood ladies came with their husbands and a few adult children, and thanked Mother for Mrs Sinclair’s cooking.
Having escaped them for a full year in Edinburgh, he was not looking forward to reacquainting himself with the tedium of his mother’s parties.
‘Very good.’ Father was only half-listening, being much more engaged with the contents of his dinner-plate. Granda, naturally, said nothing. He rarely spoke at dinner, though often became quite talkative when he and Alex were alone.
Mother’s words finally sank in. ‘Friday?’ Alex asked sharply, pausing with his knife and fork in mid-air. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘No, silly, I mean next Friday.’
‘Oh.’ Realisation dawned. ‘I’ll miss it, I’m afraid.
We have the first fundraiser for the hospital next Friday.
’ A tea dance in the Orpheus Ballroom – not exactly on a par with the lively student parties he’d enjoyed in Edinburgh, but still it would be a damn sight better than one of Mother’s boring get-togethers.
It was a ballroom, for a start, and he enjoyed dancing – especially if pretty girls were involved.
‘Never worry, darling, I’ll put mine off a week.’
Damn! Stupidly, he had shown his hand too soon, and now would end up attending two tedious Friday-night events in a row.
I wonder if any of the other young ones might go to the tea dance?
That might make it more bearable. Dan? Peggy?
Maisie? His pulse skipped briefly as he pictured himself dancing with Maisie. Oh yes. Possibilities.
‘. . . and the Marshalls, and the Cravens too. I’ll make sure they bring Prudence. Our Alex will need someone his own age to chat to!’
‘Prudence Craven?’ He frowned, trying to remember the girl. ‘Is she the one who joined your church committee? You introduced me to her after the service last Sunday.’
‘The very one!’ she beamed. ‘Nice that you remember her!’
He did, but only vaguely. ‘I’d have thought she’s nowhere near my age. She’s only a child, surely?’
‘She’s eighteen now, and attending functions with her parents.’ Mother sighed. ‘Lovely girl! She’s going to be doing some of the flower arrangements from this week on. She’ll enjoy my dinner party.’
Alex said nothing – not without some difficulty.
He now remembered the girl clearly – young, tongue-tied, and nervous as a rabbit.
If Mother thought she could dump babysitting duties on him, she was very much mistaken.
And he doubted very much whether Prudence Craven would in fact enjoy the dinner party.
Still, it was none of his concern. Putting the whole thing from his mind, he turned his attention back to his pork roast. Mother, however, was not done.
‘You mentioned a girl you met at the hospital reception. . . Melissa Moore, I think you said her name was?’
Uh-oh. Mother’s memory was sharp – especially if it was a topic she was particularly concerned about.
And she was clearly concerned about Melissa Moore.
He could tell –firstly, by the very fact she’d brought her up, a day later, and secondly, by the look on Mother’s face, the slight frown furrowing her brow.
‘Yes,’ he said, trying for a casual tone. ‘I think so. I can’t really remember.’
‘Oh. So you’re not particularly interested in this girl, then?’
‘Lord, no!’ He allowed laughter to dance in his eyes. ‘I’m very fussy, Mother.’
‘Too fussy, if you ask me,’ muttered Father.
‘And were you not fussy, choosing Mother?’ Alex sent his father a challenging look.
Affection warmed Father’s gaze. ‘Aye. Took me a long time to persuade her to be my girl.’
‘And my father didn’t approve of you at first, Henry,’ Mother added, her eyes soft with fondness as she looked at her husband. Granda, Alex noted, seemed to be very interested in the conversation.
‘Was that why you needed to be persuaded?’ Alex was curious. While he’d heard this many times before, it was now interesting in new ways.
‘Partly.’ Mother was smiling. ‘I never expected to choose a working man, and a Presbyterian, like Henry. I thought I’d end up with a nice Church of Ireland boy with a profession.’
‘I never done you wrong, though.’ Father’s tone was clipped, as ever, but affection still lingered in his eyes. A man of few words – particularly when it came to softer emotions.
‘You haven’t. And I’ve never regretted my choice.’ Her tone sharpened as she turned to Alex. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can marry someone unsuitable, Alexander.’
Don’t even go there. The last thing he needed tonight was another row with his family. ‘Was Father considered “unsuitable” by your family?’
Mother looked uncomfortable. ‘Only at first. Once they got to know Henry they came round.’
‘Even then I was making good money,’ Father stated bluntly. ‘More money than your fancy lawyers and doctors.’
Mother looked pained by what she would surely consider an ill-bred reference to things that should not be talked about. Alex, however, was more than ready to make mischief.
‘Mother!’ he declared, exchanging a gleeful look with Granda. ‘You married him for his money!’
She broke into helpless laughter. ‘I did not! Now just you stop that, Alexander Lowe!’
They were all laughing now – an unusual enough occurrence that it lightened the mood entirely.
It was only as he was preparing for bed that Alex’s thoughts returned once more to Maisie.
Of how they had walked and talked together, both at dinner time and on the way home.
Of her kind heart and her distress and her Anglican boyfriend.
Of how he felt when he was with her. Alive, he thought now. She makes me feel alive.