Mary's Child by Irene Carr Page B

polish and asked, ‘What boots are you wearing?’
    Mary fetched her best pair – like Harry, she only had two pairs – and gave them to him. ‘There you are.’
    Harry began brushing the boots clean before smoothing on polish. He said, ‘She was out in the back yard this morning. Tried to hide the bruise by turning her back but she wasn’t quick enough. So we don’t want our Chrissie up there. See if the auld woman’ll take her.’
    Mrs Collins opened the door to Mary Carter’s knocking, invited her into the little kitchen with its fire and heard her request. ‘We always go ower the watter to the market on Monday nights but Chrissie’s got a cold and I don’t want to take her tonight, the weather being the way it is.’ Mary’s gaze flicked around the room then returned to Mrs  Collins. ‘And we don’t want to leave her on her own, so I wondered if you could take her for an hour or two.’
    The old woman answered, ‘She’s welcome to stop wi’ me. She’ll be a bit o’ company for me.’
    Mary, relieved, said, ‘I’ll bring her round.’
    On her return Mary reported to her husband, ‘That’s all right. I’ll take her later on when we’re ready.’
    ‘Good.’
    Mary shook her head. ‘You should see the state of that place, though. There’s dust all over. But she’s just too old to keep it clean. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she can see the dirt.’ She was silent a moment then added, ‘I’ll have to try to get in there and do a bit of dusting and scrubbing for her.’
    Harry warned, ‘Don’t take on too much.’
    Mary sniffed. ‘I think it’ll be hard enough getting her to let me do anything. You know what these old people are like.’
    ‘And I know what you are like. You can’t do everything for everybody. Anyway, it’s time we got ready. We should just catch the ferry if we hurry.’
    Old Mrs Collins had one armchair by the fire and one straight-backed chair set at the table. She sat in the armchair so Chrissie dragged the other one around to face the fire and perched on it. The old lady watched her and asked, ‘What have you got there?’
    ‘It’s my reading book. Dad bought it for me for my birthday. Mam said I should bring it in case  . . .’ Chrissie’s voice tailed off then.
    The old woman asked, ‘In case of what?’
    Mary Carter had said, ‘In case Mrs  Collins falls asleep,’ but Chrissie improvised, ‘She thought you might want to hear me read.’
    Mrs Collins shook her head. ‘It seems nearly all you little ’uns can read now. I often wish I’d gone to school.’ She sighed, then asked, ‘How old are you now?’
    ‘Just gone seven this month, Mrs  Collins.’
    ‘You’re small for your age, but don’t worry about that. Good stuff comes in little bundles. How do you feel?’
    ‘I’m all right, thanks, Mrs  Collins.’
    The old woman leaned closer, peering. ‘Your mother said you had a cold.’
    ‘I have, but I feel all right.’
    Mrs Collins laughed, showing toothless gums. ‘You look well enough to me. I think your mother worries too much about you.’
     
    Chrissie’s parents walked rapidly past St  Peter’s church and down the hill towards the river. The thin sea-mist of the day had clamped down as a fog with the coming of night. It coiled dense and dirty yellow with the smoke and dust it carried. The gas lamps glowed fuzzy-edged through it and it clung damply to the faces of the hurrying couple, thickened their breathing.
    Mary Carter panted, ‘I wonder if she will be all right there. She’s never stayed with that old woman before.’
    Harry stopped that: ‘She’s there now and she’ll be fine. We’ve got to get this ferry or wait till the next one.’
    ‘I want to catch this one. I don’t like leaving Chrissie there too long.’
    ‘Come on, then.’ And he hurried her along, her arm tucked through his.
    But they heard the clang! clang! of the bell as they turned the last corner, the warning that the ferry was about to pull