The Women of Lilac Street

by Annie Murray

  ‘Mom,’ Dolly said again, timidly. ‘I’ve had something come away – sort of pink and . . .’

  Phyllis’s eyes snapped open. ‘What – a gush of it – as if you’ve wet yourself?’

  ‘No,’ Dolly said, sitting down. Her cheeks were flushed. ‘It was just a little bit. I just feel a bit funny, that’s all, as if I can’t sit still.’

  ‘Well,’ Phyllis said exhaustedly. She longed for a doze. ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on you. But it’s too early yet.’

  Phyllis closed her eyes again. She would not let herself think about this, about the grandchild curled in Dolly’s belly just feet from her. If Dolly had been married, if everything was regular and right . . . There was nothing she liked more than a baby coming. It had been the finest thing of her life. But not like this – a little bastard whelped when its mother was barely more than a child. No – she couldn’t afford to let her heart get involved. There was too much at stake.

  Dolly saw her turn her face away and, not receiving anything more in the way of reassurance, got up and moved away. She went up to their room and lay on her bed, trying to get comfortable. As the day wore on the sky clouded over. The air was so still, so heavy with threat and moisture, that she felt as if her head might explode. She dozed for a while, and woke to find a warm, melting sensation moving across the lower part of her body.

  Sixty-Five

  ‘This is terrible.’ Arthur sat on the bed, his sightless eyes staring ahead of him in anguish. ‘It should never have come to this!’

  Rose, full of a terrible, agitated energy, was transferring her belongings to the suitcase they had prepared.

  ‘Mo-o-om,’ Lily said, from where she was standing, bewildered and forgotten just inside the door.

  ‘Shush, Lily,’ Rose snapped. ‘You’re just going to have to be quiet and wait today. Arthur and I have got a lot to do.’

  Lily’s face crumpled into tears.

  ‘No!’ Rose rushed to her and put her arms around her. ‘You must be quiet. No noise, Lily! Look, we’ll find one of your books – here’s Ameliaranne – you sit and look at that quietly.’

  Lily quietened, appeased for the moment. Rose was full of a sense of steeliness. Arthur seemed to be in shock, first from Aggie’s appearance earlier with the frantic message, then Rose and Lily’s arrival. He had not been able to see Mrs Terry’s pursed lips but could guess at what she must be thinking when she saw Lily. Arthur was a law-abiding, usually pliant man, not used to confrontation. He appeased Mrs Terry, telling her that they would soon be gone, that he would pay her extra. But Rose could feel that she was the one who was going to have to be strong, upon whose shoulders everything rested.

  ‘My love –’ She sat beside him and took his hand. ‘I know things aren’t as we wanted. It is terrible, I know.’

  ‘There shouldn’t be all this . . . Trouble for . . . For him. Your husband. And sneaking about, disgrace. It feels all wrong.’ For a moment she was filled with a dreadful foreboding. Was he going to stay with her, to see this through now? Had he the backbone?

  ‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘It’s very bad – for everyone, and I’m frightened, Arthur. But in the end it’d be the same, wouldn’t it? We’d have to leave here, make the break, We want to be together . . .’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t we?’

  Arthur nodded wretchedly. ‘More than anything, love.’

  ‘So it just means we have to do everything a bit sooner than we planned, that’s all.’

  Arthur took a couple of deep breaths, gathering himself. ‘Rose – love – I’m sorry. To be so weak. It’s all been so sudden. And I’m so slow – everything takes me such an age. I need to gather my things, go into work – I can’t just disappear . . .’

  ‘You can, Arthur.’ She spoke very intensely. ‘And you’ll have to. We have to go straight away –’ She saw that he could hear the iron resolve in her voice. ‘I’ll help pack today. We’ll go first thing in the morning.’

  Arthur turned. ‘You’re right. But you said he doesn’t know anything – about here, this house?’

  ‘He doesn’t know, I’m sure. He can’t know. But we can’t take any chances. Suppose he finds out somehow? He’s crazy – he’s really frightened me. You haven’t seen how he’s been – what he’s done to me. But if we go soon – in a few hours, get on a train and get away from here, everything will be all right. He won’t have any idea where we are then.’

  They sat for a moment, embracing, still trying to absorb the enormity of what was happening.

  ‘Come on then.’ Arthur released her gently. ‘We must make a start.’

  By the late afternoon the sky had darkened; there was a slight breeze, and a hushed sense of expectation seemed to fall over everything in the dusk-like atmosphere.

  When Dulcie Skinner hurried along to Dorrie Davis’s little shop for a few bits and pieces that afternoon, she went in saying, ‘Ooh – I’d best get back home quick, or I’m going to get a soaking!’

  But Dorrie had her mind on other subjects than the weather. She could hardly contain herself, leaning over the counter, her sharp-nosed face taut with a gossip’s excitement.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard. Most likely not up at your end.’ She stood back and crossed her arms, full of the power of withheld information.

  ‘Well, I don’t know if I have or not if you’re not going to say what,’ Dulcie retorted. She thought Dorrie Davis was a spiteful troublemaker and pointedly glanced towards the door, as if she had better things to do. But all the same, now she wanted to know what it was she may or may not know already.

  ‘It’s that Mrs Southgate,’ Dorrie said disdainfully. ‘That blonde bit from number fifteen.’

  ‘Yes, I know who she is,’ Dulcie said impatiently.

  ‘Well, Irene saw her and the girl take off this morning, with everything bundled up by the look of them. And so far,’ Dorrie unfolded her arms and leaned triumphantly on the counter, ‘she hasn’t come back!’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t mean . . .’ Dulcie began. She’d always found something a bit odd and mysterious about Rose Southgate. As if she was always in a dream, her mind somewhere else and the real Rose was round the corner somewhere out of sight.

  ‘Oh, Irene’s seen plenty – comings and goings. And she’s had that kid of Jen Green’s running errands for her. There’s a man in the picture, you can be sure. And the husband – goes in and out looking dark as a thunderclap,’ Dorrie said, nodding at the pregnant sky.

  This seemed slim evidence of anything to Dulcie. ‘Well – she could’ve taken the child on a visit somewhere . . .’

  ‘She could’ve,’ Dorrie said. ‘But there’s more to it than that, I’ll bet you any money. I’ve seen her sort before. One of them quiet, scheming types, that one. We’ll see, won’t we?’

  ‘I daresay we will,’ Dulcie said, tired of the woman already; it never took long. ‘I’ll have a packet of Bisto and one of Swan Vesta, ta, Mrs Davis. Oh, and Joe’s ciggies.’

  There came the first distant grumbles of thunder.

  ‘Here we go,’ Freda Adams said, hastily pulling washing from their line in the yard. Other women rushed out to join her, all looking up at the thick belly of sky.

  ‘’Bout time,’ Mrs Peters whined. ‘I feel as though my head’s fit to burst.’

  Aggie, Babs and the other children all skipped about like excited calves.

  ‘Look at the colour of that!’ Aggie said. The sky was a deep mauve-grey, waiting to break over them. At first a few big drops spattered on to the dust, then more and more. Everyone shrieked and held their hands out and their faces up to the rain.

  ‘Come in!’ Jen yelled over the noise of the rain. ‘You’re going to get soaked!’

  But no one took any notice. After the sultry heat over the past week it was glorious to hear the loudness of the drops and to let the cool water run over them. In the end Jen joined them, laughing as her clothes soaked through and her hair straggled into rat’s tails. Even Freda turned her face
up to it and Eliza Jenks came outside, a smile lighting up her strained features.

  The Green and Skinner children did barefoot rain dances in the puddles. Aggie felt the water seep right through her clothes. The rain made her feel better than she had in weeks, full of a happy, bubbling excitement. Soon the yard was awash with water and they jumped in pools of it, screaming with excitement.

  ‘Join hands!’ Babs yelled, and a ring of them twirled round, laughing and shrieking.

  Susanna and Rachel were on the way home from work when the storm broke. Rachel saw Susanna ahead of her, dashing along with her head down, and called out to her.

  ‘Wait for me!’ She ran and caught up.

  Both of them were already saturated, their loose bits of dark hair clinging to their cheeks. The street appeared to be bouncing, so many large drops of water were falling on to the already wet ground, and the street was full of the sound of it. For a moment they looked at each other in dismay.

  Susanna was leaning forward. ‘I’m worried about getting this flaming bag of tricks wet,’ she said, bent protectively over the sawdust stuffing tucked beneath her frock.

  ‘It’ll all go into lumps,’ Rachel said, pressing it with her hand. Hurrying along in the pelting rain they exchanged glances, water running down into their eyes. ‘It’s like walking about with a vat of porridge strapped to your belly!’

  Susanna, suddenly overcome by the absurdity of the entire situation, and all they had gone through in the past six months, creased up, doubled over with laughter. She had to stop and lean against a wall, weak with it, and Rachel joined her, both of them soaked to the skin and soon hysterical. Susanna tried to say something, making several attempts which were drowned out by rain and laughter.

  ‘When . . .’ she began, several times, then managed, ‘when I’m at work I think to myself, What would they say if they could see . . .’ And she was off again. The ritual of getting dressed in the morning in their house at the moment was strange indeed. Rachel was helpless with laughter as well.

  Among the other people hurrying along to get under cover, a large figure loomed towards them from out of the torrent of rain and a voice said, ‘Well, there, lasses, it’s canny good someone’s finding summat te laugh aboot!’

  He went on past, smiling, and the girls sobered down a bit, staring after him.

  ‘Who was that?’ Susanna asked.

  Rachel shrugged. ‘Dunno. He looks jolly though. Come on – we’d best get home.’

  Phyllis rolled her eyes at the state of them when they got into the house.

  ‘Go and get that lot off,’ she ordered. ‘And wake Dolly up – she’s been asleep for an age.’

  The two girls dripped off upstairs, still giggling. Their laughter stopped abruptly as soon as they went into their room. Dolly was on her hands and knees on the bed gasping in pain.

  ‘Dolly! What’s – you’re not . . . Are you sick?’ Susanna cried and both of them went to her.

  ‘I think it’s coming,’ Dolly groaned, her face contorted with pain. ‘It’s been going on and on.’

  ‘Mom!’ Rachel yelled at the top of the stairs but at the same time there was a huge crack of thunder which drowned her out and she ran downstairs again.

  ‘Mom – quick! Dolly’s having the babby!’

  For a moment she saw utter panic on her mother’s face. ‘She can’t be,’ Phyllis said wildly. ‘It’s not due till . . . We’ll have to get her on the train . . .’

  ‘No, Mom – it’s too late for that!’ Rachel insisted. ‘She couldn’t even get downstairs, she’s that far gone.’

  She saw her mother rally, her features tightening into a determined expression.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get some pans on. Get the papers from by the fire – put them under her on the bed. Tell her I’m coming.’

  With trembling legs Rachel ran back upstairs, her hair still dripping.

  ‘What did she say?’ Susanna said, getting out of her wet things and trying to comfort Dolly at the same time.

  ‘She’s coming,’ Rachel said. She looked with awe at her younger sister, who for the moment did not seem to be in pain and had lapsed down on to her left side on the bed, her eyes closed. ‘It’ll be all right, Dolly,’ she said, not having the first idea whether it would or not. ‘Look – I’ve got to put this paper under you.’

  They prepared the bed around her as the rain tippled down outside, a great wash of sound, splashing off roofs and gutters, seeming to seal them into their own little world in the house, away from everyone else. They heard Phyllis’s feet on the stairs and Dolly began to moan as another wave of pain rose up in her.

  Phyllis looked gravely down at her daughter writhing on the bed. The other two could see her thinking, calculating.

  ‘You can stop making that noise, for a start,’ she told Dolly. ‘There’s no call for that.’ Then she added, rather less harshly, ‘At least with all that going on out there, no one’s going to hear you.’ She looked round. ‘All the same – keep the window shut. And here – you can pull on this.’ She had a long strip of a ragged sheet with her and tied it to the end of the bed.

  ‘Shouldn’t we fetch Mrs Sissons?’ Susanna said, looking rather faint.

  ‘No!’ Phyllis said emphatically. ‘We don’t need anyone else. I know what to do.’

  ‘Have you ever done it before?’ Susanna said.

  ‘Not . . . exactly,’ Phyllis admitted. ‘But I’ve had my own. We’ll manage.’

  They heard a sound from downstairs, the back door closing.

  ‘That’ll be Charles,’ Phyllis said. She nodded at Rachel. ‘Go and tell him to stay down there and keep the range going. He won’t want any part of this.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do either,’ Rachel muttered, on her way downstairs. She was frightened at what was to come. She spoke to her brother, who’d come in soaked to the skin as well.

  ‘She’s having the baby now?’ he said, bewildered. ‘Oh, dear God.’ More endearingly, he added, ‘Is Dolly all right?’

  ‘I don’t know – I think so,’ Rachel said. ‘Just keep the water boiling, will you?’

  She usually found her brother’s stiff stuffiness aggravating, but now she was in sympathy with him. She made a pot of tea and spent as much time as she could down there, hanging up the wet clothes and trying to stay out of the way of the disturbing events unfolding upstairs.

  Sixty-Six

  By early evening the rain abated, leaving the gutters streaming and yards puddled with water. Aggie and the rest of the family were finishing off their tea when they heard someone come sploshing across to their door.

  ‘Jen – it’s me!’

  ‘Come in, Dulce!’ Jen called.

  Dulcie pushed the door open, laughing. ‘My feet’re soaked, just coming round here!’

  ‘Leave the door open,’ Nanna said. ‘It’s nice now.’ There was a cool, fresh feel to the air. She edged her chair close to the door.

  ‘There’s a drop of tea left if you want, Dulce,’ Jen said.

  ‘No, ta, I’m not staying,’ Dulcie said, leaning up against the door frame with an air of someone who knows something.

  ‘Sure?’ Freda Adams said.

  ‘Yeah – you’re all right. You carry on . . . Oh, go on, I’ll sit down for a minute then . . .’

  ‘That’s it, John – give her your chair,’ Jen said. ‘And clear off, you kids. Except you, Aggie – you can clear up.’

  For once Aggie didn’t feel resentful at this, as her younger brothers and sisters rushed off outside. She liked it when Dulcie came round. It felt reassuring, like old times. And she could see that Dulcie had something to impart, and she didn’t want to miss out on it. She stood in the scullery, slowly scraping off bits of mutton gristle and piling the dishes up to wash.

  Mom was complaining about her swollen ankles and how they’d got even worse in the heat.

  ‘I can’t think whether I want it all over with now or whether I don’t,’ she said, hands resting on her swollen
belly. ‘Either way it’s a blooming ordeal.’

  Dulcie made a wry face. ‘That’s for sure. You sure there’s two in there?’

  Aggie saw her mother nod. ‘Well, if there ain’t, it must be an octopus.’

  ‘I went into Dorrie’s – just before the rain come down,’ Dulcie said, rolling her eyes as most people did when they spoke of Dorrie Davis.

  ‘Oh, ar – and what did that one have to say for herself?’ Freda said.

  ‘Well – course I dain’t take any notice,’ Dulcie said. ‘But –’ She lowered her voice. ‘Irene reckons that Rose Southgate woman’s done a bunk – with another man!’

  Jen raised her eyebrows, shifting in her chair to get comfortable.

  ‘What makes her think that?’

  ‘She saw her and the girl setting off carrying bundles – and they ain’t come back.’

  Jen frowned. ‘Aggie? Did Mrs Southgate say anything to you about her going away?’

  Aggie shrugged. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just Dorrie putting her spoke in,’ Freda said. ‘You know what that one’s like. She’ll find trouble anywhere for the sake of it.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ Jen called, impishly, towards the scullery. ‘You go over there, Aggie, and knock for her – see if she’s come back.’

  Aggie emerged, frowning. She didn’t want to do as she was asked. ‘What’m I s’posed to say to her?’

  Jen and Dulcie were both grinning now. ‘This is daft, Jen,’ Dulcie said.

  ‘I know – but it won’t do any harm. Say to her – does she want you to take Lily to Sunday school this week . . . Summat like that.’

  ‘Oh, Mom!’ Aggie protested. She knew Mrs Southgate would want her to take Lily – she always did.

  ‘Oh, go on, Aggie – run along. It won’t take a minute.’

  Reluctantly, Aggie went outside, barefoot, not wanting to spoil her shoes. The entry was almost completely flooded and she had to hold on to the slimy wall and climb along at the very sides. Then she ran along to number fifteen, hopping over puddles. There were lots of children out playing now, barefoot, splashing.