by Pam Weaver
Mrs Pickering had her back to Ruby as she walked in. The room smelled stale, with a hint of fish. It was gloomy, despite the fire burning in the old-fashioned blackleaded range. Some stockings and woollen socks were draped on a wire over the mantelpiece, and a large cat had its leg in the air, doing its toilet on the only chair in the room. Mrs Pickering appeared to have something boiling on the kitchen range. She stood at the kitchen sink, where she was peeling potatoes. Her hands were clean, but Ruby couldn’t help noticing that her fingernails bore the marks of garden work. She wondered if she should mention this. She didn’t want the woman giving her an infection. It all seemed a bit odd: cooking a meal and performing an abortion at the same time.
‘Come on in, dear,’ said Mrs Pickering, taking a handful of potatoes to the saucepan and dropping them in. ‘You’re late. There’s not much time. My husband will be back home soon, and I don’t want you here when he comes.’
Ruby was puzzled. She hadn’t made arrangements to be here, and yet the woman was behaving as if she was expected. She must think she was someone else. Ruby cleared her throat and Mrs Pickering turned round.
‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘It’s Ruby Searle. You gave me quite a start. I thought you were—’
There was a sharp rap on the door and Mrs Pickering drew in her breath. ‘That’s her. Where’s Trixie?’
‘She’s taken my bike around the back,’ said Ruby.
‘The silly mare must have thought you were my customer,’ said Mrs Pickering, pushing Ruby towards the sitting-room door. She was a small woman with a very weathered face, obviously used to being outdoors. ‘Ruby love, you’ll have to go in here and wait for me. I shan’t be a tick.’ She went to close the door and then, leaning back in, said confidentially, ‘I hope I can rely on you to be discreet.’
The knocking on the kitchen door was becoming more urgent.
‘Coming, love,’ Mrs Pickering called.
She hadn’t quite closed the sitting-room door, so Ruby shrank behind the floor-length curtain that kept out the draughts and listened.
Mrs Pickering’s voice was muffled, but Ruby heard her say, ‘Got the money, dear? Put it on the mantelpiece. Right, now take off your knickers and lie on the table, there’s a good girl.’
Ruby heard the saucepan being moved and then she heard the sound of running water.
‘I always boil everything first, to make sure it’s clean,’ Mrs Pickering said. ‘Just have to cool it a bit under the tap.’
There was a long silence, then another voice said nervously, ‘Will it hurt?’
‘It might be a little bit uncomfortable, dear,’ Mrs Pickering said, ‘but after this, all your troubles will be over.’
Ruby couldn’t resist slipping into the little corridor between the two rooms to see what was happening. Peeping through the crack in the half-open door, she couldn’t see who the woman was, although she lay on Mrs Pickering’s kitchen table with her legs akimbo. When Mrs Pickering came into view, she was holding something that looked a lot like a knitting needle. She blocked Ruby’s view as she stood facing the woman’s private parts. Bending low, she manoeuvred the needle into place. Ruby closed her eyes and shuddered as she heard the woman cry out in anguish, and then Mrs Pickering said, ‘All done. You can get dressed now, dear.’
Then Ruby heard crying.
‘That’s enough of that, dear,’ said Mrs Pickering sharply. ‘You don’t want to go outside with your eyes all red, now do you?’
The woman blew her nose. ‘How long before . . . ?’ she asked.
‘I expect it’ll all come away tonight,’ said Mrs Pickering. ‘Bit of a tummy ache, that’s all. Now off you go, dear.’
Ruby heard the door close and dashed back into the sitting room before Mrs Pickering returned.
‘Sorry about that, dear,’ she said. ‘I’ll give Trixie a shout. She always waits in the garden until it’s all over. It’s nice of you to pop by.’
Ruby headed back into the kitchen.
‘Got time for a cup of tea?’ Mrs Pickering asked, after she’d opened the back door and called her daughter.
Ruby tried not to look at the splatter of blood on Mrs Pickering’s hand and on the front of her apron. This was a bad idea. She knew now that she would never tell Mrs Pickering the real reason she’d come. Who knows what infections she would get, if she put herself in the hands of this woman. Having a baby was bad enough, but submitting to a knitting needle being stuck into her private parts to get rid of it was quite another.
Back in the kitchen, Mrs Pickering rinsed her hands under the tap and began to lay the table for their meal. Ruby declined the tea and didn’t even wait for Trixie to come in from the garden. ‘I only popped in to say hello,’ she said. ‘I’d better go. I’ve got to get back in time to give Jim his tea.’
When she opened the front door, Trixie was putting Ruby’s bike against the wall. She smiled at Ruby, then looked concerned. ‘Will she be all right riding back home, Ma?’
‘Ruby only came in for a chat,’ Mrs Pickering chuckled. ‘Trust you to get the wrong end of the stick.’
Ruby turned the bike round and sat astride it.
‘Bye, Ruby love,’ said Mrs Pickering. ‘Come back again, won’t you?’
With a quick wave, Ruby sped off. Not if I can help it, she thought.
‘I have never been so humiliated in my life.’ Effie Rhodes leaned back in her chair, hugging a brandy and soda to her chest.
It was late evening and, having enjoyed a delicious dinner, she and Gus were relaxing in their sumptuous sitting room. Gus, who had spent the day trying out a new model train, was enjoying a malt whisky, and in the background Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No.4, performed by Myra Hess, was playing on the gramophone. He sighed. He’d heard the story a dozen times before, but it still rankled his wife.
‘It was a little unfortunate . . .’ Gus began.
‘Unfortunate!’ she retorted. ‘If I had known Bea Quinn harboured such feelings, I would never have recruited her in the first place.’
‘Don’t worry about her,’ said Gus casually, but Effie had only just got going.
‘I was never one to blow my own trumpet,’ she said, getting up to refresh her glass, ‘and it embarrasses me to say this, but that sale would never have happened without yours truly. Who organized the troops? Who got Elsie and Doris Walters to come along – not my choice, I assure you, but they were chosen by popular consensus. Who kept everybody on their toes all day?’ She threw herself back on the sofa and lowered her eyes.
Gus leaned over and gripped her shoulder. ‘Steady on, old gel.’
Effie snatched herself away. ‘And yet after all I did,’ she said, with a break in her voice, ‘that damned woman encouraged everyone to gang up on me.’
‘Strange, isn’t it?’ her husband said languidly. ‘Bea came over as a rather mousy woman the night we all had dinner together.’
‘And that’s just where we were both wrong,’ said Effie tetchily. ‘The things that woman said! I tell you, the whole damned thing was nothing less than a bloodbath.’
They sipped their drinks in silence.
Eventually Effie said, ‘It’s not fair, Gus. It’s not bloody fair.’
‘I know, old thing, but there it is.’
Her head snapped up and she glared at him. ‘Is that all you can say? “There it is”?’
‘Look, my dear,’ he began again, ‘I know it’s disappointing, but quite honestly I can’t think why you even bother with such people.’
‘Because I want to be somebody in this town,’ she wailed. ‘Can’t you see that? All my life I’ve had to do what someone else wanted me to do. If it wasn’t the Colonial Office, it was you. When we came here, you promised me this was my time. Well, it’s about time people sat up and took notice of me!’
‘I understand that,’ he said, ‘but why bother with people like Bea Quinn and Freda Fosdyke? They are such small fry, Effie.’
‘We’ve been away for nearly twenty years, Gus,’ she sai
d, jumping up and pouring another brandy. ‘I don’t know anyone any more. I need to be in the best circles. I need—’
‘Then create it yourself,’ he interrupted.
‘What?’
‘If you want to be at the front, old gel, you’d better take the lead. Give the best parties. Invite famous people. Stop worrying about silly little autumn fairs, and turn yourself into the person whose parties everybody wants to go to.’
Effie sank back on the cushions as if she’d been winded. Lavish parties? Fabulous guests? She could see it all now. Gus was right. If she was going to become a force to be reckoned with in the town, she had to make herself the person to be seen with. Her eyes glistened with excitement. Gus moved a little closer.
‘We’ll have to spend quite a bit of money,’ she began cautiously.
‘We’ve been more than adequately rewarded for our services,’ he said, putting his hand on her thigh.
‘We’ll get some really good caterers,’ she said, her mind racing ahead. ‘Bentalls, or perhaps a firm from Brighton.’
Gus had lifted her skirt and had his hand on her suspender and stocking top. If she had looked down, she would have seen that he was already fully aroused. He leaned into her neck and nuzzled her ear. ‘Anything you want, old thing.’
In her head, Effie was already writing out the guest list. She would choose some really important people.
Gus kissed her hand, palm up, and then gently brought it down towards his crutch. She was suddenly aware of him and he puckered his lips for a kiss.
‘No time for all that nonsense now,’ she said, sitting bolt upright. ‘We’ve got a guest list to write.’
CHAPTER 20
Ruby was in turmoil. She couldn’t hide her pregnancy for much longer, yet she didn’t know what to do about it. She had toyed with the idea of just telling Jim straight out, but she was scared of his reaction. He’d be angry, of course, but what then? Would he throw her out of the house, or make her go away and give the baby up for adoption? Or perhaps denounce her to the whole world? None of these prospects was very appetizing. At the same time she burned with shame at the thought of her mother knowing what she had done.
True, Bea had not been married to Rex when she’d conceived Ruby, but they had the excuse of wartime, an uncertain future and a cruel and heartless husband. What excuse could Ruby give for a five-minute fling with a man she hardly knew? She was frustrated that Jim rejected her in the bedroom, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t done out of any sense of malice. She had a good home and a well-run business, which brought them a comfortable living. She was a respectable landlady, but now she’d thrown it all away for a brief moment of unguarded lust. She knew she was being hard on herself, but even that suited her. The guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders because, even though she tried hard not to, in her mind she went over and over the experience. The dreadful thing was: she had enjoyed every moment.
If she couldn’t tell Jim, maybe Bob was a better bet. He was unmarried, and an exciting lover. She knew divorce was expensive and they’d have to find someone to act as co-respondent, but if eventually she and Bob were married, she could have night after night of the same passion. He didn’t own the printer’s where he worked, but he was good at his job. Perhaps they could both talk things over with Jim and come to some sort of arrangement. If she lived with Bob, they’d have to leave Worthing, of course, but perhaps in another place they could make a happy life for themselves. Ruby rationalized that Lena would look after Jim. She might even run the guest house, if Ruby made an attractive enough offer. Lena didn’t appear to have any other ties – no family or commitments elsewhere. Ruby had tried to find out about her past life, but Lena remained tight-lipped. It had even crossed Ruby’s mind that perhaps Lena already had a husband somewhere and that she and Eric had run away together.
Christmas was only three and a half weeks away. Ruby planned to spend that afternoon doing the first of her Christmas shopping. The shops in Montague Street were already looking festive. Wrapping her scarf around her neck and pulling on her woollen gloves, she set off just after two.
In Woolworths she bought a box of handkerchiefs for Lena and a pretty nightdress for Jean. Ruby had been knitting a cardigan for May, so she stopped by at Mason’s Wool and Toy Shop for some buttons to match. Thus she found herself only a stone’s throw away from Caxton Printers.
Screwing up every ounce of courage, she decided it was now or never. Bob had to know that he was soon to become a father. She wondered how he would react. Would he be angry with her, or upset that she hadn’t told him sooner? By the time she was standing outside the shop, she was convinced that he would be delighted. She was carrying his child. What man wouldn’t be pleased? Although the sign on the door was turned to Closed, it hadn’t been properly shut. The bell stayed silent as Ruby stepped into the shop. She could hear muffled voices in the back room. She was about to call out, but something stopped her. One voice was female. The pair stopped talking and then Bob laughed. When Ruby had been in his arms, it was a pleasant sound. She closed her eyes, remembering.
‘Lovely,’ she heard Bob say. ‘Oh, sweetheart, that’s lovely.’
Reluctantly Ruby moved towards the door. She could see two shadowy figures through the glass and they were awfully close together. Her heartbeat began to quicken and her stomach fell away. The pair of them were on the horsehair sofa. She couldn’t see who was underneath him, but Bob’s bottom was bare and pumping up and down.
‘Lovely,’ Bob was saying. ‘I’m so glad you came into my shop, darlin’.’
Tears sprang into her eyes as Ruby dropped her shopping bag and clamped her hand across her mouth, to stifle the cry of shock as she stumbled backwards. Some papers fell onto the floor as she brushed past them.
She heard the woman say anxiously, ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing, sugar,’ said Bob. ‘I put the sign on the door, remember?’
Her chin quivering with disappointment and rage, Ruby sprinted into the street and slammed the door so hard that the sound of the jangling bell followed her halfway down the road.
She felt sick. What a fool she had been. What a stupid idiot! So much for Bob ‘doing the right thing’. She was nothing more than another trophy on the horsehair sofa.
She found herself heading towards the sea. The chilly December air cut through her open coat and wrapped itself around her body, but she was so numb that she hardly felt it. It took some time before she realized how cold she was. Eventually she buttoned up her coat and, hugging herself tightly, walked onto the pier. The kiosk was closed for winter, so she was spared having to find tuppence to promenade. She was frozen to the marrow by the time she reached the Southern Pavilion. The bright lights of the tea rooms drew her inside.
‘We’re closing in half an hour, madam,’ the waitress said pointedly as Ruby sat by the bow window. There were still a few customers in the room, but they appeared to be finishing their meals.
‘Is there still time to have a pot of tea?’ Ruby asked.
The waitress didn’t look too happy. Obviously she was hoping to do the clearing up and finish early, but she hurried away to get Ruby’s order. Ruby stared out of the windows. On the shore, the lights on Marine Parade twinkled in the gathering gloom. Out to sea it was already getting quite dark. Low cloud threatened the town with rain, or maybe the first snowfall of the winter. The heaviness of the weather matched Ruby’s mood. Unbidden, a tear trickled down her cheek. She quickly swept it aside with her hand. What a mess she was in. Clearly she had been as stupidly naive as a sixteen-year-old, when it came to Bob. Hadn’t she been warned about his reputation? Hadn’t her mother, having spotted her dreamy expression, reprimanded her for staring at him? She had no other course open to her now but to tell Jim what she had done and face the consequences. In her head she began to rehearse what to say. The more she thought about it, the more she dreaded his reaction.
All at once Ruby realized she had been sitting staring out of the window for nearly
twenty minutes. Her tea was cold by the time she drained the last dregs in the cup. The waitress came over to the table as soon as Ruby stood to her feet and began to pull on her coat. As she did so, the waitress gathered Ruby’s cup and saucer, the milk jug and teapot onto a tray. They both hesitated and their eyes met.
‘Sorry to hold you up,’ said Ruby brokenly.
The waitress shook her head and added softly, ‘It might not be as bad as you think, love.’
Ruby managed a weak smile, before picking up her purse. When she reached the door, the waitress added, ‘Happy Christmas, love, and . . . good luck.’
Bea opened the book and stared at the flyleaf:
First aid to the injured. The authorized textbook of the St John Ambulance Association, being the ambulance department of the Grand Priory in the British Realm of the Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem.
She blinked. Bit of a mouthful, she thought.
‘Two hours a week, for six weeks, should do it,’ said Mrs Hayward. ‘Of course, only members of the medical profession can be instructors.’
‘Of course,’ Bea agreed.
They had been having tea in Hubbard’s. It had been a most enjoyable experience, with tea served in a silver teapot, bone-china cups and a three-tiered plate of the most wonderful fancy cakes. Bea knew she shouldn’t but she’d succumbed to two.
Her new-found friend was brimming with enthusiasm. It seemed that the Air Raid Precautions organization in Worthing was going to be bowled over by her suggestions and, given the awkwardness of the male contingent, she proposed to run an all-female arm of the organization. But first, she had explained to Bea, she had to have dedicated and committed women in the ranks.
‘I’m sick of men telling me the women will be more worried about their hats and getting home to their husband’s tea than fire-watching or evacuation,’ she told Bea. ‘Women can make a valuable contribution to the country, should we go to war.’