A Liverpool Girl

by Elizabeth Morton

  Babby could feel herself shaking.

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ snivelled Babby. ‘I don’t know.’ She felt sobs rising to her throat. ‘If I could only find Callum—’

  ‘Callum isn’t going to get you out of this mess. He’s gone,’ said Violet sharply.

  ‘Why did you send the sisters to find me? Why did you tell them?’ She sounded in actual physical pain.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t come back if I went after you,’ said Violet. ‘You don’t listen to a word I say.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  Violet didn’t reply. Instead, she stomped around the table and into the kitchen, reappearing with a bottle of cherry brandy.

  ‘It’s my nerves, Babby. Some days I can hardly drag myself out of bed. The sisters, they’ve got your best interests at heart. They seem so – so organised. Like they know what to do. About the situation. I can’t think straight. I have no idea …’

  Babby took off her coat and slumped on to the chair.

  Violet banged the bottle onto the kitchen table, and then threw her hands into the air exasperatedly. ’Look at you. You’re so young. And so beautiful. You could have had anyone. But now? Pregnant!’

  ‘How did you know?’ Babby asked, defeated.

  ‘I’ve probably known for weeks,’ replied Violet. ‘Look at you, your bust,’ she said, waving a hand in her direction and turning down the corners of her mouth. ‘No one else would know, but I’m your mother. And all the time drinking fizzy pop, cream soda bottles suddenly appearing from nowhere. And when I found the Epsom salts packet wrapped up in your blouse, the gin bottle nearly empty, the bath left with all the water in it … It only confirmed what I’d dreaded along. But I just prayed it had worked so I didn’t ask you about it. Oh Babby, who’s going to have you now?’

  ‘I only want Callum,’ Babby said and sobbed, her knees buckling under her.

  ‘That’s not going to happen, sweetheart,’ said Violet, softening. She patted the threadbare chaise longue. Babby collapsed on to it, crying. Violet allowed her to put her head into her lap, stroked her hair, pushed a piece of it behind her ear. ‘Have a good cry, love,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mam,’ said Babby in between heaving sighs. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened …’

  ‘Well, I would have thought that would be obvious,’ said Violet, dryly.

  ‘Cal did – does love me!’ she replied. How could she tell her mother that it was just that. Love. That’s what had got her in this mess. Violet could never understand how exciting – and in turn, how desperate – that love had felt. When Callum had taken her in his arms that night at the hollas, there was nothing she could have done about it. She had felt so helpless. It was a wicked, wicked thing to do, a dreadful mistake, but the love had felt like iron manacles clasping her heart and that was all there was to it. She had wanted to make love to him, as much as he had to her.

  ‘Oh, you stupid girl. Stupid stupid, girl. I love you. And we’ll get through this together. But it’s not going to be easy – we haven’t got a carrot – so thank God for Johnny Gallagher.’

  Babby started. ‘Not him again. What’s he got to do with anything? I’ll not have anything to do with him—’

  ‘Pat said he would have a word with his mum and dad.’

  ‘No,’ replied Babby, obdurate and immovable.

  Violet sighed. ‘Then it’s only the nuns that can save you, love,’ she said, with a look that Babby had never seen before, but recognised all that it contained.

  Babby was desperate. She dropped to her knees. ‘Mam,’ she said, ‘I just need to find Callum and everything will be OK …’

  Violet who was holding Babby’s hands, her fingertips blue with fear, released them. ‘This Callum isn’t the answer. Don’t be ridiculous,’ replied Violet. ‘Really, love, do I need to get a brick to knock some sense into you? Babby, do you have any idea what this is going to be like, bringing a baby into the world without a father? I know. I know what it’s like to have mouths to feed, children with no shoes – and that’s with them having a father. If suits were a penny, I couldn’t afford a sleeve. Your dad standing there like all the other miserable wretches in the pen. Being passed over, another day of no work. I don’t want that for you. And I certainly don’t want that for your baby!’

  ‘Callum’s not like the men in the pens. Or them that drink at the Boot.’

  At which point Violet’s eyes flashed. ‘I will not have that place mentioned in this house again. Do you know how much it hurts me, the thought of you standing there with your father’s accordion, all those men leering at you, and catcalling?’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you do. You knew what you were doing all right. Probably playing up to it, just like your dad used to, running his hands through his hair and winking and flashing that grin. Doing the same, were you, Babby? You wouldn’t be in this mess now if you hadn’t gone sniffing around the Boot Inn.’

  ‘Callum has got nothing to do with all that! I met him at the place you sent me away to so I’d be safe. Safe from what?’

  Violet paused. It was as if she was going to say something, but couldn’t.

  ‘From myself?’ asked Babby.

  ‘Oh, don’t be absurd. Sit up,’ said Violet, her tone hardening. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself now and stop sniffling. We have to be practical about this. I knew you would say no to Johnny Gallagher. But do you know what the alternative is?’

  ‘Find Callum.’

  ‘No! Isn’t he in another country? How do you think you’ll find him? No, the alternative is Saint Jude’s.’

  Babby’s mouth fell open in horror.

  ‘Saint Jude’s?’

  ‘Yes. The mother and baby home.’

  ‘I know what Saint Jude’s is! You’ve spent your whole life telling me about how awful it is! How cruel the nuns are. How some girls never even come home, just end up working there forever, or mad and alone probably, at the bottom of the road in the asylum. You’d really want me to go there?’

  ‘I only said those things to keep you out of the wretched place. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Now, I’ve organised for Father O’Casey to come here and talk to you. The priests and the nuns know how to manage these things because I’m damn sure I can’t think what else to do …’ She exhaled a long breath, snapped angrily, ‘I’ve tried so hard with you, Babby, but it’s pointless. You never listen to me, you just charge on regardless, turning everything upside down, upsetting us all. And now look at the mess you’re in.’

  The thought of Father O’Casey and Sister Immaculata telling Babby what she should do with her baby, organising her life, just taking over as though she and, for that matter, Callum, had nothing to do with any of this, made her feel sick. With burning tears spilling on to her cheeks, she asked, ‘What has any of this got to do with them?’

  Violet struggled to her feet, thinking that if this Callum was here she would have clocked him one around the head. She steeled herself. ‘I understand that this is your decision. And I know you’re so young. But you’ve an old head on young shoulders so you ought to know that this is your only alternative.’

  Babby listened as Violet talked on with humphs, and sighs, and wild hand gestures, saying how, even if they were to find Callum, even if he were to marry her, how would she know she would be happy?’

  Babby couldn’t make much sense of any of what she was saying. She suspected Violet could make no sense of it herself.

  There was a long, protracted silence.

  When Violet joined her on the sofa, Babby shuffled up to the other end.

  ‘There are no other choices. You’ll go to the home until you have the child. We’re too poor to invent the European tour – no one would believe it. We’ll just say you have a job in service.’

  ‘European Tour? What’s that?’

  ‘Like Pauline did. Oh dear. Well, there’s anoth
er secret out of the closet. The tour was about inventing a trip to Europe to explain why you’ve gone away so no one would know you were pregnant. Listen Babby, don’t be naïve, you know as well as I do that having a child whilst you are unmarried would bring disgrace to us all. It would be such a shocking and awful thing to bring an illegitimate child into our family, none of us would ever recover from it …’

  ‘What about if I have the baby and you say it’s yours?’

  ‘Oh, love.’

  ‘I can say the baby is my sister?’

  In an instant, and judging by the look on Violet’s face, she realised this was as absurd as a European tour. Violet was not a coper at the best of times and, of course, she wasn’t married either. Babby drew in her breath as though she was about to say something more, but said nothing. Raising her thumb to her mouth and biting around the base of her nail, she shrank back into herself. Her mother had sadness etched out in every single line of her face, as though they had reached a conclusion on the matter and there was nothing more to discuss. But in Babby’s mind there was one other choice.

  She would go to the home. Have the child. And then she would run away and find Callum. One desperate notion ricocheted around her head after another. I have a baby growing inside me, she thought. And when he finds that out, he’ll come and find me. And we will go back to Anglesey where we can live on a farm and grow fat tomatoes and keep chickens and ducks. And he will cherish the baby and me, and we will have six children and make a life together working in the sunshine. And when we have our family, and our lovely home, all this sadness will be forgotten, and we will refuse to feel shame, because our future will be built on love, and Mam will be proud of us. Surely this was possible? Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The next two weeks passed in a blur. It was decided that Saint Jude’s – or Saint Jude’s Home for Fallen Women, which was its grim moniker – was the best place for Babby, at least until she had her baby. It wasn’t due for another six months, but she couldn’t be trusted to stay at home without running off and the nuns often had girls who came to the home this early, as they were useful. ‘You don’t get anything for nothing, Babby. We should be grateful. What’s a few months’ work? That’s what they said.’

  A date was set and Violet trailed around after her as the day approached, as if she knew Babby would bolt if she let her out of her sight and she might never see her again. Babby cried until she had no tears left, but it was Callum she was crying for, as well as her baby.

  ‘Thank goodness we have found a solution to the little problem,’ Babby heard old Father O’Casey say through the crack in the door of the best room.

  ‘Well, Father, it’s like a weight lifting off my shoulders …’ said Violet.

  Babby shuddered. Why was he making it sound so easy? As if she would just go away to Saint Jude’s and the lovely nuns would take care of her until she had the wee one and then she would come back home and that would be grand. And the baby would go to a nice family and a gorgeous woman who had been crying for years. Johnny might even still want her back, you know, if it was all taken care of. But I don’t want Johnny, Babby wailed silently. It’s Callum I want!

  The night before it was arranged they would go to the home, as the sun set over the Mersey and the vast sky turned pink to purple, Violet put her to bed early with a hot toddy and a glass of warm milk and told her she loved her. It wasn’t what Babby expected. She’d expected more recriminations, tension, probably a beating around the head.

  For the past couple of days, what Violet mostly looked was sad. And disappointed. During the night Babby was sure she had heard the sound of Violet crying through the walls, but when she got up she found her mother had tidied herself up, done her make-up to disguise her puffy eyes, dressed herself in a paisley frock with a wide yellow patent leather belt, and was smoking a Players N°6 at the kitchen table.

  So then, thought Babby as she watched her sucking on the cigarette, now they had to concentrate on what would happen next, rather than fret about what had gone on before. There was no big plan. But at least, she thought, it might buy her some time with finding Callum and keep Violet happy. At least at Saint Jude’s she might be able to think what to do.

  She followed her mother down the path, and they ducked under the gap in the fence that now surrounded the hollas and, taking the short cut to the tram, clambering through the hole and across the piece of wasteland, they made their way to Sandhills station. Babby was still an expert at dodging ticket collectors, on how to jump off the train and dart into the waiting room or hide in the ladies loo in order to get through the barrier without having to buy a ticket, but no such nonsense would be happening this morning, Violet said.

  When they got on to the train they sat silently, staring out of the window, lulled by the somnambulant rhythm as it rocked on its tracks. It was hard to think of what to say to one another. They were lucky enough to find an empty compartment with two rows of seats, the material on the bald covers rising up in tufts. Babby fixed her gaze on the leather loops of the ceiling straps swinging in tandem as the train chuffed on. After a short while, without thinking, Babby took the opportunity to put her feet on the seats, though Violet told her not to, slapped her shins, and said she was leaving dusty footprints all over the place. ‘Besides, the last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves,’ she said. Babby grumpily complied, squashing up beside her mother and pulling down the window, letting the air rush into the carriage.

  ‘Babby …’ said Violet.

  Babby, with legs slung over the armrest of the seat and chewing a thumbnail, sighed. ‘What?’

  ‘The more I think about it, the more I think you are doing the right thing,’ her mother said.

  ‘Why’s that, then?’ said Babby.

  ‘I want you to have a life. The truth is, I don’t want you to marry someone you hardly know, not even Johnny. I really don’t. Or to be a mother, a child, Babby, struggling on your own. I want you to have a future.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So, you’re sending me here so I can be happy?’ said Babby, caustically.

  ‘In a way, yes,’ answered Violet. ‘Eventually, I mean … I know it’s hard for you to see that now. Oh, love. Don’t you think you can make a fist of it?’

  Babby took out the handkerchief that she had stuffed into her pocket, and dabbed her eyes. ‘No, Mam, I can’t make a fist of it. You know why? Because there’s guilt and there’s shame, isn’t there? With shame, you need the world in order to tell you to curl up and die. That’s when you want the ground to open up and swallow you, but if the world isn’t there to watch you do the terrible thing, you can’t have shame, can you? If I give away this baby, who would even know?’

  ‘Oh Babby …’

  ‘Not even Hannah knows. But Mam, what if I feel guilty? Guilt is when your conscience tells you not to do something because in your heart you know it’s wrong. And I will have that forever. Maybe not the shame. But I will have guilt and I think the guilt is worse. Sod it! I – I …’

  ‘Don’t curse!’ cried Violet.

  ‘Sod it,’ repeated Babby. She liked the sound of the swear word. You could tell by the way she spat it out and looked at Violet with her chin jutting out, as if challenging her to tell her to stop. She didn’t care who might hear in the next compartment and she tutted when Violet grabbed the metal frame of the window and pushed it shut.

  ‘Babby!’

  ‘I’m not sure I will stand it,’ wailed Babby. ‘I don’t think they are being kind and I don’t like what’s happening to me.’ She punched her fist in her stomach and Violet gasped. ‘But I don’t want them to have my baby.’

  ‘Babby …’ Violet said, appalled that her daughter might be about to change her mind and jump off the train right that minute.

  ‘You’re ashamed of me,’ said Babby. ‘That’s all …’ Pressing her fists in her eyes to stem the flow of tears, she let out a low moan.

  ‘I don’t want you to go through what I’ve bee
n through. These last years without your father have been the hardest years of my life. Bringing up a child on your own is so difficult … you can’t imagine how lonely it is, love, and so hard without a proper wage coming into the house, pin money is just not enough to raise a family. I’m not ashamed of you, I never will be, but the world will turn its back on you and I don’t want that for you,’ said Violet, reaching out a hand and placing it on Babby’s knee.

  Babby tutted, then pleaded, ‘But I won’t be on my own if I find Callum. I’ve got to find him. Can’t we just wait until we find him? We need to know it’s true that he’s not coming back before we do anything. If we don’t find him, then we can properly investigate. Get a detective, maybe. Do they have detectives for these things?’

  ‘Ridiculous notion,’ said Violet prompting a groan from Babby. ‘Of course, we’re not going to get a detective.’

  ‘Sod this,’ said Babby.

  Violet gasped. ‘You can’t keep saying that! And on a train!’

  ‘I just did,’ replied Babby.

  ‘What if people in the next compartment heard you? Or the ticket collector might walk past?’

  ‘There’s no one on this train except us. Pat might know how to find Callum.’

  ‘Even if he did, how exactly do you think that would help things? He knows nothing about this … situation. It would just make him upset,’ Violet said. Her fingers flickered over Babby’s for a moment before she committed herself to the gesture and squeezed lightly.

  Babby pursed her lips and snatched her hand away. ‘Or he might do something to help us. And I don’t mean marrying me off to Johnny Gallagher.’

  ‘Please stop going on about your brother … he’s worried about you. You’re his sister. Brothers always think they know what’s best.’