by Annie Murray
‘Right – yer dad’s back,’ she said when at last he appeared.
She led the three of them next door.
‘I see you finally managed to get yourself home,’ she said so frostily that he could hardly fail to notice. ‘Forget where you lived, did yer?’
Bob had taken his coat off but seemed to be standing there at a loss. ‘Yeah – sorry. ’Bout the time, I mean.’
She wasn’t going to ask where he’d been with the three sets of wide, longing eyes all looking up at them.
More gently she said, ‘So how did yer find her?’
He looked down, avoiding all their desperate looks. ‘Well,’ he said, then drew in a long breath and looked at Dot. She saw him begin lying, or at least finding something good to tell them, something to hold on to. ‘Yer mom’s looking . . . quite well,’ he said, trying to smile.
Dot’s anger melted away and her heart went out to him. The old Bob she was fond of reappeared suddenly, the good, stumbling man trying to do his best. He was here struggling in front of her.
‘She sent her love to you all and said she misses yer – a lot.’ He roved round in his imagination for something else to say. ‘’Er’s in a nice room, with . . . with a comfortable bed and she can see out of the window—’
‘Is our mom coming ’ome?’ Joyce cut through his attempts at story-telling to ask the one thing they all really wanted to know. Her little face seemed almost to pulsate with need.
Bob looked down again. ‘Well – perhaps not quite yet.’ He cast a desperate glance at Dot. ‘But soon, we hope, eh?’
‘It’ll be all right,’ Dot said reassuringly. ‘These things take time. Now – you all run upstairs and get undressed, all of yer, like your mom’d want yer to!’
Dragging their feet, unsure whether the news was good or not, the children went off upstairs. Dot didn’t have to say anything. Bob put his hand over his face, all pretence gone. She realized he was weeping.
‘It’s bad,’ he said hoarsely at last. ‘I’ve never seen ’er that bad. She started trying to hurt herself, banging her head . . .’ He took his hand away, his cheeks wet with tears. ‘She won’t be coming home – not the state she’s in. She’s best off where she is. I’ve never seen anything like it, I can tell yer, Dot. It were horrible.’ His face contorting again, he cried, ‘I think I’ve lost my Cynth – lost ’er for good!’
Hoops
Thirty
Em sat in her desk beside Molly, a bright beam of winter sunshine slicing in through the classroom windows and lighting up their ink-stained desk. She was used to sitting next to Molly now, and tried not to look in Katie’s direction. In any case, once again this morning her thoughts were far away from school.
‘Now,’ Miss Lineham turned from writing on the blackboard, pulling her cardigan more tightly round her rather plump frame, ‘can anyone tell me what new season has just begun?’
Hands went up. ‘Winter, miss?’
‘Yes – but I meant another, Christian season.’ Miss Lineham was obsessively religious.
No hands went up. Miss Lineham’s eyes roved round the room. Em felt a sudden sharp jab in her side from Molly’s elbow and a warning glance. Jarred, but grateful, Em tried to pay attention. Fortunately Miss Line-ham had stopped picking on her for the moment and mostly ignored her.
‘Can no one tell me?’ Their silence seemed to be a personal disappointment. ‘Well, it’s Advent, because last Sunday was the fourth Sunday before Christmas.’
Em drifted off again as Miss Lineham droned on about waiting for Jesus and coloured candles. Religion always seemed to mean waiting for something. In her head the teacher’s grating tones were drowned by the echo of Dot’s words, overheard on Sunday when Dot hadn’t known she was within earshot.
After Sunday dinner the children had all been playing out as it was dry. A group of them, Em and Joyce, Nancy, Molly and some others were out at the front. Sid had his go-cart and they were taking it in turns to whiz each other along the street. Em had suddenly needed to go to the toilet, so she ran down the entry to the privy in the yard, pushing the rusty bolt across to secure her privacy.
While she was on the toilet she could hear raised voices. She knew it was her dad and Dot, in the house, though she couldn’t make out their words. She flushed the toilet and crept to the back door; pushing it open she stood just inside, shoving her hands down into the pockets of her old brown coat. It was too short for her now and barely reached her knees. The two of them were in the front room. Dot had caught Bob before he disappeared out, as usual.
‘Just leave us alone – I’ll sort it out,’ Bob kept saying, very irritably, like someone batting away a fly.
‘What d’you mean you’ll sort it out?’ Dot’s temper was already getting well out of hand. ‘It’s no good saying you’ll “sort it out” and then buggering off out again while I look after your kids. You never cowing well do sort anything out – that’s your trouble!’
‘I gave yer some money, dain’t I?’ Bob said indignantly.
There was an outraged silence. ‘Money,’ Dot said quietly, then, with her voice rising, ‘Yes – you gave me a pay-off. Bloody decent of yer, I must say, when I’m bringing up your family! D’you think that’s it – you can just pay me a pittance and then swan off and do what you like? What d’yer think you’re doing, carrying on with that woman?’ For a moment her voice sounded tearful. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself with poor Cynth in that place. And d’you think no one’s noticed?’
‘Oh, leave off, yer bloody interfering nag! Get out of my way!’ Em heard a chair scrape on the floor as if he was trying to get out past her.
‘You’re not going nowhere, matey – not till I’ve had my say. What’s come over you, Bob? You used to be a decent man, not carrying on like this with that painted-up slut . . .’
‘Don’t you call Mrs Dawson that – she’s a respectable widow and she gets lonely, that’s all,’ Bob flared up. A door opened and, thinking they were coming out to the back, Em got ready to run away, but then they carried on.
‘Huh, won’t she let you ’ave any of what you’re after, then, Bob?’ Dot said disgustedly.
‘You’re a bloody fine one to talk, you ain’t always been so good at keeping yer legs together, ’ave yer?’
‘Don’t you dare start on me!’ Dot’s voice sank to a venomous hiss for a moment. ‘Whatever I’ve done I’ve paid the price and faced up to things. Not like you, running scared at the first hint of trouble. What about Cynthia? Your wife, remember her? You going to just leave her in there to rot? I’m going to go and see her, Bob – this Sat’dy . . .’
‘You won’t say anything?’ She had punctured his anger.
‘No, Bob. I won’t say anything. D’you think she needs to know what a spineless bastard you are the minute she’s poorly and can’t help herself? And what about your kids?’
‘What about ’em? They’re all right, ain’t they, for now – it won’t hurt.’ His voice was uncertain now, then desperate. ‘I don’t know what it is, Dot, it’s summat about the woman. I just can’t seem to help myself.’
‘Bob.’ Dot’s voice lowered and she spoke carefully, as if trying to hammer some sense into him. ‘Listen to me. You’ve got to help yourself. It ain’t my job to bring up two families. The only thing that keeps me from going to the Welfare people and saying they’re being neglected is that I couldn’t do it to ’em – I love the poor little buggers like my own. And Cynth is my best friend. I don’t want to do it to any of ’em, but they’re your job, not mine. I swear to God, this can’t go on. If you don’t start facing up to things and looking after them, I’ll report you. And they’ll come and take ’em away and put them in a home . . .’
The words clanged in Em’s head like the clapper of a doom-laden bell. She didn’t stay to hear any more. Tearing out again along the entry she wanted to scream out what she had heard to Sid and Joyce, to anyone, to burst the bubble of terror that was building up inside her. But her feet slowed. She couldn�
��t say anything – not about Dad, or about the men who’d come to take them away to the home. She couldn’t. It was all locked up inside her and she couldn’t go scaring the little ones. Talking about it might make it happen!
She straightened her coat and went out into the street again as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘Come on, Em, your turn!’ Molly shouted. ‘We was waiting for you!’
She hardly slept that night. She was disturbed by dreams of men with giant hands coming and dragging her off and locking her away, and Dot’s voice echoing, echoing in her mind.
After playtime it was PT. Playing at the back of Em’s mind was the fact that as she came into school that morning, she had crossed paths with Katie O’Neill. Katie didn’t seem quite so thick with Lily Davies as she had been, and as they passed each other earlier, Em thought she had seen Katie smile at her, a quick, darting smile, but at least Katie had been looking in her direction. In her sad, frightened state, it had raised a little glow of hope. Perhaps she could have her friend back again? Katie might regret what she’d said before, might miss her and really want to be friends again. And in any case, Lily Davies was absent today.
Their breath blew out in white clouds as they stood shivering in the school yard, but the sun was out, shining so brilliantly that they had to screw up their eyes. Miss Lineham strode out, a thick, moss-coloured coat belted tightly round her solid form, carrying a stack of wooden hoops. She put them down, grunting with the exertion, and clapped her hands.
‘Right, children! Line up in twos, please. I said twos, Maggie Minchin, not sixes! That’s better, come along. We’re going to work with hoops today. One between two! You must share nicely.’
As the children scrimmaged to find a partner, Em knew Molly would make straight for her and, though she was ashamed to do it, she edged away, trying to separate herself from her. In those seconds, her little pilot light of hope that Katie might want to be her partner again burst into a bright flame as Katie seemed to be heading towards her. In those seconds there came a glimpse of past happiness, Katie’s pretty, dark-featured face and swinging plaits making for her and her only, the whispered secrets, the games – everything from before, when things were good. Em found a smile of welcome rising on her lips, but then Katie, with a kind of half smile, half smirk, passed her by and paired up with Gladys Day, who looked as pleased with herself as anything and went smugly to Miss Lineham to collect her hoop.
‘You gunna be my partner?’ Molly was beside Em again immediately, always there, always willing, like a puppy that wants its tummy tickled.
‘All right,’ Em said crossly, stinging with hurt. She felt bad about Molly. She ought to like her. Molly was kind. Once, Em had woken from the nightmare delirium of the fever and she had been glad to see Molly beside her then. Now, though Em was grateful, Molly still had her irritating effect on her and she wished someone else was so keen to be her friend. She’d have to make the most of it.
The next half-hour passed busily. To keep them warm, Miss Lineham got the children running up and down the yard pushing the hoops. They had to get in a big circle and roll them to each other, and the ones who had no hoops were expected to run round the edge of the yard to keep warm. She got them standing in the hoops, circling them round their hips, trying to keep them twirling off the ground as long as possible.
‘The girls will probably find this easier,’ Miss Line-ham said, giving one of her very rare smiles. This immediately sent the boys into a fever of competition, furiously snaking their bodies in their long shorts and shirts to keep the hoops spinning.
Em enjoyed rolling and catching the hoop but she was soon exhausted. Even now she still felt weak after her illness. Running round the yard made her feel hot and shaky, but she kept forcing one foot in front of the other so as not to attract Miss Lineham’s attention.
At last the bell rang to end the lesson and the children gathered up the hoops and went to the door in a knot. Em found herself towards the back of the crowd, and seeing Katie O’Neill even further behind, she hung back. Even pride couldn’t prevent her. She so longed for things to be right, back how they were before when she and Katie were friends and cock of the walk at school. Surely Katie couldn’t really have meant what she said before about them not playing together?
The two of them were at the back, in their little gymslips. Katie looked lovely in hers, of course. She was the sort who looked nice wearing anything. Em seized all her courage.
‘Hello, Katie,’ she said, blushing and her heart pounding with fear but determined to take her chance. ‘Will you come and play out later? I haven’t seen you for ages.’
Katie looked down for a second, biting her lip. When she looked up there was a hard, impatient expression in her eyes.
‘I told you, didn’t I? How many more times? My mom says I shouldn’t have anything to do with you, with your mother being funny in the head and in the asylum. And cos you play with Molly Fox. Mom says I should keep away from both of you. We thought you were from a nice family – but you’re not. Sorry, Em.’ And she moved away.
Em stood as if glued to the spot. The children in front of them had heard every word of Katie’s clear tones and had turned round to stare. None of the sharp retorts she thought of later came to her mind then. Instead she simply froze under this icy blast of cruelty. The others went on inside, leaving her behind.
‘Come along, girl!’ Miss Lineham was shouting angrily at her. ‘Move! Whatever’s the matter with you?’
Somehow she unstuck her feet from the surface of the yard and followed them inside, moving dazed, like a sleepwalker.
Snowballs
Thirty-One
The next Saturday afternoon, a knock at the door made Em jump violently. She started at the slightest thing since she’d heard Dot saying they might all be taken away to the Home.
Bob hurried through to the front to open up. Em stood by the stairs and saw Dot on the doorstep in her hat and coat, ushering Nancy inside for Bob to look after her.
‘Right – I’m off now,’ Dot said. Her face wore a grim, challenging expression. ‘You are staying in with ’em, ain’t yer? You’d better be. If I hear different . . .’
Bob held his hands up as if Dot was brandishing a gun. ‘I’m staying in. I told yer.’ He lowered his hands. ‘Send her my love,’ he said, very quietly. ‘If you can get through to her.’
Dot gave a nod, backing away. ‘See yer later.’
Bob closed the door, pausing next to it for a few seconds, his head bowed. Unaware that Em was watching, he moved to the window and peered out, leaning first to one side, then the other as if he was looking for something along the street. Whatever it was failed to appear and he sighed.
‘Where’s Dot going?’ Em asked. Bob didn’t turn to look at her.
‘To visit your mother.’
She felt a glimmer of excitement. ‘Is Mom coming home?’
Bob made a bitter sound. ‘Don’t think so, love.’
‘Are you looking for Mrs Dawson?’
He swung round then, moving from the window.
‘Course not. Don’t talk daft.’
It started snowing as Dot made her way to Holly-moor Hospital. There had been a sudden slight warming of the air and the expectant stillness which precedes a fall of snow. As she walked to the tram stop in the middle of Birmingham, the first dry flakes were beginning to drift down from an iron-coloured sky, frosting hats and shoulders. By the time she reached Hollymoor the flakes were larger. The long drive was dark and silent, but suddenly she met her first view of the imposing hospital buildings with their lights on early in the gloom, looking something like a palace in a fairy story. Except, of course, it was not a palace.
‘God Almighty,’ Dot murmured under her breath. ‘Are you really in there, Cynth?’ It gave her the creeps just looking at the place. All the associations and fears connected with the asylum rose up in her mind and she had to keep a tight grip on herself not to turn round and run. After giving herself a st
ern talking-to she took in a few breaths of the sharp air, stamped the snow from her boots and stepped inside, out of the darkening afternoon.
During the wait in the main hall, she sat with her hat in her lap, her hands clenched into fists underneath it. It felt wrong to her to keep the hat on indoors, though some of the other visitors did, as if they were in church. The high electric lights made the sky outside the long windows look even blacker, making her feel shut in, as if she might not be allowed to leave, and she had to keep taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. The sight of the inmates shuffling in on the arms of the young nurses did nothing to reassure her. What was Cynthia going to be like? From what Bob had said, she had been in a very bad way when he visited. So much so that he had not been able to face coming back since.
She recognized Cynthia immediately, yet part of her mind was telling her no, it couldn’t be! It was the chopped hair, the slow, laborious gait and deadened expression. Her eyes focused on the face. Surely not? Yes – it was her . . . Dot forced her legs to stand, her lips to attempt a welcoming smile.
‘Here we are,’ the nurse said brightly. To Cynthia she added with loud optimism, ‘You sit down there and you can both have a nice chat.’
Cynthia obeyed, head bowed, taking an age to settle her scrawny frame on the chair as if it was a puzzling, even painful activity. Once the nurse had moved away she looked up in a dazed way. It was only then that Dot was completely sure they had brought her the right patient. She felt tears prickle her eyes at the wretched sight of her friend, but she made herself smile.