Mary Mary ....A Story by alanwgraham A dark tale of how things can go wrong Mary, Mary …………
Mary slouched, empty eyed, in her green, upright chair. She was in the sitting room of the Careless care home. Two years had passed since her niece Lizzie had brought Mary to the home. Lizzie had had to coax her, reluctant and fearful, from her small back to back on the other side of the Yorkshire mill town. If truth be told Mary had been struggling for the last few years. It had started with embarrassing slips in her short term memory. Her condition had progressed quite quickly to a worrying succession of incidents such as leaving the cooker on overnight, attempting to cook an egg in the toaster and forgetting where she was going in the bus. The winter’s night that Mary was found confused and distressed by her neighbour, sitting in her back garden, finally signalled to Lizzie that something had to be done.
Looking rumpled and slumped
and at least ten years older than her sixty eight, Mary had been worn out by
the slings and arrows of unfortunate outrage. Her life had passed in drudgery
and struggle. She had been the fourth of a large working class family of eight.
The sole light in Mary’s childhood had been the weekly visit to her grandma
when the old lady would read Mary stories and sing her nursery rhymes. Mary
always asked for her favourite which her grandma sang with a pure clear voice.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells And pretty maids all in a row
Mary’s father George worked in the local pit until a roof fall had finished his working life at the age of forty one. From then on, Mary’s mother had her increasingly bad tempered and frustrated husband to care for, as well as the five children still at home. As the oldest child remaining, Mary was expected by her mother to shoulder much of the burden. For Mary there was little time for the joys of childhood - later she would always talk fondly about every last detail of a day trip to Blackpool with her grandparents. The highlights of her memorable day were undoubtedly the donkey ride and the tram trip along the prom’ to see the illuminations.
At the age of fourteen Mary left the local junior secondary but neither the mediocre school nor her parents had instilled any ambition in her and she returned to help her mother at home. However, Mary was not without her qualities, she was hard working and reliable, and these were recognised when she gained a job in the local butchers. She turned out to be a quick learner and soon became indispensible in the back room preparing the meat for sale. It was at the butchers that another window opened for Mary. The ‘window’ was called Tommy and he worked in the front of shop selling the meat. A few years older than Mary, he was a small town charmer. He always enjoyed a bit of banter with the customers. ‘How are you today Mrs Lamb? The ‘road kill’ is on special offer - it’s just offal!’ His ‘awful’ chitchat was good for business and went down well with the boss.
With no experience of the
opposite sex Mary fell for Tommy immediately. With her long black hair and
open, honest face lit by an innocent smile it was inevitable that Tommy would
turn his charms on her. Mary was the sparrow to Tommy’s sparrowhawk. One day he asked her out to the local dance.
Although a very timid young woman Mary blossomed with Tommy’s attention. They started
going steady, and soon, against Mary’s better judgement, she became pregnant. But this wasn’t what Tommy had planned and he felt backed into a corner. As was the custom of the time he felt under pressure to ask Mary to marry him. Tragedy happened a month before the wedding when Mary miscarried and the doctor told them that she would have no more children. For Tommy, it was too late to escape and he, at least, managed to play the loving groom for the duration of the wedding.
Tommy’s feeling of resentment grew from the day of the wedding like a canker. Mary tried her best to be a good wife but nothing seemed to satisfy her disgruntled husband and whatever spark might once have flickered between them was quickly extinguished. They soon fell into a grinding routine. Tommy continued his work at the butchers while Mary split her time between housework and her morning job at the butchers. Although joined in matrimony and sharing the same house and bed their lives grew apart.
After Mary had made Tom’s evening meal he washed, shaved, put on his cap and made his way down to the ‘C**k and Bull’ to pass the evening with his drinking pals. When Tommy finally returned home Mary was usually in bed and she quickly learned not to ask him any questions about his nocturnal activities. The lingering traces of cheap perfume and other even less pleasant aromas left her with no illusions. She discovered early on that Tommy had a temper and was not averse to lifting his hand to her if he was crossed. The years passed and Mary slipped into dreary middle age. Poor Mary was childless, loveless and with no hopes for the future.
Then, something completely unexpected happened. It just seemed to be an ordinary day. Tommy had gone to work as usual. Her day had passed as normal with Mary hoovering, washing and mending with the radio playing in the background. Later in the afternoon she started to feel the usual gnawing anxiety as it drew closer to the time of Tommy’s return. She had long experience of guessing and double guessing the reasons for his bad mood but she could only wait and see.
On this occasion he did arrive home foul tempered and drunk, but by the time morning came, there was no doubt that Tommy had departed for good. It was as if he had been obliterated from the face of the earth. It was difficult for Mary to break the news to her family and friends, for she had kept her marital problems to herself, but in a small town not much could be kept secret.
Mary felt a great sense of release with Tommy’s departure. The fear and shame had gone but Mary slowly realised that she had forgotten how to live. When you have lived in the shadows for so long the sun can be too bright! She took succour in her daily routine and was persuaded to go along to the local chapel where she found companionship.
One thing about having a routine is that time can slip past before you notice it and somehow Mary found herself in her sixties with little to show for the twenty years she had spent on her own. Her mother and father had long since passed away and three of her siblings had died in the last five years. In spite of coming from a large family Mary had always been closest to her niece Lizzie and they would visit each other every week without fail. As Mary moved into her late sixties it was a great sadness for Lizzie when it became obvious that Mary was started to fail. Lizzie was relieved when the move into the Careless care home was accomplished and she took some comfort in the knowledge that at least her Aunt would be somewhere safe.
As month followed month Mary’s faculties gradually slipped away. Lizzie did her best to stimulate her aunt by taking her out on little trips and tried to bring back memories with photos and music and sometimes these ploys worked. There were few words but a smile counted as a success. At other times Mary could become unexpectantly agitated without apparent reason.
One day Lizzie had been sitting in the front room of the home chatting to Mary when some workmen had started digging a large hole in the front garden to plant a tree. Mary became more and more upset and eventually had to be given some medication to calm her down. Another time they had been sitting in the entrance conservatory when a van had pulled up and a lad from the local butchers had carried some large cuts of meat through to the kitchen. Mary’s started wringing her hands and moaning and then jumped up and fled to her bedroom.
Although the matron at the home tried to reassure Lizzie that such behaviour was not uncommon, Lizzie became more worried about her Aunt and popped into the home more often in an attempt to cheer her up. Of course, Mary hardly said a word, but Lizzie chattered away in an attempt to fill the silence. One morning she remembered that Mary had once told her how much she had enjoyed her grandma singing her favourite nursery rhyme to her. Lizzie knew the value of music in bringing back deeply buried memories, so she started singing, and as she did so, the other residents in the room turned and pricked up their ears.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary How does your garden grow
As Lizzie paused for breath, a kind of miracle happened, and a small child’s voice issued from Mary’s mouth. Lizzie could see that her aunt’s eyes had brightened and were looking into a distant place.
With silver bells and cockle shells ….
Mary paused but now Lizzie could see violent emotion contorting her aunt’s face before she continued.
And Tommy’s bones all in a hole!
Lizzie gasped out loud as she suddenly realised the possible significance of this memory but of course none of the other residents picked up anything untowards. Lizzie thought long and hard about the remarkable event what had just occurred but decided to do nothing. Strangely, Lizzie noticed that her Aunt seemed to be a lot happier in herself from then on. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her.
Two years later it was a blessing when Mary passed away. After the funeral Lizzie went up to her Aunt’s room in the home to clear out her handful of possessions. Apart from her bible, a few books, some cheap jewellery and a postcard of the Blackpool illuminations, the only thing she found was a letter addressed to her.
Dear Lizzie We have talked a lot over the years and had some good times. I would like to thank you for your friendship. Now, I have to ask you a big favour. It’s something I couldn’t face up to myself. The night that Tommy disappeared I panicked and couldn’t face up to telling the real story. When Tommy came home from work he was in a terrible temper. I was at the kitchen table using my sharp knife to prepare some tough meat for the stew. He came up behind me and when he shouted I just turned with the knife in my hand. He had his arm lifted about to strike me and somehow he must have tripped and fell on the knife. It went straight into his heart. The blood poured onto the floor and he died straight away.
I couldn’t think straight. The police would think I’d murdered him so I decided to pretend he’d gone away. The only thing I could think of was to bury him in the back garden. Oh, dear God, forgive me! I couldn’t lift him. I realised there was only one way. After all I’d had plenty of practice. After I had separated all the bones I put them into bags and went out to dig a deep hole in the back garden. It’s very quiet there and the garden isn’t overlooked.
Dear Lizzie, please give this letter to the police and they can sort things out. This whole thing had been weighing heavy on me for too long. I hope you will not judge me too harshly.
Your loving, Mary
PS There is one other thing I did that night that I can hardly believe. When I was working on Tommy’s body something strange happened. It must have been a way for my mind to protect itself from the horror but I suddenly felt like I was just working away in the butchers preparing the meat. I prepared the best cuts and used the mincer for the rest. When I got to work at the butcher's the next day I found I was carrying two bags of meat. It was too late then! It was later in the day and I had to work in the front shop. Mrs Haigh came in and asked where Tommy was. I remember just not knowing what to say as I was looking at the stewing steak and mince. The next day she came back and said that her chop had tasted a bit funny. I said, ‘well, that’s Tommy for you!’ She just looked at me and I giggled.
Lizzie had read the letter sitting in Mary’s chair. Once she had finished, she put the letter in her pocket and she sat long with her eyes closed and thought about Mary, what kind of person she had been, her family and the hardships in her upbringing, and finally her years of torment with Tommy.
As Lizzie walked away from the home for the last time she did not agonise for a moment over what to do. As she walked past the first waste bin she tore the letter into small bits and dropped it in.
© 2016 alanwgrahamFeatured Review
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Added on September 25, 2016Last Updated on September 26, 2016 Author
alanwgrahamScotland, United KingdomAboutMarried with three kids, I retired early from teaching physics but have always enjoyed mountains. In my forties I experienced a manic episode which kick-started a creative urge. I've written a novel .. more..Writing
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