Chocolate Girls

by Annie Murray

  ‘But what if they come down?’

  ‘Why would they? Why don’t you just light a little candle so I can see you?’

  Once she had done so, hands fumbling for the matches, he removed her coat, then his own, and began to unfasten her dress, peeling it down over her breasts, kissing, stroking her until she could make no more common-sense suggestions about going upstairs. She felt her dress slither down over her hips to the floor.

  ‘Come here—’ He led her to the chair and knelt in front of her, continuing to undress her, sliding her stockings down to her ankles as they kissed.

  In moments he was reaching for his jacket, fumbling in the pocket.

  ‘Damn!’ he shook it.

  ‘What’s up?’ She was sitting naked, hair a dark cascade down her shoulders. But she knew what he was looking for. French letters, US army issue, which he always carried.

  ‘They’re not there!’

  ‘Try the other pocket,’ she suggested impatiently. She wanted him so badly!

  ‘No – nothing. Oh goddam!’ He flung the jacket down.

  They couldn’t stop now, Ruby thought, they just couldn’t. She pulled him close, reaching down to caress him, inflaming him further until he groaned helplessly.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered, clinging to him. ‘It’ll be all right just this once.’

  The first thing she was aware of the next morning was the feel of Marleen’s pudgy hands moving across her face, trying to prise open her eyelids. She slept in a little bed beside Ruby’s now, which she could climb out of by herself.

  ‘Oh Marleen!’ Ruby groaned. ‘Gerroff, will yer? What time is it?’ In the blacked-out room it still felt like the middle of the night.

  ‘Get in,’ Marleen insisted.

  ‘All right then.’ Ruby budged up and Marleen cuddled in with her. ‘But I’ll have to get up soon.’

  Last night came back to her now, a delicious memory, and she smiled, snuggled in the warmth of bed. She could recall intensely the feel of his body, the urgent desire on his face as they clung to one another in the candlelight. He had wanted to lift her up, make love to her carrying her around with her legs round his waist.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ she giggled. ‘I’ll break your back!’

  So he’d flung himself down into the chair instead and patted his lap.

  ‘Here – come on!’

  She relived it all, trying to block out Marleen’s chatter. What an evening, what a fella . . . Then it struck her like being doused with a bucket of water. Her heart began pounding. They hadn’t, they couldn’t have done! God in heaven, she’d let him make love to her with no protection – positively encouraged him, in fact! How could she have done anything so insane – what if she caught for another babby? The very thought brought her out in a cold sweat. One time around was quite enough, thank you very much. She tried to calm herself. It had taken her quite a time to catch with Marleen, hadn’t it? It didn’t happen doing it just the once. They just mustn’t do it again. And Wally was a good man. Solid and true. He’d stand by her if anything happened. He’d been so good about Marleen. Once again she pictured him, the sweet way he’d kissed her goodnight before he left for the barracks. She found herself full of a tender, unfamiliar emotion.

  I do believe I love you, Wally Sorenson, she thought, somehow surprised. Really and truly love you.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘Yer better come, Edie. Our mom’s come over all queer and I can’t get ’er to talk to me!’

  It was late and Edie had answered the door to find Rodney’s gawky figure panting outside.

  ‘What – you mean . . .?’ Edie had only left Charlotte Road two hours ago, but her mother had been tucked safely up in bed, though she was looking very poorly. Edie grabbed her coat. ‘Is she still breathing, Rodney?’

  ‘I think so . . .’ His distressed face looked younger than his fourteen years.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Janet asked.

  ‘No . . .’ Edie said. She couldn’t bear Janet to see her mother, however grateful she was for her sympathy. ‘Thanks, Janet – there’s not much to be done I don’t think.’

  On the way she quizzed Rodney as they hurried along through the dark.

  ‘So what happened? And where’s our dad?’

  ‘Nothing happened, ’er just slipped away – I don’t mean passed away, but it was like ’er falling asleep, ’cept I couldn’t wake ’er.’ Rodney tried to explain in his gruff, adolescent voice. ‘Our dad’s out. I dunno where. Down the Steps, I s’pose.’

  Edie cursed. ‘Just like ’im to be getting tanked up down the pub when ’is wife’s dying. So no one’s with ’er?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d better come for yer.’

  ‘You did right, Rodney.’ Edie reached out to squeeze his arm for a second. ‘You shouldn’t’ve been alone with ’er in the first place.’

  They walked into the silent house and climbed the stairs. Full of dread, Edie crept into the front bedroom where her parents slept. Her mother lay in the double bed, nearest the door, under the bleak light of the gas mantle, the bedclothes pulled up close under her chin. Edie guessed that Rodney must have done that. Only her face was visible and her right hand, protruding clawlike from the edge of the sheet. A severe frown tugged at her eyebrows.

  Edie leaned over her, hearing her tiny, shallow breaths. A pungent, sickly smell hung round her. Should she send Rodney for the doctor, she wondered. But no – he’d long said there was nothing more to be done for Nellie.

  ‘Rodney – go and get the kettle on, bab. It might be a long night and we’ll need summat to keep us going.’

  He clattered off down the stairs and Edie, glad still to be wearing her coat, drew it round her and sat on the chair by the bed. She looked round the room. Though her mom and dad had slept here all her life, she had seldom been in there. They had certainly not been children who cosied up with their parents in bed. The room felt unfamiliar, and somehow alien. The floor was covered in brown lino and the walls with faded paper patterned with scrolling ivy leaves. Apart from the bed there were a painted chest of drawers, a dark cupboard, a chair either side of the bed. On the wall to the left of the door hung the only picture. Edie peered at it. She had never seen it before. It showed a rosy-cheeked woman with a group of children in old-fashioned bonnets and pinafores, picnicking near a stream in a meadow, with trees behind.

  The sight of it filled her with bitterness. Isn’t that just typical of Mom, she thought, to have such a downright lie hanging on her bedroom wall! When did we ever go for a nice outing with her? Or feel anything of the comfort of a mother? She looked down at the woman lying beside her and tried to summon up at least sorrow or pity if she could not manage love. She could find pity for her wasted state, but she could feel no sympathy for the past, for all the coldness and contempt – yes, that was it – that she had shown them. As if her lip curled with loathing at the sight of them all. Instinctively, Edie fingered the scar through her blouse.

  ‘You didn’t know what being a mother should be, did you, Mom?’ she whispered. ‘Why were you so hard and cruel? Couldn’t you have been kinder to us? We wanted to love you – we did . . . We wanted it so much . . . Ruby’s mom was more of a mother to me than you ever were.’

  Tears slid down her cheeks and her throat ached. Poor little things we were really, she thought. She thought about Davey, what she felt for him, how much she hungered for his love, and her mother seemed more of a terrible puzzle to her than ever.

  Rodney came back up with a cup of tea and they sat drinking together.

  ‘I’m glad yer ’ere, sis,’ he said.

  ‘Course I’m here.’ She tried to smile back at him. ‘This is a lovely cup of tea – just what was needed.’

  ‘Is our mom going to wake up again?’

  Gently, she said, ‘I dunno, bab. I don’t think so.’

  Rodney nodded, eyes fixed fearfully on his mother’s face.

  They were just draining the dregs when they heard the
front door close with a slam which made the windows rattle. Edie’s and Rodney’s eyes met.

  Edie got up and Rodney followed her downstairs. They found Dennis Marshall leaning over the dying fire in the back room, poker in hand.

  ‘Who let the cowing fire out?’

  ‘Dad?’

  He straightened up laboriously and faced her, swaying a little. His face was red and shiny, eyes bloodshot. She could smell the pub on him, smoke and ale.

  ‘Edie? What’re you doing ’ere?’

  She just managed to stop herself demanding why he hadn’t been here, leaving his wife in that state. She could feel Rodney watching from across the room.

  ‘It’s Mom. She’s sinking. Yer’d best go up and see her.’

  ‘What’re yer saying, wench?’

  ‘Rodney came to get me. Said she’s slipping away. He was here on his own with her.’

  His alcohol-befuddled mind struggled to take in the situation. ‘Slipping away? Nellie? But she were all right earlier on.’

  ‘All right?’ Edie’s temper began to get the better of her. ‘Mom hasn’t been awright in months, as well you know!’

  ‘Don’t you start giving me lip, wench—’

  ‘Just go up, Dad, will yer?’ she said, sternly.

  As their father groped his way up the stairs, Rodney came over to her, his face anxious.

  ‘Are you staying for a bit, sis?’

  ‘Course I am. Don’t know that she’ll last the night. I’ll sit up with her.’

  He looked down at the floor.

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to if you don’t want. It’s nearly midnight as it is. You go up to bed.’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and he didn’t push her off.

  ‘Wake me if . . .’

  ‘I will. Go on – off you go.’

  She refilled the kettle, put it on the gas and stood in the scullery waiting, hearing her father and brother moving about upstairs. The waste bucket by the sink stank and she took it outside. She tried not to think about the long, desolate night ahead. She had to be up for work in the morning. Why am I here anyway? she found herself asking. What was it that bound her to the sick woman in the bed upstairs? Not affection, barely even respect. Duty, she thought. Blood ties. No choice – it was what you had to do.

  When the kettle boiled she took her father a cup of tea to help sober him up and found him sitting on the chair she had occupied earlier, leaning forwards, elbows resting on his thighs. His clothes were tidy, hair cropped short in almost military fashion as ever. Oh yes, he always took pride in himself, she thought. The hair was almost white now. He was turning into an old man: so familiar, yet somehow a complete stranger to her. When had he ever been around to stand up for her when her mother started on her?

  ‘Here—’ She held out the cup and saucer.

  ‘Ta.’ He took it without even looking at her and she went and sat on the chair on the other side of the bed. He slurped the tea noisily. Nellie had not moved her position, but her breathing seemed a fraction louder.

  Edie didn’t know how long they sat there in silence. She heard Rodney’s door close. Her father finished the tea and put the cup and saucer down on the floor, belching as he did so.

  They sat watching Nellie’s face. Edie felt herself starting to breathe in time with her. There was no other sound except their breathing, or one of them easing into a new position on their chair. Edie felt she was in a trance, caught up in the rhythm of inhaling, exhaling, barely knowing if she was awake or dreaming, yet she knew really that she was not asleep. Time seemed to drift. After a while she had no idea how long she had been sitting there. The road was completely quiet outside as the small hours of the night ticked past. It felt as if they were the only people alive. Nellie was peaceful. Her breathing quietened again as if she could barely even raise the strength to do it, so shallow it did not disturb the bedclothes.

  ‘Nellie? Nell – can you hear me?’ He spoke quietly, but his voice still sounded raspingly loud after the silence. Edie wondered what had suddenly driven him to speak. ‘Nellie?’ But there was no reply, not even the flicker of an eyelid.

  He reached under the covers, apparently in a panic and took hold of her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

  ‘Thought she’d gone there, for a minute.’

  Dennis examined his wife’s face again for some time, then began slowly to shake his head.

  ‘’Er was pretty as a picture once, yer know.’

  To her astonishment, horror even, she saw his shoulders begin to shake. He put his head in his hands and sobbed. Edie sat paralysed, staring at him. Tears ran out between his fingers. She had no idea how to comfort him, couldn’t bear this sentiment.

  He lowered his hands, taking a great shuddering breath. ‘You should’ve seen ’er. Fresh and pretty . . . A picture she was.’ He wiped his face with the backs of his hands, leaving his cheeks shining wet.

  ‘You’ve no idea about ’er, ’ave yer?’ He was aggressive suddenly. ‘No bloody idea.’

  Edie stared at him. What was he saying?

  ‘D’you know what yer mother was when I met her? Do yer? She was a hoower – a common hoower on a street corner.’

  Edie leapt up, blazing at him, at the wicked absurdity of his words. Nellie, pillar of respectablity!

  ‘How can you say that? Your wife’s lying in front of you and you’re sitting there making up yer filthy lies about her! God knows, she wasn’t a loving mom, but what kind of man are you, saying that?’

  She expected him to jump up as well, shout back, but he sat shaking his head.

  ‘Sit down, wench. T’ain’t like you think. You think I never loved her. That it was always like this . . .’ Edie sank down into her chair, eyes fixed on his face.

  ‘When I married ’er she closed the door on the past – all of it, family, the lot. You’ve aunts and uncles yer know, somewhere in Brum, five of ’em if they’re all still alive. I used to say to her in them early days, “Nellie, why don’t you go and look up yer sisters? Let ’em know how you’re getting on. You could help ’em.” But ’er never would. She’d say, “They’ll’ve had to fend for themselves by now. No use me going stirring things up.” ’ He paused. ‘I don’t think ’er could bear it – if they were suffering, like, she didn’t want to see it. Thought it was her fault. She just put it right out of ’er mind.’

  Edie sat very still, drawn in to what he was telling her. Her chest felt tight.

  ‘Why would it be her fault?’

  ‘Well, Nellie was the one left to fend for ’em. ’Er was the second eldest of the O’Riordans – after a brother. Born 1894, Nell was, and five more followed – them that survived, anyroad. They lived over Bordesley way – but her father was from Ireland before that. Sligo. ’E come over on the boat.’ He paused, scratching his head.

  ‘The mom died after the youngest was born. Well – they was already poor as roaches and the dad were left with seven kids. Nellie never went to school after nine years old – she had to be a mother to ’em all. Then when ’er was sixteen the dad was killed, crushed by a wall falling in on him. Well, Nellie’s brother was out at work. Next thing, ’e took sick died an’ all and it was just Nell. She took in carding and anything she could at home to stay and look after the five little ’uns, but it wasn’t enough to make ends meet. Nellie was desperate. That was when . . .’ A sob caught in his throat.

  Both of them looked at Nellie, lying between them. Edie was numb with astonishment. This woman her father was talking about was like someone else. She couldn’t take it in! Her mother had no living family, that was the version she had grown up with. No one in the world. No family, no past . . .

  ‘I first saw her in a pub in Bradford Street. It weren’t an Irish pub. I’d met up with a pal for a drink and she came in with a fella. I mean I didn’t know then what ’er was. She weren’t – you know – all dressed up like a . . . She hadn’t the money for finery. Her looks were enough. Hair all up, bright as a copper kettle, those eyes flashing, and
her face was fresh as a milkmaid’s . . .’ He choked, wiping more tears from his eyes, then continued talking in short bursts.

  ‘I was older, of course – Nell were only a kid. I’d been working with my father for years by then, was almost set to take over . . . Anyroad—’ He made a wiping motion with his hands, as if ironing out all that came in between. ‘We were wed. Nellie was eighteen when we tied the knot and I was twenty-five. I daint know everything straight away . . . I mean she made up to me – saw I had a steady job, prospects.’ With bitter sadness, he added, ‘That was what Nellie wanted. Safety. Prospects. I only wanted her.

  ‘Things came out of course. Er’d had a . . . well of course I knew ’er was no vestal virgin, but er’d caught for a babby and, well, she had it done away with . . . And there was her family – she wouldn’t have it. Nor the Catholic Church. Wouldn’t go back there. There was no one in the church except my side, on our wedding day . . . Florrie came along the year after and Nellie seemed contented enough with her. Then I was away of course, the years of the Great War.’ He stopped, apparently wondering, trying to make sense of it. ‘I s’pose she ’oped I wouldn’t come back.’

  Edie made herself look at his face, the misery etched in it. She clenched her fists. He wanted her to feel sorry for him, was working on her pity. And she did feel more sorry than she could ever have imagined, picturing the proud, handsome young man who had been her father, madly in love with a woman who couldn’t love him back. Their marriage seemed to open up in front of her like a long road growing bleaker and sadder by the year.

  ‘Course, Florrie was a grown-up child when I came home, already at school. Nellie had found it easier than most – one child when she’d had to look after five before. ’Er was happy enough on her own, I think, in lodgings where no one knew anything about her. We moved in here then – and you come along, and Rodney after. All she wanted – a house, a nice road. Oh, she was so proud that we lived in a road not a street!’ A slight smile reached his lips for an instant. ‘Well – for a time. Nothing was ever good enough for long. And ’er never wanted me after that. Hardly ever. Not as a husband.’