The Devil and Mary Kelly (Short Fiction)

It was washday when The Devil invited himself into Mary Kelly's kitchen/diner and where she would normally have expected to find a pile of dirty laundry heaped on the corner seat of her mock pine breakfast suite, The Dark One squatted moodily fashioning a roll-up from some doubtful-looking leaves.

"You're not smoking that filthy thing in here." He was, she noted with a modicum of satisfaction, a bit taken aback by this so she followed it up with "and if you're selling something, I'm not buying" and began fiercely sorting her smalls.

"My dear woman, don't you know who I am?"

"Of course I do" she scowled across at him." Who else in Creation would be wearing a pair of goaty horns and carrying a..." she hesitated, looking around. "Where's your pitchfork then?"

"Where indeed. That's something I'd like to know." He scratched at his beard with a long curved nail, dislodged something with a number of legs and eyed her solemnly.

"You've not gone and lost it?" She didn't try to hide her amusement and watched his irritation manifest itself in little puffs of sulphurous smoke curling out of his ears. She sniffed and pointedly opened a window.

"It's not lost - it's been STOLEN!" His voice suddenly thundered, shaking the room and making an assortment of cups rattle on their hooks. "Sorry", he went on, "but I'm feeling a bit strung out. Probably because I'm dying for a joint." He attempted a pleading look but his gargoyle features wouldn't oblige so he settled for a wistful sigh, filling the place with further rank odours and making Mary Kelly's complexion blend in with her avocado, rather badly-fitted MFI cupboards.

"For God's sake..." she coughed, flapping at the air with a stained teatowel.

"Oh, don't bring Him into it, I'll never hear the last!"

"And what, pray, has all this to do with the likes of me?"

"Everything. You began the whole thing with your careless words and curses. Opening your mouth without thinking what you're saying, causing a whole lot of trouble. Namely, your husband, Patrick - you threw him out with the words "Go to Hell" and he went and did precisely that. Turned up on my doorstep at two in the morning, drunk as a skunk and singing a most original selection of rugby songs. Woke up half of Hades. So I bunged him in the spare cellar for the night. I had to go out for a while on business and by the time I'd got home he'd taken over the place. Rearranged the torture rosta, organised a trade union for the fiends and released all the prisoners from the lava pit. It's been chaos ever since. Or rather it hasn't. He's a bad influence - getting the imps and demons playing five-a-side football. And they've got a darts team. That's probably where my pitchfork went. Melted down in the fiery furnace to make arrows. Now no one can be bothered to keep stoking the fires any more so it's growing decidedly chilly down there. I'm surprised I haven't caught my death." He shuddered theatrically, anticipating a comment. She shrugged.

"So what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Isn't it obvious? Take him back!"

"Oh, no! There's nothing, absolutely nothing that would persuade me to have that useless article back in this house."

"Nothing, Mary? Are you quite sure?" his tone wheedling, suggestive.

"Wait now. Is this some sort of test you're trying on me? It's temptation, isn't it? You're after leading me astray, getting me to agree to something. Well, I won't, see. And this you're telling me about Patrick. Lies, isn' it? I bet he's down the Pig and Whistle even as we speak, glugging back the Guinness with the landlord in the back room while his missus slaves to get the place ready for opening. Now, you bugger off back to where you came from and leave me to get on with the wash!"

But The Devil stayed where he was and watched her stuffing sheets into the automatic. "It wouldn't be like a pact," he explained, "nothing that would endanger your mortal soul, if that's what you're worried about. Just a straight swap. You take Patrick off my hands and I'll give you something in return. Anything you want."

"There's nothing I want. Not now he's slung his hook and I've got some peace at last. So go on, clear off out of my kitchen, you're in my way!"

"A bigger kitchen, perhaps?" He allowed a few images from Ideal Homes to tantalize her.

"Cheapskate," she huffed. "Think you can fob me off with just a few fancy appliances and an Italian tiled floor!"

A grubby cloven foot toyed thoughtfully with a silky black g-string poking from under a pillow case. "Pity to deny yourself a few luxuries. Shopping can be so much fun when you don't have to worry about money." He flicked something up in the air and it landed on the table between them. It was a small rectangle of green and white plastic.

"What's that?"

"That, my dear Mary, is an Amex card. You may use it indefinitely as it's indestructible and self-renewing, hence there is no expiry date. Or, for that matter, credit limit. All statements come to me for settlement. You get the goods, I pay the bills. Ad infinitum. The card will be activated as soon as Patrick moves back in with you. Is that a fair offer, or what?" He could sense her wavering and pushed home his advantage. "You can book holidays, order double glazing, get your hair done at a posh salon... I've a leaflet that tells you..." He retrieved a slightly charred pamphlet from somewhere on his person and held it out to her.

"And there's no blood involved?"

"Blood? Oh, what a charmingly archaic idea! Blood, indeed! Those sort of deals went out with the Ark!" he chuckled. "No, there's no agreement to sign, in blood or otherwise. Just your word, that's enough."

"And there's no catch. You swear on your sainted mother's grave?"

"Hardly appropriate, but yes, I swear on my mother's grave, whoever she was. Happy now?"

"I'll think about it." She turned her back and began setting the dials on the washing machine.

"Oh, Mary, Mary so contrary! I had hoped that you would be a bit more cooperative. I think I'm being more than generous as it is but I'll revise my offer. Agree now and you'll get a bonus. A five figure lottery win later this week so you'll have a nice little nest egg tucked away. I can't arrange one of the top prizes, I'm afraid, they're all promised for some time ahead. It's amazing what some people are willing to do to become a millionaire... the stories I could tell! Anyway, failing that you have till midnight when I'll send a couple of the boys round for a nightcap and a chat. Keep you company and help you make up your mind."

"Is that some sort of a threat, then?" her voice casual as she scooped powder into the dispenser. "You've got a fine nerve, talking to me like that. Thinking everyone can be either bought or bullied into doing what you want. I'll not be pressured, so do whatever you like. Meanwhile, perhaps I'll just go and have a word with Father O'Shaunessy this afternoon. Ask his advice on the matter." She glanced round and caught The Devil's pained expression.

"Obviously," he began slowly, "I've misjudged the situation. I do apologise. Please feel free to take as long as you need and I'll wait to hear from you. I would really appreciate it if you didn't bring the er," he hesitated and swallowed hard, "the Church into this. They're sure to overreact. Couldn't we just keep it between ourselves?"

"I should, by rights, at least mention it during confession. Although I'm not sure if just by talking to you I'm actually committing a sin. Am I?"

He shook his head. "Not strictly speaking. It's not as if you called me up - I dropped in uninvited, so you can't be to blame. I accept full responsibility for the whole thing. And by the way" he added, pointing to the machine," there's an odd red sock caught up in your sheets. I'd get it out if I were you or the colour's likely to run and ruin your whites."

Then he was gone. Mary stood open-mouthed, now redundant thanks hovering on her lips. Typical, she thought, leaves his dirty hoofprints all over the floor and not so much as a cheerio. How was she supposed to get in touch? Then she noticed the scrap of paper. He'd left a freephone number and the last three digits were, unsurprisingly, 666.



Tuesday was bingo night at the Women's Institute. She sat with the usual crowd: Alma Digweed, who she'd been at school with and who was her oldest and closest friend; Doris Whittle, the town midwife responsible for bringing Mary's two eldest into the world; Elizabeth Betts, Doris' next-door neighbour, and Winnie Maple, chairperson of both the local Vegetarian Society and the Ladies Bowls Club, widow of the long-suffering Ernest who, Mary confided to Alma, had once been on the point of leaving Winnie to run away with the mousy little woman who used to run the wool shop. Fate apparently chose that very week to advise Winnie that one of her premium bond numbers had come up. The windfall must have encouraged Ernest to rethink his position. He took up golf instead, actually died on the course a couple of years later and, it was rumoured, Winnie had had him well insured.

The first game was under way and Mary was wondering how much Winnie's conservatory had cost when Alma nudged her and pointed to her card.

"Buck up! He's called 70" she hissed.

Mary obediently crossed it through and concentrated. The remaining numbers came out in quick succession. "House!" her voice squeaked with excitement, almost embarrassed to win this quickly, and uneasy about the possible significance of the last two numbers called. She waited while her card was checked. It was confirmed, she'd won ten pounds. Her first win in months. Coincidence, she told herself, nothing more. But she won the sixth game too, and 66 had appeared on the card like a dark omen.

She opened her bag, pulled out her draw tickets and groaned inwardly. First in the queue, she'd bought ten tickets at the door and number six was one of them. To her left, Winnie had hers spread out in readiness, including 66. Even as this fact registered, Winnie got up and announced she was off to the powder room. "Here," she addressed Mary airily, "you seem to have the luck of The Devil this evening, would you mind looking after these for me, dear?" She indicated the tickets. "Perhaps some of it will rub off " and she winked. Mary felt the cold sweat break out on her forehead and nodded, sure Winnie suspected something.

Mary went home that evening juggling a selection of homemade chutneys and a large box of Quality Street. Winnie hadn't wanted the chutney confiding, behind a heavily beringed hand, "it gives me such frightful wind, dear!" so Mary offered her the chocolates but she wouldn't take those either. "Have to watch the waistline. Must stay trim for my Christmas trip." She was, as she so frequently reminded their group, booked to go on an eight-day luxury cruise in the Caribbean.

Mary was glad the others had each won something, too. Alma took the bottle of sweet Spanish sherry that Winnie had donated to the raffle, whilst Doris seemed quite pleased with a purple and lilac crocheted-crinoline-lady spare toilet roll cover. Elizabeth got the pot pourri. So at least the luck had been spread around a bit.



She knew he was there as soon as she turned the key in the lock: the smell of something unwholesome lingered around the front doorstep. She followed her nose into the lounge to where he dozed in front of the TV. She turned the set off and roused him with her foot.

"Ah, Mary. Had a pleasant evening?" he asked blearily, a sly smile contorting his lips.

She dumped her prizes on the settee beside him. "Just what do you call this" she demanded, her finger stabbing at the selection.

"Looks to me like jars of chutney and," he stretched and yawned, displaying a gape not dissimilar to a rotting crocodile's," some rather nice choccies."

"You fixed this, didn't you? Well, I don't want them. You can take the nice "choccies" home to Mrs. Satan, and the chutney too. I'm sick of you interfering with my life so why don't you just..." then she remembered Winnie. "Do you have something going with Winnie Maple?"

"Of course. Nice lady, Winnie. Sensible. Likes her share of life's little luxuries. Always so cooperative and unfailingly grateful for my little gifts, too." The inference wasn't lost on Mary. She blushed with annoyance.

"So you two have an agreement?"

"That, as they say, is confidential information, my dear. Just as it would be if you decided to um, well, to be a little more sympathetic to the cause."

She let out a heavy sigh. "I think I need a coffee."

"That would be nice."

"I wasn't asking..." But what's the use, she thought, resignation setting in. "Black?"

He nodded. "With six sugars."



Winnie's phone voice exaggerated her carefully adopted middle class accent. "Mary! How lovely to hear from you... Yes... Yes, do come round. I've an appointment with Joseph this afternoon. Highlights. He thinks I can be a little bolder this time and have the Scandinavian silver. Mmmm... Anyway, I can fit you in this morning. Would elevenses suit you? We could have it in the conservatory."

It was something, Mary supposed, that she could be slotted into Winnie's busy schedule at such short notice. She would, no doubt, have to politely suffer a comprehensive guided tour of recent home improvements and acquisitions but everything has its price, as she was rapidly finding out. She reached to the back of her wardrobe and pulled out the blue two-piece she'd last worn at cousin Jack's wedding. It had been in the sale at C&As, reduced because it had a mark on the cuff. It looked crumpled now, outdated and, as she found as she squeezed into the skirt, it was more than a fraction tight on the hips.



Winnie opened the recently double glazed porch door with a flourish. "Come in, dear, come in! You look exhausted!"

Mary smiled weakly. She was hot and sticky and her best court shoes were playing hell with her bunions. "It's the hill - it's much steeper than it looks" she panted.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Of course, I don't really notice it in the car. But the view up here is exceptional, don't you agree?" she waved a peach-sleeved arm in the direction of the townscape stretching away beneath them into the distance.

Mary managed a half-hearted "Mmm," before Winnie ushered her through into the coolness of the hall. A hoover droned somewhere overhead and the smell of beeswax polish hung on the air.

"My daily," Winnie gestured with her thumb towards the ceiling. "Mrs. Monks - she'll bring us coffee and sandwiches when she's finished the bedrooms. Now, let's go and look at my vines in the conservatory, they're coming along splendidly."

The place was a show piece of tastefully upholstered bamboo furniture set amongst a small jungle of flowering vegetation. A pair of waist-high glazed cheetahs flanked the outer doors and a small ornamental fountain caught the rays of sunlight slanting through the glass roof. It was all far grander than Mary had imagined. It was like another world.

"What do you think?" Winnie raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows in expectant arcs.

Mary gazed at the bright banks of hibiscus and sighed, her resolve weakening. She couldn't deny her reactions. "It's beautiful, Winnie. I have to say it - I envy you."

"Tut-tut, Mary," Winnie teased gently, pleased with the admission, " I didn't think you were one to covert your neighbour's goods!" She patted Mary's arm and went on "you'll have to see my new utility room later. The latest combined washer/tumble driers are absolutely marvellous. Technology's a wonderful boon to the modern housewife."

"If you can afford it," Mary muttered.

"Ah, now we come to the crux of it!" Winnie gave her a meaningful look before addressing Mrs. Monks who was edging sideways into the room with a large tray. "Thank you Edna, that's all for today. I'll rinse and stack these in the dishwasher when we've finished."

"Thank you, Missus. I'll be off home then." She shuffled back a few steps and hesitated, hands stuffed deep into the vast pockets of her floral overall.

"Was there something else?" Winnie prompted.

"Just me wages - it's Wednesday, y'see."

"You'll find the usual envelope in the left hand drawer of the hall table. Now, off you go." Winnie began pouring coffee, waiting for Mrs. Monks to close the door behind her before remarking, " she's an absolute treasure but a little on the slow side, if you know what I mean."

Mary helped herself to a crustless ham sandwich and didn't comment. She chewed thoughtfully for a while, conscious of the delicate china and the quality of the filtered coffee, before blurting out " how the dickens can you afford to live like this?"

"Well, that's certainly straight to the point!" Winnie laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry...that was very rude and it's none of my business..." Mary began apologising but Winnie cut her short.

"No, no. That's a perfectly reasonable question and it is what you came here to find out, after all. I actually have a little job that pays rather well."

"A job? Doing what, exactly?"

"I'm a sort of recruitment consultant for a gentleman who has a large estate to maintain.

Mary looked blank, failing to immediately make the connection. Winnie seemed to be weighing her words carefully before adding "you've met him, I believe."

"Um, I've maybe bumped into him once or twice." Winnie's so casually made confirmation of Mary's suspicions, followed by her own off-hand admission, was oddly liberating. " So, what's he like to work for, then?"

"I've no complaints. The hours are flexible, the duties aren't too taxing and the rewards are... well, look around you. Speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

"And what do these duties entail, exactly?"

"I make appointments to meet and assess the people who answer our ads - you've seen the sort of thing in the classifieds: Make more money than you've ever dreamed - you, too, can be one of life's achievers, unleash your true potential...etcetera. Well, ours are absolutely one hundred per cent genuine and it's my job to weed out the unsuitable applicants, those with moral or religious objections. Monsieur Luc only sees the ones who have the right attitude to success. It's not everyone who can handle being rich and famous, after all."

"Monsieur Luke?"

"Short for Lucifer. He has lots of other pseudonyms of course, but that's the one we settled on for business use. It has a rather nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Very cosmopolitan. So, he makes them successful. What does he get in return - mortal souls don't come into it, I suppose?" Mary watched Winnie's face closely.

"That's not a term we tend to use nowadays, the concept having somewhat biblical connotations. We refer to it as a 'deferred settlement clause' and, seeing the majority of them don't even believe in an afterlife, they don't worry about the hows and whens of repaying the debt. They're much more concerned in living for the moment and enjoying themselves. They get a subtly worded reminder letter, just prior to termination. At that point most of them begin to panic, some even turn Catholic. Oh, no offence, my dear - I'd forgotten that you're of the Faith."

"None taken. I'm not feeling too devout at the moment. Please go on."

"I don't concern myself with what happens after that, it's not my job." Winnie brushed some crumbs from her peach silk lounging suit and looked at her watch. Rather pointedly, Mary thought.

"And what do you think I ought to do about Patrick - would there be any strings?"

Winnie smiled. "Not the kind you imagine. Patrick is the proverbial thorn in the flesh. Relieve Monsieur Luc of the irritation and he'll be more than grateful. You won't regret it. He may ask for an additional favour once in a while. Nothing to worry about, though. He's always been very fair with me. Now, I'm sorry to have to chivvy you up, dear, but I have to go and get ready. If you hang on, I'll drop you off on the way to town, unless you'd like to go shopping, of course. Which reminds me, he left this for you."

Mary took the familiar oblong of green and white plastic from her. "Never misses a trick, does he."

"Never" Winnie agreed.



While Winnie was changing, Mary went out onto the patio for a breath of air. Across the other side of an immaculate lawn a young man, stripped to the waist and using a pair of long-handled pruners, was busy trimming a hedge. His tanned skin glistened as she watched him work, methodical and silent except for the rhythmic snip of the blades.

She mentioned him on the drive into town. "Oh that's Jason," Winnie explained. "He gardens for me twice a week, does the occassional bit of DIY and makes himself available generally. He's most obliging. Tends to all my needs. Very personable young man, strong, too. Now, where did you want dropping - D.H.Evans was it?"

Mary fancied Winnie had laid subtle emphasis on the 'all' in relation to her needs. It gave her quite a lot to think about as she trawled her way through the racks of sale goods. Imagining Winnie and the young man together, she realized she wasn't nearly as scandalised as she ought to have been. Maybe, and this was a truly shocking idea, even a tiny bit jealous.

She examined a rich plum coloured Jaeger jacket that happened to be her size. Even reduced by fifty per cent, it was still far more than she would normally dream of spending. Still, no harm in just trying it on she told herself and found a changing room. It looked good, the well cut lines flattering her rounded figure and having a slimming effect. She felt rather elegant and it was a new, totally beguiling experience.

Trying to appear nonchalant, she placed the card on the counter. The assistant barely glanced at it, it swiped without hiccup and the machine promptly printed a receipt. Totally painless, she thought, but I've really done it now. I'm fast becoming a wicked, wicked woman. She then bought three designer dresses, two pairs of hand stitched leather shoes, a black lace negligee and a bottle of Dior perfume to celebrate the fact and went home in a taxi.



The Devil was waiting, hunched in the porchway, his expression weary. "Hello, Mary. I thought I'd pop round and see how things are." He eyed the array of carrier bags she was struggling with as she searched for her key.

"Things are not so bad, thank you for your interest. Here," she indicated the bags, "help me get these inside, would you? And you needn't be looking so sorry for yourself, I've decided I will take Patrick back, but only on one condition."

"Which is?" his voice betrayed a hopeful note.

"That there's no deferred settlement clause included anywhere in our agreement. I don't want to be receiving any little reminders about outstanding accounts, if you follow my drift. When the time comes for me to pass on, I want it to be peaceful and dignified. No coming after me in the hereafter. No come back of any kind. That's the deal. Now take it or leave it."

"You're an astute woman, Mary Kelly, and it's a pleasure doing business with you." He held out a hairy hand and Mary shook it gingerly. It felt cold as a dead animal.

"Is that it, then - no paperwork at all?"

"Your word is quite sufficient. Now, I wonder if I might use your phone so I can let Patrick know the good news. I'll reverse the charges - that'll freak the operator. Makes them all a bit nervous down at the exchange when they know it's me on the line!" Humming to himself, he picked up the receiver and dialed. There was a long wait before anyone answered.

Mary left him to it and went upstairs to unpack, admire and put away her new purchases.



Eventually the connection came through but the line crackled and buzzed and the voice on the other end sounded very distant "Patrick? Is that you, Patrick?... Ah, good...Now listen. I've got your Mary to agree at last. It wasn't easy, mind you, she took some persuading. Laid down quite a few conditions which I had to agree to on your behalf. What's that?...Didn't really have any choice, old boy. Sorry. If you want to come home, you'll just have to tow the line, I'm afraid. She's knocked the drinking on the head for starters. No more sloping off to the Pig & Whistle. And she wants you to find a job." He was interrupted by a spontaneous yowl coming down the phone line. "Calm down, now. It's no problem. I'll employ you - you know what they say about idle hands! Eh?... No, nothing too strenuous, flexible hours. We'll talk about it later. Now, you just get your stuff together. I'll send a taxi for you in about an hour." The Devil replaced the receiver.

"I'm off now, Mary," he called up the stairs.

"Coming." But by the time she came down he'd already gone so she had a good squirt round with the air freshener.



As he strode up the path, she had to admit that he was looking more presentable than usual and had obviously made some effort. A collar and tie, no less.

"Hello there, Mary. You're a sight for sore eyes, that's to be sure. A new dress, is it?"

"It is, yes." She'd planned to be cool towards him but smiled in spite of herself. "You're not looking so bad yourself, Patrick."

So they stood for a moment and looked at each other, both a little uncertain, before going inside.

"Will you have had your tea, then?"

"No, but I don't want to put you out at all."

"It's no trouble. I haven't had mine yet." She busied herself in the kitchen and carried a tray through into the lounge. He had picked up the newspaper but put it down as soon as she entered.

"Here, let me take that" and he placed the tray with exaggerated care on the coffee table.

She sat on the settee beside him, but not too close, and poured the tea.

"How've you been keeping, then? Were your new digs not to your liking?" She was curious to hear his account of the Devil's hospitality. No doubt it would vary somewhat from the one she'd already heard.

"Shouldn't complain, really. I had a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in and food in my belly. But I missed being home with you." He gave her a long, meaningful look. "I want you to know that I've not touched a drop this past week and I've already been offered a job." He saw Mary's incredulous expression and raised a hand to stop her interrupting. "No, it's true, I swear it. The counsellor at the hostel is arranging it. You know, Mr. de Ville - the fellah who spoke to you about me maybe coming back? He's helped me see the error of my ways. He's been like a good Samaritan to me."

Mary coughed, almost choking on her tea. "Of course, Mr. de Ville. So where, exactly, was this hostel?"

"The YMCA at the back of Radclyffe Street. Did he not tell you I was staying there?"

"Not exactly, no. I was led to believe you were staying with a friend."

"Ah, what does it matter now - I'm back and things are going to be different, I promise you." The apparent sincerity in his voice suggested she should at least wait and see.



She was late night shopping in Sainsbury's when she next ran in to him. The Devil sat behind the customer care desk, large as life and looking very much at home in his standard issue uniform. Mary marched up to the counter.

"I've a bone to pick with you" she snapped.

"Mary! How nice to see you - how's Patrick?"

"He's fine, as well you know. That's not what's bothering me. I want to know where he was. Did he stay at your place or the YMCA? And I want the truth, now, no baloney."

"Ah, the Truth." he gazed at her, almost affectionately and placed his hairy palms together in parody of prayer. "The Truth, my dear Mary, is a most curious thing that often alters with the telling. It's all a question of viewpoint. And it depends totally on Belief, of course. Who or what do you want to believe Mary? Who can you trust? I promised you a better lifestyle in return for a little favour. I'm fulfilling my side of the bargain, aren't I?"

She nodded, thrown by his reasoning. " But why...?' she began.

"Here," he pushed a wad of JS gift vouchers across the counter," a little present. Go and buy something special for dinner. The Scotch salmon is superb and it's on offer 'til Friday. Oh, and don't forget to buy your lottery tickets this week, it's a roll-over, and you never know."



Five numbers came up plus the bonus ball: not a great fortune but sufficient to buy a house up on the hill only three doors from Winnie. Mary took the move in her stride, accepting Winnie's advice on a number of domestic matters and, when Patrick took up golf, she upped his life insurance, just as a precaution.

"You know, Winnie" Mary confided as they relaxed on sunbeds in her newly-built solarium, "I haven't clapped eyes on Monsieur Luc in months."

"Oh, I had an e-mail from him yesterday. He's over in Brussels, at an EEC debate on member's expenses, I think it said."

"Friends in high places, then."

"Mmm. You could say that."

Mary followed Winnie's gaze to where a thoroughly bronzed Jason worked on the rockery. He turned at that moment to give the ladies a truly dazzling smile.



THE END