Poppy Day

by Annie Murray

  Sis came rushing back too. ‘What’s up, Mom?’

  ‘Over there . . .’ Olive was staring across towards a fruit and veg stall.

  In that second Jess understood that her face was full not with pain but with fear. They followed her gaze and Jess saw a thin, stooped old lady in a black coat and hat. She was buying spuds and the stallholder was tipping them into her carrier for her. They could only see her in profile, but Jess made out a sharp face with a pointed nose and slack, yellowish skin.

  ‘Oh God alive . . . It is – it’s ’er . . .’ Jess felt Olive sag as if she was going to collapse, and grasped her arm more tightly under Olive’s, feeling her trembling. Her face had gone sickly white, perspiration breaking out on her forehead.

  ‘Who?’ Sis was staring across wildly, not understanding.

  ‘It’s that woman,’ Jess said. ‘Doris . . .?’

  ‘Adcock,’ Olive added, her eyes still fixed on her. ‘She’s there – I ain’t imagining ’er, am I? She really is there?’

  ‘That lady in the black hat?’ Sis frowned. ‘You sure it’s ’er?’

  ‘Yes . . . oh . . .’ Olive gave a moan, a hand going to her mouth.

  ‘My God, Auntie—’ Jess squeezed her aunt’s arm fiercely. ‘What in God’s name did she do to yer?’ She was appalled to see Olive, so strong, so brave, reduced to this by the memories of this woman’s cruelty. She saw that no one has power like that of an adult over a child.

  Olive shook her head. ‘Just the sight of her . . . Oh, I feel bad.’

  Sis handed her mother a handkerchief and Olive mopped her forehead.

  Jess felt as if she was swelling inside with rage and indignation.

  ‘We’ll go and give ’er a talking to, that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘No!’ Olive said faintly. ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘She’s just an old woman,’ Sis said.

  ‘So what if she’s old – what excuse is that?’ Jess was on fire. ‘You might be frightened of her, Auntie, but I’m certainly not. Come on – she’s moving off. We’ll lose ’er else.’

  The old woman had begun to shuffle off with her walking stick along towards St Martin’s Church, her lips seeming to move in an endless mumbling patter as she did so. Jess pulled the others along, following until they reached a less crowded little spot near the church gate, and released her aunt’s arm.

  ‘Oi – you. Missis!’

  The old woman took no notice so Jess tapped her on the arm and she stopped abruptly. In that second Jess saw two watery eyes peering at her from under the hat brim with a steely hostility. Startling, horrible eyes with their double pupil, giving her the cold, glassy look of a cat.

  ‘Doris Adcock?’

  ‘Who’re you?’ She squinted at Jess.

  ‘You deaf? I said are you Doris Adcock?’ Jess experienced almost a sense of ecstasy rising in her. Her fury was so strong, so complete, her body so taut with it, there was a kind of perfection in it. It was the most soaring emotion she had felt in a long time and she was ready to knock the old crone into the day after tomorrow.

  She saw the old woman nod reluctantly. The whites of her eyes were a sludgy yellow, lips mean and crinkled as pastry cutters.

  ‘D’you know who this is?’

  She heard Olive say, ‘Oh Jess – no . . .’

  Doris turned and looked at Olive with a vague bewilderment. Olive quailed under her gaze, gripping Sis’s arm.

  ‘This is Olive. Olive Tamplin, she was. From your old neighbourhood. Remember?’ Jess had her hands on her hips. She wasn’t speaking loudly, but she could hear the menace in her own voice. ‘Had a sister called Louisa. Their mom was called Alice. Alice Tamplin. Bet you remember her awright, don’t yer?’

  There was a horrible moment as recognition seeped into the old woman’s expression, a look of unguarded malice which narrowed her eyes and contorted her face.

  ‘Yes.’ She tapped the stick vehemently on the ground. ‘The babykiller.’

  Jess heard Olive give a whimper just behind her, and for a moment she had an urge to tighten her hands round Doris’s scrawny throat and crush the life out of her.

  ‘And you thought it was your business to follow ’er children and hound them, torment them until they was too frightened to live in that neighbourhood so they moved on, and even then yer’d still follow ’em and spread yer poison about them until life was hell for them. A worse hell than it already was without their mom because you saw to it she was locked up and the key thrown away!’

  Jess had her face right close up to Doris’s. She could hear the woman’s whispery, agitated breathing, but her eyes looked back as cold as stones.

  ‘Have you got children, Doris?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well you never should ’ave!’ Jess spat at her. ‘Nature should’ve dried your womb up before it let you breed any more of you. You’re a cruel, vicious bitch and you made life hell for my auntie for no reason. You just had nowt better to do than be cruel and make life as rotten as possible . . .’

  ‘She killed a babby,’ Doris croaked. ‘Murdered it with ’er bare hands. People ’ad a right to know what was living in their neighbourhood . . .’

  ‘But you carried on when she weren’t even there!’ Olive spoke, crying, and Sis was holding her arm. ‘On and on, never leaving us be. She was gone, our mom, and we never saw ’er again.’

  ‘What’s bred in the bone . . .’ Doris said. The very sight of her filled Jess with horror. She had viciousness stamped through her like a stick of rock. ‘I’d do it again tomorrer, that I would. She was a wicked woman, that Alice was . . . she walked the streets parading ’er crime. She were proud of it. Don’t tell me that ain’t evil in a woman.’

  ‘She was sick,’ Olive moved closer, sobbing. ‘She was poorly, our mom was – after the babby . . .’

  ‘Not half as poorly as you are though, Doris,’ Jess snarled. ‘Sick in the head, you are, ain’t yer? This is who you’ve been afraid of all this time, Auntie: a broken down, mumbling old biddy so eaten up with nastiness towards other people you can read it in her face. Auntie—’ Jess held out her arm and pulled her forwards. Olive was trying to calm herself, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. ‘See – she ain’t nothing to be afraid of. She’s an evil old bitch who likes to make other people suffer.’

  Doris tried to take a step back as Jess, Sis and Olive half encircled her, but there was a wall behind her. Olive stood staring into her face, taking deep, shuddering breaths. It was a moment before she could speak.

  ‘You made life hell for us,’ she said at last. ‘It was wrong and cruel of yer. I ’ope you rot in hell for eternity for yer wickedness, that I do. But whatever happens, there ain’t nothing more you can do to me. You’re nothing. You’re just a speck of filth and soon time’ll sweep yer away and you’ll’ve left nothing good behind yer.’

  Doris was making vicious sounding mumblings, ‘get away from me, yer bitches . . . get away!’ Jabbing her stick at them, her head making little jerks which reminded Jess of her stepmother’s hen-peck nod.

  Olive straightened up. ‘Leave ’er. Just leave ’er. I’ve seen ’er now and I don’t want to look at ’er no more. Let’s get ’ome.’ She took Jess and Sis’s arms and they turned away, Sis making sure they’d got all the right bags.

  They had walked a little further on towards Digbeth when they became aware of a small commotion behind them. Nothing loud, but a ripple of different sounds at the end of the Bull Ring, and they turned. A couple of people were running and a little knot of passers-by was gathering round. The three of them stared for a few seconds at the little they could see of what was on the ground: what looked like a little pile of crumpled black clothing lying very still. A walking stick lay discarded nearby.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘We killed her,’ Olive said. Her tone was of disbelief mixed with fear. Sis looked absolutely horrified. They stood stock still, watching as two of the crowd bent over Doris. A few moments later they saw she was
being helped groggily to her feet.

  Jess pulled on their arms, forcing them to turn away and walk on with her.

  ‘She must’ve come over dizzy, we never killed her.’ She squeezed each of their arms, certain, reassuring. ‘But even if we ’ad, she’d’ve bloody well deserved it.’

  All the way home Olive chattered, ‘Oh Lor’ – oh my, I can’t believe it . . . And the way you carried on, Jess, I never knew you ’ad it in yer!’

  ‘Well I ’ave – and the way I feel about ’er I could’ve broken ’er flaming neck, the evil old cow.’

  They found Polly giving the children their dinner at the table and John Bullivant was there too. His face had filled out more and he was a calmer, slightly more cheerful man though still suffering times of deep depression.

  Polly looked at her mom with concern.

  Olive sank down on to a chair as if none of the rest of them was there.

  ‘She awright?’ Polly whispered to Jess.

  ‘My legs,’ Olive murmured. ‘They won’t hold me.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Polly demanded. ‘Did yer ’ave a nice time?’

  ‘We, er . . .’ Jess looked at Sis who was still holding her bags of purchases, over her arm.

  But Olive had put her face in her hands and burst into tears, crying with all the abandon of a young child.

  *

  Later, when they were alone, Jess said to Polly, ‘There’s one more thing for ’er now. For all of us. When the wedding’s over, we’ve got to get things finished for ’er. We’ve got to find Alice.’

  Forty-Two

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife!’

  The vicar’s thin face lit up as Sis and Perce flung themselves joyfully into each other’s arms in the aisle of St Agnes’ Church. Jess felt a smile spread across her own face. She wanted to clap but that wouldn’t be right.

  Sis, for all her passion to marry Percy, had been all nerves that morning. When they reached the church she’d come over wobbly and tearful and Olive had had to calm her down outside before they could go in, while Polly reminded an over-excited Grace that she was going to have to walk quietly up the aisle with her auntie Sis in their pretty dresses.

  They’d all been on the edge of their seats as Sis and Perce took their vows. At the moment when the vicar asked did he, Percival James Bolter, take Louise Joan Beeston, Perce’s head shot round to look at her in astonishment. He’d forgotten Sis’s proper name – was he marrying the wrong woman? Little Grace had stood fidgeting and twisting round to receive encouraging looks from her mom, and they all thought Sis was going to get the weeps or the giggles again. But now she had got through it. She was married! She paraded back along the aisle on Perce’s arm beaming at everyone.

  As the rest of them turned to follow the couple out, Jess saw Peter Stevenson standing a couple of rows behind them, dressed smartly in black, following Davey out from the pew. He was turned slightly away from her and she had a couple of seconds to observe him, dark eyes fixed on his son, his tall figure stooped to guide Davey. The sight of his large, gentle hands on the boy’s shoulders sent a sudden sensation through her, a kind of melting, a longing. What care, what kindness there was in the man, she thought. He didn’t look round at her, and following him to the back of the church she thought how little they’d seen of him recently. Last summer he’d been round, or out with them almost every week, had been so often by her side, but she had been so preoccupied with Ned she had barely noticed, had taken his presence for granted, oblivious of the feelings which Sis said he had for her. She realized that until today they hadn’t seen him for well over a month. Everyone was busy with new jobs and they no longer worked together. Peter had found another job as a foreman in a machine tool works. Perhaps he’s feeling better in himself now, Jess thought. He just needed company then, that was all.

  ‘Wasn’t it lovely?’ Polly was chattering down her ear. Grace, who had run to her the second the service was over, was in her arms. ‘And didn’t you look just like a princess, Gracie? You did them dresses lovely, Jess.’

  Grace’s yellow, flowery frock matched Sis’s and the colours had looked warm and lovely in the dim light of the church.

  ‘It was perfect,’ Jess said absently. I miss him, she found herself thinking. Miss him being there with us.

  After Sis and Perce had been duly showered with rice and congratulations, the families went down to the Ship Inn for a drink or two before going back to the house for some food. Jess hurried home with Olive to make sure everything was ready for them. Polly followed them more slowly, pushing John, Grace riding on his lap and Ronny running alongside.

  ‘Is, er – is Peter coming back?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Oh, I s’pect Sis’ll bring ’im along,’ Olive panted. ‘God, it’s warm today, ain’t it? I ’ope we’ve got enough, Jess, I want them all to ’ave a good feed.’

  The tables were chock-a-block with meats and pies, sandwiches and cakes, and a vase of spring flowers stood by the front window. Olive whisked the cloths off the plates and set out as many cups and glasses as she could lay hands on, Marion Bullivant having provided her with all hers. When Sis and Perce and the rest of them arrived from the pub, full of jollity, everything was looking ready and welcoming.

  ‘Oh Sis!’ Jess kissed her, then Perce. ‘That was lovely. You look so beautiful, don’t she, Perce?’

  ‘Like my very own angel,’ Perce said quaintly, and Sis, still clinging to his arm, said, ‘Oh Perce, that’s lovely, that is. I ’ope yer’ll still be saying that when I’m an old lady and me teeth’ve all dropped out!’

  Over their shoulders Jess saw Peter arriving. Her pulse picked up speed at the sight of him. I never thought this’d happen again, she thought, not for anyone. She waited for him to come to her, as he always had in the past, looking for excuses to be at her side. But instead he looked round the front room, his eyes skating over her, as if he was looking for someone else, and he went out, through to the back. Jess found herself feeling bereft.

  Oh well, she thought. No point in me thinking about him. Sis was imagining things about Peter. He was just lonely. And anyway, I must seem almost like a child to him.

  She moved round the room offering sandwiches, chatting to Perce’s mom, dad and sister, and his brother who had lost an arm on Vimy Ridge and had to stand next to the table to rest his plate on it or he had no spare arm to eat with. Jess liked Perce’s family. They were all relaxed and friendly and full of jokes, but all the time she was aware of where Peter was in the house. He chatted to John, to Polly, to Sis and Perce. He played with the children, helped Olive bring in water from outside. Once or twice as they passed one another he nodded and said hello with a tentative smile. But not once did he come to her as he used to do, to talk and spend time with her. If Peter had ever felt anything for her, she thought, he didn’t any longer. Now they were working apart that had changed. The chance was gone. By the end of the afternoon, happy as she was for Sis, she found herself feeling empty and disappointed.

  They saw Sis and Perce off for their little weekend holiday with much cheering and kissing and good wishes. They were off into town to catch a train out to the country. Sis, her moods changing with great rapidity that day, was a bit tearful again as she embraced Olive.

  ‘I’m not really leaving ’ome, am I, mom? I’ll only be down the road!’

  ‘Go on with yer and enjoy yerself,’ Olive sniffed, giving her a watery smile. ‘Time to worry about all that when yer get back.’

  ‘Bye, Jess,’ Sis hugged her tight. ‘You next, eh, you and Polly?’

  ‘Polly maybe,’ Jess laughed. ‘I don’t know about me – I think I’m going to end up an old maid!’

  ‘Poll?’ John Bullivant called to her from where he was positioned by the table in the back room. Much of the afternoon he had been having a good chinwag with Bert and with Perce’s brother, the other old soldiers present. Now things had quietened down a bit, the light was beginning to die outside and he wanted a few moments’ privacy.


  ‘Take us out the back for a minute, will yer?’

  Polly, thinking he needed to use the privy and didn’t like to say, tactfully opened the back door and manoeuvred the chair through it.

  ‘Close the door, wench.’

  Obediently she fastened it and went to push the chair closer to the door of the privy.

  ‘No – I don’t want that. I wanted to talk to yer, alone like.’

  John found his hands were quivering and he gripped the arms of the chair. Polly stood in front of him in the half light, thin, kindly, waiting to hear what he had to say. For a moment he was overwhelmed by the sight of her. How could he even be thinking of offering himself to this woman: injured, useless, half a man as he was? How could he even dare think it?

  ‘What did yer want to say to me, John?’

  Best spit it out, he thought. Only way. ‘Polly – I’ll never be able to walk again. I can’t work. I’m next to useless. But I love yer. I want to ask you to be my wife.’

  There was a long silence as she looked into his face. For a moment John could barely meet her eyes, but he looked up to see her lips trembling and she turned away from him, putting her hands over her face.

  ‘Yer can’t face it, can yer? Being saddled with a cripple for the rest of your life! For all yer fine words that’s what I am to yer – a lump of meat in a wheelchair, not a man!’

  ‘No! It ain’t that, John – truly!’ Slowly she moved round to face him again, hands still held in front of her as if to replace them over her face at any moment. ‘It ain’t you. I love yer, John – I do. You’re a lovely man and I’d give my life to yer with pleasure. But—’ She couldn’t put into words what was stopping her, was tearing her emotions apart. I’m still married: Ernie’s still with me as if it were yesterday and until I can believe he’s dead I can’t marry you with a clear conscience. I’m haunted by him and he won’t let me rest . . .

  ‘But . . .’ The grief and bitterness in John’s voice as he echoed her made her distraught. She went to him, kneeling to take him in her arms.