Tales of Pyrmont Road & Other Stories

Horsehair
by MaryAnn Brooks

Our gran was different. Not funny in the head different or anything like that; just different like when we were small and she only had to give you that look of hers and you d do as you were told. You might get away with playing up when mum was around. But play up with gran? Never.

Things didn’t change much even when we all grew up. If she said leave something alone, we sort of left that something alone.

Which is why her armchair is still in the front room with her knitting still on the cushion, a bit worse for wear because Bing the cat who isn’t even our cat, has been sleeping on it, or in it, depending on his mood, and she in her grave three months.

Even that wouldn’t have mattered but we have relatives coming for Christmas and I’ll need to open up the dining table and I can’t do that with gran’s chair in the way.

A family conference was needed; small because this problem only involved us at Kew and we didn’t want the others spreading talk about gran being funny in the head before she died. Which she wasn’t.

True she could be, and was, a bit sharp with her tongue at times but that was her way. And me and Vi never forgot how she came and sorted mum out after dad got killed in the war, then stayed on to look after young Vera so one of us wouldn’t have to leave work to do it. Leave a job in those days and you didn’t get it back.

But where was I? Oh yes. Telling you about gran’s chair.

I’m Doris by the way and I live at number seventeen with my husband Fred.

My sister Vi, short for Violet except everyone calls her Vi, lives at number eleven with her husband Bill.

They have three children. We have – just us. And gran of course; until she died.

Nobody fancied discussing a certain person who we knew was dead and gone, though Vi wasn’t real sure about the gone bit, in the same house where she might still be hanging about. So the conference was held up the street in Bill and Vi s house.

The fire was burning nicely in Vi s front room; it was Sunday and like me when we weren’t visiting, she always lit the front room fire on Sunday.
Cards were set out; we usually played cards on Sunday afternoon. And the front room door was closed with the draught excluder in place; a nice long bolster thing Vi made herself.It was a shame we were going to have to sacrifice a good afternoon of whist just to talk about someone who, let’s face it, wasn’t on the top of our favorite person list, but as Vi said when we took our places, it was all for a good cause.

She had dealt four hands of cards, just to look good, she explained.
Who was she trying to fool? Knowing Vi, it was probably gran.

We tried to ignore them but no one in their right mind deals cards then expects everyone to leave them alone. Certainly not me, I can tell you.
I took a quick peek at mine; it was terrible. Good. Which meant it was a terrible hand which was good as I wasn’t going to play it anyway.

“We are here,” I opened the discussion, “to decide what to do about gran’s chair.”

During the general hemming and hawing and rearranging of certain parts of the anatomy as the others thought about what I’d just said. Fred reached out and glanced at his cards. He put them down quickly, looked at me and made a face. Another bad hand.

“Can’t see what all the fuss is about; the old girl’s gone and that’s that.” Bill pushed his hand away without looking at it. He wasn’t displaying will power. He just wasn’t too fond of whist.

Vi’s good humor dissolved faster than the smoke from the cigarette she angrily stubbed out in the ash tray.

“You never liked gran, did you?” she glared at her husband.

“Who said I had to like her?” Bill glared back “and anyway, she was your gran, not mine.”

“I knew it,” Vi ground down even harder on the very much expired cigarette, “you hated her, didn’t you? That’s why you wouldn’t let her come here to live.”

It got that chilly in the room, the front door might just as well have been open.

“We’ve got three kids, for goodness sake,” Bill thumped a fist on the table, “where did you expect us to put an old lady?”

“She could have had the middle room downstairs,” Vi stopped long enough to give a significant double sniff, “and she wouldn’t have been trouble.”

“Well, she’s trouble now.” said Bill.

“Men!” Vi stood up, all woman now with tears to match, “always got to have the last word.”

“For goodness sake, sit down,” Bill knew when he was defeated, he never could abide tears, “and let’s get on with it. And get rid of these cards.”

Willing hands pushed the cards together in the center of the table. No one, it seemed had a hand they liked, except Vi, who, after giving her nose a good blow, finally decided to look at hers. Liking what she saw, she sat down with a hint of a smirk on her face. The knowledge she had the best hand even if she wasn’t about to play it, restored her good humor.

“One way or another,” Fred took up the discussion, “we’ve got to get that chair out of the house without upsetting gran.”

“Just throw it out,” said Bill.

“That’ll really upset her.” this from Vi.

“Anyone would think she’s still here,” Bill made a point of looking under the table.

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Fred grinned and so did Bill.

“This is supposed to be a serious discussion,” I smacked my hand on the table, then put it in my lap. It hurt.

“Meeting called to order,” Fred rapped on the table with an ash tray, fortunately the empty one. “We are here to talk about how to get rid of gran’s chair, without,” he just managed to suppress a grin, “upsetting gran.”

“Don t forget the knitting,” said Bill.

“Gran won t care about that,” I argued, “Bing’s been sleeping in it.”

“Don t you mean on it,” said Bill.”

“When I say in, I mean in,” I frowned at Bill and he shut up.

“But he s not even your cat,” said Vi.

“Well,” I went on the defensive, “gran was very fond of him.”

“Have an accident,” Bill, if nothing else, was inventive.

“Bing?” I was horrified.

“Of course not,” said Bill, “I mean the chair.”

“Chairs don t have accidents, and anyway, gran would know.” Vi was back in the game; or was she just preparing once again for battle?

“I have an idea,” Bill held up his hand for attention. “Let’s suppose, and I say suppose,” he began, “gran is only hanging around your place,” he poked a finger at me, “which means anything we plot here, she won t know about.”

He gave us a moment for what he was saying to sink in then he continued.
“Now you,” he repositioned the finger and pointed it at his wife, “go and visit with Doris in your usual way and in the course of whatever it is you women talk about, say something like how nice it would be to have gran’s chair fixed and cleaned up for Christmas.

If the old lady s listening, she’ll like that. She always was a bit of a snob., especially where relations were concerned. And while it’s out back waiting to be cleaned, then it can have the accident.”

“It’s bound to rain,” Fred took up where Bill left off, “and that old leather is bound to split, then the lining will get soaked and nothing stinks worse than wet horse hair. There’s no way we can bring it back in after that.”
“So you ll have to break it up. Or something.” Bill sat back pleased with himself.

“Good time for a cuppa,” said Vi getting to her feet, which meant it was time for a conference. Without the men.

In the kitchen we followed the time honored tradition of tea preparation, one making the tea while the other assembled the tea things. The hostess always made the tea so while Vi warmed the pot and measured out tea, I assembled the tea things; this being Sunday, we would use her best set and one of her hand embroidered tray cloths.

This was never a silent process. We gossiped as we busied ourselves with getting the tea, though I wasn’t prepared for what Vi came out with just as we were about to load up the tray.

“Remember what gran used to say about she was able to see things we couldn’t?” she began.

I stopped what I was doing, thought a moment then nodded.

“And do things? she continued.” I shrugged at that.

“What if she did come back?” Vi was serious now, “as a ghost, I mean?”
Vi really had caught me unawares. I thought a bit then decided I might as well tell her. One thing about my sister; she knew how to keep a secret.”Now,” I indicated the other chair and she pulled it near and we both sat down, “I don t want anyone else to hear this and you d better promise,” Vi nodded vigorously and she hadn’t even heard anything yet, “not to say anything to anybody but,” I looked behind to make sure we were alone, “I think she did.”
“Never!!” Vi s eyes opened wide and for ten seconds or so, she forgot to close her mouth.

“Well,” I continued, “it happened like this. I went into the front room to get something and I swear she was sitting there. I suppose it could have been my imagination cos the next time I looked there she was, gone. No! I mean yes, I’m sure it was her. I remember she smiled.”

“Gran never smiled at anyone,” Vi sniffed, “you sure it was her?”

“Well it was a kind of a smile.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and?” I began.

“Doris Blackford,” Vi would not be not put off, “I know when you’ve got something more to tell. Now,” she leaned forward, her eyes bright, “did she say anything?”

“No but,” I paused and Vi held her breath, “I had an idea she would have but just then there was a noise at the front door, I think it was the letter box. And as I said, I looked away and when I looked back, she wasn’t there any more.”

“Gives me palpitations just thinking about it,” Vi held her hand over her heart.

“We’ll get more than palpitations if we don t get these tea things in the other room,” I replied.

Vi nodded, we picked up the tea things and carried them up to the front room looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in our respective mouths.

“I’ve been thinking over the chair accident,” Bill spoke between mouthfuls of Dundee cake.

“No accident!” Vi s tone indicated a willingness to reenter the battle arena. Bill took the hint and shrugged.

“Let’s leave it for now,” I said. “I’ve got one or two ideas and I need a bit of time to work them out.” Fred opened his mouth to speak but I gave him one of my looks and he shut up.

“Finish your cake Bill,” Fred pulled the cards together and began to shuffle, “and we’ll play a rubber or two.”

So we cleared the deck for action, so to speak, and spent an hour playing cards.

Tuesday morning I decided to tackle the front room. It wasn’t due for a cleaning but my cousin Tom was coming all the way from Cheltenham with his wife and she was as house proud as they come which meant not a speck of dust anywhere or she d find it.

With the Bissell in one hand and a couple of dusters in the other, I pushed open the front room door — and nearly died on the spot when I heard a familiar voice.

“You cleaned here once this month already.”

“Blimey! gran,” I had to lean on the door to recover, “you could give someone a heart attack, you could. What you doing here anyway?”

“It might be nice to ask how I am.”

“I know how you are,” I was more annoyed than scared now, “you re ” I managed to bite the word before it got out. “You got no right,” I changed the subject, to come back and haunt us like this.”

“Haunting is old fashioned. I m just here to have a talk with my favorite grand daughter.”

“Thanks for nothing,” I was still in a bit of shock from seeing her.

“You don t have to thank me for anything. Just listen.”

“You going to tell us where you hid your baccy tin?” I asked. If it really was gran and I still wasn’t sure, I might as well try and find out about that tin before she upped and vanished again.

She kept her bits and pieces of jewelry in her husband s old tobacco tin and though they weren’t much value, I knew Vi fancied the garnet necklace. And I wouldn’t say no to her earrings.

South African gold, they were, with a lovely big gold hook and a dangly black stone with one big pearl in the middle and tiny pearls all round the edge.

“Forgot all about that. No I want to talk about old Mrs H.”

“Mrs H?” now I was surprised, “what’s she got to do with you coming back and anyway I thought she was dead.”

“Well she isn’t. I went to see her just before, well just before, and she lives in a bed sit, and it’s in terrible shape.”

“I’m sorry to hear that gran,” and I really was sorry, “but what can I’do about it?”

“You still got my clothes?”

“Er no.”

Gran’s clothes were up the street at the church hall, all ready for the annual jumble sale. But she didn’t know that and I wasn’t about to tell her.

“See! I m hardly in my grave and you can’t clear out my things fast enough?”

“Gran, you’ve been gone three months.”

“Three months? How time flies. But what’s done is done. How about my other stuff?

“What other stuff?” I asked.

“My sheets and things of course.”

“Washed, dried, properly aired and put away.” And they were.

“Good. Now, give Mrs H one of the pillows and the gray blanket, you can keep the white one, I know you always liked it. And she can have the quilt, you never did like the color and she won t care as long as it’s warm.”

“If I can just keep your linen sheet,” I wasn’t about to part with what was the nearest thing to a family heirloom, “you know, the one with your monogram, she can have all the rest.”

“D’you know,” gran’s voice actually softened, “your grandfather thought up that monogram idea. Gave a bit of class, he reckoned. But he always did have funny ideas, though why the silly old –“anything else gran?” I shut that tirade off in a hurry. I’d heard enough of granddad getting himself killed in Zulu land. What I wanted to know was what else she had in mind.

“Yes. This chair. You never did like it and don’t tell me you did. There’s a lot of sitting left in the old thing and she’s got room for it.”

“Good idea gran.” Good idea? It was brilliant.

“Good riddance you mean. Now don’t argue with an old lady who s nearly used up her spare time.”

“No gran. But…” I hesitated.

“But what?”

“Where did you put your baccy tin?”

“Been thinking about that. Last time I had it I was sitting right here. But I’m not me any more so you’ll have to look for it.”

“Right gran. So that’s all?” I wasn’t anxious to get away. I just didn’t know what to say next.

“Trying to get rid of me? I’ll be gone for good this time so don t hurry me.”

“I’d never hurry you gran” and all of a sudden I realized I meant it, “I was just trying to think of a nice way to say goodbye.”

“Don t say it then. Just say bye for now. Or see you later.”

“If that’s what you want, gran. Bye for now then,” there, I’d said it, “see you later.”

Then all of a sudden she was gone, and there I was with the Bissell still in one hand, dusters in the other and I couldn’t see for tears.

I told it all to Vi, except for the tears bit, as we sat over our morning cuppa. When I finished, she sat back and took a deep breath.

“Fancy you seeing a ghost. But you always did have all the luck.”

“I don t know about luck” I said, “I could have done without the heart attack.”

“What about gran’s baccy tin?” Vi. asked.

“Completely forgot about it,” I said, “but I’ll get Fred to dig down and have a good look before he takes it round to Mrs H.”

“You mean you re going to tell him about seeing gran?”

“Of course not. Can you imagine what he d say if I tried to tell him something like that? No,” I put on my really serious voice, “that stuff stays with just you and me.”

Vi nodded, her face solemn. “What you going to say then?” she asked.
“Well we’re going to have to say something so I think,” and I went into detail what I had in mind. Vi agreed and we arranged another family conference, this time in my kitchen.

“Vi and me, we had a long talk about gran the other day,” I began, “and we decided she wasn’t peculiar at all. She was just a lonely old woman and that was her way of getting attention. Isn’t that right Vi?” I looked at my sister who shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like a yes.
“You mean that?” Bill looked at Vi like he couldn’t believe his ears.

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Vi s tone went sharp all of a sudden; Bill shut up.
“Go on,” Fred began then stopped when I nudged his foot. He looked at me with a question in his eyes and I just looked back. Hard. He took the hint.

“So,” I continued, “we are going to forget all this stuff about gran hanging around and I’m going to get rid of her chair,” I looked at both the men, Vi knew what I was about to say, “the nice way.”

“No accident?” Bill sounded disappointed.

“How?” Fred was just curious.

I ignored Bill.

“I think,” I began again, “we should clean it up a bit, or have it cleaned, then send it round to old Mrs H.”

“Who s Mrs H?” said Bill.

“Thought she was dead,” said Fred.

“Well she isn’t and she lives in this awful bed sit so I m going to send the chair and all of gran’s bed stuff, except the monogrammed sheet. Can’t give that away; it’s a family heirloom.”

“Pity we never found her baccy tin.” Vi came in on cue.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I replied “and it’s just got to be somewhere. The last time I saw it, gran was dozing in her chair and she had it in her lap. So maybe Fred,” I smiled sweetly at my husband, “you’d give the chair a going over to see if it’s down in the works somewhere?

“Come on,” said Bill, “let’s do it now.”

“No” said Fred, “I’ll get old Mr Hallet to come and look at it. He does a nice job on chairs and things and he s cheap.”

“You know Fred,” I said after Bill and Vi had gone home, “you re just an old softie. What you really meant is old Mr Hallet can do with the money.”

“We re lucky we can spare it love,” said Fred, “and it ll be for a good cause.”

So we hauled the chair out back and set it under the overhang and old Mr Hallet came and gave it a good going over and as I hoped, he found gran’s baccy tin in the stuffing. When the chair and the bed stuff had been delivered to old Mrs H, Fred helped me re arrange the front room.

“Should have done this months ago,” Fred stood back to admire the front room as it was supposed to be; settee under the window, arm chairs beside the fire, piano opposite, and the dining table dead center.
“What?” I positioned the last of the dining chairs, “have gran’s chair cleaned?”

“No, he grinned at me, “have it moved out.

“And upset gran?” I pretended shock.

We both laughed at that.