by Jenny Holmes
The confession startled Hazel more than any Catherine wheel whizzing and sparking in the dark. Now this was something out of the ordinary – it really was. She wished that their heart-to-heart hadn’t been so rudely interrupted.
‘It’s Sylvia for you.’ Jinny reached for her coat and disappeared down the steps. ‘I’m just popping round to Nelson Yard,’ she called back as Sylvia brought in the sour smell of fog, smoke and exploding fireworks. ‘I want to make sure those kids aren’t pestering Mum and Rose with their bangers.’
‘Well, if it isn’t Mrs Bellamy – come in, come in!’ In newly buoyant mood, Hazel sat her cousin down in the fireside chair. ‘Wait while I fettle the fireguard for you – we don’t want sparks burning holes in your lovely nylon stockings.’
‘I won’t stop long,’ Sylvia insisted as she took a small box from her coat pocket and handed it to Hazel. ‘I’m returning the brooch that I borrowed from Aunty Jinny.’
‘Well, it’s lovely to see you.’ Hazel took a peek inside the box at the glittering bluebird then went on to make her visitor feel at home. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Unless you’ve got something stronger,’ Sylvia grunted.
‘Only Dad’s brandy, but that’s strictly for medicinal purposes, I’m afraid.’
‘Tea it is, then.’ Ignoring Hazel’s conspiratorial wink and leaning back listlessly, Sylvia made no effort to help. ‘Norman went out to the Green Cross with Dan, leaving me all on my ownio.’
‘I see. Is Dan leading him astray already?’
‘Yes, and Norman doesn’t have the backbone to say no.’ The remark brought a resentful twist to Sylvia’s pretty features. ‘Dan only has to click his fingers for him to go running. Calvert has cut Norman’s hours to three days a week at the start of this week, so it’s not even as if he can afford to splash out.’
‘That’s bad luck so soon after you got married.’ Seeing storm clouds gathering, Hazel handed her a cup of tea then hoped to open up a brighter topic of conversation. ‘And how are you in yourself? Are you keeping well?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Sylvia retorted, crossing her legs and tapping her foot impatiently. The action made her skirt ride up above her knee, giving a glimpse of stocking-top and suspender.
Quickly Hazel retreated from the obviously touchy subject of Sylvia’s health. ‘And how’s life on Nelson Yard? Is Aunty Ethel lending you a hand to settle into your new house?’
‘Don’t ask!’ Sylvia raised her eyebrows.
From which Hazel gathered there’d been a falling-out between mother and daughter. Yet another dead end. ‘And how’s Gladys? I haven’t run into her lately.’
Sylvia didn’t answer but went on rolling her eyes and tapping her foot. ‘If you must know, I’m not keeping at all well,’ she burst out. ‘Married life doesn’t suit me, if you know what I mean.’
‘Oh.’ Hazel pursed her lips while she searched for a response.
‘You do know, don’t you?’
Hazel filled the uncomfortable pause with a cautious reply. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Don’t get married, Hazel – that’s my advice.’ Uncrossing her legs, Sylvia lapsed from anger into a sullen silence, broken at last by a heartfelt sigh. ‘Unless you’re lucky enough to fall head over heels, that is.’
Hazel nodded, thinking back to Gladys’s account of Sylvia and Norman’s rushed courtship. The phrase ‘Act in haste, repent at leisure’ sprang to mind. ‘It’s early days,’ she said gently. ‘Perhaps everything will settle down.’
‘No. I know people are hoping it will – Nana and Aunty Rose, especially. I don’t have the heart to tell them it won’t.’
‘You just have to give it a chance. Norman will do his best to find extra work, I’m sure. Things will be better again when there’s more money coming in.’
‘It’s not that.’ Tears appeared suddenly in Sylvia’s eyes and she made no attempt to stop them from trickling down her cheeks. ‘It’s what I was trying to tell you about just now – the part of marriage that nobody talks about. That’s what’s wrong.’
Moved by the awkwardness of Sylvia’s tearful confession, Hazel crouched by her side. ‘You’re very young, you know. They say it takes a while to get used to.’
‘“Young and daft.”’ Sylvia’s self-mockery introduced a new, more bitter tone. ‘That’s what you all thought – you and Gladys, even Nana and Aunty Rose. That’s why Aunty Jinny lending me her brooch meant such a lot to me. She was the only one who was kind.’
Hazel settled onto her knees, her face flushed from the fire and from a sharp pang of guilt. ‘What can I do to help?’ she asked.
Sylvia sniffed and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She seemed to take time to screw up her courage. ‘As a matter of fact, there is something.’
‘Anything.’ Hazel’s mind raced ahead. She imagined that Sylvia was building up to confessing that she was having a baby, which they’d suspected all along, and that she’d come to her for advice and support.
‘I would’ve gone to Mabel about this,’ Sylvia went on, confirming Hazel’s suspicions. ‘Only then, the cat would be out of the bag.’
‘No, not Mabel,’ Hazel agreed, with information about antenatal care and the importance of attending the clinic on the tip of her tongue.
‘I can’t have people tittle-tattling. This has to be between you and me – no one else.’
Doubt darted into Hazel’s mind. ‘But surely, if this is about what I think it’s about, the news will be out before too long anyway?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hazel; do I have to spell it out?’ Exasperated, Sylvia sprang from her chair and paced the room.
‘No, I understand. You’re expecting. You need my help.’
‘But not to have the baby, silly!’ Now that the flood gates were opened, the words poured out. ‘The help I need is for the opposite. People like you can stop things from going any further, I know you can. I’m not too far gone so I just have to take some medicine and it’ll all be over. If you do it right, there’ll be nothing else for me to worry about.’
‘I can’t do that!’ Hazel was shocked to her core. Yes, occasionally women had abortions that were official and above-board. But they were usually in their late thirties and forties with multiple births behind them, where a further pregnancy posed a risk to their own or their baby’s health. What possible reason could a young newlywed like Sylvia have? ‘Listen to me – it’s your first time and I know you must be frightened. But really, this is perfectly natural.’
Sylvia left off pacing and shot an angry glance at Hazel. ‘If I’d wanted someone to get on their high horse and talk down to me, I’d have gone to Mum or Gladys. The question is – will you help me or not?’
‘No,’ Hazel said. The answer came from deep down and with a force that surprised both of them.
Sylvia tossed her head. ‘Ta very much!’
‘I mean it. This is all happening in a rush and it’s frightened you. Take some time to think.’
‘I’ve had nothing else on my mind for weeks on end, ta.’ Clenching her jaw to stop her lip from trembling, Sylvia realized she would have to accept Hazel’s answer. ‘You’re not to say anything to anyone – not even to Gladys,’ she said with a final flare of defiance. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise,’ Hazel echoed as calmly as she could, though she felt helpless and worried beyond belief.
‘Cross your heart.’
‘Cross my heart. But does Norman know yet? Have you talked to him about this?’
‘No. You’re the only one.’ Chin up and with a fixed, defiant smile, Sylvia opened the door onto the street. ‘I’m a real chump, aren’t I?’
Two boys ran past the house, their feet slapping on the dark pavement. ‘Why are you a chump?’
‘For getting into this mess in the first place and for thinking you would help me,’ came the bitter reply.
‘Talk to Norman,’ Hazel pleaded.
But Sylvia shook her head. ‘If you won’
t do it, I’ll find someone who will,’ she said, slamming the door behind her.
On the next Tuesday, with Sylvia’s situation frequently on her mind, Hazel got to the surgery early, half an hour before any of her women had arrived.
‘Someone’s keen!’ Eleanor commented from behind her desk.
From up on the first-floor landing, David peered over the banister. His outline was lit from the domed skylight on the second floor so his head and shoulders appeared in silhouette. ‘Ah, good – come up and join me, will you, Hazel? There’s tea in the pot if you’d like a cup.’
‘Yes, please.’ Seizing her opportunity, she took off her coat and hat then ran up the stairs.
‘Welcome to my lair.’ David’s voice was warm and genuine. He led the way up another, narrower flight of stairs to his living quarters – a small room with sloping ceilings, cosily but shabbily furnished with a dusty oak bureau and worn leather armchairs. There was a faded oriental rug on the floor and red chenille curtains across one corner, hiding what must be his kitchen. Offering Hazel a seat by the fire, he ducked behind the curtains then quickly emerged with two plain mugs of steaming, dark brown tea. ‘I hope it’s not too stewed for your liking,’ he said, pointing to a sugar bowl resting on a small, low table close to the fire.
‘I take it as it comes. Actually, I arrived early on purpose, hoping to catch you,’ she explained. The room told her a lot about David – there was nothing here for show; no ornaments, no pictures on the wall and only a plain clock on the chimney breast. On top of the bureau sat a pile of unopened letters and one small photograph of a dark-haired young woman. ‘I’m worried about something and I wanted to pick your brains.’
The ‘something’ was Sylvia, of course. Since her youngest cousin’s tearful visit a few days earlier, Hazel had thought of little else. Sylvia was rash and could easily have followed up on her threat to get ‘help’ already. Still, there would most likely be a week or so between seeking out an abortionist and the actual act, which gave Hazel time to ask for advice.
‘Pick away,’ David invited, studying Hazel with his usual thoughtful gaze and perhaps expecting a discussion about Hazel’s ongoing struggle to boost clinic numbers.
‘I can’t mention any names,’ she began, then paused and frowned.
He nodded and sipped his tea.
‘But say, as a general rule, if someone came to you as a doctor and asked you for help that you didn’t feel you could give—’
‘What would I do?’ he interrupted, trying to help her out of her obvious difficulty in framing the right sentence. ‘Let’s suppose that in this case we’re talking about an early termination of a pregnancy?’
Hazel nodded and gave him a grateful smile for his astuteness. ‘And there were no medical reasons, only strong feelings of not wanting the baby. And you said no, hoping to talk that person out of it for the baby’s sake, but that person won’t take no for an answer.’
‘And is angry and says, “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.”’
‘Exactly!’ Hazel was thankful that he’d been so quick on the uptake. ‘Someone around here who knows what to do.’
‘Still mentioning no names,’ he acknowledged, ‘you’re right to be worried. There certainly are women in the neighbourhood ready to step in, even though it’s against the law and has been for a good few years now. Oh, I could quote you chapter and verse of the Infant Life Preservation Act, but of course it goes on anyway – using anything from ancient herbal purgatives, through hot baths combined with gin to the abortifacients you still see openly advertised as being for “female ailments”. Not to mention the use of any pointed implement you care to think of.’
Hazel drew a sharp breath.
‘Unpalatable but true,’ David insisted. ‘Only last week I had to deal with a girl of seventeen who was well into her second trimester. Her circumstances were … unfortunate, shall we say? So she took it into her head to visit one of these so-called handywomen in secret. The result? Severe haemorrhage, agony and humiliating exposure. She’s in hospital and disowned by her family. Still pregnant, as it turns out.’
‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ Hazel murmured, her fears for Sylvia increasing.
‘My advice would be to talk to this person again,’ he said, his gaze intensifying while his voice grew more determined. ‘Present her with the facts. Winkle out her reasons, try to allay her fears.’
‘I will.’ Hazel decided there and then that she would get hold of Sylvia that very evening and talk to her again.
‘But be fair with her. Let her know that taking the baby to full term is not without risks either.’
Hazel’s eyes flickered involuntarily towards the silver-framed photograph of the smiling young woman.
‘Her name was Sara,’ David said quietly but plainly. ‘It’s been three years and I still think about my dear wife and our lost baby boy every day without fail.’
CHAPTER TEN
At half past seven that evening Hazel knocked on the door of 15 Nelson Yard, hoping to speak to Sylvia.
‘She’s not in.’ Norman held the door open a fraction and peered out at Hazel. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve come out of your way.’
‘I only live around the corner,’ she reminded him. Norman’s response had been too pat and had aroused her suspicions. ‘Do you mind if I step inside and wait?’
Casting a precautionary glance over his shoulder, Norman opened the door. ‘I’ve no idea when she’ll be back,’ he warned.
‘It doesn’t matter – I’m in no hurry.’ Once inside, Hazel took in the sorry state of Sylvia and Norman’s kitchen. A meagre fire made of coal-slack and coke flickered miserably in the grate while yesterday’s ashes lay unswept on the tiled hearth. A washing line laden with dripping shirts and socks was slung diagonally across the room, giving off a strong whiff of carbolic soap – surely the results of Norman’s efforts at keeping up with the laundry rather than Sylvia’s. There were no chairs to sit on, only upturned orange boxes, their bright blue and yellow Jaffa labels still in evidence. The table, such as it was, cockled on three firm legs, the fourth being fashioned from a rotting clothes-line prop that Norman had rescued from the yard.
‘It’s not much to write home about, is it?’ Norman said before Hazel could comment. Standing in his stockinged feet and with tousled hair, he looked even younger than eighteen, despite his current attempts to grow a moustache. ‘Chairs and suchlike will have to wait until we find our feet, worse luck.’
‘Where did you call home before you came to Nelson Yard?’ she asked, wondering what his life had been like before he met Sylvia and realizing she knew nothing at all about him.
‘A cottage on the main street over in Hadley. Why?’
‘And didn’t you have any furniture to bring with you? I’m sorry – there’s no need to answer that if you don’t want to. It’s just me being nosy.’
Norman’s fair colouring meant that he blushed easily and the tic at the corner of his mouth seemed impossible to control. ‘We flitted about a lot, my mum and seven of us kids. Four sisters and two brothers, plus me.’
‘Where are you in the pecking order?’
‘I’m the eldest by five whole years. We’ve had to go wherever there was work ever since I can remember. We only had what we wore on our backs and one tea chest of belongings between us.’ Norman spoke matter-of-factly and Hazel noticed that his boyish features relaxed more readily into a smile than a frown. Despite her suspicion that he’d lied about Sylvia’s whereabouts, she warmed to him.
‘Here’s me rabbiting on,’ he apologized. ‘Don’t let me keep you from whatever else you’ve got to do.’
‘You’re not,’ she said, ducking under the wet washing and trying to think of ways in which she could help the struggling newlyweds. ‘I’m sure Mum mentioned to me she has curtains going spare. Do you think Sylvia could make use of them?’
‘I’ll ask her.’
‘And Dad could take you down to Napier’s – do
you know it? It’s a scrapyard on Canal Road. There might be bits and pieces there that would come in handy.’
‘It’s a thought,’ he muttered distractedly.
Hazel wondered why he took the poker and rattled it hard against the grate, disturbing the remains of the fire, until she realized that it might be to hide creaking floorboards above their heads. Was Sylvia creeping about upstairs, she wondered, having left Norman with strict instructions not to let on? Irritated, she took the bull by the horns. ‘That isn’t Sylvia I can hear, is it?’
‘No. It must be coming from next door.’ His face flushed bright red as he thrust the poker further into the fire.
‘And how is she? Is she well?’
The question took him by surprise. ‘Fit as a fiddle. Why?’
In that moment and from the puzzled look on Norman’s innocent face, it struck Hazel that Sylvia still hadn’t told her husband about her pregnancy, let alone the rest of the family. She took a deep breath, knowing that she ought not to be the one to break it to him. ‘No reason,’ she said, ready to beat a retreat and think again. ‘I’d best be off. Tell Sylvia I called.’
‘Will do.’ Norman pushed the washing to one side, ready to show Hazel to the door. ‘If it’s about Friday night, she’s already decided she won’t be going to the jazz club – I know that much.’
Hazel breathed deeply again then nodded before she braced herself for the cold, blustering wind. ‘Me neither. Gladys has arranged a day out to Blackpool on Saturday and she wants an early start.’
‘Ta-ta, then,’ Norman concluded sheepishly. He hadn’t relished lying to Hazel and communicated this reluctance with a what-can-I-do shrug.
‘Ta-ta for now,’ Hazel responded. Poor Norman, she thought out of habit as she made her way across the yard then down the dank alley onto Raglan Road. Gladys was right – he really doesn’t know what he’s let himself in for.
‘You’ve done all you can for now,’ David told Hazel over the phone. She’d called from a public telephone box on Ghyll Road, hoping to catch him before the start of surgery on Wednesday morning and bring him up to date on her failed mission to offer Sylvia more advice.