Forget-Me-Not Child. Anne Bennett
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that could happen from that. She bitterly regretted risking making life more difficult for such a kind man who had helped her, and therefore the family, a great deal. So she gave a small sigh before saying to Edith Cottrell, ‘You needn’t bother going anywhere because it’s me that’s leaving.’ And she removed her apron as she spoke.
‘What you doing?’ George cried. ‘Put that apron back on!’ And he leaned across the counter and said, ‘Angela will not be leaving, Mrs Cottrell, but you will, for I don’t want your sort in here abusing my staff for no reason and, if any of your friends are of like mind, they can stay away too. Good day to you.’
Edith Cottrell looked from Angela biting her bottom lip in anxiety and still clutching her apron in her hands to the resolute George and she said, ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’
‘I do absolutely,’ George said. ‘And as I said before, good day to you.’
Edith Cottrell had no option but to leave and as she flounced through the door and shut it behind her with a slam Angela looked at George and said, ‘Oh Mr Maitland. What have you done?’
‘Something I should have done a while ago. Never could stand the woman anyway.’
‘But won’t she destroy your business?’
‘She may try,’ George conceded. ‘But the woman isn’t liked whereas you are, by many people, and so I think the majority will have more sense than to heed her. Mind,’ he added with a little chuckle, ‘they may have a peep into the shop to see this she-devil I have working for me.’
‘But, George, they should know me,’ Angela protested. ‘I’ve been working here ages now and, to be honest, I was surprised anyone had any sort of negative reaction when I told them about me and Barry.’
‘It was shock, that’s all,’ George said. ‘And some who moved here after you probably did think that Barry was your brother, for you were all brought up like one big family. Most now, knowing the truth of it, are fine, but you always get the odd ones, like Edith Cottrell, who see sin when none exists. Take no heed of her.’
Angela tried to do just that and it was easy enough to do as Edith never went near the shop. Others did though, for George was right. Whatever it was Edith told them, a stream of women entered the shop over the next few days to buy sundry items, but really to see if Angela had overnight turned into the screaming she-devil virago Edith Cottrell probably described.
They found her unchanged and thought it wrong of Edith to bad-mouth her so, for the girl was doing no harm at all. In a way Edith did Angela a favour because after that everyone behaved as they always had towards her and many even offered their congratulations.
Some expressed concern that she was very young to marry but then others put in that it wasn’t as if they didn’t know one another. And it wasn’t as if Barry and Angela would be totally alone starting married life for they would live with Mary. Barry had made that abundantly clear and Angela didn’t seem to mind that either. Truly, if Barry had suggested leaving she would have done her best to dissuade him, for she couldn’t bear Mary to be left alone with Matt, who was so still and silent it was as if the lifeblood had been sucked from him.
There was just about enough money to buy everything needed in the house, but little slack and Barry suggested to his mother that she should see if Matt was entitled to anything as he was unable to work.
Mary shook her head. ‘There’s nothing for the likes of us Barry,’ she said. ‘If you don’t work you starve.’
‘No,’ Barry cried. ‘There’s something called the National Insurance Scheme that looks after you when you’re sick. Dad has been paying in for a year or so. I don’t know much about it because it doesn’t apply to apprentices, but the Gaffer – you know Stan Bishop – said to tell you and for you to have a word with him, like. He’s been on about it since that last time he called to see Dad.’
Mary knew Stan was an honest man who would put her right about things and she went see him expecting nothing, only to find Matt, like all workers, was in a scheme where he paid four pence a week, the employer three pence and the government two pence, which entitled him to seven shillings for fifteen weeks, but he had to be deemed unfit to work in the first place by a doctor. It might have ended right there because Mary hadn’t money to spend on a doctor who might say there was nothing wrong with Matt at all, and then they would get nothing and still have a doctor’s bill to find, and this was what she said to Stan.
‘Oh, you don’t have to pay for this doctor, Mary,’ Stan assured her. ‘He’s on the panel. That means part of the scheme and paid out of the contributions.’
‘And what if they find nothing wrong?’ Mary asked for in her heart of hearts she thought Matt was suffering from extreme sadness, because she was suffering from that too, only she had forced herself to get on with life for the sake of the two left to her and the sadness receded slightly to a constant but bearable ache. She had tried talking to Matt who would look at her with rheumy, anguished eyes and just mumble, ‘I can’t, Mary. I just can’t.’
‘I think he’ll find Matt is too sick to work,’ Stan said. ‘It hasn’t got to be anything physical, but there again he’s not a well man, Mary. When I called to see him last time I was shocked at his appearance. He was skin and bone.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I know, he won’t eat.’
‘Well, there is something radically wrong when a fit man shrinks away to nothing,’ Stan said. ‘Let’s get the doctor to have a look at him shall we?’
Matt didn’t want to see any doctor and it took the combined efforts of them all to convince him to agree to it, but when the doctor called Mary was on her own, because Barry and Angela were both at work. The doctor was as aloof as most of them were, but he wasn’t there to be a friend but to find out if there was something wrong with Matt, or just the loss of his sons that had caused this malaise and weight-loss. She had to admit that the doctor seemed to know his stuff and he checked Matt all over and asked him loads of questions and then he faced him and said directly, ‘How long have you known?’
‘Known what?’ Mary demanded. ‘What you on about?’
Matt ignored Mary and it was the doctor he addressed as he said, ‘Not long all told.’
Mary looked from one to the other and said, ‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ And then all of a sudden the men’s faces were so grave she didn’t know whether she wanted to hear what they were going to say. But even as she mentally backed away she told herself it was yet one more thing to be faced. She swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in her throat, faced the doctor and said, ‘Go on.’
‘Your husband, Mrs McClusky, has a tumour in his stomach,’ the doctor said gravely.
Mary wasn’t totally sure what a tumour was, but it didn’t sound a great thing to have and so she said, ‘So can you take it out?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Nothing happens,’ the doctor said, and went on to say to Matt, ‘I can give you something for the pain.’
‘You never said you were in pain,’ Mary said to Matt almost accusingly.
‘I was, but I was in such agony at losing the boys anyway,’ Matt said. ‘That hurt so much, any other pain didn’t seem to matter. And then you were suffering too, so how could I load it on you?’
‘And were you in a lot of pain?’
Matt shrugged, but the doctor said, ‘A great deal of pain, I would have said, judging by the size of the tumour now.’
‘Aye,’ Matt said. ‘The pain was bad enough at times but still nothing to the loss of two sons drowned in the Atlantic Ocean.’
The doctor raised quizzical eyes to Mary and she said, ‘Our two sons were lost at sea, making for America to join their older brothers. They travelled