The Bermondsey Bookshop

by Mary Gibson

  She decided to make her own way home. She walked swiftly across Tower Bridge. The early-evening air was damp with the threat of rain and she belted her mackintosh tightly, pulling up the collar. The river was black ink and above it a luminous violet twilight. Looking always to her right, she sought out where the river inserted itself like a dark blade into St Saviour’s dock. Just beyond would be East Lane Stairs and the place she still thought of as home. She kept her eyes fixed on that spot until she had to cross over the road and skirt the Tower for Mark Lane underground station. As soon as she got out at Sloane Square, the threatened rain shower arrived, and she trotted the rest of the way to her father’s house.

  Letting herself in, she was surprised to find the house empty. Nora hadn’t said she was going out tonight. She shook out her mackintosh, kicked off her wet shoes and went straight to her workshop. Sitting at her new bench, she pulled out her designs. They were rough, untechnical, imprecise, but they were enough to be her guide. She began sketching a new idea for a geometric fan-shaped jewellery box, but the storm had made the house feel oppressive and she opened one of the French windows. She looked into the inky shadows between shrubbery and trees and breathed in sweet damp air, listening as the weakening rain spattered a tattoo onto flat, black laurel leaves.

  She was about to return to her sketches when she heard sounds coming from the garden room above. She froze, listening more intently. It might be the young maid-of-all-work, but this was her night off and normally she spent it with her chap – an errand boy from Harrods she thought nobody knew about. The sound came again and now it was recognizably that of weeping. Kate put down her pencil, crept in her stockinged feet upstairs and found the garden-room door ajar.

  It was Nora, sitting in shadow. The twilight had deepened and she was only visible in the darkened room because of her pale dress. Her face was obscured by a loop of dark hair, her head bent over something she was holding in her lap. Her sobbing was gentle, sighing almost, as her shoulders rose and fell. But she’d made no attempt to muffle the sound. She obviously thought she was alone in the house. Kate decided to leave her in peace. If she’d wanted to share whatever pain it was that had caused these tears, she would have done so.

  But as Kate turned away, the floorboards creaked. Nora looked up sharply. ‘Who’s there? Chibby, is that you?’

  Kate saw her slip whatever she was holding down the side of her chair.

  ‘Hello?’ Nora half rose and Kate stepped out of the shadows.

  ‘It’s only me.’

  Nora brushed away her tears. Her face was spectral, her eyes hollow, her expression agonized; Kate felt as if she’d intruded on something painfully private, but didn’t know how to retreat. She decided not to pretend. ‘Why are you crying?’

  Nora dipped her head again and, unable to speak, covered her face with her hands.

  Kate sat on the arm of Nora’s chair and put an arm around her. ‘Ever since I met you, you’ve been sad. You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but, Nora, who is Paul?’

  Nora gasped and searched Kate’s face for an instant before taking in another shuddering breath. She pulled out whatever she’d hidden in the armchair and smoothed it in her lap. It was a smallish, dog-eared photograph. She handed it to Kate.

  ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘My son.’

  16

  Reviled Beloved

  1925

  Kate stared at the photo. She had a million questions clamouring to be answered. Had Nora been married before? Wouldn’t she have been too young? She’d been barely nineteen when Chibby had sent her to England. But what if the child had been born out of wedlock or Chibby had just married Nora to save her honour?

  The boy was small-featured and dark-haired like Nora. The photograph showed the toddler from the waist up. He was delicate and small-boned, and there was something awkward about his posture, as if he’d been forced into one of those excruciating poses Martin chose for Kate. She guessed he’d been positioned to lessen his obvious defects – a twisted torso, one shoulder higher than the other. Large, luminous dark eyes seemed almost to plead with the camera to be released.

  ‘It was taken for his third birthday. Chibby said we shouldn’t have him photographed full length. He isn’t properly formed,’ Nora said, stroking the photo.

  ‘He’s a beautiful boy,’ Kate said, looking at the exquisite features.

  And Nora raised brimming eyes to her. ‘Do you really think so?’ she asked, with an almost desperate desire.

  ‘Of course I mean it! He’s the face cut off of you – and you’re beautiful.’

  Kate’s words brought on fresh tears. ‘You’re so kind. When I first met you, I thought you were like your father. He can be a hard man, Kate,’ she said, almost apologetically. ‘But now I know you’re not like him at all.’

  ‘Now I can understand why you’ve always seemed so sad. For a child to die before their mother…’ Kate couldn’t really know what it was like, but she’d been a child whose mother had died before her, whose father had left her – she understood enough about loss. ‘How old was Paul when you lost him?’ She gave the photo back to Nora.

  ‘You’re right, to lose a child is agony.’ Nora dipped her head, and her voice was so low that Kate had to lean in very close to hear the rest. ‘He’s been gone three years. I lost him when he was four. But, Kate, he isn’t dead.’ Nora pressed the photo to her breast and lifted her lovely face. ‘Can you understand how hard it’s been for me, to see Chibby welcome you home, his beloved child, when my Paul he reviled and sent away?’

  ‘Nora, Nora.’ Kate held the woman tightly as her sobs, no longer gentle, racked her entire body. ‘I’m sorry. How could I have known? Why did my dad send him away? Was it because he’s someone else’s child?’

  ‘No, Kate, you’ve misunderstood. Paul is Chibby’s son! Though he wishes he weren’t.’

  Kate sat down, stunned, struggling to comprehend that her father had another child she knew nothing about. ‘Paul’s my brother?’

  Nora nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘How could he do that to his own child?’

  Nora said, ‘I’ve asked myself that a million times. As Paul grew older and his difficulty walking became more obvious, Chibby couldn’t even bear to look at him. He said that the strain of looking after him was ruining my health, that it would be better for me to send him away to be looked after properly… And I let him. God forgive me, I let him.’

  Kate held her tightly until she had cried herself to a miserable silence. Then all at once Nora pulled herself up straight.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. And neither must you. As far as Chibby is concerned, Paul might as well be dead. He told me he did it for my sake, but I knew. My husband couldn’t tolerate the imperfection, you see. And yet he’s so different with you. It seems you’re perfect.’

  What happens when he finds out I’m not? Kate thought, even as her heart reached out to her unknown brother. Abandoned. Probably hoping for his father to come for him, longing to be the loved child, just as she had. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘Did Paul know why he was sent away – I mean, could he understand?’

  ‘Are you asking if his mind is as imperfect as his body?’

  Kate nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Sometimes I wish it were, that he was as simple as some of the other souls in that place. He’s not, though. He’s sharp.’

  Kate took the photograph again. Yes. Those eyes, so dark and deep, looked out on the world with a knowing that was faintly unsettling.

  ‘He looks clever,’ Kate said. ‘And he looks perfect to me. I think Dad ought to bring him home.’

  Nora got up quickly. ‘No. You mustn’t interfere. He won’t have it and I don’t want you to be hurt for my sins.’

  ‘Hurt? How?’

  ‘You’re beloved now, but Chibby won’t be crossed. He’s fixed, do you see?’ And she put up a hand and sliced it straight through the air, like the blade of a very long sword. ‘It’s hi
s nature.’

  ‘People can change.’

  ‘Not Chibby.’ She shook her head and then shuddered involuntarily. ‘It’s my cross to bear, Kate. Not yours.’

  ‘But if he’s my brother—’

  ‘One that you didn’t know you had.’ Nora wiped any remaining tears from her cheeks. She stood straight-backed in the dark room, pale and impassive as the first time Kate had seen her.

  ‘How could you have let him go?’ She couldn’t keep the accusation from her voice.

  Nora said simply, ‘Because he would have been worse off here. And a mother has to protect her child.’

  Kate had a memory of her own mother, hugging her close and tight till it hurt. ‘I understand.’

  *

  ‘Who is Paul?’ She had wanted to know and now she had to live with the answer. Another unintended consequence of one of those awkward questions she always seemed compelled to ask. It hadn’t seemed right for Kate to talk about her shock and confusion, not when Nora was quashing her own suffering. But that night as Kate lay awake in the pretty violet bedroom Nora had made for her, she probed those feelings. The new understanding of her father’s inflexible, remorseless pursuit of the finest in everything – even to his son’s body – sat like one of the heavy meals she was becoming accustomed to, undigested, unwanted, but impossible to ignore. She turned her mind instead to Paul. She had a brother. She smiled into the darkness. ‘Hello, Paul, I’m your sister,’ she whispered, practising for that meeting which she knew would happen one day. And the feeling she had then was light, bubbling, like the first glass of champagne she’d ever tasted with Martin. Martin. Why had he put the question about Paul into her mind?

  *

  Martin opened the flat door wearing his artist’s smock and warpaint. His hands, stained blue and red, had somehow transferred the oils to his hair and his cheeks.

  ‘Oh, it’s you!’ he said.

  ‘Nice to see you too.’ She brushed past him, not waiting to be invited in.

  ‘I’m painting.’

  ‘I ain’t blind.’

  ‘I meant I’ve got a model here.’ He blocked her way to the double doors of the studio, but she peered over his shoulder. A naked young woman was reclining on the chaise longue.

  ‘I hope you’ve put a cloth on that couch – I sit there!’

  ‘Not for some time you haven’t.’

  ‘I didn’t think you wanted to speak to me, after…’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he said, wiping his hands on his smock.

  She nodded towards the model. ‘First of all, you can tell her to get some clothes on. She looks a bit cold.’

  Martin went in and muttered something to the girl, who came out shortly afterwards, fully dressed and smiling broadly. ‘Thanks, love, I just got a day’s pay for sitting on me arse for an hour!’

  She patted her pocket as she left. Martin came back in with clean hands and face, his expression serious.

  ‘Sit down, Kate. Drink?’

  She sat on the small sofa, hating his cool manner.

  ‘You’re obviously here for a reason,’ he said, pouring himself a whisky and sitting in the chair opposite.

  ‘I asked Nora about Paul.’

  His expression softened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why? You’re the one who said I should.’

  ‘I’m sorry because now you know who your father really is.’

  ‘Is that what you wanted? To hurt me?’

  He leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling. He sighed. ‘What I wanted was for your eyes to be opened; I wanted you to trust me.’ He gave her a despairing look. ‘If you can never trust me, you can never love me, can you?’

  She looked away, choosing not to answer his question. ‘Well, I should’ve trusted you,’ she said eventually. ‘I can’t believe my dad would do something like that to his own child.’

  ‘Why not? He left you to rot in East Lane for long enough.’

  ‘But he was always coming back!’

  ‘And yet you met him quite by chance…’ His tone was mocking.

  ‘Stop it! I’m not stupid, Martin. I’m getting the picture. Dad’s not perfect, he’s not a soft-hearted man, he’s even cold at times – but that’s no crime. Look at you!’

  ‘Me? Cold?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Ridiculous.’

  ‘All right – cool. With most people.’ And as she said it, his eyes lingered on her, and she had to admit, their expression was anything but cold. Before she could say more, he crossed the room and took her in his arms. He kissed her, his lips hard, his unshaved cheek rasping hers, yet she didn’t mind. Perhaps it was this that she had been waiting for: Martin’s passion – or perhaps her own – for she’d never felt that irresistible draw to be close to Martin that she had with Johnny. But now, when he finally pulled away to look at her, she didn’t want him to stop.

  ‘Cool enough for you?’ he asked, his mouth returning to hers. Till eventually, she had to put a finger between his lips and her own.

  ‘I think I’ll have that drink now, Martin.’

  She smoothed her hair and her dress while he went to the drinks cabinet. She felt her heart thumping and her skin tingling. She hardly recognized herself as she took the whisky from him. Was she being a fool? But as he sat beside her, she studied him with fresh eyes. She’d always thought of him as boyish, but not today. It might have been the shadows cast by the stubble, but his chin looked stronger, his cheeks leaner and his brow more deeply furrowed. Up close she saw all the fine creases around his eyes etched by years and experience. She found she hadn’t been seeing him at all.

  ‘So. Do you think you could ever love me?’ He put an arm around her.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’d want me to, Martin. But yes, I think I could,’ she said, surprised to find it was true.

  She felt his chest expand as he took in a deep breath. He fixed her with loving eyes and she didn’t look away as he explained why he wanted her love. ‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Kate, and yet you don’t know it. You’re strong and funny and clever – here she gave a snort of disbelief – yes, clever, you’ve had no advantages to speak of and yet I do believe you could run the country if you set your mind to it! And did I mention you are creative and captivating and—’

  ‘Oh, enough!’ she said. ‘You’ve answered my question.’

  Leaning into him, with his arm around her, she was happy to speak of other things, but she let his loving declarations sink deep into her heart so she could remember them later. They talked about his work and she explained her whitesmithing venture. He was delighted at the idea, asking to see her designs, suggesting he could find a gallery that might sell them. But when she told him her father wouldn’t like that, his face darkened.

  ‘Will you still take notice of what he wants? Hasn’t what you’ve learned changed your opinion of him at all?’

  ‘Of course I still have to take notice! I’m living with him. But what he’s done to Paul is wrong and I’m going to make him change his mind. Nora says I should leave it.’ She stroked his arm. ‘Will you talk to her for me?’

  He thought for a moment, rubbing his stubbly chin with an insistent rasping.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘All right, I’ll talk to her, but she won’t listen to me.’ He tried to kiss her again, but this time she pushed him away with a laugh.

  ‘Oh, no. Not until you’ve had a shave.’

  His eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What, right now?’

  ‘Now.’ And although he made a mock show of being put out, she knew he was pleased and that today she could have asked him to do anything and he would have happily agreed.

  *

  Martin had made good on his promise and spoken to Nora about Paul. Since then, she’d been avoiding Kate. But this morning she and Nora were due to spend the day helping to organize the Bermondsey Bookshop’s fourth anniversary celebrations. They met in the garden room and immediately Nora said, ‘Kate, you shouldn’t have gone to Martin.’ She
dropped her voice. ‘What I choose to do about my son has nothing to do with him.’

  ‘But he’s your friend, you listen to him about other things, I just thought he could help you to see straight…’

  ‘No! What makes you think you could talk to Chibby about Paul when his own wife can’t?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s really none of my business. I won’t say anything to Dad. But couldn’t I at least visit Paul?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘He’s my brother! I want to get to know him. It’s not fair I can’t see him.’

  Nora, who had been pacing the length of the garden room, stopped and turned to face Kate, a rare flash of anger in her eyes. ‘It’s not fair I can’t either.’

  ‘You don’t visit him? What sort of a mother are you?’ She looked at Nora, her chest tight with fierce judgement, which she knew wasn’t solely aimed at Nora. ‘You’re as bad as my dad.’

  She pushed back her chair and almost ran from the room. But Nora stopped her, tugging her back inside.

  ‘Shush, Kate. I’m sure the maid eavesdrops and repeats things.’ She shut the door with a firm click. ‘First promise me you won’t repeat things as well.’

  She nodded, knowing it was a promise to keep secrets from her father, which made her feel unaccountably nervous. But she had to know.

  ‘When Chibby sent Paul away, he found the school. A nice place, where Paul could develop to his full potential. But he said the only way we could all live happy lives was for us to forget each other.’

  ‘He stopped you going to see Paul?’

  The instinct for secrecy was strong in Nora. She dropped her voice even lower and looked over her shoulder, going to close a window.

  ‘Not specifically. He advised it was necessary – if we wanted our son to have a full life. And he had the backing of the school. Their experimental method actually calls for it.’

  She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was breathless and her words tumbled out. ‘I didn’t go for a year. I accepted what Chibby said, I wanted the best for Paul…’ Nora wanted her actions to be understood, but all Kate could think of was the boy, waiting and longing. She offered no encouraging words. ‘But, Kate, I couldn’t carry on, it was breaking my heart. So, I do go. And I see my darling boy whenever I can. And I keep it from my husband. He’d be absolutely furious with me if he found out I’ve been lying to him. But it will come out – if you start questioning him.’